#I just think it's INCH resting how when confronted about her certainty about her feelings for ferrán | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hange-zone · 3 years

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Hello! I really like this song called Heather by Conan Gray. Can I please request an eremin fic based on it and with a happy ending? (I'm not great with angsts.😂)

They’re under the bleachers – far away from anyone else, close together. Eren’s hands are soft in his. He’s holding them gingerly, as if he’s afraid that his fingers would leave a mark on the back of Armin’s palms, something that told the whole world they’d touched. His breath brushes Armin’s cheek. Their faces are inches from each other and he can’t bear to look Eren in the eyes. Instead, his gaze flickers to his lips – there’s a sheen to them where he’d licked them nervously, pink tongue going round and round and there were little droplets of sweat above his upper lip, a tiny beaded mustache.

A single moment of wanting seizes him and before the fear kicks in, Armin leans forward clumsily and presses his lips against the other boy, who responds with an equal and opposite reaction.

He was thinking about that now. That moment where time slowed and the world shrank to immediate sensations – the salty wetness of Eren’s mouth, the softness of it all, the expanding satisfaction neat and pert in his heart – and he smiled quietly to himself, remembering the six seconds where nothing mattered anymore.

But it turned out the kiss probably didn’t mean anything at all. Eren was still the same as ever, friendly, yes, but there was something distant about him. They passed in hallways and Armin expected a sort of shared understanding about what had transpired that afternoon between best friends – a nod, a touch, something, but Eren hadn’t mentioned it and he himself had been too scared to ask. So there wasn’t anything at all. He thought about ships in the night and wondered if this were what it meant.

And the way Eren had acted after made him feel sick. How in the few days after the encounter he’d suddenly attached himself to Historia, been extra chatty as she passed them in the same corridors. And the same softness had descended on his features and he’d looked lost in a daydream after her small figure. Armin hated it even more, hated himself, actually, because in that moment he hated her, hated how sweet and lovely and unassuming she was, how she would hide her smile in an admittedly cute giggle and Eren would smile back and he could only think that Eren didn’t care about him in that way, he probably liked Historia and she liked him back and -

And he hated knowing that maybe it wouldn’t ever work out anyway, that maybe that one time where they got too close was a mistake and he shouldn’t have even entertained the thought in the first place. They were better off as friends. Good guy friends, who maybe kissed that one time but it was water under the bridge, off the duck’s back.

All this he told Mikasa after school, while they sat on the sidewalk and ate their rapidly melting ice creams. It had been four days since the incident and its dizzying spiral of consequences.

“Mm,” she said, in between licks. “Yeah, I noticed too. He’s been a bit weird lately. But I suspect it’s because he actually likes you back. He just hasn’t found a way to say it properly. So he’s overcompensating.”

“That’s dumb,” Armin said, taking a long taste of his ice cream and feeling the cool sweetness spread across his tongue. He thought about the pinkness of Eren’s mouth and sighed. “Though I guess it makes sense, in a way. But it’s also so incredibly dumb.”

Mikasa shrugged. “I know.”

She paused, thinking. Then, slowly, pragmatically, “Do you want me to tell him? I mean - what you’re thinking. It’ll save you both a lot of - ”

“No,” Armin said quickly, horrified. He thought about Mikasa accosting Eren, asking him in her usual solemn way, to act rationally and explicably about the kiss. It seemed absurd and not to mention intrusive to bring her directly into that moment between them. And then he thought about confronting Eren himself, gesturing to the space between them, and asking, desperately, what about this? That also seemed too much all at once. The thought of exposing his raw jealousy to Eren seemed terribly mortifying as well - to say, also, that he hated the other girl who was so small and cute and perfect? Who Eren had given his brown sweater to when it was raining and she’d looked miserable and cold? He made a face.

Historia hadn’t even done anything objectionable. In fact half the boys at school had been too glad to offer their varsity jackets when she’d forgotten her umbrella and had to run out in the rain. She’d merely taken Eren’s because he was the closest and besides, friends did that all the time right? He’d lent Eren his blue cardigan a few weeks ago and he hadn’t seen it since. He wondered briefly if he should ask Mikasa to get it back from him. She was the only one who could make sense - or be bothered to parse through - the mess that was Eren’s bedroom. He sighed, and swallowed the rest of his strawberry cone in a big, sad bite as he looked at his reflection in the shop window. Though they were both small and slight, yellow-haired with large cerulean eyes, he was certain that he would never be as pretty or attractive as Historia. They were going for the exact same place in Eren’s heart, and she had won on all counts, depsite not even trying. She probably didn’t even know they were competing in the first place. She was also probably a better, kinder person whose insides didn’t twist up when she saw Eren standing too close to someone else. And Eren liked her instead. And so he wouldn’t kiss him again. Ever.

“He’ll come around eventually,” Mikasa said knowingly, comfortingly. She stood up, brushing the crumbs off her skirt, and helped Armin to his feet. “Even if he’s being silly about it right now and it takes him some time to sort himself out.”

“I hope so,” Armin said, and in a sudden gesture Mikasa had leaned over and given him a hug.

“I know so,” she said firmly. He smiled into the warmth of her shoulder and mouthed thank you. There was a certain sort of solace in her certainty, and he felt a bit more of a spring in his step as he walked her to the bus stop and waved her off. He went home feeling considerably lighter and a tiny bit more hopeful than before.

Mikasa - brilliant, lovely, perfect, sage and compassionate Mikasa - was right about Eren coming around. Or she might have knocked some sense into her brother, because at the end of the longest week of his life, in which Armin spent trying very hard not to think of the green-eyed boy, Mikasa had smiled an extra big smile at him as they said their goodbyes, and later at home he got a text which made his heart skip a beat. It was from Eren, and it simply read, Are you free?

By the time his shaking hands had typed out, deleted, retyped and finally formulated a faux casual reply - yeah, what’s up - the doorbell was ringing insistently and his grandfather was calling his name from downstairs and then shouting about a visitor. He heard those footsteps which could only be one person and by the time he scrambled out of his chair and over his bed and finally, finally, opened the bedroom door Eren was standing in front of it.

In his hands he was holding Armin’s crumpled blue sweater - it’s just polyester - and he was saying, “Armin, I was being dumb, I’m so sorry -”

But already Armin had closed the gap between them and the knitted sweater had fallen forgotten to the floor because Eren was holding him again, his hands wrapped around the back of his head and their faces impossibly close. His breath was warm and his mouth was soft and he was leaning in, pressing the two of them together in another soft, sweet kiss.

here you go anon & hope you like it! sorry it took a while but here’s me channeling my best high school AU vibes and secretly loving Mikasa, she’s the real MVP here :”) and here’s the ao3 crosspost if you’re so inclined

...you don’t know how much Conan Gray is a guilty pleasure of mine (and how many times I’ve played crush culture / maniac / overdrive / wish you were sober on repeat…)

#eremin #eren #armin #mikasa #snk #aot #askbox

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years

Text

A Little Mischief (Sofi + Thire): Chapter 4

Summary: Here it is, my lovelies! At last, Chapter 4. This was a tough one for me to write, for some unknown reason. Please enjoy about 6,000 words of smut and added gratuitous fluff.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sexiness ahead ft. some light bondage, NSFW and 18+, ALSO there is the aftermath of what basically is battery but also could be considered sexual assault.

CHAPTER 4

A hand was stroking her hair. It felt amazing, compared to the way the rest of her body ached stiffly - right now her left hip was completely numb. Right on the edge of sleep and waking, she thought it must be Thire. He’d always loved her long hair, loved running his hands through it when she wore it down. Last week she’d found out he like pulling it in bed...

The hand stopped stroking, but it wasn’t Thire’s voice she heard.

“It’s time to go home for a while Sofi,” the soft voice said, “you need to shower and eat something.”

When she wrenched her gritty eyelids open, she finally had her answer.

A slight woman was leaning over the little cot set up by Thire’s bacta tank, an imposing red-armored figure looming behind her. The woman had to be Mouse, if Fox’s posture was any indication. Before her brain was fully operational, she laughed a little at Fox having his wife come and collect her, like she was some sort of emotional ticking time bomb. From what she understood of their relationship, they pretty much came as a matched set. So really this shouldn’t be much of a surprise.

“‘Mokay. I’ll stay here.” She glanced back up at the tank and the vitals readout, making sure he was still there, still alive. Usually she stared at the tank until she could see his chest rise and fall until she let her eyes close. Unwilling to leave him, she snuggled herself under the blankets a little farther.

“Sofi, you had crackers for dinner last night.” When Sofi reopened her yes, both Mouse and Fox both looked profoundly unconvinced of her ability to take care of herself. “When was the last time you went home?”

She wracked her brains to try and remember. Thire had been in bacta for...three days now. Or was it four?

“At least I ate something.” Mouse sighed and Fox shifted impatiently. Sofi watched his helmet tilt up, almost imperceptibly, to watch his brother floating in bacta. He was probably just as worried as she was. He and Thire had known each other for years. Maybe they hadn’t been close on Kamino, but now they were as close as batchmates.

“You can come back later, but let’s get you a change of clothes at the very least.”

Sofi looked down at her dirty scrubs peeking out from under the hospital blanket. There were still little smears of his blood on them and the utterly exhausted part of her brain almost made her laugh at it. She’d been spattered with blood too when she first met Thire. She felt - and probably smelled - like the angel of death. Maybe a shower would do her some good.

“Okay,” she acquiesced, “but I’m coming right back afterwards.”

“That’s fine,” said Mouse, “Fox will stay with him until you get back.”

Sofi managed to get home okay, after all, she’d had some rest. But she didn’t dare let herself lie down on her bed or the couch for fear of falling asleep again out of pure, eviscerating exhaustion. Showering was the acceptable alternative that would perk her up a bit, to wash some of her worry off as well as the grime. The searing heat of the spray helped to work some tension out of her muscles, cramped from her constant perch on the cot next to Thire’s tank.

Mouse was right, she did feel better after showering. Gulping down some water, Sofi pondered when she’d have to go back to work. Paid time off was limited and she still wasn’t sure when Thire would be able to leave the hospital. Fortunately, he was young and healthy, in his prime, so to speak. That he had going for him, and also the particular Mando stubbornness that she supposed came from Jango Fett. Kaminoans certainly didn’t seem like the most tenacious of people.

Sofi glanced at the inviting cushions on her couch. A little nap couldn’t hurt. She’d only been getting snippets of sleep the last few days, waking at every little voice and beep. A few hours couldn’t hurt. I’ll just rest my eyes, she thought, and slipped into sleep.

Hours later she was wrenched out of sleep by her beeping comm. Thire was coming out of bacta.

She rushed back to the hospital, anxious and excited. Fox was still there with Thire, as promised, bucket off and standing ramrod straight beside the tank. Nurses and med droids milled about, prepping the room.

“Commander,” she greeted, sidling up to the tank. She pressed her hands to the transparisteel, studying Thire’s unconcsious form for any signs of trouble.

“Ma’am,” he replied. Thire had told her so much about his brother, his vod as he called him. Commander Fox was a formidable man, but Sofi knew from Thire that his hard exterior hid a softer center. Not that she would ever mention it.

“You can call me Sofi, if you like,” He smiled down at her.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sofi,” said Fox.

“Likewise.” Together they watched the bacta slowly start to drain, inching down gradually. Nausea rose up in her gut as she waited.

“What the hell happened to him, Fox?” She didn’t bother with rank, not caring much for formality at this point.

He sighed, somehow looking even more burdened than usual. It was easy to see how Mouse would soften his edges, even him out a bit.

“We had a tip on a being-trafficking situation down in the lower levels. One of the hut’uune set the place on fire to cover the evidence up...from what Stone told us, it sounded like he was in a hostage situation with one of them. He saved a woman but the trafficker shot him.”

Tears prickled in her eyes, not for the first time that day. She knew she shouldn’t be angry at him for taking risks, but she was; wanted to tell him how much of a self-sacrificing idiot he was, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t be the Thire she loved without his caring nature.

It was slow going after leaving the hospital. Sofi didn’t think she’d ever had a worse patient in her entire career. After insisting that he be discharged with her, she’d brought Thire to her place so he could have some peace and quiet. He repeatedly insisted that he was fine to go back to work, despite being at death’s door mere days ago. Truthfully, he didn’t even seem that happy to be alive.

He’d never raised his voice at her before, but now he was as testy as a wounded animal; she felt like she was constantly tiptoeing around his varying moods. It was exhausting. The worst part was that he wouldn’t let her help him. Sofi practically had to beg him to let her put bandages on, even though they both knew he couldn’t reach.

Confronting the problem head on seemed the best option after a week of him shutting her out. Surgery and bacta had taken care of most of the critical damage, but the immobility and energy needed to heal had taken a lot out of him.

“Thire?”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look up from his comm.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” She tried putting her hand on his forearm but he shook it off, though he finally looked her in the eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, “I’m here, aren’t I?” Irritation showed plain on his face, still drawn from recovery.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said; she prayed he’d understand, “Thire, I saw you come into the hospital. I saw how bad it was. Even with bacta, there’s no way you’re back to one hundred percent.”

“You don’t know me, then. Because I’m fine. I honestly don’t even know why I’m here.” He threw the covers off of himself in frustration.

That hurt. But she wasn’t entirely surprised. She’d get to the bottom of this, fix whatever was going on with him and they’d be back to normal.

“Maybe you want to talk to someone about it?” she suggested.

That was apparently entirely the wrong thing to say. He glared at her, face hardening. She’d really upset him now, she could tell by that look on his face, the way he jerked and turned away from her so she couldn’t see it.

“I’m fine,” he ground out, still facing towards the windows, “Actually, I’m better than fine. I’m going back to the barracks. I need some alone time.”

“Are you sur-“

“- I’m not one of your patients, Sofi. Stop treating me like I am!” The tone in his voice shut her up and she watched him awkwardly put on his blacks and lower body plates, breathing harshly. The upper ones were long gone, tossed aside in the back of an ambulance somewhere, slicked in his blood.

She just sat there on the bed, too shocked to cry, staring at his back as he left her flat, walking stiffly through the pain and slamming the door behind him. This was nothing like the Thire she knew. It was hard to be upset with him, but it was like his personality had changed overnight and he refused to talk to anyone about it, least of all her. She could feel him pulling away and felt like there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Rare was the moment that Thire truly felt afraid. In the last week, he’d had two. One, when the certainty had come over him that he was going to die, and second, when he realized he lived but was gravely injured. Possibly irreparably. Civilians didn’t know about decommissioning, and his fellow clones only whispered the word, even as grown men. He and his brothers had grown up with the constant visceral terror of not being good enough and never being seen again, being stolen away in the night. Regular children had terrors of imaginary monsters, but for the clones they were real.

Which was why he couldn’t let anyone see, even though he knew that the Kaminoans couldn’t touch him here. That fear had been so real and raw for the majority of his life that it was something he just couldn’t snap himself out of. His brothers would understand. They were the only ones who could and would protect him.

All Sofi’s constant ministrations had done was make him feel like a child again. A terrified child. He cabbed it back to 300 Republica and stiffly made his way to his bunk, ignoring the stares from his brothers at his sweaty face, bucket under his arm, straining to keep it together until he reached his bunk. No one dared confront him. When he did arrive, he thanked whatever privileged bastard decided to give them private rooms before he limped to the fresher and started puking his guts out.

He kept having dreams about the hospital.

------

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Somehow they felt like the longest two weeks of his life, and other times he wasn’t sure how that much time had passed since he’d seen Sofi. Two weeks was the longest they’d gone without speaking in the entirety of their relationship. He’d composed messages to her, but hadn’t had the gett’se to send them, to apologize for his di’kutla behavior.

Being babied hadn’t helped his anxiety about his injury and like a coward, he couldn’t bring it up to her. To his displeasure, his anxiety had only worsened since his grenade injury in the beginning of the war. The medic then had told him he was lucky to come out of that still walking straight, which had resulted in him having daily panic attacks for weeks. He sighed. Since he’d stormed out of her place two weeks ago, Sofi hadn’t contacted him once. Not that he expected her to - he fully expected her to be pissed, and she had every right to be.

Which was why he almost didn’t answer her text. He knew he wasn’t mad at her, he knew that. It was his anxiety talking. He also knew their relationship was over. How could Sofi ever want him back after the way he’d raged at her. She deserved to be with someone who was as vibrant as she was. Still, his heart ached to see her again, hear her witty banter, see the way she smiled at him when he was doing something mundane and thought he couldn’t see. All of it.

He’d received a cryptic text from her number asking to pick her up, signed by one of her coworkers whose name he didn’t recognize.

Sofi was sitting on the curb with a cup of caf, wearing a paper scrub top. He was too scared to ask what had happened to the one that she had been wearing that matched her bottoms. His blood boiled at the implication. He may not have been there to witness what happened, but he could sure as hell connect the dots.

“I got your text.”

“I didn’t text you.”

“Well someone did.” A long pause stretched between them. Sofi sat, sipping her coffee, looking for all intents and purposes extremely bored, while he stood in front of her, watching, waiting for an explanation. It didn’t help that his guilt was eating him alive and she wouldn’t - or couldn’t - look at him.

“Surprised you even answered, Thire.” Her voice was flat, alarmingly so, her face smooth and expressionless. This was nothing like the Sofi he knew. He wanted her to rage at him, scream or curse - something. An ice pack rested over her right palm, dripping a puddle onto the duracrete.

“The text said something happened.” Thire’s worry was growing the more she wouldn’t look at him. She just sipped her coffee like nothing in the universe was wrong, like it was morning and they were still together and he’d run down to the corner shop for two cafs, black.

“I don’t kriffing know,” she said, irritation plain, “ask the asshole who texted you. My cab is coming in five minutes and I just wanna go home.”

“What happened to your hand?” Her eyes flicked down to the appendage as if she had forgotten it was there.

“Nothing.”

“Can I look at it?” he asked carefully. She shrugged. Taking that as a yes, he crouched down in front of her slowly, though he wasn’t sure she would even notice him. He moved the ice pack and a livid bite mark met his eyes, right in the meat of where her thumb met her palm. A human bite mark. Thire clenched his teeth.

“You gonna tell me who did this?” he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Dark almond eyes met his, almost black in the darkness, reflecting the speeder lights passing by. He braced his hands on the armor covering his thighs

“Patient tried to get fresh with me. Ripped my top, tried to shove his fingers in my mouth. I pushed his face away and he bit me.” He watched her look at her hand and poke at the bruise like the appendage belonged to someone else.

“That’s battery, Sofi, you should press charges!”

“It’s not that serious, Thire.”

“Half your hand is black and blue.”

There seemed to be a lot of shrugging going on tonight. She repeated the movement, still staring straight forward.

“I just want to forget about it.” The crack in her voice was the only thing that stopped him from pushing her further.

“Fine, but I’m taking you home.” As if in response, her cab pulled up and Thire talked to the cabbie, flipping him a few credits for his time. Fortunately, she mounted his speeder bike behind him without argument and held onto him gingerly, touching the least amount of surface area as possible.

She let them into her apartment, moving slowly towards the bedroom and he followed, unsure of what he should be doing, or even if she wanted him there. Sofi finally settled on the edge of the bed and Thire joined her.

“Has stuff like this happened before?” A shrug. Yes, then. She didn’t seem to want to elaborate, so he didn’t press her. But it didn’t surprise him.

“Go shower and change and I’ll sit with you.” She didn’t fight his suggestion and rose, stiffly grabbed pajamas out of her drawer and slid into the fresher. A half hour later she was still in there and Thire was starting to get concerned.

He knocked softly on the door, with no answer and Thire could hear that the shower was still running. He knocked louder. Maybe she’d fallen or passed out or worse and the last thought scared him enough to open the door to check on her. Sofi was huddled in the corner of her shower, arms wrapped around knees, head resting on top of them, so still she looked frozen as the water from the shower poured over her.

Thire was a little scared to approach after what had happened earlier, unsure of how comfortable she’d be. He stripped his armor plates off and clambered in the shower with her. The water was still hot, soaking his blacks in a matter of seconds, wetting his hair until it plastered down to his face; instinctively, he sat and wrapped his arms and legs around her huddled form. Normally obstacles and insults rolled off her back like nothing - her unshakeable confidence was one of the things he loved most about her, but this - this was different and it scared him.

For a moment her body tightened, relaxing after a beat, wet head coming to rest on his shoulder. He held her for a while in silence, letting the water fall over them.

“Cyar’ika, let’s get you changed.” She nodded in response and squeezed his arm a bit, as if to reassure him she was okay. He turned off the water for her and she wrapped up in a towel while he shed his soggy blacks. Fortunately, he kept a few pieces of civvy clothing at her place which were still strewn on a chair in the corner. They donned their sleepwear in silence and she let him curl up behind her in bed, like old times. After a few minutes, neither of them were asleep and Thire couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. She squirmed and readjusted so that she was facing him in bed, hand on his face, softly stroking his cheek.

“There’s no way you could have known, stuff like this happens more than you think,” she whispered, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know. I just wish I had been,” he continued, “-and I know I was wrong when I left.”

“Me too.” She paused, looking down at her bitten hand. He took it in his, finding that he needed it more for his reassurance than her comfort. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I knew you were mad and I wanted you to have the space you needed.”

“I don’t even know how many times I wrote and rewrote messages to you. I was just too afraid to send them,” he said, forcing himself to continue, “...the reason I blew up at you...you didn’t do anything wrong. I was scared.” He choked out the last word. Here he was, a Commander, pride of the GAR, admitting he was terrified. How he hated it.

“I know,” she admitted, “I could tell by your reaction, but I didn’t want to press.”

“I’m sorry.” Thire hung his head, he had to get this out, or else he would never be able to tell her. “When we were young, training, there were rumors that if you were defective….the Kaminoans would decommission you.”

“Decommision?”

“Kill us.” His bluntness astonished him, but it was the truth. “That’s why I get anxious when I’m sick or hurt. Not because of you.”

“I forgive you.” She brushed a kiss across his lips, and he noticed tears in her eyes again. “And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you had to go though that.”

“Forgiven,” he replied, returning the kiss and pressing her to him so that they were flush.

“I care that you’re alive. Even if we’re not together,” whispered Sofi.

“Do you want to be together?”

“Yes,” she said, “Do you?”

“More than anything,” he replied.

---

Thire and Sofi sat in her kitchen, happily sipping caf and eating savory pastries from Ordo’s - their usual Sunday morning routine. He met her eyes over the top of his mug and smiled.

“I want a baby, Thire.”

“What?” His eyes went a little wide but he was able to keep his reaction somewhat under control, except for the fact that he choked slightly on a bit of pastry.

“With you.” His watery eyes considered her, sitting across the table from him, a perfectly placid expression on her face.

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

She gave him a little pause to think about it.

“And I don’t want to wait. You’re it, Thire. I knew on our second date. And then you got shot and it just put everything into perspective.”

“I get that.” He considered it. A baby. “I feel that way too. I love you, Sofi. If it was legal I’d carry you to the Senate Building right now and marry you on the spot.”

“What do you think? About what I said.”

He considered her proposition. A baby. Fatherhood had always been an abstract concept to him, having never had one himself. But in the past year, he’d let himself consider the notion once or twice. Okay, maybe more since he’d met Sofi.

“I think I’d like to. Try at least and see what happens.”

“Good, because I’m overdue for my birth control hypo and I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

Per usual, she managed to drop his jaw to approximately the level of his knees. That was his Sofi, always direct. She never did anything by half.

“Take your clothes off and sit down,” she commanded, nodding towards the bed. He raised an eyebrow slightly but complied. She knew he liked it when she was a little bossy in bed, and today was no exception, if the state of him was any indication.

She stripped her clothes off in front of him, slowly, backing away when he reached out to touch her.

Thire was obviously feeling better, because the look in his eyes was hungrier than she’d ever seen it. Oh, this was going to be fun. She made her way over to her closet to where Thire’s pile of discarded clothes still sat. He’d gotten in the habit of leaving his civilian clothes at her place, but never got in the habit of folding them. When he left, she hadn’t had the heart or energy to get rid of them.

