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yeoldontknow · 3 years

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the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m)

A/N: written as fulfillment for the july house games at @bangtansorciere ❂ To The Lighthouse ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere AU Type: Trident’s Tides (soulmates) Themes: God/Goddess (goddess reader); Secret Relationship Kinks: clit biting; pain kink; size kink; masturbation; degradation; overstimulation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing

↝ Creative Content Contributor: @jamaisjoons for this incredible banner. its literally so stunning ;~; ↝ Pairing: Lighthouse Keeper!Hoseok x Goddess of Light!Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of an arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; masturbation; clit biting; oral sex (f receiving); pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; light degradation; a brief handjob; impreg kink; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: 14.7K ↝ special thank you to @softyoongiionly and @kithtaehyung for reading through this and being amazing betas! if there are any mistakes left over they are absolutely my own and the fact that 98% of this was written while sprinting owo

Looking at Hoseok, you think, is exactly like being struck by lightning. Which is to say, every time, all the time, looking at Hoseok means you feel him everywhere, all over and all at once.

Inside the lighthouse, there is no escaping him.

Pressing your back against the rough concrete of the small light room, you tilt your head to the side as the totality of Hoseok’s warmth, ardor, and fidelity blossoms over you. He flowers deep in the nodes of your lungs, your breath constricted as you take him in, studying the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way he wears the night as though he is the stars.

In the distance, waves rush to the shore, kissing the land with the same enthusiasm you wish to be kissing him, only to pull away from land; the water shy, anxious of the earth’s response to its affections. Over and over, the sea rolls like thunder. Every now and then, the light that spins overhead refracts downward, illuminating the blood that has rushed to his cheeks. Flushed, his lips part as he processes the words you have just told him, all red and red and red with understanding.

As though he is burning, as though you are not burning for him, your hands clinging tightly to your skirts as you hold your knees against your chest. It should be utterly unfair, you think, for him to appear so beautiful, so exquisite, even as he remains painfully stricken by your words. The searing ache in your chest germinates alongside your love, mind racing with the apologies he deserves. Your bones tremble with the force of remaining still, prepared to reach out and hold his face and tell him it was a lie. You want to smile for him, want to tease him, want to say you’d been terribly silly and that such jokes are best kept for nights when the sky is not clouded, not cold, and instead warmed by your shared rapture.

How you would like to give him all the kindest, all the softest, words in the world.

‘It can’t be true.’

He’s said this twice, the disbelief in his voice only just winning out against the grief. Hoseok repeats it again, taking a step towards you, eyes cast down to where you have slunk in shame and sadness. Hands limp at his sides, his fingers quake, torn between balling his hands into fists or running through his hair, their resting place for his worry. Deciding on neither, he simply stands tall and stoic, appearing so small in the light that cascades around the room.

You’d glow for him if you could, if you felt like you deserved to illuminate any part of him at all.

Looking away from his woefully dejected expression, you turn your attention to the small gap in the wall beside you. A window once blocked the wind - stained glass, exquisite. It shattered during a storm, on a night when he pressed himself so deep inside you traces of his essence lingered on your tongue. He was deep enough it hurt, rolling into you with enthusiastic vigor. Tonight, the breeze smells of low tide, acrid in the back of your nose and sour, just like your mood.

‘We knew this would happen,’ is your quiet reply.

A weak and pathetic excuse, you hate the words even as you say them. Shameful, you think with a grimace, to have pretended that you could have a happy ending, that convincing your father would have been simple. The lies you told yourself and Hoseok, the platitudes that fell from your lips to comfort him, turn on your now, betrayals stacked against you that weigh heavily your judgement. You’ve been childish, so childish, to assume you could have ever been happy.

Hoseok shakes his head, refusing to accept your answer. All fury and rage, he comes to stand before you and lowers to his knees, demanding you look at him. His presence is a live wire, the heat and energy from his skin is vital, a pull against yours that makes you regard him once more, confronted by his enduring beauty. Flooding your vision, he is all you see, all you can fathom, your world beginning and ending with his pleading eyes.

‘But it’s been years,’ he argues, the high pitched tone of his voice wavering and taught with emotion. He’s older than you, physically, but at this moment he has never been so young, so small, so gloriously human. ‘Centuries even. It’s unfair to you.’

A huff of breath rushes through your nose, your scoff ripe with bitterness. ‘Someone finally slayed the Sydral, as archaic as this ritual actually is. My father said I should have always expected it.’

‘And so now…’ Hoseok’s voice drifts, falling back onto his knees crestfallen. The corner of his lips drop into the beginnings of a deep frown, all manner and will to fight rapidly dissipating.

‘I have to marry them,’ you nod, answering his unspoken question.

For a long while, you hold his gaze, allowing yourself to get lost in the umber of his irises and missing the mirth that usually ignites their sparkle. It is just his breath that cascades over your skin, just the waves that rush beyond the light room, just the world that seems to turn onward, without you, time passing without either of you truly acknowledging it. In this silence, you see your history, your every moment spent with him: the day you met; the day he could not help himself any longer and kissed you soundly, without restraint; the first moment you told him you loved him; the first moment he said he needed you; the plastic ring he won at the pier arcade - extraordinary in all its ugliness - and the gentle, reverent, way he slid it over your finger, calling it a promise of fidelity.

In Hoseok, you see it all.

Similarly, he drowns in you, the pink of his cheeks deepening to rose with each passing breath. Posture falling slack, the strap of his ride suspender slips from his shoulder, the collar of his linen shirt loosening with the lack of restraint. A sliver of his collarbone becomes exposed, golden and rich, a tantalizing patch of skin you would caress and kiss if only the circumstances had been different. You wonder idly what he remembers of you, what he sees in your own dispirited expression. You wonder if he remembers the way he loved you, the way he loved you beyond your light and into your darkness.

You wonder if he remembers the way he ate your shadows - with his whole mouth, with fervor, with pride. You wonder if he remembers the way you devoured him just the same.

‘This is ridiculous,’ he announces, finally. Turning to look out the window, he regards the sky solemnly, the curve of his profile imposing in its majesty. Eyes narrowed, it is the harshest he has ever looked, devoid of forgiveness. ‘It’s supposed to be me.’

Swiftly, you shake your head, adamant in your disagreement. You reach for him, leaning forward to rest your hand against his chest, against his heart where it thunders in his sternum. Warmth from his skin radiates into your blood, taking root between your joints. Hoseok worms his way into pieces of your spirit long left abandoned, and you swallow thickly, wondering if such affection as this is normal, if it’s always this way.

‘I’d never have let you.’ Your dispute is biting, sharp enough Hoseok turns his eyes back to you, jaw clenched and tight with silent fury. ‘You’re human. It would have killed you. And then where would I be?’

‘You’d be sitting where I am,’ he argues, emphatic.

Reaching for your hand where it rests, he covers it with his own, lifting it slightly to twine his fingers with yours. Unable to help himself, he inches closer, running his thumb over your knuckles and sending shivers along your nerves. Like always, his touch is a wildfire, the electric kinetic energy needed to set you aglow. Your mind swims with him the same way your body becomes whelmed by his devotion, but he does not let himself become distracted.

‘Do you even understand?’ Voice little more than a whisper, Hoseok’s gaze is penetrating, a bite to his veneration that demands your complete attention. Tilting his head to the side, he continues. ‘You think I wouldn’t die for you?’

You squeeze his hand with tenacity, acknowledging his sentiment, but he does not see all the things you have witnessed. He does not know the true menace of the Sydral, does not know its tricks, its many heads, its speed, its cunning; Hoseok would die for you, and death would find him quickly.

Instead, you offer him a small smile, one that is so fragile and close to breaking. Hoseok’s intensity burns within your chest, transforming his softness into the valor of a man that leaves you breathless. Salvaging your own strength, you lower your gaze to the white collar of his shirt, to the soft linen and the expanse of his throat where he swallows. This you can regard with pleasure, can regard without fearing you may shatter.

And so you smile, finding the will to fight him once more. ‘The problem,’ you begin, hoping the earnestness of your smile is enough to cool the rage that boils in his throat, ‘is that I know you would. And I would live my life alone, married to him while knowing you are gone. Would you really condemn me to such misery? My darling, I would die to keep you safe.’

This feels like anguish; this feels like dying, you think to yourself, growing ever more despondent the longer you feel Hoseok pleading with the emptiness that lurks behind your eyes. You can’t bear to face him, not when the tightness in your throat becomes a threat, tears lingering on the precipice of spilling. Every time his gaze meets yours it is brutal in its honesty, violent in the way your love and lust tumbles so completely into grief.

‘How long?’ he manages, breathing life to the very question you’d been hoping to avoid.

Your future is still so far away, distant enough it makes this moment, and every moment to follow, heavy with the pain of imagination. Still, you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

Once more, you turn to view the window, regarding it with a vacant expression as though you are regarding time itself. ‘You know this is the last time I can see you.’

‘I know,’ he bites out, unwilling to let you dodge the answer. ‘I mean how long until...you’re not mine anymore.’

‘That’s...not possible,’ you offer gently, casting him a solemn, detached grin. ‘I am always going to be yours. Even when I’m in his bed, even when I’m thousands of miles away, even in death, I am yours.’

Hoseok pulls you against him, compelling your complete attention. Eyes wide, you study his face - the resolution of his passion fierce enough to be an earthquake against your sternum, a collision of meeting worlds. His arm winds itself around your waist while he still clutches your hand, the strength of his grip stinging against your knuckles. You tremble against his powerful frame, inhaling the deep scent of cedar and ambergris that always clings to him, the salt of the ocean that lingers on his skin, the dust that has saturated his shirt from the lighthouse, and you; your vanilla and lemon, the brightness of your own natural scent that emanates from your light and always seems to find him, not unlike rays of the sun.

Your mouth waters at this closeness, his own eyes darkened to a rich black as he studies you seriously. You’ve wounded him - worse, you’ve denied him - and he presses the tips of his fingers into the soft muscles of your back, ensuring you cannot leave him. Not until he is ready to let you go.

‘You know what I mean,’ he breathes, words lowered to a hiss. If he were a vengeful sort of man, he would be full of venom. Instead, there is only remorse in his insistence.

Closing your eyes, you sigh. ‘Months, most likely. Tomorrow the rituals begin - the seven days feast, the Fate Tying, the Blood Gathering.’

When you look at him again, your lower lip begins to quake. Saying the words makes it all feel immediate, tangible, as though your father stands in the dark corners of the light room casting his judgements. You almost feel him there, his presence always so sinister for a man blessed to command the light; he resides in the silent places, giving birth to shadows, prepared to pull you from bliss at a moment's notice.

‘All this pomp and circumstance from eras bygone,’ you continue, grounding yourself in the firmness of Hoseok’s arms and chest. The bones of his knees press into your thighs; your hand caught between your twin heartbeats; you immerse yourself in the pain of this connection and remind yourself it hurts because he was always meant to be yours. ‘It’s been centuries since a goddess has been married off, and yet somehow I’m the first for such a sentence. The wedding won’t be for at least five months.’

‘Then we have time.’ Hope saturates his words, his hold on you growing ever more unyielding. ‘You can still come to me, we can still see each other,’ he explains quickly, speaking in a rush. ‘No one will have to know.’

Biting your lips, you raise your hand to the soft strands of his hair, carding your fingers through it. All silk and satin, you relish the texture as his desperation soaks into your pores.

‘I wish that could be true.’ Even as you speak, you focus on his hair, committing these small details to memory. The curve of his bang in the center of his forehead, the deep amber and dark sienna and all the golden highlights that come to life in the daylight, the way all of him, every piece, is soft enough to break you. Yes, you focus on it all. ‘All the Old Gods will be gathering in Teylim. There will be more eyes on me than ever before. Ladies coming to fuss over my hair, my clothes, the oils I wear; men worshiping Daeus like he’s some kind of king when, really, he’s just lucky enough to be half of a god. I won’t be able to get away.’

Hoseok’s eyes roam your face, wild and storming, waiting for you to amend your answer. When you do not speak, his brow furrows and he exhales, a small whimper released from the center of his breaking heart. ‘So this is it, then? This is really it?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ you whisper, moving your hand from his hair to cup his cheek.

He presses himself into your touch, turning just slightly to kiss delicately at your palm. The sweetness of his tenderness splinters the last of your courage, the tears you’ve so valiantly held back starting to burn as they spill over to your cheeks.

‘I wish it could be different,’ you plead - with everyone and no one at all. ‘I wish for it everyday. Hoseok, I can’t -’ Distraught, you choke on your own words, and Hoseok pulls you firmly against him, resting your head against his shoulder. ‘I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.’

Hoseok says nothing at all as you dampen his shirt, tears spilling into the linen as you struggle not to collapse against him completely. When you are finally alone, you will succumb to the sorrow that has learned to occupy every chamber of your heart. When you are finally alone, you will eat the spirit of rage with teeth and fangs, and you will let the darkness have you, refusing to let the light erupt from your skin. But for now, you let the tears arrive of their own accord, aware that you are suddenly too sad to even weep, tears dripping into his shirt as means to remain a part of him.

Against you, Hoseok’s breath becomes uneven, his own shoulders shuddering as he minds his own heroism, fighting back his own tears. He quivers against you, his stuttering breath exhaled through his nose as he maintains his composure. The light room becomes almost too quiet, the blood rushing your ears drowning out the sound of the sea, narrowing your focus to just the shared heat between your bodies. You inch closer, removing any space that could exist between you, extinguishing any oxygen that would dare to separate you from him. What you would give for a thunderstorm, any sound at all to give life to the end of love, to the start of the war of loving.

Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, your mind seems to become unhinged. All the tiny, miserable little thoughts Hoseok’s love kept locked away worm their way past your lips, erupting to life as though your heartbreak has given them permission to persecute you.

‘I wish you never found me,’ you mumble, almost incoherent. Your tongue fumbles with the words, caught between weeping and speaking, making a mess of so much more than just his shirt. ‘I wish you never saw me. I could love you like that, on my own, from a distance. I could be strong enough to move through life not knowing you, loving only the idea of you. You’re so much more than anything my mind could have fabricated out of childish desire. The reality of you is heaven. And now, I’m hurting you. I should die for such a transgression.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Hoseok pulls, easing you back and lifting both his hands to cup your face. Briefly you mourn the loss of his fingers and knuckles so rough against yours, but cradled between his palms, your skin tingles, making a festival out of this contact and celebrating the nuance of his fingerprints. He looks down into you, deep enough you feel him taking root in the center of your belly. You love him most when he looks like this - fierce and unforgiving - and you cannot help the way your body responds, aroused simply by the passion of him. ‘Don’t you dare wish that,’ he commands, voice thick. ‘The day we met was the day my life started.’

‘But...’ you struggle to find the words, drifting off with the implication that, now, his life is surely ending.

‘I don’t want to know who I would be without you.’ Hoseok takes his time as he speaks, an art you cannot comprehend.

Behind his eyes, his mind races, words living and dying before they can reach his tongue. He has so much to say, so many more promises to make, so many more words of affirmation he’d like to give you. You see them all, recognize them all - for they mirror yours, are born from your own likeness; you know them all so well, you feel as though you could reach out and touch them.

‘I can’t fathom it, I won’t even consider it.’ Shaking his head, he denies this completely, holding onto your stare with a fixation that borders on zealous. ‘You came to me, and it felt like I could breathe. You came to me, and I felt like myself. Loving you makes me better, loving you is partly why I am alive.’

It’s difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat, its size and prowess growing ever larger in the wake of his words. In the oncoming quiet, you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t reminded you of the way you the oncoming storm of his presence before you met him. One look at him and you had seen it all, a life designed by the Fates - marriage, children, hope, happiness. In death he’d have joined you in Teylim, youthful, young, yours. With eternity before you, you’d bask in the rapture and the joyful silliness that comes with forever.

He felt it, too, saw it in your eyes. On your fourth meeting, he held you against him and promised you his life.

‘I will put my child in your belly,’ he announced, deliberate in the way he enunciated his words. You waited for the shock of such an exclamation to overtake you, but it never came. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he chuckled, amused by his own enthusiasm, ‘but I’m certain of it. I see my unborn children in your eyes. I think this is what the elders mean when they say there is always a plan, and you will always know it the moment you find it. I’m so certain my whole life is tied to yours.’

The memory burns within your mind, a scorch of greed mixing immediately with longing. You wish the fire of it would incinerate it to ash, that it would vanish altogether before the Fate Tying. You can handle all of these frivolous little rituals, sure of yourself and your own strength, but the Fate Tying means to unmake you. At just the thought, your stomach begins to sink.

You will sit, hands clasped on your amber throne with the sunlight seeking your hair, your cheeks, your lips; Daeus will smile, wrapped in oak and evergreen, in the earth that flourishes beneath your light; and you will weep, watching as the Moirai unstitch your soul from Hoseok’s, peeling it apart inch by horrible inch, to thread it with the ugliness of Daeus’ strands. You will wonder, mouth dry and eyes wet, why the Moirai would bother making a man for you, would bother weaving your spirits together, only to unravel the work they had done, the love you had found.

The movement of Hoseok’s gentle caress, pads of his thumbs running across the bones of your cheeks, returns you to the present moment. Once more he whimpers, doing his best to keep you grounded with him, unwilling to lose you before he absolutely must. Digging your nails into his shoulder as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, you wallow with him, knowing that, just like him, you don’t know who you would have become without him.

‘What do we do?’ you manage, reduced to a more pathetic version of yourself as you plead with him. Anyone else, and you’d be ashamed to appear so weak. ‘How do I do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ is all he can provide. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me -’ You cut yourself off, not entirely certain where the idea comes from, what part of you would willingly propose such a request, the meaning of what you had intended to say catching up to your mind the moment you heard your own voice. Hoseok waits patiently, and you lower your gaze to the curvature of his lips, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss him, knowing your next words will scar you both. ‘Promise me you’ll find someone else. Promise me you’ll be happy.’

Without any hesitation, he scoffs, dismissing the idea altogether. ‘Don’t ask me to tell a lie.’

‘I can’t, Hoseok.’ Now, it is your turn to hold his face, cupping his cheeks with veneration. Mind reeling, you envision it, certain you could take it. You are certain you would die for less. ‘I can’t do this if I spend my life knowing you’ll be unhappy. I can’t do this knowing you’re alone.’

Slowly, gently, Hoseok lets the tip of his nose press against yours, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. Breath a deluge down and over your lips and skin, he somehow finds it within himself to smile, empty of all amusement.

‘It’s so unfair of you to expect that I could be happy with anyone but you,’ he chastises. ‘I’d rather be alone, utterly and completely, than to be lonely with someone. They deserve better than someone who is with them out of loyalty to another person - a promise kept to the person they truly love.’

His rejection and refusal of your plea inspires a thrill in the pit of your stomach, all manner of possessive pleasure coursing through your veins. How easily he turns you into a selfish woman, how quickly his promises of fidelity make you lose all sight of strength and future vision. What sort of man is Hoseok that he should have such dominion over you, you think to yourself. But then, you know. You know as you have always known: Hoseok is your man, your lover, your soul.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, just as he had done, reverently, adoringly, you bite your lip and feel your exhale shake. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll do as I’ve always done,’ he shrugs, as though the very thought is not a bruise within his ribs. ‘I’ll keep the lighthouse. Every night, I’ll let the beacon burn, and keep the light on. Even on clear days, I will let the light shine.’ Hoseok smiles as he says this, the first real smile he has managed since he saw you on the shore this evening, waiting, just like always. ‘When you’re up there, perhaps you will see the light.’

He shifts his gaze to the roof of the light house, looking up and beyond, past the clouds, up to the seat of the gods. Furrowing his brow, he hardens his jaw just slightly, eyes turning dark as he demands your father witness him.

When he looks at you again, he is a changed man - a boy trapped in the throes of love, and a man on the verge of letting himself perish.

‘Maybe up there,’ he murmurs, ‘you will see my light and know that I’m burning for you, just as I’ve always been. I’ll continue to love you. I’ll be good, I’ll be pious, and maybe when I die we will meet in Teylim and even in death I’ll watch you, staying close to your light like a bird in flight.’

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him.

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different. Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok.

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart.

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapsis with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone.

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers.

It’s lewd the way you crave him deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive.

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you begin slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

You hold onto the word - draping yourself over the “s”, tapping your tongue against the “t” - ensuring it lingers in your mouth long enough for him to taste it. It’s his fault, really, that you will be judged and scorned and shamed for coming to your new husband wholly impure, the construct of your virginity eradicated by Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. It’s his fault, you think, that you want him this much. That you love him this much. Your tongue caresses the word slut like it's your dearest companion, familiar with its shape and texture, and you lean upward, hoping to put it in his mouth.

If he is half of your soul, then he should learn how it tastes to be utterly reprehensible.

But he dodges the trajectory of your desires, moves away from your lips and your face entirely, diving down to your chest where he lets his teeth traverse the expanse of your sternum. Lifting his hand from your pulse, he trades one beat of your blood for another, fisting his hand in the collar of your dress to pull it down and expose the thin bit of flesh covering your heart. It thunders in your ears, your body a storm of his making, and you tremble as he positions himself to ravage your very spirit.

His teeth leave scars upon your nerves, eternal echoes within your pores that have you rolling your hips downward in encouragement. Again, you feel him, his cock against your core, enough to have you whimpering as though you are small and fragile, not the maker of your undoing. As punishment for your impertinence, Hoseok takes aim and bites down harshly at the slender bone of your clavicle.

‘Hoseok!’

‘I know you, Sparrow.’ The husk of his breath is an avalanche into the marrow of your bones, the memory of his teeth still reverberating into your lungs. ‘You always like it when it hurts.’

Your skin still stings, yet he is relentless. You quake in his hold as he bites at the bone once again, teeth inlaid perfectly where they had been before. Your skin bends beneath the force, ecstatic hiss descending into a low moan, giving away the truth of how well he truly knows you. The pain grounds you in the moment, allows you, too, to ignore the passage of time, the ebb and flow of the waves as though the tides have halted altogether. You are prettiest when you are red and purple, black and blue by the marks he leaves in his wake, and not once, not even when he breaks your skin to bleeding does he tarnish your light.

In his arms, you are illuminated, glowing with the same intensity as the lighthouse beacon. He’s called you the heavenly sky for the way you glow under his affections, your inability to control your power when he makes you feel so impossibly good turning you into an evening star. You often forget you are blessed with a holy gift, the goddess of light as though your title has any meaning beyond providing you a seat at the table in Teylim. You often forget this is who you really are, someone happy, someone made of magic - a light kindled only under joy.

‘I will make you ache for me,’ he breathes, pushing the collar of your dress lower and lower, threatening to expose your nipple. ‘I want you alight, burning for me. Only me.’

Hoseok kisses deftly at the supple softness of your breast, diligent and greedy. His breath comes ragged, thick in the center of his lungs where he struggles around the insurmountable longing that puts force in his handling of your body. Working his tongue over the skin, he licks the stars out of the constellations of your pores, tasting the dust, the salt, the sea. Your hands run through his hair, messing the thick strands to a state of perilous disorder in your eagerness to move downward to the comforting solidarity of his shoulders.

Grinding your hips into his lap, the tip of his clothed erection slides along your slit, and you release a whimpered exclamation as the cloth of your underwear slips between your folds. Biting your lip, you breathe deep, Hoseok’s own groan of dissatisfaction vibrates into your chest. You feel him deep in your throat, his voice alongside yours, his desire matching yours in intensity.

Hand leaving your neck in favor of your waist, his grip tightens, fingertips pressing deep circles into the muscles of your back. Thrusting upward, he teases you, laughing darkly to himself with a rough nip to your breast. The motion sends your underwear deeper into your cunt, a pressure to your clit as erotic as it is cruel. It sends a shiver down your spine, inspiring tremors in your nerves that have you clenching your walls around nothing at all, seeking the bulbous head of his cock in need.

Pleased with himself, he raises himself from your chest to work at the buttons of your dress. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your own rolling back to present you breasts to him like a preening cat. Hungry, he takes the bait, slipping a palm under your dress to cup your breast. He presses against your nipple, a small wine tumbling from your throat to mingle with his whispered expletive. Rolling your nipple between his knuckle, he regards you momentarily, studying your dazed expression. Against him, you are an earthquake unto yourself, a cosmic shift of longing ravaging your blood, and you are pleased by it, offering him a smile of gluttony.

Abruptly, he releases your breast, hands falling to your hips as he raises to his knees, keeping you against him. Hoseok pushes your hips roughly against his, cock a threatening force against your core as he guides your bodies down to the floor, careful to keep the shift in position painless. Once more, he thrusts at you, and you feel yourself becoming soaked, juices no longer dripping into your underwear but instead crawling slowly down to your ass. The concrete of the floor is chilled, cold enough your back and hips arch indelicately in retreat, causing you to carelessly meet his thrust.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, returning his hands to your front as he sits back on his knees.

Hoseok avoids the buttons over your breasts, choosing instead to undo the buttons just beneath. Continuing onward, he takes his time unwrapping you, hungry for the pieces of your body he will mark as his. The heart of his lips parts on a silent exclamation, mouth falling open as he unveils more of your ample flesh. The light from your skin mixes with the lighthouse beacon, casting shadows of desire in his eyes, rendering him beastly. With his eyes only, he devours you; your body, the fruit of his immense craving.

Leaving your breasts covered, Hoseok exposes your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Your hardened nipples strain against the fabric, begging for release the same way your core clenches once again around nothing at all, swallowing more of your underwear in an effort to lure him deep inside you. He meant it this way, all too aware your sensitive nipples will tease you to a point of aching the longer they rub against your dress.

The sea breeze cools your skin, so much of you exposed you feel as though you have been submerged in wind and sky. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mourn momentarily that it is not Hoseok that covers you, not yet. Still, you enjoy being naked for him like this - naked, vulnerable, safe, and his. You open your legs further, letting the wind kiss at the wetness of your cunt, your answering grin borderline salacious. How glorious to give everything and hide nothing from him. How glorious to let yourself be worshipped, his eyes starved for the pleasure of your sex. All this joy, and yet your frustration runs over, an overflow occurring with little thought.

‘It’s not fair,’ you whine, raising your arms to reach for him. ‘Let me undress you.’

Sitting up, you press your hands flat against his chest, becoming attuned with the ample hills and valleys of his muscles. Hoseok sits still and proud, lips reddened and wet from kissing you. Your light ignites the flush that dapples the tips of his ears, skin flushed by lust and longing. Throat running dry, you swallow thickly, committing his unrivaled beauty to memory. You refuse to forget a single moment of this, unwilling to relinquish a single detail of him.

Slowly, you ease the suspenders from his shoulders, humming in approval at the way the loose linen of his shirt relaxes in its newfound freedom, offering you more of his neck and collarbones. As your fingers work earnestly at his buttons, Hoseok takes his time admiring you, a piercing look both penetrative and heartsick. His hand comes to cover yours, unable to help himself, and he holds it tightly, raising it to his lips. His eyes remain locked on yours as he kisses the pads of your fingers, one by one, before slipping your index and middle finger into his mouth. Your lips part on a sigh that fades just as quickly as it came, feeling his tongue swirl over the digits with purpose.

And much the same way you did not expect his touch, so too are you caught off guard when he moves your fingers from his mouth and guides it down your stomach. Lower and lower, he guides your hand between your bodies where he slips it beneath your underwear. Your breath hitches, skin wet from his saliva and clit throbbing at the prospect of tangible contact, your own hand an ominous presence resting upon your mound.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands.

Hoseok is so often the picture of tenderness in the way he makes love to you, always gentle and always mired in the totality of his affections. Occasionally, he is sharp and, occasionally, he is in control - only on days when he is starved, only on days when he is completely ravenous. Tonight, there is no room for argument. Tonight, he makes himself an unrelenting devil, unafraid to exert dominance.

