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violets-page · 3 years

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Shot down Pt.3

Allie takes over your mind and all Raven can do is watch, feeling helpless.

TW: self-harm (kinda extreme)

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Masterlist

You relied often on the extension of crutches to be mobile. However, things that worked on the ark were not always as great on the ground.

Things like executions, lunch, and crutches, were all much better on the ark. All involved much less suffering. The bumpy terrain and muddy roads made you slip often. Walking made you anxious, afraid that at any moment your legs would give up and you would plummet to the soil. Stuck there until someone become willing to help. Needless to say, you avoided it at all costs. Or at least avoid walking alone.

Today was one of those days where you were forced to. Raven was working on some sort of electric fence around the camp and had begrudgingly left your side after you begged her to. You knew that being cramped inside all day with nothing to work on was worse than hell for her. It had rained earlier and the ground was a cesspool of piss and mud. Falling into it was ill-advised.

You were immensely grateful for the returning strength to your arms and spent many hours working out. Pull-ups were your preference. Without them hobbling along would have been much harder. Raven often commented on them with a smile and a laugh, it always made you blush.

The jagged metal of the crutches sank deep within the soil each time you set them down. It took forever for you to get more than a few feet from your tent, but by that time you had already grown too tired.

You practically fell onto a stray box before hurling the crutches into the mud next to you. You felt your foot twitch. Abby had stated this was a good sign of recovery but to you, it just felt like a painful reminder of your limits.

Your head fell forward as your palms dug into your eyes, holding back the tears like a damn.

The chip in your pocket felt like a hundred pounds as you pulled it out

* * * * * * * *

When Jaha gave you the chip he had seemed so sure of himself, so convinced that these people would be happy. Hell, the man fell from space in a death capsule, was stranded in the desert, almost died, and somehow, and he looked happier than anyone else on this damned planet.

You had run out of other options. The worst that could happen? It turned out to be a piece of plastic and you were left with the unsatisfying taste of dirt.

You held it against your lips toying with the idea, you had run out of time, out of patience, out of hope.

Raven had slowly gotten over her guilt (all thanks to you) and due to your inability to travel more than 30 feet without screaming, you barely saw her. Abby was the only one who checked in regularly and most likely because you spent most of your time in her makeshift waiting room.

Waiting.

You were always waiting. Waiting for your friends to return, waiting for your leg to heal, waiting for love.

Before you could stop yourself you let the chip slide onto your tongue. It dissolved quickly at tasted faintly like salt and dough.

You sat there, waiting for euphoria, waiting for...something.

The kids on the ark sometimes smoked herbs. You thought it would feel like that, the world fading around you as bright colors floated around and everything else just ceased to matter.

Instead, you wiped tears from your eyes all the while cursing Thelonious. You grabbed your crutches, the walk back would take your remaining energy, but better than then be stuck in the oncoming rain.

You felt your annoyance growing with each step as the crutches creaked irritated by your weight on them. You couldn’t take it anymore, the anger came crashing like waves. You slammed the crutches in the mud with a scream. You hated them. They poked you in the arm, they were too tall and made your shoulders ache, they sunk into the ground and were too nosy.

you stood in front of the crutches before raising your leg to stomp on them.

You took your anger out, everything that was wrong with the world you suddenly blamed the crutches for.

“Stupid mother fu-”

Your stomps slowed to a steady pat before halting completely. You were moving, standing. Without the aid of crutches. You took a few more steps, and a few more, and some more. Until your eyes were met with a pristine pair of black heels.

Your eyes trailed up the ivory-toned legs and over the tight red dress of a figure, you'd never seen before. You stared at her in confusion.

“Hello y/n”

* * * * * * * *

Raven hadn’t realized what was happening till it was too late.

You fought against the hold on Clarke and Bellamy in a fit of screams. The forest looked the same to you no matter where you were and your eyes hungrily searched for anything you could recognize

You heard the familiar faint whispers of Raven’s ‘I’m sorry’ before a needle was plunged into your neck and everything went dark.

* * * * * * * *

The drive to the grounder camp felt long and hopeless to Raven. She spent the drive running her hand through your hair hoping part of your unconscious mind would recognize her touch and be soothed by it.

She watched as Clarke and Bellamy hopped out of the truck to reason with the vicious-looking grounder. Her Breath hitched waiting and hoping they would be able to reason with her. She couldn't bear to lose you.

You were all she had.

She felt you shift in her arms, your eyebrows furrowed and she could see your eyes flutter but remain close. For a second she forgot the situation, a gentle smile down at your waking form. Then reality came crashing.

“Hurry she's waking up!”

You felt the fabric of a blindfold as rough hands shoved it down before you could even open your eyes.

Hands were on your body, their touch felt familiar but not enough that you could place the figure. The blindfold cocooned your ears and amplified the sound of your breathing so that Clarke’s voice was a dull mumble.

You felt your body being released from your arms as your back sunk it to something soft and shiny. You immediately started trying to get free. Attempting to rip the blindfold off, you felt your hands and feet grabbed by multiple sets of limbs. Restraints were bound sloppily but tightly around your wrists, with the addition of the blindfold and multiple pairs of hands trying to hold you down you weren't making much, if any progress.

The smartest thing to do was to obliviate one of these obstacles. You choose the easiest one. Your hands clawed at your face, you could faintly feel your skin under your nails as you ripped at it before your fingers were finally able to latch onto the blindfold, yanking it down and around your neck.

Alie’s familiar red dress stood out strongly against the dull tones of the unfamiliar room. The group stood in tense anticipation as you snapped your head around, trying to recognize the room. You knew it wasn't part of the ark, it was too dirty and earth-like. The fur rug made you think Trikru but where you had no idea. When your mind drew a blank Alie grew frustrated. Or at least, her version of frustrated.

“We need to know where you are.”

Your thrashing resumed this time tenfold.

“WHERE AM I. WHERE AM I.”

They struggled to hold you down as you fought past your physical capabilities to escape. They all had a grip on a limb making movement nearly impossible. Injuries, even if you couldn’t feel them, weakened you.

You turned to the closest person, who happened to be Raven, and sunk your teeth into the flesh of her wrists. It was shallow, she yanked her hand back before you could go deeper. Her pain barely registered in your mind, her tears didn’t tug at your heart like you knew they should have.

Instead, you seized the opportunity to reach over and punch Jasper square in the nose. His hold loosed but by then Raven had latched back on, the blood from her wrists trickled slowly down onto your exposed skin. With each failed attempt at escaping struggling grew harder.

Clarke and Bellamy had been quick to grab a spare rope, using it to bound your hands and feet to the posts of the strange bed. You screamed in frustration as Alie stared at you. She showed no emotion, just the same semi-pleasant stare she always held.

“LET ME GO.”

You knew the awful things Alie could do and you were no stranger to them. The scream was a mix of terror and anger. You tossed your body up and down hoping to break the posts, the bed, something to set you free.

“LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO.” Your voice grew more strained with every word. If you could feel pain your throat would probably ache immensely.

The group stepped back after thoroughly double-checking the knots. The sheer look of horror was displayed across all of their faces and it vexed you deeply

Didn't they know you were doing this for them? For her?

* * * * * * * *

Raven stood in the other room, watching you made her feel sick to her stomach. Not that listening to your screams from a different room made it any better. She could hear the creaking of the bed and pained screams throughout the entire house. So she stood, waiting anxiously with Clarke for their next move.

Her nails had been chewed to the beds and she knew that if- when you came to, you would scold her till her ears bleed.

Clarke said she knew where to get a wristband and Sinclair knew how to alter it to suit their needs. But Raven grew nervous with the time it was taking for either of them to follow through on these promises.

She glanced to where Clarke was talking to the grounder and felt her muscles tense when the girl gave Clarke an angry glare. Whatever Clarke was trying to achieve, she was doing a horrible job of it.

By now all of her nails had been chomped town to raw skin so she switched to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth trying to drown out your ever-fainting screams.

Raven let an audible sound of relief when Clarke set the wristband on the table. It had been a silent mutual agreement that Sinclair would be the one to work on the wristbands.

One part because He knew them best and the other because Raven couldn’t keep her fingers from trembling long enough to do the necessary machine work.

“So how do we do this?” Clarke seemed the calmest of them all. Losing Lexa had numbed her in a way.

“If we can turn it into an EMP we can use it to fry the bitch out of her head. The electromagnetic pulse would destroy the critics. You just need to reverse the polarity and...”

Raven droned on in her explanation, faintly aware of how quiet the neighboring room had grown.

“We don’t know what the chip embedded in her brain is like, it could cause a bad outcome”

“Worse than this?” Her question was met with a defeating silence. Not that she expected anyone would answer. She wasn’t feeling too strongly about the plan either but she couldn't watch you slowly break apart, her lover disappearing with every day until all that's left would be a hollow shell. She tried to reassure herself that it was what you would want.