She bent to search through the pile, giving him quite the show and he practically growled. But he stayed put on the edge of the bed, slowly stroking himself as he watched her.

Finally she found what she was looking for. The worn leather belt he’d worn on their second date. She strolled lazily back to him, belt in hand, and grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand off himself. He got the idea pretty quickly.

“Can I tie you up?”

“Hells...yes,” he replied. She pushed him back so he was lying flat, arms above his head and used the belt to strap his wrists together. The muscles in his arms looked delicious like this. She traced her hands down them and sighed.

“Too tight?” He shook his head no.

“Pretty,” she remarked, “Be good and stay still for me, Thire.” He interrupted her before she could start in on him.

“Sit on my face. Want you to come first.” Her core clenched, and she smirked at him. “Please,” he begged, smirking back at her. The little shit.

“Well since you asked so nicely.”

She straddled his talented mouth and he licked into her, circling her entrance with his tongue, pressing it into her. He knew exactly how to drive her insane, even without using his hands.

“Ah…” he nosed up to her clit and she swore under her breath, closing her eyes against the pleasure and gripping the headboard. Already, her legs were starting to shake, but he was relentless, grinding his tongue on her clit with maddening pressure until she was the one panting and begging and then she came with a breathless sigh.

When she finally came down from her high she bent to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips, slipping her tongue in his mouth, careful not to touch his cock yet. Sofi liked seeing - and hearing - him desperate for her.

“Should I give you what you want?” He just groaned in response as she finally took his cock in her hand, stroking gently. By the look of the muscles in his neck, he was certainly desperate.

“I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, centering herself over him. Thire gained a little composure back and their eyes met. Gods, she was crazy about him. She’d never felt safer or more cared for in her entire life - she loved him and she loved him so kriffing much - and looking in his eyes now he saw her feelings mirrored there - in the deep glowing brown of his eyes, the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, trusting her completely.

Without breaking eye contact, she took him inside her fully, just pausing for a moment and reveling in the feeling of their bodies joined together. His hips gave an involuntary jerk, pushing father inside and rubbing her clit against his abdomen and it spurred her to move, riding him until she was breathless again. Somehow he’d freed his hands, because suddenly she felt them in her hair and he was tugging her down to kiss him.

She could feel him getting closer now, and she let him take the reins, allowing his warm calloused hands to grip her hips and thrust up into her, deep and slow. Together they found a rhythm and Sofi lost herself in him, listening to his breath come harsher and harsher, feeling his grip on her hips tighten until he came with a groan, pulling her hips down onto his as he filled her.

Resting her hands on the hard planes of his chest, she stilled, curled over and catching her breath. Warm hands stroked her thighs and rearranged her onto her side, facing Thire, whose stamina was decidedly better than hers. He wasn’t even breathing hard anymore. Languidly, she tipped her chin up for a kiss and snuggled into him, deciding to stay in the moment for just a few more moments before they started their day.

------

[2 months later]

The speeder thrummed under him, a fitting companion to his buzzing thoughts. Sofi had been acting strange that morning. She’d never been much of a morning person, but this morning had been different.

For one, she had Ryshcate for breakfast. One of her new coworkers sent the sticky Corellian pastry home with her a few nights ago and she’d eaten two pieces with her caf this morning. Second, she’d practically booted him out the door, bouncing on the tips of her toes like she was late for work. Which she wasn’t, he knew. It was her day off.

Something was definitely up.

Even though she knew they were trying to get pregnant, Sofi was still nervous staring at that stupid stick lying on the fresher counter. Pretty much every friend she knew had at least one scare, including her, and those three minutes waiting for the simple little test to develop had probably been some of the longest minutes of her life, though nowadays they were second to those minutes waiting for news after Thire had gotten shot.

She’d splurged on a little more expensive test, for no reason at all except that she felt hopeful. They’d only been trying for two months, really she didn’t expect it to happen this soon. People tried for years sometimes without any luck, and she’d just gone off her hypo. The elderly woman who owned the shop down the street, Hellah, had given her a soft knowing look when she had taken her credits. Sofi had bought some other little things along with the tests so she looked less suspicious - why, she couldn’t know - but at least she had some chocolate now if she needed it.

It was way too early to have any major symptoms. She was just late. Really late. Thire was working and she didn’t want to take a test with him there, for whatever reason her brain had conjured up. They’d both obviously contributed, but for some reason this felt private. Secret even. Before now, a pregnancy test was always something you hid from men until there was something to tell, so they didn’t have to worry.

He’d get all excited and then she didn’t want to see his disappointment if the test was negative. So she’d sent him off to work with caf and a kiss on the cheek and rushed to the little corner store as soon as he was gone.

The test bleeped insistently and she could hear her heart beating in her ears all of a sudden. Why are you so nervous? You’ve taken tests before. It doesn’t really matter what the test says, anyway. Even though she knew what she wanted it to say. But they hadn’t been trying for that long, she didn’t even know why she was doing this. She stopped trying to bargain with herself and just looked at the kriffing test.

Pregnant :)

Pregnant, she was pregnant. Holy kriff. She stared at the window for a moment, trying to let the word sink in. That was fast. Thire was gonna lose his mind. After they’d talked a few months ago, he’d been a lot more on board than she thought.

The revelation kept hitting her in waves. She didn’t feel much different, which was the weirdest part. And she’d never felt so intensely happy and insanely terrified at the same time. Her head hit the wall behind her.

Now she just had to tell Thire somehow.

------

Thire’s eyes were glued to the sono screen and she laughed softly. He had never been exposed to this side of life before and it was kind of sweet to watch his reactions. He also hated hospitals, so his nervous energy was out the roof, but Thire put on a good face for her. She had purposely picked a clinic far away from her work, far away from prying coworkers and Thire’s traumatic memories. He’d never seen a sonogram before and kept asking the tech questions.

Sofi, on the other hand, was used to seeing sonos. Scary ones. The emergency ward used them all the time, and rarely for this, but when they did it usually revealed something horrible. She half expected to see a lacerated liver show up, or other worse things she didn’t want to think about. But what she did see was even more shocking than that.

She gasped and Thire broke his searing eye contact with the monitor. Thire was apparently beginning to catch on, as his face was approximately a hand’s length from the screen. This was completely new to him, but he always caught on incredibly quickly. Lately she’d sneaked peeks of what he was reading on his datapad before bed and it was always dry, statistical obstetrics manuals. It was no wonder he’d been a little grim and nervous before this appointment.

“What?” he asked, “What is it?” By his panicked tone, it was obvious he’d done way too much reading after she’d broken the news, because now he was worried about every tiny thing that could go wrong. She turned to the sono tech.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Sofi asked grimly. The tech laughed a little, fiddling with the sensor on her still-flat stomach. Thire was still looking oppressively somber and reached out to place his hands over hers.

“It’s definitely what you think.” She smiled kindly and pointed at the screen. “Heart here,” said the tech, touching the screen, then adjusted the sensor, “and a second here.” Oh gods. Thire squeezed her hands in his. Twins. Their relationship was still full of surprises, it seemed.

He was looking down at her like she’d hung all the stars in the galaxy and she couldn’t help but start giggling incredulously. Thire’s deep laugh joined in with hers and the sono tech smiled and looked away, letting them have a little moment to themselves.

“Isn’t two good?” he asked, more confused than he’d been since he was a cadet. He didn’t know anything about medicine, and he was trying to learn as fast as he could. The twin chapter hadn’t come up yet. He supposed he was lucky Sofi knew enough for the both of them. More than enough, he sometimes thought.

She tended to be anxious about illness and injuries, even more so after he got shot. Maybe she’d want to stay home for a little while when the baby - babies, he corrected himself, still a little stunned - were little. Her doctor sent them home with approximately a million pamphlets and Sofi got about as many blood tests.

He thanked the maker he was a man.

“No Thire, in this case two isn’t always better than one,” she sighed, “but I’m still happy.” She squeezed his hand as they walked together out of the clinic.

“Me too.” Looking down at the little black and white flimsi, he studied the two little beans. “Look at them! They’re so small.” Two. Two babies.

The Coruscant Guard has been exposed to more than regular troops. The first time he and Stone were on patrol and saw a pregnant humanoid, they thought something was seriously wrong. But now he was used to it, and was secretly glad that he wasn’t the one who was doing the hard work in this situation. Because it made him a little green to think about how two babies were going to fit in one person.

#A Little Mischief #my writing #gen writes #OC: Sofi #Commander Thire #CC-4477 #CT-4477 #Commander Thire x OC

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myherowritings · 5 years

Text

Animal Instincts

Overview: With your shapeshifting quirk, you take on the duty of becoming the resident undercover therapy cat for Class 1-A. One day, you see Todoroki restless in the middle of the night and try to comfort him in cat form. But what happens when he confides in you his feelings you weren’t meant to hear?

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Shapeshifter!Reader

Word Count: 3,129

Warning(s): None, just lots of fluff and cat mischief and cutely awkward moments.

Author’s Note: Hey, y’all! This is my first BNHA fic and I had tons of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy! P.S. A Tododeku fic will most likely come out next + requests are open. :)

As Class 1-A’s self-proclaimed undercover therapy cat, you took it upon yourself to comfort your fellow classmates in need. And with the constant chaos that happened to surround U.A., you found that particular need to be quite substantial.

Not that you minded.

You were always willing to help a friend and if you were able to do so by taking advantage of humans’ natural boost in oxytocin when engaging with a dog or cat, so be it. Plus, you couldn’t deny the neck rubs and ear scratches you received while in animal form was a nice bonus.

As the sky darkened to a deep twilight, you took the cue to head back to the dorms after wandering around campus when you spotted a familiar head of polychromatic hair sitting atop his veranda.

What’s he doing up so late?

Curious, you shifted into the more discreet form of a cat and climbed the ledges of your classmates’ balconies until you reached the fifth level.

Todoroki was resting his elbows against the railing as he looked out into the campus with his head in his hands. To the untrained eye, one might see him and think nothing was wrong, but with your close proximity and heightened sight, the darkness under his eyes and the wrinkles along his normally ironed school shirt were as clear as day.

Todoroki looked tired.

You inched closer slowly, torn between letting him have his space and the overwhelming urge to smooth his worries away.

However, it turned out that wasn’t a decision you had to make for yourself.

In the split second you landed on the balcony next to him, he instantly straightened and turned his head toward the soft patter of your paws, eyes locking on your dilated pupils.

You froze.

“A cat?” Todoroki mused.

You made a move in retreat when a soft murmur came from his lips.

Slowly extending his hand, palm-down, he gestured you over and you cautiously obliged. “Don’t be scared, neko-chan.”

Now, although you liked to think you were in control of yourself when you transformed into an animal, there were times you had to admit the animal’s instincts were strong enough to test your resolve. And in cat form, the moment you felt the gentle rub of fingers underneath your chin, your resolve flew out the window, instead taken over by the urge to flutter your eyes shut and mewl.

When his hand shifted from under your chin to cupping your face and rubbing your ears, you couldn’t help it-- A purr of contentment left the back of your throat as you stretched. Peering up at him, you caught a small smile playing on Todoroki’s lips.

You hummed to yourself.

Good.

Your job as a therapy cat had never once failed and you were glad Todoroki was no exception.

As he rubbed his knuckle against the tops of your ear, you felt yourself melt against the warmth of his left hand with all thoughts momentarily leaving you.

“I’ve never had a pet before,” said Todoroki, continuing his absent-minded attack against your senses. “My father said animals, especially those we grow an attachment to, are a mere a distraction.”

You made a noise of indignation, brows furrowing as you thought of giving Endeavor a piece of your mind.

He huffed in what you thought was a sound of amusement before smoothing out the wrinkle on your forehead. “Endeavor was tyrannical like that. He didn’t exactly care for what I wanted-- Only what he thought his optimal tool needed.”

With wide eyes, you blinked up at him. Todoroki had a hardened look on his face as he stared out the veranda.

Slowly, he moved you closer to his chest, cradling you with one arm while stroking your tail with the other. You expected his torso to feel warm despite his lack of proper clothing because of his quirk, but he felt surprisingly cold.

Todoroki’s quirk may be half-cold half-hot, but you could understand how regulating his body temperature when fatigued and distracted could be difficult.

Get some rest! you wanted to say while smothering him in blankets.

Instead, you wriggled your way out of his arms and leaped onto the floor, pulling at the leg of his pants with sharp teeth. When he glanced down at you, you tugged the fabric in the direction of his dorm, quickly releasing him and stalking over to the sliding doors.

“You want to go inside?” said Todoroki, picking you up and entering his room. “You’re a pushy kitten, you know?”

Cat-- Not kitten, you thought crossly. It took a lot of work for you to grow from a kitten to a cat. You bristled in his arms, mildly insulted.

He walked over to his futon and leaned against the wall, the whole time scratching the top of your head with small movements of his fingers. Your earlier irritation melted away as Todoroki gave you a pat.

For someone who had never had a pet, he was quite good with animals.

“I never knew how relaxing this could be,” he said as he toyed with the ends of your raised ears. “Midoriya told me this helped relieve stress, but I didn’t expect it to be this effective.”

Yes! The undercover therapy cat strikes again.

You sighed in contentment. His deep voice and constant stroking was almost enough to put you to sleep.

A few minutes of silence passed and you could feel Todoroki’s breathing slow into a steadier pace. You thought he dozed off when he remarked, “My father said he’s trying to be better.”

Your ears flattened. Todoroki had never confided in you--human you--about his family before. What if he found out the cat was you and resented you for it?

“Ever since All Might retired, Endeavor has been trying to be an actual dad to my siblings and I, and I can see he really is doing his best.” He leaned his head against the wall with a slow exhale. “But sometimes I wonder if I can ever really forgive him.”

Burrowing your cheek against his chest, you mewled.

You don’t ever have to forgive him, you were trying to say. But you knew, given time, he would. Despite his aloof exterior, Todoroki had a big heart. He was fierce and loyal and cared deeply for those he trusted. That was something you’ve always admired about him.

If only you had the courage to tell him that in person. And not as a cat.

“I know I should forgive him.” No, you don’t! “But part of me doesn’t want to. My older sister is optimistic about the change, but I can’t help but wonder if she really thinks Endeavor will change or if she’s holding on to the hope of finally being a family.”

Todoroki pushed his bangs out of his face, causing his hair to look slightly disheveled.

“I want to be a family, too,” he admitted. “It can be lonely without one.”

Your heart broke at his words. You couldn’t imagine life without your family, no matter how much they got on your nerves, you knew they would always love you.

You wanted Todoroki to know he deserved to feel worthy of that love himself.

He sent a look in your direction, as if he could sense your shift in thoughts. “Apologies, neko-chan. I hope I didn’t hurt your ears by talking too much.”

Todoroki ran your left ear between his middle and index finger as you leaned against him. From his sitting position, he slouched into his pillows on as he laid down. You snuggled against his arms.

“I don’t normally chatter off like this, you seem trustworthy,” he said, sounding sleepy as he scratched under your chin. “Thank you for listening.”

And as Todoroki dozed off, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for accidentally finding out all those things about him.

You expected a quick snuggle and pet and he’d feel better and soon let you go, which was the typical routine when your other classmates saw you--without knowing it was you--as a cat.

You didn’t think he would actually make substantial conversation.

Worried with guilt gnawing at your stomach, you slipped out from his embrace and hopped off the futon. You would have to tell him the truth, you decided. Even if it meant your undercover gig would be up.

Tomorrow.

Right now, Todoroki looked peaceful-- And you knew he needed to rest.

Quickly switching back to your normal human form, you pulled the covers over a sleeping Todoroki and bade him a smile goodnight before slipping out of his room.

You would tell him the cat he poured his secrets to was you.

Tomorrow.

- - - - -

“Are you sure this apology gift is good enough?” you asked Uraraka, wringing your hands as she examined the freshly baked brownies in a decorated gift wrap.

Wiping away the crumbs from her face, she nodded feverishly. “Better than good enough! They taste amazing.”

You smiled in gratitude. After thinking all night about how to confront Todoroki, you decided an apology with a gift would be best. Plus, you did recall him taking a particular liking to your mom’s fudge brownies that you shared with your friends once during lunch. There was no way you could go wrong with a rich, chocolaty treat.

“You should really bake apology treats more often,” said Uraraka, eyes lighting up when you offered her another corner piece that didn’t fit in the gift bag.

“I’m glad you like them,” you said with a small laugh. “I hope Todoroki will think they’re okay.”

She responded with an enthusiastic affirmation you couldn’t quite decipher with the food in her mouth. When she finished the piece, she tried again. “He’ll love them! Whatever you’re apologizing to him for is sure to be forgiven with these brownies. I know it.”

Though Uraraka’s certainty brought a great deal of comfort to your endless worry, nerves still festered in your stomach.

Cleaning up the last of the mess from your baking escapade, you thanked Ochako once again for trying the brownies and gathered the courage to head up to the boy’s side of the fifth floor.

“Stop fretting, Y/N-chan!” she called as you two neared opposite elevators. “Todoroki values your friendship too much to let anything come between it. There’s no need to worry.”

“I hope you’re right.” You bit the inside of your lip as you carefully smoothed out the already pristine gift bag. “Thank you, Ochako.”

She waved you off as the elevator door began to shut. “Please-- All I did was try what you made. This was all you! Now go make up with Shouto-kun!”

You sent her a thumbs up and a grin before pressing the button to the fifth floor on the control panel, hoping the momentary confidence boost from Uraraka’s words would last.

Taking a deep breath as the elevator dinged open, you walked down the hall to the third room down and knocked on Todoroki’s door. You really hoped he liked the brownies.

You heard footsteps getting louder and you tried to ignore the way your stomach churned when the door cracked opened.

“Y/L/N?”

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said with a small smile. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

He tilted to his head to the side in confusion, but opened the door wider to allow you in. “Of course. Is something troubling you?”

Walking inside, he lead you to the mat on the side of the floor and sat down. When you stayed back near the doorway, Todoroki looked back with slightly furrowed eyebrows.

“Y/N?”

Shaking your head, you brought yourself out of your thoughts and followed behind him.

“Sorry! I just--” You fumbled with the gift bag in your hands before extending your arms to him, brownies resting in your palms as you bowed your head. “I made you something.”

You could have sworn you felt the temperature in the room rise, but you were too afraid to look up and check.

“You...made me something?” said Todoroki quietly.

You nodded.

Bracing a look at his face, your expression instantly softened. His gaze was locked on the baked goods with his hand raised slightly near his side, almost unsure of what to do.

“They’re brownies. I remember you liked the ones I brought from home, so I asked my mom for the recipe,” you said, fighting off the blush that was creeping up cheeks when you noticed Todoroki’s unwavering stare. “They might not taste that great and they might be a little--”

“Thank you.”

You blinked, startled at his firm tone.

“That-- It means a lot to me.”

“Oh!” This time, attempting to stop the heat from spreading was futile. “I’m glad.”

Slowly, he took the gift bag from your hands, the tip of his pinky brushing against the center of your palm. You both jolted at the spark.

With his face still tinged a shade of pink, Todoroki was the first to recover.

“You said you wanted to talk?” he asked with his voice raised an octave.

“Right! I wanted to apologize, actually.”

He set the brownies on his work desk with gentle care. When satisfied, he turned back to you.

“Apologize?” Todoroki repeated. “What for?”

You shuffled your feet, playing with a loose thread in your skirt. “I’ve been keeping something from you.”

His mouth opened.

Scratching the back of your neck, you continued. “Well, I suppose I’ve been keeping something from all of you guys.” Your eyes darted around the perimeter of his room. “I didn’t think it was a bad thing-- I was only trying to help, but then I heard some things I wasn’t meant to and I realized maybe I was overstepping on people’s boundaries and--”

You broke off at Todoroki’s confused looked, taking a deep breath to catch your thoughts.

“Remember that cat from last night?” you tried again, only this time hopefully much more coherent.

“Yes,” he said with a slow nod.

“Well, that cat was me.”

Todoroki blinked.

“I didn’t mean to trick you or anything! I was just walking around campus trying not to get caught and I saw you on your veranda and you looked so sad,” you blurted, staring at him with wide eyes. “I just wanted to help you feel better and what better way to do that than let you pet a cat? Everyone feels better after petting a cat! That’s what my mom tells me, at least. And our classmates seemed to agree--though none of them know it was me as a cat. But now you do! And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I hope you can forgive me.”

Sucking in a breath after your long-winded monologue, you waited tensely for his reply.

“I already know.”

“I know I should’ve told you before, and I’m--” You paused, your brain registering what he just said. “You know?”

Todoroki nodded.

“You know what exactly?”

“That you’ve been acting as Class 1-A’s therapy cat,” he said. “I had my suspicions, at least, but you confirmed them all just now.”

“But--” You were at a loss for words. He knew? “You knew?”

Todoroki paced over to his windows and leaned against them. “I had a feeling the cat wasn’t a real cat. Not fully, anyway. And since not many students here have quirks that allow them to shapeshift, you were the only one that made sense.”

You followed his movements with your gaze, looking away when he looked up.

“You knew the cat was me,” you murmured, peering at him through your lashes, “and you still chose to confide in it?”

“Of course.” Todoroki loosened the cuffed link of his uniform. “There was never a need to apologize. As I told you before, I think you’re trustworthy. It doesn’t matter if you’re in cat form or not.” He paused. “I trust you, Y/N.”

A shy smile made its way onto your face as you met his gaze across the room. “I trust you, too, Shouto-kun.”

His expression matched yours. “Thank you.”

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence as you thought briefly about that night. He told you about his family and his worries--you you, not just cat you--because he trusted you. That thought sent an odd flutter to your stomach.

“Wait. When we...cuddled,” you said with heated cheeks, “you knew it was me?”

Todoroki’s level of flames on his face challenged your own, but his were just slightly more visible.

“I suppose I did,” he hesitated. “Is that...okay?”

You grinned. “More than okay.”

“That’s good.” There was a short beat. Then, “Would you like to share the brownies some time?”

Surprised, you glanced over at your apology gift on Todoroki’s table.

“Thank you, but I’m okay,” you said, waving him off. “I ate plenty of batter and extra pieces while preparing them for you. I won’t be able to eat another brownie for weeks!”

His face fell before giving you a shrug. “Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe we should get some food to eat, instead?”

Did he not want the brownies? you fretted.

You nodded adamantly, shaking off the thought. What mattered was the he accepted your apology. And that he was never mad in the first place. “Sure! Midoriya, Aoyama, and I were going to head to the dining halls around seven if you wanted to join.”

Todoroki blinked once. Then again, his hair falling to the front of his eyes.

“No, I meant…Eat somewhere else,” he queried. “Maybe not today, but perhaps this weekend? It could be just you and me, if that’s okay with you.”

You quirked your head to the side. Was he trying to…?

“Shouto-kun,” you said, trying to hide the mixture of amusement and happiness bubbling in your chest. “Are you asking me to go on a date with you?”

Todoroki exhaled a small cloud of frost, sounding almost relieved at your words. “I’m trying to, yes.” Within a split second, he appeared in front of you, leaning down so he was level with your gaze. “Will you go on a date with me, Y/N?”

“Yes!” You beamed, having the sudden urge to jump around the room. “Of course. I would love to.”

His eyes fluttered shut before giving you a dimpled grin of his own.

“We can even go to a cat cafe!” you teased, shifting into a cat and running between his legs while you slipped between his fingers. Laughing at the look on his face, you turned back into a human. “But only as long as you don’t get tempted by any other felines.”

Todoroki shook his head, traces of a smile lighting up his face as his hand finally found yours. “Don’t worry, neko-chan. The only one I can be tempted by is you.”

#EEK FIRST FIC ON THIS ACCOUNT :) so excited!#todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #todoroki shoto x reader #mha x reader #todoroki shouto fanfiction #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios

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bea-meupscotty · 4 years

Text

until you lose the road

He looks at Ferdinand, sagging in his arms, eyes fluttering, and wonders what kind of a man the professor would have let him shape himself into.