‘Eventually we will remember little of how we undress,’ he explains, pressing your fingers over your mound, dangerously close to your clit. ‘Right now, I need to see the way you will touch yourself for me when I’m no longer around. I want to see it. I want to memorize it. Touch yourself for me.’

Removing his hand from yours, he nudges softly at your shoulder, and you obey immediately. Leaning back on your right elbow, you keep your hand in place as he grabs the band of your underwear and pulls it down. Lifting your hips, your tongue licks at your bottom lip where the skin has become dry and chapped, struggling to catch your breath as your desire becomes oppressive. Falling back on your tailbone, you spread your legs wider still, proud and impish as you slide your fingers down your slip, separating your folds to display your core.

But he sees nothing as he lifts your underwear to his nose, fisting his hands in the fabric and pressing it against his face. Hoseok breathes in deep,eyes rolling back slightly in the effort of keeping his eyes open, a growl rumbling in his chest like a warning. Exhaling into the cloth, he laughs to himself, a high pitched, small sound of amused embarrassment before he falls completely silent once more. And then, he breathes in again, just as deep, just as fervent, lips kissing at the wet patch you have created.

‘I’m keeping these.’ Easing your underwear away from his nose, he crumples the garment and buries it in the pocket of his trousers. Cocking an eyebrow in pleasure, he takes in your exposed cunt, licking his lips. ‘I’ll fuck myself with them, imagining it’s you and your wet pussy.’

‘Pervert,’ you tease, jutting your chin forward in mock derision.

‘Whore.’ Inspired by your nakedness, he begins to undress, gaze heated and focused on your wet cunt. ‘I told you to touch yourself.’

Your fingers easily breach the barrier of your folds upon their release, wet with Hoseok’s spit and your walls slick and dripping with your juices. Years ago, you would have been ashamed of being so soaked, a damp patch expanding in the concrete beneath you in visible proof. But you no longer care, not when Hoseok’s expression of thirst is so incorrigible.

You fuck yourself with your hand, fighting the urge to tilt your head back in relief - small as it is. In the heat of your lonely nights, you find it tragic your fingers never reach as deep as Hoseok’s slender digits; yours are too slim, knuckles not nearly as rough or pronounced. And when your mind drifts dangerously to thoughts of girth, your eyes drop swiftly to the pronounced shape of Hoseok’s straining cock. Swallowing the weep of appreciation that builds in your chest, your teeth chew at your bottom lip, clinging in anticipation.

Pressing the base of your palm against the hood of your clit, you whimper. Mild and meek as it is, your fingers bring a temporary relief, this satisfaction fleeting, and it will not be long before you are begging him to fill you.

‘You’re dripping,’ he comments, interrupting your thoughts and removing his shirt in one swift motion. ‘Are you sure you’re not the princess of water? If I kiss your cunt I might drown.’

‘I’m in love with you.’

While not truly a detailed explanation, the words carry the weight of your whole chest, erupting with little thought. Your mind offers the only logical explanation for your wetness it can manage while your body grapples with the implication of Hoseok’s mouth upon your core.

‘Say it again,’ he orders, hands tugging harshly at the zip of his trousers.

A slow smile spreads over your lips, head cocking to the side as you admire his eager expression. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Again.’

‘I’m in love with you.’

This time, you say it with venom, as though you want it to hurt and hope that it will leave scars in its wake. Hoseok tugs his trousers down his thighs, rising to his knees, appearing regal and godly. Freed from its cloth restraints, his cock springs upward to rest against his stomach, and he smirks, chest and neck flushed as your focus shifts immediately to the purpled bulbous head.

Without hesitation, you remove yourself from your folds, the ache at your core only minutely grieving the loss of your small hand. Instead, you reach for him, fingers slick with your juices as you grasp the base of his cock with a gentle squeeze. He’s heavy in your hand, rigid in the solid way that makes your walls clench and drip once more, mirroring the way your mouth waters. Slowly, you move your hand up and down the shaft, letting your thumb rub over the leaking tip with care.

Hoseok’s breath hitches, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand as you pleasure him. His own hands clutch at his discarded clothes, doing his best to exercise his dwindling patience, and you repeat motion, admiring the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the veins of his shaft.

‘I always wonder how you will fit inside me,’ you comment, moving your hand back down and studying the way your fingers do not meet your thumb. ‘You’re so thick.’

He rolls his shoulders back in the aftermath of your praise, inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hoseok is always free with his praises, showering you in worship and stating it is his duty to devote himself to the goddess in his favor. Always, he does this, and always he seeks nothing in return. But you have always sensed, as attuned to him as you are, that praise from you sets his soul afire. One word of praise from you and you are certain he could eat the god of Daeus entirely, rendering him completely human.

‘You were made for me,’ he explains, voice taught and words strained. Unable to hold back, he fucks your fist, seeking relief. ‘You will always stretch to accommodate me, just like your life was meant to. Just like your belly was meant to, stretching with my children.’ His gaze is penetrative, deeply serious for such an obscene state of being. ‘You were meant to take all of me. My true home is inside you.’

Your grip loosens slightly at his admission, lips curling into a small pout. ‘I so desperately wanted to give you a child.’

A choked sound rumbles through his chest, and his hand reaches yours, pulling it from his cock to wind your fingers together. With his free hand, he nudges at your shoulder, easing you back to the ground with a darkness in his eyes that has your throat running dry. Automatically, your legs spread wide, offering him space to settle between them. The tip of his cock rubs carelessly against your slit, and your focus fades, mind emptying with the single desire to have him inside you taking root.

‘Promise me you won’t give him children,’ he commands, words thick with purpose.

He walks his hand languidly down your body, grazing over your chest, your covered breasts, to the flat of your stomach. Beneath him, you tremble, the tectonic plates of your spine shifting beneath his touch. Splaying his hand over your stomach, he eyes your skin with parted lips and a furrowed brow. Hoseok wars with himself, his thoughts tangible behind the darkness of his irises, expression swimming with strife.

‘Promise me,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t think I could survive the thought of someone else's baby growing inside you.’

Raising your hand from the floor, you card your fingers through his hair while you squeeze your joined hands, determined to win his attention.

‘I promise,’ is your soft whisper. ‘I shall bear no other child than yours.’

Invigorated by your promise, he returns his gaze to yours and maintains it as he works his way down your body with his tongue, kissing everywhere his hands have been. Without warning, he buries his face between your legs to bite gently at your clit, this contact a thunderclap in your spirit. Back arching off the floor, your voice shatters around his name, teeth chewing over the syllables as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your bones hum with the stimulation, very existence stinging and resonating, while he sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the pain into a deep, soul burning pleasure. He swirls his tongue around it, mouth greedy and impatient, the fullness of his lips a heaven unrivaled by Teylim, and your hand tightened in his hair, body writhing in passion.

Hoseok releases your clit with a wet pop before he kisses his way down to your folds, thrusting the flat of his tongue between them, impatient and hungry. Mindlessly, your legs spread wider, small gasps escaping from your chest as your lungs take in the scent of your sex and your hips roll upward, feeling your juices mix ceremoniously with his saliva. Consumed by the sheer power of your need, you feel yourself howl like a moonless wolf, rolling your hips against Hoseok’s face in erratic motions, inspired by the promise of your orgasm.

But Hoseok releases your joined hands, moving it quickly to your hips where he holds you still, growling against your cunt.

‘You shall not wander from me,’ he says, moving his lips against your slit as he presses you into the ground. ‘Keep still and let me feast on you.’

Once more, he thrusts the full length of his tongue between your walls, sucking eagerly at the juices spilling into his open mouth. He’s velvet and silk against your core, sturdy and solid while still gliding against all the places you have needed him most, and your voice careens off the ceiling, loud enough to drown out the ocean waves. Scratching your nails down the soft skin of your thighs, you fight back the desire to thrust against his face, wishing you could fuck his mouth and press yourself against the tip of his nose. All of it, every thrust of his tongue and every roll of your hips you suppress has you moaning, voice high pitched and growing erratic.

The feel of his tongue inside you inspires the deep desire for something larger, something thicker. Your orgasm is a threat in the center of your belly, spine tingling and tightening as each press of his tongue against your walls tames the beast of your racing heart. Hoseok buries himself between your legs with a diligence that borders on hysteria, holding you down and indulging in your

Still, his tongue only just hits the place inside your core that needs him most. You want him hard against your cervix. You want him deep enough to leave bruises on your softest pieces.

Tonight, you want the thick girth of his cock to splinter your bones. Tonight, you want his cock pressed against your cervix, a bruise you will carry for the rest of your life. Tonight, you want his cum so deep inside you it burns.

Tonight, you want him to love you and you want it to hurt.

‘Hoseok,’ you whimper. ‘Please, I -’

Hoseok thrusts two fingers into your cunt beside his tongue, silencing you with the rough skin of his knuckles spreading your walls even wider. The contrast between his fingers and tongue elevates your hips from the floor with force, disregarding the strength of his hand. You are beastly beneath his ministrations, finding yourself caught in a wild hour and feeling as though you have abstained from him too long. He forces your hips back down with the palm of his hand, groaning against you loudly enough you feel his voice reverberate up to your tongue, and you cry out, distraught.

Having left the top of your dress buttoned, your nipples strain against the cloth, sensitive and sending electric ripples down your arms, your shoulders - all along your nerves. Another breeze moves through the lighthouse, and it kisses at the sheen of sweat that has broken along your hairline.

Desperately, you want him. Desperately, you need him. But still it’s not enough.

‘God,’ you keen, ‘I need to cum.’

Hoseok hums in understanding, the vibration of it moving deep inside you once more.

‘Oh,’ you whine, so small and so close to breaking.

Hoseok’s tongue leaves your cunt, only his fingers remaining, and he moves his mouth to your clit where he sucks at the swollen nub deftly. Again, your hand scratches down your thighs, harsh enough to draw blood. Red and angry, the sting of these scores against your flesh makes you smile, a manic and monstrous expression you hope your father, Daeus, and all the gods can see. Frustrated and feeling the coil of your orgasm tighten, your other hand slaps into the ground, gripping at the linen of Hoseok’s shirt. You dig your nails into it, pretending it is him, his skin, his cock, anything substantial to torture him as he tortures you.

Against your cunt, you feel Hoseok begin to laugh, wearing the smirk of the devil as he sucks diligently at your clit.

His name begins in your mouth and dies on an exhale, eyes open wide as you stare up at the ceiling. Vision glazed and vacant, your body trembles as your orgasm lingers dangerously on the precipice of your nerves, skin growing hot and bordering on a point of pain. You hear yourself crying, you feel yourself pressing harder and harder against Hoseok’s eager mouth, and you struggle to discern if the rush in your ears is your blood as it moves swiftly to find him or the ocean that works swiftly to keep your coupling secret.

And then, without any warning at all, Hoseok once more latches his teeth to your clit.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a wave of heat in your blood and skin, your juice cascading into Hoseok’s waiting mouth. This orgasm is an eruption, a shockwave in your soul that leaves you trembling while his relentless motions of tongue and hand milk you to completion. The tears you have held back begin to spill, soaking your cheeks as you soak his lips, a great wave over you that leaves you breathless.

‘Come up here,’ you gasp. ‘Come up here and kiss me.’

Slowly pulling his lips and fingers from your cunt, you hiss as he eases his way up your body. Using the tip of his tongue, he traces the shape of your parted lips with careful strokes, still messy and dripping with your slick juices. At your core, his cock presses, the contact sending tremors up your spine and causing a whine of pain to splinter in your throat. Granted permission by the sound alone, Hoseok delves his tongue inside your mouth and demands you taste yourself - you, your cum; him, his breath, his spit, his flavor; all of it, mixed together. Your walls clench as you kiss him, devouring him, as your folds seek to lure his cock inside you.

Gasping against his mouth, you feel his tip press roughly against your core, your walls still sensitive but your body and spirit eager for his fullness. Hoseok pulls away from your lips to whine a low expletive, his resolve shaking and unstable, close to shattering by the force of his desire. His lips part on his sighs, breath slow and shallow, and still shimmering with you. Already, he had devoured you, drunk his fill and yet he still appears starved. As he lingers above you, Hoseok rolls his cock against your walls once more, a challenge, a reminder that he is exhausted by the prospect of not having his fill of you.

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you press your fingers into the soft skin of his back and muscles, letting them wander down and down until you grip the rounded flesh of his ass There, your grip tightens, threatening to push him inside you lest he waste any more time.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ he mumbles, running his tongue over your jaw before biting at your chin. ‘Tell me how badly.’

‘Please,’ you whimper, rolling your hips up against his cock, a warning against the tip. ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

Wordlessly, Hoseok thrusts himself inside you to the hilt, balls pressing against you with a loud slap. You feel him shake inside you, body shivering with the sudden heat enveloping his cock. Hoseok’s moan is a deluge, an ecstatic exclamation howled victoriously into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, and you smile blankly at the ceiling, mind empty of all things that are not the feel of Hoseok against and inside you.

His stillness is a tease you cannot endure, and so you clench yourself around him, his teeth biting at your skin as you release and repeat, urging him to move. The feel of his mouth at your skin, the feel of his heaviness pressed so roughly inside you, as your cunt leaking over him, back down into the floor where it coats your ass in its stickiness. Still, you pay little attention to anything other than his immense girth as it stretches you, your walls strained to accommodate him like always.

Feeling you drip over and under him, he pulls out and thrusts back in, a knock at the door of your cervix and the sudden feel of him so deep as you groaning his name. He challenges you, repeating the motion as your bodies slide back along the floor with the force of his thrusts, the piercing sensation stealing your very breath. You are gasping as you clutch him, breasts moving against the fabric and nipples aching with the sensation, letting him push your body to its limits.

‘Tell me you love me,’ he grits out, an echo of your earlier promises.

‘I love you,’ you choke, the words incomprehensible.

‘Say it again,’ he hisses, executing a piercing thrust that has you gasping for breath, nails digging into his skin for purchase.

Squeezing your eyes closed, your hands move to the wings of his shoulder blades and you cling to him, a flightless bird. ‘I love you.’

When you hear yourself say it, you realize you are crying, your voice a sob of affirmation around tears of grief. It should be impossible to love someone this much, with the devastating whole of your existence.

‘Tell me you love me,’ you plead, barely able to speak around the way Hoseok punishes your cervix, a punishment for abandoning him.

‘I love you.’ Equally affected, his voice warbles over the words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he presses the words over and over into your pulse.

‘I love you, I love you.’

Slowing his pace, Hoseok accentuates his proclamations with brutal thrusts against your cervix. Slow as his thrusts may be, they are full of power and force, a pain against your walls and muscles ensuring you will never be free of him. Tears falling freely, your breath is as sharp as his thrusts, a burn in your lungs as you struggle to contain the cosmic feeling of love you hold inside.

‘I know you like it when it hurts,’ he grits out, thrusts relentless.

All you can manage is a nod, a moan, the dig of your nails into his skin, the acknowledgement that you would prefer it if he shattered you. You would prefer it if he left nothing behind of you at all.

‘I know you like it when I stretch you, when you can’t walk for days.’

‘I do,’ you nod weakly, legs automatically spreading wider - until your hips hurt, until you are certain your bones will bruise from the way you have spread yourself open just for him.

Hoseok moans as a harmonic response to yours, the sack of his balls slapping diligently at your ass. You cling to him, holding him against you in despair, the vice grip of your hands matched only by the grip of your walls. Pleasure ripples through your synapses, an overload to your very synapses, little else registering in your mind apart from the places Hoseok penetrates within your core.

‘Do you want me to cum inside you?’

The pleading nature of his tone does not go unmissed, his own anguish evident in the way his hand cups your breast and his nails scratch at the flesh, wishing for entry.

‘Yes.’

‘What if I get you pregnant?’ he muses, though he remains completely sincere. What if I fuck my baby into you? What will they do?’

‘I hope you do.’ It takes all your strength to speak without losing your breath. Once more your orgasm has started to build gloriously around the pain of taking him against your cervix, and you need him to know that you mean it. ‘I don’t care if they scorn me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he bites out - not a threat, but a promise. ‘I’ll knock you up, fuck my baby into you. They’ll have to watch you grow someone else’s child. What a sight, huh? Bet Daeus would love to see you deliver another man’s baby.’

‘Do it.’

You see yourself, heavy and round with his child, glowing brilliantly like a constellation unto yourself. Carrying your offspring, you would be a supernova, the cradle of the very universe and you would celebrate it with every word breaking over laughter. Daeus would snarl at you, a sneer reserved for your growing belly; your father would find himself in a rage so beautiful and blinding, you think darkness would befall the earth, this winter sudden and unforgiving. The other gods would ignore you, this you are confident of and would take with pride. You’d tease them with it, finding yourself immensely confident in the power of being pregnant with Hoseok’s child.

You’d carry his child as though this were your real pilgrimage within Teylim, your true purpose.

And Hoseok, you know, would be your chosen king, god of the sun because he deserves it.

He deserves you.

‘Yeah?’ he moans, hips picking up pace as he begins to chase his own high. Still, he loses none of the strength in his motions, seemingly motivated by your affirmation of desire.

‘Get me pregnant,’ you plead, biting your lip with shame at this impossible ask. A fool’s errand, a childish plea to change the way of things. ‘Make me stay with you,’ is your final whisper.

Together, you both fall silent as he fucks you with vigor, silent and awestruck by the violence of your coupling. With each thrust, your voices become a symphony of your union. Gripping him tightly, you hope it reaches the gods, your father, all of Teylim. You hope they see the way Hoseok fucks you, absolutely unforgiving. You hope they see the way you make a mess of yourself for him, that you have already decided on a husband and he is no god, no hero, but a man who loves you as though you are the whole of the sky.

Hoseok trembles against you, and you sense his orgasm approaching in the way he gasps against your skin, thrusting harder and faster and, somehow, harder into your core. You are burning with the ache of containing him, but your own orgasm is cosmic, making its steady approach with each brutal thrust. Hoseok wanted to live inside you, wanted to give you a child, wanted to watch you swell with him alone - and it is these thoughts that send you over the edge, the universe apart from Hoseok melting into a white. In this orgasm, there is no air, no sea, no sky - only Hoseok; his breath, his smile as you cum around him, his ecstatic laughter.

You imagine yourself pregnant, learning to contain a sun inside your womb. You imagine him laughing, hands and lips at your belly. You imagine him happy. You imagine him happy, and your orgasm moves over you with the strength of a lunar tide, the same way your tears move over your cheeks, torn between sobs of bliss and sobs of grief for a life you will not have.

Hoseok continues to thrust into you with purpose, the last of your orgasm leaving you in shockwaves as the motions of his hips overstimulate your walls. It hurts to contain him, not nearly as much as it hurts to leave him, and you dig your nails into his skin, demanding all you can from him with enthusiasm. The world is tilted on its axis as he cums inside you, wave after wave of seed spilling into your core as you stroke tenderly at the hair at the base of his neck. Teeth chattering, you mumble his name, shivering as he spills himself inside you, and you pray, woefully, that he kept his word and left you with a piece of him.

‘Mine,’ he says, stilling inside you as the last of his orgasm quakes his mortal form.

As his cock begins to soften inside you, the hand at your breast moves gently to the buttons. Your skin burns with the heat of the saliva he dripped against your neck, and he presses his cheek against your neck as he unbuttons the last of your dress. Exposed, now, to the sea breeze, your back arches slightly as the wind and his breath moves over your nipples. His hand cups your breast, too tender for the way he fucked you, and you are certain he is imagining your breasts full of milk, your body heavy, his wish granted, too.

Pulling his cock free, you both grimace at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your breast to instead smear the cum from your core that leaks from between your walls over your folds. He strokes the tips of his fingers against your slit, the stimulation making you hiss and writhe beneath him in retreat, before you are crying out his name, his fingers dipping inside to scoop his cum from your center. As he pulls his hand free, his studies his fingers carefully, smirking not unlike the devil, before he guides them over your breasts and lets it drip.

And then, without warning, he begins to write his name along your breasts.

‘I am sanctifying you,’ he explains. ‘Anyone who pulls down your clothes will find me. I have already laid claim to your temple.’

Your smile is composed entirely of sadness, a hope that has made a home of despair evident in your expression. Holding his hand in yours, you guide his soaked fingers between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, where you hold him still.

‘With any luck it will be visible here,’ you offer, hoping he cannot hear how remorse has consumed you.

Hoseok frowns. ‘My biggest fear is that you do become pregnant and that I cannot see my baby grow in you. That I won’t be able to raise our family with you.’

Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head to the side in consideration, battling the new found grief that consumes you. ‘Did you not mean it?’

‘I meant every word,’ he promises, moving his hand from your stomach to cup your cheeks. ‘I’d put twins inside you if I had any control. But you are mine, our family is mine. I curse the gods for taking it from me.’ Hoseok falls silent, and you press your cheek into his hand, turning to kiss his mount of venus in encouragement. ‘The day I met you I saw my life with you,’ he continues, so quiet, and so unlike your Hoseok. ‘You are half of my soul.’

Abruptly, Hoseok lifts himself up and pulls away from you. As he rises to a stand, he is still warmed by your touch, the glow from your magic still draped over his muscles, turning him amber and yellow. He’s incandescent, as much as a god of light as you, more regal and more royal than any man who was lucky enough to slay a beast in your name. Running a hand through his hair, he regards you with dark eyes - embers burning in his rises of lust and longing, devotion and despair. He says nothing at all as he moves, naked and vulnerable, to the back corner of the room where he gathers his tools.

‘What are you doing?’ you hum. Reaching your hand out, you curl onto your side, writhing in the pillow of your discarded clothes, beckoning him back to you. ‘Come back to me. It’s cold without you.’

He says nothing at all as he roots around, pulling out a thick screwdriver and hammer.

‘He will give you rings,’ he says, more to himself than to you.

The words come softly, barely a whisper that cuts through the air. Settling in front of the fog bell on his knees, he begins to hammer the end of the screwdriver into the metal, carving and carving.

‘He will give you flowers,’ he grits out bitterly, ‘and will see your smiles in the morning. He will bring you food and nectar, and he will watch you glow your brightest. He will watch you glow each time you remember my hands on you, my lips on you. In bed, he will watch you glow, thinking it’s him, letting his own ego grow so immense he will get off on his own power rather than you. But he won’t know, not like I do. Not like we do.’

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your naked body, the breeze from the sea cooling your dampened skin. Licking your lips, you watch as his muscles strain with his pound of the hammer. Brow narrowed, jaw set, and hands gripping his tools with confidence, he marks the metal with a certainty born from a man learning to combat loneliness.

‘He won’t know,’ he continues, words a grunt of demand and dominion. ‘No one will know that each time he touches you, you are comparing him to me. You will be remembering me. I want you to remember me. I want you to think of me, I want you to look for the light from this beacon, and I want you to outshine the anguish. I am destined to look for you the way so many people look for the North Star. My every storm is guided by you. So don’t you dare forget.’

The fog light spins overhead, clouds passing by and changing the refraction just enough to see the shimmer against his cheeks. Hoseok weeps as he carves, jaw unflinching, and hands steady with determination. A lump rises in the center of your throat, chest tight with the pain that comes from loving someone too much, entirely too much. Gasping for air, you move towards him, wanting his body pressed tightly against yours in comfort.

On instinct, you give him light - more light, so much light. From beneath your skin, you become torchlight, neon, candle flame; wrapping yourself around his back and shoulders, you rest your head on his shoulder and cling to him, becoming sunlight and firewood, banishing the darkness from his mind and mouth, a lamp unto his feet to lead him home. Pressing your lips at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you feel him tremble beneath you, mindlessly leaning into you for more, endlessly more.

As you turn to watch his hands, your own tears soak the corner of your eyes.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe, regarding his craftsmanship.

‘He can’t give you light like I can,’ he murmurs, suddenly so small and so young, weakened suddenly by the ever looming distance between you. ‘He can give you all the falsehoods of husbandry, but he can’t give you light. He can’t give it back. He is not your equal like I am.’

Beneath the careful, diligent work of his hammer and screw, your name begins to take shape, just beneath his. The markings are deep, thick scratches unlikely to erode in any substantial length of time. Wind and sea will not wipe your names away, nor snow nor sand. Not even heaven, you think, could cause your names to smear.

When he finishes, the bronze bell glimmers beneath your light, your names encased in a heart he artfully crafted. You imagine it in a wedding band - silver, and not gold. Gold, you think, is too soft and too malleable. The gods prefer it, a sign of eternal wealth and glory, but gold bends. Gold is too impermanent, value placed in all the wrong places. You would give Hoseok platinum, would give him silver, would give him bronze. If you had the power to move the earth, you would give him iron and steel, anything equally as enduring as the way you will be immortalized in ardor.

‘I can’t believe this is all I will have of you.’ Hoseok stares at your names, at the jagged lines he carved into the bell, mourning. Shoulders slumped and hands folded neatly in his lap, he laments quietly to himself as though in prayer. ‘At the end of all this, this is all I have. Your name and a memory.’

Raising your hand to his chin, you turn his face to yours, biting your lip as he cries freely, tears staining the softness of his cheeks with salt.

‘No one will have me, not like you.’ ‘He can take me, he can take my light, he can take my name, but he will never have my heart. All of me belongs to you. I am yours. Swear to me that you are mine.’

The hammer and screwdriver fall to the ground at his knees, a loud clank so disruptive for the quiet paradise you have built at the top of the lighthouse. Enveloping you in his arms, he buries his face in your neck, lips at the center of your throat - a place he has been so often this night you are determined to call it his home - tugging your hair back to make space for him.

‘I’m yours,’ he swears passionately. ‘Not a single person will have me the way I’ve given myself to you. In a thousand summers, not a single one will pass in which I’m not yours.’

The conviction in his words undoes you, your eyes wide as you stare up at the ceiling, at the base of the light, feeling as though there is no difference between the moon and the sun, not anymore. For you, they are interchangeable, each burning in an hour of love; which is to say, there will be no hour that passes in which you do not love him, no hour passing in which your light does not belong to him and his does not belong to you.

‘I wish I could stay like this.’ These affectionate speeches tumble from your lips, your mind empty of misgivings, wishing to be as honest as you are naked. ‘I wish I could stay this way, forever touching you.’

‘Time is meaningless,’ he muses, detached and distant, even as you hold him. ‘For me, this is the end of my life. There will be nothing else after this. For me, it will always be this way. My arms will always be around you.’

For him, you are glad. For him, you are relieved that there shall be no other moment than this.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

The seaside feels like the edge of destruction after so long away from it, gravity pressing at your bones. From where you stand, the unchanging nature of the earth makes a mockery of your nerves, the past beating against your sternum like a second heart.

You are poised and still, relearning the way the earth is unforgiving compared to the heavens. Too long have you been removed from such a tangible feeling of living, such a tangible reminder that you, too, are made of flesh and blood and all the things that break so easily, just like ocean foam. Your toes bury themselves into the rocky shore, rooting yourself like a tether as a promise that you will not run away, that you will not leave - not again. As though it senses your presence, the sea rages beneath a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays reflecting off the water, illuminated without any need of you.

The lighthouse looms along the hilltop, and you worry your bottom lip as you study its eternal guardianship. All these unchangeable things, loyal without you, and yet you stand here, begging for acceptance. You can hear Hoseok’s words like an echo, words not yet spoken but you anticipate them, the lump in your throat sinister in its tenacity.

How dare you, he will shout, and the tears on his cheeks will be your parting gift. How dare you haunt me here when I did not expect you, when I had already worked so hard to give you up.

Promises in the dead of night are easy to make when the daylight has yet to take anything from you. The earth remains unchanged but you are evidence of the passage of time, and you are certain Hoseok will have warred with himself so completely your memory of him is little more than a ghost of a man who died the moment he woke to find you missing.

