#who have twisted her mind so badly she cannot remember anything

[smolandweirdwriter]

FUCK

aelwyn abernant i??? don't hate you???

[rin-enjoyer]

long and detailed ramblings about rin's character under the cut <3

rin is flatter than almost any other character in naruto- an impressive feat, considering how badly kishimoto hates woman. i'm not saying that everyone else was written better than rin- all things considered, the complete lack of attention focused on her means that she's probably one of the more consistent characters. no, the flatness arises from a general lack of anything interesting about her presented in an easy to understand or. um. intentional way.

fandoms take the traits that characters display and explore and expand upon them- when a character or concept is interesting but poorly executed in canon, it will often receive a large amount of attention dedicated towards giving it its due.

when a girl has no real personality to speak of and exists pretty much just to die and make two others guys sad- well, that doesn't lay a very good base to explore! it's no wonder rin is an incredibly overlooked character.  

not me tho. id never overlook my girl. this is because i am a little bjt insane and also rabid about her. take my hand. let's explore the deep rabbit hole ive been silently digging for half a year now. there's nuance to her character i prommy- let me show you it.

disclaimer before we begin: i'm aware that the amount of character depth i can extrapolate from rin was not intentionally written in. i mean, like, that's not gonna stop me or anything. but im aware of it. some of the things here have little to no canon basis- i cobbled my rin characterization together with dramatic irony, copious amounts of masks, and spite. i do think that viewing rin like this adds flavor to the canon story, though, so maybe keep that in mind?

the first, central headcanon that influences pretty much everything about rin (to me) is that she hates the idea of being misinterpreted in life or in death. despite that, she wears masks built of what people expect her to be, and makes no effort to remove them and build real connections. and then she gets mad when no one really knows her. she contains multitudes.

this also adds a delicious twist to canon- from rin's pov, obito's great fault is not the murders, the betrayals, or the longing for a perfect world; its him mis-remembering her so BADLY that he somehow mischaracterized the mask she was wearing. my guy.

part of the reason rin wears masks is because she is unsure of who she is and what she wants, and she views that as a personal failure. she has made the logical fallacy, of course, that she has an immutable "true self" who she has managed to lose. she's also 12 and living in kill people repress your emotions city, so i guess we can give her a pass on that. the real important thing to understand here is that rin views any presentation of herself that is not her "true self" (smth that doesnt exist) as equally false. therefore, she assumes that it is easier to continue on with the mask she is already wearing than switch it out for smth just as bad. she does not know that the self is something cobbled together over a lifetime of stealing thoughts, feelings and mannerisms from other people and mixing it with your experiences and innate personality. she paints her cheeks purple because her father does, and he does it because his father did, who did it because his mother did, and on and on, but she cannot comprehend that the laugh she learned from him is just as unique. lmao

another thing about personhood: kakashi and obito, from an outside view, seem very put together. they have goals, for heaven's sake, they must know what they're doing! rin doesn't have a crush on kakashi- she admires him because he looks like he's got his life figured out! (when you start thinking kakashi's put together, you know something's wrong.)

the thing about rin's relationship with the rest of her team is that it's very one-sided. rin is obito's best friend- obito is not rin's best friend. the team spirit and unity that konoha tries to impress on them is lost on rin because she interacts with them like she's on an infiltration mission, and then gets mad that they don't know the "real" her, gets sad that she doesn't know the "real" her, and then puts on more masks to make sure no one notices, and the cycle repeats. the rest of team minato is fooled into thinking that they are close with her, and rin drifts further and further away. we see this when obito "dies-" she almost unaffected by it. now, it's probably portrayed like that as to not take away from kakashi's reaction, but it feeds nicely into my interpretation that she just… doesn't really care.

after obito dies and kakashi starts falling apart, i do think he and rin get a bit closer. he's obviously not in a great mental state to be worrying over her in any manner except physical safety, but he does wonder when her smile stretches a bit too thin and brittle. he never knows rin- not by her definition- but i think sometimes he gets to see her without any masks on: a limp doll who's tired of pretending at humanity.

last point on rin's mental state before we move onto the totally-there-and-real symbolism aspects of her character: she has a very, very apathetic attitude towards death that's only exacerbated by the fact that she's not really close to anyone. she's not exactly suicidal, but she wouldn't care if she died. she's not jumping at the bit to sacrifice herself- that apathy means she doesn't really care if anyone else dies, either. she holds on until she can't hold on anymore, and then she drops it like a hot potato. rin voice: wait if there's an afterlife why are we scared of dying. and then no one ever explained it to her so she never unlocked her fear of death.

ok! symbolism time! i, personally, am a huge proponent of moth/astronaut/icarus rin. there's a few threads that weave into that tapestry, so stick with me while we make our way through em.

first: remember what i said earlier, about rin hating obito for mis-remembering her rather than the whole infinite tsukuyomi gig? well, part of that is because she just really hates being misinterpreted, but the other part is that she wouldn't think infinite tsukuyomi was bad at all! remember, rin is very… nihilistic, and already has a tenuous relationship with consequences- she wouldn't see the problem with fixing things with an illusion. this slots into the moth interpretation- she's chasing the moon! 

second, there's the whole chidori thing. idk if you guys remember it, its only the most defining moment of rin's entire character in canon. the chidori looks like the sun. icarus. do you catch my drift

the rest of the points towards this symbolism are more vague and tend to lean more towards like. obscure references to the challenger crash and a reliance on my insistence that moths and icarus and astronauts ARE basically the same thing, thank you very much, but i think i've said enough to get my point across.

there's more i could say- we could explore aus where rin lives to adulthood, and how she would grow and develop, or we could dive into the fascinating relationship she has with minato and being a mednin, or how she and sasuke are 2 flavors of the same guy, but this post is already stupid long, so i'll save that for another time. just know that rin is the coolest girly ever. and she deserves to kill.

[iturbide]

Bittersweet Truths

So. I have a gift and (hopefully) some catharsis. Instead of agreeing with everything her husband says, I wrote Henriette actually being a Good Mother and having Growth while her Gustav was dead. Enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

Henriette states at the moon reflecting in the lake. It looks… spellbinding, in a way that can’t truly be described. She should sleep, and yet…

She remembers the stories and myths, and she closes her eyes as her mind wanders to her husband, and in turn, the conversation she held with The Summoner after his passing. 

“We need to talk,” The Summoner says, once her son and daughter have left the room, “As two people who care for Alfonse and Sharena, we need to talk. Please.”

“Of course!” She replies, not hesitating in letting The Summoner take a seat, “Tell me, what’s on your mind? If there’s anything I could do to help…”

“A while ago, before Hel, when I first met with the king… after, I said some… cruel words to Alfonse, because I wasn’t thinking straight, and I let my emotions overcome my logic.” The Summoner begins, “I cannot take back what I said, and it was unreasonable for me to assume Alfonse would understand what I was saying right away, it was unreasonable for me to assume that he would realise that what he said in that situation… made me uncomfortable.”

“I see.” Henriette replies, and she’s about to offer to let her son know when The Summoner continues.

“I apologised, of course- and explained what was going on, why I reacted so badly, and asked if I could make up for it. Alfonse wasn’t angry, though I would have preferred it if he was.” The Summoner tilts their head, and even if Henriette cannot see it, she has a feeling that their eyes are staring holes into her, “I say this not as a Summoner to a Queen, but as Alfonse and Sharena’s friend to their mother. 

“You haven’t apologised yet.” 

“I… beg your pardon?” She asks, “Apologised for what?”

“For the way you treated them.” They answer without hesitation, “The way you justified your husband’s behaviour towards them.”

“It is a wife’s duty to help her husband.”

“It is a mother’s duty to protect her children.”

“I was. I explained why my husband was acting the way he did, so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.”

“You were justifying his behaviour,” The Summoner says, and keeps going, “Justifying the way he treated his children- your children because he loves them and you love him, so it was okay, so it needed to be okay, the way he acted. I ask you this, though:

“If another person had treated Alfonse and Sharena the way he did, would you be able to justify it?”

Henriette opens her mouth. Closes it. 

The Summoner had been relentless that evening- she has no doubt that they would have been willing to stand there until the sun rose and set again if they felt they needed to, but they didn’t.

Because Henriette had remembered the way her children looked during the Day of Devotion. How happy they were, when she and her husband weren’t with them. 

She realised, then, that she had never truly seen her children smile like that before. That the way the two of them acted around her was- and still is, because despite things being better between them now, there were still years of expectations that she didn’t realise were there- subdued. It is no wonder, though, when she sees the affection and love the Order of Heroes shows the two, without reservations or any formality. 

She opens her eyes, and somehow, she isn’t surprised to see her husband near her. 

He is as handsome and regal as he was in life, and Henriette still loves him. She loves him, so much that it’s near impossible to imagine him doing any wrong, and yet…

“Just because you love someone who has done bad things, it does not make you a bad person.” The Summoner says, in a tone that is far too understanding to completely be from an outsider’s perspective, “Emotions are very rarely reasonable. It is when you try to justify their actions that your own become twisted.”

She knows, now, the kind of man her husband was. 

The conversation begins easily enough, even so, the topics take a turn to the serious. Henriette would like to let the ghosts lie- like to avoid the conflict, the pain it would no doubt cause.

However, some things need to be said, even it if is too late to say them. 

“I believe that first step guided him to victory against Hel.” Her husband says. 

Instead of agreeing, like she once, would, like she always did, she replies, “It was cruel, to fight him in such a way. To expect him to kill his own father. He admired you beyond anything. Wanted your approval more than words could describe.”

Gustav, her love, looks at her as if she is the one who is a ghost, “You have changed, since I died. Once, you never would have said such things.”

“I have had the chance to,” She replies, a sadness that she does not want to describe welling up within her, “I had thought, once, that explaining your actions to our children would lessen the pain of them. That your burdens were so much that you needed me to remind our children that your were a father too, not just a king, and yet… 

“I now carry some of your burdens, and I have not forgotten for one moment that I am Alfonse and Sharena’s mother, nor have they forgotten.”

“My love…” Her husband says, “Alfonse needed to learn the burdens of a ruler, the duty one has to their people. It was a necessary lesson.”

“A necessary lesson?” She repeats, anger filling here when agreement once would have. It has been a long time since she was spoken to with such a tone, and it stings to hear it from her husband, “Our son understands perfectly well, it’s us who didn’t. Tell me, now that you have been brought back, and as one of Letizia’s- Do not give me that look, I am no fool- do you intend to turn it into another lesson?”

Her husband remains silent, and that is all the answer she needs. 

“I am the regent,” Henriette says, looking her husband in the eyes as she sees him realise what those words mean, “Therefore, it is my duty to protect the kingdom from threats, just as it is my duty as a mother to protect my children.”

“Alfonse will rule, it is only fair that he…” Gustav begins, but she ignores his words, and prepares her tome and readies the spell- she is never defenceless, not now, when everything is so fragile. 

“Goodbye, my love.” She says as she releases the attack, “I hope we meet again, and when we do, you will not cause such pain to our children.”

Her husband’s body crumbles to ash, as it should have remained.

Here, by the lake where no one can see her, Henriette lets herself cry.

If this is even close to the pain her children had to go through… 

Then she does now know how she will ever forgive her husband, no matter how much she loves him.

 _____________________________________________________________

...This is what happens when someone gives recommends one of my fics and calls me awesome in the tags. I become so excited from it that I write 1000 words. Thank you so much. I'm just. Really flattered. 

[yesimwriting]

The Problem With Light

a/n i literally did not mean to write this, i was working on requests and then my mind was like ‘remember that lowkey love triangle kaz brekker x reader x darkling thing you always say you're going to write’ so yeah,, here we are :)),, two longer fics are coming!! 

- 

Summary: Kaz changes his plans after meeting the Sun Summoner and Kirigan teeters on a line the reader isn’t sure she wants. 

-- 

Chapter One: The Conflicts of Prayer 

--

Narrator. 

--

Kaz knows a lot about patience. He knows how to bear the weight that the passage of time thrusts onto one's shoulder. He knows how to cultivate the seeds that he sews. If he wasn’t like this he’d stand no chance at one day avenging the ghost that refuses to leave him. 

But Jesper is almost an hour late. Kaz has been standing in a dimly hit branch of a relatively important hallway in the Little Palace. Jesper was supposed to come while in disguise to bring Kaz his new disguise and his newly repaired cane. Kaz’s hand flexes again, wishing he could feel the detailed head of one of his few comforts beneath the broken-in leather of his gloves. A bitter part of him claims that if Jesper isn’t injured once he arrives, he’ll be injured once Kaz gets his hand on his cane. 

He shifts his weight, the pain in his leg starting to take its toll. The slight relaxation disappears once he hears footsteps. Kaz turns, ignoring the ache the motion brings him. His entire body hardens, preparing for a fight. He doesn’t look like he belongs here yet and there’s nowhere to run. The person crossing his path will need to be taken care of--knocked out or something more permanent. 

The person only pauses to look at him when Kaz angles himself forward in a fighting stance. He watches the person, a girl, shifts back slightly, eyes wide and defensive. She’s a mess--hair disheveled, nose slightly bleeding, and dirty kefta. Her appearance isn’t why Kaz finds himself frozen, not because of the girl’s appearance but because she’s her. Y/n l/n. The Sun Summoner. 

“Sorry! I--” She almost winces, but then her eyebrows furrow together. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Kaz’s jaw locks. He could take her physically, but for all he knows she could raise her arms and blind him permanently with her light. “That’s okay,” she breathes, something in her looking a little relieved, “I’m not supposed to be here either.” Kaz watches her oddly, wondering if her trustingness is a trap in itself. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

It’s a joke. That much is clear by the gentle uptilt of her lips. It’s as if she doesn’t know she’s bleeding and looks like she just ran out of a fight. Her expression doesn’t harshen at his silence. Kaz finds himself disliking that. It’s not enough that she can summon the sun, she also has to seem like it.

He needs to say something. Jesper was supposed to be watching her and now he’s not here and she is. The plan is unraveling and if he talks she’ll stay here or reveal where she’s going to next. That’s the kind of thing he needs to salvage this. 

His lips part, but he’s not sure what to say. “You’re not supposed to be here?” 

She shakes her head once. “No--I’m supposed to be in personal training, but I kind of got my ass kicked in group training and my pride needs a break.” The admission leaves her sheepishly. “It’s probably for the best, becoming a Sun Summoner overnight has given me a bit of an ego.” She sighs, the sound strangely light. “Then again, I kind of need an ego for what’s wanted from me and if one bad fight is all it takes to kill it then it’s not strong enough, considering--” Kaz tenses as she cuts herself off. “Sorry, I’m rambling, we both have places to be.” Hope presses into him stiffly. She’s going to say it. “Where--where are you supposed to be?” She shifts back slightly. “Not that I have to know, but you’re not from here, and--” 

Kaz steps forward, pushing through the stiffness in his leg. Y/n’s gaze drops. Kaz’s discomfort worsens, someone like her doesn’t need to know his weaknesses. “Are you here for me to pray for you?” She scratches her arm, “I-I can, but I tell everyone I pray for I don’t consider myself a Saint.” 

The honesty of the comment twisted something in Kaz’s thoughts. “Yes,” he lies, partially distracted by the beginnings of a scheme. He can feel Inej’s future anger as he lies again, “I’m here for prayer.” 

“I spent so long rambling,” she says in a tone that implies apology. 

He nods once, wondering how someone could  be that apologetic and survive. The weight of such power must strangle someone like her. That could be a good thing. Someone like her must be spiraling with all this change and sudden strength. Maybe this could be simpler than an abduction plan, a few choice words and he could convince the girl to come with him. He could get her to believe there was something she needed to do in Ketterdam. If she went there willingly, things could be much more efficient. 

Inej won’t like this, and for this to work he’ll have to think of the right way to present the plan to her. He weighs his options and the details as y/n whispers words with her eyes closed and hands folded together. The words he can make out are kind. He expected that, but what he didn’t expect was the earnestness of them. 

She means each part of her prayers. Kaz regrets noticing that. 

“I can’t promise my prayers do anything,” she finishes, voice returning to its normal volume, “but I hope you get what you need.” 

What he wants is within his grasp now that he knows what to do. “I’m sure good things are near.” It’s the most honest he’s been since her arrival. 

Y/n nods once, “I should go before my reprieve costs me more than it's worth.” 

He watches her disappear down the hallway. Her movements are light, calm and unweighted. 

“Boss,” Jesper’s appearance is brash, “I’ve spent this entire time looking for her. She was in training like she was supposed to, took an awul blow, delivered an even meaner one, and then disappeared.”

Kaz tries to imagine the same hands that were just so neatly folded in prayer as fists. “You just missed her.” He doesn’t wait for Jesper’s reaction, he just takes his newly repaired cane back. “And we’re changing the plan.” 

--

Y/n.

--

I tried going to Baghra. I told someone who believed my prayers meant something that I was going back to training. But then I remembered her words from last time and the shame I felt when I could not create light. I haven’t summoned light once without Kirigan’s touch. 

I’m the Sun Summoner--I am the person that summons the sun by themselves. Kirigan and I aren’t the Sun Summoner together. I’m pathetic. And instead of trying to get better, I’m wandering the library because all anyone can talk about is the way Zoya punched me in the face. 

Baghra picked me apart when I looked shiny. I can’t imagine the kinds of comments she’d make if she saw me with a bloody nose and dead leaves in my hair. I’ll go tomorrow, once Genya fixes both my matted hair and cracked self esteem. 

For now, I have the one thing that’s always comforted me. My books. I wander the library, trying not to think of anything. Of Baghra, of Zoya, of the strange man in the hall. 

He seemed weighted by something. I always wish I could do more for those that ask for my prayer, but the longing is sharper now. I don’t know him, so it’s ridiculous to want to help him so badly, but my uselessness itches beneath my skin in a way I’m not used to. I don’t know why I feel more protective about this stranger than others. I’ve had people fall to my feet weeping, begging for me to save them. That hurt me, but the desire to help this one stranger burns in a way I’ve never felt before.  

“I don’t know why they don’t look for you here every time you disappear.” His voice is as soft and subtle as a shadow. “They’d save so much time.” 

I fight the urge to defensively grasp the first book I can reach. “You’re making it sound like I have a habit of vanishing in order to make a point.” My defense is weak. We both know that this isn’t the first time I ran away from something here. “Sometimes absence is just that.” 

“When you’ve waited for someone as long as I have, all absence is significant.” The words are not harsh but they should be. I don’t know how I could respond to that. 

He steps forward easily, as he always does. I keep myself still despite the way that warmth settles against my chest uncomfortably. I manage to hold onto my stillness even when he raises a hand, one gentle finger brushing above my top lip. I tense at his lingering touch. 

Kirigan turns his hand slowly, exposing the red on his fingertips. “How di--” 

“Training,” I interrupt quickly, “I promise I got a decent hit in as well.” 

When he nods, his expression is clearly weighted but I cannot interpret it. He almost always looks like that. I shouldn’t find anything about the man that stole me from everything I’ve ever known (even though he had good reason to do so) alluring, but I want to understand him. It’d feel like knowing a secret the rest of the world is desperate for. 

For a moment we just stand there, Kirigan closer than he’s ever been. Sometimes when he’s quiet I think he knows my secrets. All of mine. Even my curiosity about him. “I don’t doubt that.” 

At least he tries to be nice to me sometimes. It’s more than anyone else here can say. Except maybe Genya. “You don’t have to say that.” He knows it’s true. “Keep in mind you found me in the library, hiding from Baghra.” 

He hesitates. “No one likes training.”

“I think I’d find it tolerable if…” Can I say this to him? Admit the extent of my helplessness? He looks at me patiently, waiting for me to give something to him. “I’m the Sun Summoner--that’s supposed to be me. That’s supposed to be mine, and I can’t do it by myself.” 

The patheticness of my struggle hits me in full force. I drop my head as he weighs my words. “It’s in you,” he says it so surely I don’t think I could argue. 

I smile politely. “Thank you.” 

Kirigan reaches downwards, towards my wrist. He latches onto me so quickly I’m too surprised to back away. “Light,” he prompts like it really is that easy. 

I know I can do it with him, so I don’t see the point in showing it. “It doesn’t count if I get help.” 

“Y/n.” Sometimes I think his voice is softer when he speaks my name. 

I raise my hands, overlaying them, letting the hand that he touches make up the base of my cup. Reaching into myself, I search for the power beneath my skin. With him, that power seems to sit directly beneath the surface, desperate and greedy. I don’t call to it, instead I simply let it flow. The light bleeds from me, a sphere of blinding light bursts into my hands. It’s bright, burning, and desperate to escape my control. 

My mind clamps around the power tightly, restraining it without choking it out until the light in my hands is exactly as small as I want it to be. I hold it there, letting its warmth melt away all of the bad. I let it grow, the light illuminating a path I can barely see--a path in which I do not disappoint those that need to have faith in something and for some unknown reason decided to place it in me. I hold onto that feeling, and then I let the light disappear. 

I smile at my hands. The only good that’s come from this is the way the light makes me feel. “Y/n.” I look up at Kirigan, who’s showing me both of his palms. “That was you.” 

A feeling better than the light coils up my stomach and into my heart. I grin. I did it without him. I can do it without him. “That--how did you know that would work?” 

“I knew that you could do it, you just needed to see it.” 

Warmth fills me, light and easy. A little too light. I have to work at not reaching for him, not because I need to, but because I want to. “Thank you.” This time I mean it.

“Your gratitude is premature,” he warns, but nothing about it is harsh, “I’m here to send you back to training.” 

At least the thought of facing Baghra no longer devastates me. “There’s always a catch.” I smile, hoping he understands what he’s done for me. “But I think this time it may be worth it.” 

He almost smiles. “Tell me if you still feel that way after spending time with Baghra.” 

A fair warning. It’s more than I expect from him. “Will do.” 

Kirigan’s expression threatens to soften, but he turns away from me with a soft nod before I can try to decipher the look. I let him leave before disappearing down another hall, forcing myself to look for Baghra. I think of my interaction with both Kirigan and the stranger, at least Baghra won’t be the weirdest part of my day

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Eight

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 4.8k author note :: i’ve been very ill so yeah, not the best writing but i really can’t go that long without wanting to write so i ended up writing an update, i hope you enjoy it, it’s longer than usual :D sorry for any mistakes it hasn’t been proof read at all :-( → next part coming soon!!

“Hey, newbie you haven't spoke about your home town much have ya?"

You lift your head, verifying Reiner's suspicions with a nod. You recall he's the same distasteful blonde brute who made those snide remarks about Hange. He must be at least a towering six foot if his shadow is able to cover the majority of the Sun's rays from hitting you.

You would maybe bother to give him and his inquiry more attention than you currently are if he hadn't been so unnecessarily impolite during the morning speeches.

Calves yelping in stinging pain from the first tastes of the full time training regime you simply cannot find the effort to strain your mind with small talk.

Temples throbbing it feels as if a sword has been forced through the side of your head,  but that's not it at all. Reiner has thrown a small rock at you and you hear him chuckle under his breath.