The group continued to talk, working up a solution until they had a solid plan mapped out. Monty and Octavia had fled to the dropship to gather the necessary parts while everyone else had stayed behind.

She made her way back into the room to watch you.

Maybe for a moment, she could envision you back to normal, pretending that she was simply watching you blissfully relax.

* * * * * * * *

Raven stood in the corner of the room. Her posture was rigid and he hands crossed over her chest relaying defensive positioning.

Not that you even cared. You surveyed your bound wrists with a bored expression. Her eyes fluttered between you and the floor constantly. The floor was basic dirt and about as interesting as well... dirt. Meaning that she was avoiding your eyes.

You rolled your wrists thoughtfully considering a slip-out process, you knew how Raven worked, how she thought, her weak spots. You could take her easily. You tugged at the right wrist restarting trying desperately to wrench your wrist free.

Alie watched you robotically her red dress unnatural in the atmosphere.

“With marginally more slack, you could reach those knots.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to you before. without pain inhabilitating you, you’d be able to dislocate your shoulder, properly creating more slack.

You twisted, you could feel the muscles in your arm pulling taut as you put out exasperated grunts. Raven’s eyes snapped to yours, her worry clouding her fear.

“Y/N, please...”

When you made no effort to stop she took note of your clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

“What- what are you doing?”

Her voice no longer had any effect on you. Your heart didn’t ache when you saw the pain in her eyes, you didn’t feel the need to comfort her when you could sense her anxiety. You were trying to help her, get her to take the chip so that you could be happy together so that her pain could end. But until she did, she was just a pest in your mission.

You kept tugging, you could feel your muscles grow stressed as you got closer to your goal. The grinding of your bones scrapped your ears as your arm popped out of its socket.

Raven stood frozen in shock. The fear on her face was evident but she was too startled to have a reasonable reaction.

“There is no pain here Ray, you could be free.”

Maybe it was the nickname rolling off your tongue, it’s lack of love or familiarity, or maybe she saw you trying to chew off the restraints, but she finally snapped out of it.

“STOP IT! GUYS.”

The blood has started to run back down your arm. Somehow in forgetting pain you also forgot about death. Raven didn’t know what to do, how to stop you, and stop the bleeding all at once.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest as images of your still body lying in a pool of blood clouded her thoughts.

“Oh god.”

She reached for your head, her calloused fingers against your cheeks as she tried to turn your head away from her wrists. You snapped at her, your teeth clenching around the air, but it was enough to get her to let go. The memory of your teeth in her skin and the stinging of her wrist were a painful reminder of how far you would go.

Clarke came in as you resumed chewing on the restraints. So close...

Before you could get them Bellamy and Raven had yanked you away. Enforcing your body in its position with more rope.

Clarke shouted at you to stop but you drowned her out, straining your neck in a futile attempt to reach the restraints.

“Alie.”

Your head snapped to Jasper’s as the familiar probing sensation in your brain occurred. Everything went dark, when you came back to it, Alie was staring at you. The slightest traces of distaste etched across her red lips.

“Let them help you”

You froze, staring straight ahead. For a moment everyone else did too. Probably expecting you to lash out again and bite one of them. When you didn’t Raven quickly took to untying your wrists.

You watched her with faint interest. You couldn’t remember why you wanted to save her but you knew you did, somewhere deep down. Your eyes traveled down her arms. Her fingers were latched tightly around your arm. The teeth marks were barely visible, caked under her dried blood. Or maybe that was yours. You felt something in you ache, you can’t feel pain but this feeling... felt painful?

You pondered upon its appearance as Clarke used her foot to relocate your shoulder.

You didn’t even flinch.

* * * * * * * *

Raven had volunteered to stay with you. God knows why, you had hurt her enough. You rolled her eyes when she did, not that anyone noticed.

She sat at the end of the bed. you didn’t really mind, not that you could even do anything if you did.

You looked her up and down.

“Do you still cry?” It wasn’t really a question, you knew the answer. You just wanted to hear her say it.

Her eyes shot up to yours. Her hands tensed in her lap and you momentarily took note of her bloody nails.

“What”

“You used to cry over my leg. Why did you stop?”

She opened her mouth but then shut it not knowing how to answer, or who was even talking to her.

“If I’m being honest I think it was quite selfish of you. I’m the one with the fucked up leg and yet, I was the one comforting you about it.”

Her expression hardened but the tears in her eyes stayed. your stomach ached again but you ignored it.

“Get out of her head Alie”

You smiled at her, a nice teethy one, completely catching her off guard.

“It’s not Alie. It’s me Raven, your- your.” but your mind drew a blank. How did you know Raven? You couldn’t remember and it made you mad.

“You're the reason I’m in here. the reason I took the chip. Because you let me get shot.”

“Shut up.”

“You couldn’t help me and when I needed you most you disappeared.” you sneered at her as tears ran down her face.

“I’m sorry... I-”

Clarke’s hand was on her shoulder, leading her out of the room before you could get another jab in, but that didn’t stop you from trying.

“I HATE YOU RAVEN. I HATE YOU.”

* * * * * * * *

You watched as Sinclaire put together a type of bracelet device.

“Their design is good, I won’t be able to get here before they disconnect you.”

You felt your heart rate spike knowing what was to come and that you had no way of stopping it. You struggled to try to pull your hands free before they could latch the device on. Your attempts were pathetic.

“You know too much. I can’t let them have you.”

The red dress disappeared and your head felt like it was on fire.

Die. Die. Die. Die. Die.

You had to get rid of the burning, it engulfed your head, shooting from the base of your neck, its flame growing stronger every second. You slammed your head against the headboard. Once. Twice. Every time you did the burning seemed to stop for a second, so you speed up. Screaming as your brain felt like it was being incinerated. You didn’t even notice when the bracelet was strapped on. Your eyes moved to Raven's tear-stained face and her mouth open in an apparent scream.

You almost stopped. A second of hesitation before the banging resumed.

You didn’t notice when blood started to run down your neck or when Octavia grabbed your head in an attempt to hold it still. You tried to scream at them to stop, that they needed to let you stop the burning but you couldn’t seem to form words.

You screamed as tears ran down your eyes.

“Please please please Raven. I don’t wanna die. Please don’t let them kill me!” You hiccuped. Your neck continued to jolt as you tried to smash it against the headboard. She looked heartbroken as her hands fell to your cheeks. You closed your eyes as sobs racked your body. The faint feeling of her lips against your forehead felt like a drop of water in the desert.

“I’m sorry love” You felt all the blood in your body vibrate as the current soared through you.

* * * * * * * *

When you woke up everything hurt. The pain shocked you at first. You’d grow accustomed to its absence. You went to move your hands to your head, the sticky blood coated your fingers as they rested upon a thin cut at the base of your neck.

“Ow.”

Everyone let out an audible sigh of relief. Her familiar hands were on the sides of your head, pulling your face into her chest. You allowed her scent and the smooth folds of her shit to engulf your senses as you tried to ignore the bustling headache that was sneaking up on you.

As if suddenly remembering you grasped her forearms pulling them away from your head, You stared at the deep, red indentations on her wrists.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you let out a soft gasp.

You had done that to her.

She sensed your emotions, she always did. And she always knew exactly what to do about it. Her hands moved back to your hair, stroking it gently while avoiding the cuts and bruises you’d received.

You stared up at her for a while until the pain grew too much and you closed your eyes, allowing your head to fall back forward against her stomach.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

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A shoutout to @notevenjokingfic for helping me wrap the last paragraph of this one up. She is a champ and she makes me a better writer.

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XV: Cabin

Claire wondered if it was real.

How any of it could be real.

The weightless feeling pressing against her skull.

The leaden feeling in her bones, save the very tips of her fingers.

The bobbing feeling of her mind, floating above the rest of her like a balloon swollen with helium and fighting at the end of a slippery string.

The percussive orchestra of rain against the roof and windows becoming a tight drum. The slapping of fat, cool drops coming in sheets and pinging metallic in the gutters. The gurgling draining of water off of the eaves, dripping and soaking the brown earth until it became a saturated, life-sustaining black.

The slurring Gaelic in her ear as she finally emerged from the haze that had cascaded over all five of her senses.

“I’ve no’ ever…” Fraser started before his voice trailed away. He swallowed (once, again, a third time) in an apparent (and unsuccessful) attempt to clear a lump in his throat. “Bein’ wi’ ye, I couldna begin to imagine… the closeness…”

Absorbing the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingertips, her thoughts meandered. She put random meanings to his Gaelic. Words and phrases that she had never heard, that she could not begin to spell.

‘Live, here, in a moment,’ she thought to herself, trying to summon the mental image of an existence (however long) where all that dwelt was rain, the cabin, and the man pressed against her.

She allowed her eyes to close (a fight that she could never have hoped to win), to just be with him.