He used to be able to sense you here. Back when things were new and things were simple, back even at the end, he would sense your presence along the water and come running, a smile already at his cheeks in welcome. Stroking your naked hip with the tips of his fingers, he told you all about his skin would tingle when you were close, a static on his tongue that told him something too important to be contained by the earth was waiting for him. Even before he knew you, before he knew it was you, he felt it, as though he had been made just to know you, to find you.

It used to be the same for you, a pull to the shore and a lightness of being that always made you stand here, in this place, waiting. Weeks passed before either of you had any idea you were near one another, before you’d even introduced yourself, and now it is the same. Your body combats the change in gravity with strength, though you realize too much has changed in you for the weight to feel the same.

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end, rising in anticipation as the air becomes thick and heavy. You feel him approaching, a magnetic pull against your back that has your posture shifting, pulling you to your full height regardless how heavy all of you feels. Still, he doesn’t close the distance, and your lips part around a sigh, silently asking him to reach for you, to touch you.

But he won’t.

Not when he thinks you are the same as you were. Not when he thinks this is all just a memory.

Closing your eyes, you turn to face him, feeling tears burn against the lids. Hoseok makes no movement towards you, and, unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes once more, weeping at the sight of him. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you study the way he looks at you, the way his gaze traverses your form with a pained expression, the knot in his brow visible even from a distance. He’s far from you, far enough you cannot touch him, but he, too, remains unchanged - still beautiful, still glorious, still the sun king himself, and you choke back a bitter cry at the way it seems only you are the one who was allowed to change.

‘Hello,’ you try, offering a weak and unsteady smile.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the distance, eyes trained at your middle, focused enough you feel him move inside you. He lets himself get close, close enough your skin calls out to his eagerly, begging him to touch you. You can smell him on the wind, the same musk, the same ambergris, the same dust that you remember, and your hands twitch at your sides, straining to reach out to him.

‘What is this?’ he manages, not looking you in the face.

‘I -’ A small cry cuts you off, and you press your hand to your lips, forcing yourself to keep your composure.

Hearing the anguish in your voice, he raises his gaze to yours and you see the way he mirrors your pain, confused and bewildered.

‘Tell me what this is,’ he whispers, fierce and demanding.

‘It’s exactly how it looks,’ you explain, feeling terribly pathetic.

It’s so simple, you know. Absolutely obvious. Your pregnant belly sticks out far enough now it leaves a distance between you, a gap where your child grows the only thing that separates you.

‘Did you come here to mock me?’ he spits, leaning forward with venom.

‘No!’ you exclaim, holding your hand up in surrender. ‘I…’ you drift off, uncertain where to begin. You decide, perhaps, it’s best to begin with the truth. ‘The baby is yours.’

Hoseok’s expression shatters, a thousand different feelings breaking over his face before he settles on disbelief and quiet rage.

‘Why would you show me this?’ he pleads, sounding so small. ‘Have I not suffered enough? You knew I wished for this and now you tease me with it?’

‘I’m not here to show you anything, Hoseok, and certainly not to cause you pain.’ It’s shocking how tired you are becoming, putting in the effort of not reaching for him, not weeping for him, not rushing to an end you both deserve. ‘They...rejected me,’ is all you manage in the end.

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes watering as he lowers his focus to your belly once more. ‘They stopped the wedding?’

He speaks so softly you almost do not hear him over the rolling tide, and now, you cannot be contained. In one swift motion, you reach for his hand twining your fingers together. Your hold on him is unrelenting, not allowing him a single escape. Feeling his palm against yours is all the motivation you need, a resurgence of energy you have been missing for months.

When you continue to remain silent, he narrows his brow and persists. ‘Are you unmarried?’

‘They were going to go through with,’ you explain quickly, not allowing him any room for interjection. ‘They were going to make me marry him. Daeus even said he’d give the child to a human family, make it go through a Hero’s Journey to join us back in Teylim. Gods, the fight I put up to stop that from happening. The Fate Tying went poorly,’ you finish with a sardonic grin.

Gently, you tug Hoseok against you, forcing his stomach to bump against yours. His heated breath cascades over your skin, and you sigh in pleasure.

‘The child is completely human, my love,’ you whisper, eyes searching his face. ‘The Moirai refused to untie us.’ Incredulous, you laugh, looking out over the grassy hill in wonder. ‘The old crones are always right.’

The weight of your explanation steals Hoseok’s breath, and he falls against you, clinging to you as he sobs into your shoulder. Holding him close, you remember the last time you were in this position, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your hands clutching him, unwilling to be removed. As though sensing the great wave of his emotion, the child in your belly stirs abruptly, pressing against your womb to get his attention.

You jump slightly at the feel of it, and Hoseok looks down, laughing, incandescent in his joy. He brings his hand to your belly, touching softly at where your child had just been, and he sniffles, looking to you and back down, cheeks reflecting the light you suddenly cannot contain.

‘It’s a girl,’ you state, always wondering how he would react to knowing he’d have a daughter. ‘Our daughter kept me with you.’

Falling to his knees, he holds your belly in his hands and presses his forehead against its peak, too overcome with emotion to utter a word. Instead, he simply breathes deeply, wrought with bliss. Lowering a hand to the crown of his head, you thread your fingers through your hair and think that this, this precise moment, is what it means to be a goddess.

This is what it means to truly be sanctified.

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separatist-apologist · 3 years

Note

Um can I have a part 2 to Lucien finding out about solstice? Pretty please?

You can have a part 2. I was not planning a follow up to yesterday's little sass-a-thon but apparently everyone likes bratty Elain and irreverent Lucien.

Lucien woke wondering if he’d imagined the entire night with Elain. It certainly didn’t seem real. She’d barely said one word to him for a good year and some months only to turn around and tell him to eat shit. He wondered what it said about him that he liked it. Lucien groaned, kicking the blankets off his sweaty body like a petulant child. He was tired of waking up alone and more tired still having seen the fire lurking behind his mates’ eyes.

Lucien padded to the bathroom suite, still naked from sleep. He perched on the edge of the tub, turned on the hottest water he could possibly stand, and sank into the scalding water until everything but the top of his head was visible. He was supposed to leave today, back to the mortal lands. Back to sniping with Jurian and arguing with Vassa and daydreaming about Elain when no one looked at him too closely. He still had his apartment in Velaris. Perhaps, if today went well, he’d spend a week in Feyre’s starlit city.

He took his time dressing and grooming, still more than a little irritated with Azriel from the night before no matter how his angry outburst had worked in Lucien’s favor. He certainly would not be outdone in the one arena he knew he could run circles around the male in. Lucien had always had a sense for fashion and what worked well. He didn’t need to know Elain well to know it was something she appreciated about a male.

If Rhysand was surprised to see him that morning, he gave no indication as he handed Lucien the morning paper at the breakfast table. Their silence was companiable enough, sipping coffee while Lucien tucked away tiny pieces of information about Night Court he thought might use as leverage at some point. It was nothing the High Lord wasn’t willing to risk, given how he prized information himself, but Lucien never passed up an opportunity to keep himself well informed.

He felt strangely content in that moment until Elain swept in wearing a gown of pale, shimmering gold that was altogether inappropriate for the softly snowing day around them. Rhys glanced up at her from his cup of coffee, one eyebrow raised for all Elain seemed to notice. She had tea and a scone and, without a word to either of them, sat across from Lucien. Lucien’s eyes roamed what part of her body she could see; the long-sleeved dress seemed to be made of paper and exposed her shoulders and collarbone to him. His fingers twitched around his own mug as the mating bond woke with a vengeance.

Touch her touch her touch her touch her—

“Lucien,” Rhys interrupted Lucien’s musing. Elain kept her eyes focused on the wall behind him, her big, brown eyes framed by too-long lashes. Was she wearing make up, he wondered? Or had her lips always been so pink, so—“Feyre mentioned you were considering staying for a few more days.”

Elain’s eyes focused, glancing towards the High Lord. Had Feyre said that? He certainly hadn’t made any promises outside of his own mind.

“I have some business in the city,” he agreed, well aware Rhysand must know his only business was his mate.

“Are you planning to stay here? You are welcome to, obviously.”

Lucien shook his head as color began to creep into Elain’s cheeks. What was she thinking, he wondered?

“No, in my apartment,” he replied, catching how her eyebrows raised. Did she not realize he had one?

Rhysand’s violet-colored eyes shifted to Elain, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ll have your things sent over, then. Please, feel free to stop by for dinner if you’d like. I know Feyre very much enjoys your company.”

Yeah, yeah, Lucien thought, still thinking of how Rhysand had shut Azriel down the night before. Not out of friendship, but politics. Still, it was better than tacit approval and, in some stupid, small way Lucien could appreciate the shrewdness.

Elain excused herself leaving Lucien to finish his breakfast and dress for the cold before making the trek towards his apartment. He’d try at dinner, he told himself. It would be easier to corner her somewhere alone, to let her lobby insults at him and, perhaps, kiss her on the mouth if she held still long enough for him to capture her face.

Lucien turned the lock to his apartment to find two things wildly out of place. His bags were sitting just inside the foyer next to a long, silver cape that was too feminine and small to belong to him, hung on the hooks beside the door. Just at the end of the hall, Lucien saw Elain in that same golden gown, arms crossed over her chest.

“I didn’t know you had an apartment,” she accused as he unwound his scarf.

“You never asked,” he reminded her patiently, his blood thrumming at the sight of her in his apartment. He could practically taste the argument floating between them.

Give me your worst.

“Must I do everything?” She asked him, arms crossed over her chest. He had to look away; she’d inadvertently caused her breasts to swell beneath her arms and Lucien was struck dumb at the sight.

“Not everything, no,” he replied, walking to the living room where she waited. “But perhaps something might be nice.”

She scoffed and Lucien dropped onto the cream-colored loveseat, stretching out his long legs as she watched her from the corners of his eye.

“I don’t owe you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, bored. “Why are you here, again?”

Because it was her, after all, standing in his apartment. She shifted, her boots still wet from the snow. She’d created a little wet spot on the hard wood beneath her feet. He would normally have cringed at that, but it was Elain, if she wanted to ruin her floors, who was he to stop her?

She bit her bottom lip. “To tell you how hideous you looked at breakfast this morning.”

Lucien laughed as he ran a hand down his chest. Elain’s eyes followed the movement. “Liar.”

She scoffed. “I’m surprised you fit in this little apartment at all, given the size of your ego.”

He couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward, carefully watching her expression. “You know, Elain, they say it takes one to know one.”

Her mouth dropped open again as she stood, stunned into silence for a moment. “You find me ugly?” She asked, dropping her arms to her side.

“Impossibly ugly,” he agreed, the lie rolling right off his tongue. Her cheeks flushed as he took a step towards her. He was going to kiss her, he decided. “And ill mannered.”

“It is your manners that are offensive,” she retorted hotly. “Though not nearly offensive as your face.”

Lucien hesitated, surprised by how her words stung a bit. It was a game and yet…she’d touched on something he’d privately feared from the moment Amarantha gouged out his eye. He could still recall, in the early days, how people recoiled when they saw the scarring, how even now people stared, surprised at the brutality etched into his face. He’d spent more than one night wondering if Elain too found him abhorrent to look at.

He arched a brow, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d do if she truly thought him ugly. It would wound him far more than anything, short of a flat-out rejection of the bond. “Oh?”

Her eyes drifted towards his mouth. Lucien blinked, some of his fear ebbing. “Disgusting,” she murmured, inching closer. He held himself exactly where he was despite his muscles screaming in protest, demanding he yank her into him and kiss her senseless. “The ugliest man I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” he told her again. She blinked, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, her lips parted ever so slightly. This was what had gotten Azriel in trouble, wasn’t it? This moment, right here. He suddenly felt immense sympathy for the male. Lucien was also rooted in place, desperate to touch her, too.

“I know,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment he reached for her face, holding her just as she was so he could kiss her. Words failed him the moment their lips touched, the world melting into nothingness. Whatever he’d thought, however he imagined that moment paled in comparison to the real thing. She was soft, her lips sweet. Every single piece of her seemed to radiate an invisible heat his blood recognized by contact alone.

Mate. Mine. His body sang, urging him to take things further, to strip her of her clothes and mark her with his scent so thoroughly no other male could get within a mile of her without smelling him, too. He had to stop himself, unsure what she wanted.

“You’re a shitty kisser,” he told her, forehead pressed to her own. Elain giggled, the sound ringing through his chest.

“You’re so rude,” she responded with a sigh. “How can anyone stand to be in your presence?”

“And yet here you are,” he reminded her, poking her in the stomach. “In my apartment.”

She looked around, her eyes taking in his furniture, his shelves of books, his artwork. “Why don’t you stay more often?”

He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. “There is little for me to do here.” That was partially true. Why torture himself and sit around waiting on a female who had no interest in him? He wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment. Elain stepped away, walking towards the wall length windows and pushing back the curtain. Gray, snowy clouds did little to hide the cheery day around them as fat snowflakes were carried along in a winter wind.

“I have been cruel,” she said after a moment. Lucien came up behind her, resting his hands on her delicate shoulders.

“Perhaps. But not without cause.”

She blinked, twisting her neck to look up at him. “It’s just a lot…even now.”

He nodded. “I could help, you know. I’m not your enemy.”

“What kind of help are you offering?” She asked as she turned around, letting him twine his arms around her body. His heart stuttered for a minute. Pretty, she was so pretty—

“Whatever help you’d like,” he managed to choke out. Elain smiled slyly.

“What if the help I want has nothing to do with being made?”

He was going to die, he thought. He cleared his throat. “Could you be more specific?”

She was mocking him. “I often struggle with the laces of my dresses, for example.” She gestured towards the back of her gown, neatly laced with a golden ribbon. Easily undone, he thought, his fingers twitching. It would take one pull to have her dress pooled at her feet. He brought his face closer to hers, well aware that his thoughts were likely not well aligned with what she really needed. Time. Space. Room to get to know not just him but herself.

“Sounds like you need a friend,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers before dropping his arms and stepping away. She huffed a sigh.

“Do you treat all ladies so poorly?” She demanded. Lucien was back on the couch, legs stretched out as he willed himself to calm down.

“Only the ones I like,” he replied with a grin. Elain plopped down beside him and took his hand, much as she’d done the night before.

“Lucien?”

He’d never tire of hearing her say his name. “Yes, Elain?” She scooted a little closer, her eyes locked on his. She was looking at the scar, he realized. Panic flooded into his throat.

“I lied when I said you were ugly,” she confessed. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “And I like the scars. You’re beautiful.”

He reached for her chin, caressing her sweet face. Lowering his mouth to hers, Lucien told her, “Ah, well. It takes one to know one, now doesn’t it?”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien prompt #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #i think we all know a third part of this would just be smut #so perhaps we call it good here?#and if you want to see them bicker more #just send me an ask bestie

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry XII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series),egos clashing, mentions of past trauma and violence

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You try to maintain the new peace in your existence.

Note: Honestly this series isn’t really listening to my plans so here you go.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You did not attend the second day of the tournament. Whether it was out of Barnes insecurity or anger or even both was not known. You did not complain for it. You didn’t have any energy for it after all that occured. He did not apologize, nor did he forgive, but he bided you and left in a lighter mood than you’d seen him in for a long while.

He wasn’t competing that day either. Perhaps that eased his stress. You languished in his chambers alone. You paced, you laid down but did not sleep, you sat by the fire then stared out the window. You existed in anticipation of his return.

When he appeared, the sky was a dimming blue. He did not acknowledge you as he kicked off his boots before entering. He rolled his shoulders and picked out a chain to hang around his straight collar. When he finished that, he opened up the wardrobe and selected a fine burgundy velvet piece and draped it over your lap. You watched him as he checked the ring on his finger.

“You will accompany me to the feast,” he stated, “now that we’ve come to an accord, there should not be another scene… isn’t that so?”

“Yes, my lord,” you stood and he helped you dress a piece at a time. The gown was stiff and hot. You chose a black cap trimmed in gold to pair with it and he offered you a chain link necklace to wrap around your throat. He eyed you up and down and peered out between the curtains.

“We will be late,” he said as he came back to you, “sweeting,” he poked his tongue between his lips as he considered you, “this morning…” his lashes lowered as he thought, “I was irrational last eve. Tonight should not be so… hostile. I long to start anew.”

“As you wish, my lord,” you agreed, “I never intended any acrimony between us. I’ve only served you--”

“Serve,” he shook his head, “I do not want you to serve me,” he took your arm, “I’d prefer you… care for me. Be with me in more than your deeds.”

“How were the games today, my lord?” you eluded him.

“Entertaining… well, for a time. By the finale, I was rather bored of it,” he shrugged, “I also did not say but you will sit with me this night. The king, my sister truly, has seen to it.”

You let him lead you out of the chambers. Lester was there as always, smug in his armour as he watched Lord Barnes direct you down the corridor. You ignored the guard as you always tried to do. He was the reason you were stuck, you’d decided, if he wasn’t so eager to impress his master you would have got away.

That time, you entered the feast hall from the opposite side. You felt Bucky tense as you passed through the doors. You kept your eyes on the floor as he took you up onto the dais among the higher nobles and the king. You couldn’t help but hold his arm tighter.

“You will be fine,” he assured as he drew you along.

He greeted Lord Rogers in a low voice and pulled out a chair for you to sit. He lowered himself between you and Rogers as King Samuel called to him from the Duke’s other shoulder.

“My lady,” the king raised his already full goblet at you, “we welcome you. We trust Barnes should not be so dour with you near.”

“Your majesty,” you bowed your head and when his attention returned to his queen, Rebecca, Barnes’ sister, you sat back and hid behind her brother. She was even more beautiful than when she’d resided in the castles. She had the same dark hair and those sparkling blue eyes.

You glanced around the hall and your eyes skimmed over those three figures you were trying not to think of. You stared at the table instead as you shook away the memory of May’s warm voice, Benjamin’s quiet comfort, and Peter’s hurt and shock. The previous night still lingered and made you fill rotten and even more displaced. You weren’t dumb enough to believe that any would see you beside the duke and believe you anything but what you were.

“Pardon, my lady,” the chair on your other side shifted and you looked up at the man with the odd accent. You hadn’t seen him before but there were so many faces, you couldn’t have recalled them all, “I believe this is my seat,” he clung to the seat next to yours, “I only did not want to startle--”

“Don’t talk to her!” Barnes hissed from your other shoulder and stood with a scrape of his chair. He squeezed your shoulder and uttered under his breath, “do not entertain this man.” He turned and flagged down Samuel with an angry wave, “what is this? For what purpose is he here?”

“Buck,” Samuel lowered his cup and stood. He walked behind the chairs until he reached the stormy duke, “the war is over. He was sent as assurance of that. We are allies now.”

“I should throttle him where he stands,” Barnes growled.

The other man sat coolly and signaled for his goblet to be filled, entirely unconcerned with the ravenous lord snarled at his throat.

“You will not. I cannot send him back dead and indeed, I do intend to send him back better than,” Samuel chided, “now sit and bide your tongue and your wrath.”

“He--” Barnes huffed then clamped his lips shut. You’d seen him angry but never like that. “You would sit him near me.”

“It was an unfortunate oversight. Perhaps Rogers might allow you to relocate--”

“No, no,” Barnes sneered and dropped into his chair, “your priorities have been understood.”

“I’ve allowed you a lot,” Samuel lowered his voice as he leaned over Barnes’ chair, “don’t make me rescind all my kindness.”

Barnes grumbled like a petulant child and reached for his cup. When it was empty he slammed it down and snapped his fingers for a servant. You looked around, your natural response was to do it yourself but you did not move out of fear. You were between two men with an obvious and intense distaste for each other.

“Apologies, lady, I cannot fault him his distrust--”

“Don’t talk to her,” Barnes pointed at the man as a servant stood at his other shoulder to pour his wine, “I will not warn you again. Her nor I will have a word from you.”

The man laughed and drank from his own cup and shrugged. He winked at you as you eyed him and he considered you a long while after. Barnes reached over and grabbed the arm of your chair to drag it closer to his.

He whispered in your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “he is a villain and you will not indulge his want of menace.”

“Yes, my lord,” you murmured as his hand went to your arm and searched out your hand from the folds of your sleeve. He shook as he twined his fingers between yours. He was more than angry, he was more upset than he’d ever been.

🏰

Barnes dragged you from the hall as the dancing commenced. He’d been agitated throughout the dinner and you let him stew in it rather than say or do anything that might provoke him. You didn’t know who that man was but his accent hinted at a former adversary, perhaps in one of the campaigns that the duke fought in years ago. You wouldn’t ask, that would be stupid.

That night, he was uninterested in your body beyond holding you close. He was still wound tight and fidgety. When you woke, he was already risen and half-dressed. He was shirtless and his arm remained on the chest where he’d left it. He sat on the bench and looked to it.

You got up and lifted his arm. It was heavy but you managed. You wondered how he could bear it every day. The thoughts swirled in your mind as you thought that no one would think less if he only pinned his sleeve. He was a veteran, a hero to many, he shouldn’t be ashamed.

Then you caught yourself as you approached him. He was awful. You shouldn’t pity him, you hated him. You helped him strap on the artificial appendage and silently buckled the straps. He groaned and pushed his head back as you finished.

“You should dress. You’ll do well to watch the games with me. Tomorrow I will be competing again and you will have to attend alone… though I did think to send Lester with you or another,” he said as you helped him into his tunic.

You acquiesced and pulled out a pale gown in a gentle robin’s egg blue. He helped you in turn and you stood before him ready to play your part. He sat and handed you a comb to help with his hair and you pulled it back behind his head and bound it with a thin tie. He almost purred as you did and when you finished he pulled your hand down onto his shoulder.

“We should away. Break our fast and go early to the stands. A box is reserved for me and you would not have to sit amid the masses,” he bid as he rose, “I trust you know what is expected of you now.”

“You, only you,” you assured him, “I will not wander again, my lord.”

“I will not tolerate it again,” he warned, “but I trust you, sweeting.” He pulled you to the door and his hand slipped to grope your through your skirts, he turned and bent to kiss you hungrily, “this will be over soon,” he drew away, “and we will return to our home.”

🏰

The box was much nicer than the crowded stands. The benches there were cushioned and only held several lords and ladies. The king was competing in the ax-throw and his queen observed in the box with two of her ladies, Marguerite and Tess, you and Barnes shared a bench but he was hardly interested in the games, and Lord Rogers paced behind the seats as Lord Stark boasted about the axes he’d designed for the tournament.

“Barnes,” Stark called to the duke, “I should have your saddle modified for your use on the morrow but some questions remain.”

Barnes sighed and touched your arm as he spoke quietly to you, “I swear he is so concerned, he is up to some trick with it.” He stood and walked around the bench to sit with Stark, “questions?”

“I have it…” Stark reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded page, “these are sketches of what I’ve done but I did wonder for some practical attunements given your… needs.”

The duke sniffed and looked over the drawings and you focused on the field as the targets were arranged further away than the previous round. You were startled as you sensed movement and you rose as Rebecca came near. She waved you off and sat beside you.

“Forgive me, I haven’t had a chance to see you,” she said sweetly, “I do remember you… lady, now, is it?”

“No, not really,” you ran your thumb down your palm, “your majesty, he bid me here, I know it is not proper--”

“My brother is stubborn, do not apologize for that for I am certain you suffer for it,” she trilled, “and he is peculiar but somehow I was not surprised at how he has… taken to you.”

“Your majesty,” you dipped your chin down as you listened.

“I imagine it must be lonely. You don’t know anyone and how could you? It is a poorly kept secret what you are, and I say that without condemnation, but he has thrust you into an unkind position,” she continued.

“I serve your family as I always have,” you replied.

“Your mother… she’s a pleasant woman, I always liked her. She used to bring up my linens and she had the most friendly face. How does she fare?”

“She died,” you uttered, “she had a growth in her neck and… she could not be saved.”

“I am very sorry, I didn’t--”

She pushed her shoulders back. She reminded you of her brother in her posture but she was kinder than him. She peered around the arena and nodded to herself as she thought. She peeked back at Barnes and you did too. He was irritated as Rogers had closed him in on the bench and both lords seemed to be working to stoke him.

“I must admit I did not see to you purely out of sentiment of our shared past,” she continued, “there was none in that hall last night who did not feel my brother’s spite or notice the man who earned it.” You blinked at her as you met her gentle eyes. Her smiled fell and she touched your sleeve, “he has afforded you quite the wardrobe but perhaps I might see to something more of the fashion.”

“That man,” you urged, “who was he?”

She chuckled darkly and lowered her chin, “forgive my distraction. That man is Baron Helmut Zemo,” she spoke in barely a whisper, “he fought in the campaigns… against my brother and my husband.”

You watched her nervously. You were still a kid when Barnes went off to war with his banner and you remembered his return, how none had seen him for years after as he hid away with his wounds.

“He dealt the blow that took my brother’s arm,” she quivered, “I warned Samuel it was tenuous to bring him here but… in the name of diplomacy it cannot be avoided. I only want you to know because you deserve that and it would help in dealing with my brother's moods… perhaps. I don't think anyone has ever truly understood how."

"Oh, uh, thank you, your majesty," you looked across the field as metal crashed into wood, "I suppose it is better that I know."

"Better you know and stay clear of the Baron," she said, "and for me, keep my brother from him as well. We cannot afford another war on the back of his grudge."

"I… how--"

"You do not see it but you hold a power over him. We both know his reputation; unsociable to say the least," she laughed lightly, "keep his mind from Zemo until he is gone, there are better things he could think on."

She stood with a last smile and you watched her skirts flow behind her. You kept your head up and your eyes down on the figures below. You did your best not to wince as her show of kindness became apparent for what it was. She was like her brother in more than just her looks. She was using you for her own means, that was all these nobles could see in others.

267 notes · View notes

thatslikely · 3 years

Text

Seeker Pt. 2 - D.M.

Seeker Part 2- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (unspecified house but not Slytherin)

Warnings: None! Just a fluffy sequel :)

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: You can find part 1 here if you haven’t read it already! Sorry this took so long, I’ve just been trying to make sure its a worthy sequel. I wanna thank everyone for over 150 notes on Part 1, I never expected such astounding support! Also keep your eye out for the mini surprise at the end ;) Also I would really love feedback since this is my first sequel, especially to my first ever fic.

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and Y/L/N is Your Last Name

----

Meet me at our spot tonight at 11. I’ve missed you.

D.M.

You slid the perfectly-written crisp parchment back into the expensive black envelope it arrived in, to hide it from your nosy dorm-mates. Draco’s owl perched patiently at the open window of your dorm, barely making a chirp. You handed the well-trained bird a small piece of chocolate, which was previously stowed away in your nightstand, before sitting down at your desk to pen Draco a response.

The holiday break had been relaxing, especially since you got a long break from Quidditch practices. You loved Quidditch, you dare say almost as much as Oliver Wood did, but your muscles were perpetually sore, much to your displeasure.

You hadn’t seen the Slytherin Seeker, who you now affectionately call your friend, since the day before break began, and you were desperate to see his handsome smile again. You missed the glow of his hair in the moonlight, the ambitious and determined look in his eyes before a match, the soft touch of his hands as he held your shoulder or less frequently, your hand.

The line between friend and lover had always been blurred with him; often people accused him of being your boyfriend. Some days he reluctantly denied it, but some he just gave you a charming wink as he grasped your hand firmly.

It would be idiotic to deny your abundant feelings for him. At first, it was the subtle ways you’d pick up the little habits about him: how he fiddled with his rings when he was nervous, or how he always polished his broom every afternoon before a game or even the way he swiftly brushed his hand through his platinum blonde hair the moment he saw you walk towards him.