Twisting your position so you face him you glare in displeasure.

Although you don't particularly enjoy the idea of joining Levi's unit and having to become a concealed agent of sorts you can't really take your pickings at how it is you wish to survive. You're going to have to deal with it and you've come to the stage of acceptance now.

However, you are not willing to respect the attitude some of these cadets are giving you, it's clear there's already a strong hierarchy in place.

Reiner just so happens to be one of the big guns from what you've been able to observe. He possess strong upper body strength and his hand to hand combat isn't a laughing matter either. That means he's higher up in the ladder of cadets, that's for sure. To top it all off you know you're not as powerful as other members in the team in terms of skill and he's probably silently making a mockery of you for it.

Pursing your lips you decide to play this game cautiously, asking him what it is he needs from you isn't the best option. You're aware he's after something, it's written all over his face. You practically know every deceptive look in the book off by heart. You suppose it's the only perk you got out of living in a noble household for most of your life.

"Why do you care?" You bluntly question him.

"Ohh, you're feisty. Might not want to butt heads with Annie."

"Not sure who that is but I don't plan on it."

Turning away from him it look like you're distracting yourself by collecting pieces of firewood. Trailing around you act as uncaring as possible to annoy him. You need to gauge this man's reaction somehow.

Your plan seems to be working in your favour because you're able to see his footing shift from his natural stance, it looks as if he's about to risk charging at you due to your vulnerable position but you rotate again offering him a knowing smile.

You don't tell him you're conscious of his suspicious nature but if he's quick witted enough he'll be able to figure out you aren't a threat and apparently don't have a clue what it is he's up to. The only reason he'd even consider attacking you would be if he saw you as an issue. For now your act should at least keep him at bay.

"Fine. I'll tell you about my hometown, I'm just..." You pause to make yourself look believable and proceed to look up at him through your lashes, you dart your gaze away and awkwardly scratch the back of your neck exuding coyness.

"I'm incredibly homesick. I miss mother. I always made supper for her, now I can only pray she's not eating burnt chicken." Your act has to be working because his eyes soften and he takes half of the firewood in your arms offering to help you carry it.

"My mum's a great cook, can't relate squirt."

"Who you calling squirt?" You playfully snap back.

"I call everybody that, even Captain Levi... Well, when he isn't around to hear it."

You bite the inside of your cheek at the mention of the Levi's name.

“So you and the Captain? What’s that all about?” His question makes no sense at all, one minute he wants to prod and poke in your personal home life yet the next minute he's asking questions about Levi. The doubts you have surrounding him only thicken.

You take a moment to consider his question,

“Whatever do you mean?” Clueless, you're delivery is excellent. Acting naive is easy enough, everyone within the corps has already decided that's what your automatic disposition is.

Reiner gives you a skeptical look then smiles faintly, “Glaring daggers at Jean after he got handsy with you?”

You cover your mouth with your free hand and laugh so hard the firewood nearly flies out of your grasp.

“Me and Jean are friends, and Levi? He just wanted to find a reason to get mad at us probably.” You hope the explanation suffices because you truly have no idea why Levi had done what he did.

Reiner hums in approval at your answer but he then grins.

“You on first name basis with the Captain?”

Fuck, you called him Levi.

Play it cool.

“Huh? When have I ever said his first name?” Clueless. Your delivery is still perfect.

“Just now.” He fires back, Reiner doesn't seem to be letting up but he doesn't know how smooth of a liar you are.

Living with your father for all those years conditioned you in ways you hadn't even noticed until quite recently.

“Did I? Pardon, I didn’t mean for it to slip out. Sometimes I silently curse him out in my head and forget to add his title.”

Your acting is impeccable, Reiner has no reason to doubt you. As you expect he doesn't instead he shifts the conversation to his hometown, just like you he doesn't explicitly mention a name. Reiner is sharp but he hasn't noticed the way you've left a name out just like him. He's terrible at catching out his own kind.

You decide at that moment that Reiner Braun is a liar. The accusation is more of a hunch meaning more investigation is required.

You won't inform any of the higher ups about it just yet.

The walk back to base is filled with excruciatingly troublesome small talk and you make a mental note to take Mikasa along with you next time it's your turn retrieve the firewood.

You can't afford any more close encounters with Braun or any of his possible accomplices.

Sniggers batter your ears as soon as you step foot onto the grounds, you have a sixth sense when it comes to spiteful bad-mouthing and after the abysmal day you've had you anticipate there will be unpleasant commentary.

"Seen the way Y/N ruined the assault course today?"

"We're the finalized cadets across all the regions of Paradis. That means we have to rely on that embarrassment to fight titans."

"Good Lord, someone have mercy on our souls."

Fellow cadets press on in their criticism thinking you aren't within earshot. That, or they purposefully aim for you to pay attention to the disapproval they have of your presence.

But, you do understand where they're coming from. You make another mental note - practice a bit more later today.

The gossiping isn't anything you're unfamiliar with, your father's palace never offered kindness to you or your existence. In fact it's rather comforting being talked badly about behind your back.

That statement sounds absurd but you can't explain it. Maybe it's due to Levi typically hurling his unnecessary remarks right at you without warning. Then again he does provide everyone with that treatment, even Commander Erwin.

As you hurry away increasing the distance between you and your loud mouthed team members you spot Levi from the corner of your eye. He's in conversation with Hange but you notice how his jaw is clenched in frustration, you feel a pinch over your skin when he spares you a fleeting look. Eyes acquainting yours. Paying  no attention to him you walk away as fast as you can.

The cadets only blow up in volume now, they definitely want you to hear what they have to say.

"Maybe we should ask the higher ups to throw her ou-"

"Questioning authority? Pesky mutineers aren't you?" Levi's booming voice shakes anyone within a five metre vicinity, he comes out of nowhere and seems nothing short of furious.

"You're all," He continues, voice rising, "Incredibly spineless aren't you?"

One of the cadets embellishes their face with a scowl, it doesn't go unnoticed by Levi but he astonishingly doesn't lash out, physically at least. His deathly glare is more than enough to finish the job.

Stupidly you suffer feeling your heart palpitate in your chest watching him talk to the group of three. Stupidly, you're getting your hopes up again.

He scoffs coldly, "If you're all talk why not offer to duel her?"

It doesn't take long for your heart to stop throbbing with its previous intensity. You know it was too good to be true. Levi suddenly defending you that is.

The gesture isn't done to protect or shield you. No, you're sure this man loathes you and is intending to persist on making your life as bleak and dreary as possible.

"Up to a battle Y/N?" The unnamed blonde cadet's scoffs in derision and you find yourself wanting to punch her square in the jaw.

Irritation sears through you but you meekly shake your head mumbling a weak "No thanks.", you're much too afraid to duel anyone just yet and you don't remember her from the training sessions. She must have been in a corner keeping to herself.

With all that being said and done you pathetically withdraw, and just like the past few days you sense Levi's piercing gaze erupting into your soul.

The blistering Sun hits every nook and cranny of the training ground. Waking up early already has you wanting to pass out and the heat isn't any help.

The crowd of cadets mumble in fatigue but observant Mikasa jabs you in the shoulder pointing out how far away Jean has stood from you.

You feel guilty that Jean had to suffer through the humiliation tossed at him yesterday but you are grateful to not deal with his constant questioning and talkative self this early in the morning.

All the way at the other side of the throng of soldiers he stands with Bert, who might you add is a mammoth of a man.

Through some digging (more like asking Mikasa) you've discovered he's close with Reiner and the blonde cadet from yesterday's confrontation, turns out she's the Annie that Reiner warned you off.

"ATTENTION!" Hange sing songs at the front of the training ground. They're jumping around along with Squad Leader Mike checking if everyone's in the correct uniform - Apparently the year prior a cadet showed up wearing a thick cardigan and fainted from heat stroke...

“Today’s exercise is a time to redeem yourself!” Hange’s eyes dart towards you and you smile at one another.

“A FIGHT TO THE DEATH!”

Everyone murmurs looking at each other in pure confusion.

“A fight up against another person. Whoever wins their individual fights will receive extra special privileges." The explanation seems simple enough and you’re confident that if you’re put up against the right people you can make it out safe.

The promise of a reward is also enticing.

The 104th Training Corps are thrilled, there’s nothing too hazardous about the task and it’s nothing difficult to ask for. Even you’re looking forward to it. The chance to rescue your reputation has you pumped up with adrenaline.

“My, my my. Don’t excite yourselves just yet little hens, there’s a pretty little catch.” Hange's voice is laced in mischief. This can't be any good.

Everyone stops breathing in unison and it’s pin drop silent.

“You must cause harm to your opponent in some way. Whether it be making them faint, breaking an arm, breaking a leg. There are no rules when it comes to playing dirty!”

With a playful shrug of their shoulder Hange hops off the podium.

Squad Leader Mike pulls out the list of competitors. He’s decided the line-up on his own and begins the announcement with Bertholdt.

“BERTHOLDT HOOVER..."

Bert turns to look back at Reiner hesitantly and for such a giant it’s adorable how worried he is when everyone else is perturbed thinking about the poor individual who has to go up against him.

"AGAINST Y/N L/N!"

The crowd falls silent and your mouth is wide, this is unjust there’s no way this is allowed.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s kinda unfair?” Krista speaks out for you even though Ymir is by her side trying to talk her out of getting involved.

“She stands no chance against him.” Reiner is supporting your cause too.

Mikasa takes a step forward. “I agree, it’s not right, may I take her place instead?”

“No, no! It’s alright, I’ll go for it.”

Honestly you don’t want the corps to see you as a coward. Bravery and courage is what brought everyone here. Your story is different. You’re here to selfishly save your own life, you aren’t anywhere near as valiant as the rest of them. The very least you can do is partake in activities correctly.

Stepping up to the podium you stand by Bertholdt he gives you a pitiful look whilst he mutters an apology.

Mike continues announcing the names. A few include Jean against Mikasa (Jean may as well forfeit), Marco against Annie and Connie against Reiner - that pairing eases you. At least you aren't in this alone. You and Connie stand no chance against those beasts.

Everyone lines up in their separate areas and again Bertholdt is profusely apologizing asking if you want to fake faint or anything of the sort. You shake your head and promise to give it all you've got.

And then the games begin at the sound of the bell, and damn that Bertholdt because he isn't keeping to his end of the bargain. He lunges forward viciously aiming to crush your entire body but you swiftly dodge, he tries the same approach but when you duck out of the way again he stops knowing he needs to rethinks his strategy.

"Just give it up I'll win either way."

Well, the Mister nice guy act was definitely a believable performance. He was so convincing you even contemplated feigning unconsciousness when he proposed the idea to you.

Bertholdt is much slower than you giving you more time to deliberate your incoming moves. If you can get him to edge close enough to a nearby tree and deceive him into colliding with the oak trunk you should win - only on the condition that he passes out.

The scheme is far-fetched but it's your only hope.

Dashing from various corners he flies after you, each time unable to catch up to you.

That is until you stumble and lurch to the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs and you panic when a large hand clutches at your ankle. Your solution? Booting him right in the teeth.

However with an earth-shattering amount of force Hoover's hold on your ankle doesn't weaken. Instead he tightens his hold like a vice. You feel it bruise and the violet discoloration that'll be present in a few hours makes you wince.

Entire body going limp on command, you stop yourself from breathing - another talent you picked up back at the palace to avoid extra beatings.

When you no longer thrash around Bertholdt stalks in to check in on you and as expected he’s now towering over you, blood overflowing in terror.

"SQUAD LEADER HANGE, CAPTAIN LEVI SHE'S NOT MOVING!" He's roaring for their help frantic and anxious. If he's caused any permanent damage he's as good as dead meat.

"Oh my Lord. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Bertholdt's voice is fractured in unadulterated horror and judging by the direction you hear it at he has to be facing away from you.

Unbolting your eyes you learn your assumption is correct and despite hurried footsteps being within audible range you take your chance by the reigns.

Leaping to your feet and with no forewarning you swing your leg to the back of his neck. Stunned by the surprise attack he falls to his knees and you situate yourself in front of the oak tree you've been eyeing from the time the exercise began.

"You cunning bitch." Staggering back up he makes a swift rebound. At this point all mercy has left him and his one true aim is to completely pulverize you.

Everything is falling into place. All you need to do is wait for the right moment and finally you come across it when he suddenly pounces for you. Darting to the left you leave the space open for your prey.

Poor Bertholdt falls right into the palm of your hands like a rag doll. His momentum can't be controlled and he smashes headfirst into the trunk with a loud crunch sounding out. Bark splits and scrapes off the tree upon impact.

His head has to throb and you don't want to imagine how painful it is to feel the rivulets of soreness.

He doesn't get up and only groans, you feel half bad but after the tricks and antics he pulled you come to the conclusion that it's all deserved.

"Well, Y/N, you've proven yourself to be quite quick witted." Hange's praise is strange to hear but you beam proud that you've proven your worth.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself." Levi orders. "It could have been pure luck."

In spite of Levi's pessimism you bask in the glory of your win.

A week into joining Levi's unit you're becoming more accustomed to the new environment, in fact the gossiping and horrible rumours stop completely after your win and interactions with your fellow comrades feel easier and lighter.

You think the taunts will have only got more relentless after the duel fiasco but you suppose Annie chose to be considerate and take pity on you.

"Your progress has been remarkable so far." You jump when you hear Jean's deep voice appear right next to you.

Looking around to see if any other cadets are around you finally release a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"Ah. Thank you." You murmur quietly.

"I know it's been a week since I was scolded by the Captain but this won't count as flirting will it?"

Impeding the one sided conversation you're reflecting, you're not sure what exactly about. Probably whether or not you should maintain the discussion - if it can even be referred to as such.

Forget it. You know what they say, you only live once.

Flicking his forehead you roll your eyes, "We were never flirting he's just an over dramatic, bitter hag. I put my money on the fact he's never felt the touch of a woman before."

Jean's eyes widen in disbelief, you half expect he'll split open in tremendous laughter but he looks terrified. Then you become conscious of the fact he's not even staring at you, his eyes are engrossed by whatever is behind you.

Unfortunately for you your body tells you all you need to know. His cologne floods into your nostrils, you can't even reassure yourself and pretend it's anyone else, you know he's the only one who smells that strongly of fresh linen.

Being unable to see him doesn't stop you from imagining his dark lifeless eyes accompanying themselves with what is before them.

It doesn't even take Jean a minute to abandon you, he breaks out into an awkward smile, hurriedly pats your shoulder before dashing away, dispersing all the way to the other end of the hallway in a matter of seconds and turning the corner away from you.

Heart rate soaring you hesitantly spin on your heel. Levi's stood there, looking beyond unimpressed.

You intend to breeze past him, cool and collected. You take a step forward but God has never been one to bless you with luck, stumbling and tripping over thin air lands you flying.

Ready for impact you brace yourself but it never comes, instead solid hands are firmly placed at the small of your back steadying your position and your palms have unceremoniously landed atop his torso.

"Play along." Levi's voice is low and rumbling, and you can't look him in the eyes. Not out of fear or dread, more so exhaustion but you muster the energy to look to your left. There Erwin and Hange stand giggling to themselves like children. As quick as you spot them they vanish in the same fashion. It's as if they were never there.

You're worn out and fatigued wanting nothing more than a good night's rest. If there's one thing you haven't grown used to it's the lack of sleep.

"Let go." Moving to shift his hands away from your waist you halt your movements when he without warning lets go of you, not even giving you the opportunity to renovate your balance.

Flying to the ground and landing with a thud you rub your backside at the blow.

Mirthlessly chuckling the lack of amusement is clear in the way he composes himself.

Making a dash for it sounds tempting but you may as well let him have his way. There's no action you can take to avoid him reprimanding you. It's your fault for having the gall to make that crude and foul-mouthed comment in the first place.

You gulp comprehending the situation is even worse now since you really only said it for the sole reason of Kirstein's amusement.

"Y/N, I'd like to have a word with you."

Hesitantly you look up at Levi, he has an indecipherable expression on his face, it's been a while since you've last been left in his company alone.

The two of you are stood in his office, his desk is flooded with papers, they're haphazardly scattered all over the place and spikes of worry weirdly make them self present in your belly. This isn't right. He'd never leave his work space in this state.

"Are you okay?" You ask it because you’re sure he isn't.

His shoulders and spine stiffen. "Cut the crap and keep the formalities to yourself." He chides, most definitely defensive in his stance.

Without asking him you shuffle to his desk stacking the papers into organised piles, most of the documents are related to an up and coming expedition and it's all beginning to add up. Even humanities strongest soldier has moments where he cracks.

Then you notice your name on the formation plan but before you're able to make anything out of it Levi snatches it off his desk and away from you stuffing it into his pocket.

Without another sound he observes you cleaning the rest of the mess away but doesn't ask for you to stop. There's no reason for him to.

If you do this maybe he'll go easier on you, yeah that's what your motivation is. That's not exactly the truth, really you're just concerned about whatever has him worked up.

Placing the last document in its rightful place you want to give your mind a moment to recollect itself but Levi doesn't think the same.

He places his arms on either side of the desk, trapping you with no way out. Oddly, there's nothing threatening about him looking down at you this time, the greys and blues of his iris' captivate you.

"Do you enjoy making a mockery of your husband?" The question is whispered. It's unanticipated and the title of husband is uncharacteristic coming out of his mouth.

"It was just a joke." You mumble your answer under your breath.

"Would you have spouted that shit in front of the rest of the unit?"

Mildly shaking your head he then sighs. He’s not angry, he genuinely seems let down.

"Do you prefer him over me?” You swear you hear the faintest hint of self-doubt.

His questions are getting more out of the ordinary by the second and you’re waiting for him to crack a malevolent grin before he ridicules you like he always does.

“Of course I don’t prefer him over you.”

“Prove it.”

Tilting your head up towards him you have no idea what he wants for you to do or say, why does this suddenly even matter to him?

And then you imagine it happen, him digging his hands into your shoulders. Your weight along with his shifting up against the desk making it creak. Your mind details how he would kiss you agitatedly and you flush thinking about how you would feverishly return the favour.

It seems like your imagination predicts the future. He grips your jaw with his hand, his touch isn’t firm and for once it’s quite soft. Relishing in the new experience as he leans in you secure your eyes shut in expectation.

Stroking your cheek with his thumb the warm sensation that courses through your body is rather pleasant. His hands come out to run against your body, pinching the sides of your waist. The motion makes your heart stall for a second. Involuntarily, you find yourself leaning into him.

“This seem like a man who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman before?”

And just like that he leaves you hanging. You flutter your eyes open and there he is. He’s back, the same cynical man, smirk etched onto his features, his body still parallel to yours.

You find yourself enraged at how he's just lead and dragged you on, you should have stuck with your gut feeling and not given into temptation but you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. It's very obvious who the cat is in this situation.

Brows furrowing you can’t face him ever again after the scalding embarrassment inhabits your abdomen.

"Going to cry, Cadet?" He's pushing all your buttons, eagerly choosing to provoke you.

The frustration you’ve been feeling fills you to the brim and you clamp down on your bottom lip. If you must turn to inflicting harm onto yourself just to muffle the sound of your whimpers you will.

“Did you need to do that?” You choke out your response feeling helpless, still not looking at him.

“Simply gave you a taste of your own medicine.”

Silence.

"Sometimes I wish you killed me back then."

Silver eyes become dark and he visibly flinches at your confession.

Still boxed in-between his arms you attempt to push past but he continues to obstruct the exit. He's not done yet.

"I gave you another chance at life." His blunt one-sided view is about to drive you crazy.

"Within my first day at this unit I had to avoid being attacked by another cadet in the forest if you call that a life I do-"

“Who?”

“Not important."

“If you know what's good for you, you'll spit it out."

For the sole purpose of irking him you heavily shake your head to emphasise your refusal to give in and name the culprit. It's not like you want Reiner to fall into trouble because of you. He hasn't shown any suspicious or out of the ordinary behaviour since then and you worry what Levi is capable of doing when given a reason to hurt someone.

Glancing at him dismissively you try to make your point again. "They haven't done anything since. Therefore, it's of no importance."

Conflicted emotions scurry over his face as he looks at you.

"It's of importance if my wif-" He growls and stops midway. His hands grip onto the desk even harder, knuckles turning white.

Was he about to say, wife?

Levi immediately realizes what he's nearly just said sounds exceedingly questionable. A look of uncertainty flashes over his face and then it seems he loses all regard for self-control. His willpower isn't enough to get him through this situation and he only amplifies.

Encroaching further into the very little space amongst the both of you his tone is icy. "Tell me." He's glowering and for Reiner's wellbeing you decide you should just come out with it now. He'll be in an even more difficult spot if you don't.

"Reiner, it was Reiner." You gasp out the answer, shallow breath ragged. Head turning away to the side you're not particularly sure why you're so shaky and why you feel a tremor flood past you inundating your movement. It may all be a combination of how close he's standing to you and how intoxicatingly strong his aura is.

Or, perhaps it's due to how he nearly referred to you as his wife during his primal outburst of anger.

He turns away. Automatically creating yet another blockade between the two of you.

"You're dismissed."

[omniscientwreck]

To Belong

Alright here’s some hurt/comfort as requested. Canon divergence where Caleb wasn’t able to dispel Gaudius’ hold on Essek. 

One of Lucien’s many eyes looks toward him and everything slows. Warmth seeps in through his pores, sinking in through skin going straight to his head. He hears their call and for a moment he resists but, why would he? 

He’s never belonged. He didn’t belong in Roshona, surrounded by religious zealots blinded by the comfort that comes with trust. Incurious, simple minded fools. He didn’t even belong with the Nein, not really. None of them trust him, he’s been eclipsed by his sins and nothing can break through to them. 

He needs a blank slate, if he is to belong anywhere he has to be able to start over completely. That is what Gaudius offers, a new beginning, no judgement, no proving himself. He doesn’t have to work for their acceptance and love fills his heart. The Somnovum will take him as he is and there’s never anything he’s wanted more.

Everything is clearer now, these people were never in it for him. He drags his hands, beginning to pull at the strands of gravity as Lucien fills his mind with the power he can achieve once he’s one with them. When he joins the city.

The human lifts his hand to cast at him and without even thinking he waves his hand to counter the spell. “Essek no!” The blue tiefling looks horrified, feigning care even now. 

He curls his fingers in, pooling gravity and thrusts his hands forward, centering the darkness on the wizard who’s toyed with him for nearly a year. The effect isn’t immediate but it will pay off, he’s sure and those caught inside, the humans, the clerics, the angel, the halfling will feel it’s effects soon enough. 

The firbolg is the first. He hasn’t taken much damage but this seems to get to him. As Essek’s fingers clench he crumples like paper and Essek squeezes before releasing. He flies as far as he can but it isn’t far enough. More will come. 

Up next, he feels the thief resisting, she’s strong and muscles through but it’s not pretty. Her form stretches briefly as he pulls and stretches with two hands before snapping back into place and he’s sure she cries for the wizard who cannot hear or see her. Something twinges in the back of his mind but Lucien calls out again and he remembers the family waiting for him. 