A man.

Fraser.

Jamie.

Hers.

The quiet reverence with which Fraser had touched her shoulder as she had risen to step into the bathroom after the stampede of their breathing had evened.

The dumbfounded way she concentrated on her reflection in the mirror while performing a tender inspection of her swollen, smiling mouth behind the closed bathroom door.

The sound of him moving about the room, opening and closing a drawer, quietly coughing, hissing a curse over a toe stubbed by some dastardly piece of heavy furniture.

The finely carved, naked statue of him as she exited the bathroom, just far enough from the door that she knew he was not listening.

The holding thick robe, white gone grey from repeated washing with a too-long mismatched tie.

The look in his eyes as he had studied her matched the warmth of the kiss he placed on her forehead.

The tenderness and care he took as he wrapped her in the robe and whispered, “there, ye’re no worse for wear now.”

The way she had fought to stop herself from whispering, “you’re wrong, you’ve destroyed me, brought me back to life.”

“I’m hungry,” she whispered instead, digits curling under the too-long cuffs of the robe. The fabric was scented with him in a way that she knew would never wash clean. His humid puff of breath at the tail end of a Scottish noise cemented the baby-fine hairs at her hairline against her temple.

“Are ye?” As if it required clarification or words needed to fill the moment, he added, “Hungry?”

Bowing her head, she rested her head against his chest and framing her front against his hips with her hands loose at his hips. “I am. I want to eat and hear all about this place, and then I want to fall back into bed with you.”

His dry palm skimmed along the curve of her throat, fingers lifting her chin and tilting her gaze up to his. “A perfect plan, mo nighean donn.”

Eyes open, their lips met in only the briefest of touches. “C’mon then,” she said lightly, smiling. “I would hate to starve to death before we have a chance to do that at least ten thousand more times.”

Brushing a curl from her forehead, he kissed her again. “I needta…” His voice trailed and he gestured to the bathroom with a brief lift of his chin.

“Needta piss and clean up?” she asked, the broadness of her smile interrupted only by the quick sinking of her teeth into her lower lip.

Shaking his head, he pulled back. The word “piss” coming from her mouth in that regulated, manicured accent somehow sounded incredibly vulgar and well mannered at the same time. “Ye’ll no’ ever cease surprisin’ me will ye?”

Flaring her nostrils and pursing her lips as she turned away, Claire shrugged. “I hope not.”

When Fraser emerged from the bathroom clad in sleep pants and a sweater (heldover from university), he found the bedroom empty and followed the sound of clattering.

Leaning against the wall, he took in the sight of her in his kitchen for a moment. She was entirely undone and moving about the space like she had maneuvered through it a thousand times (opened the cupboard to find a pan before, reached behind the cutlery tray for a can opener at some point in the recent past, lifted the lid on the countertop crockery not to be surprised at the sight of almost-melted room temperature butter). The robe’s sleeves were shoved up to her elbows. She had re-tied the oversized garment so much of the length billowed over the top of the tie. From the waist down, was all swishing terry cloth, calves and thighs, creases behind knees, finely-boned feet, and painted toenails.

Unadorned by jewels or makeup, expensive clothing or stacked heels, she was raw in her beauty. Almost too pretty, her curved shapes belted into his robe putting her at maximum advantage and her hair in a snarl where he’d knotted in his hand while inside of her. On the spectrum, she was closer to the woman who came stumbling into his stables (her stables) that one night than the one freshly divested of a tiara who had kissed him back with a stunning amount of alacrity. In his kitchen, touching his things, she was his nameless horse caper, seeking some quietude.

Claire hummed along to the crackling radio that she had kept low (Mr. Sandman bring me a dream make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen, a sway in her hips and tilt of her shoulders so brief he would have missed it had he not been so intent on her). He realized that his mind could smell her when his nose could not. (It was imprinted on his mind –– clean and musky with sex, with satisfaction.) And yet, the desire to be near enough to catch her scent along the long peach fuzz parabola of her neck propelled him forward.

“What’re ye makin’, Sassenach?”

She paused, a wooden spoon in hand suspended over a pan. “You do not have much in this cabin in the way of food.” Her belly groaned in protest at the mere thought of a weekend of sex and little eating, and he quirked a smile.

“I thought of that verra thing as ye were clinging to me on the back of the bike, how ye may starve.” He ran a hand through his hair before coming up behind her, drawing her back against him as she stirred something in the pot. “I can pop out and get some things tonight or in the morning.”

“Hmmm,” she sighed, leaning her head back and against his, her steady mixing of bubbling soup straight from the tin not missing a beat. “Tomorrow, and I will come along.”

Incredulity rumbled in his chest, a volcano signaling imminent eruption. “Are ye sure that’s the best idea? Small town folk are wont to talk, Claire.”

His hands strayed, one finding its way into the gaping opening in her robe. He found what he was looking for –– naked skin. “If this splatters and I get burnt, I will be very cross with you, Fraser.”

Dipping his chin, he rested it as a crown atop the mop of curls that his lovemaking hands and her writhing against the mattress had destroyed. For a moment, he felt a hardy, red-blooded male jolt of pride, as though he’d conquered her usually well-coiffed locks.

“A few things, Jamie.” She tapped the edge of the spoon’s handle on the edge of the pan before turning off the flame.

“Aye?” he urged, again taken by his name on her lips.

“One. I can disguise myself to some extent. You would be surprised by how much the surprise of a situational inconsistency can throw people off. No one expects the Queen of England to come wandering into a greengrocer or butcher shop in a small village on a sleepy Saturday morning.” She lifted the lid on a second pan, revealing some sizzling sausages he had not realized dwelled in the depths of his freezer. “And therefore, the Queen of England has a doppelganger at a greengrocer or a butcher shop. People will say, ‘Oh, I saw a woman who looked like the Queen, but she had such a fat arse and a slightly more pleasant face.’”

Unconsciously, he glanced down to said body part, resisted the urge to comment on how much lovelier and fatter her arse actually was in person. “I’ll have to take yer word for it, having never before bedded a star before,” he said, voice heady with a faux exaggeration that made her pinch his forearm and hiss. He merely chuckled. “What else?”

“Two,” she continued on, his good-humored comment taken on board for what it was. “You cannot possibly know how much I want to be…”

Pausing, she set the lid back over the sausages and turned in his arms. He drew her back, lest the drape of his robe get too close to the open flame beneath the soup and sausages. “What is it?”

“I do not want you to think that I’m being crude somehow… like I am doing this…” Her voice faded as she searched his face, eyes like palms open, warm, and awaiting a blessing. He wanted her words. Her every thought. “I do not want you to think that I am in love with you in some sort of fetishized way. To get away from my life… from the formalities of it all––”

“––I would never––”

A single finger pressed into his lips as she cupped his jaw. “I love you because I can be myself with you, but I would hate for you to think that I am using you as some sort of… outlet for a need to live a quiet life. It is not that at all.”

He arched back from just enough to break her contact with his mouth. “Ye’ll break my heart wi’ lovin’ ye, ye ken that, aye?”

Confusion molded her expression into one of incredulity.

“I would never think,” he began, hands tightening on her hips for emphasis, “that ye’re somehow taking advantage of me to live some dull, quiet, countryside life. Just as I ken that you would never think that I’m wi’ ye, lovin’ ye, and watchin’ ye fallin love wi’ me, just so I can bed yer... status.”

When she closed her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed the salty seam of each. Then the tip of her nose. One cheek, her forehead, and then the other. The contour beneath one cheekbone. Her mouth. Oh, her mouth. He took it with his own. He took her small body melting into his, let his hands find their way through the gap in her robe and to fill themselves with the soft curve of her bare buttocks, her thighs, the small of her back, and again the handfuls of her buttocks.

“Take me again,” she mumbled against his kiss-moist lips as he broke for a breath.

Without another word, he spun them, lifting her to the counter and untying the robe. “I’ll never tire of this,” he said, though his words were lost in the incoherent moan she let loose as he took her breast in his hand, guided the peak between his lips. With his pajama pants pooled at his feet, his sweater knotted in her fingers, he entered her with the kind of blind passion that leads people to various indiscretions (to roger a woman outside of a pub in an alleyway, to allow fingers an exploration far further north beneath a wife’s skirt beneath a table draped in linen while discussing business with a colleague, or to fumble about for a space to land in a coat closet, joined among the foreign-scented winter things of strangers).

She cried out against his throat (harder, please, oh Christ, harder), nails sinking into his shoulders as she tried to hold on. He heard her head smack a cupboard with a hollow clack, slowed, registered her admonition to “do not stop, damn you,” and bowed his head in concentration.

Take me again, she had implored him, eyes gilt and a gift to him.

So he did.

Harder, she begged, her breath an invitation hastily written out so that he could have her completely.

So he obliged.