The moment Hubert lets himself believe in a different future.

Basically I got really inspired by all the ferdibert week goodness and wrote a little one-shot. Read it on ao3 here.

The ring of steel on steel peals across the battlefield, a mockery of bells ringing discordant unholy cadence of a hymn to some religion that Hubert lives and breathes and worships. The smell of blood and freshly churned earth and unmistakeable death are all around, even as he lurks in the little copse of trees on his corner of the battlefield, waiting for the enemy’s advance. This is war, glorious war fought in Lady Edelgard’s name, and it sings like the heavy pulse of magic within Hubert’s veins, grounds him and gives him purpose, his path through the dark days that have stretched endlessly from his childhood through today.

The charge, when it comes, makes him hesitate. It is a knight, in gleaming armor atop a dappled grey charger, and while the smears of mud and blood across the horse and its rider can dull the steel, nothing can cover or distract from the tumble of long ginger hair spilling across the rider’s shoulders, and Hubert watches the rest of the ambush, steps ahead of him in the trees, spill out to confront the paladin. It is Ferdinand, it had to be Ferdinand, charging ahead desperate to prove something and protect everyone, like always. Hubert tries desperately to summon the disgust and hatred that had seemed to simmer always shallowly beneath his skin for the red haired knight when he was younger, but he finds it out of reach, his mind grasping blindly in the depths of what passed for his heart these days. As he watches Ferdinand startle only for a moment before he is reoriented, he and his mount nimbly dodging and swinging his great lance, powerful and competent, Hubert realizes that hatred is gone, has sunken into the depths over the past five years—maybe more, if he is willing to admit to himself. Maybe, if he had met Ferdinand on the battlefield in the days right after that great betrayal (because as much as he always sniped at the man, it was a betrayal, he’d let himself think they might stand on either side of Edelgard at the end, Hubert her knife in the darkness and Ferdinand her gleaming diplomatic jewel), when the wound was raw and fresh and Hubert’s mind was clear and confident, filled with the certainty of Lady Edelgard’s path, he would have had the strength to step forward out of the trees and, while Ferdinand was busy with the swordsmen attacking him from all sides, snuff him out in one twist of his hands and surge of the darkness inside of him. Now though—he watches Ferdinand take a hit to the side and grimace in pain before his mount is pulling them out of the swordsman’s reach so that Ferdinand can, with a grunt of effort against the pain, throw a javelin with such strength that it crumples the imperial soldier’s breastplate and leaves him laying unmoving on the ground. He takes a half-step forward in the forest, fighting the tremor that wracks his body—another side effect of the darkest magics, he tells himself, and not a tremor of unnamed unexamined emotion at seeing the man who would have been the prime minister by his side spear another imperial fighter.

Hubert allows himself to shut his eyes against the sight of Ferdinand’s long hair blowing in the wind, the color of the sky over Enbarr at sunset, but all that does is let his mind wander freely over the memories of long nights at Garreg Mach, mornings spent training and nights spent working together in the library that turned into long debates about the future of Adrestia and the best way to serve Edelgard and the people, the smell of Ferdinand’s tea mixing with the familiar scent of his own coffee, and Hubert feels his hand clench into a fist reflexively. He shakes himself—it won’t do to dwell on useless sentimentality, on futures that could have been—and opens his eyes just in time to watch Ferdinand take a blow to his side as he’s twisted around to slice through the second to last member of the ambush team. For a moment he thinks the sword has struck true and deep, but it must have just been glancing, because Ferdinand barely hesitates before he swivels around and strikes the last man down.

He is turned away from where Hubert stands in the trees, head hanging down and lance slumping downward as he seems to pause to catch his breath. The sounds of his comrades are still far off, and Hubert steps out of the trees at last, for the moment that will be his inevitable triumph, because Ferdinand is still trying to regain his composure, weakened and distracted, and all it will take is one spell. He’s imagined it before, this, the moment of confrontation—more than he’d imagined it with any of the others, Dorothea or Caspar, even the false king Dimitri or that useless schemer Claude, even more than their professor, faithless in the end (faithful, in the end, a traitorous voice mutters in the back of his mind, to the father whose death your shortcuts and compromises caused)—confronting Ferdinand, the one he’d thought loved Adrestia more than anyone else, but had turned against it in the end. Which is all to say, he has imagined this dramatic speech playing out a thousand and one ways.

“Noble to the end, von Aegir,” he says, stepping into the light from the shadows dappled through the forest, “but I’m afraid that this is, in fact, the end.”

Ferdinand does not move, back still turned, shoulders still slumped. His mount twitches one ear towards him, but Ferdinand himself is still. Hubert wonders if the man even heard him—maybe he’s gone deaf with the ringing of clashing metal. Maybe he’s just too tired to care. Neither will do for what Hubert has in mind—for the end of their erstwhile rivalry, his shining counterpart, killing him with his back turned seems… dull. He wants the moment to gloat, to revel in the triumph of his own ideology against Ferdinand’s faithless optimism, to reassure himself that this is, in fact, a triumph.

This is why he tells himself he stays his hand, steps closer and tries again. “Can’t even bear to turn and face me at the end, von Aegir?”

Nothing.

Ferdinand’s mount shifts uneasily, restlessly, and the lance slides lower, nearly touching the ground now.

“Von Aegir? … Ferdinand?”

The horse takes another nervous sidestep and Hubert finally notices that, with the motion, Ferdinand lists slightly in the saddle. His heart is hammering in his chest in a way that has nothing to do with the thrill of battle and everything to do with what suddenly feels like a pit of aching dread that has opened in his chest. He takes a step closer, tries to soothe the horse with a gentle shushing tone, and when he finally manages to inch close enough to grab the horse by the bridle and spin her around, he realizes with a sudden zip of emotion that feels uncomfortably close to fear, an emotion he thought he’d long stamped out of his heart, that his earlier observation had been true. That last blow had struck true, between the gap in the plates exposed when Ferdinand was turned, and the armor is now stained red, Ferdinand’s breeches are stained red, the coat of the horse beneath him turned dark and sticky—all of it blood, blood, so much blood.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert knows his voice is high now, nervous, for reasons he can’t quite say, but—there’s so much blood. He’s no stranger to death, it has come at his hands more times than he could count if he had a lifetime to try to remember, but he favors poison, magic, death swift and from a distance, as if he is an avenging angel carrying out Lady Edelgard’s divine will. He is woefully unprepared for the sight of Ferdinand’s hands slowly losing their grip on his lance, his aristocratic face, so familiar and delicate and strong, going slack and pale, for the slight tilt in his saddle that leads Hubert to inexplicably lean closer and keep him from falling, for the raspy breath that shudders through Ferdinand and makes Hubert understand with vivid clarity the phrase death rattle.

Hubert feels a heat behind his eyes and realizes that he is fighting back tears. The rush of shame that fills him only makes the sting of tears burn hotter, makes them well up faster no matter how hard and fast he blinks them away. This is not how it was supposed to be, not any of it, a voice roars desperately through his chest. They were supposed to unveil a glorious future together, all of them, and the seed that was planted the moment he’d watched the professor, head shaking in disbelief, whisper no, you… it was… you…. killed my father…., and seen them, one by one, Linhardt and Caspar and scared little Bernadetta and sweet Dorothea and proud Petra and then, the last stab that had clawed whatever light was left in him out of his chest with jagged claws, Ferdinand, fear and disappointment in his eyes as he looked at Hubert, all of them go to the professor—that seed of doubt suddenly bears heavy fruit, sickly sweet with the taste of shame. He looks down at Ferdinand’s blood on his hands—his hands, the hands that have shaped an empire, that have conquered half of Fodlan, filled with a magic that has served him well, and realizes that they are the hands of the man he has always told himself to be, a faithful servant, a blade in the dark, a serpent in the grass, viper and vicious—and for all the power and magic that curls within his veins that man has never learned a single goddess-damned healing spell. He looks at Ferdinand, sagging in his arms, eyes fluttering, and thinks about all of the times his professor tried to convince him to sit through a lecture on faith, the useless riding activities she’d forced him to complete with Ferdinand, and wonders what kind of a man the professor would have let him shape himself into.

A single hot tear finally escapes to slide down his face.

Before he lets himself think about everything he is doing, he pushes Ferdinand up and manages to hoist himself onto the charger’s back, hissing at the mare to stay steady as he dislodges Ferdinand’s feet from the stirrups to slide his own in, wraps an arm around the shorter man’s waist to hold him and spurs the mount forward into a recklessly fast gallop back into the fray of the main battle, where the bulk of the resistance forces—the enemy forces—must lie. A soldier—Hubert can’t tell where the soldier is from, Empire or Kingdom or church—steps into their path, axe raised, and Hubert snuffs his life out with a flash of magic that makes him grit his teeth with effort. The horse startles slightly at the rush of it, the hint of sulfur that hangs in the air, and even Ferdinand in front of him groans slightly before Hubert feels a shudder wrack Ferdinand’s body and hears another of those gasping kind of breaths.

“Do not die on me right now, you useless fool. As you are so fond of reminding me, you are Ferdinand von Aegir, and this is not how you are meant to die,” Hubert hisses into Ferdinand’s ear, hoping the familiar venom hides the creeping panic and desperation in his voice as he spurs the horse on ever faster, dangerously fast across this terrain, but he can see the clash of the main forces now, mostly to his left, and further back, near the safety of a small forest, the flash of healing magic. More importantly, he can feel the familiar rustle of Linhardt’s magic that direction, like a cool stream or a brush of silk or the warmth of the sun’s first rays at dawn, remembered from long ago and so different to the feel of his own magic.

He’s almost to them when someone else makes to step into their path, a lean figure with swords criss-crossing his back, and, more importantly for Hubert’s urgent purposes, lightning crackling at his fingertips.

“Come to play, Vestra?” snarls the familiar voice of the Fraldarius heir, and Hubert curses that that useless goddess just can’t let him have this one.

“Healer—” he yells, slowing the horse as much as he dares into a quick canter, trying to raise the hand that isn’t keeping Ferdinand upright and breathing shallowly against his neck in a show of surrender.

“We’re not falling for your tricks, snake,” Fraldarius says again, and he’s drawn a jagged-looking sword and energy is gathering, stronger now, ready to lash out towards Hubert and Ferdinand.

“For goddess’—I’m trying to—you will not stand in my way,” he roars now, and he knows he sounds unhinged, all trace of the ever smooth, ever unruffled hand of the emperor gone now in the crack of his voice, but there’s another rush of hot blood over the hand wrapped around Ferdinand, and he can hear a pained whimper and Hubert is letting his emotion fuel a rush of magic, anger and doubt and fear, gaping aching fear that Ferdinand will die in his arms steps away from a healer because Hubert has made himself into the kind of man no one can trust for even half a second, and he is seconds from letting that magic swallow Fraldarius in darkness when he feels a soft whisper of another magic against him, slipping around and then tightening—and he twists his hand and nothing happens.

He looks up and sees, a few paces behind Fraldarius, the soft blue hair of the von Edmund girl, head actually held high for the first time he can remember, face serene and confident and not haunted by dark circles. Her voice is still soft, but it rings clear enough that Hubert can hear it across the battlefield as she calls to Fraldarius, “it’s okay, Felix, I’ve bound his magic.”

He’s upon them in an instant and dismounting, and von Edmund is calling for others, eyes widening as her hands already begin working over Ferdinand’s wounds. As soon as he can feel the soothing lightness of healing magic prickling nearby, Hubert sags into the rough grip that Fraldarius has on his arms, twisted behind his back as if the man doesn’t quite believe in the binding magic.

“You’ll be our prisoner. I’ll take you to the professor,” Fraldarius tells him, voice rough. But for all of that, he doesn’t make Hubert begin to walk away, across the battlefield where the last of the imperial forces are being routed, until Linhardt has looked up and told them that Ferdinand will live, and Hubert stores that small kindness in the place inside of him where once he thinks he might have had a heart.

⁂

Death, Ferdinand thinks, should be less painful than this.

He’d always expected to float softly into an afterlife, into the goddess’ warm embrace. As it is, he exists in darkness and pain, flickering between the dark swallow of unconsciousness and a burning that engulfs the entire left side of his torso.

Sometimes he dreams that someone is touching him—a hesitant brush of fingers that seem oddly scarred against his own hand, his forearm, once against his cheek. He knows he must have died, because once he thinks he smells coffee—a scent he’d thought he’d long ago forgotten but that must have been waiting in the deepest recesses of his memory to return, to torment him with memories of late nights shoulder to shoulder with fastidious handwriting and sharp smiles and green eyes he’d fooled himself into thinking he saw an ounce of kindness in, with imagined futures where that kindness was real and they’d been able to sit together and plan a new world, one that was actually kinder and better and not just needlessly forged in blood.

The fact that he realizes this can only be imagined is what convinces him he’s alive—if he were dead, the memory of a future he could never have wouldn’t hurt quite so badly.

After what feels like wading through a never-ending swamp of pain and confusion, he gives an almighty heave of effort—and blinks at the late afternoon sunlight filtering into the familiar infirmary at the monastery. He groans slightly, and his eyes focus enough to see Marianne, sitting in a chair in the corner, giving him a bright, reassuring smile.

“Marianne,” he croaks. It takes two tries, and his voice is rough like sandpaper from what must be long disuse. “What happened? I… I thought…”

“We can talk about it all later,” she says in a soft voice, leaning forward to pat his arm reassuringly, and Ferdinand ignores the pang of disappointment that it must have been Marianne touching him all along, “but you were hurt very badly. There was an ambush, and you would have died if it hadn’t been for—”

He is startled by the sound of the door opening, and then the shattering of what sounds like ceramic against the floor. His nostrils flare as he smells coffee.

“Marianne,” he whispers, “I think I have a head injury.”

Turning over to look in the direction of the doorway feels like a monumental effort, a thousand times worse than opening his eyes or speaking, and certainly not worth the pain of turning just to see that his senses are deceiving him and he will find only Manuela or Annette in the doorway, not worth the useless pang of disappointment even after all of these years. He thought he’d shoved that hope deep down inside of him and let it die long ago; the fact that, faced with near-death, this is what his brain has chosen to bring to the surface almost offends him.

“… Ferdinand?”

The voice is unmistakeable, even if he has never quite heard it sound so hesitant, so disbelieving, so far from the cold certainty that had marked their school days.

Ferdinand whips his head around so quickly it sends a deep pulse of nausea through him, forcing his eyes shut as he fights back a groan. Barely moments later, there are hands at his arm, gentle and hesitant.

When he forces his eyes open again, the sight makes him draw in a sharp breath. Hubert is kneeling at the side of his bed. His hair has the tousled look of having had hands run through it repeatedly, he is even paler than Ferdinand remembers, and the bags under his eyes are so deep and dark they look like bruises, but it is unmistakably him.

“What... how?” Ferdinand whispers. Hubert shifts slightly and Ferdinand looks down to realize that there are chains on Hubert’s wrists. He doesn’t know if he’s more surprised at their existence, or at how little they seem to bother Hubert in this moment.

“Von Aegir—Ferdinand,” Hubert breathes, disbelievingly, and then his voice seems to steady somewhat, “There is… much to confess. But first… may I get you some tea?”

#oops i made myself sad #fanfic #ferdibert #ferdibert week #fic #fe3h #fire emblem #hubert x ferdinand #ferdinand x hubert #ao3

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littlemsstark3000 · 5 years

Text

Nothing and Something

Response to a Tumblr prompt: Classic tropes for TonyNat - “Everybody knows they’re in love but them.”

*****

Natasha smelled something fishy and she was not liking it.

Earlier that week, Steve, out of nowhere came up to her and gave her a gift. Nothing extravagant nor expensive, it was just a necklace; but it was so random that it surprised her. It wasn't her birthday. Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year were still months away.

"I just noticed that you don't wear accessories, but you do keep a necklace from Clint," their resident Captain explained.Thanks, Steve. This looks nice." She smiled as she looked at the fine silver chain.

Steve smiled, too. "I'm glad you liked it."

Her eyes caught Tony who was at the kitchen bar, pouring coffee to a big mug. He also glanced her way, and so their eyes briefly met, before he looked back down to his brew and immediately walked out. He was busying himself again with a project and was probably going to stay up for the night, hence the hot drink.

Then she remembered the guy standing before her.

"Of course," Natasha put the necklace back in its small bag and slipped it in her side pocket. "You shouldn't have bothered, but I really appreciate it."

"Training tomorrow?"

"Yup. Same time." She replied glancing at the hallway where Tony disappeared to.

"Okay. See you at 7 then."

The following day, she was at the gym with Steve and they were training separately when, all of a sudden, he asked her to spar with him.

"Okay," she shrugged and agreed.

A couple of minutes into their hand-to-hand combat, both not pulling possible hits, Steve was able to pin her to the mat – which actually happened from time to time and which she could easily move on from to retaliate, except that Clint suddenly appeared by the door with Tony tailing behind him.

"Stark's training with us today."

Her best friend and the billionaire both saw Steve hovering over her before she managed to push him up again and stand on her own.

"Tony -" she was about to greet him and say it was good that he decided to join them that morning instead of locking himself alone in the workshop or with Bruce in the lab, but the genius mechanic turned to Clint.

"Need a quick change. I'm not comfortable here," he said pinching both his shirt and sweatpants.

Then he walked out of the door before anyone could reply. She subconsciously stared at the door even after it closed again.

“Nat, everything okay?”

Clint asked, and it was only then she realized that she zoned out.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m done for the day.” She strode to the bench to get her water tumbler and towel before walking back to her room without looking back at her teammates.

And the final string was this stunt she thought they were trying to pull over lunch.

They have not had a team lunch for a while. Everyone always had tasks to do outside or somewhere else in the tower. This day, they were complete. Natasha and Steve took care of cooking as usual. Clint was putting away the used dishes to the sink and the trash to the respective bins. Thor prepared the table. Tony and Bruce stepped out of the lab and joined them in the dining hall, and the rest – Sam, Wanda and Vision – were on their way to the common area, as confirmed by FRIDAY.

They were having casual conversations over baked salmon, chicken and potatoes, when Steve, out of nowhere, said something that surprised her… and seemingly just her and Tony.

“You have any plans tonight, Nat?”

She shook her head. “None yet. Why?”

“You want to go out for movie and coffee?”

Her eyes automatically scanned around their teammates. Wanda was grinning. Vision just tilted his head a little. Sam made an OK sign. Bruce shrugged.

Clint snapped his fingers. “Finally!”

Thor’s laugh sounded fake, but it was loud anyway. “I knew it!”

And Tony… His eyes widened as their gazes met but he dropped the look the same time he dropped the fork to his plate. His movement was quick; he stood up and left the table.

“Will go ahead to the lab, Bruce. Just… be back when you’re done.”

When Tony turned his back on them, Natasha also stood up to follow him, but not without confronting the team first once the engineer was out of earshot.

“Mind telling me what’s happening?”

“Nat –” Steve started.

“You don’t mean that,” she pertained to the Captain’s invitation earlier. “I know something’s going on and I swear if I found out –”

“Good that you figured out this stuff, but how about that thing between you and Stark?” Clint sat comfortably, leaning his back on his chair.

Why, of course. It was Clint who had the guts to put up this whole thing!

“What the hell, Barton?!”

“If it isn’t any obvious yet, Natasha, everyone in this table knew that you and that not-so-genius-former-playboy have been pining for a long time now. We just had to do something about it.”

“You seriously agreed to this, Rogers?” Her hands rolled into fists as she faced the supersoldier.

“Look, Nat. Both of you are my friends and even if I wasn’t so sold out to this plan, I agree with Clint… You need to act on this thing between you two.”

“And it’s not as if we did anything drastic, Nat. We did not like set you up on a blind date or told one how the other feels," Wanda intervened.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. And the intention isn’t bad. You two have been exchanging loving glances any chance you get. You worry endlessly when the other is on mission or is missing. And damn, you work well and fit perfectly together. I mean, we just wanted to help.”

“Indeed, Ms. Romanoff,” said Vision. “This is just a stimulus to see if we will get the desired reaction. If we did not, then there should be no issue.”

“Obviously, you care about what Tony feels, Nat. You both do, for each other,” Bruce added matter-of-factly.

“I must agree with our friends here,” Thor affirmed.

“Now, before somebody fly out to somewhere, you go and check up on him.” Clint prompted, then continued with his food as if nothing happened.

Natasha sighed, still furious with the team’s intrusion. “I’m not yet done here,” she threatened as she walked to the lab.

When she got there though, nobody was in.

“FRIDAY, where is Tony?”

“Boss headed to his room, Ms. Romanoff.”

Not a minute wasted, and she was already in the lift to his own floor. When she was by his door, she then questioned herself why Tony’s reactions mattered so much to her… why she never wanted to see him sad, hurt, disappointed, or jealous. She just guessed they would figure it out together, if their team was right all along.

“Tony, it’s me.” She notified but was sure that even if he would not acknowledge, she will barge in anyway.

“Come in.”

She gently pushed the door open and saw him sitting on his bed, feet on the ground and hands on the mattress, his arms supporting his weight as his head turned her way.

Needing to be as close to him as possible to talk properly, she sat on the bed, copying him. Her left hand was only an inch apart from his right.

“I see he's finally making a move. About damn time.”

His eyes now focused on the carpeted floor, and she failed to see the emotion in his eyes that went with the statement.

“I don't know what you’re talking about, Tony. Steve and I are just friends and it will stay that way, as far as I know.” Her voice was firm as she watched the side of his face.

“You look good together.” Tony commented further as if he did not hear her.

“Then why do you walk out when you see us together?”

There was a pause and complete silence before he replied. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does to me," she replied straightforward. "Because I also ask myself why I want to go after you every time.”

Tony turned his head her way again and their eyes locked.

“I don’t want you thinking that way about me and Steve, or anyone else.”

She did not dare pull back anymore from this situation she has put herself into.

It's now or never.

All or nothing.

They just stared at each other, the deeper feelings left unspoken, until Tony slowly closed the small distance between them. He leaned in, their face almost touching, as if trying if she would act differently. When she did not, he raised both hands to cup her cheeks.

“My mind tells me that this is going fast, but I’ve waited long enough so f*ck logic.”

Her lips were met by his, but it wasn't a long, lingering kiss. It felt like he was just checking if she was real. Her breathing hitched, his hands trembled mildly and she gripped on both of his forearm to steady him, running her thumbs at the back of his wrist.

“Are you really willing to give this a try, Tash?” his eyes searched hers. "Us?"

“You’re world-known as someone who makes things work. Guess I am in good hands," she nodded with certainty. "Let's do this."

#iron widow #tonynatasha #tony stark x natasha romanoff #tonynat #otp #tony x natasha #black widow #iron man #ironwidow #tony stark #natasha romnoff #marvel #mcu #avengers

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sciencelings-writes · 5 years

Text

Endgame Fix-it Prompt

@iron-man-bingo

For once in his life, Tony didn’t want to die. He had spent so much time wishing that he could just stop existing until he found something to live for. After the first snap and seeing the kid he thought of like his own disappear in his arms, all he wanted to do was follow him in the same billion pieces. But he didn’t. He stayed on the barren planet far from his home. Even before that, there were dozens of times he wanted to give up but at the last second, the universe threw in something for him to live for into his life.

He had just gotten everyone back. He could introduce Peter to Morgan and Harley, He could finally retire with his family. He could go home. But that wasn’t going to happen. The battle wasn’t over. In fact, they were losing. Until Tony got a hold of the infinity stones. He had the chance to save them all but he had to confront the certainty of the sacrifice.

If Tony used the stones, there was no going back. But if Thanos got the stones back, the entire universe would be destroyed. Tony knew what he was going to do and he took a selfish moment to think about them. To think about his beautiful, wonderful wife, his best friends, his kids… and he realized that he would do anything to stay with them. He couldn’t leave them. Not just for his own sake, but for the people that loved him.