The monk tries to appeal to him through her newfound abilities, she seems to be able to see through the darkness. She tries her hardest to reach some part of him still foolish enough to turn away from happiness and towards them, he hardly listens. She moves to run out of his grasp but just before she can make it he grabs hold and twists. Her body contorts and he can almost feel her crumble away, but she gains control and she just barely breaks out of his grasp. 

He feels Caleb try to resist but his efforts just aren’t enough. He looks Essek directly in the eyes, and he hears whispers of the wizard’s voice try to get through to him, “You must break free, we need more time”. Essek’s face stretches into a wicked grin at this obvious manipulation tactic (I will show you belonging the way he couldn’t bear to) as he twists his wrist and pulls down, compressing the body in front of him. The wizard nearly leaves his influence but he’ll have another chance to take him down. 

The angel didn’t stand a chance. She can’t resist the pull of his gravity and even if she could scream the monk’s name she wouldn’t be able to see her or save her. As he finishes with her his mind drifts back to memory, spurred by the wizard’s sweet words. We need more time. It will take time. You were not born with venom in your veins. Something snaps in the back of his mind and the Nonagon’s whispers turn to acid in his mind. He can see properly, he drops the spell and turns to Lucien, screaming as he turns on the beast with nine eyes, unleashing a torrent of inky black lightning, hitting him square in the chest. 

-------

The battle is over and by some strange grace they’re all alive. The Nein are both celebrating and consoling each other. In the end they appealed to Molly and, for the second time, he was his own undoing. 

It feels like intruding to be there, he who has done another irrevocable deed. He would leave immediately if he still had the energy but that effort is insurmountable. Caduceus had gotten them back to their own plane and they’re resting in an open field, surrounded by Caleb’s alarm spell, taking turns at watch. None of them are quite ready to be around their loved ones quite yet, needing one more night together as a family before dealing with the gravity of what they’ve accomplished. 

Fjord holds Jester, keeping an eye on the horizon and whispering comfort as she silently cries into his shoulder. Beau and Yasha are curled together trying to sleep, Caleb has Frumpkin around his shoulders and Veth is curled into his side, Caduceus’ legs overlapping with Fjord’s in the tight space. There’s hardly room for Essek to sit in this small circle of sombre camaraderie, and the emotions of his travelling companions are simply too much for him so he stands to put some distance between them. Just for a moment. Just so he doesn’t have to look them in the eyes.

He stands, knees cracking and makes his way out to he open field. Nobody seems disturbed, none of them react and nobody calls after him. In the night air he’s met with stars and silence, the night sky used to comfort him. Now it’s a void he could be swallowed in and with the way he feels right now, he wishes it would. 

His hair is coated with somebody’s blood, his body is battered and bruised and his spirit is shattered. They’d taken him along to help, they’d allowed him such an important opportunity to redeem himself and he’d nearly killed them. He’d made it far easier for Lucien to knock them down, luckily Caduceus and Jester had been focused and able to heal quickly enough. He’d ended up being a burden and once again a traitor. 

“Essek.” He hears his name, a warning so he isn’t startled. Caleb’s voice drifts on the breeze, “Are you alright?” 

He sighs, letting his head fall and squeezing his eyes shut. “No.”

“Let’s sit.” 

He obliges, silent, waiting for Caleb to set the tone. 

“You need to know we do not blame you for what happened. Yasha turned too, these things are not our fault.” 

He can’t bare to look over but he does anyway. Caleb’s eyes shine with worry, furrowed brow pulling creases into his forehead. “It could have turned out so badly Caleb. That magic, it’s made to kill. You are all very lucky for your ability to escape and my comparative lack of experience in battle. I could have turned you to dust.” 

Caleb sighs, “Guilt over hypotheticals is a waste of your time and energy. You could have, but you didn’t. We’re all still here, and we wouldn’t be without you. Don’t let yourself fall into the trap of comfortable self-loathing, you’ll waste years.” 

“You couldn’t understand Caleb, I was convinced. I didn’t even want to resist. It was only-” he pauses on the brink of the confession and decides to throw caution to the wind, “It was only you that brought me back. My mind wasn’t my own, I was imprisoned and lied to and I was stupid enough to believe it.” 

“I understand more than you know.” He looks instantly older, Essek has frequently wondered what Trent had done to Caleb to take such a bright and excellent man with so much kindness in his heart, and turn him hard. “I have been deceived, lied to, it lead to my worst moments. I’ve told you we are not so different and it’s clearer now more than ever. If there is redemption for me, as I’ve been assured many times there will be, you will find yours.” 

Essek shakes his head, “It would have been nobler for me to die for the world than to continue this pathetic existence. It would have been a just end, poetic and balanced. Now there’s so much unresolved I don’t know where to start or where to go.” 

Caleb’s hand covers his on the grass, “Well, we can start by researching, it’s what we do best. Everyone else has someone to go to, family to see, something to go back to. I only have forward momentum, more to learn and see. You could join me, we can go back to Aeor and see what comes.” 

Essek nods, “I do not deserve that but because I am a selfish creature I accept your offer.” 

Caleb squeezes his hand and he looks up again, into his eyes, “It does not matter what you think you deserve. You are not the decider of what I offer you.” He has a fierce look about him, he may have hit a nerve, “Trust that I know what I want and when I say I want you with me it’s not out of pity or some savior complex. Let me offer you this and quell any self-pity or doubt. I’m not obligated to like you or want to be around you, but I do because I like you Essek. I think it should be plain by now that I like you a great deal and I hope that you will come along with me, to see where this leads us.” 

Despite himself, Essek turns his hand over under Caleb’s and tentatively laces their fingers together. He’s seen him do similar things with the Nein and when Caleb doesn’t flinch he relaxes a bit. “I will trust you in this. I am also quite fond of you. Thank-you, for your words. For your trust. One day I hope to feel worthy of such a gift.” 

Caleb squeezes his hand and leads him back to the tent where they sit side by side wordlessly before falling asleep, still holding hands.

[agerefandom]

The TARDIS Playroom

Fandom: Doctor Who

Characters: Regressor!Thirteenth Doctor, Graham O’Brien

Words: 2,000

Summary: The TARDIS has had a playroom for a long time, and The Doctor doesn’t spend enough time in there. One day, while she’s regressing, Graham wanders into the TARDIS and finds her playing.

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of, aside from the accidental regression reveal! Little bit of baby talk around a pacifier near the end. Also, I didn’t bother to correct all my Canadianisms in this fic (ie. ‘pacifier’ instead of ‘dummy’), apologies if that bothers anyone!

for @andromedaspace​

It wasn’t often that The Doctor took a day off. There was always something interesting to do, somewhere to be, sometime that needed help getting back on track. But occasionally there was a lull: companions visiting families, no emergency broadcasts screeching through the TARDIS, just the hum of the ship and countless miles of corridors stretching into paradox space.

And then, maybe, if things had been busy lately, and there were injuries to nurse, and too many close calls… The Doctor would rest.

From the console room, the sounds of a Sheffield street could be heard through the front doors. Those doors were locked, the TARDIS tucked away into a little alcove between two fences down the street from Graham and Ryan’s house. Further into the TARDIS, music could be heard: an upbeat France Gall song. Hard to place the music in the twisting, impossible hallways of the TARDIS, but not impossible. Down a flight of stairs, and turning to the left, an open door revealed The Doctor’s current whereabouts.

Most of the TARDIS was warmly lit, crystals growing up the walls and in the centre of larger rooms. This room was no exception, stalactites hanging from the ceiling and providing a golden glow, but the floor wasn’t grated metal like the rest of the TARDIS. Here, the floor was covered in carpets, messily tossed over each other, and pillows and blankets on top of that, giving the room an appearance of a large and badly constructed bed.

The Doctor sat in the middle of the chaos, happily sucking on her pacifier. She’d chosen a new one after her most recent regeneration, blue and patterned with yellow jewels that sparkled in the crystal lights above her. A series of stuffed creatures were spread around her, some of the bigger ones leaning against the walls, and two of her favourites currently chatting in her lap, held up by her hands.

The policies of the N’ga’shto are more complicated than you’re making them seem! the blue Knashta was saying.

You’re being deliberately obtuse, his companion responded, a plush puppy The Doctor had picked up in Munich in 2032. The great Ish’ka is clearly a figurehead, and cannot be held responsible for the actions of his parliament.

The Doctor tilted her head back and forth between the two stuffies, making them bobble their heads as they argued. The act of playing pretend wasn’t something that had been practiced on Gallifrey, but the school-children were encouraged to debate foreign policy and challenge each other’s ability to recall the elders’ teachings. She enjoyed merging the two activities, watching her soft friends argue about things that mattered. If things got too intense or she got stuck, everything could be solved with a big hug and a nap. That was how playtime worked.

Sure enough, both the Knashta and unusually smart puppy were distracted when the next song came on, and started to dance, their soft legs tossing back and forth as The Doctor made them dance together. She laughed, her pacifier muffling the sound, and rolled onto her back, holding her plushies close. The puppy’s fur tickled her neck, and she pushed him off with a reproachful glance. The Doctor did not like to be tickled.

Well… did she? She certainly hadn’t, in most of her regenerations, but she didn’t think anyone had tried yet. Yasmin and Ryan would occasionally get into spats, trying to poke each other’s sides, but they never went after Graham or The Doctor. She would have to find some way to figure that out!

The Doctor ran her fingers down her sides, but it didn’t feel very ticklish when she did it. Sighing, she rolled over on top of her Knashta plush and rested her forehead on the carpeted floor. This was one of her favourites in the room, a rich oriental pattern that was so very soft to lie on. She ran her hands over the fabric, humming happily, and then pushed herself back to sitting.

It was while The Doctor was pushing herself up that she finally saw Graham standing in the hallway, hand raised as if to knock on the open door.

Her mouth opened in surprise and her pacifier fell out, landing on one of the pillows under her knees. She clutched her Knashta to her chest, automatically defensive. There was no reason to be scared, she knew, not of Graham, but this was her secret room, and he wasn’t supposed to see all this!

Oh, but she had been stupid, not asking the TARDIS to let her know if one of her companions used their key to come for a visit.

“I can go if it’s a bad time?” Graham said, finally lowering his hand from where it had been hovering by the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you, Doc. I texted a while ago and you didn’t get back to me.”

The Doctor had left her phone in the pocket of her normal clothes, which she didn’t wear at playtime. All at once, she was very aware of her bare knees. She loved her shorts and all of their many pockets, but they weren’t for people-time, they were for playtime! She tugged a pillow out of the pile and pushed it against her knees, frowning in Graham’s direction.

Then she felt bad for being rude: Graham hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. She was the one who hadn’t texted back.

“Ah, sorry,” she managed, gesturing for the TARDIS to turn the music off. “Don’t have my phone with me. Was it… important?” The Doctor tilted her head to the side.

“Not in the least,” Graham chuckled. “I was just wondering if you wanted to come for dinner, that’s all. Going to flex my cooking muscles, make some stir fry. Very impressive stuff.”

“Mmm.” The Doctor nodded, making her lips smile.

“Listen, I really am sorry for coming in without shouting first.” Graham pushed his hands into his pockets, looking guilty. “TARDIS has started to feel a little too much like home, but it’s your ship. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, no!” Oh, she’d made everything bad and now Graham would feel uncomfortable and he wouldn’t want to come and visit her anymore. “I, you can come anywhere! The TARDIS is your home! This room isn’t just for me, it’s nice for sleepovers, and… I can share?” The Doctor held her stuffie out in front of her, trying not to look too worried.

“That’s a nice gesture, Doc. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course! No shoes.” The Doctor sat back on her heels and watched Graham toe off his boots, stepping onto the soft patchwork surface of the carpets. He was looking around, and The Doctor followed his gaze: mismatched pillows, piles of soft bedding, stuffed animals bigger than she could wrap her arms around, all scattered across the space. Did Graham think it was weird?

“Do you hate it?” she heard herself ask. She never did have a very good brain to mouth filter.

“Hate it?” Graham seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “No, kiddo, it looks super cozy. How often do you spend time here?”

The Doctor attempted to untangle timelines in her mind, straighten them out along human measurements.

“Every few months?” she guessed, rubbing the Knashta’s head between its many button eyes. “Not a lot.”

“That’s a crying shame.” Graham folded himself into a sitting position in front of her, hands on his knees. “Space like this deserves lots of time. Look at all these blankets!” He looked at her for permission as he reached out, and The Doctor liked that. She gave him a nod, and he tugged one of the fuzzy blankets onto his lap. “There, now I feel cozy.” He tucked it in around his knees and toes, and settled down with a sigh. “Who’s your friend?”

“They’re a Knashta,” The Doctor said, fighting down a silly wave of shyness as she held her friend out for Graham to see. “They’re a rebel and they don’t like big leaders, but they lack revolutionary nuance.”

“And do they have a name?”

The Doctor shook her head. She didn’t name most of her stuffies because remembering all those names would take a lot of memory space, and she preferred to remember the names of all the real people she saw from day to day.

“Hmmm, would you mind if I gave them a name?” Graham asked, running a hand over his stubbly cheeks as he smiled. The Doctor knew that Graham only did that when he was really happy, and usually when he was outside in the sun. It was nice that he was doing it here, with her, in the crystal-lit playroom of the TARDIS.

“You can give them a name if you want.” The Doctor’s shoulders were starting to hurt from holding up the plushie, but she would hold them up until they received a name. Names were important, so Graham needed to look closely.

“Well, let’s think for a moment.” Graham rubbed his chin, pushed his eyebrows together, and pursed his lips. The Doctor fought down a laugh at his exaggerated thinking expression. “I’ve got it! They look like a Greg.”

“Greg?” The Doctor said dubiously, looking at the Knashta. Knashtar usually had much longer names, but sometimes they took shorter nicknames when visiting other planets. It could be short for Gr’egtha’shvantanos, which was a proper Knashta name.

“Undoubtedly.” Graham smacked his hands against his knees. “I’d know a Greg anywhere.”

The Doctor brought Greg back to her chest, hugging them firmly. Their eyes pressed against the bottom of her chin, but that was alright. No one said love was easy. “I love Greg.”

“They love you too,” Graham said.

“Do they?” The Doctor wasn’t sure why the question slipped out of her. All of her friends in the playroom loved her, and she loved them. That was what plushies were for, loving and being loved. Soft and simple and comforting.

“There’s not a person who can get a hug from you and not love you, Doc. Take my word on it.”

The Doctor hid her smile behind her newly named Greg, glancing up to see Graham with a matching grin.

“You dropped this, by the way.” Graham hooked a finger through the handle of her pacifier and brought it up. “Yours, kiddo?”

The Doctor nodded reluctantly. She had been hoping Graham hadn’t seen it, but he clearly had. That was one of the things that wasn’t a people-time thing. Even if it was very comforting and helped her think, even when she was big.

“Here you go.” Graham offered it to her and The Doctor opened her mouth automatically. Graham blinked: oh, he’d wanted to hand it to her. Before The Doctor could correct her mistake, he reached forward and popped the dummy into her mouth. She hummed, relaxing with the familiar pressure on her tongue.

“T’nk y’u,” she said around the pacifier.

“Not a problem,” Graham said, and patted her on the head. Oh, that was nice… she had so missed people touching her hair. Almost before she knew what she was doing, she chased the touch, pressing into Graham’s hand. “Oh! Hello.” Graham chuckled, but willingly scratching his fingers through her hair, all the way to the back of her scalp.

The Doctor melted, her head coming to rest on Graham’s knee, with Greg the Knashta held close against her. They were her new favourite. But also, Graham was her new favourite, as long as he kept petting her head.

“Well. You’re over here now,” he said, and moved a piece of her hair out of her face. “Big flop, Doc. Thinking about a nap?”

“M’ybe,” The Doctor sighed, closing her eyes as Graham started to comb his fingers through her hair again.

“I’ve gotta be home at six to start dinner, but there’s plenty of time for a nap before then. I’ll stay here with you.”

“L’v y’u,” The Doctor said, the world already getting softer around her. She could feel Graham’s affection and comfort radiating from his hands. Thanks to the physical contact, she was receiving vague thoughts and impressions, so she heard Graham’s response before he said it out loud.

“Love you too, kiddo. Sleep well.”

[sansacherie]

First Kiss

I.

The Third Month of The Year 298

“You look lovely, Rhaenys.” Aegon smiles at her as Rhaenys enters the Hall of Lamps, accompanied by her three bridesmaids and their escort of guards.

“Only lovely?” Rhaenys wrinkles her nose. “You disappoint me terribly, Aegon. You should not describe a bride as anything less than exquisite. At least, that is what my bridesmaids tell me.”

Arianne winks at her while Sansa and Daenerys giggle. In the Faith, it is often the custom for a bride such as Rhaenys to choose three bridesmaids to honour three of the seven gods- the Maiden who bring bless the marriage with lasting love, the Mother with children, and the Crone with wisdom to survive the years together. Rhaenys had agonized over who to pick among her ladies, not wanting to cause hurt, but thankfully her mother had guided her into selecting Arianne, Daenerys, and Sansa. No one can fault her for choosing family, or soon to be family in Sansa’s case, Elia reasoned.

“Your sister is playing with you, Your Grace.” Arianne drawled. He does. Aegon laughs and offers Rhaenys his arms, before lowering his voice. “You look beautiful as always, Nee-Nee. I suppose I’m just used to it.” Rhaenys smiles sadly at this resurrection of his babyhood nickname for her.

Rhaenys does feel beautiful, however. Of course, although she is not vain enough to deem herself the Maiden’s rival, she also does not find any value in lying to herself when she sees her reflection.

But this is different. The dressmakers have done well, truly. Rhaenys’ gown is a glory, a creation of red silk with long flowing sleeves that felt inviting as sin when she was helped into it earlier. Her bodice glimmers with golden thread. Resting on her black curls is a golden diadem with red rubies and an inscription in Rhoynese at the bottom.

On her wedding cloak, is a dragon whose open mouth reveals no crackling flames but instead a large golden sun that overwhelms the creature in size. The other dress that Rhaenys will change into for today is also just as beautiful, with Sansa gasping in delight upon seeing it. Although it is not demanded, it is not unusual for a bride to wear a gown favouring her new husband’s colours at their reception as if their vows were not enough to demonstrate that she was now his. But Rhaenys has no wish to offend her river lord or make him feel uncertain, so her gown is silver satin and sleeves consisting of myrish lace. Adorning the outfit is a belt made of deep red velvet with blue sapphires.

Aegon signals that they are ready, and from inside the sept proper music begins to play. Arianne lifts up Rhaenys’ cloak from the ground, while Sansa and Daenerys pick up the hems of the gown; the former looking painfully excited while Dany almost looks as nervous as Rhaenys feels.

Arianne nods at her and proudly smiles at Rhaenys in the way that Aegon did, and Rhaenys wills herself to breathe.

As a princess born, her entire life was the realm’s, shaped and nurtured with it in mind. It was the offering demanded for her birth and rank being predetermined by the Seven. It was a truth familiar to Rhaenys as a favoured story might be for a child who delights still in its thousand telling.

However, unlike that small child, Rhaenys could never be allowed to want other stories. Rhaenys is not friendless in this either, she remembers.

Her life belonged to the seven kingdoms, and so it appeared, did her first kiss.

Their kiss does not make Rhaenys forget to stand, or forget the crowd that had gathered in the royal sept to witness Lord Edmure Tully take her for his lady wife.

The number of guests is not as many as the wedding of Aegon to Lady- Queen Cassandra Baratheon, but Rhaenys’ wedding is still the first of a blood princess since that of her paternal grandmother forty years ago. Their noses bump, and his beard tickles Rhaenys chin. Nobody dares laugh to break the spell of the solemnity of the occasion, but Edmure reddens all the same.

When they turn to face the cheering crowd, Rhaenys cannot squeeze his hand- there will be a hundred times during the wedding there will be time for contact, but she gives him a bright smile, to put him at ease. “My lord, I must confess. You’ve rather exceeded the expectations of a maiden’s first kiss.”

Edmure’s eyes widen, then his generous mouth curves into a boyish grin. There is a kindness in it, and Rhaenys’ heart twists suddenly. Did her father smile at her mother on their wedding day? Despite the betrayals that he rained down on her, did he at least do that?

There is no way of knowing. Rhaenys cannot ask her father this, or a thousand other questions since she was old enough to understand how the crown prince almost brought them all to ruin. She does not want to dig up the past for her mother, who now basked in the warm present; with her adoring husband. Elia Martell paid Rhaegar Targaryen little attention in death, just as he paid her little respect and dignity in life.

II.

The Third Month of The Year

Two weeks pass before they enjoy their first misunderstanding.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Edmure asks her, in Rhaenys’ bedchamber.  They have been given adjoining rooms here in the castle.  They will not leave the Red Keep until the end of the month.  Rhaenys is glad of it.  She is not afraid to leave, but she is not necessarily anxious to either.

Rhaenys shakes her head, her sketchbook lying forgotten in her lap.  “Of course not, my lord.”

Edmure frowns.  “In public, whenever I try to kiss you, or take your hand- it’s almost as if I am some stranger and not your husband.  You look uncomfortable.”

Rhaenys feels a flush of shame. She’d not meant to sail down this river.  However, she smiles at him.  “Give me your trust in this, Edmure.”  Edmure’s eyes widen.  Until now Rhaenys has called him Lord Edmure or my lord, while he has alternated between Princess Rhaenys or my lady, or my princess, for Rhaenys will be a princess long after she is Lady of Riverrun.  “If you were a stranger kissing the king’s sister, you would know it.”

“That still does not answer my question.”  It is almost an accusation.

That still does not answer my question.”

Rhaenys sighs.  She must be truthful with him. “It is not because of you, I promise.  It is because of me, and well- Lord Tywin.”

“Lord Tywin?” Edmure echoes her, like the sound of the ocean in one of the seashells that could be found along the beach of Dragonstone.  Then he looks a little ill.  “You mean to tell me that you love Tywin Lannister?” Edmure splutters.

Rhaenys cannot help but laugh; the notion is so ridiculous.   Love is wasted on a man like that.

“No, my lord.”  Rhaenys says gently. “It is because I cannot forget who I am, and who Tywin is.  Or Mace Tyrell. You know the line of succession to the Crown, I trust.  I am my brother’s heir, after any children he might have.  My sons will inherit first over any sons that Viserys might give his Cersei.  May the Seven permit that we have a future where Aegon lives long and has many children.  I want that for him.  But you and I are not foolish to think that Tywin is equally satisfied.

So, I have always been- careful. Careful with my behaviour, with how I am perceived.  I told you that you were my first kiss. I- I had no wish to give Tywin palace gossip that he could use to his advantage.”

Edmure crinkles his forehead.  “Surely nobody would think badly of a child for having kissing games.  Cat and Lysa-,”

Rhaenys now tosses her sketchbook aside. “Forgive me my lord, but your sisters’ experience cannot be compared to mine.  Their mother is not Dornish.”