At the end of all things, her body was limp everywhere (except where it still quaked, attempting to pull him deeper and draw him closer like a siren in the form of a sparrow with a woman’s face, scaled feet and wings paired with arms). Feeling her that way, he wondered if she would truly kill him with loving her. As he slipped free of her body, mumbling a wasted apology about the mess he had made of her, she gathered her to him with her legs.

“Let me listen to your breathing for a minute.” It was the whimpered, undeniable plea of a lover. An ask that he could not fathom disregarding. “Please.”

He allowed her to trap him there, milky softness of her thighs on his waist. The rest of the world does not exist, the warmth of her said.

Seek me out, his belly called back, hearing nothing more than the echo of unspoken words rattling in his head. His softening, damp cock awkwardly pressed between them as he drew her to the edge of the counter where he could hitch her to him.

“The sausages,” she mumbled as he lifted her, started to walk them to the living room. Her legs dangled at his waist, her forehead falling to rest against his. She had no spare energy left with which to cling to him. Instead, she let him carry her dead weight, kissing his jaw almost apologetically.

“Fuck the sausages,” he sighed, laying her down and covering her body on the sofa.

Some time later, after a meal of burnt sausages and too-salty tinned soup, she was studying him. Featherlight fingers fought the heaviness of her hand to trace the outline of his chest through his sweater. “Tell me about this place.”

He did.

Quiet and watching the fire he’d built in the living room instead of looking at her.

Even with his voice low, he had the way of a storyteller about him.

Voices for an ensemble (mam, da, Willie, Jenny, his old grisled Uncle Murtagh). Hands that warred between a thorough exploration of the buttes and basins of her body and to embellish the hills and valleys of his tale. Eyes that glittered beneath thick lashes, widening and narrowing for emphasis.

A cabin built by Brian Fraser for his new wife, Ellen, after World War I. A place that absorb his screaming nightmares into exposed wooden rafters. Where his family gathered for Christmas, dragging a tree down the sloping, snow-covered hills on Christmas Eve. Decorating it with popcorn and cranberries, eating Jelly Babies until their teeth ached. A home for weekends of hunting and fishing, where he came to drink himself into a stupor when his father passed away.

After a time, he fell silent and just held Claire, thanking God that she was there, that she did not ask questions he did not want to answer about the place where their bodies were molded into one. As the fire died, Claire hovered on the precipice of sleep, her toes just glancing over a placid pool of dreams. He was surveying the parts of her that he had just recently discovered, staked a claim to. Men had been along the plane of that throat before. Between her legs. And wrapped like vines around the parts of a brain that make people foolish when they believe that they’ve discovered love. Men who she thought she had loved and who she had convinced herself had loved her. Claire was certain that if she had anything whatsoever to do with it, Fraser would be her last, her only.

“Ye look as though ye could start snoring on me at any moment,” he said eventually, rolling a curl between his fingers over and over again.

“If I sleep today will be over,” she confessed, an undisguised note of longing in her voice. As much as she longed for another layer of intimacy with Fraser, she ached at the thought of loss over missing a single moment alone with him. As if by fighting sleep, she could extend the hours in the day or suspend the passage of time.

He hummed with appreciation at the sentiment, pressing his nose along the swoop of her neck, inhaling in a way that made her drowsy.

She had not slept with many men other than Frank, but she concluded that to actually sleep with someone did construct a sense of intimacy, as though her dreams had flowed out of her to mingle with his. It was an ultimate act of trust to sleep beside another person. The armor of clothing and status had been stripped away. She was bare, vulnerable. The shield of a word or glance impossible behind closed eyes and a searching, dreaming mouth. It felt somehow more intimate than the joining of their bodies.

“I’m about to sleep myself, Sassenach.”

She needed to ask what that word meant, but she did not need to ask to know that he was hers now, and that she belonged to him. She did not belong in the sense of a thing (his woman, a chattel under the law) or a concept (the royalty). Rather, she belonged as someone having fallen completely and irrevocably. She could not possibly dwell anywhere but inside the chambers of his heart or the memory of his skin on hers.

Closing her eyes, she closed out the nighttime ramblings of her lonely mind. The worries about gossip in her home, the speculations of a citizenry or her own family. By the name of the God on whose name Claire became Queen, she would have this man.

#;mod Kate #HRH #jamie x claire #Royal AU #Her Royal Highness AU

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hi-im-secretly-satan · 6 years

Text

Fever

Fandom: Banana Fish Pairing: Soy sauce (Shorter x Yut-Lung) Word count: 1745 Warnings: Choking, references to character death/(sexual) abuse Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866739 Summary: During their stay at Abraham Dawson's house, Shorter unexpectedly falls ill. Yut-Lung brings him some rice porridge but it doesn't quite go as he had planned. Notes: This hell took me three months to write but I am damn happy with how it turned out. @shorterxwong requested soy sauce with the prompt “Fever” and who am I to turn down a soy sauce fic request? I really really hope you like it, I poured my soul into this hahaha

When Yut Lung had gotten his orders, he had had expectations.

His subject could have been a loyal dog, refusing to cooperate and yelling about how he’d rather commit suicide than betray his fellow boss. If that were the case, it would be easy to have him killed and make it look like he had taken his own life. That would definitely rile up the infamous Ash Lynx.

His subject could have a grudge against that sly bastard and be rearing to get back at him. That would be even easier to work with, although over-enthusiasm, he knew, was prone to sabotaging operations of this delicacy. Previous missions had taught him that harsh lesson.

He had expected many things.

However he hadn’t expected Shorter Wong to be so damn attractive. His purple mohawk and eyebrow piercing radiated courage and strength, hinting at a rough attitude befitting a gang leader, in stark contrast to his ever-present grin and puppy-like enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected just how easy it was to rile him up with threats whispered when no one was watching, reminders of how all of his actions were monitored and controlled, how he was completely at Yut Lung’s mercy. The heated looks Shorter directed at him, filled with rage and disgust, left him burning for something he couldn’t quite identify. It was mesmerising to watch him shake with helpless anger, clench his fists in rage, itching to close those fingers around his throat, to make it all stop. At times, Yut Lung wanted those fingers around his throat, to have Shorter touch him, to feel something, anything at all.

He hadn’t expected him to fall ill either.

So when his old maid told him that Shorter had collapsed with a fever, he had expected to be pissed at the unexpected turn of events—this really threw his plans into disarray—but instead he found himself distressed. He managed to feign impassiveness as Suk-Leui finished her report and went to make some rice porridge on his orders. He was tired. By now he’d had to feign impassiveness so much the line between feigning and his real feelings had become so blurred he wasn’t sure how much of his actual feelings were left.

Taking a moment to quiet the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, he sank down on the edge of his bed. Stay calm , he told himself. This was nothing to get so worked up about. It was probably just the flu, nothing life-threatening. It’d be over before he knew it. He traced his lower lip with his thumb.

Maybe this was his chance. To show Shorter that he was just another victim of this cursed endless cycle of using and abusing that resulted from being born in the mafia, just like him. To show Shorter that he cared. He immediately berated himself for even daring to think this could work out positively, but really, was it too much to ask to be wanted in the same way he wanted someone else? Someone to cling to when he felt like he was drowning in hate and hungry stares and unwanted hands claiming his body for their own?

When he entered the room, Shorter was asleep. His breathing was heavy, his face flushed and his usually carefully styled mohawk was mussed up and unkempt. It was a frightening yet strangely attractive sight. His thoughts strayed, unbidden, to a more impure scene in a purer world, one where they would be free of the cruel chains of hatred that held them down. He willed them away. Reality was harsh and there was nothing he could do about it except fight it from the shadows. He knew he could not save Shorter. It was foolish to even think about it.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself for the undoubtedly unpleasant but strangely addicting interaction he slid back into his cold and manipulative façade and made his way over to the bed. He placed the steaming bowl of porridge on the nightstand and, after a short moment of considering the chair, sat down on the edge of the bed.

The sudden dip in the mattress woke Shorter from his slumber. Yut Lung watched as his hostage blinked and tried to get his bearings through the fever induced fog in his mind. He felt a jolt when those dark brown eyes found his, still soft and pleasant, until they realised who they were looking at and they hardened. Shorter’s expression turned feral and—it probably would’ve been in a flash if he hadn’t been crippled by that fever—managed to pull a knife from under his pillow and lunged at him.

Yut Lung couldn’t help but smile, almost wanting to let him just to see how far he’d get, but instead slid his fingers around Shorter’s knife-wielding wrist, twisting it until the weapon fell, his other hand on his shoulder pushing him on his back. His long hair fell down like a curtain, and with his knee digging into the side of Shorter’s hips he had him perfectly caged. “Come now,” he drawled, lazy smirk dancing on his lips and eyes sparkling with mirth. “That’s no way for an ill person to behave.”