The blush that crept up on his alluring face every time you were near signalled that the feelings were thankfully mutual. He was painfully obvious, as you were sure you were too, so it was only a matter of time before he’d ask you out on a date to Hogsmeade. Hopefully, it will even be tonight.

The blonde’s owl had flown away by the time you realized that you had yet to jot him down an answer. You could always send him an acknowledging wink at dinner since you always purposefully made sure to position yourself for a picture-perfect view of him in all his glory.

Dinner came and went. The food was delicious per usual, you were constantly glancing at Draco from across the Great Hall, you chatted with your friends about the upcoming Potions test, which Draco would surely insist on helping you study for. And of course, you sent him a playful wink as promised.

His silver eyes weren’t off you either. He loved to admire the way your face morphed into a lively laugh or the soft, warm glow that bounced off your face, courtesy of thousands of floating candles overhead. He loved everything about you, inside and out, and he was ready to show it.

By the time eleven rolled around, you were thoroughly prepared. You ensured your hair was perfect and your outfit was warm but eye-catching. You clasped a delicate hand-wrapped forest green box, which’s lid was held on with a beautiful piece of starlight-silver twine.

It was a tradition to get your friends presents upon returning from the snow-speckled break, and Draco would be no exception. You were certain you would receive no gift in return, but you didn’t care. Draco, for lack of a closer term, was your friend, so he was no exception to your tradition.

----

Draco had definitely gone soft on you, and his fellow Slytherins didn’t fail to notice. Every time he snuck out even a second past curfew to see you at the Owlery, or Astronomy Tower, or anywhere really, they’d crack some sort of joke at both his and yours’ expense.

He had not only gone soft on you but perhaps the whole school, in a way. He was less prone to impulsively hexing first years, instead opting for slightly rude remarks. He was even a tad bit nicer to the Golden Trio.

He was still smart and sharp as ever though, maybe even paying a little bit more attention in class, in case you needed help studying.

One thing didn’t change about him though, and that was his attitude regarding Quidditch. He was fierce and strong as ever, and there was no way he’d back down during a game, even for you. Even when he wasn’t playing against you, he’d play extra competitively, in an attempt to both intimidate and impress you.

And whenever it was you on the broom and him in the stands, he always cheered for you as loud as his lungs allowed. You always wondered why his voice was hoarse after you won a match the night before, not thinking that it was his yells that rang the loudest through the pitch.

----

The steps up to the Owlery were icy, just as you were afraid of. Your knuckle was white from gripping the freezing stone rail up the endless steps. Finally, though, you reached the top, unsurprised to see that Draco had beaten you up here. He was always one step ahead, after all.

“It’s felt like ages since I’ve seen you, Y/N. How was your holidays?” His face lightened at the sight of you peeking elegantly through the cracks of moonlight. You looked as gorgeous as ever.

“It was wonderful! I got a brand new Quidditch broom, so be prepared to eat my dust, Malfoy,” you said with a smirk. Your hands rested suspiciously behind your back, carefully concealing Draco’s present.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Y/L/N. Remember, I won’t hesitate to push you off your broom, even if it kills you.” Draco’s words, even the taunting ones, sounded like the most eloquent poetry to your love-struck heart.

“Right back at you. I actually practiced my shoving techniques every morning back home. I bet I could push you off your broom 23 different ways if I really wanted to.”

Draco chuckled at your comment and you let your sarcastic expression fade into a genuine smile. The blonde slowly inches even closer to you; your face is eventually so close to Draco’s that you can see every detail imprinted on his pale skin. He accidentally brushes his ring ornamented hand against yours, causing your cheeks to become pink and warm, imitating the effects of sipping some freshly-steeped tea.

“Well anyway, I have something for you. For the holidays, you know.” Draco pulls out a small black box from his matching black trousers with a charming smile. His rings reflect the pale moonlight magnificently, and you catch yourself staring at the back of his hands.

You slowly accept the box from his hand, your hand half holding his as you take it. You say quietly, “You didn’t have to get me a gift, Draco.”

“I didn’t have to. I wanted to, love. I care about you, more than you’ll ever know.” You felt the corners of your eyes prick with tears at his kind words. Everything he said somehow managed to hit you directly in the heart.

You carefully opened the inky-black box. Draco looked down at you anticipatedly, a hopeful grin painting his face.

Laying perfectly inside of the box was a beautiful, ornate, and expensive silver serpent necklace, identical to the rings that he wore daily. The glimmering eyes of the snake were magnificent, crystalline emeralds, which precisely matched the bold hue of Slytherin’s Quidditch robes.

Your eyes continued to grow misty; your hand that wasn’t admiring every microscopic detail of the necklace was covering your mouth in awe. Draco’s lips quirked into a cocky smile at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself.

Without hesitation, you clasped the necklace around your neck. You couldn’t stop fiddling with it until Draco grabbed your hand, using the connection to pull your chest into his slowly. He softly muttered, “I like you, more than you’ll ever know” before leaning in for a kiss.

Draco’s lips on yours were like nothing you’ve ever felt. He felt magnetic. You would never be able to let go of this moment, the way his hand cupped your cheek gently, the way your hand glided from his chest to his shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer. You felt whole.

When you finally pulled away, your electrified lips yearned to touch his’ again. Instead of kissing him again though, you barely managed to squeak, “I like you, too.”

----

The next Quidditch match came by faster than you expected, and you were scrambling to prepare for your battle against the Slytherins once again. Draco had been gloating all day about how much he and the team had improved since your previous game.

“You may have gotten lucky last match, Y/L/N, but this time you’ll like a first-year learning how to fly next to me. Do you think the gold of the Snitch will compliment my hair?” Draco swept his hand through his perfectly-styled platinum blonde locks, a cocky expression unsurprisingly on his face.

“You won’t even have to worry about whether it matches your stupidly gorgeous head of hair or not since it’ll be me who gets it in the first place!” You retorted, rolling your eyes at him instinctively.

“Oh, really?” he asked flirtatiously, before giving you a small peck. The sudden kiss caused you to become so flustered, that you couldn’t do anything but shut up; he grinned triumphantly at your reaction.

The game started not long after yet again another boastful interaction with Draco. You hovered high above the ground on your new, polished broom, ready to beat your Slytherin ‘rival’ once more.

Draco could be seen across the field, cracking his knuckles in an attempt to look intimidating. While his Quidditch record would ordinarily frighten a Seeker such as yourself, you knew the real Draco, and he didn’t scare you one bit.

A booming “brooms up!” echoed through the pitch, and immediately you flew directly to the top of the pitch, looking down at the whizzing flashes of green like a cat peering attentively through a fishbowl.

Draco soon joined you up at the top of the pitch, following your exact movements just as he had done before. He spat, “Scared, Y/N?” almost identically to the last match.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you said with a knowing smile. He playfully rolled his eyes at you, and the corners of his mouth raised to an adorable and goofy smile.

“Remember, I won’t be going easy on you, even if things are different. Just because I fancy you doesn’t-” he was quickly cut off by the shimmer of gold seen out of the corner of his eye. His expensive and sleek black broom immediately flew him to the well-manicured grass that lined the ground of the pitch.

By the time you had caught up with the cocky Seeker, he was mere feet from the Snitch. You quickly flew to his side so you two were parallel, both of your hands, which had been intertwined so many times before, now opposing each other in the battle for the elusive winged sphere.

It seemed the game that you and Draco had played against each other last time, which results you wished so desperately would repeat, was doomed to change. He clashed his torso into yours harshly, in an attempt to throw you off.

Instead of toppling off your broom, you tried to give him a taste of his own medicine; you felt your bones shake after jerking your body weight into him, but he looked as if he had only been hit with the force of a leaf languidly fluttering in the wind.

Draco emitted a snarl after you rammed into his side, but he was undaunted in his pursuit of the Snitch. His pupils were practically glued to the medal-colored blur, which was darting rapidly in any direction it could.

You knew you couldn’t beat Draco this time. At least, not like how you had been playing so far. Your arm was too short, your broom too slow, so you used the last of what little energy you had within yourself to pelt all of yourself, including your heart, at him.

Instead of colliding into your green-glad admirer as you intended, you were only met with the cold and terrifying emptiness of oxygen.

The ground felt so close, your tongue could almost taste the metallic copper bite of blood. You could vividly see the way your side would slam into the spiky grass like a ragdoll, your bloodied nostrils filling with the smells of grass and the morning sun. You could envision players draped in uniforms of clashing hues dashing to your pain-ridden body, ready to carry you to Madame Pomfrey.

But due to Draco Malfoy, that horrifying situation remained trapped only within the confines of your mind.

You never thought you could love Draco as much as you did right now.

His arms were outstretched and strong as you landed into them, light as a feather. The blonde strands of hair that clung to his forehead in sweat and the unwavering confident look in his eyes drew you closer to him unconsciously. His biceps, which were nicely toned due to his years of Quidditch, set you gently in front of him on his broom.

He wrapped one of his arms securely around your chest, which soothed your increasingly rapid racing heart exponentially. His other arm was held high above his head, valiantly boasting the Snitch that resided within his glove-covered hands.

The crowd that resided in the green and grey towers of the pitch were erupting with joy. You were almost too shocked from your near-fall to roll your eyes at his huge display of cockiness and pride, keyword being almost. You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the ego-boosted beating of his heart, a stark contrast from your own.

The final moments before the two of you drifted to the ground were spent with him cheering in pride, and you taking comfort from his compassionate embrace. And maybe you were wafting in a bit of his pleasant-smelling cologne, too.

----

Your house’s common room looked dreary and deflated, comparable only to that of a seven-year-old’s birthday party- where nobody bothered to show up. While everyone was sympathetic for you, you couldn’t help but sense a slight tinge of resentment hidden beneath every soft pat on the back or obligatory smile.

The Slytherin common room, however, was filled to the brim with its cunning house-members. Firewhiskey was flowing through the crowd like pouring rain after centuries of drought. The music was pounding so loud that the intricate chandeliers hanging from the top of the dungeon were shaking violently along with the beat.

Draco and his posse stood at the corner of the alcohol-drenched room, leaning against the signature green walls, away from the large mob of partiers that had accumulated in the center.

While the Firewhiskey normally would have clouded the blonde’s head by now, tonight his mind was crystal-clear.

He couldn’t get Y/N out of his head, and frankly, he didn’t want to. He should be focused on how utterly heroic he was during the Quidditch match or his huge victory for Slytherin. But instead, he thought about how you felt under his arm, how your head softly rested on his chest. It felt like the final puzzle piece had been placed, his love and need for you cemented.

He wouldn’t be able to live without your embrace again, he was sure of that, but maybe he wouldn’t even be able to last five more minutes.

He muttered a quick, “I’ll be back,” to his surrounding house-mates before shoving his green half-full cup of Firewhiskey into one of their hands. He walked confidently through the mob of intoxicated partiers towards the enchanted stone wall exit.

His eyes darted around the corridor as he paced towards your common room. You wouldn’t be found in your common room, however, for the sulking of your house-mates was too much to bear.

You instead could be found seated at a desk in the library, channeling your pent-up guilt from your performance at the Quidditch match into vigorously studying for a Potions exam on Monday.

Your beat-up textbook was littered with dog-eared pages and bookmarks scribbled with helpful messages; it lay open on the page for Amortentia. Your hand gripped your quill tightly, carving notes onto your piece of parchment. Your eyes were briskly darting from one word to the next.

You were so wrapped up in your work that you didn’t notice that Draco had taken a seat next to you, enraptured in your presence. His elbow lay pressed on the desk, head in his hand. Your concentration was broken with a clear of his throat, followed by, “Hey darling, what’re you doing?”

“I’m studying,” you said, before adding meekly, “for Potions.”

“Oh love, you know I could’ve helped you,” he said with a disappointed smile. His eyebrows furrowed as he flipped through your notes, noticing you were writing about the infamous love potion. You let the quill in your hand go, letting your hand melt under Draco’s large palm.

In an attempt to cheer you up, he said, “You know, I have a hunch on what I would smell in Amortentia, want to know what it is?” you nodded, “tea, warm autumn’s breeze, and maybe the faint smell of sweaty Quidditch robes.”

You let out a small laugh, adorning your now-pink face with a genuine smile. “You know what I would smell? Expensive cologne, green apples, and maybe a bit of sweetness under a cold exterior.”

“I’m not sweet, but if I was it’d only be for you,” Draco said with a sarcastic grumble.

You looked up at Draco, who simply let his eyes take in all of you, adoring every single angle of your body. The loving look in his eyes was enough to make your heart explode; your legs felt like jelly and your heart was beating out of your chest so loudly, you were sure he could hear it.

And soon he could, as his body grew slowly closer and closer to yours. You pressed your forehead against his’, his molten silver eyes piercing through your own.

Finally, after moments of staring longingly at each other, you tugged his green and grey pin-striped tie in for a kiss.

----

(Bonus) Epilogue:

The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with students from the Wizarding School across the bend. Tables were littered with half-drank glasses of butterbeer; a few students could be seen snogging in the back booths of the tavern.

You sat across from Draco Malfoy, your amazing boyfriend, as he rambled endlessly about Potter. You weren’t listening to a word about the famous Gryffindor, instead, you were watching the way his lips articulated every word that spilled from his mouth.

“Right, darling?” Draco asked expectantly.

You nodded supportively. Draco, instead of looking satisfied, quizzically asked, “so you think I should poor my butterbeer all over your head? I’d be happy to.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening. You just look so good when you talk, I got distracted.”

“It’s fine, love. Well, I’m glad we finally got to go to Hogsmeade together.”

“After three months too! Why couldn’t you have taken me sooner?” you asked overdramatically, tugging on your bag full of sweets from Honeydukes.

“I’m sorry, but I seem to recall it’s your fault. Study, Quidditch, study, Quidditch, study, Quiddit-”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m just not as naturally smart as you, Mister Potions Master.” You rolled your eyes as he grinned at his title.

“Do you only flatter me so I do your essays for you? Because if so, I hate to admit it’s working.” He tucked a loose piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear tenderly.

“Oh, Draco. You don’t need to know.” You fiddled with the silver serpent necklace that hangs around your neck that had been kissed so many times.

You were head over heels for Draco. Luckily, you were all his, and you would be forever.

122 notes · View notes

monikafilefan · 3 years

Note

Love your writing so much! Can you write a New Year’s fic set in season 6 where they actually kiss? No Fowley angst if you can? Thank you

Thanks so much. This turned out longer than I hoped so I’m a little late, but I hope you enjoy. Takes place just before Tithonus.

——

10:02 PM: Mulder swallows another mouthful of Shiner Bock, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out. He sets the beer bottle next to the other empty ones with a clink and the beat of the music vibrates along the golden table cloth beneath him. Laughter and muffled conversations of fellow agents fill the silence of isolation he’s purposely surrounded himself in.

He doesn’t want to be here. Not at this New Years Eve bureau mandated banquet, sticking out like a black sheep among the herd of Kersh-loving ass-kissers, and certainly not forced to appease the Deputy Director in the name of another successful year of wielding justice. He sure as hell doesn’t want to celebrate the loss of his life’s work to his ex-wife and Kersh’s errand boy he’s currently hiding in a dark corner from. Wielding justice…

What a crock of shit.

But Scully is here, and the loss of his near constant contact with her is something he will never celebrate acknowledgement of. Not ever. He feels their absence on the files like a missing puzzle piece, teasing him with its existence lingering just out of his reach. Yet as he stares longingly at her across the room in her black satin dress, drinking wine as red as her lips, and smiling with their peers from the bullpen, Mulder can’t help but smile in return.

10:38 PM: Scully turns his way and scans the room, her big blue eyes flickering from person to person. She’s searching for him, he thinks. He knows. He’d told her hours earlier he decided to forgo following rules forcing him to be social. And still she looks for him, hopeful, unable to accept he can truly leave her partnerless for even one night. She’s right. As he sips at another Shiner, Mulder knows the heat of the beer isn’t the only thing warming his chest tonight.

A slow song begins to play as the lights dim. His pulse quickens at the thought of asking her to dance. Of holding her petite body close to his. Of kissing her at the stroke of midnight. He stands, unable to resist the pull of her proximity a moment longer, when another man swoops into his eye-line and offers Scully his hand.

Mulder’s fists clench as an agent from the lab arrogantly claims her bare back with his meaty hand, sloppily twirling her around the dance floor. Her surprised laughter is as loud as it is fake, but she doesn’t pull away. She accepts his hand with a tight-lipped smile and promptly stares at her three inch stilettos instead of at the man attempting to woo her.

Mulder does the same while his nostrils flare with every indignant breath.

Turning away, he picks at the yellow label on the bottle until only the brown glass reflecting his scowl is showing.

10:55 PM: He hears Scully laugh again. Then again and again. He doesn’t know what she’s chuckling about or who with, but it doesn’t matter when she’s enjoying her last remaining hours of 1998. She’s having fun drinking and dancing, he tells himself. She deserves this. He wants her to be happy, always. He just refuses to watch someone else make her that way.

This time, when a high-pitched, unScully-like laughter slices through the sound of his heart thudding against his eardrums, his gut clenches along with his fists.

11:02 PM: One hour and four - no five - beers later, Mulder is ready to leave. To flee, more like it, when a thick hand slaps at his back.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner’s voice booms over the music. “Glad to see you decided to show up.”

He scoffs, “I was summoned.”

Skinner glances at him, his heavy hand squeezing the meat of Mulder’s shoulder; hard. “You mean she asked or you wouldn’t be here,” he corrects, nodding towards Scully draining yet another glass of wine. “She wants you here, Mulder. I suggest you remember that.”

11:32 PM: Mulder does remember that. In fact, that’s all he’s been thinking about for the past half hour when he lost sight of Scully within the crowd. After dodging both Diana and Spender, three agents requesting a dance, and one persistent secretary’s offer for much more than that, Mulder halts his search for his partner and ducks into the restroom to break the seal.

He glances at his cell phone. No service. Goddammit.

The entire time he’s been looking for Scully, the sickening thought of her having left with someone else has weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He should’ve taken Frohike up on his offer of Mexican and movies and saved himself the heartache.

11:44 PM: “Yes, I do know I’m leaving before the ball drops, and no, I don’t have a date I’m waiting for,” Mulder repeats to Agent Matthews at the coat check.

“You want one?” he asks, smirking. “Because I’m outta here in ten.”

“Oh uh,” Mulder can’t help but smile. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.”

“I knew it. But hey, a guy can dream.” The man shrugs and hands Mulder his jacket. “Agent Scully is one lucky woman.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mulder questions, ready to interrogate the poor guy. “Did she leave?”

“Maybe,” Matthews says, chuckling at Mulder’s unabashed desperation. “But I’ve seen her walk by looking for someone special a couple times earlier, though. I guess that someone was you.”

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good night,” Mulder groans as he walks away, feeling more and more like an asshole as the minutes tick by.

11:50 PM: Mulder makes his way down the side stairwell and shuffles past the ladies room tucked away in an alcove at the end of the hall. Fireworks spark outside the window next to him and he can’t help but wonder if Scully is looking at them, too.

He sighs, takes three steps, and stumbles when a flash of red catches his eye.

“Scully?”

“Mulder, you’re here!” she praises, her cheeks flushed with wine. Her eyes flick down to his coat slung over his arm and her smile fades. “You’re leaving.”

He falters, shifting in his Wingtip Oxfords he’d worn just for her. “You know me, Scully,” he feigns nonchalance. “I’d rather pull out my hair than kiss the asses of the ‘powers that be’ more than I’m forced.”

Scully shakes her head and is quiet a moment before boldly brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

He stifles a moan. The familiar feeling of her touch lulls him where they stand. “A full head of hair means that much to you, does it, Scully?”

“Mm…” She nods while his hand covers hers sliding gently across his scalp. “You do have great hair.”

“Melvin will be crushed.”

She laughs - this it’s time for him - and Mulder swears it’s the most beautiful sound echoing through the hall. They continue to stand in the hallway, staring at one another as her fingers dance through his hair, letting the soft melody of the muffled music fill the silence.

“So why show up then?” she finally asks, her fingers trailing over the shell of his ear, down to his cheek, hovering there. “Why come at all?”

The alcohol that flows through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable deserves only honesty from him. “Because you’re here,” Mulder confesses.

“I am.” Her eyes hone in on his fingers twining through hers. “And you were about to leave without saying goodbye?” She arches a brow, pins him with an accusatory stare. “Or hello, for that matter?”

“I-you were enjoying yourself out there. You were…” he sighs, guilt washing over him for not being a better partner to her. For not walking out on that dance floor and showing her exactly how much he appreciates her. How much he loves her. “Scully…”

“Mulder, it’s okay. I get it, really.” She rolls her eyes, tapping his tie with a manicured nail. “Plus, Skinner told me that if you’re as smart as your IQ says you are, you’d be here to ring the new year with me.”

“Ha!” It’s Mulder’s turn to roll his eyes, imagining the AD just itching to dance with his beautiful partner. “I’ll bet he did.”

“I told him you were smarter.”

Mulder’s heart began to race at the husk in her voice. “And if I hadn’t shown up?” he wonders. “I have a feeling Skinner and every other person in that ballroom would give anything to dance with you tonight.”

“They asked to dance with me, Mulder, not date me.”

Mulder’s jaw clenches at that, his free hand dipping down to settle gently at the base of her spine.

“And besides,” she arches into him, amused and emboldened. “There’s only one person I wanted to dance with tonight.”

“Scully.” His voice catches when her sapphire eyes snap up to lock onto his, imploring him to say more. “I-you looked… you look...” The liquid courage swirling though his mind gives him the nudge he needs. He touches her face, softly tracing the slope of her jawline from her ear to her chin. She hums and he melts. "...Stunning, Scully. You look stunning.”

Her half-grin twitches higher. "Bet you say that to all the girls, Mulder."

“No,” he denies in earnest. “Only you.”

She nods slowly, unblinking, as if she’s always known. Her eyes are large and luminous in their dimly lit corner, the deep blue sea of them beckoning him into dangerous waters. Lashes fluttering under his gaze, she leans into him like a feral kitten, fierce and unyielding in her affection. And it’s a good thing, Mulder thinks as he leans in too, that he’s an excellent swimmer.

“You showed up, Mulder,” she whispers. Her tiny hands skim down to his waist and tug his body flush to hers. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he begs. “Don’t thank me for anything.”

He palms her neck and she allows his hand to wander up into her hair, tangling the silky waves through his fingers. He watches her eyelids flutter half shut, her lips parting.

“And why did you come, Scully?” he blurts, curious.

“Why do you think?” she retorts, challenging him. Suddenly, Mulder knows exactly why she came. Why she’s still here, staring up at him with dark eyes and rocking against him with hardened nipples.

He forgets to breathe.

“Tell me,” he says, cradling the base of her skull and letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

“No,” she breathes while stroking the curve of his ribcage, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. “I’ll show you.”

Her eyes flutter shut and a gush of warm breath tickles his cheek. As he leans down, her cushy lips press softly to his and his heart threatens to burst from his chest.

Her mouth tastes of red wine and sugar - a tart sweet-filled sin laced with a hint of blush-colored lipstick. She tastes more satisfying than any dessert. She tastes like raw desire.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hips away from her soft belly when his rock hard want for her becomes impossible to ignore.

She whimpers with her arms now wrapped around his neck, tugging him down for more.

Mulder gulps and kisses her nose, her cheek, inhales the fruity scent of her shampoo. He breathes her in while keeping a lung full of her essence within his chest. The warmth of her baby soft skin beneath his lips makes him wonder if he’s having an out of body experience: an erotic X-File, as his soul quite possibly ascends into the unknown.

A sudden cacophony of cheers bursts through the cracks of the heavy ballroom doors. Mulder jumps while Scully clutches at his back, keeping him close. Their heavy breathing mingles with the chorus of Auld Lang Syne playing in the background as fireworks boom outside the window pane. Bursts of copper and cerulean stream across the ink-black sky and it rumbles the carpet beneath their feet, reminding him that, yes, his feet are still on solid ground.

Two hours, two minutes, and one kiss from Dana Scully are all it takes for his world to tilt on its axis.

“Wow. Wha… what was that?” he gasps dumbly.

Scully arches brow. "I would have thought that's fairly obvious," she purrs. "You asked me why I came here, so I kissed you."

"Yeah, I know that, Scully, believe me. But...” Fuck, he berates himself. Why does his conscience hate him so damn much?

“Shh, just shut up and kiss me again,” she slurs.

His eyes flutter shut. He wants this - wants her - more than his next breath, but she’s been drinking, he remembers. They both have. “Shit, I want to, badly. But I think,” he hesitates, no more than a whisper, “I should hail us a cab.”

“Mulder…”

“In case you don’t remember these last few minutes when you wake up in the morning,” Mulder explains further. “Or worse, you regret them when you do.”

“But…” Scully frowns, hiccuping as she sways within his arms. “Okay…” she sighs, rolling her forehead against his sternum and mumbles to herself, “Fine, but the cab’s on you.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, his love for her growing with each passing second. His lips brush against the crown of her head, his palms smoothing over her hair and down to the lithe bare blades of her shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

12:10 PM: This year, Mulder thinks as he waves down a cab. This year will be different. When Scully’s pinky loops through his, he squeezes it in promise. This year, he will do better.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

And next time, when he looks into her eyes and tells her he loves her again, Scully will finally believe.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#msr fanfic #new years eve #season 6 #first kiss #jealous Mulder #romance

108 notes · View notes

bugsandchatons · 3 years

Text

when you weren’t mine to lose (7)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

A/N: So sorry this took an extra week to get out! I wanted to make it as good as I could get it, since it’s all the Talking and Hugging and that good stuff. Thank you to @emsylcatac for looking over it!!

[[AO3]] {from the beginning}

****

[seven: will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful]

As abruptly as it started, the battle ends, leaving pure chaos behind.

There’s ice in her veins. It’s crystallizing under her skin, freezing her to where she stands.

Ladybug drags air into her lungs and tries to find it within herself to take a step - the movement is slow, sluggish, and forced. It’s not until the distinct sound of an animal in pain reaches her ears that she can process the scene before her and move.

Her partner is on his knees, hands flying over a person on the ground, but never once making contact. Chat’s nearly hyperventilating as the girl before him is consumed, so slowly by the black, unforgiving touch of his Cataclysm.

Ladybug blinks. Just beyond them is Félix, one hand raised to his temple. A purple butterfly struggles free from the speared face of his watch, several feet away.

She stumbles over to Chat and rubs a hand on his back, sliding it up his spine to squeeze his shoulder, the touch as grounding for her as she hopes it is for him. He glances up at her, something uncomprehending in his gaze before his attention snaps back to the girl before him.

Ladybug’s still not sure where she came from. One minute it was just her, Chat, and Mirror Image on the rooftop. Then, between seconds, it wasn’t.

Something more is happening here, she’s sure. She bends down, mind racing, grappling for an explanation.

When the stranger’s glazed blue eyes meet Ladybug’s, they sharpen. She reaches out with a surprisingly strong hand, grabs Ladybug by the shoulder, and jerks her in close.

“Don’t wait,” she gasps. “Don’t throw it away.”

“What?” Ladybug asks, startled. The girl’s eyes flick to the hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, and she drops her own gaze to follow. There, dangling from her wrist is an unactivated Black Cat Miraculous and a shadowed version of the charm she’d last seen in her purse. That paralyzing ice is back, spreading through her blood until all she feels is cold. “You-”

The black rot of Chat’s magic spreads up her arm. An Akuma peels out of the charm as it crumbles to dust and, between blinks, the girl dying on the ground changes. Her hood falls away, and what’s still visible of her suit morphs from black to red. It’s unmistakably her.

Ladybug.

“Cast our cure,” she whispers, and closes her eyes.