Edmure looks lost.  “What has that got to do with this?”

“Everything.”  Rhaenys hisses, standing up now.

“People will take innocent kisses and think it proof of a Dornish woman’s wanton ways, as if there isn’t plenty in the Reach or Westerlands who were no maidens when they were married! Or men who have a dozen mistresses!  I know the rumours of Ashara Dayne, my mother’s lost friend.  Everyone assumes that Ashara slept with Brandon Stark, but she never did! She was younger than me when she died, and yet people simply assume that she gave him anything more than a smile.  And Dany-,” Rhaenys wipes away her tears.  “We were only children at the time. I don’t think Dany was any older than five.       We were calling each other stupid things as children do, and my mother had entered the room when Dany called me a Dornish slut.  To this day, I still don’t know where the hell she got that from.   And the look on my mother’s face-,” Rhaenys stares at the floor.  “My darling grandfather called her that, a few times.”

“So, because of this, I have always been careful. My mother has taught me so.  Since I was a maiden flowered, being alone is not something I am used to.  There has always been either my family or my ladies or my guards.  I will not let myself be vulnerable to any rumours that would paint me unsuitable to be a queen; rumours that the lion and rose will try to use for their own ends.”   Rhaenys is surprised by the vehemence in her voice.

She takes a deep breath, before continuing. “Secondly, it is just my nature. I appreciate that you are my husband, but I have never been comfortable with physical affection in public, specifically hugs and kisses.  I endure it for proprietary’s sake.  If truth be told, I am not entirely fond of being embraced.”

Edmure’s forehead creases.  “Even your own kin?”

“No, that’s different.”  Rhaenys corrects him.  “My family is close to me.  My ladies are close to me, so I obviously did not mind when we slept in the same bed, our legs tangled together like branches or held their hands as we danced or played games.   And you and I will become close too, I hope.”  She adds, shyly.

Edmure nods.  “Thank you Rhaenys, for telling me this. I will keep that in mind.”  Rhaenys’ smiles at the use of her name.

He grins.  “Speaking of kisses has made me want to kiss you still, however.   So – may I kiss you?” He asks tentatively. His voice makes Rhaenys remember their wedding night, and how he asked her the same thing in the dark.  Their first coupling was well- it was nice, she supposes.  She does not have anything to score it by.  Still afterwards, she had slipped a hand between her legs, for there was nothing in scripture that forbade such things.  

But a kiss is different.  She nods, and Edmure gingerly brushes a curl from her face. “I hope we have a girl with hair like yours.”

His kiss is long and sweet; as sweet as the smell of rain after a month’s drought.

III.

The Sixth Month of The Year 298

“Rhaenys?”

Edmure’s worried face is illuminated in the candlelight, as he sits down on the bed beside her.  Rhaenys is clutching her knees, her eyes downcast.

They have not yet reached Riverrun, thanks to the river lords who insisted on guesting them for a few days.   Stars have risen in the sky for the third time here at Stone Hedge.   No doubt the Brackens insisted on the third night to beat the Blackwood’s two.  “By the time you do reach Riverrun, you’ll need a new wardrobe.”  Desmera Redwyne had predicted, giggling.

There had been no giggling when Desmera had gone to fetch Edmure after Rhaenys had bolted up in bed, tears streaming down her face.

“Desmera need not have woken you.”  Rhaenys mumbled.

“I’m not sorry she did.”  Edmure counters.   “My lady, you are trembling.”

Rhaenys fiddled with the end of her braid.  “It was a bad dream, that’s all.”

For a heartbeat, silence rested between them.  Then, Edmure spoke.  “When I was a boy, my sister Catelyn once told me that you always feel better after talking about a bad dream.”

Well, what has she got to lose then?  He will not leave her.  “It’s a dream I’ve had before.”  She confesses softly.  “I’ve had it on and off since I was twelve or thirteen.  In it, I’m trying to get away.  But I can never far enough.  They-They never change how they kill me.  With a knife.”

Edmure sucks in his breath.  “Rhaenys-,”

Rhaenys bites her lip.   “And the strange thing is, I’m never the age that I am.  In it, I wasn’t eight-and-ten.  Instead, I’m a little girl.  I might be four, I think.”   Tears well in her eyes.  “Tell me, what chance does a girl of four have against a man who wants to kill her?”

“Very little, I would judge.” Edmure softly replies.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed you to tell me.”

“No.” Rhaenys corrects him.  “Don’t be sorry.  I-I do feel a little better now, as you predicted.”  It is not a lie.   She has never spoken about the dream to anyone else, before.  

It feels freeing.

She turns and wraps her arms around Edmure, kissing him.  This kiss feels different somehow.  It is not as though she hasn’t been vulnerable with Lord Edmure before.  She gave her maidenhood to him.  She will feel a little vulnerable in Riverrun she thinks, until she can gain the respect of Edmure’s household.

But this kiss – it is a comfort.  Of course, Rhaenys has been comforted before.  But the solace of a mother or brother is different from that of a husband.  This- the feeling of his lips against hers- is like being told a secret.  But it’s not a secret designed to hurt.  It’s not one where the longer it is kept hidden from the open, the worse the fallout is.  

Instead, it is like being given something small, fragile.  That is a precious thing, Rhaenys concludes.  It is a precious thing to be given such trust.

IV.

The Eighth Month of the Year 298

“I’ve had a thought,”  Edmure says, as Rhaenys massages his aching shoulders; courtesy of his sparring session.

Rhaenys had enjoyed watching that, very much.

“Oh?”  Rhaenys smirks.  Removing her hands from his shoulders, she cocks her head at him.  “Is that unusual for you, my lord?”

To her husband’s credit, he only grins at her.  Other men like Stannis Baratheon or Tywin Lannister were not so kind to such silly little japes.  

“I was thinking that perhaps we could write to some of our vassals’ families and ask for some girls.  For you, I mean.  I know you’ve brought some from Kingslanding.  But the Riverlands can’t be their home forever, while you- I think it would be good for you.  Not that I don’t think you’re not doing well in your duties so far.”  He adds quickly.

Rhaenys smiles warmly.  “That is a wonderful idea.  We should ask Maester Vyman for his counsel on who to choose.  Three seems a good number, I feel. In time, perhaps we can ask for some wards.  Companions for any younger sons or daughters we may have."

Edmure answers her with a kiss to the neck.   Rhaenys gasps. He has never kissed her there before.   Always on the lips or cheek.

She loves it.

“I hope we have a girl with hair like yours, my lady.”

Somehow, she knows that it will not be a wasteful thing to hope in this marriage.

[cant-think-of-anything]

Pirate AU (Part Eight)

They stayed at Carstairs’ ship that night. The storm was still raging, a vicious reminder of what they had lost. Eugenia wasn’t close with Cordelia but she could recognize the change in her. Anger seemed to run just under her skin as she paced the length of what served as the living room.

“We must get him back. Immediately.” 

Lucie stood and took her hand gently. She whispered something Eugenia couldn’t hear but some of the tension went out of Cordelia’s shoulders.

“How are we going to find him?” Thomas asked from his corner of the room.

Eugenia saw the shift in Thomas too. He could act quite recklessly when people he cared about were in danger and if the way he looked at Alastair was any indication, he did care quite a lot.

“I’m not sure. They have to be expecting us by now. I’m not sure what they’re going to do with-”

Cordelia’s voice broke off, tears sparkling in her eyes. In the brief silence Eugenia heard a soft thud outside. It could’ve been the storm, but something pushed her to stand. Murmuring that she would be back, Eugenia stepped into the rain, ducking under into the passageway. 

“Kamala,” She muttered.

And indeed their enemy ships navigator stood before her, looking at her uncertainty. 

“We’re doing this once more?” Eugenia asked, waving her hand to gesture to their situation. “Shouldn’t you be with the friend of mine you took?

“I told you that I would only spare you,” Kamala whispered, and Eugenia’s heart took a traitorous lurch. There was a long pause before she added; “Your friend is on the last floor of the ship. But Tatiana doesn’t plan to keep him there. Do not try to come and rescue him.”

“Where is she taking him? Why shouldn’t we go?”

Kamala shook her head making a frustrated sound. “I am sorry. I don’t know what she’s planning beyond that but if you go she will kill you. I…”

She stopped again, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I will try to help you as much as I can but not if you plan something that ends in your harm.”

Eugenia took a hesitant step closer. “Why are you helping us?”

“I’m helping you.”

Their faces were closer now and Eugenia could feel the small amount of warmth coming off of her in the rainy winds. Kamala slowly brought her hand up to Eugenia’s hair, pushing a stray curl away. She didn’t take her hand away. 

“Why do you want to help me then?” Eugenia breathed, afraid that if she spoke too loud Kamala would pull away. 

Kamala smiled a little then, her lovely dark eyes shimmering with something Eugenia couldn’t place. Then she moved closer still. “Eugenia may I-” 

Eugenia answered the question before she finished, pressing her lips gently against Kamala’s. She was fairly certain her brain melted, warm sparks lighting up her cold rain soaked skin. They broke apart and Kamala’s perfect lips twisted into a smile. 

“I certainly have my reasons for helping.” She said softly. 

She turned to the ladder and stopped again. Reaching into her coat she pulled out Eugenia’s longsword. Eugenia let out a soft noise of disbelief, trying to calm her heart.

“Be safe for me Eugenia.”

~~~

All Alastair could feel was panic. It seemed like the only thing that his mind could process. He was sitting in one of the cramped cells stacked near the wall as if there was any way he’d be able to escape even outside the cell. Mercifully they’d left his jacket on, the dreary weather cut through the wood as if it wasn't there. But he couldn’t focus on that. The room was dark and his hands were bound, if he closed his eyes his mind would take him to a different ship.

The Carstairs ship never housed traditional pirate swords and there was a reason for it. His father left a world of problems for him before his death, one of them being money. Alastair had to pay that price, he refused to let his mother or sister do it, and pirates had no legal or moral constraints when it came to revenge. If you couldn’t pay in money you’d pay in blood.

Memories rushed up before he could stop them, the deep cuts on his back and chest that he couldn’t feel because his body tried to protect him, the burn of the ropes binding him across his wrists, the dank smell of the prison he was held in. He remembered the way he had escaped that ship too. He’d lied to Cordelia, saying they were docked at a small village because of a job when in reality he was suffering for the actions of his father. So he snuck back into their own ship at night when she was asleep.

The next morning he faked sick, twisting in agony as the pain of his cuts finally sank in with nothing to block the unbearable burn. Cordelia still didn’t know the full extent, but Alastair knew she had her suspicions. It had happened a few years ago, a crew whose name Alastair’s mind had blocked out but he remembered their faces. 

He forced his eyes open with a shudder, there was a slashed piece of fabric on the floor, a piece of a dress. His brain anchored to it, reminding him of where he was. There was a sudden groan of wood, and when Alastair looked up he saw the hole in the ceiling again, watched in faint interest a rope dropped down. 

It was the silver haired girl. Grace Blackthorn.

He pushed himself up onto his feet, if he died so be it but he’d be damned if he died on the floor like a coward. She approached his cage and regarded him, a closed-off expression that he recognized. It was the same one he wore on his own face so often. 

“My mother isn’t going to keep you. She wishes to put you at the mercy of the London government instead.”

Alastair arched an eyebrow. “Why? She wanted leverage, she has me now. Did she not want us dead?”

“She wants the Herondales dead. You interfered but she thinks killing you will cause a bigger outrage.”

In some ways it was smart. If Tatiana had killed him, Cordelia would have moved mountains to make sure her throat was slit. Leaving him to be imprisoned… it created a distraction and a shift in blame. 

He said none of this. Instead he gestured to the locked bars. “Are you going to let me out then?” 

Grace shook her head. “Not yet.” She handed him a glass of water.

Reaching out warily he took it, smelled the faint aroma of cinnamon. “This is drugged.”

A scowl. “Drink it. Either that or rot here while your sister tries to rescue you and gets killed while doing it.” 

Alastair fought the urge to flinch and downed the cup.

~~~

Lucie gently stroked through Cordelia’s dark red hair, the taller girl had her head in her hands, rocking with her eyes closed.

Eugenia and Thomas were in the room, sitting near the fire as they talked. Lucie wondered about the slightly dazed expression on Eugenia’s face before her mind was snapped back to Cordelia. 

“Lucie,” She whispered. Lucie looked at her dark eyes, smoky quartz surrounding the color of the night. If she wasn't rubbish at poetry she would've written for ages about that color. She already had inserted quite a few lines about it into one of her novels.

“Yes?” Lucie managed to respond.

“Thank you for staying. You didn’t-” 

“I did. Do not thank me. Whoever hurts you Cordelia, I will hurt them back.”

Cordelia looked surprised by the outburst of violence, Lucie felt rather startled herself. Cordelia opened her mouth to say something but she was cut off by Eugenia hurrying towards them, a worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lucie said, quickly standing up. 

“Alastair…” Eugenia started, glancing down at a letter in her hands and back up at them. “He’s in jail.” 

“He’s where?” Cordelia asked her face furrowed in confusion.

“Jail. Like prison.”

“How did you know?”

Eugenia flushed though it could have been from the warmth of the room. “A letter. Probably from the Fairchilds. What do we do?”

“Cordelia,” Lucie said softly, tugging on her sleeve. “I know you want to save Alastair, we all do, but it will be better if one of us goes. The Fairchilds know us and we have a better excuse for being caught there.”

Cordelia’s expression shuttered a bit but she nodded, recovering quickly. “We can’t break him out now. If we do we risk making our entire family a target and if they start digging deeper into our history the fake identities will fall apart.” As if she was talking to only herself she added “He wouldn’t want me to put our mother in danger.”

Lucie felt distance surprise, she rarely heard about the elder Ms. Carstairs. From what she gathered, she was away, sick or something of that sort. 

Cordelia gestured to Thomas, who had looked tense as a bowstring ever since Alastair’s abduction. 

“You’re friends with Mr. Fairchild aren’t you?”

Thomas looked a bit startled. “Yes?”

“Could you go? Talk to Alastair and make sure he's okay?”

He nodded slowly and approached the girls. “Do you want me to tell him anything else?” His voice was low, meant for Cordelia’s ears only. Lucie tried to focus on the rain pounding outside or the crackling fire but she still heard when Cordelia responded “Just tell him I love him.” 

~~~

Thomas didn’t know what he was doing. It felt strange, sneaking around the place that Matthew’s parents worked as if he was a criminal. He supposed he was given recent events. In complete honesty he felt relieved. He wanted so badly to help Alastair, even before he’d been taken. But the possibility of him dying was unbearable. Logically Thomas knew that he didn’t know much about Alastair, but he wanted to. 

The room was dark, everyone but the prisoners were gone. Thomas managed to find his way into the cell room. It was nearly empty, there were only three cells and they served as a temporary housing. He approached the only one that was inhabited, pulling the keys from a hook near the door. 

“Alastair,” Thomas hissed, barely able to see the smaller man.

The figure shifted and rose, making Thomas belatedly realize that he had been asleep. 

“Thomas?” Alastair muttered, his face finally coming into the moonlight

He felt a knot of tension release when he saw that Alastair was mostly unharmed. Sliding the key into the lock he started to pull the door open but Alastair stopped him.

“You cannot.”

“I know,” He responded, still swinging the door open. Alastair regarded him with surprised eyes as he stepped into the cell propping the door open with one foot. Thomas’s gaze fell on Alastair’s arm. 

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around the other boy’s slim forearm, pulling him a little closer.

“It’ll be fine. It’ll scar over.” Alastair’s voice hitched on the word “scar”. When Thomas looked up he could see that his black pupils were dilated in the light of the moon. “You should leave before you get caught.”

Thomas nodded faintly before stepping back, his hands still tingling from where their skin made contact. He winced slightly as the door fell back into place and locked. 

“We won’t leave you, Alastair.” He managed before turning back to leave the way he came in. And if Alastair whispered a response long after he left, Thomas wouldn’t know. 

~~~

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood (lmk if you want to be added)

[spencers-renaissance]

Trees and Seas Have Flown Away, I Call it Loving You

Summary: Derek says something hurtful, but it happens to lead to just about the best thing that's ever happened to Spencer.

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, making up, bullying, angst with a happy ending, autistic spencer, coming out, getting together

Pairing: Morgan x Reid

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Spencer is having one hell of a morning. He’d slept late, a significantly rare occurrence for him, and the metro had been delayed and diverted, leaving him to walk a decent chunk of his journey into work. To top it all off, he’d left his pencil case at home, leaving him stuck with cheap office supplies on a paperwork day. 

He hates days like these, when his mood is so seriously affected by events beyond his control, and he knows he’s just going to continue to fester in his own self-prescribed misery if he doesn’t take some drastic steps to change the way he’s feeling. 

After a moment of staring into space as he considers his options, he decides on a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. Surveying the mess on his desk after opening his eyes, he tackles that next, sorting through case files that can be filed away and organising the notes he’s currently working on as well as rearranging his personal items to stop them taking up so much room. Already feeling better, he takes a few sips of water and some painkillers for the headache he can feel coming on, and locks eyes on the break room. His mid-morning coffee is due.

Elle and Derek are chatting at the counter when he pushes the door open, and he smiles at both of them. He’s still getting used to being around Elle. She’s so confident and intimidating that he’s not really sure if she likes him that much, and it definitely doesn’t help that she reminds him of the girls he used to go to school with, the ones who found it amusing to laugh at the much younger autistic boy, hiding his stuff and calling him names, standing by and laughing when the older boys would beat him up. 

He tries very hard with her, though. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to build more rapport, he thinks, so he listens in while he refills the coffee machine’s water. It’s definitely got nothing to do with how much he wants to climb Derek Morgan like a tree.

Derek looks over and catches him up in that thoughtful sort of way that always gets Spencer’s stomach fluttering. “Elle’s just telling me about the hot date she had on Saturday,” he winks, nudging her in the side. “He seems like a catch.” He sips innocently at his coffee and Spencer realises belatedly that he’s being sarcastic and watches for Elle’s response. God, he wishes conversations weren’t so damn convoluted.

“Oh, fuck off, Morgan,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re just jealous because I got laid and how long’s it been for you? Months?”

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes, looking over at Spencer in a way that has him flushing pink. “Come on, Greenaway,” he laughs, “you know full well I’m not exactly lacking in that department.”

Elle gives him a dubious look, before raising her eyebrows and sipping her coffee. “Whatever you say,” she says in a patronising tone - the kind that reminds Spencer of an adult indulging a fantastical child. Derek laughs again, tapping lightly on the underside of her mug and causing it to spill over her hand a little. Spencer envies how easy it is for other people to elicit such a beautiful sound from Derek’s mouth; the few times he’s intentionally made Derek laugh he’d felt like he won a trophy, the sort he’d frame in a cabinet and show off to visitors, giving them a tour of the limited map of Spencer’s victories with a proud smile on his face.

He watches the exchange a little awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to these two very dominant personalities discussing an area he’s not overly familiar with. Unfortunately, they don’t ignore him forever and Elle looks over at him, her intense, fiery gaze already stirring up nerves in his stomach. “Anyway, what about you, Reid, when was your last hot date?” she teases, and he cannot for the life of him figure out if it’s friendly or malicious. 

He flounders for only a second, cheeks heating up steadily, before Derek interjects. “Oh come on, Elle,” Derek scoffs. “Not sure Reid’s whole ‘twink aesthetic’ thing is quite what women are after, is it, pretty boy?” 

Instantly, humiliation bleeds into his veins. His stomach swirls and he feels dizzy, completely out of his depth as his face reddens even further and he starts to sweat. The playful nudge that digs into his side doesn’t do anything to bring him out of the protective trance his mind’s gone into. “I--” he tries, but he’s cut off by Elle clearly growing bored of the conversation and pushing off the counter-top to leave. 

She turns around for a moment as she heads towards the door, walks backwards a few steps as she delivers the final, devastating blow. “Hey, you never know, Reid,” she grins, “maybe the whole virgin genius thing will win them over instead.” She chuckles to herself as she leaves the room, door swinging closed behind her softly, leaving Derek and himself standing there in a vacuum.

Today of all days. It’s been a long time since the last time such a crushing level of humiliation was burning inside him, but he remembers the emotion like muscle memory. His body knows exactly what to do as his gut swirls and his head spins, sweat beading on his skin as though the very little self-esteem he had left is leaking steadily: the stopper that had been keeping the small amounts of confidence he had inside him degraded and dissolved by his coworker’s careless words, nothing there anymore to stop it leaking out of him. 

It’s not new. But the sting is so much more visceral when it’s shocked into him by two people he considered friends and one person he was hopelessly, desperately in love with. It feels exactly like high school and university did: the toleration of his presence for intellectual reasons, for everything Spencer had to offer, but ultimately the social rejection of him as a human being when it actually came down to it. He was useful to the team for as much as he could give them. And that was it. 

Derek takes a sip from his mug as Elle leaves, but he doesn’t notice Spencer’s completely frozen state until he tries to move on to another topic. “Spencer?” he asks, obviously concerned at his non-response and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. “What’s wrong?”

He can’t find the words to respond, but he does manage to meet Derek’s eyes and he just stares at him for a few seconds before he shakes his head and looks away again. Derek’s clearly confused, but that only makes it worse. Is he overreacting? Or is Derek just truly that oblivious to the cruelty in his words, to his feelings? 

Feeling the tears burning in his eyes and adamantly refusing to cry in the middle of the breakroom, he turns around and hurries to the bathroom without saying a word. 

⭐️

He barricades himself into a stall and sits on the closed toilet seat as tears steadily spill down his cheeks. This is exactly the reason he hasn’t told a soul at the FBI -- how would a group of alpha personalities who were likely the most popular kids in high school, likely would have bullied him if they’d attended the same school, that he was gay? 

The humiliation stings more coming from Derek. Such negative association with his sexuality had proved himself right: this was a secret he needed to keep quiet. It just hurt so badly that the man he loved seemed so dismissive, so rude about something so integral to his being, and the allusions the entire exchange had to previous traumas had him struggling for breath through the steady stream of tears. 

It takes him a few minutes but he eventually manages to calm himself down. He splashes some cool water onto his heated skin and tries his hardest to breathe deeply, even though it feels almost impossible at first. Usually when he gets worked up and has a meltdown or a panic attack he’s able to talk himself out of it after he’s calmed down a little; able to rationalise and apply logic to the situation, which tends to illuminate either an overreaction or a clear path through the problem.

That coping mechanism is not applicable, though - Derek and Elle truly hurt his feelings and there’s no way around that. Instead, he just tries to push it to the edge of his mind. He thinks through the quantum physics problem he’d started at breakfast, and the logical progression through the formulas and rational reasoning he has to use brings his heart rate down and he feels at least a little calmer, even if the twisted knot of dread and grief and pain still sits heavy in his stomach. 

He’s just solved the physics problem in his head when the door swings open and he can hear Derek’s signature tread on the bathroom floor. “Spencer?” he calls quietly, pausing as the door closes behind him for just a second before making his way to the end stall. “I know you’re in there.”