Shorter growled and struggled weakly to break free. “You...” he snarled, voice hoarse from coughing. Yut Lung felt another jolt go through his body at the sound of it. The sight of him flushed and panting underneath him did little to calm him down either. He let his eyes take it all in and wished he could have what he wanted for once. His gaze wandered from his eyes—deep and dark and surprisingly brown—to his piercing—seeming to sparkle in the dim lighting—to his nose—big for an Asian but beautiful—to his parted lips. He wanted to lean down and claim those for himself, wanted it to be reciprocated.

He wanted.

“Hush,” Yut Lung muttered, pressing a long finger to Shorter’s lips; those tempting lips. “Wouldn’t want your dear Ash to hear. Or Eiji, for that matter.” Shorter flinched at the mention of his Asian friend and averted his eyes.

The irrational feeling of betrayal suddenly made it hard to breathe, like someone had bound his chest in too-tight bandages. His earlier thoughts of wanting to claim Shorter for himself, both physically and emotionally, turned to anger. He wanted to break him. Have him crumble beneath him, fall apart into tiny pieces and rearrange them all into someone new, someone who would really see him. Who would want him back and hold him and tell him he was good enough. Was that really too much to ask? Suppressing his feelings once more, he let his hand wander to brush Shorter’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “What’s this?” He cooed, hoping his inner turmoil wouldn’t make his voice tremble. “Is that air-headed boy that special to you?”

Shorter looked back up at him with resentment burning in his eyes. “You’d never understand,” he sneered and coughed.

Yut Lung narrowed his eyes and leaned back a bit so he wouldn’t catch whatever it was his hostage was hacking up. “And why is that?” He asked icily.

“Because you don’t know love.”

Yut Lung felt his blood run cold. He didn’t know love? Shorter had no right to make false accusations like that. He knew love, but the only love he had ever known was taken from him by his brothers. He could still hear his mother’s anguished screams when he closed his eyes at night.

But there was a tiny spark of hope deep inside his chest. Would Shorter be willing to show him what love was? Would he be willing to take his cold and neglected heart and warm it in his hands? Hold him in his strong embrace and treat him like he was his most precious treasure?

Shorter continued and his hopes were crushed. “I pity you. You hide behind a mask of indifference and you’re scared to let people in. You only know how to manipulate and wreak havoc. It must be such a lonely life.” He actually dared looking remorseful. His eyes were still hard, he hadn’t let his guard down, but they were sad and sincere. Compassionate.

Something in Yut-Lung snapped. He surged forward and his fingers closed around Shorter’s neck. “I don’t need your pity!” He cried. “Don’t look at me like you understand my life! What it’s like to be used and abused, molded into the perfect image of the woman they loathed.” His voice shook and he choked back a sob. Underneath him Shorter froze and his eyes widened in shock. “I don’t want this life either, Shorter Wong. I’m just waiting for the day they hit me too hard, kick me in the wrong place or strangle me too tight…” His eyes burned. He blinked and tears rolled down his face, landing on Shorter’s cheeks. A cruel mirror to just a week ago, when their positions had been reversed.

But then he felt a warm hand on his cheek. He froze and his vision came back into focus. Shorter was looking up at him with those damned brown eyes, soft and full of sorrow. He tried to say something but nothing came out except for a few rasping gasps. As if burned, Yut-Lung let go, wanting to create some space between them. But the hand on his cheek was so tender, he did not want to lose that warmth. Shorter coughed violently as air rushed back into his lungs.

Suddenly scared of what Shorter would say he scrambled off the bed. With his back towards his hostage, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “Eat the porridge while it's still hot.” His voice trembled with suppressed tears. “Don't worry, it's not poisoned.” He shot Shorter one last look before heading towards the door. But when he put his hand on the handle he heard his raspy voice.

“I can't fathom what you're going through. It must be hell.”

His knuckles turned white from how tightly he was holding the door handle.

Shorter coughed again. “Do you really think this is the right way to deal with it?”

He gritted his teeth. Shorter had no right to talk to him like that. Ignoring the question still hanging in the air he opened the door and left the room.

His throat was sore. He must have caught whatever Shorter had after all.

#soy sauce #wonglung #banana fish #shorter wong #shorter #yut lung #yut-lung #fic #it's finally done #god #that were three terribly long months #but damn if im not proud of the result #my writes #it's a wonderful ket life

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nailriddenbat · 6 years

Text

You don’t care

Summary: You won’t let anyone get in the way of a perfect grade, not even Steve Harrington.

Requested by: Anonymous ; What about one where the reader and Steve meet on the first day of college, maybe Steve gets really smitten and tries to use his 'method' (like what he tells dustin) but the reader just won't have it

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags (PLEASE message me if you want to be added to the permanent tag list for any fic, especially if you already asked and I forgot!): @thegirlwhoisintoomanyfandoms @la-fille-en-aiguilles @jj-writes-shit @thebitterbookeater @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @richletozler @royalwolfhard @just-smile-darling @w-ingardiumleviosa @buckysmaingir l@magic-and-timetravel @jupiter-leo @ttrraasshh @somekryptonitewriting @dudee-what @tmalchow @hedabucky @wallacetdog @twelvedacrewoods @mikeygc3000 @stressedoutkylo @istanuriss @anevenstrangerblog @scintillllating @dylanowhyyien @daniimiss @xguardiangel @me-a-hopeless-romantic @negroneon @sweetheartmendes @goimaginethiss @madhatterweasley @cupcaitlyn96 @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @poets-are-sinners @harringtonhuddle @kingkenzieo @ssweet-empowerment @blackhawklove @harringtonwife @lola-winston-harrington @im-disgustingly-vain @alwaysmebeforeyou @kinghairington

You two had been paired up to be partners in history class. The professor had walked in with a smirk, announcing loudly that the person to your right was going to become your “best friend” during the duration of the semester. And if for whatever reason you two hated each other and wanted to rip each other’s hair out strand by strand, he politely asked that you held back while sitting in his class. Too much paperwork for him to fill out, apparently.

You weren’t going to have that problem, though! Steve Harrington was incredibly sweet. You two exchanged an awkward smile on that first day but when he had asked to borrow an extra pen (you had five pens on you that day), the awkwardness slipped away. He handed back the pen after class but you insisted that he kept it for the rest of his day and he thanked you with a grin.

You two made pleasant conversation before the second class. It was wonderful! Your history class was right before lunchtime and you two even made plans to get a quick bite to eat afterward. You learned a bit about his hometown, he learned a bit about yours and you two shared some jokes!

About two weeks went by and you had fallen into this routine with Steve. Greet each other in class, make jokes during class, and get lunch after class to discuss the recent homework assignment and what would be the possible history project. You felt comfortable knowing you had made a friend in college. It made you feel even better that this particular friend was cute and charming.

Then it all went to shit.

Steve stopped asking you for pens and would lean over to Jessica Groves so he could ask her instead. When you would ask him if he wanted to go grab some lunch he would shrug his shoulders and say, “I guess we can go.” That continued for an additional week before his answer went to being an outright ‘no’.

Steve would not look at you. Steve would not talk to you. Why, though? What had you done that was so horrible? Maybe you pressed him too much to learn about his life back home. Sometimes people wanted to leave that in the past. Maybe you had said something unintentionally and pissed him off. People didn’t take well to that.

Or maybe you hadn’t done anything at all and Steve Harrington was not so sweet at all. Maybe Steve Harrington was just another asshole, like all the boys you had left back home. Yes, Steve Harrington was an asshole and you had no time for that.

Midterms rolled around and you could not believe you were halfway through your first semester of college. Before handing out the graded midterm exams, your history teacher handed out a thick packet on the final history project, which accounted for 25% of your final grade. That was a whole quarter! After the class had ended you turned to speak to Steve but he was already halfway out of the door. You scrambled to grab your things and ran after him, shouting, “Hey! Harrington!”

He turned around after you had chased him down the halls for three minutes and you stopped, waving the packet in his face.

“Yeah? What about it?” he asked.

“We need to meet up and get this started,” you dropped the packet to your side, staring up at him. “Are you available now? We can go get something to eat then head over to the library.”

Steve shook his head, “Nah, sorry. No can do. But I’ll catch up with you and we can start it up!”

Before you could argue, he turned and continued walking down the hall. You sighed and shook your head while muttering underneath your breath, “Why do I even bother?”

Steve hummed to himself as he walked away, his books tucked underneath his arm. “You don’t care, Steve. You don’t care.”

The project was due in three weeks. You had done all that you could on your own but that was very little. You needed help and that stupid boy in that stupid Member’s Only jacket would have to help.

You knew that he had Biology last on Friday so you waited outside of the science building. It was freezing out but this was your only opportunity at catching Steve off guard.

Soon enough, you saw him push the doors open and step out of the building. He was laughing with someone else but you stepped forward, saying his name sharply, “Harrington!”