Chat makes a horrible broken sound and rears back, falling on his splayed hands. His eyes dart rapidly between the two of them, something manic in his expression, and it spurs her into motion. Ladybug grabs for her yoyo and snaps it out to catch the two fluttering Akumas before reaching for her Lucky Charm. In the red and black spotted mirror, she meets her own eyes in the reflection for just a second before tossing it high and calling for her Miraculous cure.

“Don’t cry, mon rêve,” the other Ladybug whispers. Her voice is lost in a ragged sound as the black tide climbs her throat. Chat lets out a low whine and as the Miraculous magic flows over them, the Ladybug that lies prone on the rooftop vanishes.

Ladybug blinks and the world flashes white.

******

When she opens her eyes her vision swims, and she gasps for air. Chat kneels in front of her, calling her name. He has tear tracks on his cheeks and soot on his hands, but he’s alive.

Her heart skips a beat before picking back up, double time. Something broken inside knits back together.

“Chat,” she gasps. Her fingers grope for his wrist and find the racing pulse there before she presses her palm flat over his beating heart. She breathes when he does, and it’s the lightest she’s ever felt. “Chaton,” her trembling hand finally finds his cheek as tears stream down her own. “You’re okay.”

She lifts her gaze to his and realizes he’s not, not entirely. His gaze darts frantically from her face to the spot where she’d lain as Ouroboros, and there’s something very fragile on the verge of breaking in his expression.

“Okay,” she says softly as she takes his chin in her hands and coaxes him to look at her, only at her. “Stay with me, Kitty.”

He blinks rapidly, but nods. She nods back. Her earrings beep, nearly in perfect time with his ring. With a herculean effort, she looks away from Chat and turns to glance at Félix. “Are you injured?”

He looks pale but otherwise unscathed. “I - no, Ladybug.”

She rises to her feet and, reluctant to pull her hands from Chat, simply tugs him up with her and keeps her fingers twined with his. She crosses the rooftop to the fire escape. “You can get down from here,” she says to Félix, before scanning the crowd. “Alya,” she shouts when she finds the face she’s looking for, “will you make sure Félix gets back to the Agrestes?”

The girl in question makes her way to the front of the crowd, her cell phone gripped tight in hand, and nods. “Of course.”

With that, Ladybug turns her full attention back to Chat. She lifts both of his hands in hers and holds them to her cheeks until he meets her eyes. “Come with me?”

Both Miraculous beep a second warning. Chat’s eyes widen as her meaning lands, but he nods, his hands trembling against her skin.

Ladybug offers a weary smile before wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him in close, and swinging them both away.

*****

When her feet touch down onto the rooftop of Master Fu’s old apartment, Ladybug lets go of Chat only long enough to drop her arm from his waist and take his hand instead. She slides her fingers into the gaps between his and presses their palms together, leading him down the fire escape and into the vacant rooms through the window. He follows along in her silent footsteps, as pliant as a newborn kitten.

The dusty apartment has been undisturbed for at least a year and empty even longer. Dust clothes drape over the few pieces of furniture that were left behind when their owner fled. Cobwebs gather in the corners. Ladybug wrinkles her nose. All things considered, it’s been forgotten, and forgotten places make the best spots to hide.

Her earrings beep a loud warning and she turns to face Chat Noir, her mouth going dry. There are so many things she has to tell him, and she can’t imagine where to start.

He isn’t looking at her. Instead, his gaze roams the dim room, perhaps noting the same things she has or nothing at all. Only one way to find out.

“Hey,” she says, barely more than a whisper. Slowly, he tilts his head in her direction, before his gaze slowly follows. He meets her eyes, searches hers, and then his stoic expression crumbles.

“Oh, Kitty, no,” Ladybug hurries to soothe. Her hands find his shoulders and tug him into a tight hug. She feels his gasp more than she hears it when their chests bump together, and then he’s clinging - his hands grip her hips with the slightest bite of claws before sliding around to her back to clutch her in an embrace that might have crushed bones, were it not for her suit.

“I hurt you,” he chokes on the words, his body trembling in her arms. A sob rips through him and tears out of his throat in a tattered breath. “I killed you, my lady, how -”

“No, you-” she stops and holds him tighter. She’d known, hadn’t she? She knew what stopping his Cataclysm would do to both of them, and she’d been the one to make him do it. Lying about it would do nothing to benefit either of them now. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’m okay.” She presses her cheek to his, murmuring beside his ear. “I’m right here. I’ll explain everything, but I need you to breathe with me first, okay?”

Chat tucks his face into her neck. She can feel the dampness on his cheeks against her skin and the way his heart pounds in time with hers, frantic but alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

The relief brings with it the release of every bitter, horrible thing they’ve been through, the stress of two terrible days forced into one. It floods through her and knocks her to her knees, and he goes down with her. She tangles her fingers in his hair and presses her face into his collarbone until it hurts, until she can chase away the burnt scent of ashes and soot with his sunshine and leather, until all she can smell is something like home.

“It’s okay, mon chaton, everything will be okay,” she whispers the promise into his skin and feels the slightest bit of tension slide away.

He shakes his head against hers but doesn’t draw back. “We’re about to-”

The final, wild beeping in her ear drowns out the rest of his warning. “I know,” Ladybug says softly, pulling away just enough to see his face. She plants one of her hands flat against his chest, wanting to hold on to the feeling of his heartbeats. With her other, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and guides his hand to where he can count hers. “We’re okay.” She lets her forehead come to rest against his. “I’m right here, and so are you. Breathe with me, Chat.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, and she does the same.

Her transformation wears off in a bright pink flash that mingles with the green light of his. It illuminates the room briefly before fading away. There’s soft cotton under her touch instead of worn leather and his racing heart is even more apparent, pounding into her bare hand as though it’d like to break free and make a home there.

She opens her eyes and sees Tikki barrel into a surprised Plagg with a squeak before the kwamis disappear into the shadows. She looks at Chat’s unmasked face to find his eyes screwed shut. Her lips curve into a soft smile and she whispers, “You can open your eyes, Adrien.”

Either the sound of his name or the invitation startles him into obeying. She sees wide green eyes before he leans back, only far enough to see her.

“Marinette,” he breathes, and finally, he breaks into a small smile.

The sight of it takes a massive weight off her shoulders. She holds fast to his hand like a lifeline for fear she might float away. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

His gaze darts over her face with something endlessly soft in his expression that warms her from the inside out. “I’m not. Of course it’s you,” he says, the way one might announce the rising sun - a sure, indisputable thing. He lifts his free hand to her face and traces her cheek with his thumb, following the curve of where her mask usually rests. “My Everyday Ladybug.”

The admission steals her breath and her face flushes with heat. Just as quickly as it’d come, his smile fades. “I cataclysmed you,” he murmurs.

He draws his hand back, but Marinette reaches out to catch it. “No, listen,” she starts. “You did, and you didn’t. But - it was my fault?”

He blinks and tilts his head. “You’re not making much sense, my lady.”

Tikki phases through Marinette’s purse with a pink macaroon in hand. She settles onto Marinette’s shoulder, suggesting, “Start at the beginning.”

“If only I knew what that was,” Marinette says, watching as Adrien pulls a piece of cheese out of his shirt pocket and automatically offers it into Plagg’s waiting paws. The sight would make her laugh, were it not for the concerned furrow of his brow and the weight of his unwavering attention. She swallows her nerves and straightens her spine. “Okay. So, you remember Timebreaker, right?”

“Yeah. There were two Ladybugs,” Adrien says immediately.

Marinette’s mouth twitches up into a smirk. “That is what you’d remember best, isn’t it, minou?”

The small smile he offers is all Chat Noir, unabashed and mischievous. Reconciling her partner with Adrien is somehow as implausible as it is simple - a paradox she can only hope will grow easier with time. She continues on. “Well, this story is a little like that one. I’ve lived today twice, and the first time-” her fingers tighten reflexively around his, and he squeezes back. “The first time we fought Mirror Image, it went horribly wrong.”

Adrien frowns. “Did he hurt you? Did he get your Miraculous?” he fires off questions concerned only for her, and something bitter rises in Marinette’s throat.

“No, Adrien, he killed you,” Marinette murmurs, watching as the tight line of his shoulders relaxed. She feels the perplexing urge to punch him for it. “He reflected your Cataclysm and you died right in front of me.”

“Oh,” he says, dropping his gaze to their tangled fingers. “Well, I mean. I’ve died before. You always bring me back though, right?”

She can hear what he means but doesn’t put words to. Why does it matter now?

Marinette lets out a slow breath, blinking back the burning tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t this time. My Lucky Charm didn’t work and you were gone.” He opens his mouth, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to give him a chance to chime in with a protest that might break her heart. “So I went home, got the Snake Miraculous, and went back in time.”

He raises his eyebrows. “How-” he blinks, and she sees it when the horrifying revelation hits him. “You were akumatized,” he whispers. “On the roof, that was the akumatized Ladybug.” Adrien looks up with anguish in his eyes. “You got akumatized because of me?”

She wants to shake him. “Adrien,” Marinette starts, her heart aching. “The only reason I had time to come up with a plan and run home instead of being akumatized immediately is that Hawkmoth was too distracted to try it right away. You’re my partner, Chaton, mon coeur, of course losing you was enough to akumatize me.”

He looks devastated by the prospect. “But you...you shouldn’t have-”

“I let him,” Marinette says fiercely. “I knew what I was doing. I knew an Akuma would make the Miraculous limitless, I knew I could restart the day, and don’t you dare say I shouldn’t have done everything I could to save you, because I refuse to hear it.”

Adrien snaps his mouth shut, meeting her glare for a moment before glancing away, his free hand rising to the back of his neck. In the silence that follows, Tikki nudges Marinette’s cheek. “Tell him everything, Marinette. There’s no point in keeping secrets now.”

She hesitates, but slowly meets Adrien’s eye when he looks back up. “It gets worse. I know who Hawkmoth is.”

“Why would that be worse?” he perks up for just a moment before he picks up on the heaviness of her words, the solemnity of her expression. He deflates, then takes a deep breath. “Tell me.”

She bites down on her lower lip. “Not long after the battle, I was still with you. He...Hawkmoth came. He said he’d suspected Chat Noir might be his son before -” at that, Plagg gasps. Adrien goes rigid and shuts his eyes. Marinette holds tight to his hand. “But Adrien disappearing the same night that Chat died seemed to confirm it for him.”

For several minutes, Adrien sits perfectly still and stays silent but for the whistle of his ragged breathing, in and out of his nose. Then, he lets go of her hand, stands up, and crosses to the window. His fingers curl into fists. He pounds them into the window sill with one loud thud, before tapping his knuckles to the glass, careful and controlled once more, even while turmoil crackles through him like a livewire. When he turns around, he doesn’t look at her. “I suppose you’ll be wanting my ring back, then.”

Plagg drifts close to him, his ears pressed flat to his head. “Adrien?”

Adrien doesn’t look at him, either. He keeps his gaze resolute on the wall somewhere over her head.

Marinette blinks once, twice. When she finds her voice, it’s strained. “Excuse me?”

His face is blank, but she can see the way his fists tremble. She wonders if he’s ever once been able to let go, or if everything he keeps locked inside is just going to keep rising until it hits a boiling point. “My Miraculous. You’ll want a new Chat Noir, one who’s not the son of a supervillain, of a terrorist.” His voice starts to shake. “One who couldn’t possibly have missed what goes on inside his own house, and-”

Marinette crosses the room and grabs onto his shoulders. He flinches, his expression twisting. “Chat,” she begs, “Stop.”

“He hurt you!” Finally, his mask breaks, and a tear streaks down his cheek, followed by another, then a stream. “Over and over. He’s hurt so many people.” He shakes his head. “He’s a monster, and god, did he even care when I died?” Adrien’s voice cracks and Marinette pulls him in. One hand sifts through his hair and pulls his head down so he can hide his face in her neck, and the other fists in the back of his shirt.

“None of this is your fault,” she tells him, her voice thick with tears of her own. “Not one thing. You are my Chat Noir, no one else could take your place. We’re going to get you out of that house, and we’re going to figure this out together, okay? You and me.”

He crumbles into her, boneless in her arms, and she holds him steady through the storm. Tikki nestles into her hair while Plagg curls into Adrien’s collarbone.

When the rain passes and Adrien calms down to the soft rumble of Plagg’s purring and the murmur of Marinette’s soothing, he slumps back against the wall and sinks to the floor, bringing Marinette down with him. He sighs, his eyes red-rimmed. “Tell me the rest?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

She nods and tucks herself under his arm, lifting her hand to rest over his heart. “Okay. I restarted the day. I already had a clue you might be Chat, so I followed you -” at this, Adrien huffs a short laugh. “What?”

He shakes his head before leaning it on top of hers. “All day, I had the weirdest feeling I was being watched, but I never did see you, that’s all. Go on.”

Adrien stays silent through Marinette’s retelling, nodding along as she goes through the day. He stiffens when she tells him about Bunnyx and her ominous warning, but still, he doesn’t interrupt again. When Marinette reaches the battle, the parts he remembers, she glances up to find him frowning, his blond brows furrowed.

“So I knew I had to be the one to catch your Cataclysm, or else it could have rebounded again, or you could’ve hurt Félix, and well, you were there for the rest. So you didn’t kill anyone, not really. I...I knew that once the other me got a real Lucky Charm, this time everything would be fixed,” she says, her own mouth curving down when his expression remains one of displeasure. Marinette folds her hands, tangling and untangling her fingers as nerves turn her stomach into knots. “So...that’s it.”

Adrien’s quiet for several moments, his severe demeanor unabating. When she squirms against his side, he finally says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could try thank you,” Marinette says, aiming for lightness as she stretches her aching legs out in front of her.

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t…” he trails off and swipes a hand through his hair in one frustrated stroke before trying again. “The last thing I want is for you to risk your life for me - to die for me. Marinette, you can’t...you just can’t do that, okay?”

Her stomach drops and her throat starts to burn. She pulls away from Adrien and fixes him with a glare that has him shifting in place. “I did what I had to do, and saying I can’t is a little ridiculous coming from you, don’t you think? You throw yourself in danger for me all the time for much less!”

“That’s different,” he says, his frown settling into a stubbornness she’s rarely seen on Chat and never on Adrien. He crosses his arms and lifts his chin. “Ladybug is more important.”

“That’s bullshit,” she cuts in, startling him. “You know it is. Sure, I’m the one who purifies the akumas and repairs the damage, so I have to make it to the end of the fight. But Chat, you take hits for me constantly, sometimes when it’s not necessary at all. You’re reckless.”

“So what? You can bring me back,” he insists.

But she hadn’t, not this time - she’d only fixed a failure with an extra Miraculous and a lot of Ladybug luck. That was the point, wasn’t it? Her partner believed her to be infallible and himself expendable; and while from a purely tactical standpoint, he might be technically correct, the thought made her sick.

She’s always told herself that a great superhero only listened to her head, but it was messier, now; the heart that had shattered upon watching him turn to dust had only grown louder and louder. “You act like your life is just something to throw away.”

The minuscule shrug he offers is enough to have her eyes stinging. “LB, you know Paris doesn’t need me as much as they need you. It’s different. You just can’t die for me,” he says again, rising to his feet and brushing dust off his knees.

The cold logic in his voice, the finality, has Marinette pushing to her feet, suddenly more furious with him than she’s ever been. In seconds, she’s back in his space, nearly nose to nose with him. “Don’t you get it? I need you. There is no Ladybug without you!”

He shifts his gaze away from hers. “Don’t say that,” he argues, losing some of his steam. “You would be okay, my lady, you-”

“I wouldn’t be,” she snaps. She may be a hero, but if she’s learned anything at all from the past twenty-four hours, it’s that she’s only human. “I’ve lived it, and I was not okay! I would do exactly what I did today all over again if it meant saving you.”

Adrien lets out a breath that could have been a laugh, if it had any humor to it and none of the desperation. “Why?”

“Because I love you!”

Marinette’s confession, loud and sudden as a thunderclap, seems to startle them both. It echoes through the empty room and leaves only silence to rain down upon them in its wake.

Adrien’s lips part as his mouth drops open, a disbelieving sort of fragility wiping away any remaining traces of the will to fight. “You-” he blinks. Something like hope tugs up the corner of his mouth, the beginnings of an incredulous smile. “You love me?”

She softens at his smile even as part of her still wants to cry. She lifts a hand to his cheek and he draws in a sharp breath, his eyes going wider still. “I didn’t really want to yell it at you, but yeah. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages. It’s what I’ve been so scared of, but when I lost you...I couldn’t just do nothing.” Her eyes tighten and her smile slips. “I would have given anything to have told you every single day, Kitty.”

Adrien takes both of her hands in his and brings them to his face until he can press a kiss to each of her knuckles, his gaze on hers warm enough to make her melt. “This must be a dream,” he murmurs, sounding dazed.

Marinette’s knees threaten to give out, unwilling to hold her up much longer. Breathlessly, she asks, “If it were, what would happen next?”

His eyes drop so quickly to her mouth she might have missed it, if she weren’t hanging on his every move. His chest hitches before his stare snaps back to hers, drowning her in green. He turns her hand over in his and brings her palm back to his mouth, then kisses the inside of her wrist. His throat works as he swallows, then, with his lips moving ever so slightly against the sensitive skin there, he says, “Something like this.” He kisses her wrist again before continuing, his voice low, “What do you dream of, my lady?”

She’s forgotten what oxygen is for, to say nothing of remembering what happens once she closes her eyes for the night. She’s lived through a nightmare, but this - this feels like sweet relief upon waking; of Chat Noir’s tender fingers brushing hair off her cheek, of sleepy smiles and muted sunlight in their eyes. Now, Marinette feels like her every nerve is wide awake.

Adrien waits, endlessly patient, and finally, she puts words to the truth. “You, Adrien. You.”

His answering smile is radiant. His hands come up to cradle her cheeks and she meets him halfway in a kiss impossibly soft. Her fingers find their way into his hair and a small, helpless noise catches in his throat. Marinette sighs, thinking only of the dawn after night breaks, of the sun bursting through the clouds with daylight so strong not even time can put it out for long.

Adrien’s ragged breath plays across her cheek as he rests his forehead against hers. Marinette’s about to dive back in for more of him when a loud, dramatic sigh hits her ear.

“Are you not done yet?” Plagg demands. Marinette feels the slight weight of him on the crown of her head, his little paws in her hair.

“Plagg!” Tikki scolds him, and the sound of Adrien’s laugh sinks into Marinette’s bones and floods her with peace.

Adrien rubs his cheek against hers, so much like a cat that her mouth quirks up in an unstoppable grin. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, don’t,” Marinette coos, scooping the kwami into her hand and rubbing his ears with her finger while Adrien looks on with a pout. “We lost him too, you know.”

At that, Adrien pulls her back into a hug, squishing Plagg in between them while Tikki settles onto Adrien’s shoulder. He tucks his face into Marinette’s hair and asks, “What are we going to do now?”

For a moment, Marinette says nothing. Outside, the night waits - there’s a city on the verge of sleep that trusts their heroes to keep them safe, and a villain looming larger than ever as the shadows close in. She shuts her eyes, listens to the sound of them both still breathing, and leans into Adrien. “I’m not sure,” she says, “but we’ll figure something out together.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fics #ladynoir #adrinette #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lovesquare #fic:when you weren't mine to lose #finally we get some cuddles

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robinrunsfiction · 3 years

Text

Ivy - Chapter 5

Chapter 4

When (YN) arrived home the next day, she was exhausted, but wanted nothing more than to see Mikey as soon as possible. She had barely flopped onto her bed with a weary sigh when there was a knock on the door.

“Your Highness?” Christine said as she peeked in the room.

“Yes?” She replied, sitting up.

“I have this for you,” she said holding a piece of paper that was rolled up and tied with a piece of twine.

(YN) jumped up, knowing in an instant who it was from. She carefully slid off the tie and unrolled the paper.

Darling (YN),

I long to see you when you return. I miss you more than my heart can bear. If you can, meet me in the clearing just before sunset when you are back.

Faithfully yours,

(YN) swooned as she fell back across her bed. "Oh Christine, I miss him so much. This week was too long to go without him. I don't know how I'll ever survive in Arboria."

At dusk, (YN) stole along the path hidden deep within the woods, her feet guiding her way and there, sitting beneath a willow tree was Mikey.

"(YN)!" He exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

"Mikey!" She ran to him, throwing her arms around her as he lifted her off her feet before pressing a kiss to her lips. "I missed you so!"

"I missed you as well. I believe Gerard and Marie were about to go mad with how I was sulking," he laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said reaching up and caressing his cheek softly.

He leaned into her touch before taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. He then took both of her hands in his and looked deep in her eyes. "I’ve had a lot of time to think while you were gone, and wanted to see you tonight because I wanted to tell you," he paused and sighed. "(YN), I am the second son of a bookbinder, I stand to inherit nothing. All I have to offer a Princess is my heart. I know this will end in pain, but I love you, I love you so completely and with my whole heart,” he said earnestly.

(YN) felt tears welling up and a knot forming in her throat as she nodded. “All I learned over this last miserable week is that I love you too Mikey. The way you make me feel is more than I ever hoped it would be. When I’m with you, I am happy for the first time in my whole life! But” she looked down as the tears began to fall.

“I know,” he said forlornly, pulling her against him.

“I don’t want him! I don’t want to go!” (YN) sobbed into his shoulder.

Mikey rubbed her back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry my love,” he soothed. “How much time do we have?” He asked when she finally stopped crying.

“If it’s not forever, it’s not long enough,” she said shaking her head, wiping away the tears.

"Then we'll fit as much of a lifetime as we can into the time we have."

(YN) was already awake when Christine came in to rouse her the next morning.

"Your Highness, are you alright? Your eyes are... have you been crying?"

"Most of the night," (YN) sighed. "Do you know, has a noble ever married a commoner?"

Christine could not restrain her surprise. "Your Highness!"

(YN) looked up forlornly. "I do not love Dallon, I love Mikey," she sighed. "If I could end this engagement that I have no say in I could be happy, and maybe Dallon could be as well."

"I've never heard of that occurring before," Christine shook her head sadly.

(YN) nodded. "I thought as much. Please tell me you and Frank are happily in love. Please tell me if there is anything standing in your way that I can help with.”

“We are happy, Your Highness. I did not want to say something that may upset you, but Frank and I are to be wed soon as well.”

“I am so happy for you my dear friend!” (YN) beamed. “I wish everyone that same joy.”

Despite how futile the future felt, it did not stop (YN) and Mikey from continuing their secret rendezvous, making the most of their fleeting time together. Just before the final preparations were due to begin for the long awaited wedding, the King and Queen had another royal trip to attend, but (YN) was allowed to stay behind. And she had much better plans.

That afternoon she threw open the large front doors of the castle and invited Mikey in for the first time. He picked her up, twirling her around in the entry hall as they laughed, reveling in the fact that they were someplace so forbidden together.

"Let me give you the grand tour," (YN) suggested, taking his hand, pulling him along.

Mikey seemed to marvel at the ornate decor and paintings. It made her smile that he wasn't disenchanted by everything, like so many of the people who regularly walked through the halls.

"This is the library," she said leading the way into the large room.

"Wow, I've never seen so many books in one place," he said looking around in awe. "But it raises a question."

"Hmm?"

"You have all these books, and yet you keep returning to my store to buy more," he smiled coyly.

(YN) covered her face with her hands in embarrassment. "Mikey," she whined.

"It's as if you had ulterior motives for coming in week after week," he laughed as he wrapped his arms around her.

"It would appear that the shopkeeper has stolen my heart," (YN) replied looking up at him, and he leaned in and kissed her sweetly.

"It would appear the Princess has stolen mine."

(YN)'s heart fluttered at his words. "Come, I have so much more to show you," she said taking his hand and leading the way out of the library.

As they continued through the castle, she hesitated before showing him the next room. She didn't want to be reminded of what would be happening there in the future.

"This is the chapel," she announced.

"It's beautiful," he said walking down the aisle between the pews. (YN) watched him and imagined what it would be like if she could walk down the aisle to him.

"What if we were wed before you married the Prince?" Mikey asked, as if reading her thoughts, a coy smile tugging at his lips.

"If only there were a holy man in the kingdom who would, I would do it in a heartbeat," she sighed, joining him at the altar and he took her hands. "If only I knew when I read the story of the star crossed lovers that it would ring so true. Mikey, you know you will always have my heart, no matter what happens?"

"I do. And you know that I will always love you, no matter where you are?"

"I do," nodded resolutely. Mikey leaned in and kissed her and she smiled against his lips.

She again took his hand as they continued on through the ballrooms and dining halls, and up the large staircase to her bedroom.

"And here is where they lock me away," she said dramatically before shutting the door behind them. She watched as he walked through her room, taking it in. He smiled at the stack of books by her bed before he made his way to the window overlooking the forest where they would meet, away from the prying eyes of the castle or city. The setting sun tinting everything gold. "The view is best in the fall."

"Your beauty outshines it any day of the year," he said softly.

She looked up at him and sighed. "I do not believe you know how wonderful you truly are."

"All I know is I'm the luckiest man alive because I've gotten to spend more than a moment with you."

(YN) reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of his face. He smiled back before leaning in and kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him as he started to kiss along her jaw and down to her neck. (YN) let out a gasp, her knees going weak as she leaned back against the wall to remain upright. A thought flitted through her mind and she decided she would act on it.

"Mikey," she gasped

He pulled back in an instant. "Was that too much?"

"No," she shook her head. "Quite the opposite," she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. As she laid back against her plush pillows, Mikey climbed over her, but hesitated for a moment, as if to ask if she was sure. She smiled and nodded at him and his lips found hers again, more passionately than any time before.

Chapter 6

#mikey way x reader #mikey way fan fic #mikey way fan fiction #mikey way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction #this is my favorite chapter

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years

Note

Peggy bumps into Ms. Fry while she and steve are grocery shopping (maybe Peggy's noticeably pregnant, and she's wearing her wedding ring on a chain around her neck because of swollen fingers, or something like that) and miss fry starts scolding her for her 'poor life choices,' seeing a baby bump and no ring, until steve comes back from grabbing something across the store and they set the record straight

Nonny, I love this so much. I’m gonna be honest, I forgot who Ms. Fry was and had to look her up and have never written her before so bear with me? This is so not gonna be what you want. I just...couldn’t stop writing.

Insert Steve works at the SSR

The day that her wedding ring became too small for her swollen fingers was a day Peggy didn’t like to remember. It was a simple gold wedding band with sapphire blue stones right dab in the middle. It was elegant, yet simple, and everything Peggy could’ve wanted. She didn’t care much for jewelry and didn’t care if Steve asked her to marry her with just a piece of twine or even nothing in his hand.

She would’ve said yes either way.

It was Steve who suggested they put it on a chain, so she could still have it near her while at work. It felt odd not having it on her hand, missing the weight of it, but she felt grateful for her fingers to be free while she poured over the stacks of files the SSR boys kept dropping off thanks to officially being taken off of field missions by no more than Phillips himself.

The man had come down from DC to discuss things with her, taking over as Chief of their simple office, and causing much ruckus and rifling through the workplace. Rumors of the SSR being disbanded started to take place, rumors Peggy ignored.

Agents like Thompson and Sousa got to see first hand how just Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter got along. Meaning there were many shouting matches between them, at one point Peggy had threatened to throw Phillips out of the office himself. The entire office had sat and watched their fight go down, making bets on when Carter was going to be sacked or not until Phillips broke out into a rare smile and laughed at her.

It was odd, to see such a chiseled and grave man from all he’s witnessed to laugh at her like that. And for Carter not to get angry and laugh right back.