He had spent so long trying not to let anyone get near him that it was only then, when he was about to die, that he realized who he would leave behind. If he died, Pepper would have to raise Morgan alone, Morgan would grow up without her father, Peter would’ve lost his third father figure and judging by how close he was to the scene, the second father figure who would die in front of his eyes, Rhodey and Happy would probably feel pretty bad, no matter how much Tony wished they shouldn’t.

For some reason, he didn’t want to die. But he still needed to end it. Someone did, and it was too late to make another plan, one that would keep him alive. It was too late. All he could do was take the shot and hope that there was a chance that he could survive. For his family if not for the simple reason that he finally had hope. He had finally gotten his family whole again and he so desperately wanted to experience everything with them, he wanted to see Peter graduate and buy way too many gifts for Christmas and feel like a buttery mess after movie nights. He wanted to help Morgan with her homework and teach Harley how to fly a suit. He just wanted to live.

So while he had the most powerful reality warping tool within his grasp, he didn’t just use them to completely decimate Thanos and his army, he added a little selfish request. He wanted to survive. He didn’t care how painful it would be, how horrible his quality of life would be, he just needed to stay. He needed to stay with them.

He looked straight into the purple assholes eyes, with extreme power coursing through him, and he snapped. After that was a painful blur, and then darkness. His last thought was the dim hope that this wasn’t the end and the blurry sight of his wife and her muffled voice.

“You can rest now.”

No, he doesn’t think he will.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tony died. But not for long. Only for a moment. A long moment. Long enough to be pronounced dead at the hospital. Long enough for everyone to think he was dead. Pepper was crying over his body when he took his first breath.

He expected the pain, but this was kind of annoying. His right side felt like it was submerged in lava and his arm was completely gone. But pain was nothing new. He wrapped his remaining arm around his wife and swore that he wasn’t a zombie. She still had her cool-toned iron suit on, mildly damaged from battle. His side, neck, and part of his face were heavily bandaged. He had technically felt worse in his life but this was pretty shitty.

Tony unapologetically took several long moments just being held by his wife, trying not to think of the world around them. Just thanking every single god from every single religion he could think of that he was still alive. That he didn’t have to leave his family yet.

“Oh my god… Tony… Do you want me to bring everyone in? We all thought you were dead, Peter was.. Jesus poor kid…” Pepper stumbled over her words like she did only when shit was really fucked up.

“Some… only your favorites… I can’t… It’s a little fucked up but… I kind of want to stay dead. I’ve been in the public eye since Howard revealed that mom was pregnant. I just… I think I’m done…” His voice was weak and only came out in a soft grumbling whisper.

“I think we can work that out…” Pepper said gently as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I am going to let the spider-kid in though. You know, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have gotten you here to check if you weren’t dead. Your heart had stopped and the arc reactor shut off. Everyone thought you were gone but he convinced us to patch you up and wait. He said he knew what death felt like and that you were still there. I’m glad that we held on to that speck of hope.” Her voice wavered a bit. Looking at Tony like he was a ghost and that she still wasn’t sure that he was there.

“Yeah… I want to see him. I really want to see the kid.” He said weakly.

“I’ll get him then. Are you sure you want to… ‘Stay dead’?” She used her fingers for air quotes.

“Yeah. I think… I think I’m done. Maybe the Avengers will stop bothering me if they think I’m six feet under.” He gave her a little smile. The only person that would be able to figure it out was dead too. None of the other Avengers were very bright. Except for Bruce, but he also tended to mind his own business.

Pepper left the room after glancing at him again and was only gone for a moment. Tony took a few steady breaths and closed his eyes for a second. It turned out dying was exhausting. His eyes snapped open when he heard a timid familiar voice.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hey, Kiddo. You glad to be back in the land of the living?”

“I-I could ask you the same thing…” Peter’s eyes were red around the edges like he had been crying tears made of acid. He looked like he really wanted to see if Tony was really there and alive but didn’t want to hurt him. The look was pretty specific but Peter was usually pretty easy to read.

“Come on.” Tony opened his remaining arm, offering a hug. It looked kind of odd with only one arm but it was still pretty obvious the intentions.

“You’re hurt, I don’t want to-”

“Kid I literally don’t give a shit.” This seemed to be all the permission Peter needed to practically launch himself over to Tony’s side and wrap him in an obviously much-needed hug. Tony’s heart clenched when he heard Peter’s muffled sob into his shoulder. Tony automatically combed his fingers through his kid's hair and he assumed that helping raise Morgan made his affectionate actions more natural. He blamed that when he kissed Peter’s forehead like he would his own biological kid. Thankfully if Peter didn’t feel weird about it, he didn’t say anything.

In fact, they didn’t say anything for a while. Tony just held onto his kid with his one weak arm with Peter curled up around him on the hospital bed looking unbelievably small for someone who could throw a bus. After a minute of listening to steady breathing and comfortable silence, Tony realized that Peter had fallen asleep.

For some strange reason, this caused Tony’s old scarred heart to swell in pure admiration for the kid. Getting the kid back had been one of the most wonderful surreal moments in his life. At first, he didn’t believe it. He had spent so much time feeling guilty and mourning that getting him back felt too good to be true. He could only hug the kid close and fondly listen to all his rambling. Now, they were both alive and Tony was overwhelmingly relieved.

He didn’t care that he lost an arm, people like Bucky and Nebula had missing arms and he could figure out a cool prosthetic pretty easily. He didn’t care about the pain. He was alive to raise his daughter and to just… live. All he wanted to do was live. Live without the burden of knowing the next world ending event was on the horizon. Without being the only hero to prepare for it. But now, there were plenty of heroes, a few of which he even trusted to take his place.

They didn’t need him anymore. He had done enough. This didn’t make him feel sad, it made him feel relief. He was done. He had always strived to be done. That’s why he fought, to be done. To go home. To be with his family. But for so long he had always been pulled back in. This had been the last time. He was done. No more. Over. He could rest. Thankfully for him, his rest wasn’t death and it didn’t have to be. It seemed like stories of heroes who couldn’t stop being heroes always ended up dying and that was the only way they could rest. But not him. He was all for breaking stereotypes.

His train of thought paused when the door squeaked open a few inches. He smiled when he caught sight of his best friends. Happy and Rhodey snuck in, after noticing Peter fast asleep in Tony’s arm. They both looked relieved to see him and Tony swore that he saw tears in his oldest friends eyes.

“If you ever do that kind of shit again I’m gonna-” Happy whisper threatened, as not to wake the baby.

“I know… I won’t. I’m… I’m done.” Tony promised

“Like Done done?” Rhodey raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“My beautiful, perfect, intelligent wife is making sure that I’ll be legally dead. So yeah. I’m done.” Rhodey and Happy shared a look.

“Are you sure? I didn’t think we could take the hero out of you…” Rhodey confirmed.

“I’m done. I mean I don’t think I can completely stop, but I can do what I did with this kid. I can help the baby superheroes. I even have an idea of who can replace me as Iron Man…”

“What are we gonna do about the funeral?”

“I’ve got an idea... But that’s for later. I’m happy that you’re both here.” He smiled a little.

“I think we’re both pretty glad that you’re not dead too.” Happy shrugged.

“Yeah, I can see that…”

Tony’s funeral might’ve been a small private affair but he could’ve never expected to be mourned as much as he was. It almost made him feel bad that it wasn’t real. There was a gigantic statue of Iron Man in New York where the old Avengers compound used to be, along with a well-funded museum of heroes dedicated to the ones lost. Including Nat and the Vision. Tony had never been there but Peter told him about it. He took pictures of everything Iron Man related and texted him a picture of his own gravestone. That was kind of weird but he ended up making a joke about it, so now they joke about leaving flowers on his tombstone and his ghost haunting the kid.

Morgan, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey had to do quite a lot of acting at the private funeral to keep up the story that Tony was dead. But Peter didn’t have to act too much. He knew what it felt like to go to a father figures funeral. Even though he knew Tony was alive and even had an earpiece connected to him directly, it was still kind of jarring to pretend that he was dead.

Once he had to get away from all the people and hid in the bathroom for a while with Tony asking through the earpiece if he was okay. Peter would reply that it was just weirdly familiar and he didn’t like talking about him in the past tense. He also didn’t like being around people who believed it. He desperately wanted to tell someone, but it wasn’t his place and he managed to keep his mouth closed. Even when the shreky Bruce Banner looked really sad, Peter managed not to spill. It was kind of hard.

Morgan was surprisingly good at keeping her mouth shut. She was a drama queen just like her father. She was mostly confused at the situation and thankfully was not aware of the concept of death so she just whined about wearing a boring dress and getting hungry for cheeseburgers.

A bunch of people that ‘were’ close to him talked about him a little, Peter was informed that if they had enough time, they would let him say a few words and evidently, there was plenty of time. So Peter was a little nervous, it wasn’t like he was talking about his dad figure to a bunch of super-people… So, Peter was a lot nervous but he ultimately decided to do this because he had things he wanted to say to Tony that he was too cowardly to say in front of him.

So he stood up from his place at the head picnic table and looked at the darkly dressed superheroes all around him. He took a shaking breath and decided to introduce himself.

“Hi, uh, I’m Peter Parker. Spider-Man, but don’t go blabbing about that, some of us want to keep that kind of thing a secret.” There was a small ripple of polite laughter. “Tony is… Tony was like a father to me. When no one believed in me, he did. When I was alone, I had him. When my aunt found out about my secret vigilantism, he confronted her and managed to not get slapped.” He looked at May who had a sad look on her face but still smiled a little. She still wasn’t in the light about the reality with Tony but Peter was sure that he would tell her eventually.

“Tony was my hero before he surprised me at my apartment. He was the type of hero I wanted to be before I got powers. He didn’t need super strength or a magic hammer to be a superhero. He didn’t need a gamma radiation accident or years of training as a Russian spy. He didn’t need an infinity stone or magic or vibranium. He was a hero because of his brain. He was a hero because he made himself one. He was a hero because he was doing anything he could to fix his mistakes and the mistakes of the people around him. He was a hero because while I was a nerdy middle schooler, with nothing but my above average brain, he was someone I could see myself in.”

“He became a hero when he was broke and kidnapped with a battery in his chest. When his brain was the only thing he had left, he rose from the ashes and became Iron Man. He made me realize that no matter how broken I was and was going to end up being, I am not worthless or unfixable. Tony Stark still saved the world while the world never believed he could.”

“There are a lot of heroes out there,” Peter looked around the dozens of superheroes around him and smiled, “but no one like Tony Stark. No one can ever be like Tony Stark.”

‘Aw, Spider-kid, you’re making me tear up…’ Tony’s voice echoed quietly through the earpiece.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to him being gone, sometimes I can still hear his voice…” Peter smiled a little, hoping that it came across as reminiscent instead of knowing.

‘No you can’t’

“Anyway, sorry I ended up rambling didn’t I… I just want to finish with the fact that I think Tony was my hero. Not Iron Man. He will always be my hero.”

The Stark household was like a domestic heaven. Both Peter and Tony had never expected to have a family again, yet here they were, at the dinner table with a handful of other people laughing along to a joke one of them had made.

Peter had been living there while May figured out the apartment situation as she had been dusted too and their apartment had someone else living there. But it was fine, apparently Tony had prepared a room for him, filled with Star Wars themed things and even a poster for a few Star Wars movies that he had missed while he was all dusty.

Living there had been kind of weird for Peter but he welcomed it. He wasn’t used to being around a little kid but being around Morgan was a lot of fun. Apparently, Tony had told her all about him and insisted that he was her brother and Peter didn’t have the heart to tell her that wasn’t the case. Even if he did have the heart to, he wouldn’t. He always got a little smile on his face when Morgan said ‘Petey’ instead of ‘Peter’ because she couldn’t quite pronounce her ‘r’s very well yet.

Harley was a different sort of weird but just as welcome. He was more extroverted and confident than Peter was but just as nerdy. Half of their conversations were about the logistics of sci-fi weapons and the other half were about dumb things like the memes Peter had missed. It struck an easy balance and Peter didn’t think he could become friends with someone so fast. Peter could ramble almost incoherently at the speed of light and Harley could still follow along. Peter was pretty happy to have more than one friend now.

So, sitting at the dinner table, with a bunch of people Peter could imagine thinking about as a family, was a little bit overwhelming. He had always kind of envied people with siblings, parents and all that, with no offense to the aunt and uncle that raised him, he loved them more than he could say, but he knew from a pretty young age that his family was a little odd. It was even worse after his uncle was killed but now, he had more family than he had ever thought he’d ever have.

“You zoning out fart-face?” Harley’s voice broke Peter’s focus of staring at nothing.

“I guess you were that boring asshole,” Peter said with no maliciousness in his voice.

“Language! What will the good captain think!”

“Carol wouldn’t care…”

“No, she’s the great captain, I mean Steve.”

“Oh! I don’t care.”

“Don’t swear in front of my kid though.” Tony interrupted before taking an unsteady bite of a cheeseburger with his nondominant hand as his dominant arm had yet to be replaced with a prosthetic. He was still working on living without his most useful limb. Usually, Pepper had to help him with simple tasks but lately, DUM-E had been happy finally being useful. He was almost competent.

“Fine dad…” Peter rolled his eyes over dramatically.

“Am I hearing sass from you, Spider-boy?”

“Come on, Harley sasses you all the time!”

“I’m not saying that it’s bad, I just never expect it to come from you…”

“I guess when I died, the last bits of hero worship died too…”

“Please don’t talk about dying… I’m not in the mood. It’s cheeseburger time.”

Dinner continued like that, with casual conversation and Tony complaining about having to take breaks from eating because his body was still too annoyingly weak to do such hard tasks as chewing and holding something in his hand for several seconds. May was planning on coming down to the cabin in a couple of hours after her shift at the snaps rehabilitation center, Happy would fly her over and they were bringing back some things from the storage facility that Tony had put all the Parkers things into.

Even though everything hurt and he could barely move, Tony was very happy to be alive. He loved being with his family and was already planning on making a joke about trading his right arm for them. Which was much truer than they knew. It had only taken several decades of absolute torture, but Tony was finally happy to be alive.

It had been a few months since the big battle, since the final snap, since Tony lost his arm. By now they had made mark one or the Iron Arm, it wasn’t too bulky and moved when Tony wanted it too but he was still getting used to it.

Thanks to the jolly green giant, Tony knew that today was the day that the stones were being returned. It took a little while for the time machine to be rebuilt and made smaller, and more Pym particle to be made but the time had come and everything was ready. He was taking a stroll near his little pond and without his usual paranoia, didn’t notice someone behind him until they spoke up.

“Tony?” Tony turned around without urgency to see who had caught him not being dead. He was actually kind of surprised to see who it was.

“Hey Cap. You’re looking… a little more elderly than I last saw you…” Tony raised his graying eyebrow at the wrinkly version of his teammate.

“You’re alive?”

“Apparently, I knew none of you would leave me alone if I told you before.”

“Well, I am pretty glad about that. I have about a half hour until my younger self takes the most powerful weapons in the universe back. Would you like to sit with me?”

“I don’t have much else to do. Being dead gives me way too much free time…” Tony sat on the bench facing the pond and Steve sat down next to him. Tony noticed the strangely shaped circular bag at Steve’s side and realized what it was for pretty quick. Not many things were that size that Mr. Rogers would bring back from his timeline. “So, Barnes or Wilson. Who’s gonna be the next Cap?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Steve chuckled, “Bucky… he deserves a break. Sam is more than worthy to inherit the shield. Captain America was always more than a World War two science experiment.”

“So, is he going to be the eagle now? Uncle Sam?” Tony joked.

“Americas Angel? Well, I’m not quite sure. He might even decide to keep being Captain America. Just younger and fewer steroids.”

“You know, It’s kind of weird getting old. Passing the superhero mantle. I didn’t know if I could ever leave it behind.”

“And what changed your mind?”

“The kid. Spider-Man. There are so many heroes out there now, I remember being the only one. But now, there are plenty to go around. But the kid? I wouldn’t trust anyone with my legacy more. I mean sure, there are a few other choices that I would totally support being the next Iron Man, but Pete’s already in the game. He followed in my footsteps the moment he used being a superhero to cope with world-shattering trauma.”

“That is very you isn’t it. I think the world is going to be in good hands.”

“Probably better hands than before.” There was a moment of silence. “You don’t seem too surprised to see me alive…”

“You forget that I know you, Tony, if you were to retire, you’d have no choice but to be as dramatic as possible and faking your death while saving the universe is pretty damn dramatic.”

“Faking my death was a little last minute… I didn’t mean to be that dramatic.”

“It’s just part of you.”

“I don’t know whether that was offensive or not…”

“It wasn’t meant to be. You’re a showman. Life is much more fun with you around.”

“I’m flattered but you must remember that I am married and not in my prune phase yet.” Steve laughed weakly.

“Not in every timeline…”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean-”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later, you should probably get going, they’re starting to set up the device.”

“I’ll set up an extra plate for dinner tonight, don’t skip out on me.” Tony stood up and took a moment to stretch.

“I don’t plan on it. I had to wait several decades for people to start putting spices in food and I started to regret going back.”

“Maybe I’ll boil some potatoes for your old man tastebuds,” Tony smirked as he walked away.

“Tony I swear to god-”

“See you then Grandpa.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Steve smiled as he looked out into the shimmering water. Maybe it was cheap to call Tony dramatic when he traveled through his original timeline to give his friend a large sheet of metal. Well, if he had to learn something from the smartest avenger…

#ironmanbingo3000 #irondad #iron dad #My fic #fic rec #fanfic rec #fanfic #endgame fix it #tony stark #iron man

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umccall71 · 5 years

Text

Chapter 13

Characters:Prince Liam x (mc) Lady Saige

Rating:Mature Content includes profanity, sexual content,talks about depression.

Word Count:3949

Disclaimer: All characters used are sole property of Pixelberry. I am simply borrowing them for entertainment.

Summary:After a summer of a Lifetime Prince Liam thought he could have it all. He was carefree, free, and sharing time with the woman of his dreams. When life as easy a balancing act between love and duty, he realizes his truths are lies, wrong is right, and decisions do have consequences.Lady Saige never imagined she would be one of his consequences. When an act of utter horror throws her world into a tailspin.

Warning: This series contains subject matter of depression and hopelessness .The story may trigger certain individuals. Please be advised. If your reading this series you are acknowledging you are at least 18 +.

*******************

It had been a month since Constantine requested that Liam take over as king as he was stepping down for health reasons. Liam was unwavering in his stipulation that only Constantine and Regina are out of the palace before his coronation. He wanted absolute certainty that Saige would not have to share her new home with her attacker for one night.Liam reveled in his role as her husband and protector. This was tantamount to anything else… keeping her safe.Liam has just finished up a call when he eyed Saige coming down the stairs at Lythikos.

“Are you getting ready for your appointment?”, Liam inquires.

“Yes… I’m meeting with Dr. Ashton in 30 minutes.”

“You seem a lot more relaxed since you found someone new…. I know how important your group meetings and therapist was back in Texas.”

Saige nods in agreement while biting her lip, “it’s … been helpful. Especially… since the news of you becoming king.”

Liam wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Are you still in agreement with my taking over as the next monarch of Cordonia?”

Saige perched on her tiptoes and kissed Liam’s chin. “My love… I am all in with you becoming king. I know this a part of who you are. I respect that your willing in spite of everything to step in ….. in your father’s place… in your brother’s place.”

“I’m glad to hear that you are on board. You do know if at any time it becomes too much. I will not go through with it.”, he looked at Saige lovingly.

Saige felt such an overwhelming love, respect, and dedication to this man that changed her life in such a brief amount of time.She thought how she spent years on her own, fending for herself… now she can’t picture life without him.

“Liam, you have nothing to worry about . I’m fine. I am getting used to the new doctor you found.”, she smiled tenderly. “Thank you for finding her and her willingness to come here to meet with me.”

Liam kissed her fervently and not wanting to let go but he reluctantly pulled back after several minutes.Liam rested his head against hers, “ I hate leaving you Saige… but I know your in good hands. I have a meeting at the palace to confirm some details for the coronation. I wish I could stay here and be present for your appointment, but I want you to be comfortable with speaking freely.”

Liam placed a kiss on Saige’s forehead and bid her farewell. He turned back as he reached the door. He smiled tenderly and blew her a kiss. “ I will see you shortly my love..I love you .”

“ I love you so much Liam.”, she smiled and waved him off.

Liam arrived at the palace an hour later prepared to draw a line in the sand and stake his position in regards to the events of the coming weeks. Liam arrived at the study and was met by Bastien and Constantine with a host of advisors.

“Good Morning everyone… lets get down to business.”, he say at the head of the conference table.Liam surveyed the room before opening the briefs that were laid out in front of each of them.

Constantine seemed proud in that moment to watch his youngest son take control. “Liam, there’s a lot of decisions that need to be made before the ceremony. We cannot have your reign threatened by any sign of instability.”I would….”Liam quickly shot a warning look at his father, “my perception in the eyes of other leaders is not a concern you needn’t have at this time. I can assure you… my decision of how to lead… will not be swayed by you. In fact, your focus should be on making sure the staff get you and Regina packed up to start settling into your new home.”

Constantine scoffed, “you were not serious about me leaving .. I would think you would want to have me close by for my counsel.”

Liam steepled his fingers, eyes honed in on his, he leaned back and crossed his legs, “Would you all leave me alone for a private moment with my father?”,Liam barely spoke above a whisper but the room cleared out in a matter of moments.

Bastien glanced between the two men, cautiously moving toward the door. “Sir… are you wanting me leave as well?”, he spoke hesitantly. “If you fear my lashing out again, I can restrain myself Bastien.He won’t die… at least not today… at my hands.”

Bastien left the study, closing the door behind himself.

Liam locked eyes with Constantine sending a coldness through his nonverbal communication. “For some reason you seemed to think that I was asking you to leave...no it is a requirement… you will not darken a room that my wife May come into. The only job you have is figuring out how not to die too soon from your Cancer. This is non negotiable, you heard my terms for taking over… now deal with them!”,he spat. “Did you really think I would want to take any advice from you.. especially knowing the type of animal you are?”,Liam spoke through clenched teeth. “The coronation is in 3 weeks, you need to be out in two. I need to make sure my wife can come in and make decisions for her new home.You will be gone from this palace whether you like it or not. Which is far better than you deserve you derelict.”

Constantine’s nostrils flared, he bit his words back avoiding the pending confrontation. “What exactly are you wanting from me Liam?”

Liam stood from his seat and walked around to face his father, mere inches from his face, “ I want you gone from my orbit… you violated the woman I love and you expect what… a thank you?! I want nothing more than for you to pass on the reigns to me and disappear in the sunset while you cease to breathe.”Constantine stood to walk out, he stopped short to speak, but Liam halted his words with the raising of his hand.

The advisers and Bastien filed past Constantine as he left the room. Liam took a deep breath, firmed his stance and commanded that the advisers complete their briefing. “We need to lock down the decisions for the coronation and I also need to meet with the royal tailor … I need to make sure the dress for Saige is perfect for the Coronation.”The advisers looked at each other a bit confused, Bastien nodded, “yes sir”, being the only one in the room to know the relationship.

The meeting went on for a couple more hours, Liam deciding music, food, decor, processional,and privately the moment he would announce to the royal court once he’s crowned king that he had his Queen.

Saige sat in the parlor of Lythikos speaking to Dr. Ashton. She spoke freely about transitioning from life in Texas to being married to a prince, now crowned prince, and in a matter of weeks he would be crowned king.

“Saige… what do you think about the impending transfer of power? More importantly you becoming Queen?”, the doctor asked.

Saige contemplated her words momentarily before answering, I am more concerned with Liam taking his place on the throne. I mean… not many people know that we got married or even that we were dating”,she shrugged. “I don’t want to make this about me… it’s about that generous man that takes on the weight of the world.”

The doctor scribbled some notes, “Saige, you do realize that as Queen you will have certain expectations… right?”