“I am in here,” Spencer confirms, resenting how weak and watery his voice sounds. 

Derek sighs heavily. “I didn’t get it until I talked to JJ,” he admits, speaking through the door. “I was confused why you suddenly acted so strange so I asked her what she thought was up. I thought it was all friendly banter. To be honest, I didn’t even realise what I’d said until I was explaining it to her. But you gotta understand, pretty boy, I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, but the tears still escape anyway, spilling down his tears in an expression of silent grief as he listens to Derek. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and swipes the tears away from his cheek with his fingertips before unlocking the door, revealing the most apologetic expression he’s ever seen. It doesn’t make him feel much better. He still meant what he said.

He smiles weakly. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and his voice sounds so vulnerable, it’s giving him away. 

Derek’s expression doesn’t ease at Spencer’s forgiveness, he doesn’t smile and consider the issue done and dusted, he frowns harder, eyes desperate. “No, don’t dismiss it,” he says. “I hurt you, and that was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and Elle shouldn’t have either, okay, kid? I’m really sorry.”

“I know, but I’m used to it,” Spencer says, trying for a light tone and missing the mark by an embarrassing amount. 

“Well you shouldn’t be,” Derek frowns. “If you’re so used to it, though, then why did this affect you so much? I’ve never seen you lose your cool like that.” He looks genuinely confused, and combined with the sorrow smothered across his features, it’s a pitiful sight. 

“Don’t push, Morgan,” he warns, looking back down at his hands. His back hurts from his awkward, hunched position on the cold porcelain of the toilet. 

“Seriously, Spencer, I--” Derek looks completely bewildered, caught off guard by the way he clearly expected this conversation going and the road it’s actually taken. 

“I’m gay, alright?” Spencer interjects, loudly. He looks up fiercely into Derek’s eyes as he says it, but the fight quickly drains out of him and he looks down at his hands again, tensing automatically in fear of his reaction. 

Derek doesn’t say anything though, so when Spencer eventually looks up again, he finds a strange expression on his face. Not mild disgust or confusion or awkwardness, but relief and fear and frustration. 

“Spencer, I--” He cuts himself off as he shuffles his feet and looks away, but Spencer doesn’t miss the mournful tone as he realises the true impact of his words, how they must have hurt him. “You’re gay? That’s… why my comment was so hurtful, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to imply any kind of homophobia, I mean… I’m bisexual,” he admits, the same fear Spencer had felt swirling in his stomach written on Derek’s features. 

“You are?” Spencer replies, surprise colouring his tone. He feels a surge of hope rise in his chest and he forces himself to tamper it. Just because Derek likes men absolutely does not mean he likes men like Spencer. In his experience those kinds of people tend to be fairly rare. He stands up from his uncomfortable seat, meeting Derek’s eyes properly for the first time since he entered the toilets.

What he means to do is give him a hug, or maybe have some sort of conversation on a more equal playing field. He does not mean to kiss him. 

But when all of a sudden Derek’s lips are on his and Derek’s hands are cradling his cheek and waist so gently, surely it would be rude not to kiss him back. So he does. Far too passionately for a public bathroom in an FBI building, by all accounts.

They break away eventually, and Derek immediately panics. Spencer can see it rise in his eyes and body language, so before he can say anything he pulls him into the stall properly, shutting the door behind them and kisses him again, more gently this time. It’s the most confident thing he thinks he’s ever done, and he’s damn proud of himself because he does not want to go another day without Derek kissing him as tenderly as he is right now, without his hands roaming up and down his sides, without the careful brush of his fingers against the side of his head as he pushes a strand of hair back behind his ear as they pull away again. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, pretty boy,” Derek whispers, and Spencer can feel the gentle brush of his breath against his lips.

He’s lost for words again, but in a completely different way from just minutes before, and he absolutely cannot believe this is happening. Today of all days. 

“Me too,” Spencer confesses, smiling slightly as he allows himself to convey the vulnerability he’s feeling on his face instead of building up a wall in front of it as he usually would. It doesn’t take long for reality to set in though. “But we are in an FBI building and we could definitely lose our jobs for this.”

“Right,” Derek acknowledges, looking up as he puts a bit more space between them, as much as the tiny stall allows. “Later, though, we could maybe do this… not in a government building?” 

Spencer’s always wondered how it feels to be on the receiving end of Derek’s romantic charm and charisma, and it’s rather overwhelming. Derek’s smiling cheekily as he interlocks their hands and waits for an answer and Spencer’s finding it a little hard to breathe again.

“Like… a date?” Spencer squeaks, face flushing again -- though admittedly in a much more pleasant manner -- as he prays he hasn’t got the wrong idea.

“Yes,” Derek smiles, “like a date.” He pauses and takes a breath, grinning wider for just a second before he suppresses it slightly and looks back at Spencer. “How about… I swing by your place at 7 and we head to that new Italian place you’ve been talking about?”

“Really?” Spencer asks, face open and vulnerable and honest. He hopes to God that he’s not being mocked right now. It’s happened before. He’s not sure Derek really understands the amount of trust he’s placing in him, the burden that might bring. 

“Yes, really,” Derek chuckles, bringing a hand up to rest at the side of his face again as he thumbs gently over his cheekbone. “I’m gonna wine you and dine you, baby, just you wait and see.”

Spencer knows he won’t be able to speak without squeaking embarrassingly again, so he just nods emphatically and beams at Derek. 

“I’ll see you at 7, then, pretty boy,” he winks, pressing a brief kiss to his lips. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

⭐️

Taking care to exit the toilets separately, they return to their desks, filling out the paperwork left over from their most recent case. Spencer is certain that more than one coworker picks up on their shy, knowing looks, shared over the top of coffee mugs and cheap printer paper,  but he can’t find it in himself to care. The very thing he’d craved for almost three years, since he first stepped foot in the bullpen and was introduced to Derek Morgan, was within his clutches and he was going to hold on to it no matter what it cost him.

Things feel different almost immediately: ‘pretty boy’ is infinitely more affectionate, the previously platonic touches are lingering and meaningful, Derek’s completely unnecessary paperwork consults seem more affirming and reassuring than ever. The idea that he could possibly spend the rest of his life with Derek Morgan’s hands on him, his passionate kiss on his lips, his compliments and nicknames warming him from the inside out, feels almost dizzying. He knows he’s smiling stupidly, he also knows that JJ and Elle are smiling knowingly, but he just doesn’t care.

He drives himself home and dresses in his smartest suit as soon as he gets back, even though Derek isn’t due for another 30 minutes. For reasons he refuses to acknowledge, he tidies his apartment while he waits and then takes a seat on his sofa, tapping his foot in anxious anticipation. By the time he hears a knock on his door, his heart’s in his mouth and his stomach is fluttering wildly, but that all fades to irrelevancy when he locks eyes with Derek.

“Dr Reid,” he says calmly, smile providing a soft kind of light to his face and Spencer wishes he never had to look away. He passes him a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and Spencer knows enough to recognise it’s a curated bunch, not a hasty supermarket buy but a thoughtful, purposeful trip to the florist. 

“Wow,” Spencer says, and he absolutely tries to fight down the emotion rising in his throat but he isn’t quite successful. He takes the offered bouquet and examines them in closer detail, tracing an index-finger along the petal of a yellow daffodil. “New beginnings,” he whispers as tears spring to his eyes. He stares at it a little longer before looking up to meet Derek’s softened, deep brown eyes. He’s still in disbelief that someone would go to the lengths of researching the language of flowers for him, knowing it was something that he liked. “Thank you.”

“New beginnings,” Derek repeats, taking another step closer, “love me, desire, wisdom, and affection returned.” He lifts a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek again and looks deep into his eyes for just a moment, conveying all he needs to with one look, and leans in to kiss him.

⭐️

Aaaaand this is the conclusion to my 12 Fic Challenge! Thank you to everyone who supported my fics through this journey, I can’t believe all the amazing things it’s led to and I’m so happy that this is the fic to end it. I’m so excited for what’s next in store, so stay tuned! <3

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[ssajj]

Brutus

While undercover, you run into the boyfriend you left behind.

Fem!Reader, 5.1k

TW: nongraphic depictions of violence, swearing, cigarettes, hints of a toxic relationship (not between reader and Spencer), guns

Note: dual timelines! It goes back and forth for most of the fic.

"Are you sure they want to meet me?" You ask, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. It's hard not to overanalyze the outfit you picked out for this occasion, even if you know it's far too late to go back to your place and change. Spencer hates not arriving on time. 

He looks at you with a quizzical expression on his face. "Of course they want to meet you."

When in doubt, you love to go for false bravado. "Talk a lot about me?" You smirk, watching a slow blush appear on his cheeks. Stepping forward, you wrap your arms around his middle and gently tug him toward you. He complies easily, his hands automatically settling at the small of your back. 

"Is it okay if I do talk about you a lot?"

That makes you smile. "It's sweet."

The blush only gets stronger. "Morgan and Garcia are pretty eager to meet you," he says. "They've been bringing up tonight all week."

He's probably only saying it to make you feel better, but all it does is spike the anxiety brewing in your chest. Garcia's an information junkie; you don't even want to know the things she's already figured out about you. And Morgan is Spencer's best friend. If he doesn't like you, that's probably the beginning of the end for your relationship. 

"It'll be great, love," he's firmer this time, melting some of the fire. Your favorite thing he calls you is 'love'. Something about the gentleness of that word, the feelings it implies, and the soft look Spencer gets on his face whenever he uses it makes you want to curl up against him for the rest of your life.

After another moment, the two of you head out the door and to the bar, hands clasped together. 

"Y/N!!!!" Garcia practically forces you into a bear hug when you walk over to the BAU's table. "Oh, I am SO glad you could come tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages! I cannot believe Spencer waited an eternity to bring you around us. You're all he talks about anymore, it's adorable."

You glance back at your boyfriend, who looks a tad horrified. Morgan laughs and slaps him on the back, forcing a cough out of him. 

"Hey," JJ greets you, looking so much less intimidating than anyone at the table. You know it's a bit of a farce though. Spencer’s told you enough stories to know that JJ is a woman who can hold her own and hold it well, despite appearances. Idly, you note that she'd be great at undercover work. "I'm JJ. I'm assuming you know that you just got crushed by Garcia. And then there's Morgan, Rossi, Emily, and Hotch." As she said their names, she pointed at them. It was nice to get confirmation, even if you were pretty sure you knew which face belonged to which name.

Hotch nods at you. "It's nice to meet you."

"Is he smiling?" Emily hisses, leaning toward Rossi. "I think Hotch is smiling."

"It's great to finally meet all of you. Spencer’s always talking about you guys," you say, taking your seat. Spencer settles down next to you close enough that your thighs touch. The bar definitely isn't somewhere that he'd normally hang out, but he seems comfortable enough here that you assume it's a frequent spot for the BAU to visit. 

A couple hours in, you're feeling tipsy and ridiculously happy. You're getting along particularly well with Emily and JJ, who are both amazing. If he isn't talking to you, Spencer’s usually talking to Morgan and Garcia, who obviously adore him. Hotch and Rossi seem lost in their own private conversations and you wonder if it's because they're the two highest ranking agents here. 

"You should totally start joining us when we have girls night!" JJ says, clinking her beer against your glass. "I think you'd really enjoy them."

You nod, feeling flattered. "I'm down to come."

Emily grins, reaching over to knock Spencer’s shoulder. "Your girlfriend is so much cooler than you."

Before you can protest, he nods. "She is," he agrees, smiling at you.

"Awww," Garcia coos, joining the conversation. "Who knew that our baby Spencer was a secret romantic? I love it!"

--

"A wedding?" You ask, pressed up against Cal's side. It's always a bit uncomfortable, almost like your bodies know you don't fit together, that something is amiss. You just hope that your body isn't the thing that finally gets you killed. "That seems below you."

Cal looks down at you, an amused smirk twisting his face. He wants to eat you up, you think. He wants to devour you. "The groom is an old family friend," he explains. "It's courtesy that I attend. And I can hardly go without a ravishing date on my arm."

You rise up on your toes to kiss his cheek, rubbing a bit at the lipstick you leave with the pad of your thumb. "As long as I get to pick my own dress."

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't let you pick it yourself?" His grip on you tightens enough that you wonder if it'll leave a bruise on your hip. Tomorrow, you know you'll find a wad of cash in your purse. In exchange, he'll get to take it off of you after the wedding. 

Mercifully, he lets you go a second later. You step back, walking by him. He's done with you for the day. Your relationship is to the point where he doesn't need to formally dismiss you anymore. You've picked him apart and put him back together. Whether he knows it or not, it feels like you've made him the very man that you hate with every fiber of your being. At least, you tell yourself that you hate him. When it gets too hard, when you find yourself falling under his spell, you picture the last boyfriend you had as yourself. A man full of shy smiles, sweet compliments, gentle kisses, and the most beautiful assortment of random knowledge. When he's in your mind, you don't get lost in the person you're pretending to be. It's the only time you feel like yourself. 

Of course, being yourself too much would get you killed, so you limit yourself. 

You go dress shopping the next day. Cal gave you an absurd budget, so you manage to pick out an extravagant dress and also a pair of shoes and earrings. This morning, Cal had mentioned that the wedding was going to be a black tie event, giving you an excuse to feel like a princess. Well. Maybe a trapped princess, like Cinderella or Rapunzel. You walk out of the store with a heavy bag on your arm. When you return to the house, it's blissfully empty. Cal isn't due back until late, but you still do a full walk around the house, double checking before you go out to the garden. The first few months you lived here, the garden was the responsibility of the landscapers that stopped by occasionally, but you batted your eyes and sucked on Cal's lip until he agreed to give it to you. Now, no one else was allowed to touch it per his orders. And he wasn't the kind of man his staff said no to. 

Basically, it was a perfect hiding spot. You go over to the daisies, digging a little until you find the box that contained your current burner phone. You'd have to switch soon, probably within the next few weeks. It was close to dying and it was never a good idea to keep the same phone number for an extended period of time. You dial the number once, hang up immediately, dial again, let it ring three times, hang up, and then dial for a final time. Your handler answers quickly.

"What?" He asks, gruff. 

"We're going to a wedding near Virginia."

You hear him suck in a breath. "Close to where you used to live."

"I know."

"If you get recognized-"

"I won't."

He pauses. "Stay safe."

You hang up the phone and pray you make it through this alive. 

--

On your one year anniversary, Spencer brings you to a museum. He walks you through all the exhibits, rambling about anything he knows in regards to your surroundings. His hands keep waving through the air, his eyes bright and alive, a grin splitting his face. It's obvious that he's in his element. 

You love him so badly that it hurts, sometimes. 

By the time you reach the gift shop, your brain is full of knowledge you probably won't ever need again. 

"Sorry," Spencer says suddenly, looking at you. "Did I just bore you? You know you're allowed to cut me off when I get going."

You shake your head, kissing his cheek. "It was cute. I loved it."

Once you're done there, the two of you head back to his apartment. Last month, the two of you had decided not to do gifts, electing just to spend the day together instead. You cuddle with him on the couch, your body tucked perfectly against his. In this moment, you feel safe. You're with a man you know loves you, and you love him back just as fiercely. Life is good. 

--

You and Cal arrive in Virginia at the crack of dawn, early enough that it feels like you should still be rubbing the sleep out of your eyes even though you've been awake for hours. “Who even has weddings before noon? I didn’t even think that was a thing.”

Cal chuckles beside you, his arm snaking around you. In this moment, it’s hard not to shudder. You’ve never understood his need to always touch you, claim you for the world to see. As far as he knows, you’ve never belonged to anyone else. You were born and bred for this, a perfect lover. Just enough sass, just enough danger, just enough compliance, just enough meekness. He doesn’t know that this isn’t the real you, that you’re always on the verge of screaming your head off. One day, he’ll learn. It’ll end in one of your deaths. 

Hopefully, it’ll end in his death. 

"We'll stop at the hotel first, darling," Cal takes your hand as he talks, leading you along the side of the road. God, you remember this place. Of course you do. This is your home turf. A new name and a new look doesn't mean that this doesn't feel like home. "You can get changed and refreshed before we head to the venue."

You shrug. "Sounds good to me."

The walk is blissfully short, but the hotel is grand. It's definitely not somewhere you would have been able to afford. Honestly, you're almost disgusted by how the place practically bleeds money and how well Cal seems to blend into this new environment. 

Once you're in the room, you toss your suitcase onto the bed, hissing when the action results in a broken nail. Cal laughs at you as you stick your finger in your mouth. He comes over after a beat, pulling at your hand to inspect your nail. For a second, it looks like he's going to lick your finger, but he just lets you go. "Get dressed," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "I want to see how stunning you're going to look."

--

"Something's off about you."

You whip around, coming face to face with Emily. She's wearing an expression you recognize, but not on her: perfect blankness. There's no trace of a personality, no trace of a name attached to the person that spoke. Something tightens in your chest and you crane your neck to look at Spencer, who's blissfully unaware of the words that were just spoken. Instead, he's fully engaged in a conversation with JJ and Will, hands flapping as they smile warmly at him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say to Emily, crafting a neutral but surprised look to wear on your own face. "Not sure I appreciate the tone, though."

Emily scoffs. "Don't play dumb with me. Come on. I know you got the same feeling about me."

She's right, even though you don't admit it. It almost feels like when two predators acknowledge each other in the wild- they know they're evenly matched, and so they go their separate ways. Except that everyone in the room is a predator. You and Emily are a different breed, though. 

She's done deep undercover work. 

"Ladies!" Rossi interrupts, throwing an arm around Emily’s shoulders. If he notes any tension, he doesn't comment on it. "Why are you being antisocial over here?" He points at you. "Your boyfriend has been talking the ears off of JJ and Will. I honestly couldn't even tell you what about."

You shrug. "They don't seem to mind."

"Am I not allowed to talk to her?" Emily asks, eyebrow quirked. "I need to make sure she's not a secret spy."

Rossi laughs. "Garcia would have already sniffed that out, don't worry. Y/N passed her background check with flying colors."

"Did you?" You ask Emily, a small smile playing on your lips. 

"Of course."

By now, Rossi’s gotten a good taste of the strangers of this interaction. He glances between you, eyes narrowing as they settle on you. You don't change your face.

"Actually, I think I'll join Spencer," you say, sliding past the two of them. 

Spencer welcomes you gladly, folding you seamlessly into the conversation. Throughout most of it, you wonder how everyone else can understand what Will's saying. For all you know, he could be telling you off. 

When you turn your head, you notice that Emily’s still looking at you. When you nod at her, she nods back. 

You hope that's the end of it. 

--

An hour in, you figure out that you hate weddings. 

It doesn't help that you've been ditched. Cal was stuck to you like glue just long enough for you two to walk in together before he mumbled something about "important business" and took off. Currently, you're sitting alone at a table toward the back of the venue. You don't know what the hell you got so dressed up for or why you chose such a risky dress. One wrong move meant that everyone here was going to see a lot more of you than you were comfortable with. 

"Hey, pretty lady," a man greets you, plopping himself in one of the empty seats next to you. You blink at him. "All alone here?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend."

He sighs, putting his sweaty hands on the table. "Now, what kind of man would leave his lady all by her lonesome?"

"How about you leave before I kick your ass?"

Cal laughs behind you, alerting you to his presence. You turn around, smiling at him. He's got a warm look on his face, the one that's only reserved for you. 

"Oh!" The stranger yelps, standing up so fast that he rattles the table. "I didn't realize you were Cal's-"

"Just go," you tell him, waving him off. He doesn't waste any time. 

Cal takes the empty seat. "I don't know why I bothered having security. You're scarier than all of them."

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. Have fun chatting up all the old rich men here?"

He takes your hand. "I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long." Lifting your hand, he kisses it. You blush. 

"I'm assuming you have to go back to that?"

He nods. "Will you be okay here?"

"I think I'm going to go smoke, actually."

He's the one that got you into cigarettes, so he doesn't protest this. "Go out the west wing exit," he says instead. "There's always too much traffic at the main doors."

The two of you part, heading in opposite directions. It takes you a bit to find the right exit, but you're blissful when the crisp air finally hits your face. The view isn't bad, either, but it does make your heart ache. 

For some stupid reason, you hadn't realized that the venue was so close to the museum Spencer loved taking you to. 

You take your sweet time outside, cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. It's the most relaxed you've felt all day, away from the prying eyes that know you as someone else. This assignment has already gone on for longer than you'd expected, but Cal is a tough nut to crack. Every time you think you have his complete trust, that he'll tell you what you need to know, a door slams shut in your face, or he gets angry with you for the littlest action. You take a drag, watching the smoke dissipate in the air. 

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

Your heart stops. 

--

Your blood freezes in your veins, seemingly distorting everything around you. "What?" You whisper into the phone. 

"He'll be okay," JJ soothes. "He's getting checked out by an EMT as we speak, I promise. I'm staring at him right now."

"What happened?"

She pauses, which doesn't fill you with any kind of confidence. "He went in after the unsub without backup. They ended up getting into a bit of a fight before Morgan and I could get to him. The three of us took down the unsub together, Spence is just...bruised."

"Any cracked ribs?" You ask. 

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out. I'll call back in a few, okay?" 

Before you can reply, the line is disconnected. 

For the next eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds, you don't move a muscle. This wasn't the first time Spencer had gotten hurt since you'd started dating- perks of being with someone that hunted serial killers for a living- but that did nothing to comfort you now. Your mind always went to the worst possible place, combing over your last interaction with Spencer, wondering if he died now, would he know how much you loved him? While you were at a desk job currently, most of your career had been spent never knowing if you'd make it to dawn. This had been ingrained in you by now. You've seen people die, you've seen people be killed in a heartbeat. You survived that. 

You couldn't survive Spencer dying. 

The second your phone rings, it's answered and at your ear. "How is he?"

"Y/N," Spencer says into the phone, and you feel your entire body relax. 

Instead of answering him, you burst into tears. 

"Hey, hey. I'm okay, love."

"Sorry!" You practically wail, covering your mouth with your hand. "Sorry. What did the EMT say? How are you feeling? When will you be home?"

He answers your questions in a steady tone, obviously still worried about your emotional level. "We're getting on the jet once JJ and Hotch finish wrapping up with the detectives here."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Y/N." 

Twelve hours later, Spencer is wrapped in your arms. He has a cracked ribs and an assortment of bruises, but he's breathing and he's here.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you that causes such a dramatic reaction?" He asks, making you tense. 

"Spence…"

He sighs. "I know."

This was the biggest rift in your relationship. He pours his heart out day by day, and you're a shell of a woman with none of that to offer him. You can’t talk about most of your career. Even now, at a boring desk job, you're handling other people's undercover identities. You requested a break from going undercover and gotten it, but there's a part of your brain that still knows not to trust that. They could try to send you away tomorrow. 

--

Spencer. Spencer is here. Spencer is staring at you. Spencer just said your name. 