There were many rumors on favoritism and Peggy didn’t bother to shoot them down. Phillips did favor her but not for what laid between her legs, for the fact she did her damn job, and two times as better as any seasoned agent.

Of course, none of them would believe that.

“Go home,” Phillips sighed at her for an unkempt time that day. He stood in front of her desk, wafting a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her face.

Peggy scowled at him, her eyes narrowed. She knew she looked like crap. Morning sickness meant she’d spent a good portion of the daily debriefing in the toilet and had to be caught up by Rose. Her face was pale and sheen with sweat, her normally poised hair was done in a hasty bun on the nape of her neck to keep it out of the way.

And her clothes, something so simple and precious to her, that made the point of the matter that she was a woman and she wasn’t going to let any others treat her different. Due to being heavily pregnant with what the doctor assumed were multiples, she’d been forced to adjust many of her outfits. Ana had struggled to adapt so quickly too, but even then she couldn’t keep up.

Steve, her, and even Howard had suspicions on if this was multiples or because of the serum.

Point is, Peggy was still cursing Steve’s name with the infant hit the right spot on her bladder.

She’d been forced to wear a hastily put-together outfit that did nothing for her figure and the lack of either time or ability to keep up her appearance showed.

And what really showed as her face turned a shade of green from the coffee wafting in her face, was her annoyance at Phillips. He knew one of her triggering scents was coffee. It had been mostly banned from the bullpen.

He’d been trying to get her to go home all morning, each time she ignored him.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she mused, leaning far back as her seat allowed. “No one else is here to do the paperwork with the 084 in Manhattan. Get that out of my face.”

She brushed his hand out of the way and Phillips smirked around the mug. “This?” He waved it under her nose and Peggy’s lips pursed to prevent herself from upchucking what little breakfast she could keep down. “It’s just coffee, Carter. Besides, Thompson’s on the way back, he can handle the paperwork. You’re too sick to be here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I feel perfectly fine.” The humph from him said otherwise. “I do. I can handle doing my job. Especially if Thompson is going to take over, I assume you don’t want these properly filled out, do you? Or legible.”

“Fine isn’t upchucking in the communal toilet loud enough that we can all hear it. You’re pregnant, Peggy. There’s more than just you to worry about.” He set the coffee on her desk and leaned over, not threatening her space. He knew how quick she could move, pregnant or not, and didn’t desire his own beverage in his face. “I already called Rogers - he’s on the way to come pick you up. As of today, you’re on maternity leave. We can converse over the phone the finer details of what that entails, plus your ideas later.”

Peggy’s heart sunk straight to her stomach. Maternity leave. She’d avoided it long as she could, despite how she needed the rest, wanted the rest. She didn’t need this used against her what so ever by the SSR boys when she came back.

“My ideas can be discussed as normal after office hours.”

“For Christ Sake, Carter!” Phillips groaned and rolled his eyes. “I can see why you and Rogers make a good pair - you’re both too stubborn for your own good. We will discuss the installments later.”

The hard look in his eyes told Peggy she wasn’t winning this and part of her, a large part of her actually didn’t want to fight this either. Phillips had taken over for a reason - a big reason, long before Peggy had revealed she was pregnant. This had been planned for so long, between them, and taking the first few steps carefully would be crucial to them.

“Traitor,” she grumbled, seeing the entrance door opened and a familiar broad figure standing there, no doubt with a cup of ginger tea.

Steve knew her so well.

“Never been so glad to be called a traitor in my life. Rogers, get your wife, and take her home. Make sure she stays there. If you’re so back in this office without my permission before that little squirt is born, Carter, there will be hell to pay.”

With that being said, Peggy found herself being lead down the exit elevator, sipping on the tea. She avoided Steve’s smugged look.

“Told you so,” he mused, wrapping her in one of his larger coats as they braced the cold wind outside. The tea did nothing to warm her up, but plenty of her belly as he sat her in the passenger seat. She’d long have to give up the ability to drive with her belly.

“Say that again and you’ll be sleeping on the couch. I don’t need to hear it,” Peggy snapped, instantly regretting it at Steve’s pouting look. “I’m sorry, darling, I am just irritated.”

“I know you are.” His hand slid over hers and squeezed before he started the car. “Phillips is just worried, hence I was taken off of duty with the Commandos a while back. He wants me near you in case something happened. Least this way you can relax and slowly plan the aspects of SHIELD.”

Peggy made a noise in the back of the throat, agreeing with Steve. Her eyes falling to the snow and ice outside the window.

“We need to stop at the store and get groceries if we’re to be inside for so long.”

If Steve disagreed, he said nothing as he made a turn to head to the nearest store.

Insisting she could walk, Peggy brushed off Steve’s concerned hand and held her own to her belly when there were kicking and movement.

She could feel Steve’s eyes on them as they walked the aisles, commenting on the price of peanut butter or bread. The smell of the fish Steve was looking at made her naughtius and this time, unavoidable urge to get sick, having her running to the bathroom.

“I’m getting some more ginger,” Steve commented when Peggy emerged, using the end of his sleeve to clean some of the sweat from her face. “And licorice. Don’t make that face, it’s good for you.”

“It’s disgusting, is what it is, but I’ll take anything at this point,” she sighed, rubbing over her belly again. “You go do that and I’ll get the tea and sugar.”

At least watching Steve walk away left Peggy with a view that reminded her as to how she got pregnant in the first place.

The last she expected to find when she waddled down the aisle, Steve having taken the cart, was a familiar face. The last familiar face she wanted to see. Ms. Fry.

She hadn’t seen her since she’d told the old coon that she was leaving the Griffith and the woman had gone on some bizarre tantrum about Peggy ruining her life, hanging around men who would do nothing but bring her down, needed to settle down, and find a husband, to train herself to do this and that. And how she was going nowhere, the same with Angie…

It made Peggy want to roll her eyes and avoid the woman but she wanted the tea and to go home and put her damn feet up.

The second she was in the aisle, the woman spotted her. Eyes lit up and trained on her.

“What do we have here?” Her voice was downright sneering and Peggy didn’t miss it as she turned to look at her.

“Hello to you too, Ms. Fry. I’m surprised you remember me,” Peggy replied cooly.

“I don’t forget the rift raft rulebreaking ones, darling. I always remember their faces.” The term darling was anything but endearing. “I see I was right.”

“About what?” When the woman just looked down at her hand on her belly and back up at Peggy with that grin, the brunette scoffed.

“Still unladylike as ever, I see. Well, which one was it?” When Peggy didn’t respond and just raised a brow, the woman scoffed. “Which one? Whose the unknown father of your child? Or do you just not know and slept around with far too many of those agents you work with?”

Before Peggy could respond, Ms. Fry seemed to be on that tantrum again, “You always did make the poor life choices. Always going out, past hours, or before hours. Always stealing food for the other residents who never bothered to even show up for mealtime. You were always running around, flirting and flaunting with men. A woman doesn’t do that! Now look at you, not even having the decency to marry one of the fellas that knocked you up. You’ve made some poor life choices here, dolly and they’re going to bite you in the can. And I suppose that while you’re here, buying the cheaper version of that tea, that you’ve lost your job too. No one is going to hire a pregnant lass and certainly not hire a single mother. Your best bet is to drop that kid off at the orphanage and to marry the first fella who makes eye contact with you. That poor kid…”

Peggy was seeing red, her chest aching. She didn’t even know when to start, where to start, with what to counter. To yell at this old hag to prove how wrong she was.

Now Peggy never considered herself a damsel in distress. She never needed to be saved, she could handle herself perfectly fine but just this once, she was glad to see Steve strutting down the aisle behind them. She knew that look, had seen it a hundred times during the war, and a hundred times after during his exports with the Commandos or running strategics for the SSR.

The set jawline, the determined look in his eyes, the fierce look that followed after. The way his shoulders were set back and his knuckles turning white around the cart, despite he’d never dare to hurt someone. Even if the thought just barely crossed his mind in a fit of blind anger that came when to defending his wife.

He said nothing to Ms. Fry, even nothing to Peggy. Dropping the cart so it hit the floor, the contents jostling inside. He cupped the small of Peggy’s back before dipping her down for a long and hearty kiss that reminded the brunette why she loved the man in the first place.

Her hand laid on his chest and felt his strong heartbeat underneath, feeling his lips smile against hers as she was settled on her feet. Her necklace with her wedding band on it had come out of the contents of her shirt and laid right in the open.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ms. Fry,” Steve mused as if they hadn’t just made out in front of her. “I see you’re still doing just as lovely. I’m afraid I never got to introduce myself, by the time I was found, and set for duty, Miss Carter and I had eloped and moved in together.”

He didn’t offer his hand to her, just a shit-eating grin as he grabbed at their basket. The woman was still staring at them, blinking slowly as if to put this all together.

“You see, you’re wrong on many accounts. Peggy does what in the hell she wants, when she wants because she wants to. No one can control her. Not her mother, not me, and certainly not you. Those ideas she puts in the other girl’s head at your home? Those were there, to begin with. You’d be surprised what goes on under your nose,” Steve snorts. “Top it off. The only bad choice in life Peggy has ever made was perhaps to marry me.”

Peggy gently smacked his chest, drawing herself out of her thoughts. “It was not. I love you, darling.”

Steve caught her hand and kissed it. “I love you too.” He looked back at Ms Fry and shrugged. “You were lucky to have Peggy under your roof for the short time you did and I’m lucky I was able to get her back. So, no you’re wrong. She hasn’t been knocked by any of those Agents, just me. We’re expecting our first in an already paid off home, one I’ve been remodeling while Peggy still worked. She’s only just starting maternity leave today, actually. We just came by to pick up a few essentials.”

He waved the basket in her face with a small laugh. “So Peggy’s ‘bad choices’ in life had actually turned around great for her. She has a promising career, a loving husband, and a household full of kids, and love. In fact, not that it’s your business, but Peggy will actually be working while I stay at home to take care of the children. Perhaps not to your ideals of traditionalism but…”

Steve shrugged before taking Peggy’s arm. Before either could say goodbye, they left. He plopped the tea box from Peggy’s fingers and tossed it into the cart.

“And the only reason you did get the cheap box was that the others give you a headache,” Steve scoffed, once they’d unloaded the groceries at the house. He watched Peggy from across the way, her feet settled into a bucket of warm water, with a towel around the back of her neck, her hand cradling her belly.

Peggy looked up from across the way and into their kitchen, seeing Steve staring at her from across the breakfast nook. “How long do you think it’ll be until she figures out you’re Captain America?”

Steve snorted as he brought his wife her cup of ginger tea and sat down with a book in his lap beside her. He’d been reading it to her for the past week. “With luck, she’s still standing in the aisle, looking confused.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Ms. Fry #Phillips & Steve #Colonel Phillips #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter smut #Pregnant Peggy #Steve works at the SSR

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incorrect-the-foxhole-court · 4 years

Text

Northern Road Trip

This is my piece for the AFTG Gift exchange! I went for Andriel coz im a complete Andriel junkie, but i couldnt resist a little Renison on the side XD

This is for @andthenthefirenationattacked - I hope you like it! I’m sorry it’s not very good but I tried! (And if you wanna talk or fangirl about aftg at any point, i’m definitely around for that!)

Neil couldn’t remember a time he had felt this safe. Which, he had to admit, made no sense considering his current situation. Despite having family in England, an uncle who had once saved his life, the UK had never been a place that had screamed safety. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of an endless stretch of rolling green hills that looked like they had been taken from one of Matt’s fantasy novels, and he felt…safe. It was as much a disquieting feeling as hope had once been.

The sky was a bright, forget-me-not blue that, after only five days in the country, he already knew was a rare blessing. Fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky, and the relief that they weren’t even a little grey had been unexpectedly strong when they had woken up this morning. Two cars idled behind him, the engines rumbling softly, and those inside were already betting on the upcoming games outcome and snacking on junk food that Kevin had already tried to throw out four times over.

Neil sucked in a deep breath, feeling the cold air settle in his lungs like shards of ice. Beautiful, this country, but cold. And wet. This was the first day they had been there that it hadn’t rained.

He could hear his old team behind him, laughing and joking, teasing Andrew for their stopping. It hadn’t been Andrew that had wanted to stop, but the goalie knew Neil too well now – had feigned car sickness to cover Neil’s need to see something. To see something other than exy courts and press rooms from the place his mother had come from. The woman had been cold and cruel and protective and beautiful, and standing there now, in the place she had always talked about, in Rivington, he could understand. The people he had met from around here felt like they had been born from the place itself. He could almost feel his mother in the wind’s cold fingers as it raked through his hair and cut straight through his winter coat to chill the blood in his veins.

“Neil! Come on! Andrew says he’s okay to keep going now,” Matt shouted, a grin on his face that was far too smug and pleased to merely be teasing.

Dan smacked him in the ribs as she disappeared around the other side of their hire car and slid into the driver’s seat. And then smacked the wheel in frustration, got out and went round to the passenger side door, grumbling about stupid English cars. Neil tuned out Matt and Allison’s teasing, both of them needling Dan about still not being used to which side of the car to get in, and turned to the other car. Renee smiled at Andrew before going to join the others.

Neil slid into the backseat next to Andrew, Aaron on the goalie’s other side, Kevin up front and Nicky driving. Within thirty minutes of driving, Andrew was asleep, head tipped back against the back of the seat – Neil wasn’t surprised, Andrew had barely slept since the flight, as though he was more scared than Neil that some relative would show up at their hotel. It wasn’t a secret they were in the UK; the whole world had known this is where they would be. The press had been covering the US exy team’s trip to the UK in excruciating detail for weeks. They had already had their games in Glasgow and London, and tomorrow, the last game of Us vs. UK, would take place in Manchester. London had been an easy win for the US Court, Andrew had barely bothered to try. Glasgow had been significantly more difficult. It had taken bribing Andrew to lock down the goal for them to come close to winning – even then it hadn’t been enough; they’d lost by two points.

Tomorrow’s game would decide who would face the Chinese team. And the old team from Palmetto State had come out to show their support as Kevin, Andrew and Neil, played their last UK game of the season, fighting to advance closer to the title of ‘Exy International Champions’. Kevin had been training and planning nonstop. It had taken Andrew’s knives to convince him to have this day off.

“Erm…Neil…?” Nicky asked, voice tight. Neil dragged his eyes away from staring out the window as the North sped by, and met Nicky’s worried eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Satnav is freaking out.”

“Get Andrew to fix it,” Aaron grunted, “he’s the tech wonder boy.”

“Waking Andrew up in a car has never been a good idea,” Nicky warned, no doubt thinking of that time all those years ago.

Neil could feel Aaron’s smirk as the man reached over and tapped his twin on the shoulder closest to Neil. From habit, Neil’s hand was out waiting as Andrew jolted from sleep, one hand instinctively reaching out. Their fingers twined together and held on tight. No elbow in the stomach, no fists flying, not anymore – they had been sleeping in the same bed now for nearly two years; Andrew was too used to being woken by Neil’s nightmares to react violently. Now it was a grasping hand and white knuckled grip, each proving to the other that they are here – that they are safe. On Andrew’s other side, Aaron huffed in frustration and turned his attention back to the steady stream of messages between him and Katelyn.

“Satnav isn’t working properly,” Neil explained quietly, and Andrew shook off his grip, leaning forward to take it from Kevin.

“Going old school,” Nicky muttered to himself. “Gonna have to use these damn stupid road signs.”

Neil didn’t bother to watch what Andrew was doing to fix the machine – he had learnt a long time ago that when Andrew couldn’t sleep, he and one of the cats curled up on the sofa with an instruction manual of some sort. Andrew couldn’t sleep most nights. By this point, Andrew’s eidetic memory had given him the ability to fix almost anything technological.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the Lake District. They were aiming for a shop that the Northern players on the UK team hadn’t stopped raving about since the team meets had started. By the time they finally arrived, it was raining again.

They parked in a garden centre opposite a tiny little place called ‘The Grasmere Gingerbread Shop’ and stared out through rain-streaked windows. Nicky’s phone started ringing. He took the sat nav out of its holder, tossed it onto Kevin’s lap before balancing his phone in the slot instead. Allison’s face appeared on the screen, and then the rest of the others.

“So, how do we decide who goes out into the rain to get the damn gingerbread we drove for two hours to come and try?” Allison asked and Renee, in the driver’s seat beside her, tucked a few stray blonde curls behind her ear, dragging a smile from the otherwise annoyed face.

“Flip for it?” Nicky suggested.

Matt lost to Renee. Dan lost to Matt. Allison rolled her eyes and picked at a perfectly manicured nail, but called heads when she went up against Dan, only to lose. Storm clouds gathered on her face as she waited for the other car to decide who would flip against her.

Aaron called heads, Allison, tails. Aaron won.

Neil hadn’t heard swearing like that for a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. He had missed them all. He loved being on Court and he loved his team and exy, and playing with Andrew and Kevin, but he had missed being a fox.

Renee went with Allison, smiling as the blonde tried and failed to hide under the trees from the rain. Neil could hear through the cracked window Andrew was smoking through as Allison cursed everyone and everything for her having forgotten an umbrella. Renee just laughed and tugged her in for a kiss. Neil smiled again; it had taken them a long time to realise just how meant for each other they were – but now? Together? They were a sight for sore eyes.

Andrew blew another cloud of smoke past Neil’s face. He couldn’t help the deep inhale as the smoke curled past his nose. Andrew watched, utterly unimpressed – but Neil could read the affection in the stare. Smoke was no longer the reminder of his mother, of the fire, of how it had smelled when her body had burned. Now it was Andrew, it was nights on the roof, the bite of his key in his palm, the feel of a thundering heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Andrew’s knee nudged his, and Neil smiled again.

Allison and Renee got back in the car behind and they drove to Windemere, where they had booked out all the rooms in a little bed and breakfast. The man at the desk was the most English person Neil had ever met. He was the embodiment of every single English stereotype, and Neil couldn’t get away fast enough.

Their rooms were all on the second floor, Dan and Matt disappeared into one room, Allison and Renee into another, Aaron claimed his own room, as did Kevin and Nicky. Nicky was already face timing with Eric before his bedroom door closed. And despite Allison’s usual warning of ‘keep it down’, there were delighted giggles and moans coming from her and Renee’s room.

Neil shook his head, smiling, and followed after Andrew into their room. Andrew was already lighting up next to the window, so Neil dropped the bag by the bottom of the bed and slumped onto the mattress, stripping off his black armbands and dumping them over the edge. He heard Andrew shut the window and the bed dip as he settled nearby. Neil reached a hand up, and Andrew’s fingertips trailed over his bare arms, dipping over every scar and mark.

Neil closed his eyes, even now, years later, most touches on those scars brought back the car lighter, the knife, his father’s axe…

But then Andrew’s lips began tracing every raised bump, slowly washing away the memories one by one, until there was nothing left but the two of them, Andrew’s hands under Neil’s shirt, Andrew’s lips pressed hard to Neil’s, and Neil’s fingers tight in Andrew’s hair.

He didn’t realise how much he needed it until Andrew tugged his t-shirt over his head and slowly but steadily began taking him apart. Neil couldn’t stop the moan that Andrew dragged from deep in his throat as Andrew pushed him harder and faster until Neil’s breathing became ragged and Andrew leaned up to press their lips together as though he could swallow Neil’s hard groans when he fell over the edge. He lay limp and sweating, breathing hard, with Andrew beside him, the man’s expression open and soft in a way he had only seen four times so far.

Neil reached out, “Yes or no?”

Andrew didn’t reply, just pressed his cheek into Neil’s palm and closed his eyes as Neil’s fingers played with the tiny hairs at the nape of Andrew’s neck. He wanted to say something, anything to remind Andrew just how amazing he was – how he always knew what Neil needed, usually before Neil knew himself, how even though Neil had long since learned to stand alone, it felt safe knowing that Andrew was there for him if he needed to lean on someone. But he didn’t have the words.

And he didn’t find them fast enough before Nicky pounded on the bedroom door.

“Come on, lovebirds, Allison ruined her hair to get this gingerbread, and Aaron and I went out for alcohol, come and have a drink and a snack like the old days. But put clothes on first!”

Andrew growled under his breath, but Neil smiled.

“When will he leave me alone?” Andrew said, shaking out his hand and pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“He’s been in Germany with Eric for ten months. He can’t leave you any more alone.”

Andrew just stood and stared down at him a moment. “Come on junkie. Let’s go.”

Neil stood and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up, before he joined Andrew at the now open door to the bedroom, stood in front of a very irate Kevin.

“We have a game tomorrow. Tomorrow. And they want us to drink and eat and party. Why did they come at all, they’re not playing,” Kevin said, face set; cold and hard.

“Tomorrow will be fine. We’ll win or we’ll lose, but it’ll be fine. Let’s go, it could be fun,” Neil said, shrugging. He’d never felt as safe as he was in that moment and he’d never seen Andrew as relaxed – that was all he needed. All he wanted.

They should take road trips more often.

“Three hundred and seventy-four percent,” Andrew murmured.

Neil didn’t bother to stop the smirk on his face.

----

That’s it! Again, I hope you liked it and I hope it was a good enough gift for you in the exchange! Have a wonderful day!

#aftg #aftg gift exchange #andrew #neil #andriel #the foxes #little sprinkles of renison #coz they too cute #road trip in the uk #in the north of course #in my two favourite places #hell i hope you liked this #i tried to write them #they were REAL hard to write #heres hoping i did the wonderful foxes justice #damn i wish they were real #and that i was a fox #XD

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thefirebreathingqueen · 3 years

Text

Tis the damn season

a folk of the air fic based on tis the damn season by taylor swift.

Summary: after years away from her quiet hometown, Jude returns for the weekend. Someone is still there, waiting for her (Jude x Cardan) All human AU

Snow drifted lazily through the sky as her legs took her on an all too familiar path, collecting in her hair. This path was one well-traveled, Jude remembered it from ditching class with Larkin and Liliver and early morning study seshes before exams. The path had hardly changed in the years she had been gone, the quiet little town she called home hardly changing either. Small, old houses still lined every street, decorated with bright, twinkling lights. Children chased each other through the snowbanks, throwing loose powder at each other with gloved hands. Memories of her and her sisters doing the same pushed to the front of her mind, memories of a life long abandoned.

Taryn would be home, she knew, Vivi might be. Jude hadn’t been back since graduation, not for holidays or birthdays or anything. If her family needed her, they would pop over to her apartment hundreds of miles away.

And yet, she was here. After nearly five years of absence.

With a chime of the bells on the back of the door, the door swung open, Jude hastily slipping inside. Stopping the snow of her boots, she entered the room. Coffee assaulted her nose, freshly ground and made. Inhaling deeply, a small smile pricked at her lips, shoulders dropping she fell into the comforting warmth of the small café.

Plush armchairs sat scattered around, varying shades of reds, oranges, and greens, the colours rich and inviting. Tables and chairs were mingled with them too. The glow of the lights cast everything in a bright and warm hue. Making her way to the counter, she smiled at the barista. Fand, she remembered, only a year or so younger than herself. Footsteps sounded behind her as she ordered, light as a cat and barely audible. Moving to the side to wait for her coffee, Jude turned, catching a pair of dark eyes already fixed on hers. A familiar smirk danced across the mans even more familiar mouth.

“Cardan,” She said, keeping her voice stiff and polite. He nodded at Fand as she asked something about a usual, dark hairs stirring on his head. It was longer now, styled in a way that simultaneously looked like it took seconds and hours.

“Jude,” her name rolled of his tongue smoothly. Jude’s stomach fluttered at it, at the way his lips curved around her name. Like it fit perfectly in his mouth.

Cursing herself quietly, he moved to stand next to her waiting on his own cup.

“How’s the city?” he asks, leaning closer. It was small talk, but somehow it didn’t feel like small talk.

Small talk was boring, and absolutely nothing about Cardan was boring.

Black eyes bore into mine as he waited intently on her answer. Refusing to look away, she shrugged, “It’s okay.”

After a moment, “How’s the town.”

Cardan shrugs, “It’s okay.” He mirrors her, “Empty now.”

“Empty?” she can’t stop herself from asking. Curiosity fell on her, forcing the words out far quicker than she wished.

Noticing he smiled a bit, but his eyes were still melancholy, “We seem to be missing a fiery brunette with a tendency to threaten people. Have you seen her?”

Jude’s throat tightened, “I don’t think you’d want her back.”

Looking around he muttered, “I think we would.”

The Greenbriar’s had known Jude and her family for a long time, Cardan was in her and Taryn’s grade, Rhia used to babysit us, Dain had given Jude her very first job. The Greenbriar’s had been a part of this town for as long as it’s stood.

A cup landed on the counter, nearly black steaming liquid inside. Grasping the cup, careful not to burn her fingers, she moved to an olive green armchair in the corner. Barely two minutes had passed before an extravagantly dressed man sat across form me, his own mug full of some sugary smelling, light coloured, drink.

Looking at him expectantly, as she took a sip, she waited for him to begin.

He was off, acting so much like and unlike himself at the same moments. Who he had grown to be was a mystery Jude, their last interaction at eighteen as he begged her to stay and she refused, chasing her dreams outside of the bubble they had lived in.

Seeing him now a small bubble of regret bubbled in her stomach. Jude didn’t regret leaving, didn’t regret going to university and finding her job. But for just a moment, she looked at him and imagined what it would have been if she didn’t.

“How long are you staying?” Cardan asks, eyes barely meeting hers.

“Just for three days,”

He nods, “I can work with that.”

Cardan had walked her home, standing beside her, arms gently brushing. Warmth pooled in her chest at it, at the feeling of him next to her again. They had stayed and talked about everything and nothing for nearly an hour before she looked at the watch on her wrist. Everyone should be at home by now, and the sun would no doubt begin to fall on the horizon soon.

At the gate out front her parents place, Jude turned, pulling the lapels of her coat tighter around her body. A larger hand slipped into hers, squeezing it gently.

“I’ve missed you, Jude.” His voice was quiet.

Without room for another word, he turned and continued his way down the road.

Knuckles hitting the door, she waited for just a moment. Nerves spiked, choking her out slowly. Dark wood pulled open in front of her, light and warmth escaping quickly. In the doorway was a tall, slender woman. Features of her face sharp and angular. Before Jude could even open her mouth arms wrapped around her.

“What are you doing here?” Viviane asked, excitement lighting her face.

“Thought I’d come for a visit, if you’d all be okay with that?” Jude tapped her boots together nervously.

With a small shake of her head, she pulled Jude inside.

“Who’s at the door?” A dark head poked out of the doorway to the kitchen, long hair in perfect curls. Taryn’s face dropped in surprise; mouth agape as she stared.

“Jude’s here.” Vivi said plainly, pulling the coat from Jude’s shoulders and hanging it by the door.

Rushing over, her body collided with her twins, hair of the same exact hue mingling in their embrace.

“Come on, Dad, Mom, and Oak are going to be so happy to see you.”

The next time Cardan appeared was in a sleek looking black car pulling up next to her as she walked off the large breakfast she had been stuffed with. The window closest to her rolled down. Hesitantly she leaned into the open space, her nose just reaching the interior of the car.

“My darling Jude,” a broad smile fell across his mouth, “Get in.”

After a moment of debate with herself and against her best judgement. She got in.

The town had hardly changed since she left, still trapped in its own bubble. Just like the café, they talked easily, slipping back into who they were in high school. Jude’s shoulders felt lighter than they had for a long time. They drove up and down every street, and then back again, filling their time like they did when they were teenagers.

Eventually they came to a stop, climbing out into the busy streets. A small store selling handmade novelties sat quietly. It was always the best place for buying presents, and despite the fact she had purchased a gift for everyone before she came, one name had been missing on her list.

Holding the door open for her, Cardan followed her inside, moving silently through the rows of shelves. Items crowded the space, each marked with a little twine and tape price tag. Scanning the shelves, Jude searched.