“Yes I know, and the bad dreams will subside soon once we have our own space.” The doctor interrupted, “you have been having bad dreams… what about?”, she leaned forward listening thoughtfully.

“ I guess with a life in the spotlight.. that so many people will be assuming things about me. Like I am not fit to be married to Liam, like I am beneath him , people will think they can do things to me and against me.”

“Saige there will always be a subset of people that have a mindset of what the life of the upper echelon should look, act, speak, interact like ...they don’t know you … but they will.”, she touched Saige’s hand encouragingly.

“ I’m willing to do what needs to be done to grow into the role, but I… i'm nervous.”,she wrung her hands.

“About?”, the doctor asked.

“What if I can’t … if I can’t give Liam a child… an heir? I don’t want anyone , especially his family to treat him like he’s made a horrible mistake. I want to make him happy and proud. Liam is the first man I ever considered a lifetime with, a future, a family… I can’t disappoint him.”, the stress evident in her eyes.

Dr. Ashton eyes were widened, “I can’t see Prince Liam thinking anything other than you being extraordinary in his eyes…. you are a strong young woman Saige facing a big responsibility. You have to remember that you are you first, his wife second, and Queen third. Allow yourselves to depend on each other ...to be open… to be vulnerable… to just be human without the weight of the crown. There will be enough of that stress and insurmountable expectations outside of the two of you.”, she smiled at Saige.

Saige flashed a soft smile feeling a little bit better after speaking to Dr. Ashton. She walked her out to the door where she ran into Liam coming up the stairs. A huge smile spread across her face. Dr. Ashton appreciated being a witness into this private moment seeing the love shared between them in just a few seconds. “Your highness… it’s wonderful to see you again.”, she bowed.

“Dr. Ashton… no need to be so formal here. I am happy with the help you are providing.” They waived to the doctor as she drove away.

Liam and Saige spent the rest of the evening in their suite with a light dinner before turning in for the evening. They both lounged around, Liam wearing pajama pants and Saige wearing pajama shorts and a tank top with her hair pulled up top in a messy bun. Liam stared smiling into her ocean blue eyes as they curled up watching a movie. Saige glanced at him smirking, “what are you staring at Liam?”

He just basked in the feeling of love he has for his soon to be queen.”I am just happy to see you so relaxed and just enjoying our time together.” He squeezed her close to his chest as they watched a romantic comedy. Liam never fancied himself a connoisseur of any particular genre of movies.

“Liam it’s great to just be here with you… doing nothing… just being together.”, she grinned softly.

Liam leaned down and gently kissed her lips, he whispered, “you know you make me the luckiest man alive”, he nipped her skin beneath her ear. Liam’s fingertips traced lazy circles across her bare skin of her shoulder, her thigh, drawing likes against the fabric of her tank top. He suddenly started to tickle her teasingly. Saige rolled around in a fit of giggles, pure uninhibited laughter filling the room . Liam could never get enough of hearing that sound. They ripped around in laughter until the playfulness turned into exploratory passion.

Liam and Saige quickly pulled at each other’s clothes until they rubbed against each other completely bare. Liam’s erect manhood danced across Saige’s ass as he pulled at her tender skin from her neck leading a fiery path down her shoulders, her back, he playfully bit her ass cheek before landing a resounding thwack.

He flipped her body over, she laid on her back, arms over her head being held in place by his large hand , while the other grazed her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, he then parted her thighs allowing access to her moistened center. “Aww , Love… your so wet for me already. Is all of this for me?”, he teased in a low growl , seducing her with his eyes, his lips, his hands, and most impressive hardened length tapping at her entrance. “Do you feel that?... that’s all from you love… it’s what you do me”,he let out a laugh pondering what he wanted to do to Saige.

“Do you want to talk to him, let him know how much you want him… thrusting inside your hungry sex. You crave it don’t you?”, she started squirming in anticipation, “yes”, she stumbled breathlessly to get out of her lips. “Do you want to taste it on your pretty little mouth my love?”, he moaned softly playing with her slick folds with his hardened tip. “Yes… oh Liam please”, she pleaded. In that moment he released her hands and sat up on his knees knelt over her. Saige’s lust blown eyes devoured his body as she positioned herself on her stomach raising her head to meet eye level with his cock.She planted a kiss on the tip, she slightly parted her lips granting his length access to protrude her mouth feeling the welcoming warmth of her hollowed cheeks, she smirked as she swallowed more of his length with each stroke of his treasure passing her lips.

Saige locked eyes with Liam watching as he relaxed and then tensed each time he felt the build of pleasure about to erupt. He bellowed her name as she delivered skillful erotic conversations with her lips, her tongue flattened and curving under his shaft as he moved his hips meeting her mouth pleasingly.

“Fuck Saige, that feel fucking amazing.”, his hips bucked as he fought to hold back his release.His hands trailed down her arched back massaging and gently gliding down to her ass. He leaned slightly, just enough to reach her soaked core, throbbing, waiting patiently to feel him stretch her , fitted to him like a glove.

Liam's fingers felt the slickness from her wet folds, he rubbed them from her ass down to her clit. He teased her by slowly slipping one finger inside of her, massaging that special spot as he curled and hit repeatedly. Soon it was joined by a second digit both delivering agonizing pleasure as she pushed her ass back and forth, trying to adjust and ride his fingers. Liam’s thumb rubbed slow circles on her clit while his fingers developed a partnership learning how much she was enjoying feeling him inside with his fingers, but she really wanted the complete occupation of her sex by his massive length.

Saige hummed in approval swallowing his cock as he hit the back of her throat, “Damn… that’s my girl… just like that. You certainly know what I want.”, he spoke through uneven gasp . Saige was under his spell as he pumped away while she smirked pleasuring Liam. She spun beneath him , lying on her back, still bobbing away at his cock. She parted her thighs wider, arching her back off of the bed. He knew that she was mesmerized in the feeling of her wanting hole being filled by him, but he wanted to share in the feeling of his mouth on her nectar sliding down her lips and thighs from desire.

Liam leaned forward meeting her sex with his eager mouth, he gently tugged on her lips before flipping to his back , her frame now hovered over his face, she’s sucking effortlessly, as he parts lips with his tongue massaging her womanhood. Liam ran his tongue the full length of her sex front to back, as if he were a starved man savoring his last meal. His tongue swirled , sucked, delved into her lips before finding his way to the pearl of her clit.

Saige grinded her hips into his mouth, her core tightening as if a dam about to break. Saige tickled his cock with the tip of her tongue as she so desperately wanted to lose it . “Oh Liam … please don’t.. don’t stop”, she breathed out. That was music to his ears as his picked up his pace, lips locked around her clit as he slid his two fingers in her again working every inch of her pleasure path.

Saige was pushing down on his fingers and his tongue, wanting to feel him paint her inner walls. He knew she was close, he felt her walls tightening, constricting around his fingers. He knew it was near when her lips were pulsing around his tongue. Liam uttered beneath her, “cum for me love… show me what I do to you”, in that moment her body jerked and convulsed as she came undone on top of Liam. She locked her lips tighter around his throbbing shaft. Liam met her mouth thrusting up letting out low groans each time. Finally he couldn’t take it and he flipped Saige onto her back, pulling her body to be centered on the bed as he opened her thighs and thrust into her hard with one fluid motion.

Saige bit her lip from the welcomed intrusion. She loved feeling Liam make love to her and please her. She had no comparison to go by, but she felt he was made to pleasure her, she thought this must be what love feels like, this physical, emotional,exhilarating connection between two people that want to share their lives together.

He allowed her a brief moment to adjust, “oh my love… your so tight, I love feeling you and filling you”,he panted as he delivered long, sensually, stimulating strokes building a fire in her belly from the overwhelming sensation of the pleasure he was made to share with her. “Do you like that?”, he whispered and moan as he sucked on her neck and the sensitive spot by her ear. She rolled her hips into him as he drove deeper into her wanting hole . “Yes… god yes”, was all she could get out of her mouth.

Liam felt like he couldn’t get enough of her, he laid chest to chest with her, he gripped her ass cheeks as he thrusted repeatedly into her savoring every stroke they shared. His body towered over hers, he had a perfect combination of dominance and gentile love as they made love. Liam pushed off his toes digging into the mattresses his ass tightened as he too neared his climax.

Saige tried to focus on his smoldering eyes as they made love, but her body was no longer her own. She felt like a siren connecting with her god. She gyrated against him, barely able to move with the welcome weight of his body atop her own. “ Liam… I’m about to …”, she panted struggling to speak. “Cum for me Saige.. I want to watch you come for me baby “,he groaned sending her body over the edge as he felt his length coated with a wetness from inside her. Liam drove himself deeper, harder inside , riding her orgasm out to the fullest. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as blue eyes met blue eyes in passion. He plunged his tongue in her mouth and they tangled together as she continued to come undone. She screamed into his mouth that fought to muffle the sounds of her pleasure. In that moment she met her third release, this time joined by Liam in his own release. Saige cried out, “I want to feel all of you in me Liam, I want your seed in me. I hope we make a baby tonight”, the words crept out before she realized what she saying, but she also realized that she would welcome having a child with him.

Liam felt his heart explode with the love in hearing that she too was open to the family they wanted to share . Liam continued to thrust deeper through his release determined to share all he had in that moment. His lips found hers again and he smiled softly as he kissed her, pulling at her bottom lip. They both wouldn’t move trying to come down from the high of this night. Soon Liam laid aside Saige as he stroked her arm, the curve of her waist , her hip before he kissed her nose. She looked so relaxed and peaceful in that moment.

Liam took a hesitant breath before he gathered his words to ask her, “Saige… did you mean what you said while we.. were making love? That you wanted to try for a child?”, he waited with bated breath.

She rolled into his side, burying her face in his chest for a moment, “Liam, I don’t regret what I said. Your the only man I have ever even considered giving myself to wholeheartedly, let alone thinking of the family I want to share with you, if… if that’s what you want too”, she rose up to face him, she cupped his cheek kissing him lovingly. I guess it felt so real when you were making love to me. I’m not going to say it doesn’t scare me a little, but I’m opened to the possibility of having your child.”

“I was so young when we lost my mother, so I can’t really say that I am fully prepared or have any real reference, but I am willing to try.”, she sniffed back tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Saige.. I have never wanted someone as badly as you. I never saw a path forward to being in love, wanting a life and a family with anyone. When I see the mother of my child… it’s only you. I couldn’t fathom sharing this experience with anyone other than you.”, Liam too become misty eyed talking about creating a family. “I couldn’t feel closer to you than in this moment.”, he pulled her close. “ This is the moment I want to cherish… the moment we decided that we want a family, a real family.”, Liam smiles wide just as Saige began to drift off. “ Are you hungry love… I’m gonna get snack.. be back shortly.

Liam sat up in the bed before he slid his pajama pants and a T-shirt on heading down to the kitchen. The chateau was dark, only a few wall sconces lit up the path. He quietly tiptoes down the grand staircase when his attention is bought to the parlor on the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t try to see but the door is slightly ajar. His curiosity is piqued when he hears a familiar male voice coming from the parlor. The voice is not loud, but resonates in the quiet .

He’s interrupted from his thought when he heard a woman moaning… he heard her voice dominate and commanding, “fuck me Drake, I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow.. your cock is huge… make me feel every bit of it “, she moaned. Liam stopped dead in his tracks and cranes his head around the small opening,

“Drake… is fucking Olivia?Where the hell have I been ?”, he whispered and slowly backed away from the door continuing to the kitchen wondering what the hell he walked in on.

Upstairs while Liam is getting a snack Saige begins to slip into a dream state. She dreams of being in a bed after having given birth to Liam’s child.There is a pair of outstretched arms to the baby… only the arms don’t belong to Liam… but Constantine. “Noooo… get away!!!” Saige’s body jerks up fighting to catch her breath , quiet tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. Saige rolls to her side trying to compose herself before Liam’s return.

********

@ao719 @sashatrr @elles-choices @hopefulmoonobject @carabeth @indiacater @jared2612 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @3pawandme @wughhumans @whenyourheartskipsabeat @syphaxs@romanticatheart-post @smalltalk88 @gibbles82 @choices97 @furiousherringoperatortoad @custaroonie @marietrinmimi @jovialyouthmusic @ownworldresident @thesootsprite @drakesensworld @fantasy-of-fiction

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stuckwith-harry · 5 years

Note

I would love for you to write those long posts on Harry and Ginny's feelings about getting married later/after having James. This has also been my headcanon forever but I rarely see it excepting your posts so would love to hear ALL of your thoughts!!

I’ll start with Ginny, anon, because that’s a long, long post you’ve got ahead of yourself. Bit of a tangent, too, but I’ll get there, I promise. I’ll put it under a read more ‘cause it’s such a long fucker.

(CW for discussion of trauma and only mentions of torture, bullying and self-harm.)

Most of what we learn about Ginny – Ginny as she exists towards theend of the series – we learn after everythingthat happens to her in the Chamber of Secrets. Something I wouldargue doesn’t just apply to us as an audience, but to Ginnyherself, as well.

If you asked me whoGinny is, my mind would go to things like: She’squick to defend herself and her friends, and when she does, she doesit aggressively – not above making it physical, either (standsup for Luna when she’s being bullied, stands up for herself whenRon slut-shames her, straightup crashes into ZachariasSmith after a Quidditch match when he was being rude). It’simportant to her that everyone around herknows she can take care of herself anddoesn’t need babysitting or sugarcoating. Shewants to be treated as an equal. She’s quick to anger, tends totake things too far (be it jokes, or confrontations, etc), butfunny, warm and compassionate, too.

Apartfrom the fact that I think the general “badassery” is partially afacade (we can spot it crack a little during that last conversationshe has with Harry prior to the Horcrux hunt – when she giveshim his birthday kiss, you’llrecall), I also think it’svery much born out of the trauma she endured in COS. Not becauseshe’s still defined by it, but because she’s very,very, very much shaped by it.

When you endure something terrible like that – at any age, really,but especially when you’re as young as Ginny was –a huge part of recovering is carving out an identity for yourselfthat isn’t entirely defined by your trauma. Existing outside ofyour trauma, if you will. At the same time, you can’t escape it, itstays with you – forever – and it has a tremendous and lastingimpact on how you interact with the world.

(You may be able to read between the lines that I can reallyrelate to Ginny here. Her thing was being possessed by an evilwizard via a Horcrux disguised as a harmless enchanted diary. Minewas bullying and self-harm. It doesn’t leave you. Even when theperson who did it to you is far away.)

And Ginny, towards the end of the series, gives me this sense ofresolutely refusing to be victimised. She wants to fight, bein the middle of the action, even when she’s deemed too young:refuses to show weakness, or to become as emotionally dependent onanyone as she was on the diary, to the very best of her ability.(Because, you know, pouring all of herself into one person reallybackfired before.)

Especially given that Ginny is a teenager who, from the looks of it,never had access to therapy or anything else that would help her dealwith her trauma – in fact, it looks like she deals with itpredominantly by herself – I think she does a very good jobof that, for the most part (emphasis on for the most part – thereare places where we can see unresolved trauma festering inher): By the end of the series, we’ve come to know her for a lot ofthings that have nothing to do with the diary, it doesn’t definewho Ginny Weasley is to us, but at the same time, she doesn’t doanyone else or herself the misguided favour of ignoring it ordenying it ever happened. (In fact, she actually manages to use herexperiences constructively; see the “I forgot” – “Lucky you”exchange in OOTP. A scene I also want to write a long ass metapost about soon, buuuuut that’s not this post.)

With that out of the way, thinking about Ginny’s feelings onmarriage (huzzah, we’re getting there!) brought backmemories to this conversation she had with Molly in early HBP:

“Mumhates [Fleur],” said Ginny quietly.

“Ido not hate her!” said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. “I justthink they’ve hurried into this engagement, that’s all! […] Iknow why it’s happened, of course. It’s allthis uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think theymight be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisionsthey’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he waspowerful, people eloping left, right, and center —”

“Includingyou and Dad,” said Ginny slyly.

“Yes, well, your father andI were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” saidMrs. Weasley.

Besides the “sly” remark, we don’t reallyfind out how Ginny feels about her parents’ marriage, butI can’t help but suspect thatthe absolute certainty with which Molly presents this only makesGinny question it more. (Ginnyis pretty … defiant … at this age. She’sconstantly challengingthe people around her on their actions and values, especially when itcomes to what they thinkis right for Ginny. Ron’s reactions to her dating life come to mindagain, as does her family’s tendency to try and keep her out of theaction because she’s the little one, Harry’s tendency to want toprotect her. There’s a distinct sense of“How do you know what’s good for me?!”, which, now that I thinkabout it, also looks like a product of her trauma given that sheendured this incredibly traumatisingthing, at age eleven, thatno one around her noticed for a yearstraight and then pretty muchimmediately forgotabout. JKRowling did,too. Again, differentpost.)

I also – personally – never really got thesense that Ginny wants tobe like Molly, whatever she deems that tobe. This part is entirelyguesswork/headcanons/me filling in the gapsthe way I see fit, but I’m willing to beta Galleon or two that the aforementioned conversation could leadGinny to wonder how her parents and her family would be different ifthey hadn’t tied the knot quite soquickly. (Writing a fic for the Hinny 100about that, so keep your eyes peeled!)

So between that and the fact that Ginny is atleast in touch enough with her emotions to recognise her own trauma,I’m just going to state the obvious: Sheis 100% not in a place to get married shortly after the war. AndI think she knows that.

Because Ginny, again,has an entire year of trauma behind her. She’s been tortured by theCarrows – repeatedly, from what we know; she’s worried forthe lives of her friends and family and ex-boyfriend for months; Luna disappearsaround Christmas, and Ginny doesn’t know where she is or if she’salive. She’s spent months terrified and powerless.She’s fought in the Battle ofHogwarts, likely missing death by an inch herself more than once;she’s lost a brother. So apart from the diary stuff – that isstill there – there’s now all this newtrauma that she gets to deal with.

Which, again, means figuring out who she’s goingto be now, and what her life is going to be like now. How to live with it, and how to exist with and around and outside of it. That takes alot of work, and a lot of time, and, frankly, a good therapist - though itsadly doesn’t seem like the Wizarding world hasthose. (Different post, though!)

It’s not really a matter of not being willing orcapable to be committed to her relationship with Harry – rather,it’s about not being in a place, mentally, whereshe can make a decision about the rest of her life when she doesn’tknow what the rest of her life is going to look like, or who she’sgoing to be, or what she’s going to want.

Alright, I hope youcould sit through all of that, anon – it ended up being a bit of anovel, didn’t it. Let me know what you think, if you’ve got more thoughts, if you agree, etc.

#meta #ginny weasley #gw #hinny #i wrote this in word lol #my posts #take a shot every time i say ''but that's a different post'' because my GOD do i have a lot to SAY about GINNY

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movedyourchair505 · 5 years

Text

Napule Nights - quindici

Thanks to Elana for always putting up with me talking about this story and helping me! Also, smut ~

- chapter navigation -

Going to see Turner the next morning, after having slept, having had some good drinks and food the night before at the club with O'Malley, their job having been easier than expected, Jade felt more in control of herself and more confident than she had confronting Turner in the past. He hadn't asked to see her, in fact she'd overheard Cook and another man saying that Turner was at his place and not at the headquarters when they'd gotten in, and that alone told her that she'd probably done a good job, that he had nothing to scold her or even humiliate her for.

When she stepped into his office, she was relieved to see him by himself, not discussing business with Serena or pleasure with Miles, and the look he gave her alone was enough to make her knees weak, taking a last drag from his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray on his desk, his eyes locked on Jade's.

She wasn't any less swayed from the desire to seduce him than the morning before, on the contrary, the more she thought about it, the more worried she became that their encounter had been a one time thing, that he'd simply snapped but wouldn't allow his self-control to waver like that again. But she was desperate for him to.

The silence hung in the air for too long, it gave her too much time to take him in, his flawlessly slicked back hair, his slender neck propped forward, the chain resting against his collarbones accentuating it all too well, the hardness of his features, the way his nose twitched slightly as he watched her, the sharpness of his jaw almost threatening. And the intensity of his eyes made her walk slowly towards the chair opposite him, just thinking about him bruising her the way he had two nights prior almost brought her to her knees.

“Nicholas said fings went well.” It was a statement, not his words, praise taken from someone else, but she'd take it. It was better than nothing, and certainly better than some lecture or even a way of pointing out her concerns.

She nodded, licking her lips. “Did he give you all the information we acquired?” She questioned. She was trying to work out what to do without him looking right through her, pointing out and using it against her just how badly she wanted him. She was gagging for him to lose control over her again, to let himself go enough to give in to what he really wanted. But even if he wanted her, even if he knew it himself, there was no way he'd give her the satisfaction that easily.

He gave a slow nod back slowly, his elbows coming to rest on the top of his desk, folding his hands and leaning his chin against them. “Yeh, shame yeh didn't get teh dance.”

He wasn't sorry. As much as he would've liked for her to feel him with every inch of her body that she moved, feel where he'd been, it bothered him more than he liked to admit, to imagine the men at his club seeing her in that position and he'd barely been able to conceal his frustration about it last time. Now even the possibility of it drove him crazy, and while he had made that threat simply to put her in her place, he'd also instructed Nicholas to only let her dance if absolutely necessary. But he knew she felt what he'd left on her nonetheless.

“I could dance for you...” she said slowly, leaning forward towards his desk before standing up, her dress riding up slightly, the gentle creme lace that made up half of the fabric covering her to mid-thigh a contrast drawing him to her sun-kissed skin, the dress tight against her body, more elegant than usual due to the soft matte fabric and nonetheless, all he could focus on was the way it pushed up her breasts and underlined the shape of her hips.

He knew he couldn't let her get much closer if he was too keep his self-control, his eyes snapping up to lock with hers when she started to make her way around his desk. He wondered if she still felt his hands on her, if she'd touched herself thinking about him, how desperate she was for him. He knew that while maybe she was out to lessen his control, to weaken his power, she mainly was trying to get him to fuck her up again the way he had, she'd loved it and that fact alone had him struggle to keep himself from doing just that.

His jaw was clenching, his hands balling into fists without trying to be too transparent, he wanted her, wanted to leave his marks on her again, make her cry his name, to have her weak and vulnerable and to do whatever he pleased with, knowing she would take it all gladly, he ached to see her unwind, to see her confidence crumble, the challenging attitude reduced to cries of pain and pleasure and begs for more of it. But he simply didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

She knew she had him, had gone about it just right, the fact that he didn't respond, didn't mock her for how strongly she was coming on showing her that she was close, so close, the tension in his body giving him away more than anything else, despite the contrast of his face suggesting he was completely unfazed by it all. No man ever had been, and neither was he.

He had no reason to give in this time, nothing to punish her for, no excuse that would cover for his weakness for her and the desperate need to take her like last time. Her failure hadn't been entirely her fault, she'd had no way of knowing she'd be ambushed, but at least he could blame her for her reaction and it was enough to punish her. It was the fire in her eyes, the confidence, the way she challenged him despite it all that got him but right now, he couldn't give in, despite his frustration building higher than last time and composed himself with a hard swallow rather than allowing himself to take it all out on her.

“Wha' do yeh fink yeh're doin'?”

His voice was calm, took away from the certainty she'd had before he'd spoken that he wanted her, despite his body language, he sounded as indifferent as ever, and maybe he was after all. Maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe she was misinterpreting him. No matter how far she came and how much she thought she'd figured him out already, he was still a mystery to her.

“I thought you'd like me to dance for you” she said, an attempt to remain calm, matter-of-factly, unaffected by the way he spoke to her. She knew how suggestive, how risky her movements were, unsure for a moment what had possessed her to push her luck this far, what if she was ruining it all, what if by showing him how much she wanted him – and she was sure he would read it as just that – she was driving him away, robbing him of the thrill of the chase, boring him because there was nothing to pursue, no self-control of hers that he could crash the way she knew he enjoyed. They were similar in that way.