You know what you have to do, even if it'll hurt both of you. You'd tear yourself open to keep him safe, set yourself on fire to keep him safe, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to break his heart to keep him safe. 

"I'm sorry?" You ask, scrunching your face up in confusion. "I think you have the wrong person."

You don't look exactly like you did when you dated Spencer. Your hair is a different color and cut, and your face has started hollowing out from stress and hate. Honestly, there's been times where you haven't even recognized yourself in the mirror. 

He repeats your name, taking a step toward you. Instinct has taught you well, so even though you want to run forward into his arms, you take a step back. 

He looks different since the last time you saw him. Different, but good. He's filled out more, his hair is longer, and he's holding himself with more authority. This Spencer isn't constantly curled in on himself, you know. He isn't always trying to make himself lesser. He's maintained his kind eyes, though. They're staring straight through you, searching for things you can't give him. All you can remember is the love you shared with him, the love you smashed when you left. It makes you ache. 

This is conformation of your deepest fear: he's better off without you. 

"That isn't my name," you tell him, cocking your head to the side. The cigarette, you notice, has fallen to the ground. You wonder if he's noticed, but you step on it all the same. "My name is Reva."

"Reva." It sounds distinctly wrong coming from his lips, like it doesn't quite fit despite his efforts to force it. By this point, you're well used to being called the wrong name. Something about the way Spencer says it still makes you want to cringe. 

Regardless, he can't know any of that. He still has some hope in his eyes, although it's being muddled by confusion. "Yes," you confirm. "Look, I'm sorry you can't find who you're looking for. I'm not her, though."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Reva!" You hear, and you turn to find Cal coming out the door. Whipping your head back at Spencer, you gesture for him to leave, feeling some of your panic leak out into the open. Cal doesn't get to look at Spencer. He doesn't get to talk to Spencer. 

Out of desperation, you practically leap into Cal's arms, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He’s surprised, but since he never says no to this kind of thing, he pulls you closer and deepens it. “Can we get out of here?” You whine, lowering your hands to right below his ass. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

As he takes your hand to lead you back into the venue, you spare one last look at Spencer. He’s rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. 

You have the sinking feeling that you didn’t trick him well enough. 

--

When you go into the office on Monday, you know. Your supervisor is standing at your desk, a grim expression on his face. 

“I don’t want to go,” you tell him automatically. 

All the other times you’ve been under, there’s been no one on the other side to miss you. Now, though? You think of Penelope, who likes surprising you with different kinds of flowers, of Rossi, who taught you how to make your first authentic Italian dish, of Hotch, who you just managed to work a soft smile out of, of JJ, who automatically gravitates toward you whenever you’re in a room together, of Morgan, who lifted you up and spun you around when you admitted to him that you could see a forever with Spencer, and god- Spencer. You don’t want to leave Spencer. You could survive without him, but there’d forever be a light missing. 

“Come on into my office,” your supervisor tells you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

--

For the first time in a long time, you cry yourself to sleep. 

The next day, you make your way back into the garden. Cal’s out again, probably plotting something that will result in death and destruction. You’re frustrated that he’s been so difficult to get through to, you’re frustrated that you saw Spencer last night, and all you want to do is throw your head back and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. That isn’t an option, so all you can do is dig up your phone and make the call. 

When you tell him what happened, all you get is a sigh before he hangs up. Figures. “Asshole.”

--

“What do you want me from me, huh?” You scream, hands balled into fists at your side. Your breath is heavy, weighing the room down. 

Spencer scoffs at you. “I’ve made it perfectly clear what I want, you just aren’t listening anymore.”

“I can’t give you that.”

He won’t look at you anymore. Tears have started gathering in his eyes, and while you want to wipe them away, you know you don’t have the right. You’re the one that put them there, you’re the one making him act like this. 

“It feels like I barely know you sometimes,” he says, and you don’t even have a counter argument for that. You’ve been so many people. At this point, you’re a jigsaw puzzle of everyone you’ve ever been, but he’s missing too many pieces to solve you. 

When you don’t respond, he sighs, running his hand through his hair. And then-

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You suck in a breath. “What?”

His voice firms. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Y/N. I don’t know if this is working. I don't think I want to keep trying."

Before he can say anything else, before you can make your case, before you can fight for him, your legs are already carrying you out the door. 

You make a single phone call. 

“I’m in. Tell me more about the assignment.”

--

On a Wednesday, it ends. It's months since you saw Spencer. Part of you had expected some big event to come from that, whether it be Cal stabbing you in the stomach or Spencer somehow tracking you down to save you. Life isn't a romance movie, though, so you just went back to being alone. 

And finally, after a century of careful prodding and poking, you get the information you need to take Cal down. 

As the sun shines and the birds chirp, the SWAT team bursts through the door, shouting to get down. You scream Cal's name, knowing that your performance isn't going to be over until he never gets to see daylight again.

Unfortunately, Cal never goes down without a fight. He comes out guns blazing, shooting one of the SWAT members before they even register that he's there. In a flash, you're pressed up against Cal's chest, the barrel of his gun pressed to your head. 

"You motherfucker," you whisper. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he says to you, raising his voice to talk to the SWAT team. "Back off or I'll shoot!"

This fantastic plan results in you bleeding from a bullet wound in your stomach, curled on the ground and Cal is hauled off by SWAT. One of them approaches you once everyone else is gone.

"Good work, Y/N."

--

You hate hospitals. You hate the lights, the sounds, the smells, and the general fear of death that spikes whenever you enter through the doors. You've already been debriefed, already destroyed Reva. As far as Cal knows, you bled to death on his living room floor. 

As you start to drift off to sleep, you hear a sudden clanging from down the hall, muffled voices oozing in frustration. Footsteps start up again, and then-

Oh.

Spencer’s in your room. 

"Y/N," he gapes, coming up to the side of the bed. He starts to reach for your hand before aborting the motion; in response, you grab his instead. You're too weak to deny him right now. "Oh, god. Y/N."

"How are you here?" You ask. 

"Penelope. I knew it was you outside the venue, and once the shock wore off, I knew you were undercover. We've been trying to locate you ever since, but your name pinged on her alerts when you were admitted here. What happened?"

"SWAT guy shot me."

The two of you lock eyes, and you're horrified to discover that you're both on the verge of crying. "Spence-"

He hugs you, arms gentle as he settles onto the bed. As you sob into his arms, you feel more at home than you have in a very long time. 

--

Two weeks later, you're curled in his bed. 

Things aren't normal. You've been gone for over a year and you left things completely unfinished. Not to mention that you've screamed yourself awake every night, panic attacks and sobs wrecking you even as Spencer whispers comforts as he holds you. But you're safe. 

Another day later, Spencer helps you sit up before announcing, "We need to talk."

"I know."

He starts fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan. "You- you left."

"You told me to."

"No! I-" he sighs, pulling harder at his sleeves. "I know it sounded that way. But I love you, Y/N. Then and now. I was never done trying for you."

You laugh a little. It doesn't sound right. "You don't love me now. I'm not even...I don't know how much of myself is even left anymore."

"So let me find out," he pleads. "Let me learn to love all the new things about you, let me cherish what hasn't changed."

"I'm sorry for running."

"I'm sorry for not chasing after you."

--

Your first date after coming back to yourself is a walk through the park. Spencer figures you can handle that, figures you won't get too overwhelmed or pained from the experience. He still lets you lean against him the entire time.

Since the first initial conversation, you've had many more. You've detailed your thoughts, as well as your experiences with Cal. You fought and fought and fought with your supervisor to get the clearance to tell Spencer, reminding him that you refused to ever go under again and that Spencer was an agent. Eventually, he folded. Spencer still had to sign an absurd amount of paperwork. In turn, Spencer explained the things he'd been up to since you left, how he refused to lose you again once he spotted you. 

Things aren't perfect. They are better, though.

"Hey," you say, pulling at his hand until he stops. "I love you."

A big smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward until your foreheads are touching. "I love you too."

When you kiss him, you vow to yourself to never leave again. 

[allegra-writes]

Black Magic Girl

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

The request:

PLS! I have this request I was thinking about for a while and it’s like te reader is a witch that casts a spell on Peter, it’s kind of like a truth spell that also lowers inhibitions, and he literally ravishes her because of it cause he’s wanted her since he first met her and now he literally cannot control himself.

And:

I have read so many Peter Parker fanfics but the one I want soooo badly is where Peter Parker gets suuper dominant. Do you think you could write it? Pleaseeee 🌸

MY MASTERLIST

"Got me so blind I can't see

That she's a black magic woman

And she's tryin' to make a devil out of me"

- Black magic woman, Fleetwood Mac.

"Peter? Peter…" Your voice reached him like through a haze, or like he was underwater, your increasingly frantic tone cutting through the fog inside his head. "Please, Peter, please just… just open your eyes…"

He didn't want to, he truly didn't want to, his head was killing him and his stomach felt queasy. Almost as if he was hungover, but that wasn't possible.

"Ow… ouch…"

"Oh, thank the gods!" You almost sobbed in relief as his eyes fluttered open.  He was ok. You helped him sit up on the floor, and he smiled, a little loopilly, at you.

"Hey…" He greeted, leaning heavily on you, so close that you could feel his warm breath on your face, "Wha- what happened?"

Peter frowned, taking a look around the interrogation room: the metal table, chairs and even the prisoner were overturned and laying messily around the both of you.

You flinched,

"I was trying to cast a spell…"

Oh, yeah, the spell, he remembered now. The herbs, the chanting, the rose-gold light.

"The truth spell," He recalled, "You were trying to cast a truth spell, for- for the asgardian dude…"

"Yeah…"

"What happened?"

You sighed,

"It kinda… exploded I guess"

"Kid! Are you alright?" Tony and Steve came running from the hallway, no doubt having seen the whole thing through the security cameras.

"Fine, Mr. Stark," He stood, steadying himself with your help, "just a little dizzy"

"What about you, doll, you ok?" Steve hovered over you and you could swear a soft growl vibrated in Peter's chest "This is our fault, I knew we shouldn't have let you try this alone"

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, it was always like that with the Captain, he was always babying you, underestimating you. You hated it.

"I'm fine"

"But the spell backfired, it-"

"No… I don't think it did" You interrupted him, "I mean, it didn't hit me, it didn't knock me back like…" You trailed off. Like it had done everything else .

"Woah, Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good" Peter stumbled, both you and Tony holding him to stop him from falling face first on the floor.

"Kiddo, what is it? Talk to me"

Peter babbled intelligibly. You cursed.

"What? What is going on, y/n?" Tony questioned, visibly worried, ignoring Steve's automatic language protest.

"I-I think it worked. His pupils are dilated, we need to take him to the med bay, fast!"

"Why? I mean it's just a truth spell…"

"It's not just any truth spell" You snapped, "It's like… like a gallon of alcohol all at once, it loosens your tongue by lowering your inhibitions to the point of nonexistence! You tell the truth because the filter between your brain and your mouth disappears!"

Peter looked positively green now,

"Oh, shit! Take me to the med bay, take me to the med bay NOW! Mr. Stark, please!"

Tony's eyes flickered between you and his protege's terrified face, he knew exactly what Peter was afraid to tell you.

And he actually thought it was about time.

"Sorry, underoos, prisoner is waking up, we have to start this interrogation right away" he apologized, sounding anything but sorry, "but you can walk, it's not that far, you can lock yourself there until the effect wears out."

"Oh, princess, go with him, would ya? Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble on the way" Tony added as an afterthought. You nodded and took Peter's arm as you guided him out of the room, none of you paying any mind to the super soldiers protests.

"Please, you don't have to do this" Peter tried to disentangle from you once you were far enough from the older Avengers ears, "I- I can make it to the bay by myself"

You scoffed,

"Is that true?"

"No, I just wanna get away from you fast" Peter blurted out. You stopped dead in your tracks.

"What? Why?" You tried to keep the hurt out of your voice, you really did.

"Because" His breathy voice in your ear sent an unexpected shiver down your spine as he leaned even closer, putting more of his weight on you, "I don't trust myself near you right now"

You gulped. There was something in his voice, something you couldn't put your finger on. Something primal, almost dark. The shift in him was so sudden it left you stunned, dazed.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean it takes me a lot of self control to keep myself away from you" He explained, between gritted teeth, the struggle clear in his tone, "and I can feel that control slip away… I don't know… how much longer can I keep it together"

You turned to meet his eyes and you found them darkened with lust, with barely contained desire.

"What if… what if I don't want you to stay away from me?"

A helpless noise left his throat, a wordless surrender, as his will finally broke, as he crushed his lips to yours. He nibbled at your lower lip before licking it, before coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. You felt your body come alive, every nerve ending screaming for more, more of the taste of his tongue, more of his body against yours. You snaked your arms around his neck and felt his twist around your waist, one hand splayed on your back, pressing you closer. He started pushing you, walking you back, but instead of hitting the wall like you expected, you both kept moving. It wasn't until the back of your thighs collided with a metal table that you realized he had guided you into another interrogation room.

You grabbed onto the table to stop from falling back on it, and Peter took advantage of that to shove his pelvis against yours, forcing you to sit on it as he stepped between your legs. You gasped for air as he released your lips. He disentangled one arm from around your back. You heard, more than saw, the spider webs that closed and locked the door; you hadn't noticed he was still wearing his web-shooters under his black stealth suit. Another hiss, and the security camera was out.

"Peter… what are you doing?"

He ignored your question, capturing your lips again, pressing himself harder against you, his erection against your center making what was on his mind perfectly clear.

You pushed at his chest until he freed your mouth,

"Peter, wait, we can't" You tried to reason as his lips traced their way down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, undoubtedly leaving marks. "You're under a spell, this isn't you!"

"But it is me" He contended, catching your hands in a vice-like grip, "I wanted you for so long… and you want me to, I know it. I can smell it on you" He whispered the last part against your lips, tongue peeking out to lick at the corner of your mouth.

"Wh-why didn't you…" You tried to focus your swimming head enough to make sense, "You never said anything"

Peter was on you again, kissing you with a ferocity you would have never believed the sweet boy capable of.

"I couldn't" He grunted, when he finally broke the kiss, "you're their little girl. The baby of the group. Their innocent little princess, who can do no wrong…" He shook his head, "And the things I wanted to do you. That I still want to do to you…"

You bristled at his words, you weren't even the youngest one. Peter was, actually. And he was twenty-three. If he was treated like an adult you didn't see why you shouldn't be. You wanted Peter to fuck you, not to put you on a pedestal.

You met his eyes, almost defiant.

"I'm not that innocent"

He licked his lips,

"Aren't you?"

You shook your head no,

"Show me" You demanded, "Show me what you've been dreaming of"

Peter smirked, grabbing your chin almost painfully,

"Ask me nicely"

"Please"

That was all it took, one word and he was unleashed, taking your hands and tying them at your back with another swoosh of his web-shooter, ripping open your plain white blouse, tiny pearly buttons flying everywhere. He buched it around your tied wrists, before taking a step back, admiring his work.

"I fantasized about this," He confessed, "every time we worked together at the lab: You, sitting pretty on the worktable, all tied up for me…" his eyes never left you, you flushed chest, your nipples hard behind your lacy pink bra, as he placed his palms on your knees, slowly sliding them up, "About slipping my hands under this ppretty pink skirt…" his thumbs met above your cotton covered crotch and he pressed, the fabric quickly becoming damp.

A soft moan left your lips as he rubbed up and down your slit. But it was muffled by a sticky substance suddenly covering your lips.

Peter chuckled at the dirty look you threw him. He lowered his head, breath hot on your breasts,

"I dreamed about gagging you up so they wouldn't hear your moans as I…" He brought his tongue out to lick one pebbled nipple above the coarse lace, "Yeah, just like that" He praised the muted noise you made, before bringing his hands to your chest, ripping the flimsy fabric from your body like paper scraps and really diving in, sucking and biting and bruising. He wasn't being delicate with you, he wasn't coddling you and treating you like you were about to break like everybody else. And you loved it.

He bit down on the swell of your breast and you looked down, surprised to see he hadn't drawn blood. He soothed the hurt with his tongue, looking up at you. You were gorgeous, all caught up in his webs, breathing hard and glossy eyed, already looking ravished.

He stood to whisper in your ear, as his fingers tugged your underwear to the side,

"I pictured burying my hard cock between your legs..." two long fingers breached your entrance and you let your head fell on his shoulder, "Over… and over… and over…" he punctuated every word with a sharp thrust of his fingers in and out of you, and suddenly you were glad he had gagged you. Otherwise you were sure everyone in the compound would have heard your wantom moans.

His thumb found your clit and your head fell back again and Peter took the chance to lift your skirt. The vision of his fingers glistening with your juices, gliding in and out of your pussy half covered by your white cotton panties, tableau vivant of your defiled innocence was too much for him. He took his hands off you, opening his fly and lowering his boxers just far enough to free his hard, throbbing member, impaling you in one go. You tried to get away from the sudden intrusion on instinct, he was way too thick, way too long. But he hooked his hands behind your bended knees, pulling you forward, farther down his oversized cock.

"Oh no baby," He scolded, "good sluts take what is given to them" his crass language made you shiver, and he smirked, "Don't you want to be my good little slut?"

You nodded, and his expression softened, as he snaked a hand around your back, bringing you closer, cock sinking into you deeper, inch by painfully delicious inch. Once he was buried to the hilt, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"You did so good, baby girl. I knew you could take it all." His praise warmed your insides, and you relaxed into his embrace.

"Can you still make sparks with your hands tied like this?"

His question struck you as odd, but you concentrated in creating the flickers anyway, a shower of pretty lights all the answer you were able to give him.

"Good baby girl. I know I should have told you this before, but if you ever need me to stop or I do something you don't like, make red sparkles and I promise I'll stop"

You nodded your head, and he kissed you again, slowly starting to move his hips, dragging his cock almost all the way out, only to push his way back in, a little harder, a little faster every time.

"Oh baby girl… feels so good…" He moaned, "knew this would be… the best pussy I ever had"

You leaned back, bracing yourself on your bounded hands behind you, opening your legs wider, offering yourself to him.

"Yeah, like that… you like this, don't you? Like me fucking you… but sluts like it hard… and fast"

You made a noise of agreement, and he picked up his pace, hips driving into you, cock stabbing into you with no mercy. The pornographic wet sounds of skin slapping on skin resonating in the soundproof room, the sight of your pussy, juicy and red, swallowing his dick over and over… Fuck, he could see himself moving inside you, your skin rippling with every thrust, every intrusion of his massive cock. He was close, and you were too, he could tell by the way you were tensing up, the explosion imminent. But he wanted you debased, he wanted you desperate. He wanted you begging for it, begging for him.  

He wanted to ruin you.

He slipped out of you, taking a step back, leaving you empty just as you were about to fall over the edge. He chuckled darkly at your stifled cry of protest, wrapping his hand around himself, pumping it up and down his length.

You looked thoroughly wrecked: cunt fucked open, hair a mess, clothes hanging in rags around your frame. So fucking beautiful and obscene, that only a handful of strokes later, and he was painting your chest on white ribbons, marking you with his come. He grabbed your chin again, lips pressing to your webbed ones and somehow, that felt dirtier than everything he had done to you so far.

You sobbed into the kiss.

"What is it baby girl?" He cooed, fingers delicately pushing your hair away from your sweat covered forehead. "You want to come?"

You nodded frantically. Peter applied something to your lips, dissolving the webbing. He took a step back.

"Show me how much you want it"

You didn't need to be told twice, jumping from the table and falling to your knees in front of him. You made eye contact as you nuzzled his length, and saw his sharp intake of breath. You hid your smile at his little display of weakness, at the small crack of his façade of dominance.

"You know how to do this?"

You scoffed,

"I'm not a virgin!"

"I know you aren't" He cupped your face, and you twisted to capture his thumb into your mouth, "You truly aren't that innocent, are you?"

You shook your head no, releasing his digit with a pop.

"Show me how dirty you are baby girl"

A new challenging look shone in your eyes,

"As dirty as you dare to make me. Use me, Peter. Fuck my face, please"

Fuck.

He was hallucinating, he had to be. Years of watching porn, of daydreaming of you and the filthiest fantasies his brain could come up with hadn't prepared him for this, for the reality of you on your knees for him, asking him to…

Fuck!

He caressed your cheek, his other hand tangling on your hair, angling your head just so. Your lips fell open and he entered your mouth, far slower than he had entered you. He had to take it slow, otherwise he wasn't going to last, not with you still staring up at him, angelic doe eyes bright and big and adoring. He started rocking his hips, withdrawing only to surge back, a little deeper each time. You tried to suppress your gag reflex, but every time your throat constricted around him it only seemed to spur him on. Breathing was becoming hard and your eyes started to glisten with unshed tears.

"You look… so beautiful… choking on my cock" His words were strained, as you tried to massage his shaft with your tongue to the best of your abilities, drool dripping down your chin. "Prettiest little slut… ever"

You hummed, pleased, and the vibrations got him cursing out loud. He would have liked to enjoy that sinful mouth of yours longer, but he could feel the rise building again, and this time he didn't want to waste it. He had to come inside you, show you who you belonged to.

He slipped out and helped you stand, massaging your jaw and cheeks with his fingertips, before pulling you close for another earth shattering kiss. You melted into it, into him. The feeling of his clothed body against your naked skin got you reeling.

"Please" You gasped into his mouth, "Peter… please"

"God, baby girl, you beg so pretty!" He turned you around, bending you over the table. The cold metal felt delicious against your fevered skin. You felt him move behind you, flipping your skirt over your back, rolling your ruined panties down your thighs. Not being able to see him, not knowing what would come next, made it all the more exciting, your body trembling with anticipation.

His rough palms grazed your ass, grabbing handfuls of your globes, spreading them apart.

"Fuck, baby girl, you're pretty everywhere…"

One of his hands left you as he guided his cock between your folds. He felt even bigger like this, his girth stretching you in all the good ways. You were so wet that he had no problem building up a fast rhythm right away, his cock gliding in and out smoothly, your body offering no resistance as he laid it into you hard, taking hold of your bound hands for leverage, easily moving you to meet his implacable thrusts, fucking you mercilessly.

You bit your lips, trying to reign in your moans and sobs.

"Oh no, baby girl… let me hear you… let them hear you"

You were to lost in the pleasure he was inflicting upon you to be able to form a coherent question but he must have sense your confusion, because he explained,

"The cap has a crush on you... did you know that?.. He hates it… makes him feel like a dirty old man" He leaned over your back, to place a filthy lick up the side of your neck, his punishing pace never faltering, "What would he say if he saw you like this… covered in my cum, moaning like a slut, taking my cock… God you take me so well, baby girl" it was him the one moaning the end of his sentence out.

To his surprise, you giggled,

"Oh god… he would have a heart attack!"

"You don't- don't care?"