He looked up at you then turned to his friend to mutter, “I’ll talk to you later, man.” He stepped over to you, nodding his head as he greeted you. “What’s up, Y/N?”

“What’s up? Our project,” your voice was clipped and you made no effort in holding back your attitude.

“Yeah, I know. It’s due soon,” he nodded his head.

“Yeah! And we’ve made no progress on it whatsoever! We’re meeting at the library tomorrow morning, eight AM sharp, and we’re not leaving until I say so,” you began to shout.

“Eight in the morning on a Saturday? What are you, insane? I was going to sleep in!”

“Fuck your sleeping schedule!” you cried out. “Look, you were really cool when this class first began. I felt like I had a friend or something but you turned out to be just another douche who’s obsessed with nothing but his looks and girls.”

He took a deep breath and stepped closed to you, keeping his voice low, “You’re wrong, Y/N.”

“No, I’m not,” you shook your head quickly. “I’m not wrong. I don’t care if you want to treat me like shit. That’s fine. This project is worth twenty-five percent of my grade, though, and I am not going to accept anything but an A so you better be in that library tomorrow or I’ll...” You weren’t sure what you would do, so you took a deep breath and stormed off suddenly. You had said what you needed to say. The ball was in his court.

Steve watched you walk away and he ran his hand through his hair, sighing out of frustration. “This not caring thing isn’t working out,” he whispered.

You looked down at the watch around your wrist. It was 8:03 AM. You looked up at the books you had gathered that could help with your project. Steve was nowhere in sight. You sighed and pulled over one of the books, flipping it open. You would work on the project completely by yourself and would try your best.

Ten minutes later, a small cup of coffee was placed in front of you. You looked at it before picking your head up slowly.

“Who knew that coffee joint would have such a long line this early on a Saturday morning?” Steve grinned down at you as he sipped on his own cup.

You took a deep breath and then looked back down at the notes you had been jotting down. “I thought you wouldn’t show,” you said shortly.

“Yeah, about that...” Steve sighed as he pulled out the chair next to you. You didn’t look up at him until he cleared his throat and said, “I’m not the person you think I am and I need to make that clear.”

“Oh really?” you finally looked up at him, arching your eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s how I was in high school. And I stopped that shit because I didn’t like who I was becoming. So I apologize for acting like that.”

“It’s fine. I just want to work on this project and get it over with. Then I’ll stop bothering you,” you cleared your throat a bit, shrugging your shoulders as you looked back down.

Steve reached out to touch your wrist softly and you looked up at him. “You’re not a bother, Y/N,” he whispered.

You pulled your wrist away after a while. The tension fled from your body and you pushed a book over to him, starting to explain what you had done so far. He listened carefully and started to work immediately after you finished talking. While he leaned over one of the books, you sipped on your coffee slowly to hide the smile that had crossed your face.

You held your breath as you stood outside of the classroom. Steve had volunteered to get the graded final project from the Professor’s desk after class had ended and you were waiting impatiently.

Steve walked out slowly, his eyes down at the paper in his hand.

“Well?” you asked him. “What did we get?”

“Y/N...” Steve shook his head slowly, looking up at you.

Your face fell and you felt like you were ready to throw up.

“We got an A,” Steve smirked and held the project up to you.

“An A?” you snatched the paper and stared down at it with wide eyes. “We got an A!?”

“We got an A! I told you we would pass!” Steve started to laugh.

You shouted out loud with excitement and threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Steve exhaled and wrapped his arms around your waist, spinning you in a circle.

“I can sleep in peace!” you sighed when Steve put you back on your own two feet.

“You can sleep after dinner,” he chuckled. “Let’s go out tonight.”

You looked up at him and felt your breath catch in your throat. You pushed the stray piece of hair out of your face as you asked him, “Tonight? Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head. He took a deep breath, kicking at the ground a little bit with the tip of his shoe. “As a celebratory date. Or just dinner if you don’t want it to be a date.”

“A celebratory date,” you whispered to him. You nodded your head quickly, “I want it to be a celebratory date.”

Steve looked up at you and grinned a little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little and backed up slowly. “Eight o’ clock sharp? Don’t be late this time!”

“Eight o’ clock sharp. I won’t be late,” Steve smiled over at you.

You continued to back up before turning around, disappearing into the crowded hallway. Steve remained standing outside of the classroom and sighed happily, saying to himself, “You care, Steve. You care a lot.”

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rainbowserenity · 7 years

Note

5.“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”Hope/Light :)

royal!AU tag

total nano count: 20435/50000

Oneof the first things Lightning had been taught regarding her newlyroyal status was that when it came to parties and dinner engagements,she was never late. Everyone else was simply early.

Ofcourse, she'd tried to argue that that made no sense in the contextof her introduction ball since there were a bunch of other royalsthere, but Sazh had just sighed in that exasperated fashion of histhat suggested she was taking years off of his life and told her tohush.

Ifonly she had such an opportunity tonight.

Eversince she'd been found as the long-lost princess of the kingdom ofEden, Lightning had been largely kept away from the public. She knewthat the press offices occasionally released photos to ensure thepeople that she, well, existed,but that was the extent of it. She'd yet to make any sort of contactwith other kingdoms or establish what kind of ruler she would be.

Andyet somehow, Sazh had thought it was a completely brilliantidea to figuratively throw herout to the tigers and have her put mere months of royal training tothe test, when the people she'd be talking with had been royal theirwhole lives.

Well,she supposed that she'd been royal her whole life, too. She justhadn't known it until a little while ago.

Lightningtucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and then dropped her hand,trying not to fuss. She was standing behind a set of double doors,waiting for someone to announce her. Already she could hear voicesmurmuring, probably enjoying the party.

Ofcourse they all would.They weren't the'guest of honor.' Ugh.

“Ladiesand gentlemen, our esteemed guests from far and wide!”

Hadshe been able to run in these shoes, Lightning would've made a breakfor it. After months, it was somehow just now hittingher that she'd gone from a mere soldier just barely above the povertyline to an actual princess whowas soon to be in charge of a whole kingdom and who guarded what wasarguably the most important fal'cie in the world. Howthe hell was she going to pull this off?!

Somethings in life you just do.

“Presentingtonight's guest of honor, Eden's long-lost daughter – Her RoyalHighness, Crown Princess Lightning Farron!”

Heavenforbid they just say 'Princess Lightning' or something.

Insteadof running like she wanted to, Lightning squared her shoulders andstood up straight, her head held high as the double doors opened andshe stepped into the glitz of the ballroom.

Shewas a floor above everyone, so it was all too easy to see the eyesstaring up at her. Honestly, she hoped she wasn't blinding them withher ensemble, though she had to admit, it was quite a work of art.

Hergown was a light blue color (the color a certain personal bodyguardhad said matched her eyes...no, wrong timeto think of that) with a sweetheart neckline. There was delicate laceembroidery in the back the detailed the brand of Phoenix, Eden'sfal'cie. The skirt was full, made possible by way too many layers offabric, though the top layer was covered with a gauzy sort of fabricin a peplumstyle until the hem, which was embedded with a repeating design ofPhoenix's brand in hundreds of tiny diamonds onthe top layer.

Ofcourse, that hadn't been enough. Her hair had been done in a sort ofreverse crown braid – the braid wasat the nape of her neckrather than the top of her head – and the few stubborn pieces ofhair that escaped had been expertly curled. Nestled at the top of herhead and held in by what felt like a pound of hairpins was abrilliant diamond and sapphire tiara – one that was traditionallyworn at introduction balls like this. In fact, when her maids hadbeen putting the tiara on, Lightning had recalled with a shiver ofseeing previous princesses wearing the same one.

Shewas wearing a minimum amount of jewelry to better show off the tiaraand gown, but there were tiny diamond and sapphire earrings hangingfrom her ears and her elbow-length gloves shimmered. Honestly, theearrings alone were probably worth more than her entire career as asoldier in the slums.

Itwas still difficult to think that she deserved to wear any of this.

Lightninggave a little wave and curtsy, the way that'd been drilled into herhead a thousand times. Everyone started applauding politely as shebegan to descend down the grand staircase. It was really unnerving tohave all those eyes on her, especially since she was walking soslowly in an attempt not to trip.

Onceshe was finally at the bottom of the stairs she let out a breath andput on a practiced smile. The 'media smile', it was called. Afterall, a princess needed to look calm and composed at all times.

“Thankyou all for your support tonight,” she said. The voice didn'treally feel like hers. It was coming out of her mouth, sure, but itjust felt like another media trick. Probably because this was thepart of the ball that would show up in magazines and the internet. “Iwelcome you to join me in bringing Eden into a new era. Phoenix willcontinue to light the skies and all of us under its light willcontinue to thrive in return.”

Therewas polite applause and the rigidity in Lightning's shouldersloosened somewhat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sazh wipeimaginary sweat off his brow. She could absolutely relate.