“Look at this,” Cardan muttered behind her, grabbing her hand to keep her from walking any farther forward. They still fit together perfectly, calluses and soft skin in the same places, slotting like the final pieces of a puzzle. He held a small charcoal grey box. Inside was a necklace, a simple chain with only one pendant. A silver dagger, highly detailed for its size.

“It’s beautiful,” escapes her lips. After a moment, he sets it down, pulling her along the isles, not dropping her hand.

After a moment she managed to snag something while he was off looking for last minute gifts for his brothers. A small bag slung off her wrist as he met with her at the front of the store, his own bag in his hand. Silently, he slipped his hand into hers ago. And surprising herself, Jude did not let go.

The third time Jude found Cardan was at night, right after Christmas dinner. Her family has already unwrapped their gifts, muttering apologies that Jude didn’t have any to unwrap. They had already sent them in the mail.

One final gift stayed heavy in her pocket.

The Greenbriar estate was the largest in town, built and added on over two centuries, maybe even more. It was light up, brilliant lights lining the doorways and rooftops. For a moment she paused, debating on whether approaching was a good idea. Her chest tightened, unease settling in her bones.

“Looking for someone?” a playful voice reached her ears.

Turning quickly, and very nearly slipping on the ice, she found the source of her conflict standing right behind her, leaning against a tree lining the street.

“Indeed I am.”

“May I be of any service then, my darling?”

Jude’s heart sped at the nickname. Cardan looked unphased by their teenage term of endearment however.

Pulling the small box from her pocket, she held into him.

“For me?” his dark rows raised, looking more unsettled than he had any other time this weekend.

“For you.”

Gently, he pulls the small box from my hands, popping open the lid.

“Are you proposing darling? I must admit that is one hell of a gift.”

Jude’s cheeks burned as blood rushed to them, “No I just know how you never go anywhere without them.”

Nestled on the black satin was a silver ring, one thick band. Scales were etched all around it, the head of the snake swallowing the tail.

Pulling it out, he slipped it on, fitting it perfectly on his middle finger. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear he whispered, “Thank you, I love it.”

Throwing all her judgement and reservations aside, Jude’s palms brushed against his cheeks, pulling his face to hers.

Cardan responded quickly, entangling his fingers in her hair, grasping right at the base of her neck.

“What are we doing?” he asks between kisses, lips sliding over each other’s.

“This,” she answers, “Just for the weekend.”

The last time she saw Cardan was when her car was loaded with her suitcase and she was idling outside the driver’s door. Waiting for something she didn’t want to admit to.

She had already said her goodbyes to her family inside, hugs and tears shed from all of them with promises of visiting more often.

As he always does, Cardan rounds the corner, already walking toward her.

Jude’s heart thumps in her chest, she had done this once, she could do it again.

Standing close, voice small and steady, he asks, “There’s nothing I could say to get you to stay is there?”

Shaking her head slightly, voice thick she whispers back, “No.”

Cardan nods, looking much like the eighteen year old she had left the last time.

Soft lips meet hers, slowly. A finale.

A goodbye.

Without wasting anymore words, he steps back, giving her room to slip into the driver’s seat. Moving forward she refuses to look in the rearview mirror and the man she is leaving behind.

As she drives along the busy highway and the town shrinks behind her, Jude pretends she doesn’t feel her heart shattering in her chest.

Back home, she had unpacked her bags, throwing a load of laundry in and beginning to dust every available surface in her house. Anything to keep her busy, her mind away from the images of dark eyes, long ring covered fingers, soft pink lips.

Finally, she collapses against the couch, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body.

A knock sounds against her door. Moving quickly, she pulls it open. Her whole body stutters as she takes in the image on the other side.

Leaning against her doorframe casually, Cardan smiles, “Hey.”

A/N: so its been awhile. I’m not sure the last time i even wrote and i think this SUCKS but im trying to get back into it. The characters both seem pretty ooc to me so sorry bout that but im trying to get back into the grove of things.

#jude duarte #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #high king cardan #The Folk of the Air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tfota #tfota fanfic

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goth-girlfriend · 4 years

Note

I really LOVE your writing. It makes me happy && really love Endeavor more then I already do. 🥰 But! While I was reading you’re Stain fic I couldn’t help but feel like you would write a GREAT angst. I mean that whole good bye scene had my twisting all the way into my soul. So if you could? 👉👈🥺 would you, could you, please write an Angst fic for Endeavor or Dabi? I’m a sucker for pain 😫😩😩

Dabi x Reader aggressive Angst? Reader x Brief Overhaul/Kai Chisaki

Aggressive angst?

Inspired by a weird dream and the song Daddy Issues

I’ll try to redo it! I want to put more effort and more angst. I wanted them to be lovey dovey at first but my progress was lost so I just came up with another plan. I still hope you enjoy what I wrote! Thank you!

“Touya!” I screamed running up to him. I plopped down beside him, in the next swing.

“We match again.” I pointed to the white bandages on his arms and neck.

“Heh, yeah, I had another quirk accident. Trainings getting harder.” He mumbled looking down at his feet.

I smiled and nodded, “I’m sorry, maybe it’ll get easier?” It was more of a question.

“Yeah, hows you get hurt?” Touya pointed at my own bandaged arms.

“Daddy issues.” I shrugged, that’s what I’d heard mom call them, so I guess that it.

“Oh.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, but it’ll get easier....” I realized how big of a lie it was for the both of us.

“Let’s get ice cream!” I jumped out of my swing and held my hand out to Touya.

“I guess.” He shrugged and took my hand.

I pulled him with me, five year olds, crossing the park, in twining bandages, in the late afternoon, just before dark. Everything seemed okay at the moment, everything was good. For the twenty minutes we sat, staring at the cars passing by, and licking ice cream.

“Whatcha thinking about?” I turned to Touya who had been staring at the bare popsicle stick in between his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked.

I shrugged, “I wanna be known, a hero, maybe. I don’t know, my dad says I won’t be anything. But I can try right?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Touya mumbled.

The years like this passed, We grew up and we fell in love. We tried to spend more time together, well at least the time we could steal. Spending late nights at the park talking in whispered and hiding when cars or a hero would do a round, fining a hill off to the side of some train tracks and laying down on the grass judging the stars and feeling the summer warmth in the soft grass, the occasional sounds and yellow lights of a passing train up hill. Jumping off of bridges into the water streams, trying to smile when things got hard. Fixing each others bandages and talking through it all. Night walks home on the dark streets the only safe haven being the street lights we’d rush to and stand under. Finding one of the few wooden posts and carving our name into it was a sharp stone. I fell in love, and I fell hard. I smiled like an idiot every-time I turned to look at him, and he’d return the smile twice as big.

I found myself hugging Touya’s chest and crying, he rubbed my back, “what’s wrong?”

I only hugged him harder the tears falling harder as I rubbed my eyes into his chest tears staining his black button up school jacket. I cling to the black fabric on his back still not wanting to let go. My wrist and palms and body was hurting, when I got here I could even stand without wavering, not I’m clinging to his jacket like it’s my life line. I couldn’t get word out, “I wanna runaway an-“ I was cut of by a gasp for air between my sobs.

“It’s okay, I already know you have daddy issues, because I do too.” He sighed, his chin resting on the top of my head.

“You wanna runaway?” He asked and I nodded against his chest, not letting go of the back of his jacket, he sighed, “I guess I can’t let you go alone.”

The day came, I’d packed a bag with necessities, and money I’d been slowly taking from my dad. My mom was long gone and now I suffered the abuse for the both of us. The day had been grey and muggy, humid. Nasty, disgusting, irritating and just infuriating. I was getting antsy, the cop car would do its final round of the neighborhood for the night and then I was home free. I picked up my window watching the tail lights disappear. And dropped my bag out and a second bag of secondary supplies. I pushed everything away from the window and so it wouldn’t look like I escaped through the window. I cleaned the window with ease and closed it from the outside. I picked up my bags and headed out, to meet Touya where he’d promise to meet me.

It was all the way across town, he wasn’t there, not a sign of anything, no bag, no shoe prints, nothing. I dropped my bags on the floor behind a dumpster, I sat on the floor and just waited the night. Touya was supposed to be here, he wouldn’t leave me would he, he wouldn’t break his promise would he? I waited all night, nothing, and all the next day, nothing. I sat in the rain all the second night, I’d found some pallets and a piece of plastic tarp and made a makeshift shelter. After a few months of being homeless and on the move to make a life for myself I had a small apartment and day job. All out of spite I can add, because by the fourth day I’d realized I’d been stood up completely. He wasn’t coming, he left me alone, he lied to me just like my dad. I found myself wondering the streets tonight, it was winter and I could see my breath under the street lights I passed. I shivered at the satisfaction of cold air over taking my body and internal organs with every deep breath I took.

That was until I had to lunge and send my right fist foreword, and ice wall and shard of ice flying at the man who decided to attack me.

“Leave,” I snarled and got ready to attack again.

“What are you an idiot, don’t you know fire beats ice.” The guys voice was snarky.

“Yeah, well frostbite kills the flesh and fire wont bring it back.” I snarled as flames melted the ice and I stopped the and sent more ice flying at the man.

“Feisty,” he chuckled and through the steam I watched a blue light being held at my shoulder height.

“Too bad feisty gets on my nerves.” He growled and the light grew coming at me.

I made a thick and large ice wall

It surpassed the buildings we were between in height. I focused on my feet and made an ice pillar below me shoving myself up. Once Kent he air I melted the ice making a ramp to the roof top and slid in my heels down the ice ramp. Thank God this place was far away from my apartment.

“STAY STILL BRAT.” Fire came flying up catching everything in its path.

I snarled and focused on the ice that and turned to water, I tried to manipulate it and form a ring around me, I focused on the broken building pieces and tried my bets to bright them closer the stones tumbled before forming another ring, and finally I tried to manipulate the air and it formed swirls around me. I felt my hair getting pulling in different directions, not painful just being tossed by the wind.

“Listen here, I don’t know what you want but I just need you to leave me alone.” I snarled and stepped back not knowing where he could come from.

“You’re still as naive as ever, begging wont help you. Nothing will, I’m here to kill you. Nothing ever gets easier.” I shivered the voice finally hit a nerve and I was enlightened.

I snarled and ran to the edge of the biking jumping straight down, splitting a ball of fire in half with the help of ice. I started trying to physically fight the boy who left me, abandoned my after making a promise. I landed a coupe hits but he used his quirk, it resulted to me using my mine, my hands freezing and finger tips almost going number I went to using the rocks and earth to throw things at him and trying to just immobilize him. But he burnt through ice, water, rock, mud, dirt, and his fire was strong enough to break the air currents I was using. All I had was fire but since that day I vowed I’d never use it.

“TOUYA TODOROKI YOUR A DIRTY LIAR, A NASTY HUMAN BY, AND AS BAD As your father.” I snarled and brought my hands up together, a huge ball of colorful flames leaving my palms burning the skin and bringing feeling back to my palms and fingers.

That hit something because attacks got worse, we battled this out destroying half of the abandoned infrastructure around us. I managed to pin him down, and by pin him down I caught each of his hands in a pillar of concrete and and ice and brought him to his knees pulling his hands underneath the ground.

“WHY DID YOU JUST LEAVE ME?!” I screamed wanting answers, the problem was I was full of anger, wet anger, the kind of anger where you care to much and builds up and rushes up to your eyes and then your crying and you don’t want to cry because then you’ll weak. I didn’t want to look weak in front of the boy, because a man wouldn’t hurt anyone this way, but this boy did.

“Couldn’t you tell?” He scoffed, looking up from his place in the dirt, “I didn’t want you, you cried to much, no one could ever want you with how much your cry, look at you, crying right. Go and ahead and cry little girl, because no body can cry like you do. You cry for every little thing, and it’s annoying.”

I couldn’t say anything if it’s how he felt then fine, I’ll just leave, if he thought I was annoying then why did come here, why was I here? I scoffed and closed my eyes, the tears stopping, I looked up to the sky and opened them coming face with a full moon. With a wave of my hands I ripped the rocks away from Dabi and sent them flying into every light post around us, dressing the neighborhood in a dark shade then it already wore.

“You’re right, I guess that’s the problem when you care about someone to much. You trust them with everything, but in the end its all one sided.” I huffed and turned around and walked once a few blocks away I turned a corner and just ran, I was gone, I wasn’t waiting for anyone or anything anymore.

It’s time I live for me, if Touya wants to play villains good for him, but I have my own life to live, and as long as I’m as far away from him as possible, I’ll be fine.

“Overhaul sir, I’m at the meeting spot, I’ve scoped it out and everything seems clear.” I spoke into my phone and quickly disappeared from scene hiding on a rooftop nearby.

“Thank you (Y/n), I’ll be arriving shortly. Make sure to take care of any problems.” He spoke smoothly into the phone.

“Of course.” I nodded my end of the phone and he hung up.

I tucked my phone away and squatted against the wall do a roof top door entrance. The shadow covered me and left room for movement. I pressed my back against the wall and sat my butt on my heels, it prepared me for easy lunges and more forced if I had to run. I watched intensely at the large alley below, just waiting. I watched as a white van pulled up, the side door opened and a group of people poured out, one with hand son his body, a girl in a school uniform, a guy covered in black mist, a another in a grey and black suit, the man driving was a lizard and he made a hand motion and drove off. A few minutes passed and the lizard guy came walking up with someone who I couldn’t help but feel familiar.

They all stood around waiting and talking, until a new It was time, using moisture in the air, I created a cold thick dog to block out the view, I left a clear entry way for Overhaul and his men. I was paid to make sure they got in and out unharmed, so you can bet, it’s what I’m going to do. I watched as a black sleek car pulled up, I was blocking out the sound of commotion, and dropped the temperature causing ice crystals to form in the air.

As soon as Overhaul gave the sign the I split the fog, he wanted a great entrance, so I made sure it showed him first and spread to show the people around him. The crystals in the air slowly dropping forming a wind chime symphony.

“Tomura Shigaraki.” I shivered at Chisaki’s voice.

It’s not hard to admit that I’d found myself tangled up with Kai more then just one way. I sighed and pried my eyes away from him staring at the other group. Form what I had learned they were called the league to villains. I didn’t learn the names, I didn’t need to. All I needed to know is that they work under the man I had a bad run in with. But it was a benefit for me when I escaped his grimy hands. And then fell right into the clean gloved hands of Kai Chisaki.

He forced me to work with him, he knew who I was and learned what I was capable of, and with the new quirks that had been engineered into my DNA, he had even more reason to hold me down.

I let out a silent sigh and crossed my arms over my knees counting the people across from Kai, the same number, so everything was alright. That’s was until screaming started, I noticed a blue light starting up and my shoved myself forward left heel pushing against the wall I was just propped up against. Crashing down I manipulated the blue fire up into the sky in a pillar, quickly the ice crystals forming a thick wall between the two as I landed beside Kai. The sounds on the other side of the ice we’re muffled, Kit barked orders at his team and they quickly went into action, they rushed to the open end of the alley making sure Chisaki got out, I followed in the back among sure no one got hurt. I looked back seeing a large ball of blue fire coming, I quickly brought my palms up fingers spread using my own fire to break through and send a baldy back, it was yellow with streaks of green, red, blue and purple. I quickly erected a stone wall at the alleys entrance as I stepped out blocking their exit.

I rushed and found Chisaki getting into his car, the man held the door open, Kai turned to me, “Get in.” He barked.

Just as I was about to another ball of fire caking crashing near the other cars.

“I’m sorry Kai,” I turned around to face the source, “I promised to get you all out safe and right now you just need to go, I’ll find you soon.” I shut the door and told the man who was holding the door to go.

He quickly left no waiting or denying. I ran back to the cars that were almost being burnt, using the water moisture again I put out the fire and froze it causing another wall of ice.

“GET OUT OF HERE.” I screamed at the men who were lingering trying to fight back.

They listened and rushed off to escape, I snarled standing in the middle of the empty street alone. Facing the blurred figures on the other side of the ice, they came through in black pools of mist. I reached behind my head tightened my lunar eclipse Kitsune mask.

“It must be terrible being left behind, why don’t you join us.” The little school girl spoke up bringing her hands to hold her mask.

“We don’t need her, we just need to know where your boss is going,” Tomura asked hunching over.

I scoffed, “He’s not my boss, and I don’t know where he’s going, Im only here to make sure they get in and out safely.”

I reached down and grabbed the handle to a katana. I slide it up and brought it foreword taking hold with both hands. I examined them hoping to find a weak point on each of them, I did, and got ready to use it if I had to.

“Lets just burn her, she won’t be any help anyways.” The guy with black hair piped up, I looked at him, something inside me clicked, he looked familiar, but why couldn’t I remember him, I knew him.

“I’ll just finish this.” Was all I heard before a hand came in contact with my mask, I was watched it crumble and then a hand planted on my face.

I stood there not knowing what to do, there was literally just a hand on my face. The pressure on my nose cause me to sneeze, the hand was pulled away as I rubbed my nose and used the back of my Katana to knock the guy down.

“What are you doing” I scoffed and turned to sneeze again, “that was my good mask.”

I looked at the crumbles that remained on the floor, Kai is gonna yell at me, and then yell some more, and then some more, and then he’ll buy me a new one.... but when he yells it lasts like an an hour... and a half.

“WHAT?!” He screamed and looked up from his kneeling position.

“I know it doesn’t look like much but it costed a ton.” I picked up the ribbon it was all that was left, “Rude.”

“Why is she alive?” I looked up to see the guy with the grey and black suit looking shocked.

I heard a ding in my ear from the ear piece, they were long gone and it looked like I was in the clear to escape.

“Well, it was nice wasting time here,” I took a few steps back, “But I have to go.”

Using one of the few quirks I opened a white portal behind me but was stopped by a scream and blue fire. I dropped my Katana and quickly counter acted closing the portal and making a wall of cement and jumping on it, with the wave of my hand I ran a stream of fire over all of them hoping they would run or burn. I stopped and noticed they were gone, maybe they’d left, until I felt something hit my back, quickly breaking the ice wall I tuned it into water and whipped it around to smack down whoever had hit me. I looked back to see the same black haired guy. Everyone else was gone, I quickly dropped the cement wall and put distance between us.

“Your little group is gone, shouldn’t you be with them.” I scoffed and brought my fists up preparing to counter act whatever this guy had.

“I could say the same thing,” he fought his right hand up a blue flame igniting, “Do you remember me?”

“Should I?” I asked annoyed and trying to make more distance.

“Eleven years and then some and you forget about me,” he scoffed.

“I guess you aren’t important.” I shrugged.

“Id say I was, you cried when I left you and you cried when I found you after all that time. And now you don’t remember me.” The fire in his hands died out.

“Like I said bud, nothing.” I couldn’t fight the feeling though, I totally knew this guy.

“Well, do you remember your da-“ just before he could finish I sneezed.

“Sorry, my bad didn’t mean to cut you off.” I rubbed my nose, “anyways, I don’t have time to waste, I don’t knew you, and if you know me good. But back to the point no time to wa-“ I was cut off by a cold feeling in my chest.

Not ice cold, but a burning cold, my reaction was to surround myself with ice spikes, the guy in front of my just dissolved, I looked over my shoulder, there he stood, blue fire pressed in between my shoulder blades, and in my body, singeing every organ it could touch.

Looking at his face this close, his eyes, memories quickly flashed in my mind, just brief second of the past.

Dripping ice cream, bloody tissue on the floor, blue eyes, bruises, passing train, cloudy full moon, stars on water, blue fire, snowflakes, bandage tape, red hair, school uniform, dumpster, unknown men, tubes, burning house, cop car, tail lights, hands clasped in the a bush, standing under a street light, (e/c) eyes, screaming, running, laughing, tears on the dry dirt, empty swing moving, crying, balled up fist, blood dripping from finger tips, a bag with money, a black tarp, a little girl screaming Touya

I don’t know when but I held my breath, my insides had frozen over killing off the fire inside, I felt the fist in my flash, my organs immediately starting to regenerate, burning in my lungs, stinging my eyes followed by and echo in my mind “You cry for everything.”

“YOU BURNT BASTARD ILL KILL YOU.” I screamed blood flying from my mouth and a tip as I turned ripping his arm out of my back, my own fists lightly up with fire.

I went for it not nothing to looking which able to feel the vibrations through the ground, the tears dropped forming ice crystals building up as blood dropped from the wounds that were closing, “I TRUSTED YOU, YOU LIED TO ME! YOU LEFT ME AND I SUFFERED, I LET GO AND I MOVED ON I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU CAME BACK ILL KILL YOU BUT THATS NOT IT! YOU SAID WED RUNAWAY TOGETHER, YOU AHD DADDY ISSUES AND I WATCHED YOU CRY, I WAS THERE EVERY TIME YOU CRIED, EVERY TIME YOU WERE HURT, I CARRIED YOU WHEN YOU WERE WEAK, I WAS OUT LATE WHEN YOU COULDNT GO BACK HOME I WAS ABUSED FOR STAYING OUT LATE I GAVE EVERYTHING I COULD IN THOSE TIMES AND NOW YOUR LITERALLY STABBING ME IN THE BACK FOR A SECOND TIME!” I didn’t stop even when he started to fight back, I took burn after burn, not caring about the pain.

I stopped the moment I had him in an all to familiar pose, ok his knees the way that night played out, I snarled and my chest heaved, with quick heavy breaths, “I should kill you.” I mumbled.

“Do it.” He snapped and struggled.

“I won’t, it’s ridiculous. You probably want to die, it’d make it to easy for you.” I snapped at him.

“Whatever, so do you want to know why I’m bac-“ I quickly cut him off with a muzzle of ice.

“I don’t want to know anything, at all,” I turned away from his eyes closed, “I don’t even want to see you, if I annoy you so much why do you come after me, the first time alone, this time alone after your team left. I don’t care, I take that back I don’t even wanna know why.” I turned away completely and opened my eyes staring at the new moon phase of the moon, a void, surrounded by stars.

“Because I keep trying to let you go, but I Can’t,” He spoke to clearly for my liking, “I’m not entirely here anymore, half of me disappeared and I want it back.”

I scoffed not looking back, I took a few steps away from him, “I guess it’s just not your call anymore Touya.”

I kept wasn’t going to look back, I heard a sniffle, I shouldn’t look back, but I did. For once his burn tear ducts leaked, his eyes looked sad for a second, his jaw clenched teeth showing. All I could see was a red haired six year old crying, standing alone in a park, bandages on his right arms as he forcefully wiped his eyes, his left arm hanging down in a fist, bandages falling loosely, bandages skeins his neck tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his chin hitting the ground. He was crying and sobbing, he was human once, and for a brief minute he was human again. I wanted to join him and tell him and hug him the way I did before, but I was afraid of getting hurt, I couldn’t let myself get hurt again, I wouldn’t.

“It’s disgusting to see a grown man cry,” I snarled and turned away from him, “and it’s annoying watching little girls cry.”

I heard a final sob before I sighed and opened a portal, I entered before I backed out, I found myself immediately in a dark alley across town, I slid down the wall probably ripping my costume as I cried, my fingers digging into the flesh of my biceps as I hugged myself.

I heard a tune around the corner

‘You gotta let it out soon, just let it out, Go ahead and cry little girl, Nobody does it like you do, I know how much it matters to you’

It was cut off, I looked up from my knees to meet a hand, I looked up past the hand.

“You’re dirty, lets get you home,” The voice was authoritative but it’s didn’t hold the cold feeling that usually accompanied it, “(y/n).”

He sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out a white folded square, he squat informs of my, his left hand coming to my chin, his fore finger and middle finger lifting my chin, his right hand came up the white pocket square soft against my cheeks as he wiped them.

“Don’t expect me to ever do this again,” he huffed and pushed an arm behind my back and the other under my knees.

“Filthy, now we’re both dirty.” He scoffed and walked into the back door of the building we were by, I sighed and dropped my head against his shoulder, “Thank you, Kai.”

Small tears fell from from the outer corners of my eyes as the image of young Touya crying alone in the park faded to a black memory. I fell in love with him, the problem is, I never fell out of love with him, he was just erased from my mind when I became All for One’s year subject..... but how can you love someone when....you can’t even look them in the eye anymore..

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beautifultypewriter · 4 years

Text

Here for the Scones ~ Tommy Shelby

Requested: Yes / by Anonymous

Warnings: None

Word Count: 985

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Polly sends Tommy on an errand to the bakery where he is struck by the owner.

You heard the bell above the door chime, signaling a new customer. You stayed in your crouched position behind the display case, finishing up with the last few cupcakes that needed to be put away, “I’ll be right with you.” There was no acknowledgment from the customer, but you figured they heard you as they didn’t ring the bell that you had out on the counter. Standing from your crouch, you tucked the empty tray under your arm and brushed your hands over your apron, cleaning them of any frosting that could have possibly gotten on you. Turning your attention to the newcomer, you realized that Thomas Shelby was standing in your bakery. He had his hands in his pockets as he leaned back slightly and stared at you with no expression on his face. You smiled warmly at him, “Good morning, Mr. Shelby. Are you here for Polly’s usual order?”

He continued to stare at you, “Is her usual order scones?” You nodded. Tommy waved his hand, his voice low, “Then yes, I’ll take her usual.” You nodded again, turning to fetch a bright pink box, and heading over to the section of your display case that held the desired pastries.

You opened the case and looked back at the man who had not taken his eyes off of you since you popped up from behind the counter, “Do you have a preference?” You motioned to the case before grabbing a piece of parchment paper. He shook his head, so you started to grab from all of the flavors, making sure to choose your most popular ones and the ones you remember Polly saying she liked. You had ten scones in the box when you paused to look up at Tommy as he rapped his knuckles against the counter.

“Have we met before?”

You shook your head, turning back to the scones, “No, sir, we have not.” You smiled as you grabbed the last two scones in Polly’s usual order of a dozen. Then you glanced over at Tommy, deciding that he looked like a cinnamon man, so you grabbed an extra and tossed it into the box.

He looked you up and down quickly, “And yet you know my name.” The corner of his mouth quirked up as he leaned forward slightly.

Moving to the back counter, you looked at him over your shoulder, “Everyone in Small Heath knows your name.” You turned back around, “I’d be a fool not to.” Humming quietly to yourself, you pulled a piece of twine from the spool that was fixed to the wall above the counter. After closing the box, you wrapped the twine around it several times, alternating the direction until you were sure it was secure. Then you tied the ends into a perfect bow. You moved to the front counter and held the tied-up box out to Tommy, a smile stretching across your lips, “Here you are, Mr. Shelby.”

He reached one hand out to take the box from you, “Please, call me Tommy.” Your smile softened as you nodded at him. He started to pull his other hand from his pocket, “And how much do I owe you for the delicious pastries?” He looked up at you from under the brim of his cap.

You shook your head, “It’s taken care of.”

Tommy stared at you, “Come now, I can pay for some pastries.”

You chuckled, shaking your head again, “Polly pays for the week. It’s taken care of.” He stared at you for a moment longer, narrowing his eyes slightly. You only smiled and you ran your hands over your apron, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Then he nodded once, “Well then, thank you, Miss…”

You reached a hand out to him, “Y/N.”

He shook your hand, “Y/N.” He gave you a half smile as he released your hand and readjusted his grip on the box. Then he turned and walked out the door, glancing back at you through the window as he walked down the street. You scrunched your lips as you spun around and got to work on cleaning the counters, hoping that you’d be able to see him again one day.

It was two days later, when you were sweeping up behind the counter that you heard the bell above the door ring. You looked up, leaned the broom against the wall, and stepped over to the register, getting ready to take the customer’s order. You smiled brightly when you saw that it was Tommy Shelby standing in your bakery again.

“Hello, Tommy.”