You started moving with him, fucking yourself back on his cock,

"Rather be your cockslut… than his princess"

Peter growled, and suddenly he was on your back, his weight pinning you down. If you thought he was fucking you hard before, it was nothing compared with the pistoning of his hips now, as one of his hands fisted in your hair, turning your head so he could attack your mouth with his, and the other slid underneath you, finding your clit, rubing it in quick short strokes, almost painfully. The heat became almost unbearable, the coil tightening fast, your toes curling. You couldn't breath, trapped as you were under the onslaught of his cock on your already abused pussy, filling you over and over, owning you.

"Yes! Like that, give it to me baby girl… I can feel you coming… who's the one that's making you come?"

"You!"

"Say my name" He demanded, lifting you from your feet under the power of his thrusts, "who's the only one who fucks you like this?"

"You are, Peter!" You cried as your orgasm exploded. But he didn't stop, couldn't stop, not when he could feel your walls starting to squeeze him again, thight, so thight stars were exploding behind his eyelids.

"Louder, scream for me, baby girl!"

It was too much, his cock impaling you so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs, the cruel pleasure setting every nerve ending on fire, his moans and groans in your ear as he used your body ruthlessly and unforgiving, the new climax crashing on you, stronger and more intense that the first one.

"PETER!" You heard yourself scream, felt his hot seed deep inside you… Right before the world went black.

…

The next morning, you woke up in a bed that wasn't yours, wrapped in arms that cradled you like you were something precious, and fragile, but for the first time, you didn't mind. You vaguely recalled the soft cotton of your ruined top cleaning the mess between your legs, Peter's bare chest as he dressed you in his own t-shirt to preserve your modesty. As he gathered you close, carrying you bridal style to his bedroom. But you did remember the hot bath, your back to his chest, nested between his legs, hands exploring, caressing, soothing marks and bruised spots.

And you remember the love making, the both of you insatiable now that you finally had the other in your arms. The tender promises exchanged in the sacred darkness before sunrise.

Needless to say, you were in a good mood, not even Tony sending knowing looks your way, and Steve, avoiding looking at you and Peter altogether could sour your mood. They didn't matter. Or rather, Steve didn't matter. He was in love with his own version of you, with this image he had created in his head and you weren't sorry to shatter it to pieces. Tony was Tony, and you knew he was happy for his protegee.

It wasn't until you got inside your own lab (if you could call that the half greenhouse, half library), that your mood was shaken.

"Master!" You froze in the doorway as you saw your mentor, leaning back casually against one of the tables, looking at something on his Starkpad, "You- you're back early! I thought the council was still-"

"Those old hags are still arguing with each other" He interrupted your anxious greeting, "I grew bored of them. But now I am thoroughly entertained"

You knew it was your turn to talk, to ask what was it he found so interesting. But your words died in your throat. Your hands started to sweat, and you dried them on the skirt of your pretty pink sundress. Peter had been very insistent: Only skirts and dresses from now on, he wanted you ready for him anywhere, anytime. You felt yourself heat up and tried to get a grip; this wasn't the place, nor the time for such thoughts.

Loki finally raised his gaze from the screen, blue eyes piercing through you.

"Tony asked me to take a look at this footage, find where you went wrong and correct you" he snorted, "As if I need his input in how to best train my apprentice…"

He motioned to you to come closer, playing the video again for you.

"Do you want to know what I found, my little enchantress?"

You didn't reply. You didn't have to, anyway. He didn't need it to continue.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Your work was flawless, as usual"

You dared a smile,

"Thank you, master"

He smiled back, amused, and you breathed in relief as you realized, he wasn't mad at you. He was pleased by you. "It does beg the question, why did your spell explode?"

Your smile turned into a smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Because I wanted it to, of course"

He laughed, boisterous and loud and for a second, he reminded you of his brother. He was delighted, not because you had finally caught your little spider in a web of your own weaving, he couldn't care less about the boy. No, he was pleased that you had, at last, started following his advice, the one he had given you so long ago, one night you had come to him frustrated to tears, after the Avengers had refused yet again to take you into a mission with them, leaving you to paperwork and babysitting.

"I almost preferred it when they were afraid of me! At least back then they respected me…"

Loki had tsked,

"Oh, no, none of that! Always let them underestimate you, my little enchantress. Let them think you're the delicate flower in their garden, but be the serpent under it "

… And what a charming little serpent you were .

The end.

Buy me a coffee

[hes-writer]

Insecurities (2)

Summary: Harry is good friends with Camille and Y/N is insecure

Warnings: angst (ish)

Word Count: 2.6k

Read part 1 here

Y/N did not have the best body but it was ‘good enough’. She didn’t have the brightest personality but it made her who she is. Her style wasn’t extravagant—it was simple and casual. And she wasn’t the best at anything. In fact, everything she knew was at the surface level—she couldn’t delve too deep into a conversation about politics, argue that Socrates was the better philosopher to Descartes or discuss how writing a song in F major gave off a happier vibe than a minor key. 

All these proved that she can fit in but she cannot necessarily stand out. Maybe that was the problem. Y/N didn’t know much but she knew enough. 

She knew that her insecurities were getting the better of her because she had never ended on friendly terms with an ex. Nor did she fall so deeply in love with anybody else aside from Harry. It was causing an inner turmoil in her tummy that made Y/N sick to her because something was wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

Y/N was aware that it would be unfair to him to say that he couldn’t communicate with Camille again. So what was she to do? Wallow in the depths of self-pity, hoping that Harry would magically read her mind and do it himself? Of course not.

Y/N bit her lip, hearing the door open and close as Harry exited her apartment. He said a quick goodbye to her, informing her of his whereabouts before leaving with a peck to her head. Harry assumed she was resting a bit—as she often did while she was studying. She could get moody most of the time too and maybe that’s why he didn’t think much of it when she hummed in response. 

Alone with her thoughts, Y/N felt a tear drip to her hairline, cooling her skin with the path it took. Her chest crumbled with a shudder as a small sob managed to rip through her throat. The sound reverberated in the barren room to echo back in her ears and it reminded her of how weak she was. Very weak that she was doubting her self-worth for a man that was so stable, so sure, and completely unapologetic for being himself. 

Y/N compared herself to a lot of people she deemed better than her. She didn’t predict that she would compare herself to Harry. To be so insecure and shaky with herself—unsure whether she was enough or not. It wasn’t right but she couldn’t help but feel unworthy of everything. Jealousy directed to Harry for having something that she wanted—confidence. Insecurity projected to Camille for being someone that she wanted to be because sometimes being yourself isn’t enough. 

It was the sad reality of having a mind like Y/N’s and she so badly wished that she could specifically rewire her brain to not think like that. She should be happy with what she’s got. Her body, her mind, her little quirks that Harry absolutely adored but she despised. Not once did Harry explicitly cross-sectioned her and Camille to each other but it felt like his friendly words and supportive actions towards her told enough. 

She can never be Camille and Y/N was disappointed in herself because of that. 

------

When Camille answered the door for Harry, his mind was figuring out ways to comfort her as a friend. She greeted him with a small smile, wiping the grin off of his face, fully knowing that it used to be much wider, brighter in a sense that it made her face more angelic. He really did love her with the fullness of his heart. It made him frown a bit, toeing off his Chelsea boots beside the closet nearby. His socked feet pattering against the cold marble of her house, sending a chill down his spine.

“Want some tea?” Camille asked, noticing his shiver. She plugged in the electric kettle having been already filled with water beforehand despite his retorts. Camile never really listened to him. Regardless, he stretched his arms over his head, puffing his cheeks out as he situated them on his slim hips,

“How are you?” His quirked brow caused her to pause, slowly shutting the drawer that held the various teas she could offer. Her demeanour put him off--she used to be more lively. 

“Better now that you’re here,” Camille responded, seeming to float on her feet to grab two mugs from the cupboard. Her feet tiptoed to the high shelf, failing to get the object and causing her to huff in frustration. A warmth behind her back and a small touch to her elbow made her freeze, Harry’s tattooed arm passing in her peripherals to help her out, his height easily becoming an advantage. 

He took a couple of steps back, watching her turn around hesitantly, “T-thanks,” She ducked away from him to pour the boiling water in the mugs. She gulped, shaking her head softly to try to get rid of her thoughts. Harry had moved on from her-- that she knew for sure, but Camille couldn’t help the persisting thoughts overtaking her mind. She still wished that he held feelings for her. They were together for quite some time and she just couldn’t believe that feelings could disappear that quickly. Hers was still lingering around, like the ghost of a smile that he showed her right now. A relic of what they had, soon vanishing from her grasp and existing only her memories.

“Are you really okay? The tabloids can be a bit tough,”

The more she thought about it, the more she was sure of her answer and the problem that arose with it. The fact was she was okay, and frankly, she felt a bit guilty having Harry come over all the way here for a dilemma that he thought was about the media. She felt as though she tricked him just so she could see his built frame, hear his raspy voice, and fill her senses with his natural scent--just like she used to before they broke it off; before she let his good nature slip between her thin fingers to replace him with who she thought was better. Camille missed him to the point of desperation, a little white lie that had him caging her in a corner to help her alleviate the pressure of the outside world. 

He spun slightly on the stool, pausing when he saw her lips stutter around her words.

“The media doesn’t bother me,” She admitted, lashes casting downward to the floor. His heavy hand cradled her shoulder, shooting her a gentle smile.

“Hey, you don’t have to lie. It’s me,” His voice was soft, piercing her insides with remorse. “Just Harry. You and me, remember?”

She stared at him longingly, yet he failed to notice the heart eyes she was currently oogling him with. It used to be her and Harry. Camille and Harry, together against the world. He used to say it when things got too rough; when the pressure of everyone drowned them from what was important--each other. 

“Not anymore. It’s you and Y/N now,” Despite hating the fact that the curly-haired man wasn’t hers anymore, Camille couldn’t spit the couples’ name out in spite. Although her heart ached to have him back, the logical part of her knew that he was happier in the arms of someone else.

He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, wondering why Y/N was suddenly in the picture, “What was that?”

Camille swallowed harshly, deciding to rip the words from her throat, “I still love you, Harry.”

Harry dropped the hand from her should, eyeing the steaming cup of tea wafting in the air. He was taken aback by her words, not knowing what to say but aware that his feelings for her were nonexistent.

“C-Camille, you know I’m with her,” He began, hoping that his words did enough to comfort her. “I love Y/N.”

She blinked, a tear splashing on the counter, fully prepared of his response but it did not come any easier. It still hurt to hear him admit that what they had was in the past. “I know,”

“I’m sorry,” He pulled small body towards him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, his chin resting at the top of her blonde head. Camille let herself be cradled for what she knew was the final time, savouring the moment that his strong arms protected her from anything that could ever hurt her, even though she hurt him first. 

Harry felt a push to his chest, the blonde woman wiping away a few stray tears, chuckling at the situation, “You should probably go back home to her now,”

He admired her bravery, putting up a strong front for his happiness, unlike his petty self. “Friends?”

She nodded in agreement, pushing him towards the front door, “Yes. Now, go!”

---- 

The door creaked open, Harry’s head peeping out of the crack before carefully pushing the barricade to let his slim body through. His head whizzed in confusion as he saw the living room lights switched off, just as he’d left it, not seeing his love sitting on the carpet engaging in her studies. Usually, he’d be able to hear her before he saw her but silence met his ears tonight, leaving him scouting for an explanation in curiosity. 

Small sniffles echoed from her bedroom door as he took timid steps, the floorboard weeping with each movement. He twisted the knob, gently revealing Y/N’s slouched body, back against the headboard. Her eyes widened at his presence, quickly palming her damp cheeks to her hairline in an attempt to hide her tears. The tip of her nose was blush pink and a little runny, but he couldn’t care less about her appearance. What matters the most to Harry right now was his little honey crying and he didn’t know why-- so he asked. 

“And don’t say it’s nothing. You’re crying.” His lips were set in a thin line, turned down at the sides. 

Y/N peeked at him through her wet lashes, hesitating with her words, leaving her mouth agape as they stared at each other. Harry’s face was mounted with worry, brows furrowing as if to weigh out the possibilities.

“Where did you go?” Y/N asked with a tone that Harry could not quite comprehend. 

He strode to the side of the bed, shifting his bum on the soft mattress. She didn’t move farther away, yet she did not scoot over to his body like she usually would. “I went to see Camille,”

“Why?”

The moisture in his throat managed to vanish in the short time span-- he swallowed heavily. “S-she needed me,”

Y/N’s breath hitched, snapping her head down towards her hands fiddling with a minute stain on the bedsheet while Harry’s head flopped to try to catch her stare. He could always affirm what she was thinking off just by a glance at her eyes. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this about?” Harry hummed mildly, caressing an arm across the expanse of her shoulders. “Need’ to tell me so I can fix it,”

And his words hurt, despite the meaning behind them because he was Harry and he is nice and kind to everyone he meets. Y/N’s clouded mind couldn’t help but think of the worse--what made her so special? Did she even stand out to him or was she just like everyone else? Before, she felt on top of this world special but to know that he could do the same for anyone else was a slap to the face. 

“You come running every time she needs you?” She shrugged his arm off, moving her legs in a criss-cross position under the sheets to feel more stable. Harry tilted his head in surprise at the sudden change in her mood.

“She was sad about the tabloids, I had to go. She called me--,” 

“I know. I heard.” Y/N snarked. Looking out to her window, she could see the sun slowly setting across the horizon--she couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

Harry didn’t know what to say, his eyes held confusion and wonder to what she was pertaining to. Was Y/N jealous?

“‘Said she was the ‘kindest, sweetest person’ you’ve ever been with’. I wonder where I’ve heard of that before--oh wait,” Y/N zeroed in on his figure, a crease was firm on her forehead. “Is that just something you say to everyone?”

The staredown she was giving him had him shaking in his boots; his mistake fluttering in every corner of his brain, alarm blaring that he truly fucked up. He didn’t even realize the gravity of his words, knowing that deep in his heart, he only wanted to make Camille feel better. 

“Did you even mean it when you said it to me?” Her voice cracked a bit during the duration of her question, reminiscing the context to which he let the words slip past his pink lips. It was the first time he professed his love for her, complimenting her with butterfly-inducing graces that had heart thumping through her chest. “Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?”

“Of course I did,” Harry responded right away, shaking his head in rejection at her accusation. “Don’t you dare question it. I love you. Always,” 

She breathed in deeply, letting his response sink in her bones, left to wonder where this conversation would go.

“I-I didn’t realize I said that to her,” He started off, scrambling for words without getting tongue-tied. “I swear I didn’t. I was only trying to make her feel better..”

“But you hurt me instead,”

“I didn’t mean to!” He almost yelled in frustration, voice dwindling when she moved away from him slightly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He took her hand in his, grazing his thumb against her silky skin. “I love you, Y/N.”

She didn’t move an inch, trying to categorize what was real and what was a shadow of her doubtful thoughts against him. 

“Camille used to be that person but she’s not anymore--you are.” Harry stuffed a hand in his hair, tugging at the roots as he chuckled humourlessly, “I was blinded by love but not anymore. She didn’t feel the same way a-and she cheated on me.”

Y/N tightened her fingers around his, making him smile subtly, his dimples concaving against his cheek. He returned the squeeze back to her, “And then I found you. You showed me how to love again and what it’s like to be loved.”

His unoccupied fingers lifted her chin up so that he could gaze into her lovely eyes while he dictated honest words from to bottom of his heart, “I love you.”

Sometimes Y/N couldn’t help but let her insecurities drown her in distasteful thoughts. Words created by her saboteur to tear her down because she believed she didn’t deserve the love she shared with Harry-- because she was too plain, too broken to be given a love’s miracle that she forgot how much he did love her.

And at this moment, observing the emotions that flooded his eyes, his face and the aura he was presenting as if he would be lost without her---she knew that look. It was the same loved up gaze that he gave her across the console while he thought she was too distracted by keeping her eyes on the road. She felt it burning her cheek as she read the materials for her courses, deeming her too engrossed in learning that Y/N wouldn’t notice the admiration he held for her. The look that draped over her naked body when they made love, her hair acting as a curtain from the ministrations of the outside world while she rode him with passion. Harry stared up at her with ardent, her eyes blissed out and pink lips damp with their heated kisses--a look of love that she noticed despite the pleasure overtaking her body.

He loves her and only her. 

——

hello! I’m not sure if you guys are liking the content I put out or if tumblr is just being weird 😩😫

anyways, I hope you enjoyed this!

------

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Insecurities (2) Taglist: @littlewolfieposts​ @zavidzobrik rik​

[hanaasbananas]

100 Ways to say I Love You Chapter 99

I remember (Ladrien)

Sequel to chapter 92

AO3

The party was well underway, music, and laughter filling the hall with sounds of revelry. And yet...Adrien  struggled to muster any enthusiasm for the event despite the fact that he had been the one to open the castle, hosting a week of celebration in the wake of the rebels victory and his own new status as King.

His crown dug uncomfortably into his scalp, reminding him of it’s presence, and idly, he thought that it would have to be resized before the coronation.

Looking over the party from his place on the throne, Adrien couldn’t help but sigh. It was clear that there was still much work to do if there was to be true unity. Even now, despite the many classes in attendance, there was a distinct division among the hall.

The rebels, of course, were enjoying the finest dining that Adrien could provide. Some had bought their own instruments, beginning to play—tunes Adrien recognised from the times when he had snuck into their camps so long ago—the music a fast tempo that had other’s clapping and stomping to the beat.

On the other side of the hall, quiet conversations replaced raucous laughter, and Adrien spotted many a dirty look being sent across the room to the lower classes. He snorted as one of the rebel leaders caught such a look, and raised his wine glass in a toast, sending the young nobleman spinning back around in mortification, his cheeks burning red.

Many of the nobles had returned—those who had opposed his father and fled his rage, enticed back by the promise of peace, but they were vastly outnumbered by the more opportunistic men. Men who brought with them their daughters in an attempt to curry favour with the new king, all of them hoping that one of those girls might become their next Queen, that they might use their daughters as mouthpieces for their own agendas.

It was incredibly tiresome. Not to mention, a completely useless endeavour, for there was only one woman who occupied his mind. And there never would be another.

Adrien swore under his breath, spying the Lady Rossi weaving through the crowd towards him as her father watched. She was one of the more insufferable noblewomen, and he did not look forward to sharing her company—it had been difficult enough to prise himself from her grasp the first time. There would not be a second.

Rising quickly, he slipped from the room just as Lady Rossi began to climb up onto the dais, moving faster when he heard her call after him.

The corridor was blessedly cool as he made his way to his chambers. He hadn’t realised how stuffy the hall had become, but it was certainly a welcome relief to be out of it, allowing the crisp night air to fill his lungs. His room was chillier still, a draft coming in from the window, and Adrien shivered, crossing the room to slam the shutters closed. Finally alone, he pulled the crown from his head, setting it unceremoniously down on his desk, and took his shirt off, examining the bandages that covered his torso.

“I thought I told you not to fight.”

The voice came from behind him, almost deafening in the quiet room. Adrien froze, his heart stuttering in his chest.

No. Not now...please

Squeezing his eyes shut, Adrien dropped his head against the window with a thud . “Not tonight,” he muttered under his breath “please, I cannot bear….I cannot—” A wave of grief washed over him, so strong it threatened to wind him, to knock the ground out from under his feet, and he struggled to stay upright.

Ladybug had not been among those who had stormed the castle. She had not been with those who came after, to discuss negotiations as he’d lay in his sickbed. Two weeks later, and many of the rebels had given her up for dead, though they had not said it.

“Adrien—”

He raised his voice, “begone, foul apparition!”

For weeks now, he had been plagued by them. A flash of red in the corner of his eye, the cheerful sound of Ladybug’s laughter around the corner, he’d even see her standing in this very room, talking to him as she had on that night, so long ago. They drove him to insanity, yet he craved them nonetheless, clinging to the scraps of his delirium as though they might become something tangible in his hands.

“I am no apparition,” A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and Adrien hardly dared to breathe. Had he finally succumbed to the madness? Had he—

”It’s me, Adrien. I am here.”

Slowly, he turned around, staring in disbelief at Ladybug in front of him, regarding him steadily, her blue eyes glistening behind her mask.

With trembling hands, Adrien reached out to touch her, terrified that she would dissolve into mist the moment that he made contact, but she remained solid beneath his palm. Solid, and real. “ You —” he breathed, cupping her face, feeling her soft skin, the warmth of her cheek, the intricate embroidery of her mask. Ladybug’s eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his touch with a contented sigh.

“You’re alive .” His voice cracked on the word, but he could not bring himself to care. “We thought that you had been lost.”

“I told you that I would return, didn’t I?” Her lips twisted into a frown, fingers coming up to trace his bandages. Her touch was feather light, but he shuddered, goosebumps rising all along his skin. “But you almost broke your promise. When I heard about what happened, about your injury, I—I feared the worst. But your father —!”

“Yes,” Adrien confirmed. “What you heard is true.”

Truthfully, he had been expecting father to turn on him—why wouldn’t he? As the nobles had begun to leave, and more and more reports of rebel activities were delivered, it was almost inevitable that father would attempt to kill the one the rebels wished to make king.

And he had almost succeeded. It had only been the extra fighting lessons Adrien had been taking with the guards, as well as the fortuitous timing of the rebels storming the throne room that had saved his life. Still, father had left him with a souvenir—a knife in his gut and a scar to go with it.

“Let us not talk about that, my lady,” Adrien murmured, stroking her cheek softly. There would be time enough to discuss such things later, he was sure. And he would not taint this moment with discussion of his father’s crimes.

Instead, they sat by the fire and spoke of anything and everything else. Of what they had done in the six months since they had seen each other last. Still, they avoided talk of their feelings, though they spoke for hours, until the pinks and oranges of the early morning sky began to stretch across the horizon, the light breaking through a gap in the curtains and slicing through the darkness of his room.

Until that was the only subject they had not broached.

“The night I left,” Ladybug said, haltingly “when I was last here, you said—you almost said something to me.”

Adrien swallowed. “I remember.” How could he forget the desperation that had clawed at his chest, the terror that had filled him at the thought of Ladybug never truly knowing what was in his heart? And how many nights had he lain awake, cursing the way that those words had stuck in his throat, choking him, preventing him from saying them at all.

“Has that changed?”

“Yes,” his voice came out in a whisper. Ladybug’s face fell, and she stood, taking a step back from him.

“Oh.” Before she could go further however, he grabbed hold of her wrist, standing and taking her hands in his.

“Yes, it has changed,” he began earnestly. “Because with every second that passes, with every breath that I take, my feelings for you grow ever stronger. You occupy my thoughts like no other, whether you are in front of me, or not. My love for you is deeper now than it was that night, and it will be deeper still tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, forevermore.” Lifting her hand, Adrien pressed a kiss to Ladybug’s knuckles. “My feelings have not diminished. They never have, and they never will.”

For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes blown wide, lips parted in surprise. In the dying candlelight, with the light dancing across her features, she looked ethereal, an angel among men. And he, a mere mortal.

Adrien couldn’t say who moved first. One minute they were staring at each other, the air between them crackling with tension, and the next, they were kissing.