“And wha' makes yeh fink I want tha'?” His questions were dancing around the matter at hand, trying to turn the uncertainty on her.

“Well” she said, not quite ready to give in just yet, stopping just before him, not brave enough to place her hands on the armrests of his chair. “You said you want me to feel it” she hummed, the sultry pout, the way she quoted him back directly to his face, using his own words against him, he was threatening to snap now, so close to giving into the urge of putting her in her place.

He sat comfortably in his chair still, his eyes glued to hers, determined not to break away, and she ached for him to come closer, attempting desperately to provoke him beyond his self-restraint, but he gave no indication of moving, even being slightly bothered by her actions, not rising to get on her level, he wasn't affected enough and it bothered her.

“Are yeh tha' desperate for more, Jade?”

There it was, the mockery, the amusement, that cocky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and she hated it, wanted to break down that mask, wanted him to reveal that it was all an act, because despite the only small glimpse she'd gotten so far, she knew deep down that there was more.

“Well, you can't deny enjoying that dance I gave you.”

He chuckled darkly, a slight tilt of his head, his eyes resting on her cherry red lips as she spoke, then snapping back up. “Dun't flatter yehrself too much.” He could see the determination, how sure she was of herself, his mind firing images of him breaking her control at him, it would be so easy to just grab her and bend her over again, make her bend to his will, make her scream and take back all those things just to get him to take her again, knowing she'd do whatever it took once he'd gotten her close enough to the edge.

“So why did you call me here, Turner?” She asked, licking her lips, her eyes wide, expectant.

“Yeh never stop askin' questions, do yeh?”

And there it was again, his way of twisting things around, getting away with circling around a question so easily himself purely because the power he had over her. But she decided to push it. “And you never stop avoiding them, do you?” Before she could come back at him with anything even remotely challenging to add to, he beat her to it.

“I kno' yeh probableh dressed up for meh all nice but yeh're not gunna get wha' yeh want, Jade. I'm not gunna indulge in your wet fantaseh. Dun't forget who I am.”

She swallowed, nothing left to say, she couldn't argue with it because he was pointing out just what had worried her when reviewing her own actions, what she'd dared herself to do, and then he froze, she heard the quick footsteps approaching as well, then stopping right outside his door and she gasped when he rose from his chair and gripped her shoulder, pushing her down to her knees with ease.

“Get down.”

“Wha-...”

“Shut up” he hissed. He pushed his chair further forward and towards the desk, making her move down underneath it, her skin stinging with the sudden collision against the cold floor. “I dun't 'ave time teh explain yehr constant presence around meh teh anehbodeh reyht now.”

When she was about to talk back, the door opened and she knew that disobeying him now would go too far. She identified the steps as heels clicking on the floor, much more aware of them from where she was, trying silently to adjust her uncomfortable position. She felt beyond humiliated, her ego battling with the sinking feeling that he didn't want to be seen with her, it was a whole new level of rejection and it made her furious. She was nobody to be ashamed of, she was someone to be shown off with, someone to enhance your status with. She knew that he was aware of that, playing right into her insecurities again to diminish her pride.

“Wha' is it?” He asked, shifting when the door shut, implicating that Serena was here to stay and Jade sank further under the desk, pressing herself against the other side of it.

“We have to talk about the newest developments with Mancini” Serena explained, a few more steps that suggested she'd now sat down.

Jade's eyes had slowly adjusted to the darkness under the desk now and she looked up at Turner sat with his legs spread slightly, clad in those tight suit trousers, straining over his thighs, a visible bulge below his belt. He wasn't hard, but she wasn't surprised that it was visible nonetheless. She shifted slightly, her anger at his lack of respect for her fuelling her movements and she lifted her hand as she adjusted her sitting position until she was situated between his legs, she could tell he was trying to maintain his own position to not allow her to do anything or draw attention to herself, she could tell he was aware of her movements, but there was really nothing he could do.

She was going to make sure he regretted this and she was going to do it her way. She didn't need threats and mockery, this would be much more frustrating for him.

She reached up to push his legs further apart, the sudden movement making him jump and he covered it up instantly with a clear of his throat. “Reyht...” he drawled, leaning forward slightly to at least somehow deny her the access she was going for now.

But he was powerless without his threats and his force, silent resistance wasn't going to get him anywhere.

“He's told them everything he knows. About what we did, about what we asked, and he's not dumb. He's going to use it against us.”

Jade tried to listen for a moment, knowing this concerned her, and she wasn't going to waste the chance of listening in on a conversation that wasn't meant for her ears. He'd put her in this position, he couldn't punish her for it, punish her for knowing something.

“And 'e told 'em about Jade.”

She tensed, her frustration building, his fake concern nothing but an annoyance. He could talk all about protecting her and making her work, in the end it was all for his own gain, his own pride if he was going to treat her like this and she closed her hand around the bulge in his tight pants without a second thought, making his knee fly up against the desk top.

“Oh, fookin'ell...” he drawled. “Fook.”

“Well, it's not that big of a deal, she's here and nothing will happen. Going after her will not be a priority. Unless you allow it to be.”

“I'm not talkin' about this” he muttered, hissing slightly.

Jade dragged her nails along his inner thighs, then firmly placing both her hands at his belt buckle, her breath hitching in her throat when he pushed his thighs together, at least attempted to, but he was met with the resistance of her elbows, unable to use more force without raising Serena's suspicion, sat too close to the desk to slip his hands underneath it.

He was tense. She wouldn't.

With her fingers closed around the metal, she undid his belt buckle with ease, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Serena sighed. “Alex...”

“No, dun't. Yeh told meh 'ow yeh feel about it and I've thought about it. Yeh was reyht.”

Jade was desperate to figure out what they'd said about her, focused on their voices as much as she was on not making a sound when massaging him slowly through the fabric of his trousers, his hips already bucking involuntarily against her touch, the increased breathing not escaping her. She was reveling in the awareness that she was making him lose control, had turned the tables on him and now enjoyed all the power. It was exhilarating.

“I was right? Are you agreeing with me to get rid of me? I know once you've set your mind on … something...”

He sucked in a breath, his hand slamming down on the table when she pulled down his underwear enough to free his now slowly hardening length from its restraints, he knew there was no way out of this. “N-No...” he groaned, his voice shaking. “I'm not.” It took him mere seconds to recover, playing off his frustration.

“Well...” Serena said, clearly irritated but not letting that stop her. “There was something else. I noticed it when Nick showed me the finances this morning, one of the men him and Jade spoke to seems to not be entirely loyal to Mancini. But we don't know, it might be a trap...”

“R-Reyht...” Alex drawled again, coughing it off, merely speaking to disguise his reaction. Of all the things Jade had dared to do, to push too far, this was by far the most reckless. And he was going to make her pay for it.

“Alex” Serena said. “What do you think?”

Jade took the opportunity to wrap her hand around him, giving him a few slow tugs. His whole body was tensed up, pouring all his strength into appearing unfazed by her actions, to not raise Serena's suspicion but most of all, he simply didn't plan on giving her satisfaction. He couldn't believe her nerve, how far she was willing to push it, and he knew he couldn't keep calm for long.

She'd only just started. And she was dying for that moment where he'd realise there was no turning back, that he was trapped right there, for once she had the upper hand and she'd be damned if she didn't take full advantage of it.

“Weh won't show anehfin' wif anehbodeh unless weh're sure they're loyal.” His voice was now surprisingly steady, his fingers shaking slightly and he pushed himself back, making her stretch her arm but it wasn't enough for him to slip his hand under the desk and do anything.

She was now steadily stroking him, the touch of her fingers delicate yet tight, he knew she was only building up slowly, she wanted to pay him back and the thought of letting her built up his anger to no end.

“Alex, that's completely subjective. Out of everyone, you're not the best judge of loyalty and good character.”

He swallowed hard, for a moment it broke his self-control and Jade used that moment to adjust her sitting position, lifting herself to her knees and steadying herself with one of her hands sprawled out on his thigh, nails digging into it, using her other hand and to guide him into her mouth.

His reaction was everything she could've hoped for and more, his hips instantly lifted off his chair to push his cock deeper into her hot mouth, he breathed out shakily, coughing again to conceal it again, his legs shaking slightly as he tried to compose himself. It was hopeless, she was going to make sure of that.

“Well, fook” he muttered, biting his lip. “Anehfin' else?” Serena wasn't exactly asking for a calm conversation, she knew that this would work him and while he would've stood his ground, right now he just wanted her to leave, to make sure Jade would regret this incredibly stupid decision, to force his cock down her throat, fuck her mouth at a pace he set.

He knew right now he couldn't get away with it, it would be too obvious, her reaction would give it all away. But fuck, if she wasn't making him lose his mind, her tongue swirling around him, her hand pumping him at the base when she didn't hold him all the way in her mouth, her head bobbing up and down, well-aware of the desk top so close to the back of her head. She had it all figured out.

“You know I'm right” Serena stated.

Alex was barely listening now, the thrill of potentially getting caught, the thought of having this as another excuse to allow himself to lose control with her, the feeling of her soft lips wrapped tightly around his cock, sucking hungrily, so eager and determined, he'd almost forgotten what that felt like. And he wanted more, wanted to grab the back of her head like he had two nights ago, force her to take him and take control of her.

His eyes threatened to flutter shut and he forced them to stay open, his whole poise threatening to falter now and he knew that if Serena didn't leave soon, she'd find him out. “I dun't need yehr advice reyht now. Tha knows I dun't discuss it. Not wif yeh, not wif me father.”

“You know how much it put us all at risk, right? This isn't just your business.”

He didn't want to argue, he couldn't, his hips almost snapping forward automatically now as she took him deep into her mouth, held him there and swallowed around him and he gripped the edge of the desk, trying to play the moan that was threatening to fall from his lips as a groan of annoyance. “Get out...”

“Oh, come on” Serena sighed. “If anything, you can talk to me about it.”

He was struggling to breathe evenly, tensing now as she held him in her throat for so long, her fingers still wrapped around the base of his shaft, her tongue dancing around him, determined to drive him absolutely mad. He knew that her dark lipstick would be all over him. His legs were trembling, he was getting close. He was certain she'd be too loud if she lifted off his cock now, after holding her breath, after taking him so deep.

She resisted the urge to touch herself, the sounds and movements she got from him turning her on endlessly, this was definitely worth the humiliation of him pushing her underneath his desk. She put up with a lot, was able to read between the lines, but this she didn't take, and she let him slip out of her mouth with her lips closed tightly around him, swallowing hard to keep herself from being too loud, now set on driving him so close to the edge that he'd be desperate once they were alone again, so frustrated that he'd take it all out on her, bend her over and fuck her again, the soreness between her legs was gone now and she needed him to reignite it. The reminder of the pleasure was enough to get her going with every step she'd taken, and she craved more.

“What is your problem? You don't usually want me to hold back” Serena muttered, the shift now suggesting she was standing up, her heels clicking on the ground confirming Jade's assumption.

“Just dun't need yeh all up in me private business reyht now...” he drawled, once again stifling a moan that potentially would've been too obscene to cover up.

“Right” she sighed. “Call me if you need me.”

Jade tensed, drawing her head back when she felt his hips bucking up again, now only pumping him slowly to keep him on the edge, anticipating the moment he'd snap, pull her up and fuck her and make her take him, take his revenge.

There was no more word uttered before the doors fell shut and Turner pushed his chair back, not missing a beat, his eyes dark, threatening and she sat on her knees for a moment, holding his glare, then crawling forward, taking merely his tip into her mouth, suckling teasingly.

“Wot the fook do yeh fink yeh're doin'?” He spat.

She attempted to stand up but before she could even take him out of her mouth, his hand came down on the back of her head, firm, determined against her struggle, her lips closing around him again as he kept himself buried in her warm mouth. “Oh, no, pupa” he drawled, his fist in her hair, pulling lightly on it. “Yeh stay down there and finish wha' yeh started.”

Her muffled protest around his cock left him unimpressed and he pushed her all the way down on his cock again, moaning loudly now when she gave up her struggle despite her frustration, swallowing around him once more.

“Fookin' droolin', are yeh?” He groaned. “Dun't yeh dare make a fookin' mess.”

She struggled to breathe, the instant shift in power had her desperate as she realised that despite it all, she wasn't going to get what she wanted and she didn't know why she'd even thought she would, she should have known that there was no way he was letting that happen, not after what she'd just done, he'd never give in to her and she was no afraid that she'd messed up her chance, that he never would again because she'd taken it too far.

He drew her head back by her hair for a mere moment, hissing when he saw that he really was covered in her lipstick, pushing his cock right back down her throat when she'd taken a breath. “I knew yeh was desperate but tha' desperate? Fookin'ell, oh f-fuck...”

She was sucking him into her mouth eagerly now, more room to move her head now, the sounds she made obscene and bringing him closer to the edge, the little moans he'd craved to hear again, the way he was slipping in and out of her wet mouth and the thought of emptying his cock on her tongue had him reeling.

“Look at meh.”

He didn't give more of a warning, his hips simply snapped up and his grip at the back of her head tightened, making her whimper around him, the vibrations building him up even more and with a loud groan he let go, his release filling her mouth, trickling down her throat as he held her gaze and he breathed out shakily as she swallowed around him again before pulling back with all the strength she had, gasping, panting for air.

Despite it all, despite the amusement playing on his face after replacing the momentary bliss, she was satisfied with herself, she'd left a mark on him after all, his slender neck was flushed, his cock covered in her lipstick. And yet, it wasn't enough. She ached to leave more of a trace, desperate to sink her teeth into his neck, scratch his skin.

She licked her lip, making him almost lose his mind when the tip of her tongue darted out to clean up a drop of his release. “Clean it up.”

His voice left no room for disobedience and she leaned forward again, wiped the centre of her lips with her fingers before taking hold of his cock again and guiding him into her mouth again, his breathy groan enough to fuel her, swirling her tongue around him and sucking him with the inside of her lips where the lipstick had gone until he was satisfied and drew back, lifting his hips and tucking his cock back in, readjusting his belt.

“Get up.”

She obeyed instantly, adjusting her own dress, looking back at him. She knew he was done with her now, there was no way she'd get anywhere.

His eyes were dark, his features hard, cold and absolutely emotionless. “If yeh ever overstep yehr boundaries like tha' again, Jade, I swear...”

“I won't” she responded quickly, swallowing hard. She wasn't going to let this happen.

“Dun't interrupt meh” he growled. “Dun't yeh dare.”

She waited, not having the heart to do so again, fearing his words.

“Yeh'll regret this” he said, still holding her gaze, wanting her to understand how serious this was. Despite it all, he was getting increasingly frustrated, at her for unwinding him so easily but mostly at himself, for allowing it to happen.

She simply managed at nod, pressing her legs together to dull the throbbing sensation between them, hoping that if he wasn't going to fuck her he'd at least send her away so she could take care of it herself and she turned to leave, unable to stand his glare of disapproval any longer, opening the door.

“Make no mistake, Jade” he said as he sat back down, watching her go. “Dun't fink yeh'll get aweh wif this.”

#napule nights #alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fanfiction #adt #The Last Shadow Puppets #arctic monkeys #mafia au #alex turner smut #mafia!al #writing #alex/jade #alex/ofc

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theairportau · 5 years

Text

the airport AU, part 130 by rjdaae and hopsjollyhigh

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100 101, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10 111, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

—

ERIK

Her voice wraps around him, gleaming silk ribbons that catch light like prisms and send stars scattering across his vision; he shuts his eyes for the sake of focusing on the piano below his fingers. Still, it sits like a reassuring arm across his shoulder. This is why he believed in this voice; it isn’t technical perfection, but there is some unteachable passion in it, something that he doesn’t even understand himself. Her voice stirs something deep inside of him, the frail pieces that he has locked up for their own protection, things that he has forgotten himself capable of over the course of a too-long life. It is a wall so industriously built that he had thought it permanent, but when she sings, it is as if she is chipping out a window. A window that may someday become a door, that may someday bring down that wall- it’s too soon for all of that, but his heart throbs with things that he can’t name, and he is too caught up in the wonder and beauty of it all to be afraid of the freedom, the sudden ease of breathing. As if he’d been holding his breath, not just for a few minutes, but for decades of his life.

He is quite convinced that he could listen to her sing forever, especially this joyous passage. It almost feels like an intrusion, but at the very least, the words of Vaudémont’s interjection feel right-

“Yes! It’s true! You speak the truth!”

The conviction in his voice- she has brought him the truth, bathed his dim world in light; perhaps, like Vaudémont, he had begun this journey as a teacher, as though he knew more than her- and every day, she has pushed him, challenged him, changed his way of looking at the world. His way of looking at her. Vaudémont had been arrogant, to assume that this young woman knew any less of the world than he did; he had been unchanging in his ability to perceive the world until Iolanta described the way she saw it.

These things come to him rapid-fire, moments of clarity that hit him and spark at him before fading back into the background, before thought sinks away and the music rises up again.

Oh, you’re right! In your heart shines the great torch of truth, and before it, our earthly light is fleeting and pitiful!

Any light he’s ever seen has paled in comparison to the radiance that seems to bounce between them now, the vibrating energy that draws the song forward and through towards its conclusion; at some point, he finds, he must have half-stood up from the bench, too restless to sit, hunched over the keys. He lets his eyes close again, focuses only on each tandem breath, living inside these final moments, if only to avoid dreading the end of the song.

---

CHRISTINE

The song could only ever have been a duet. There’s no real gap between the end of Christine’s verse and the beginning of Erik’s. No room for a breath, had a single person attempted to sing both parts; no span of time that could have been measured in blinks of an eye, or the quickest beat of a frantic heart.

Standing just behind her friend, Christine freezes in that nonexistent space between her voice and his, gaze caught like a snared rabbit by the glinting wire of the mask—conscious thought scrabbling uselessly in the dust as emotion leaps and wrestles with instinct, twisting her heart into a tangled, choking knot.

Only to snap just as suddenly, sawn apart by the razor edge of the moment itself.

Vaudémont’s words describe a light within Iolanta; Christine’s own heart feels more like the moon as Erik’s voice floods over her again, the warm blaze of a star that she can only hope to reflect. Yet, there can be no disputing the faith, the absolute certainty of the sound that fills her ears; she shivers as bright wings lift her from the ledge on which she had been so precariously perched, raising her beyond the reach of the tempting whispers of the abyss below.

As if pulled by the same force, Erik rises partway from the piano bench, blocking her view of the sheet music; though, the markings on the tablet screen have long since ceased to matter. The song soars onward, hauling her feet off the ground even as she races joyously after it. It’s like gripping a kite string in a hurricane—a strong line that stretches through her, taut as it runs from head to heel, dredging her voice from the deepest part of her soul.

“But, to be like you, I would like to see the light of the sun!”

Music flows through them, around them, between them—living in the solid vibration of the piano, in the breath of their each shared note, like some kind of symbiotic creature; making *them* somehow more alive by its presence. Maybe this, she thinks, is the reason most operas are sung-through: who could bear to write silences into a score, knowing that they would be signing the death warrant of something so precious?

Yet, even as their own song flies inescapably towards its conclusion, Christine finds no pain, no tragedy in the beautiful, soaring phrases. To its last breath, the heart of the music beats without regret, unrestrained and fearless. What she’d taken for death is instead a triumphant ascension—Faust’s Marguerite taken up to heaven, borne in angels’ arms.

Her heart aches to recognize how lost she had been: to have seen a sunset, and believed that it meant endless night; to have resigned herself to a lifetime of stumbling with only a candle to guide her, when she had merely to wait for the return of morning. It’s disconcerting, unsettling, her view shifting like a sudden landslide—like Iolanta’s first terrifying, dazzling glimpse of the blue sky after agreeing to have her vision restored.

The light in the basement is dim, soft, as Christine opens eyes that she doesn’t remember having closed. The late afternoon sun trickles in through the single high window, like the glow that must have streamed into the mouth of Lazarus’ cave. Painting warmth and shadow with the same brush, it shines dully on the weathered body of the piano, on Erik’s shoulders, which shake slightly as he stands over the keyboard, driving the final chords from the instrument in a dynamic clash of sound. Her eyes well up to see him so transported—the thought occurring to her that she might not have been the only one to learn something in this ‘lesson’.

Silence comes too quickly.

Despite herself, despite knowing better, Christine can’t help the residual flare of panic that hits her. For a moment, it’s as if she’s forgotten how to breathe, desperately and irrationally uncertain of how to survive in a world from which music has disappeared again—like a life ring slipping from the hands of a drowning person.

Then, her friend takes an unsteady breath of his own; in it, she hears the first note of all the other songs they will sing together.

Tears spill over, running down Christine’s cheeks as she leans forward, fighting herself for every inch—tears that fall in tiny, dark spatters on the back of Erik’s sweatshirt when she finally lets her forehead come to rest in the gap between his shoulder blades.

---

ERIK

Dust specks hang still in the warm beam of light filtering in through the tiny basement window, as if the whole world has frozen with them. The silence is choking after the brilliance of sound, and Erik feels frozen in place. His mind is foggy, and the thought of speaking or moving is so distant- as it stretches on, the familiar weight of anxiety begins to settle around him again. What to do, what to say, how to react to something so utterly unique and fantastically beautiful- how will they ever interact the same way again? How can they go back to a casual lesson after something like this? He knows that Christine must have felt it as well; it wouldn’t have worked if Christine hadn’t felt it. They had ceased to be separate individuals- just for a moment, he had lived outside of himself. He can hardly remember how to breathe; how is he supposed to guide a student?

His worrying doesn’t have to last long. His muscles tense instinctively at the unexpected touch of someone at his back- he goes frozen with the effort of suppressing old reflexes. The largest piece of him would whip around to confront a person coming from behind, touching him unexpectedly, but Christine’s presence, especially in that moment, seems to have quieted those impulses.

What is she? He can’t place her, never has been able to- she has landed in his world with the brilliance of a falling star, and all the blinding confusion. Some hidden part of him, something that he has scarcely acknowledged since childhood, makes its presence known around her. It demands attention- it overwhelms him with a need for affection that contradicts everything else he’s ever learned about human touch.

When the initial fear fades away, when his muscles relax and he lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, all that’s left is a warmth at his back, and somehow, it feels like seeing a pinprick of light after years of fumbling in some dark and twisting cave. He straightens slowly, moving away from her just for a moment, just so that he can turn around, and at the sight of her, he is helpless to contain it. All the years of learned caution and fear succumb to the person inside of him who has been, for an entire lifetime, struggling to reach out.

So he reaches out. Without calculation or hesitation, he reaches out, and his arms find their way around her shoulders, and he steps closer to her until her forehead just barely touches his chest. He’s tall enough that, even with his head bowed, he doesn’t touch the top of her head; his arms are long enough that they nearly encircle her completely. His heart beats its quick and frantic rhythm, and he doesn’t bother attempting to push back the tears that spring to his eyes.

It is only when it is done that he realizes exactly what he’s doing- he trembles at the sudden proximity, the proximity that he has caused,and his muscles start to tense again, though he stays frozen in space. This is wrong! A voice beats and screams in the back of his head-wrong! and he his breath escapes him in almost a hiss- but he wants it! Something in him wants this proximity, demands to know why he can’t have this. There’s a tremor in his shoulders, and the air feels thin- and he recognizes his expectation; with a sucking black hole of dark and yawning certainty, he tenses and waits for her to push him away as he battles with himself- why can’t I be close to a friend?

Have you forgotten what you are? Is she only your friend?

His eyes clench shut, and gasps as he chokes on the sob at the back of his throat. He is fixed, paralyzed in the wake of his hasty decision. He can only wait for what he knows is the same inevitable rejection that has pushed him into himself in the first place. She doesn’t owe him this- and if he were stronger, less selfish, he would back away and send her home to Sweden this moment.

“Jag är ledsen,” he chokes, his voice utterly transformed from a few moments ago. Despite his words, his arms remain around her.