Thehardest part was over. Now...she just had to get through the rest ofthe night.

Sigh.

Afterher little speech, everyone gradually fell into murmuredconversations and there was that pleasant buzz that seemed to alwaysaccompany successful gatherings...not that Lightning had been to verymany, but it was easy to sense.

Sazhscurried up to her before she could take a step. “You know whatyou've gotta do now, right?”

“Takeoff these stupid shoes and run back to my room?”

“Don'tgive me a heart attack. Go and mingle. Relations!Put all that damn paperwork I gave you to use!”

“Right.”This was the part she'd been dreading, even more than the hardestpart of being put on display and speaking to the crowd. She'd neverbeen all that great at small talk and even after extensively goingthrough paperwork describing the other royals and nobles that wouldbe at this ball, she was sure she'd screw up and unintentionallyoffend somebody.

Ormaybe intentionally. Whoknew, maybe some of these people could use a good social faux-pas.

Hereyes wandered as she walked through the crowds, consciously aware ofher tiny steps. Between the heels and how elaborate her dress was,every second was a test of not tripping. Ridiculous.

Shescanned the crowds, looking for a pair of green eyes and a mop ofsilver hair. Hope – her personal bodyguard – had been invitedspecifically by her, and despite some...tense moments between them,she did genuinely hope that he'd still taken her up on herinvitation.

Yeah,tense, she thoughtwith a sigh. The last time they'd been left alone in a room together,he'd almost kissed her. Tense wasone word for it.

“Soyou're Eden's princess, huh?”

Lightningturned around and saw a woman with wild black hair smirking at hercuriously. She was dressed in a deep blue outfit, where the top halfresembled a sari, but the bottom was a more traditional gown. Thedress was adorned with intricate embroidery that Lightning was awarewas the symbol of a fal'cie, though hell if she could remember whichone. Tons of bracelets and necklaces completed the look.

“Yes,”she finally replied with a bob of her head, aware that she'd beenstaring a second too long. “Princess Fang of Oerba, correct?”

“Noneed for the formality, sunshine.” Fang grinned and took a sip ofthe champagne flute she was holding. “If there's no cameras on us,no point in it.”

Lightningcouldn't help but smile. She liked Fang already. “All thingsconsidered, I should probably err on the side of caution.” As muchas she hated it.

“Suityourself. Want one?”

“Sure.”Lightning took the proffered champagne and took a tiny sip. It tastedway too expensive, but considering all the diamonds she was wearing,she shouldn't have been surprised. “Have you been to Eden often?”

“Lasttime was right before the last of the royal family croaked.” Fangshrugged one shoulder. “Though I guess technically they're yourfamily, too.”

Lightningpaused. She honestly hadn't really thought of it like that before.“Technically, I guess.They're very distant,though. Nobody knew about me until Sazh decided to poke around.”

Fangbarked out a laugh. “Of course it was him! He's good at that, eh?”

“Youknow Sazh?”

“Anyroyal that's got half a brain to speak of knows him.” Fang liftedher glass a bit as though in a toast. “Of course, he's long sincesettled in Eden, but he's coached all sorts of us over the years. Theguy's constantly grumblin' about us 'kids'.”

Lightning'ssmile widened a bit. “Sounds like him.”

“He'sjust pissed 'cause Vanille decided she'd rather spend time with merather than get schooled by him.” She finished her champagne.“Speakin' of which...”

“Vanille?”She didn't mean...

“Oi!Vanille!”

Agirl in a beautiful gown in colors of the sunrise suddenly appearedwith a wide smile on her face. She had a bounce to her step despitethe elaborate headdress she was wearing, which was dripping with goldpieces stamped with the symbol of Luxerion's fal'cie. Like Fang, shewore an alarming number of necklaces and bracelets.

Recognitionquickly dawned and Lightning couldn't hide her wide eyes. This wasDia Vanille – one of the royals her bodyguard had worked with...andclaimed to knew quite well.

Damnit.Where was he, then, tocoach her through this?

“Fang!”Vanille grinned and flung her arms around the other woman Lightningquirked an eyebrow when the hug turned into a kiss.

Wait.What?

“What,nobody ever mentioned that?” Fang said with a smirk when shenoticed Lightning's confused expression. “There's a reason the oldroyal family used to call me an 'old hag' for not being married. Theywere sorta prissy about it.”

“Oh.”Lightning blinked and shook her head a bit. “Well...I have noreason to be.” And that was the truth. She herself wasn't attractedto women, so what the hell did it matter to her if Fang and Vanillewere together? Had the old royal family honestly had a problem withit? The thought of being associated with such an archaic idea madeher uncomfortable.

“KnewI'd like ya.” Fang grinned and kissed Vanille again. “Sweetheart,don't be rude and say hello to the new princess.”

Eventhough Sazh probably would've had a heart attack if he'd heardsomething like that, Lightning just chuckled as Vanille turned with abright smile and held up her hands in a strange gesture – pinkyfingers crossed and her index fingers touching as she bowed.Lightning curtsied in return.

“It'sso nice to finally meet you!” Vanille grasped Lightning's hands,which took her by surprise, but all she could do was go with it.Plus, she could tell by instinct that Vanille was a good person. Heropinion had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Hopeapparently knew her quite well. “I've been wanting to meet Eden'snew princess ever since I heard about you! It's a terrible shame thatso much of the royal family perished, but...well, you're here now,aren't you?”

“Right.”Lightning's head was spinning. She was starting to get the vibe thatmost of the royals around here hadn't cared much for the old familythat had ruled over Eden and inwardly cursed herself for not payingmuch attention to the news when she was younger.

Thenagain, she'd been too busy trying to keep a roof over her head.

“Plus,I just love a good ball, don't you? It's so old-fashioned.” Vanillegrinned as the music from the live orchestra gradually changed. “Oh,Fang! Dance with me!”

Fangchuckled. “Can't disobey an order.” She winked as Vanille tuggedher out to the dance floor. “We'll talk later, eh?”

“Right,”Lightning echoed and watched as they scurried further into theballroom. Somehow, Vanille's bouncing became a lot more graceful asthey began to waltz, their gowns sweeping around them in perfectunison.

Eventually,she looked away and let out a breath. Okay. She'd met two of the mostimportant guests here and it actually hadn't been too bad. The restof the night would be a piece of cake. Practice made perfect, afterall, or so Sazh was constantly harping at her. Probably why he madeher repeat etiquette lessons constantly.

“Hel-loooo.Princess Lightning, right?”

Lightningturned and looked up – and up– at an unfamiliar tall man with shaggy blond hair, dressed in adark suit. It was precisely at this second that she remembered Sazhtelling her that these introduction balls were typically held to lookfor potential suitors.

“Yes,”she finally replied with a curtsy, though she was already a littleannoyed. Obviously that'swho she was – or had this guy missed the whole littleparade-and-speech earlier?

“SnowVilliers,” he introduced with a bow. “I'm the Patron of Yusnaan.”

Sheraised her eyebrows a little. Even she knew about Yusnaan – it wasthe only nation with a fal'cie that wasn't under any sort of formalrule. Snow had been elected by the people, but he wasn't bound to theduty. The only reason Yusnaan got away with this was because theirfal'cie, Pandaemonium, was in charge of a lot of the industry andfood production in that area of the world, which created tons of jobsfor the people. It was a notorious situation that was unlike anyother, but despite this, she hadn't heard much about the Patronhimself.

Honestly,she already wasn't all that impressed.

Still,she had to be polite. Relations and all that. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”He grinned, and it was the sort of expression someone had when theywere trying way too hard to be charming. She resisted the urge toroll her eyes. “Would you care for a dance?”

Oh,crap.

Sheknew there were cameras in the room to take press photos, and she'dbeen warned more than once that several would probably be taken whileshe was on the dance floor – it just lookedmore interesting for the princess to be dancing or doing somethinginstead of standing around chatting. On top of that, it'd also beenheavily implied that whoever she was photographed dancing with wouldcreate 'human interest,' meaning people would jump to romanticconclusions.

Ofcourse, never mind that she'd never met any of these people in personbefore, nor did she have any intention of getting romanticallyinvolved with anyoneunless they happened to be her personal bodyguard -

Wait.

Sheinwardly shook herself. Obviously, the press would make whatever thehell comments it wanted, regardless of her actions. Better that theyget their photos out of the way now, right?

“Iwould be honored,” Lightning finally replied, using the wordsthat'd been drilled into her head. Snow offered his arm with atoo-charming grin that had zero effect on her, but she took the crookof his elbow anyway.

Themusic had flowed into something a bit more upbeat, so it was easy todistract herself with counting steps and remembering where the hellher hands were supposed to go. It was awkward, because she was soused to dancing with someone shorter, who she didn't have to race tokeep up with and could lead instead...