His mouth slanted over hers, one hand cupping her neck, the other gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him so that they stood chest to chest, no space in between them. Ladybug’s fingers buried themselves in his hair, tugging on the strands and causing him to groan, a rumble deep in his chest. She opened her mouth to him, skimming her tongue along his. Pulling back slightly, he tugged at her lip with his teeth, swallowing her moan.

She consumed his senses, igniting a fire in his blood, and Adrien thought that he would let her destroy him, burn him from the inside out, if only she would do it with a kiss.

As they stumbled towards the bed— neither of them willing to let go of the other for even a second—he traced a line from her hipbone to the small of her back, unlacing the back of her dress, kissing her jaw and collarbone, nipping and sucking at the hollow of her throat before rising and capturing her lips once more.

Afterwards, as they lay sated in bed, Adrien reached out, tracing a path up and down her arm. Ladybug’s eyes followed the movement, watching his hand before taking his wrist, her fingers running over the ribbon that she had given him as a token, still tied around his wrist.

“You kept it,” she sounded surprised.

“Of course.”

The edge was badly frayed from the many times he had toyed with it, but it was otherwise intact. Silently, Adrien watched as she unwound it, sitting up and turning her back to him. The sheets pooled around her waist, and he sat up too, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, wrapping his arms around her middle as she unbraided her hair. Glancing over at him, Ladybug held up the ribbon, “tie this into my hair for me?”

Her hair slid through his fingers like silk, the ribbon standing out starkly against her dark hair as he braided her hair clumsily, threading it through the plait. When he was done, she faced him again, her eyes seeming to glow in the early morning light. Holding his wrist, she kissed the pale strip of skin that had been underneath the ribbon, her lips lingering for a long moment. “Thank you for taking care of it for me.”

Gently, Adrien pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, pressing a kiss to her brow, his heart brimming with contentment and joy.

“Always."

[pianomanblaine]

Healing Scars

Being intimate with Erik is more than Christine could have ever dreamed of, but when she realises how insecure Erik feels about his body, she is determined to make him see how much she desires him.

AO3 FFN

They had only been intimate a handful of times since their wedding, but Christine was addicted already. His hands on her skin stoked a fire inside of her that she would gladly be consumed by. She would burn for all eternity if it only meant he never stopped touching her.

Inexperienced as he was – as they both were – Erik was a quick study, cataloguing every breathy moan and whimper for future reference, finding those places on her body where she liked most to be touched and kissed, and lavishing attention on them until she felt she would explode with pleasure. He worshipped her as if she were his personal goddess.

She wanted nothing more than to return the favour, mapping his body with her hands, her lips, her tongue, to discover all the delicious sounds her Maestro could make. Whenever she attempted to start her explorations, however, he would always find a way to stop her. Most of the time she didn’t even realise it was happening. Before she even had the time to think about it he had her pinned underneath him, distracting her with his mouth and his talented musician’s fingers until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone what she had been planning to do.

Tonight was turning out to go down a similar path.

Christine was completely naked already, but Erik had yet to shed any clothing apart from his vest, shoes and socks. Determined to rectify the situation, she started to unbutton his shirt. She had barely reached the third button when she felt his hands cover hers, guiding them away from his chest towards his face. It was then, when she felt the twisted skin of his unmasked face beneath her fingers – it had taken some convincing before he agreed to leave off his mask during their lovemaking – that she realised how desperately he wanted to keep her attention away from the rest of his body.

‘Erik, what’s wrong?’ she asked, straightening up on her knees where she was sitting on the bed to look at him.

‘Nothing at all, my love,’ he replied a little too quickly, not meeting her eyes as he spoke.

‘Then why won’t you let me look at you?’

‘My dear,’ he chuckled nervously, ‘you are looking at me.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ She winced slightly at how harsh her voice sounded to her own ears, but she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by his constant rejection of her touch.

Erik remained silent, restlessly kneading the fabric of the mattress beneath his fingers.

Very well then, she thought, it seemed like action on her part was needed to draw him out.

She moved to straddle him, and when he still refused to look at her she brought a finger under his chin, softly pushing up his face in a gesture he had used on her so many times before until he couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer.

‘I can tell something is wrong, love. Please tell me what it is. I promise I won’t judge, I only want to help.’

Erik sighed deeply, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her palm before finally answering.

‘I haven’t let you look at me because… Well, frankly, because I’m ugly.’

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she kept quiet, allowing him the chance to elaborate.

‘You have been so extraordinarily kind as to allow me into your bed. You continue to insist that you want to see my face, which I still find hard to fathom, but I cannot deny you if that is what you truly wish. However, I simply cannot bear for you to look upon this hideous body, Christine.’

Her heart broke a little at his admission. She grabbed his face with both hands and tried to pour every ounce of love she felt for him into her eyes and into her next words.

‘Darling, how can you think your body would disgust me? You’ve told me that you have scars, but I honestly wouldn’t mind them. They’re simply another part of you, just like your face, and I’ve told you time and again that I don’t want you to hide your face any longer. I want to see the real you. No masks. No barriers.’

‘Oh Christine,’ he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before continuing, a pained expression crossing his features. ‘You say that now, but you don’t understand. Your body is so smooth and soft and beautiful.’ He gently trailed a hand from her breast down to her waist to emphasise his words and her breath hitched at the featherlight touch. ‘Mine is hard and sharp, every inch of skin covered in scars. And unlike my face, which has been my burden since birth, these scars have not always been there. They were put there deliberately by people who wanted to harm me but didn’t live to tell the tale. Every single one of those scars is a reminder of a monstrous past that haunts me, no matter how badly I want to forget.’

Christine was lost for words. She knew about his past and wished more than anything that she could take all that pain away, but nothing she could do would erase what had happened to him.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could say anything.

‘I’m so sorry you feel that way, but I need you to know that I meant what I said. I hate that the scars are there because it means you suffered physically as well as mentally, but they don’t disgust me, Erik. The past is behind us, and right now I am only interested in the present and the future.’

He looked at her disbelievingly, although Christine thought she could see hope begin to shimmer through in his gaze. ‘A future with me, scars and all?’

‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Erik, I love you. I’ve told you so before and I will keep telling you until you’re sick of hearing it.’

He scoffed at her words. ‘Even if they were the only words you spoke to me for the rest of your life, I could never tire of hearing them,’ he swore, his eyes burning through her with that same passion she had seen there every time they had been intimate since their wedding night.

‘That might be true, but no matter how many times I say it, I’m still not convinced that you believe me.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but she brought a finger to his lips to silence him.

‘I think there’s a part of you that still believes I will run at the first opportunity. That you are undeserving of love. But you’re not, Erik. So please, let me show you how much I love you, as you have showed me.’

A single tear rolled down the deformed side of his face, telling her that he had recognised the truth in her words, and she bent down to catch the little bead of moisture with her lips. She continued to cover his face with kisses until she felt him shudder underneath her. Her fingers sought out his on the mattress, giving them a little reassuring squeeze.

‘Trust me,’ she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear, ‘please’.

Trust was a hard thing for him to learn given his past, she understood that, but she also knew that he was unable to refuse her anything and she was proven right when he indicated his assent with a single nod. His golden eyes pleaded with her, for what she did not know, but she made a silent vow there and then that she would do everything in her power to be worthy of his trust.

Christine kept looking him in the eye as she continued to undress him. He didn’t try to stop her again, but shrugged off his shirt when she was done unbuttoning it, dropping it on the ground next to the bed. She recalled how he had described his body as hard and sharp, and it was true. Erik was terribly skinny, so thin she could easily count his ribs. But beneath all of that lay an incredible strength, and so much passion it took her breath away. Skinny he might be, but weak he was certainly not. There was nowhere on earth she felt safer than wrapped up in his arms. If only she could make him see that.

She captured his lips in a soft, reassuring kiss, but when he moved to deepen it, she leaned back.

‘Lie back for me?’ she asked and as he obeyed without complaint, an idea struck her and she guided his hands above his head. ‘I want you to keep your hands here. Don’t move.’

‘What?’

She felt him tense beneath her, the initial confusion in his eyes quickly transforming into panic.

‘No. No Christine, please, don’t ask this of me,’ he begged, ‘I can’t.’

‘Shhh, don’t worry, love,’ she murmured, interlacing her fingers with his, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

‘But I – I need to touch you.’

It was true, he always had his hands on her during their lovemaking, squeezing and caressing every bit of skin he could reach, as if to make sure that she was still there. As if he needed to be certain that she would not simply disappear into thin air. But if she allowed him to touch her, he would certainly use it to distract her whenever he started to feel self-conscious under her ministrations and that is exactly what she did not want to happen. Tonight would be about him.

He tried to wriggle his hands free, but she pushed them back down unto the bed.

‘I know, and you will,’ she promised. ‘Just not yet.’

For a moment Erik looked as if he would object further, but no words left his lips. He simply gazed at her with a mix of fear, hope and adoration. Christine continued to whisper soothing words in his ear, rubbing gentle circles into the palms of his hands with her thumbs until the tension slowly seeped out of him.

Finally, finally she could explore her husband’s body like she had always wanted to, but she had to take things slow for his sake. She wanted him to feel every bit as loved and wanted as he made her feel every day.

Arms were a safe place to start, she decided. She let her hands wander from his palm to his wrist and down his upper arm, following a prominent vein with her fingers, keeping her touch light and soft. She noticed a few scars here and there, but there weren’t all that many. The majority of them must be situated on his torso then, she suspected.

She kept her focus on his arms for a while. When she looked up after a minute or two, his eyes were closed, his limbs loose, body practically melting into the mattress. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so relaxed. It was such a difference compared to his desperate, panicked state mere moments ago and she silently congratulated herself on the progress she was making.

She mapped out the same trail her fingers had followed with her lips and Erik let out a contented hum. While her mouth left little kisses across his upper arms, her hands continued their path downward until they reached his armpits. He hissed at the tickling sensation, but didn’t otherwise protest as she explored further.

After his arms, she concentrated on his neck and throat, committing to memory the beautiful moans he uttered as she grazed her teeth across his skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. ‘I love this spot,’ she murmured, placing a lingering kiss on the bit of skin between his jaw and his earlobe. ‘I love how sensitive you are here.’ He didn’t reply, but tried to push closer to her lips, wordlessly asking for more. It was all the encouragement she needed.

From there, she let her hands and mouth wander lower, towards his chest, and that’s where she started encountering more scars.

He opened his eyes and tensed slightly when her fingers brushed the first one, watching her intently. She felt the rough ridges of flesh beneath her fingertips, but they didn’t evoke revulsion as Erik expected they would. All she wanted was to caress them until they became a source of pleasure rather than pain. She skimmed her fingers over every scar that came across her path, coaxing little whimpers from his lips, and then kissed and licked the marred skin until he was writhing with need underneath her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his skin in between kisses and hoped he understood how badly she truly wanted him, with or without scars.

When she thought he was starting to feel overwhelmed, she shifted her focus to his nipples instead, watching with fascination as they hardened at her touch. The needy moan that escaped his throat as she swirled her tongue around the little buds made desire pool hot in her stomach. She knew from experience how incredible it felt when he did that to her, but she hadn’t expected it would be just as pleasurable for a man. This was definitely a spot she would come back to in the future.

As she scooted down to focus her ministrations on his stomach, she felt his hard length, still caught beneath his trousers, brush against her naked buttocks and he bucked up against her.

‘Please, my love,’ he panted, ‘please, I need you. Let me touch you. Let me have you.’

She had originally planned to move on to his cock next, using her hands and mouth to pleasure him before letting him into her body, but he seemed so desperate already and to be honest, she wasn’t sure she could make herself wait much longer either. Witnessing his pleasure, knowing she was the one to make him feel that way, only fuelled her desire for him. God, he was beautiful, and he was hers, and she needed him.

Without further ado she unbuttoned his trousers and removed them, and he groaned when her fingers brushed his cock. She noted that he didn’t move his hands to help her undress him, still obeying her command to keep them above his head.

As soon as she was settled above him again, his hips started moving, rubbing his cock against her ass, causing her to let out a needy whimper of her own.

‘Yes, okay, give me your hands,’ she ordered him, and he was only too eager to comply. She placed one of his hands on her breast, which he started squeezing immediately, moaning loudly when he was finally allowed to touch her. His other hand she brought to her entrance, guiding two fingers inside and wasting no time in pumping her hips against them. Her breath hitched at the delicious stretch and when he brought his thumb against her nub and started rubbing in little circles, she nearly reached her peak there and then. But tonight was about him. His pleasure was her priority now.

She thrust down on his fingers a few more times before moving off of them and from the moment he had both hands free, they were all over her body. It was as if, now that he was finally able to touch her, he couldn’t decide where to start, wanting to feel her everywhere at once. She let his hands roam her body, revelling in the feeling of his long, slender fingers against her skin. When his hands started drifting down her stomach towards her mound she stopped him. Instead she guided them to her backside and then took his length in her hand, positioning it at her entrance and slowly sinking down on it, never breaking eye contact.

The way he moaned her name once he was fully inside of her was a sound she would never tire of hearing. She could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to hold back, giving her time to adjust, but she was having none of that. She started sliding up and down his length, urging him to move and when he did, she bent forward, capturing his lips in a demanding kiss.

He buried a hand in her hair, pulling her closer still and taking control of the kiss, licking and sucking at her mouth like he could never get enough. When coming up for air became unavoidable, he moved his lips to her neck, latching on to her pulse point and sucking hard. She cried out his name in ecstasy.

‘Erik! Erik, I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ he gasped, ‘God, how I love you.’

He was pumping into her in a frantic rhythm now and she knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He usually made sure she reached her climax before chasing his own, but that was not how she wanted it to go this time.

‘Let go, love,’ she urged him, ‘don’t wait for me. Take what you need.’

A deep groan rumbled from his chest and in a single fluid motion, he grabbed her and spun them around so he was on top of her. Erik pounded into her at a relentless pace until she was seeing stars. He tilted up her hips a little, slightly changing the angle of his thrusts so his cock was pushing right against that bundle of nerves which caused sparks to shoot through her entire body. With one final pump of his hips, he spent himself inside her, repeating her name over and over again as if it was the only word he knew, and he took her right over the edge with him.

He collapsed on top of her and Christine had never felt more cherished and at ease than there, pinned underneath his weight. She was unable and unwilling to move, wishing she could stay in this moment with him forever.

When their heavy breathing had returned to normal, Erik slowly blinked open his eyes and gazed down on her with unbridled adoration and devotion. He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, then her nose, her chin, her forehead, peppering her whole face with kisses, making her giggle, and then finally planted a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips.

‘You are an exceptional woman and I cannot believe my luck that you are mine,’ he said reverently.

Christine beamed up at him, her heart fit to burst with all the love she felt for this extraordinary, beautiful man.

‘Then it seems we are both extremely lucky.’

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 21

of the wwx emperor au that still doesn’t have a damn title

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Time becomes fractured and uneven.

Wei Ying is pressing his hand to the wound, the arrow in between his fingers, slick with blood. Dozens of hands are descending around him, attempting to help. A-Sang is clutching a handful of his robes, his fingers cold against Wei Ying’s skin. His face is snow white. The delicate flesh under his terrified gaze is bluish gray, the color of an overcast sky. Wei Ying knows he is screaming for Wen Qing, but he can hear nothing over the roar in his ears. He sees the flash of Jiang Cheng’s robes out of the corner of his eye. A wad of purple cloth is being pushed underneath his hand, blood immediately coloring it black.

People are trying to move him away, but he refuses to let go. Only when Nie MingJue takes a hold of his wrist, does he relinquish the pressure on the wound, letting him take over. He sees Wen Qing’s red robes, and her tight, furious expression. She is shouting orders he cannot hear. A-Sang is being lifted. He is being carried inside.

Jiang Cheng is in front of him. He does not speak, but Wei Ying knows. That expression on his face, the thunder and lightening, the eager fury, his fists clenched so tight that the skin is red from strain. He knows what Jiang Cheng wants to hear.

“Find them,” Wei Ying says, “Kill them. Bring me their head.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, Jiang Cheng is gone. There is a trail of blood leading to the palace entrance.

He does not remember following the blood. He does not remember crossing the familiar halls, but he must have done so, to find himself in A-Sang’s chambers. A pale hand clutches his, short nails digging into his flesh, breaking the skin. He can feel no pain.  

The arrow had gone almost all the way through. It has to be pushed further in. The tip has to be broken. A-Sang’s screams are blood-curdling. The moment he finally loses consciousness is almost a relief.

He sits on A-Sang’s bed and holds him, while Wen Qing cleans the wound and sows the skin back together. It is devastating, how light he feels in Wei Ying’s arms, as if all of his bones are hollow.

Wen Qing says he will be fine. She says nothing major was damaged. She says he was very lucky.

No one, not even Nie MingJue, is addressing the obvious. A-Sang was in Wei Ying’s seat. A-Sang was hurt because of him.

Wei Ying thinks, disconnectedly, that A-Sang will be furious he only got to wear these robes once. They are utterly ruined. He wants to cry, but he cannot. There are too many people here, watching him carefully, waiting for something.

“Your Majesty,” Nie MigJue says, “we cannot delay any longer.”

He has not the slightest idea what those words mean. Had the man been talking to Wei Ying all along? It feels as if everything around him is happening under water, muffled and slow. The only thing that is starkly present, inescapable, is the bandage around A-Sang’s shoulder, blood already seeping through.

His blood is everywhere. A smear of it on the pillow, on the bed covers, on the delicate silk canopy.

Wen Qing touches his arm.

“You can let him go now,” she says gently, “Granny and I will get him cleaned up. Let him rest.”

Is Granny here? Wei Ying had not noticed her arrive. He sees her now, putting away the needle and the thread, folding the unused bandage.

Wei Ying swallows heavily. His throat feels raw.

“His sleep robes are in the trunk at the bottom of the bed,” he rasps, “He likes the gray silk with the green flowers. When he does not feel well.”

“I will take care of it,” Wen Qing says, “They need you outside. Go now. I will come and find you if anything changes.”

It takes him a few moments to be able to stand up, but Nie MingJue waits patiently, hovering right by his shoulder, in case he cannot manage on his own.

Now he can feel pain. His ribs are throbbing. Every muscle in his body feels too tight, as if on the verge of tearing. There is a dull pain at the back of his head.

A-Sang’s receiving chamber is crowded. Shijie and uncle are there, and Nie ZongHui, and ten men of the Emperor’s guard. Inexplicably, Jin GuangShan is there as well, Jin ZiXuan and two other disciples by his side.

And all three of the Lan Sect members, all three kneeling, their heads bowed.

“What--?” Wei Ying says.

He is still covered in blood. He can feel a streak of it drying on his face. Shijie looks as if she wants to cry.

He should have cleaned up before letting her see him.

Nie MingJue is talking, and it takes Wei Ying a few moments for his mind to catch up. Instant fury rises in his chest, sharply clearing the fog.

“Ridiculous!” he snaps, interrupting the man mid-sentence, “They are not at fault. Get up.”

“Lan QiRen has inspected the arrow,” Jiang FengMian says carefully, “He has admitted that it belongs to the Lan Sect. The spiritual signature of the arrows forged in Cloud Recesses cannot be duplicated by an outsider.”

Wei Ying is not listening. He is reaching down to lift up Lan Zhan, but his hands are still covered with blood, and Lan Zhan’s robes are still white and spotless.

“Get up, Lan Zhan,” he says instead, “Sect leader Lan, please stand up. Lan XiChen. None of you are at fault.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan says, “the Lan Sect has a history of assassinating the rulers of Shan Dynasty. Is your decision to absolve them a little too hasty?”

His fury is a dark mass in his abdomen.

It would be so easy, to give in. So easy, to have Jin GuangShan removed from his presence forever. One order, two words. Nie MingJue would not hesitate.

“The Lan Sect knew,” he says, voice tight with suppressed rage, “long before the competition started, that the Emperor was not going to be in his seat. They knew exactly where the Emperor was going to be, and they could have had him killed a thousand times over without anyone noticing. Someone is clearly trying to eliminate the Lan Sect in any way possible, and your stupidity is helping them.”

Jin GuangShan’s face turns white. Wei Ying does not know what the man reads in his expression, but he seems to realize that this time, he has gone too far. In the next moment, he is folding to his knees.

“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. I meant no harm. I was only worried about Your Majesty.”

Jin ZiXuan and the two disciples are kneeling as well, and Wei Ying wonders about the political repercussions of individually kicking each one until they are forced to crawl out of the receiving chamber on their knees.

“High Councilor, since Sect Leader Jin wants to be helpful, please find him something productive to do. Somewhere that is not here.”

Jiang FengMian hastily pushes the Jin Sect out of the receiving hall, but Wei Ying does not see them leave.

Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His cool expression, usually so difficult to read, is no longer there. In its place, there is a mix of worry, and sadness, and inexplicable guilt. For a moment, it looks as if he may reach out. His fingers twitch, then settle.

Wei Ying feels his fury shiver apart, fracturing into a thousand sharp pieces. He wants to take Lan Zhan’s hand. He wants it almost as badly as he wants the head of the man who had hurt A-Sang.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says, “If I may have a moment of your time. In private.”

Wei Ying exhales heavily.

He wants to sit somewhere in silence, and just breathe. But he cannot.

He can hear shijie asking MingJue if she can go in now, to see A-Sang. She touches Wei Ying’s shoulder lightly as she passes by, both a warning and a comfort.

“Nie ZongHui,” Wei Ying says, “Please escort the Young Masters back to the Peach Blossom Pavilion. Double their protection. If someone looks at the Lan Sect in a way you deem suspicious, arrest them. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wei Ying turns to Lan QiRen the moment the others are out of earshot. The man pulls out a small piece of folded up paper from the sleeve of his robe, and hands it over.

“This was waiting at the Peach Blossom Pavilion the night we arrived,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying unfolds the paper, leaving bloody fingerprints over its surface.

The note is simple and straightforward:

“The Young Masters are in danger. Leave the Immortal Mountain.”

He frowns at the script. The characters are clumsy and crooked, as if written by a child.

“Why did you not bring this to someone’s attention earlier?” he asks.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says dryly, “If I brought each threat against the Lan Sect to your attention, you would have no time left to run the Empire.”

Wei Ying gapes at him. Was that a joke? Out of Sect Leader Lan?

He looks around, but no one else is there to witness this. No one will believe him.

“I would like the permission to take my nephews back to Cloud Recesses,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying feels his heart plummet.

He folds the paper carefully, and tucks it in his own sleeve.

“No,” he says.

“Your Majesty--“

“No,” he says again, his stomach twisting, “the danger may follow you there, and if you leave, I cannot protect h-- I cannot protect you.”

“It is likely that your attention has caused the danger in the first place,” Lan QiRen says, his voice hard.

Wei Ying swallows heavily, his throat raw.

“You may be right, but the answer is still no. It has been a long and trying day for all of us,” he says, before Lan QiRen can offer any other argument, “You may go now, Sect Leader.”

Lan QiRen looks furious, but he bows, and leaves without another word.