---

CHRISTINE

From the first night they met, she has thought of Erik as a kind of angel. To Christine, there’s no other comparison that could be drawn in such heartfelt lines; no deeper possible expression of her wonder and gratitude. How else could she ever describe it? To have this remarkable person come into her life at a time she least expected it, offering help just when she needed it most. If one of the angels from her childhood stories had manifested itself in front of her, wings and all, its appearance could hardly have seemed any more unlikely of a miracle than the simple chance of her and Erik’s paths having crossed.

After years of leaning on daydreams, Christine lets her head rest upon a shoulder that is utterly human—tense, uncertain, but solid and real where her brow presses gently against it—and knows that she would never trade it for one with feathers.

There are so many reasons for caution. Things that she is already aware of; things she may never learn; things that she could guess if she only allowed herself to try. They crowd at the back of Christine’s mind now, pooling like shadows in the depths of a cave—shrinking away from the radiance of her joy.

Her strained neck relaxes into Erik’s back as she senses the tension leave him, smearing tears between her face and his sweatshirt; the ridges of his scarred skin disappear beneath the heavy fabric, but the faintest hint of warmth seeps through, soothing the overwhelmed aching of her head. There’ll be time later to remember how complicated things actually are: time to worry—about him, and herself, and the past, and the future. For now, Christine finds all the reassurance she needs in the rise and fall of his back as he breathes: a reminder that she isn’t alone; that the wonder of this music has been real; that she has someone to *share* it with.

Then, just when things seem steadiest, they tip: Christine flinches at the sudden emptiness of the cold air against her cheek, her eyes opening in surprise as Erik steps away.

There’s just enough time to doubt herself; just enough time for her to gaze at the damp marks her tears have left on the back of his sweatshirt, as if she were a lost traveler trying to retrace her footprints—wondering what wrong turn had been taken; which path might yet lead back to safe ground. But as her friend turns around, facing her for the first time since they sang together, there’s no time to seek an answer—no need to even look for one, as one finds her on its own; enveloping her the way Erik’s wiry arms closing around her shoulders.

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, as she stares wide-eyed into the front of the sweatshirt, in which Christine feels certain that she is about to speak. A reassurance; a question; a phrase of gratitude—she’s not sure which. When her mouth opens, though, all that comes out is a soft, stifled breath; a gentle sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. Somehow, it’s fitting: a word not devised or spoken by her mind (which runs in wild circles, still struggling to make sense of the black wall that has appeared hardly an inch from her face, and the gentle weight around her shoulders), but by her throat, her lungs, her heart itself. Like the silent syllables formed by her hands as they twitch upward, her arms lifting towards Erik in a way that could have been instinctive if it weren’t so *deliberate*.

Words don’t seem to belong in this moment any more than they had when they were singing—not even ‘hug’ itself, entirely wrong for the stiff, tremulous arms that encircle her.

Christine’s own arms fall limply back to her sides as her thoughts finally catch up with her, her hands curling, nails biting into her palms.

How many times has she wanted to hug him? How many times has Erik become overwhelmed by far less? Now, she can tell that he’s crying. Can hear it—can *feel* it, wrapped as she is in his dark shadow. This is the closest she’s ever been to him, closer than his boundaries had once seemed capable of bending; yet, even with the gap between them narrower than ever, there’s room for doubt. Christine tilts her head up, the tip of her nose brushing against the soft fabric of the sweatshirt, but gains only a useless glimpse of the underside of her friend’s jaw.

He shudders again, and she feels it as if it had reverberated through her own bones. His arms seem so terribly brittle; though he’s chosen to wrap them around her, can she be sure that it won’t frighten him—won’t *hurt* him—if she tries to do the same? Tears hit the back of Christine’s neck as she leans her forehead lightly against his chest again—taking no more than has already been given to her; risking no more than Erik himself has put at stake.

Waiting for him to push her away, she realises with a sudden, sickened jolt.

She’s been so careful, has tried so hard to be the friend that she thinks he wants—has done her best to avoid making him feel uncomfortable, or pressured, or any of the things that have seemingly caused him to distance himself from everyone else who has tried to be there for him.

But where has it gotten the two of them?

And who has she really been trying to protect?

She feels Erik draw a breath, the syllables rattling in his chest as he offers her a ragged apology. The only apology that she sees necessary is her own. But though her heart aches, Christine finds that she can’t force the words from her throat. Maybe they’ve been said too many times already; maybe they simply have no place here.

She has learned so much from Erik in their short time together. About singing, and music; language, and cats, and people. But maybe she should have paid more attention to the very first lesson of their friendship, that night in the airport when she accepted his offer to stay in Paris: that, even when the odds seem impossibly high, there are some risks worth taking.

In the shaking of Erik’s shoulders, she can feel the weight of the gamble he clearly believes himself to have made—a bet that she doesn’t intend to let him lose; as her arms once more begin to lift, Christine can only hope that her own fears are just as unfounded.

But, after all, sometimes there are angels.

Her hands slowly venture upward, hovering blindly in the air behind Erik’s back—tentative; gathering courage. But then, finally, her fingertips settle on his back. If she’d thought that Erik couldn’t possibly become any more tense, she’d been wrong. But despite the startled frisson that cuts through him, drawing another strangled noise from his throat, he makes no move to separate himself from her. And that’s enough: with a sudden unrestrained desperation, Christine’s arms tighten around corrugated ribs, her face turning to press itself against a chest that seems cushioned more by fabric than flesh.

It’s one thing to know that he is dangerously thin by looking at him; it’s another thing entirely to measure the terrifying extent of it within the span of her own arms: her embrace loosens almost instantly, as if in fear of breaking him, and she shifts her head away from the bruise that she has remembered too late—but she doesn’t pull away; doesn’t let him think that that was ever her intention. As her palms smooth gently across the ridges of his back, she only wants to hold him tighter—to soothe away all of the hurt that he has suffered, in the way that she knows only a hug can; to finally *be* held by this person who has become so important to her.

“Det är okej,” Christine says, finally making a concession to speech as Erik’s heart continues to beat frantically against her ear. “Det är okej, vännen.”

(illustration by rjdaae) ---

ERIK

As a child, Erik can remember slapping his mother’s hand away from his shoulder- rare as her affection was, it was better to not have it at all. He had distanced himself from touch, written it off as something childish that only weak people depended on. He knows somewhere that it has always been a survival instinct, but his reaction has not changed since childhood- contempt for any sentimentality in relationships.

It had been easier to cope with anger than to fear rejection. His mother’s drawn, pitying face- he hated looking at it nearly as much as she hated looking at his. Eventually, she had stopped attempting to touch him completely- a relief on both of their parts. He had given her the excuse she needed, and he had believed himself free of that need for physical affection.

In most ways, he has not grown from that belief in the decades he has spent away from his childhood home. And the sense of completion he feels with his arms around Christine threatens to bring that carefully constructed idea, the idea that he has cultivated for his own self-preservation for almost forty years, tumbling down around him.

It has been difficult, in the past, to regard himself as a member of the same species as others. It has been difficult to regard them as alive at all. There has always been a degree of selfishness attached to his survival. Depending on himself only has meant keeping others at arm’s length wherever possible. Khan’s presence in his life was the first chip in his armor.

He can feel the rhythm of Christine breathing down to his core. She is to him as the moon is to the tide; every small movement she makes pulls him along with her.

He is transfixed by every detail of her, down to the wisps of her hair that brush the backs of his hands. She is so steady, steadier than anything he’s ever held onto in his life.

His breathing shifts automatically in time with hers; for a moment, nothing exists other than the movement of her hand over his spine. Things are still, and quiet, and his mind is empty, won’t allow him to ruminate on what lines may be crossed here. The quiet murmur of her voice sets him at ease.

“Merci,” he says in response, his voice barely a whisper. There is nothing else to say- it’s like some sort of intoxication, being held like this. He doesn’t know what else to express to her, or how to even begin to say any of it, and his mind feels stuffed with cotton, too blurry for any reasonable thought process. Just for this moment, there is only quiet, and against every instinct, he finds himself wishing it could last forever.

---

(Part 131)

#/airport au

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darveyfics · 6 years

Note

"don't pretend like this didn't mean anything to you. i was there. i saw the way you looked at me."

Author’s notes: I’m pretty sure that the writers will have us in limbo cliffhanger fuckery for 7B Finale. So in the spirit of Korsh-themed giving… :wicked grin:

‘The New Day’

On the morning after his best friend marries the literal love of his life,

Harvey Specter wakes up as an entirely different man.

His eyes snap open with the speed of a lingering nightmare. Except, there hasn’t been any nightmare. Or any lingering dream for that matter. There is no haste. No doubt. No conflict. Only silence, and an odd sense of serenity leeching out into his aching bones. Right now, he exhibits a new amount of calm for a man who’s been wound tight like a dynamo for well over three decades, with no true understanding as to how he could have eased it, until now, that is. Until it had been revealed as staring at his face, or walking out on him. He turns towards the middle of the mattress and onto his back, glancing at the ceiling for a moment as his still tired eyes adjust with an effort to the low haze of awakening daylight in the room. Images flash through his mind then, of copper and hazel and freckles and an effervescent smirk, as his face erupts into a smile at the mere remembrance of the night before, his arousal peaking as a right hand slides out blindly into the space next to him, searching for that particular person staring front and centre.

He frowns, his fingers feeling the covers drawn back and a scoop marked indent in the hotel quality sheets, that seem cooler somehow against his own warm spot.

He turns his head in a frown, as he judges the untimely exit of the other occupant of the bed, sitting up slowly so that his ears can clarify the sound around him. In hearing nothing in particular, he slides out of bed, grasping at his briefs that lay discarded on the floor beside him, and pads towards the doorway as he hooks his shirt off of floor, his frown deepening in the understanding that the missing bedfellow had discarded his shirt during her exit, the reason for it being in a different position from the night before. He pulls it across his back and walks into the lounge area of the lavish suite, catching the object of his attention with her hand around the door knob.

“Hey,” He says, his words falling short as he examines her, dressed not unlike the night before, her long dress that he remembers peeling off of her and her heels in her hands, except for her hair, which is twisted in a bun, exposing the parts of her that distract him now, aided by the marks he’d been all too willing to give her during their heated moments.

“Hey,” She parrots, her tone vague as she stills, her hand sliding off of the door knob with a reluctance.

“Are you trying to get me back for the other time?” He tries to joke, but the seriousness of their situation has his words falling like bricks. He purses his lips, watching her face struggle with his insinuation.

“Harvey…” She says, in that tone. “We have breakfast. With our newly married friends and colleagues. I have to change.” She says, all business about her voice as her chin lifts with a formalness.

“You could have said goodbye first.” He reasons. “Or…good morning.” He offers, smouldering slightly at such an enticing thought.

“Harvey, I…” She answers, but no reason falling out. No excuse. It worries him further.

“What’s going on, Donna?” He asks, mid frown, taking a step towards her and witnessing the way she seems to step back slightly in response to him.

“Nothing. I need to…get changed. That’s all.” She replies, shrugging defensively. “Unless of course, you think I can just wear your shirt to breakfast, and no one will notice the very obvious monogramme on the sleeve.” She remarks heavily, giving him a withering look.

“Donna…why are you so keen to get out of here?” He questions. “Do you….regret…last night?” He asks her.

She blinks, and he can see it. The way she’s taken aback at his rather astute observation. She pops a hip, suddenly casual in the most forced way he’s ever seen.

Turns out, when it comes to him, her acting falls shorter than.

“No, Harvey.” She says, before her mouth twists and she shakes her head in frustration. “We slept together. It happens…we…don’t need to talk about this right now. It’s…just…” Her eyes widen to emphasise her point. “What it is.”

“What is it?” He repeats, his mouth opening in slight shock.

“It’s no big deal, Harvey.” She assures, moving for the door again.

It angers him, as he steps forward. “Hey,” He says, stopping her in her tracks. “Don’t pretend like this didn’t mean anything to you. I was there. I saw the way you looked at me. We both…“ His words drift from him, focusing to gauge her reaction as she’s so suddenly silent. “Did you not…enjoy what we…had?” He enquires, giving her a knowing look that borders on a smirk.

He remembers her moaning his name loudly into the space around them. He can almost feel, even the morning after, the sensation of sucking against her skin and grazing his teeth against her neck as she dug her short nails into the muscles of his back, encouraging him to suck that much harder.

“Harvey, we were…in the moment. It was overly romantic, with the wedding, and the dancing…let’s not…weigh it all down with unnecessary meaning right now.” She placates.

Her attitude knocks him off his game, this suddenly blaze reaction to what was essentially - in his mind, and seemingly his alone it seems - two people finally getting on the same page. Of throwing out their collective baggage and all their bullshit and just…being together. Finally, and after so long. Too long.

“Okay?” She asks. They both know she isn’t looking for the confirmation of an answer, as her hand returns to the door knob.

He feels his breath fall out of his chest in a huff as she shuts the door behind herself, leaving him standing there, bemused and slightly crestfallen.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand how much more of himself he can give her just to see her run away from him time and time again.

He thought his grand gesture had eliminated that as a possibility.

He wanders to the shower, glumly turning on the taps as he shrugs off his shirt and underwear.

He lets the shower run a little hotter, hoping that the alien sear will blur his attention away from the ever-fleeing redhead. It doesn’t help, and if anything it stirs up the frustration he thought he’d felt for the last time the night before.

He yanks the shower tap, shutting off the water in one fail swoop before it’s even managed to saturate his skin.

This isn’t over, he thinks to himself.

Not by a long shot.

… . .

I’m about to drive in the ocean,

I’m about to swim from something bigger than me,

I take off these shoes,

And Swim Good, and Swim Good

And take off this suit,

And Swim Good.

‘Swim Good/Roads’ Mash up by Gavin Castleton.

… .

Donna

She had realised that she wasn’t ready, the moment that she had spied him next to her that morning. The entire gambit of emotions that threatened her in that one small pocket of time, even after all that had come the night before it, was nothing against confronting the man sleeping soundly barely three inches away from her, blinded by the possibilities that could follow afterward. Singularly, she had struggled, but with both, with the unknown as well….it had terrified her.

She needed space, away from the way that her heart had melted into the mattress, at the sheer sight of him, naked and vulnerable and cozy beside her. The way she had wanted him to touch her, followed by the innate fear that he would wake up and be so casual about them like the time before. The Other Time. And that they’d just…go backwards. The curse of moving in circles and falling back into bad patterns.

Their situation required a big leap of faith. This wasn’t Mark, or Stephen, or any of the other men in her past who had been soft and caring and open with her. This was Harvey. Emotionally reductive, anally retentive, arrogant and yet achingly fragile even in his oldest age, Harvey Reginald Specter.

She had tried to run again. But he had caught her this time, ahead of all the rest.

Now back in her own hotel room, it seems…a rash decision. Perhaps, a foolish whim played out by her ever growing fears, and the doubt from him falling so short of her expectations in the past. The look on his face, the unmasked shock and disappointment etching his handsome features should have calmed her nerves. But it didn’t. If anything it lured her doubts to the surface, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even after he had followed her to another city to retrieve her, to bring her back to him, she still couldn’t rest against his actions. Harvey was her very own blind spot and hurdle wrapped into one complicate package. One that had her second guessing the unsure moments, even as they dissipated into the air.

She avoids the marks on her skin, the careful bruises of his lips and tongue and teeth as she pulls on a stretchy roll neck olive green dress with long sleeves, straightening against the strangely familiar ache in her pelvis, as she tries to cover every sign of the night before, like some guilty mistress.

But her feelings aren’t without merit.

She’s sure that Mike will have something to say about them disappearing. She needs to be prepared, at any rate.

She hears a knock at the door, frowning slightly as she strides to the door, pulling it open absentmindedly.

“You can keep running away from me, but no matter where you go, I will be there, every damn time.” He says heavily, sighing at her, panting almost as if he’d been in a hurry to get to her.

She sighs, swallowing against the evocative sight of him, his hair wet and cheekbones prominent, his eyes charting a tired but planted certainty in them.

“Harvey,” She sighs, her jaw cranking to the side as his feet move over the threshold just to stop her closing the door in his face.

“I love you, okay?” He tells her. “And this morning, I expected you to be there, laid next me, so that I could say it to you again, but…you weren’t.” He explains, reserving his annoyance at the fact.

She closes her eyes, the tension stilling in her at his words. She takes a second, her eyes snapping open when she feels him step towards her. “I’m not good at this. With you.” She admits, the mere ghost of a warning in her.

It may be the first time she’s ever allowed such an admission to pass her lips…

He smirks then, his hands sliding carefully against her waist, his eyes judging her reaction to his tentative action. “Me either. But that just means….that we care about it. About us.” He assures her, his head bending to plant the meaning in his eyes against hers.

“You came here for sex, didn’t you?” She accuses then, pouting at him, her left eyebrow arching in a challenge.

“No.” He bites, his eyes widening at her words. “Well,” He swallows, an after thought. “Maybe a…kiss, at the very least…” He offers playfully. “After all, you did ruin the possibility of morning sex,” He says, his eyes peeling with a softer kind of resentment.

She softens, rolling her eyes at the last vestige of her trying to resist his innate charm. “Actually,” She says, her eyes sliding to the clock on the ornate mantle in her room. “It’s still technically morning,”

“Hmmm,” He hums, his hand guiding her hair over her shoulder as his head bends forward. “What time is breakfast again?” He enquires, placing a slow kiss just below her ear.

“Ten thirty.” She answers, her large eyes observing his concentrated attention of her, until the sensation of his lips against her jaw cause her eyelids to flutter closed involuntarily.

“Okay….” He wagers in between slow kisses. He feels her intake a sharp breath, unable to see her eyes roll at the sensation of her second favourite place for his lips to reside.

“We don’t have time.” She warns.

“We have plenty of time.” He counters, shrugging off her words.

“We don’t have timme.” She presses, firmly, her lips lingering on the last consonant as she gives him a pointed look and he leans back, their gazes mingling into the soft nuance of a challenge of sorts.

His roaming hand drops to the back of her bare thigh, as he presses their bodies together, his fingers tracing light patterns all the way up to the hem of her panties, as his other hand peels the high collar away from her neck, his lips replacing the material as he drags them, wet and open and lavishly against her throat. Her hand dances at the nape of his neck, bending against his advances as the other grips his sweater, her fingers searching for his clammy, barely towelled skin.

When he hears her moan something akin to his name, he pulls back, his eyes connecting with hers for a second before his lips close over hers, their heads tilting in opposite directions as though they’ve kissed a thousand times.

“We can’t be late.” She tells him, the sentence broken up by his one track mind.

“We won’t be late.” He assures her.

… . .

“Hey guys. You’re…late.” Mike chides. “You almost missed us ordering.” He tells them, looking up at his two friends.

One annoyed. And one rather too smug to be taken seriously.

Luckily it’s only a small group of them that had stayed at the hotel, given most guests proximity to the venue, and Mike having no parents, made for a very small but predictable looking wedding party. Rachel, Mike, Louis, with Sheila Sazs in tow - much to everyone’s dismay - and Jessica and Jeff, who had both flown in from the windy city the day before.

It was literally a firm reunion of ‘The Breakfast Club’ variety.

All watch as Donna slides quietly around to a spare seat, flanking Rachel, as Harvey wanders to sit down in between her and Sheila. He feels her ignore his look to her as their friends glance about the table at one another with a palpable awkwardness.

To say that you could cut the tension with a knife wasn’t quite going to cover the air at this particular table…

“So….” Jessica starts, playing delicately with her napkin. “Donna…Harvey,” She says, pouting at the way that his dark eyes flick from the menu and straight to his mentor. When their gazes collide, she smiles candidly, as his expression turns sour and slightly steely, feeling that third degree burn them both as a result.

“Jessica…” Harvey counters tiredly, more than enough words coursing between them despite their supposed ‘held’ silence.

Jessica has always had a way of reading the man she helped shape into the best Lawyer in town…

“Well, if Jessica’s not gonna come out with it, then I will.” Mike interjects. “You two…slinked off last night, I take it?” Mike notes, pointing boldly between his two friends.

“Is that a statement or a question?” Harvey counters, raising an eyebrow at his annoying shit of a best friend as he feels Donna straighten rather uncomfortably beside him.

“Does it matter, when both end with...bow chica bow wow.” Mike plays for effect.

“We,” He infers, indicating Donna. “Are not doing this..with you.” He warns. “Any of you.” He adds, looking about the table at the other occupants.

“Well, of course not. You’re doing it with each other.” Jeff pipes up, his gaze too shrewd for someone relatively new to the group. Next to him Jessica, taps his shoulder in a weak attempt at scolding him, forgetting the way she grins widely, like the rest of the table.

“Cute, guys. Real cute.” Harvey smirks, his eyes narrowing at the assault.

“Now, now, Jeff. Give them a break,” Louis chimes in, giving Harvey a softened look. “I think I speak for the table when I say that we, your friends and confidants are genuinely….happy for you, both.” He says cheerily. “It’s good to see you finally on the same page as the rest of us.” He notes, holding Sheila a little closer to him as a point of fact.

“But of course, as your closest friends, we also get to make fun of you finally…f**king,” Mike coughs an insinuation, deliberately, squaring a look at Harvey, as the table erupts into a mixture of chuckles and cat calling.

Harvey reserves his need to respond.

The kid had called it, after all.

“Okay….” Donna says, finally breaking her rare moment of silence as she raises her hand to catch the attention of a passing waiter, ignoring Rachel’s peel of support. “I need a Bellini. Anyone?” She says, to no one in particular.

“Make that two,” Harvey adds, groaning as he avoids the gaze of practically everyone in the room that happens to know his name.

He sighs, his head dropping to stare at his napkin as conversation starts to flow freely about the table then, falling into a low pitched drone in his head, but before he can fully redirect his attention away from the table, the feeling of a bare leg slides behind his left, material covered one, the toe of a pointed shoe raising his pant leg enough to slide flesh against flesh. He stiffens, his chin tilting vaguely in the direction of the movements, before two eyes collide with his, lighter and sharper and multi-intention filled.

He smirks, watching as her gaze flicks coyly to Louis, mid-statement, her hand resting underneath her chin with a casualness to cover herself.

He clears his throat then, his hands flicking to drop his napkin, as he stifles the need to smirk, a right elbow planting on the table for a moment, subconsciously mimicking her actions as his left hand slides to his own leg, only to let his fingers wander against her thigh, stilling to rest just on the top, his thumb brushing in a circular motion.

And just like that, she becomes his assigned giver of calm, as he takes a fluid running breath, feeling an emotional release at the contact as his shoulders level out of their previously held position.

He realises, the feeling more certain than it has ever been before, that maybe, just maybe, this is where they were always headed in the end. Together. With only one another in mind.

When his arm gravitates to the back of her chair after their food has come and gone, and drinks have moved from coffee to champagne and fruit juice, and his thumb has started to run across the top of her spine in a way that causes her to shiver inwardly as they listen to Mike and Louis spar over the breakfast table, she realises then, and only then, that he means what he says now, when it comes to them. That he is in this...whatever this is turning out to be. And that if she looks at him for long enough, taking in the jagged planes of his face, the villainously beguiling twist in his upper lip, and the lonely sorrow that’s started to drain steadily out of his dark chocolate tinted eyes since he’d told her what he’d been holding onto all those years,

She understands then,

What it is to be in love with Harvey Specter.

And have him love her back just as much.

. . .

#darvey #author: atheniandream #author: redwineonavanillasky #darvey fic #rating: t #prompt

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hencethebravery · 7 years

Text

idk about anyone else on this hell-site, but I for one still demand a fucking rainbow kiss. I also demand a honeymoon unlike any other honeymoon that has come before. This is very much a hand-waving bit of fluffy nonsense that ignores the obvious adventuring that will occur between now and next Sunday evening, but, ya know what, they deserve. And we, yes, we deserve. Happy Wedding, y’all. This includes some very minor spec. for the finale. @captainwiley @the-reason-to-sail-home @abbadons-little-witch @thejollypirate @dassala @laurnorder @mahstatins @katie-dub

+ The curse breaks with a goddamn kiss, because of course it does. And aside from the portal jumping... and the one-handed pirate debacle... and the musical singing thing and whatever else she’s endured these last few years, she’s managed to feel rather proud of her tumultuous love affair with Captain freaking Hook. They have, despite all odds, indulged in a relationship of almost profound normalcy.