He nodded to you, “Hello, Y/N.” He stepped over to the counter, looking at the display case as he did so. Then he turned his attention to you, “I’m here for…”

You leaned forward slightly, “Scones?” You chuckled as he gave you a half smile.

“Yeah, cinnamon.” You smirked to yourself as you stepped over to the tray of fresh scones and grabbed a cinnamon with a piece of parchment paper. You dropped the pastry into a paper bag and stepped back over to the register.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tommy smirked at you, “How about dinner?”

You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you tried not to laugh, “Unfortunately this is a bakery, so I don’t actually serve dinner.” Tommy’s smirk dropped, but you could hear him chuckling. Your smile widened, “I do however close up shop at 4, so if you’d like, we could go somewhere else and get dinner.” You tapped your fingers against the counter, watching amusement dance in Tommy’s eyes.

He nodded at you, “I would like that.” He dropped some money onto the counter before he grabbed the bag and turned, walking to the door. He held a hand up, “I’ll be here at 4 then.” He pulled open the door and stepped out onto the street, looking at you through the window and smiling.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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ardentmuse · 4 years

Text

Rogue Choices - Prologue (Kingsman x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x reader, Eggsy Unwin x Reader, Merlin (Hamish) x Reader (you decide!)

Summary: As a new agent, Arthur gives you your last big assignment before you are approved to run missions on your own, only this time you get to pick your partner. And who says you can’t mix business and pleasure.

Wordcount: 5.8k (and this is just the intro!)

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, talk of violence

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(Note: I started this a long time ago but had to pause because Twine was doing weird things. It’s meant as a fully interactive piece, but I think we can make it work here on tumblr and AO3 with different chapter links. So I’m putting it out into the world to see if you all like it!)

PROLOGUE

Two strong raps on the door grant you a gentle, “Come in.”

As you turn the handle and enter, the smell of old books and polished wood fills your nostrils. Arthur’s office is a proper executive space. Shelves are lined with old tombs that must have been passed down for generations. The rich, plush Persian rug is worm upon the edges from years of use, but still draws the eye with its vibrant reds and subtle blues. Two large and striking leather wingbacks rest before a sturdy walnut desk, at which sits a patient Arthur, who doesn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the files before him as he hears you enter.

“Agent Kay, please take a seat.”

You do as you are bid, leaning back into the worn leather to take in the countenance of you boss. He seems tired, the grey hair of his eyebrows coming together as he squints at the documents before him. But even with the slight bags under his eyes, he is still the image of a proper gentleman. His collar is expertly pressed and his turtle shell glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, just as you imagine Churchill’s might have.

After a few moments, he shuffles the papers aside and levels his eyes with yours.

“It seems you received the memo that I needed to see you?”

You laugh, “Your assistant nearly tackled me as I left lunch.”

“Eager kid, that one. He’ll make a good agent someday, too,” he muses, and then with a wry smile adds, “Much like you.”

“I’m already an agent, Arthur.”

“But mayhaps a good one given time,” he says, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly in challenge.

You haven’t been a secret agent long, having earned the title only a few months prior. The selection process to join the Kingsman was grueling to say the least, but you had been Arthur’s hand picked candidate. Only upon your recruitment did you understand just how much Arthur, a second father to you in so many ways, had primed you from your youth for this very role you doesn’t even know existed.

But nothing, not even Arthur, could have prepared you for the stress of being a Kingsman agent out in the field. Taking down the world’s most harrowing criminals, dismantling sex trafficking rings and stopping terrorist attacks takes a toll on the mind and body. Death is constantly right beside you, a single word or a single misstep enough to reveal your identity and get you killed. The work of Kingsman is highly classified, incredibly dangerous, and outside the bounds of traditional justice. You are a ghost, a guardian angel just outside the realm of men, leaving only vague notions of what could have been: a newspaper headline, a five o’clock story on Radio 4, a traffic jam or a flight delay. Ignorance is bliss as they say, but you now know the dark underbelly, the secret of which is the source of bliss for so many.

You sigh and hold your hand against your thigh to stop yourself from fidgeting. The shoulders on your suit, the well-fitted tweed of our Kingsman uniform, seem to tighten as Arthur continues to stare at you, waiting for your protest.

“What are you getting at?”

Arthur laughs as he pivots in his chair and presses on the spine of a book behind his desk. Instantly, the two shelves pull forward and slide to the sides, revealing an entire wall of flat screens and holograms projecting outward. You can’t make out all the details but the lower corner contains a building schematic and the top right shows the animated, scowling face of whom you can only assume is your organization’s latest target.

“Andrej Jankovic. Former Russian operative now based in Cyprus, leading what we’ve learned is the largest money laundering ring in the world. We’ve been tracking him for months, but,” he stops talking to focus on the movement of his fingers, swiping away spreadsheets to pull up live surveillance footage of the target, “As you can see, he covers his tracks very well.”

You watch on the screen as the man sips coffee in a small café. Four different cell phones lay out before him, concealed under the newspaper through which he flips lazily as he takes in the sea just outside the window. He is younger than you expect for such high crimes, with not a wrinkle in sight upon his face. His dark hair is long and flung haphazardly to one side but his facial hair in contrast is shaven with precision, just outlining his harsh jawline. He is striking in that brooding sort of way, long Roman nose and chiseled muscles. You might consider him handsome in a different life where your mind isn’t trained to notice the harshness of his brow or how quickly his eyes narrow with disdain each time someone new enters his vision.

“He is certainly… something,”

“Killed three people just yesterday for using checks,” Arthur throws your way as if that is something to marvel.

You swallow, still not comfortable with just how common death is in your new line of work.

“He’s ruthless and calculating, incredibly thorough and uncommonly intelligent. We’re never going to catch him with paper trails alone. There won’t be any. And simply taking him out leaves the whole rest of the corrupt network up and running. We need names.” Arthur swivels in his chair so he is facing you once again, resting his elbows upon the wood of his desk with a thud. “And I think you can get them.”

“Wait, really? You’re trusting me with this?”

You feel your jaw go slack. Biggest money launderer in the world, and Arthur thinks you can handle it? These past few months have felt like a probationary period, working alongside other agents, cleaning up their messes and assisting in communications and research. Your field time has been limited to sitting in corners of crowded rooms, observing more senior agents doing the hard work.

Arthur raps his fingers against the stack of papers before him.

“I think he’ll take kindly to you. If our intelligence is correct, he’ll be most susceptible to your…”

“Charm?” you insert.

“At least more than that of any other agent,” Arthur confirms. “Now don’t misunderstand me. It is not my intention to send you out alone. You will need a partner. Consider this your last test before I set you loose, Kay.”

Arthur picks up papers before him, writes quickly on a post-it that he places on the top of the stack, and then thrusts his arms forward to you.

“You have until tomorrow night to select a partner and review this research material. The jet leaves Friday.”

He doesn’t have to dismiss you with words. The way he pivots his body back to the screens behind him is signal enough that your questions will only be addressed after you thoroughly review the case.

And so you stand and make your way back into the labyrinth of the Kingsman manor to begin to wrap your mind around your new mission.

Just as the door closes behind you, a voice calls almost directly into your ear.

“Our mighty leading givin’ you a hard time, there, newbie?”

With a shocked puff of breath, you pivot on your heels to see the broad chest and shoulders of Eggsy just inches from your face. He is reclining casually against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest matching the cross of his ankles, all casual and cool. The cheeky grin upon his face, showing you those pristinely white teeth, lets you know your startled response is exactly what he was hoping to see.

“You’re never as alone as you think you are, my love,” he purrs with a rub of his palm into your shoulder, stilling the jump of your body at his appearance. “Rule number one of this spy gig.”

His deft hands make calculated movement against your collarbone, each brush bringing just the tip of his fingers against your pulse point, as though trying to discreetly test how much his proximity is impacting you. Your body goes stiff at the sensation, not in fear or discomfort, but in confusion. Eggsy smiles that disarming smile of his. He leans forward, his mouth finding a place beside your ear.

“You know, I think I still have quite a bit to teach you.”

The feel of his breath combined with the gentle graze of his nails against your throat make your breath hitch, goosebumps running down your chest. You hate how clear your responses are to these sorts of flirtations and so you divert your gaze to the place where the tips of his oxfords are pressed against your shoes.

At your lack of response, Eggsy drums his fingers across your shoulder, tickling you. You laugh and pull back slightly, enough to actually take in his features: his jaw, sharp and square and his skin kissed with just a tint of sun, his blue eyes glowing with humor behind his glasses. And with that last realization, you sigh. He is right. You are never as alone as you think, especially at Kingsman, with those silly glasses recording almost every interaction for Merlin or whomever to review at their convenience.

“You know, it seems everyone thinks I still have much to learn.”

Eggsy gives you a quick slap on the back, pulling his body fully from yours.

“That’s what big boss man is on you about?” he says as he begins walking down the hall, leading you out of the offices spaces and back towards the communal agent quarters. “Ill-timed joke, then. My bad, love.”

As you turn the corner into the grand stairway, you notice the chasm between your bodies. Eggsy is two steps in front and his feet light, tossing a look back towards you as he continues his talking, as if he wasn’t just holding his body only inches for your own, running his calloused fingers across the sensitive flesh of your neck and raising your blood pressure, not just giving you dazzling smiles and teasing your earlobes with his hushed breaths. That is Eggsy, flirtation and friendship, on and off, hot and cold, and always just enough honesty in his eyes in those moments to make you question which is the act.

After a long walk through parlors and the kitchens, laughing about your dogs and the antics that came out of the latest team meeting, you find yourself standing in front of the control room with the majority of your tension about your mission lost somewhere in the depths of your brain.

“Now this is where I leave you,” Eggsy says.

You turn with a huff to your friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me Merlin sent you to find me?”

The corner of Eggsy’s mouth turned upward in that too-seductive half-smile he had perfected somewhere between you first meeting him and right now,

“You’re much more fun when you aren’t stressing about work.” His eyes scanned from your body, slow and intentional, until his gaze came to rest on your lips, now just slightly parted from his clearly heated evaluation. He smiled at your response. “Much more fun.”

You shake your head at him, always the tease.

“You really believe I would have had you laughing after Arthur had you down if your mind had also been churning on what Mr. Stoic McSeriousface wanted with you?”

You pout. Eggsy knows of your friendship with Merlin, the tech head for your organization. You know he is just trying to get a stir out of you.

But before you can answer, Eggsy moves forward. You step back and find the door pressing against your back.

“You’re going to be the death of me with that pout, you know.”

After a silent beat between you, the air growing thicker as you stare each other down, Eggsy leans forward, raising his hand the way he sometimes does to brush stray hairs from your face. But instead, his hand moves beyond your shoulder, making contact with the wood of the door. He knocks hard and heavy.

“Enjoy being bored to death, peaches,” he whispers to you before slinking down the hall.

Eggsy turns the corner just as Merlin opens the door to his workspace. You take note of his expression as he looks down the hall. It really is stoic, but when his face sets upon you, it immediately changes into something soft and inviting, encouraging even.

“Kay, glad you’re here.” He opens the door a little wider and then continues, “Come in.”

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” you say as you move into the tech space, Merlin following closely behind.

You throw yourself down on the vintage Eames lounge chair that sits in the corner of the room, placing your stack of papers on the floor as you allow yourself the joy of reclining deeply into the headrest.

Merlin pats the footrest as he passes by, inviting you to relax. He moves towards his desk, computer, and all the hundreds of gadgets that are organized upon the shelves beside.

“So, what do you have for me?” you ask as you follow through on Merlin’s request to fully recline yourself. “Details on Jankovic?”

“Yes, and no,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He takes a seat and begins typing away.

The rhythmic ping of keys give you a moment to truly observe the man before you. Merlin is a striking, almost imposing, figure in appearance. He is tall and lithe, in complete control of each moment, in a way that conveyed a refined elegance to some and a rigid intent to others. His face is a masculine stone, like a sculpture of a Roman general, piercing in its seriousness. But he brings life to the features that you love: soft hazel eyes, busy dexterous hands, and a smooth Scottish accent that makes even the sweetest words from his mouth sound husky.

After a moment, he continues on, “Jankovic has a well-trained team and multi-layered cyber systems. His security, virtual and physical, is nearly impenetrable. I do believe I have found a few exploitable flaws, almost all of which require work on the ground to hijack. If we don’t go that route, I have managed to mirror the controls for the security system at the hotel he owns in Limassol, so I will be able to be of assistance once you land.”

You stand and move beside his desk. He has months of logs, meticulously organized and color-coded and tabulated, certain sections highlighted in red, denoting times of lower security or routine system upgrades. His work, just like him, is precise and detailed.

You lean down over his shoulder to take in the schematic of the hotel, several floors of suites and an entire rooftop entertaining space. Your mind conjures images of the ocean and soft sand beaches that are visible just below, the salt air and the setting sun filling your slowly numbing senses as you sip on your second cocktail and a stunningly handsome man runs his hands down your spine to the soft of your back.

But the strong scent of cedarwood and bergamot that you know to be Merlin bring you back to the present. Or maybe it aids in the fantasy. When he reaches over to rest his hand on your back, pushing you forward slightly to watch the tiny dots he is pointing at with his other hand, you know where your mind got those ideas in the first place.

“I’ve discovered some patterns here that I think we can exploit, unless of course you decide making your presence known to the target is a better option.”

His fingers never leave your back as he speaks.

“Stealth or charisma,” you muse, “Just like a video game.”

“If so, your video games are quite limited,” he laughs. His fingers slide across your back as he rolls his chair to the other side of the room. You feel the absence most acutely.

“I’d hope there’d at least be some intelligence or combat in these skill trees of yours.”

His fingers run over the lock in the shelving. You hear a click and then the draw opens to reveal a pristine case containing three weapons you have yet to see, each encased in foam and glass like priceless works of art.

“Perhaps some lock-picking?” he turns and offered you a smile.

“I’ve definitely maxed out my luck, at least,” you say with a tilt to the draw of weapons, each more beautiful than the next.

“And enchantment, if I may be so bold,” his words are to the drawer of weapons and not your face, but your mind fills in his devastating lip bite and the thought has you melting and feeling the shyness creep over you.

The silence hangs between you two as Merlin flicks the lock on each case.

Finally with a deep breath, he says, “My latest prototypes. You’ll need all the protection you can get on this one, Kay, so take your pick.”

“Can’t I take all of them?”

Merlin turns and shots you a look so deadly, you feel the air leave your lungs.

“And risk you losing all my hard work? Never.”

His eyes are piercing yours, wearing you down, but you try your best to hold your ground.

“I’m quite trustworthy, Hamish,” you say with a gentle bit of your lip.

“First names, now? You jest, my dear,” he says with a narrowing of his eyes that let you know he likes the words more than he wants to admit. “Now pick.”

You feel the weight of the weapon in your hand, bouncing it a little to get comfortable.

“This one. I like this one,” you say finally.

Merlin shuts the drawers and turns to you. “And it likes you, too, Kay. Very fitting.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise. Eggsy is wrong, you know. Merlin isn’t so much serious as he is careful about his work. You enjoy the lightness he shares with you, even if it is intercut with professional talk.

“Thank you, Merlin,” you say as you holster the weapon and grab your papers.

“You’re welcome.” Merlin’s head already back in his computer and typing away.

As you reach for the door, he calls you once more.

“And Kay?”

You turn to offer him your full attention and are struck by how serious he looks, the hard lines of his face all completely turned to you and his chin dipped in a soft reverence that you hope is reserved for you alone. His voice takes on that husky quality as he breathes out the next words.

“I know you’re a little overwhelmed right now, but you are among us for a reason. You’re a capable agent, Kay. Please don’t forget that.”

For a man who often shrugs off sentimentality, he manages to find just the right words to build you up and make you smile. You feel a tiny wave of pleasure course through you, easing a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. With a curt nod, the sweetness of the moment lost, he returns his eyes to the screens beside him.

You sit in the study, the fire roaring beside you, as you pour through each meticulous document that Arthur gave you. Just skimming these papers alone is going to take you all the way to your flight and then some, and that doesn’t include the time you need to devise a plan, select a partner, and prep for execution. But none of those other things can happen until you wrap your mind fully around your mission. And if that means sitting here well into the morning, transcribing and memorizing and organizing, then that is what you are going to do.

You hear the clink of porcelain upon the table beside you. A mug of tea is now perched among your discarded notes, the steam cloud in the lamplight.

“Thought a pick-me-up might be in order,” Harry, your mentor and fellow agent, says above you as he moves to the other side of the room, carrying his own mug and his own papers, though his take the form of the news, several morning editions stacked together, a few in languages in which you weren’t aware Harry had proficiency.

With the flick of his wrists, Harry opens the top paper, but unlike his usual routine of reading through the headlines and major political scandals, Harry turns towards the back, folds the paper in half, and pulls out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You take a long sip of the tea he provided you, and are pleased to discover it isn’t his usual nighttime blend but a proper English brew, one that will provide you enough caffeine to get your through this work. If Harry is anything, it certainly is thoughtful.

You work in silence for fifteen minutes or so, Harry’s long legs elegantly crossed as he relaxes himself against the couch. He drums the end of the pen upon the tuffs of the Chesterfield. You can’t help but think about how, in the past six months, you had already fallen into a pleasant routine with these men you called your colleagues. Lunch with Eggsy, briefings and shooting practice with Merlin, and long nights, just like tonight, sitting beside Harry and working in companionable silence. With Harry, words are rarely needed. He is a man whose company creates an aura of calm that penetrates even the most intense of moments. The few missions on which you have accompanied him were smooth, efficient endeavors; they left you feeling confident and poised even by comparison to arguably the most poised man you have ever met.

“Attractive, eight letters, third letter is most likely a ‘g’,” Harry asks into the air.

You lift your head from a giant list of innocuously named shell corporations to consider his question.

Engaging? Magnetic?

“Hmmm,” he muses, scribbling upon the paper, “Thank you, darling.”

You only get a few more minutes of silence before he is piping up again.

“Unstable, six letters, last letter ‘y’.”

Wobbly? Flimsy? Shifty?

“Perfect,” Harry whispers over his swift pen strokes. The roar of the fire by now was dying down, the pleasant crackle of embers scenting the room in hickory and smoke. You find yourself fighting the exhaustion that is coming over your body at the sheer comfort of your company and the ambiance the room provides.

Not thirty seconds pass by before Harry is calling your way once more.

“To proceed, four let-“

“Harry, are you trying to distract me from my work or is this crossword collaborative?”

Harry folds the paper shut and places it firm upon his lap. His eyes shift upward slowly, from your feet to your eyes, pausing upon the stack of papers spread out around you on all sides before he finds his way to your face. Harry’s lips curl into a soft smile, one that is made all the more precious by the way the fire’s reflection upon his face. He rubs at the bridge of his nose as he debates his words.

“I wouldn’t call it distracting as much as helping,” he finally decides, picking up the paper as he takes soft steps towards you.

Soft, that is the best word to describe Harry. Gentleness and patience and softness are what you associated with him most. Sure, you have seen his skills, watched him turn into a ruthless hit-man as the situation called for it, powerful and strong and confident. But the instant the bodies laid still before you, Harry’s steps grew light again. As he reached out his hand in serenity, kindly lifting you to your feet, brushing debris from your hair and asking in a whisper if you are safe.

“I’m not so sure how not doing my work is going to help me do my work,” you say as Harry pulls the footstool out beside you to sit. His back is perfectly straight despite the lack of support and you wonder if you body would ever be trained with the same precision as the seasoned agents you so admire.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. He sits the newspaper down on top of your papers, covering up all your notes and drawing your focus to the absence of notes on his actual page. Nothing exists in the boxes, only in the margins and you notice how peculiar it appears.

“See, darling, this is you right now, taking each individual note and trying to assess it alone. If I went bullet by bullet through this crossword puzzle trying to figure out what it meant by every single word clue or question mark, I would have half the puzzle wrong.”

Harry is leaning over the newspaper now, his head awfully close to your own. The fluff of his brown curls are brushing lightly against your forehead. Despite the tickling, you don’t pull away.

Harry’s voice is low, requiring you to lean in. He wants this proximity. For what purpose, you don’t let you mind assume.

“Some clues like this one,” he says, pointing to 20-across ‘Author Silverstein,’ “Are easy to solve without context.” His hand moves to write the first bit within the puzzle: ‘shel.’

“But others,” he moves his pen to point at 4-down, ‘To proceed,’ and the three words he has written beside it: sail, toil, and till. Somehow his brain did the puzzling work of realizing long ago that the ‘l’ in ‘shel’ was the necessary fourth letter. “ Others require much more context.”

“And even still, some may seem to require context,” he says, pointing to the clue, ‘display of glee,’ which had nothing scribbled beside, “But actually require none at all, just experience and foresight.” And with that note, he moves quickly to the tiny space to which the clue corresponds and without checking anything else, writes ‘jig’ in large, bold, capital letters.

“Now how do you—“ you went to protest, but Harry interrupted you.

“Because it’s always jig. I know it could be ‘hah’ or ‘lol’ but it isn’t. It is always jig. There aren’t many other ways to get ‘j’s into the puzzle. Do a few crosswords and you don’t even have to finish reading the clue. That and emu. And Nave. V’s are tricky buggers, too.”

You sigh, “But I don’t have the experience to see the ‘j’ and the ‘v’ in our spy work yet. I just see the Silversteins and the capitals of France and the 2017 Best Picture winner.”

Harry’s hand reaches out to rub against your knuckles, comforting and supportive, “But, darling, you do. Every puzzle has a theme. Every target has his preferences. Find what is distinctive, what is rare. Trust your gut to see what doesn’t fit, what needs to be there because it can’t exist any other way. “

Harry lifts up the newspaper, revealing your workspace once again. He links his fingers with yours as he allows his free hand to run along the stack of papers before you.

“Scan,” he says, slow and emphatically. He lifts the stack like a book and flicks, one page each second with a satisfying click and swipe.

The first few pages go by with a blur. By the tenth, you are pulling out only a handful of words, though those words seem to make a story anyway: Ancoria, Konstantinos, $9,999, Ltd.

“Stop!” you say upon the sixtieth page or so. Harry’s hand grips yours a little tighter, sending a warm jolt down your spine. You see him smile out of the corner of your eyes at your apparent discovery.

“What do you see?” he asks, his shoulder brushing yours as he leans in. The rough wool of his jacket brushing against your bare arm is a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of his palm that still pressed firmly into your own.

You use your free hand to point to the third transaction line.

“All the previous shell companies had Greece mythology names. Scylla, Nyx, Calliope. But this one is Roman: Decima. At least I think it is,” you bit your lip a little realizing this may be a stupid thing to call out, “But even if it isn’t, it doesn’t seem right. This also seems to be the only shell company for which we have names of the board of directors.”

Harry takes his pen and circles Decima with three big spins. He underlines each of the names listed on the board below and pulls the paper out of the stack and up to the top.

He draws his hands away from yours to close the pen and collect your stack together once more. He plops the newly assembled stack before you and makes to leave you. But as he stands with one knee against the footrest upon which he had been sitting, he hovers his body over you, his proximity doing little to help with the already intense heat of your skin from the fire. He leans forward and grazes his lips gently upon your forehead. As he pulls away, his hand finds your chin and he meets your gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile before turning and walking swiftly out of the room, his newspaper abandoned to your pile.

With a renewed vigor, you dive deep into the papers, determined to see the odd inconsistencies that might provide context for the more common practices. As you continue to sip on your tea, you notice the cup had refilled and rewarmed itself. You never heard Harry enter the room at all.

The following morning, you wake with the sun. Little sleep had happened in the past day but you feel refreshed regardless. The long hours you had put in the night before resulted in quite a bit of relevant information and three distinct methods for tackling Jankovic, each with its merits and its challenges. But you are feeling confident for your meeting with Arthur, at least you were last night. This morning, you need to eat your breakfast and review your notes before providing your supervisor with your planned course of action.

You lift yourself from the plush comfort of your bed, the biggest benefit of spending the night at the manor, and walk towards your desk, which now is a much more organized collection of research: three distinct piles with three hand-written mission plans upon each.

You pull the blanket along with you, cocooning yourself as you sit at the desk and review your plans.

The first is a traditional approach: the honey-pot. In Andrej’s personal history, he has displayed a clear preference for your physical features. And even more, he has had no steady partners, just a series of lovers, all of whom were affiliated with other men simultaneously. In your time at Kingsman, it had already become clear that the type of people you took down got enjoyment out of breaking more than just the law.

Eggsy is the perfect partner for this plan. His flirtatious personality and social skills mean he can easily convince a group of people that you are a couple. With the gala at the hotel on Saturday, all it would take is a little skin and some well-placed winks on your end for Andrej to want to tempt you away from your handsome partner. And while you entertain Andrej’s attentions, Eggsy would be open to sneak into the depths of Andrej’s personal estate and gather what information was needed to take him down. Sure, this plan puts you right in the belly of the beast and therefore in the most direct line of danger, but it also gives you the best chance to adapt to new information and go with the flow.

The second plan is significantly less risky but requires more planning. A covert invasion of his security detail and hijacking of his automated banking systems would provide you all the information you needed to tear down the entire network. With Merlin’s mirror, you could cut down power to the hotel, sneak into the basement offices undetected, and bug and download what you needed. With Merlin, this plan could be flawless, with you using your combat background to take down the guards and his tech skills ensuring a full system overhaul without a trace. You would still need to get into the hotel, and the gala would work as a good cover, but unlike the honeypot, your goal would be to blend in as much as possible. It may not be the most glamourous plan, but it would certainly be the most efficient, and not to mention the most intimate, sneaking through darkened corridors and keeping as close as possible to avoid detection.

And finally the third plan would require approaching Jankovic directly, posing as British investors seeking to hide funds overseas, hoping to utilize Jankovic’s existing network to hide quite a bit of money quickly. And you’d be willing to pay for the services. You need credentials, as Andrej is a skeptical man, but he is also not the type of man who can pass up a quick cash opportunity. You could approach him at the gala, enquire about his services, and find out much from the horse’s mouth, supplementing what he tells you with the information would be able to mirror from his phones once you had him in the room with you. And in this, Harry could truly sign. A master of the art of blending in among the oddest of crowds, Harry could easily pose as the financial head of your organization, partners in crime in the truest sense. You wouldn’t have to steal anything in this plan. Andrej would give it freely, though it would require near perfect coordination between you and Harry.

As you add notes to the margins of your stacks, you look over at the post-it Arthur left on your files yesterday: Regroup noon, tomorrow. If you don’t leave now, you will be late. You throw on yesterday’s suit, scoop up what papers you need and rush to Arthur’s office.

The door is open when you arrive and Arthur is seated upon one of his couches, cutting into a perfectly roasted chicken breast as he beckons you forward.

“Discover anything useful?” he says after a swallow. He lifts his cloth napkin to his lips and waves out the door behind you. Pushing past you, his assistant cruises inside and grabs his plate with a nod before leaving.

Arthur waves a hand to the seat in front of him. You take your sit and go to speak, but before you can say a word, Arthur lifts a finger.

“Before you run me through the details, whom should I request be joining us for this briefing?”

“Um…”

And that’s a wrap for the prologue! Please let me know in the comments which route you’d like to me to work on first. :)

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik, @amberkay284, @the-new-galahad, @13ofjuly, @daft-not-punk

Kingsman tags: @allonsymexgirl, @eiensteiner, @thecaptainsgingersnap, @madamcadaver. @doct0rstrange, @ratwrites, @kaeleabres, @nellietara, @ediblemurderer, @allofthekingsmen

Harry Hart tags: @un-education, @lexicon04, @bananzaa, @consultingdoctorwholock, @sparrowharkness, @newconnorwhodis

Merlin tags: @consultingdoctorwholock, @sparrowharkness

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