“Oh, mom.”

“Can it, kid.”

No, really, pretty normal, all things considered. They love one another deeply, but they fight like any other couple. Difference being, of course, that when she had fought with other... intimates in the past, those fights had always seemed like an excuse to leave. These fights felt more like... “I’ll see ya later,” kind of spats. They could never stay mad at one another for long. It was that constant nagging in the back of your head, like you’ve left the stove on after leaving the house.

“The kiss, mom?”

Right. There she was, lost in some other twisted version of reality with no memory of her family, her son, her husband that she had only just married, and really, is it too much to ask for an uninterrupted wedding night?

She can vaguely remember him, in the hazy memories of alt. Emma in all her paranoid, crazed glory, her hair a tangled rat’s nest—and seriously, what’s the deal with alternate realities and messing with her hair? But she’s standing at the end of a long, checkered hallway, and there’s some kind of open window at her back, because she can feel cool air from outside, but there’s this man walking quickly towards her. His strides are long and purposeful, a heavy, black coat flapping in his wake, and she can even recall the sensation of looking for an exit.

But then he’s there in front of her, every sharp, dramatic inch of him. All blue eyes and tanned skin; smelling like the sea and damp wood. It’s familiar except that it isn’t, and he catches her knee with his hand before she can hit her mark.

“I don’t think so darling,” he smirks, “I’m prepared for that this time.”

“You better let go of me if you wanna keep that other hand.”

He had dropped her leg almost immediately, his hand and hook raised in a placating gesture.

“Apologies, love, but I imagine you might regret doing any undo harm to... me. Later on, that is.”

“What is it that you want?”

His eyes seem to soften immediately at the question, and she finds herself confronted with the strange and sudden feeling that comes with resisting the urge to cry. Her throat gets tight, there’s a growing pressure behind her eyes, and she’s so confused and upset she almost tries to nail his bits again, but it’s his voice that stops her. A gentle lull that sounds almost like a song, and she can see his hand out of the corner of her eye, it’s hovering in the air as if it’s desperate to touch her—but he can’t, he won’t risk it, and her heart resumes an uncomfortably fast and irregular rhythm in her chest.

“Oh, Emma,” he starts softly, “I have only ever wanted you to be happy—”

He smiles again, only there’s an openness there that had been missing a moment ago, a piece of armor removed, and she’s helpless to stop the wetness she feels against her cheeks.

“And to be loved.”

“I don’t know love,” she whispers, ekes out, even, “or happiness.” The words barely leave her lips, but he hears them, and his head tilts, an indescribable melancholy painted across his damnably handsome features, and when he rests his hand against her heated face, she almost remembers.

“But you do, darling. You always have.”

When his lips meet hers she can taste the salt of her infuriating tears, the spiciness of a dark liquor she’s never known before, and in a blinding burst of kaleidoscopic light, she remembers.

“Killian.”

There’s a dizzying period of merriment once they all return and the evil has been vanquished. For now, at least. The two of them are passed around town as if they were a high school mascot—a symbol of hope and victory that all of them desperately needed.

“Go home,” David urges once he’s finally gotten them alone, “We’ll make sure everyone’s alright.”

They say one final goodbye to her parents, inquire as to where Henry would like to spend the night (”Not with you,” is the very quick, red-faced answer), and then they’re off into the night, her shoes in one hand and Killian’s in the other.

As it turns out, Henry didn’t have much to worry about, as they fall into a deep, coma-like sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow they end up sharing. Emma’s barely out of her dress and Killian’s only removed his suit jacket before they’ve tumbled atop their bed, hands entwined. With one final, lazy, sloppy kiss, they surrender to blissful nothingness.

They make for The Jolly Roger before the sun rises. The town is quiet, dark, and peaceful, and despite the swiftness of their current journey, Emma takes a moment to enjoy a calmness she knows can’t last forever. Takes comfort in the knowledge that all her friends and family are safe and asleep in their own beds.

“Come on, love,” Killian whispers, tugging her towards the docks, “let’s sail away.”

She is grateful for the infinitude of the sea. For the lack of land, the endless waves. The rocking of the ship as it sails in no particular direction. The warmth of the sun, and the cooling balm of the breeze. The salt against her browning skin, and the sweetness of their pilfered fruit as it hits her chapped lips.

They sail. She’s not sure for how long, but she does know a few things. Like how he had, in some wild fit of lust, ended up inside her before they’d even gotten a chance to raise the anchor, frenzied and intense, a quick, necessary joining that could not have been avoided even if her mother had shown up.

How Killian had gone out and bought new sheets for his (their) bed, had stocked the galley with all the food and drink they could possibly want. Or how fabulous it felt to go without a bra for a week (she assumes it’s been a week, anyway).

“And feel free to continue that tradition when we return, my love.”

“Oh, please.”

Or even, unexpectedly, but not unwelcome, how she absolutely cannot wait to watch Killian read to their child. Or children, she hasn’t quite decided. She does know that it’s at least the one. He had read to her before, this wasn’t particularly new, but now, tucked in between his legs, his arm resting across her belly—it was like she was hearing the old, familiar stories for the first time.

In the past, he had gathered her into his arms and read story after story until her eyelids were too heavy to stay open. There isn’t much to be frightened of now, but she loves it all the same.

“Are you even listening, Emma?”

“Of course.”

Of course she’s listening, she’s just too busy imagining the little girl (because it is 100% a little girl, she feels it with such certainty it’s almost hard to breathe sometimes) sitting in his lap, eyes and smile as wide as ever, hanging onto his every lovely, accented word as if it were the only story and the only voice she ever needed to hear. Never alone, never wanting, or aching, just knowing, from his voice alone, that he would never leave her.

“What did I just say?”

She might not be quite so eloquent as her husband, but she’s always been quick on her feet, and she pulls his lips to her own before she has to fumble around for an acceptable answer.

“You are quite the pirate, Miss Swan.”

“Aye,” she answers, laughing, “I always suspected.”

#ouat spoilers #ouat 6x20 #ouat ff #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs drabble #captain swan #cs: shit is breathtaking bro #@hencethewriter #i had to do it y'all #i want my TLK #and my honeymoon #when will my babes #get a fucking moment

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redphlox · 7 years

Text

only you

soma week day 5: you make me strong. please accept this canon-verse fluff offering of mine, along with something @soundofez is drawing, too! find it here

It’s Wednesday night and she’s never been this late. Moving through the snowy stillness to meet him at the halfway point between the lab and the dormitory, wearing layers of his thermal shirt and leggings (“they’re pants, Maka, pants”) underneath her suit, it all comes together. Maka finally understands what it meant when he followed her to Antarctica. Though none of it catches her unawares, she’s brought to a stop by both the clear thought and the sight of Soul a little ways ahead, waiting for her in the cold, looking up at the starry sky.

Maka had always thought she would have to go to the ends of the world to find her soulmate, and now that she has, she hasn’t met anyone - she's not sure she believes in those anyway, but the thought lurks in the back of her head. Of course, she hadn’t come here with the intention of finding her other half (she’s already whole, already whole.) Research had beckoned her, and Soul had tagged along, because – because, he had said, shrugging, and Maka had been fascinated with how his lips curled around the spoonful of ice cream he had stolen from her lax grip after she had announced the decision.

Because.

Back then she hadn’t thought about the implications behind his reasoning. Maka Albarn thinks about her weapon too much as it is, so she had pushed the incident and the attached feelings to the side for later like the procrastinator that she isn’t. Standing here between the stark white snow and black sky, it dawns on her that this is the perfect time to sort through the feverish confusion. Now that their roles have reversed and she's the one catching her one-dimpled partner off guard, who’s fond of saying she’s too damn cautious for her own good, too smart, too disillusioned...

Too distracted. Soul always catches her off guard when he says this, even though he's usually right in front of her with one of her pigtails in each hand. The closer he gets, the more she disconnects, keeping a sliver of safe distance between them as if she's dodging some inevitable truth.

But that was then, this is now. The immensity of the truth hits. Of course she and Soul’s dynamic is intensified in Antarctica. Here the horizon stretches out for days and the hours lose their significance; it’s lonely, but she’s not alone. She’s had someone to sit with during storms and cold nights – both hot steel and warm flesh, though sometimes she can’t tell the difference.

Soul is Soul, and that's all that matters.

“I’m here,” she says, biting her lip, too shy and cautious and on the cusp of tears to call out his name.

Sleepy eyes flicker over at her, and a certain brightness heightens the awe already on his face, one side of his mouth quirking an inch higher than the other. He says her name in greeting (he’s always been the stronger of the two, confronting truths first and slashing through their obstacles with a surgeon’s precision, although if asked he would say she’s the brave one, that he needs his scythe meister.)

Lord, has she been blind, like the sun’s been in her eyes for too long and only their nightly walks in the snow and ice after a long day apart has helped her understand why the idea of living in Antarctica hadn’t fazed him. It’s selfless and selfish all at once, because he didn’t have to shadow her here, but he insisted it was for her and their partnership. How had she not known?

Maka blinks at him, relives every time they’ve taken each other’s hand, and wonders if neither has been leading or following, if they’ve been following each other since the beginning. Chin quivering, she opens her hands and closes them at her side and thinks: only you.

Suddenly she’s a reckless and sentimental and determined thirteen-year-old again, but this time she’s not running blindly through Death City after the ghost of a witch, no, she’s walking softly toward Soul Evans, one sure foot in front of the other. Nothing else is different and that’s the beauty of it, Maka realizes as she splays a palm over his chest exactly how she did all those years ago in the grimy alley, silently vowing to become more, together.

Soul grabs her face roughly, brings her close, familiar fingers sliding beneath her cap (his, actually; too many of her favorite belongings are his, though the fact that they share their souls should’ve been telling enough.) Hand still resting on his chest, she wonders if he likes how her hair feels, if he’s planned when he was going to tell her how he feels, if he's daydreamed about the moment they connect at the mouth for the first time. It'll be glorious, but it won't be soon - there is so much time ahead of them, and they're still blooming.

There's no time to seethe over any of it - her shortcomings, her ability to know so much and yet know so little, his patience with her while she's been busy fumbling with the obvious - the fear of her feelings for him only deepening the longer they're together. On his face is something like a promise. Certainty. They’re in their own little corner at the end of the world, and it feels right to be here with someone who chooses her every time, someone who calls her out when she’s in the wrong and redirects her for the better, someone who waits for her in the cold.

They stare at each other while she thinks, thinks, thinks, but can’t say how she feels. Maybe that finesse will come with time. Soul isn’t far ahead in learning this skill, either, but that doesn’t stop him from tilting his head (mouth) toward hers, making her hyper aware of the heat on her cheeks and the frigid air surrounding them. He hasn’t asked to kiss her, so he doesn’t, and maybe he wasn’t planning to, but Maka’s tendency to under-read has now shifted to over-reading, over-thinking.

Instead he rests his forehead on hers and she nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look at his bashful, content smile. Maka should have known he’s just as wonderstruck as she is, at a loss, terrified of messing up. After all, they’re both prone to clumsiness. Soul’s smoothness isn’t typical; he’s a scythe, faux cool steel with a molten interior, and Maka swears she can feel the the same pulse underneath her palm right now that she feels when he’s in weapon form.

Fingers still entwined under her (his) hat, Soul trails a thumb along her jawline, making her toes go numb. Only you, she thinks as he complains (“You're late, Maka”) with one corner of his mouth sagging to exaggerate his dismay.

She can't believe how uncool he is, but can't help grinning. “I know.”

Now it’s Maka’s turn to drive them a little closer, her untrapped hand reaching up to pull him in by the nape of his neck, balancing on her tippy toes for better leverage (and the surprise factor, which makes his lashes flutter and his eyes go wide, so wide.) Their noses touch, and they’re in for another staring contest, one he’s happy to lose by the way he closes his eyes like he’s falling asleep. When she rubs her nose against his, his laughter rumbles in her chest, moving his head and playing along, too.

Yeah, it’s good that they’re alone, under the starry sky, in their little corner, sharing a tender moment. Maybe she didn’t need to come to the ends of the world to find her soulmate, but it helped.

#soulxmaka #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soul eater #soulxmakaweek 2017 #thanks to proma and aer and fez for looking at this #redphlox writes #one of the few times i write canon-verse ngl and it was fun

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snickerl · 7 years

Text

Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: A somewhat shorter chapter before we enter the final stages.

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V / Chapter VI / Chapter VII / Chapter VIII / Chapter IX

Chapter X

I wake up in the middle of the night. The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s 4:40 a.m. Being still half asleep, I’m not sure whether what happened earlier in this bed has only been a sweet dream, but then I feel the warmth radiating from her body. My hand finds her curled under the duvet only a few inches away from me and I remember everything. Every word, every touch, every kiss, as well as the grand finale.

When we were out on the porch, relishing our afterglow, a strong certainty manifested itself that we’re going to be just fine. With Scully snuggled into my side, the starry sky above us, a peaceful satisfaction was settling itself upon me because I have all I need to be happy. After we’d talked about the stars, about how they are born and how they die, about how vast the universe is and how small we are in comparison, she fell asleep in my arms and I was allowed to carry her over the threshold and upstairs into the bedroom after all.

I roll onto my side and slide behind her, spooning her from head to toe. I put my arms around her waist and nestle her head under my chin. I inhale deeply through my nose and can’t help noticing the smell of sex on her.

We did it. We mastered yet another crisis.

How many storms have we sailed together? Our bounceback abilities are unmatched. I know we’re not through yet, that Scully is still struggling with her memory loss, and might go on struggling for quite some time, but we found ourselves again. As long as we’re together, we’re unbreakable.

I close my eyes, join in her breathing rhythm, and before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep again.

Next time I wake up, I do so fairly aware of our nightly lovemaking, only shortly uncertain when I find the spot beside me empty and cold, but her scent is still there. It tells me that it has not been a dream. And then I hear her coming up the stairs, each wooden step creaking even under her light weight.

She walks through the doorframe with a tray in her hands.

“Good morning,” she says, obviously well rested and in high spirits. “I thought you might like some coffee.”

I prop myself up and lean my back against the headboard before I take the mug she’s offering me. “Thanks. Since when are you an early riser?” I ask her.

“Since I’ve forgotten that I’m actually a long sleeper, I guess.”

She chuckles into her coffee mug.

“Come back to bed,” I say, folding back the duvet, hoping she’ll take her robe off and slip under it again.

“I already took a shower,” she objects to my chagrin.

She ties her robe a little tighter, obviously not willing to join me in bed again. She places herself next to me on the covers though, placing herself under my arm, using my chest as her backrest. I would’ve preferred her naked under the sheets with me, but that’s not too bad either.

We sip our coffees in silence for a moment, then she disengages herself out of my embrace, sits upright, and looks at me.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says.

“About what?”

I’m not sure what to expect, that’s why my insides start tying a knot.

She hesitates as if she knew I won’t like what I’m going to hear.

“I want to read the files to our cases.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face.

“No way!” I stress my rejection vehemently shaking my head.

“Please, Mulder!”

“There must be hundreds. There are far too many for you to read,” I try.

I have to talk her out of it. If there was one positive thing related to her amnesia, then it would be the chance to spare her some of the horrible details of her past.

“I don’t have to read all of them. You pick the most important ones and decide in which order and when I read them.”

“No!” I simply say, hoping it sounds like a resolute final answer.

“I know you’re only trying to protect me, but I need to know about our work,” she stubbornly insists.

“Why? There were so many ugly cases. The X-Files didn’t have so much to do with usual police work, Scully. We were confronted with the weirdest circumstances of a crime. I don’t see any good reason why you should be reading them. Anyway, the doctors are saying said your memory mustn’t be triggered, that it has to come back on its own.”

“But it’s not coming back!” She’s yelling now. “Don’t you see that I’m completely lost? The bits of information you’ve been giving me don’t make a whole picture. What you told me about our child, about us working together, about this house, and our relationship…I can’t put the pieces together. I feel like I’m doing one of those brain-teaser puzzles where there’s only one way to build a perfect cube, and I’m trying and trying and trying, but no matter how I assemble the pieces, I’m not able to solve the puzzle. And it's driving me crazy.”

“How would reading the X-Files help you?” I ask, my resistance already crumbling after this outburst of emotions.

“I have the feeling that I’ll find the answers to most of my questions in them.”

“What questions?”

“You told me that there was no other option for me than giving our son up for adoption, and I believe you. But I need to know what led me to that point in my life that I had to give my baby away.” Her voice is tear-stricken but firm. “I have this metal object in my neck and-”

I’m shocked and choke on my coffee. “Where did you get that from?”

“They made a CT scan of my head at the hospital to find out where the amnesia came from. It was clearly visible in the picture.” Her hand goes to her neck. “And I can feel it under my skin.”

“What else?” I ask through gritted teeth. I’m not sure I want to hear it, though.

“I dipped into my medical records, Mulder, and I found out I had nasopharyngeal cancer, an inoperable tumor between my cerebrum and sinus.”

I stare at her. I feel like a bucket of ice-water has been emptied over my head.

“I’m a medical doctor, Mulder. I know that the chances to survive that sort of cancer were zero. How come I’m sitting here next to you, alive and well? I’m in remission for more than ten years now, I’d call that a medical sensation!”

“Scullyyy,” I groan. I’m running out of arguments already and she’s still not done listing the question preying on her mind.

“We used to be city people, Mulder, living within commuting distance from the Hoover building. I know from old letters I found in the little drawer of the bureau in the living room. And now we live here in this unremarkable house, so remote and far away from everybody else, with a locking gate and barbed wire at the property boundary that I’m asking myself whether we’re hiding from someone.”

After catching a short breath she opens her mouth again, but this time I stop her. “Enough!”

She throws me a somewhat unfazed look, eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

“I got it,” I continue, “I got it. It’s just that I hate to see you hurting, and these files will make you, believe me. You have no idea what you’ve been through, what you and I have been through.”

“I don’t want to do this alone. I want you to guide me through this. You decide which files I read and when I read them. I need you with me in this. You’re the only one who can explain things to me. You’re the only one I trust.”

The last sentence puts the final nail in the coffin. I’m going to do it. I’m going to let her get re-acquainted with the X-Files. Goddamnit! How could I have been so naïve to believe I could keep them from her forever?

“Alright then,” I voice my inevitable concession.

She’s relieved but not triumphant that she managed to persuade me. She’s well aware that it’s not going to be an easy read.

“How about I start with our last case? I was taken by a serial killer who held me hostage for almost three months before abandoning me in a parking lot.” Before I can ask her, she explains, “I did some research, Mulder. The internet, newspaper archives, your office.”

“My office?”

“There are newspaper clippings all over the place. It was impossible to oversee the one with the headline ‘Former Female FBI Agent Reported Missing’ circled in red ink.”

“I see.”

You’re a negligent jackass, Mulder!

“Wouldn’t that be a good file to start?”

“Probably, but that particular one is not an X-File. The X-Files were closed several years ago and have never been re-opened. For the better, I guess. The serial killer is just a regular VCU case.”

I chuckle bitterly. 'Just a regular VCU’ case, as if this alone made the whole thing less ugly and cruel.

“Why were you involved in that case anyway if it wasn’t an X-File?”

“The agent in charge knew me from when I’d been a profiler with Violent Crimes before I transferred to the X-Files. They were at a dead end with the case and he asked me for help. How could I say no? Innocent women were being abducted and killed.”

“Why wasn’t I killed?” she asks oddly detached as if she wasn’t talking about herself.

Okay, Mulder, yet another story you have to tell her where being associated with you turned her into a victim. There will be the day she realizes that tarrying with you has been the biggest mistake of her life.

Her eyebrows hit the hairline while I keep her waiting for my answer. And that look she shoots me…oh, how I know that look! 'Spit it out, Mulder,’ it says. She knows that I’m hiding something from her and she won’t let me off the hook until I tell her. She never has. So I give up my resistance, not without heaving a deep sigh though.

“You weren’t his type.”

Nice try, but you don’t really believe she’ll content herself with this, do you?

“Why did he take me then?”

If the earth opened up under me and swallowed me just now, I wouldn’t mind.

“Mulder?”

“Yeah, well, you were…”

Instead of completing the sentence, I clear my throat, and, eventually, she’s run out of patience. “You don’t want to tell me that with abducting me he actually meant to affect you.”

I close my eyes and groan.

Do you have any idea how this makes me feel, Scully?

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

I open my eyes and bore them into her.

“Yesss, you are right!” I hiss, sharply emphasizing every single word. “That freak waited for you in our house, bore down upon you in the kitchen, dragged you through the living room, and took you. He held you captive for three months, did God only knows what to you to erase your memory, and left you at a deserted parking lot at a freezingly cold night to die. All of this, to punish me for having hunted him. And you know what, Scully?” I’ve talked myself into a rage that much that I just can’t stop, “it wasn’t the first time you were taken and harmed because somebody wanted to teach me a lesson. You were used as leverage on me so often that I really can’t understand why you haven’t sent me to hell ever.”

My outburst isn’t intimidating her one bit. She looks at me, all composed and calm. “I guess, I didn’t want those sons of bitches to get through with it, and…” She presses her lips together and shrugs. Turning away from me, she purrs, “I must have been madly in love with you.”

I don’t realize my jaw has dropped until she stands right in front of me again, lifts her hand to my chin, and pushes it shut.

“Madly in love, huh?” I manage to mumble.

“Nothing else would explain it,” she supplies in such a casual tone, looking me deadly serious in the face, that I have to chuckle.

“That was a masterstroke, wasn’t it?” I supply, mentally patting myself on the shoulder.

“What was?”

“That I made you fall madly in love with me.”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips and furrows her brows in a gesture so overtly mocking me, I feel beamed back to the time when she used to comment on the wild theories I was supplying just like this.

She takes a few steps away from me, then stops in her tracks, turns around, folds her arms in front of her chest, lifts her chin, and scrutinizes me from head to toe before adding, “who says it wasn’t me who checkmated you?”

Now my eyebrows are taking a hike. I’m speechless.

“I’ve been told that first time we landed in bed was on my initiative. What if this was the final strategic stroke of a long-term plan to make you fall in love with me?…Madly.”

Jesus, how I love 'Playful Scully’!

I made acquaintance with this side of her the day after our first night of love. When I woke up, she was already gone, a note on the nightstand telling me she’d meet me at Skinner’s office at 9 a.m. for our weekly meeting with him. When I approached Skinner’s desk later that morning, my pulse hitting the ceiling, she was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk in her shortest and tightest skirt, her legs crossed for it to ride high up her thigh. She smiled innocently at me, piercing right through me with her steel-blue eyes, and asked me in the most business-like tone, 'You look a bit exhausted, Mulder. Rough night?’ And then she crossed her legs the other way to let me see the lace top of her tights. My mind was racing and my throat was so dry, I wasn’t able to answer any of Skinner’s questions for the following ten minutes.

Later on, when I asked her why she’d tortured me like that she just countered, 'if you want last night to have a sequel, you better learn to put up a poker face in front of Skinner, because today, Agent Mulder, you gave a very poor performance.’

Of course, I wanted our first time to be followed by many sequels, so I was fast in developing a technique to keep my hormones in check at work. It involved picturing her with that green beauty mask she’d put on her face during the undercover assignment that made us act as a couple. My next meeting with Skinner must’ve gone better because the topic didn’t come up again. It didn’t keep my partner-slash-lover seated across from me at our desk from undoing a button to let me get a glimpse of a red lace bra, though, or from coating her voluptuous lips with the red lipstick I adored so much and licking them while at a debriefing with our boss.

Cruel Scully. Intoxicating Scully.

My heart aches for that Scully. I miss her so very much.

to be continued

#xf fanfiction #msr #afterglow #poor Mulder

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