Gods.What the hell was wrong withher?

Eventhough Snow was a big lug who had zero grace and kept nearly steppingon her gown, she somehow managed to keep a pleasant smile on her facethe whole time they waltzed, if only for the cameras. She spottedFang and Vanille – who were still dancing – out of the corner ofher eye and they seemed amused for some reason.

“Eden'sreal lucky they found you,” Snow said at one point. “But man, Ican't imagine living all normally and then suddenly getting thrustinto this.”

Shehummed in agreement. It occurred to her that Snow was probably theonly person here who could somewhat relate to her, since he'd beenelected to his position. It was a frightening thought that she hadanything in common with the guy. “I suppose,” she finally said.“I'm just glad this means I get to give my sister a better life.”

“Youhave a sister?”

Howwas it that she'd been required to memorize a bunch of facts aboutthese visiting royals and important people, but they apparentlyhadn't had to do the same? Or maybe Snow just didn't care. “Yes.She's around here somewhere. They're just putting the spotlight on mefor obvious reasons.”

“CanI meet her?”

Thatsurprised her, but Lightning was so eager to stop dancing that sheimmediately agreed. “Sure.”

Oncethe dance was over, she led Snow into a crowd of guests. She thoughtshe'd spotted her sister here earlier...

“Serah?”

“Sis!”Serah, always a lot more personable, gracefully extracted herselffrom a five-person conversation and went up to Lightning, graspingher hands excitedly. “Light, you look so beautiful in that dress.Those seamstresses really outdid themselves!”

“Thankyou.” She smiled, maybe her first genuine one of the night. “Youlook beautiful too, Serah.” And she did. Serah's hair was free fromits usual side ponytail and had been swept up into an elaboratelybraided bun at the top of her head. A few tendrils around her facehad been curled to perfection. The updo perfectly showed off theglitzy pastel pink gown she was wearing. Like her sister's, it alsohad lace embroidery on the back with the symbol of Phoenix.

“You'rejust saying that,” Serah teased, but she looked happy all the same.Finally, she seemed to notice Snow and looked up. Way up.Snow was easily twice the size of her tiny sister. “And youare...?”

Snowgrinned, but unlike Lightning, Serah practically swooned at it. “Myname is Snow Villiers. I'm the Patron of Yusnaan.” He made a grand,sweeping bow. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Serahgiggled and immediately dropped into a curtsy. “The pleasure is allmine, Mr. Villiers. I'm Serah Farron, Princess of Eden.”

Eventhough it was completely uncouth, Lightning's mouth fell open as Snowand Serah giggled throughout their pleasantries, which eventuallyturned into a request for a dance – a much more enthusiastic one onSnow's part – and she stared, totally flabbergasted as Snow andSerah waltzed across the dance floor. It looked completely ridiculousbecause of their height difference, but...

“Excuseme, Your Highness?”

Onlya lifetime of training as soldier kept Lightning from jumping out ofher skin. Instead, she sucked in a quick breath and put on a smile asshe turned to the voice. Standing there was a girl who was dressed inwhat looked more like a uniform than a ballgown, though it was formalenough. She didn't look familiar, so Lightning simply nodded.

“Yes?”

“Myname is Alyssa,” the girl said after a quick bow. “I'm her arepresentative of Academia. The President sends his regrets that hecouldn't make an appearance.”

“Oh.”Lightning vaguely recalled Sazh saying that Academia's Presidenthadn't replied to the invitation to the ball, but she hadn't reallythought to question it. Academia was a relatively new nation. Theyboasted the world's only man-made fal'cie, which honestly just seemedcrazy, but she hadn'tgiven it much thought. The leader, their President, was a personshrouded in mystery. It was speculated that there wasn't aPresident at all, because nobody had ever seen the guy. Or girl.

Therefore,it hadn't been such a surprise that there hadn't been an answer tothe invitation, and beyond that, Lightning hadn't really had time tomuse about it. After all, she wasn't about to rule Academia, so whatbusiness was it of hers?

Asecond later, she reminded herself of appearances. “Please send myregards to him. It'd be great to meet someday.”

Alyssaseemed amused at this, but she simply nodded. “Of course,Your Highness. In fact, if I could be so bold, he didn't think muchof the old royals. He might finally be willing to show himself to thepublic if Academia and Eden decided to ally.”

Ugh.Politics. Still, Lightning's smile didn't falter. “We'll have tosee, but I'm definitely open to the idea.”

“Goodto hear!” Alyssa said. She opened her mouth like she was going tosay more, but she flicked her eyes to something in the distance andinstead bowed again. “Well then, thank you for your time, YourHighness. I should be off.”

“Niceto meet you.” Lightning sighed as Alyssa walked off. Gods, this wasexhausting.

“Areyou all right, Your Highness?”

Lightning'shead whipped over her should and she spun around at the familiarvoice, her smile immediately forming into something much moregenuine. Despite the awkwardness of the last time they'd been alonetogether, right now, she'd never been so glad to see a familiar face.

“Hope,”she greeted with a smirky smile, her dress rustling as she stepped upto him. “What have I told you a thousand times? Call me Light.”

“Ithought formality would be a little more appropriate here.” Hiseyes flicked over her appearance. “You look...”

Evenbefore he said the word, a blush formed on Lightning's face that hadnothing to do with any makeup. It wasn't the first time he'd saidanything like this to her. Hell, it wasn't the first time tonightthat anyone had said such a thing, but coming from him...

“...Absolutelystunning.”

...Itwas different.

“T-Thankyou,” she managed to reply, cursing her little stutter as she triednot to let the mood get...awkward. After all, they were in a ballroomwith dozens of people, not to mention cameras. “You look...verynice yourself.”

Thatwas putting it mildly. Though Hope always dressed in a neat andprofessional manner as her personal bodyguard, apparently he went theextra mile at a ball. His three-piece suit was perfectly tailored,like it'd been painted on his body, and his aqua tie brought out thebrilliant shades of green in his eyes.

Herheart was pounding. Not good.

Ifshe wasn't mistaken, Hope's cheeks flushed at her praise, but hemerely cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Thesilence that followed was both awkward and comfortable in that wayshe usually was around Hope. It didn't matter that they were in aballroom full of people and that she was guest of honor all eyes wereon. The world always dwindled down to just the two of them when theywere together.

How?

“YourHighness!”

Lightningwas startled out of her stupor when someone called for her, andsomehow, she found herself away from Hope's side for the next fewhours. She talked to one of the noblemen of the Yaschas Massif andthen danced with the Primarch's son, who was even taller than Snow.At least the guy was quiet and courteous. Perhaps because thePrimarch worked so closely with the monarchy of Eden.

Fangand Vanille came to talk to her again to rescue her from a longconversation with a guest, and honestly, she was glad for it. Ifnothing else, she could say that she'd made friends of the two women.While that was good for relations and all, Lightning had never reallybeen all that close to other people, whether she was a princess ornot, so it was nice that there were people who sought her company.

Whenthe peak of the ball had inexplicably passed, made obvious by thefact that the cameras were finally gone, Lightning watched Fang andVanille go back to the dance floor. Serah was still offwith Snow somewhere, which almost made her want to go pry them apart,but Lightning was glad for a moment alone to breathe.

Thatmoment didn't last too long, but at least this time, the interruptionwas welcome.

“Thereyou are, Light.”

Shesmiled as Hope appeared beside her. “I'm sorry about before.”

Heshook his head. “Don't worry about it. I know what this event wasabout. It's important for you to mingle and make relations.”

“I'vehad about enough of that tonight,” she admitted. She wasridiculously glad that these balls weren't an everyday affair,because the thought of schmoozing and socializing like thisconstantly gave her a headache. Maybe she had a bit of confidence inthe political side of things, but the social aspects of being Eden'sprincess...ugh.

“Doesthat mean you're free from the rest of your obligations tonight?”

“UnlessSazh decides to spring something else on me.”

Hopechuckled, shifting where he was standing. He seemed weirdlynervous...at least until he turned to her and bowed at the waist.“Then will you please do me the honor of a dance?”

Lightningblinked in surprise. Hope wanted to dance with her? Why?

Okay,she did recall one of their dance lessons, and according to Sazh,they'd been totally coordinated. The orchestra was still playing andthere were still people on the dance floor. It wasn't totally out ofthe realm of possibility that Hope would want to dance with her.

Maybehe wanted to try and...

No,of course not. Their almost-kiss had been a total fluke. Despiteevidence to the contrary, she'd completely acknowledged it and movedon. This was just a princess dancing with her bodyguard.

Withthat thought, Lightning gave him a little smile and held out herhand. “I would be honored.”

Hopelooked just as surprised at her acceptance, but he quickly took herhand and led her out onto the dance floor with a little smile. Maybeit was just because she'd been waltzing all night, but the placementof their hands were perfectly in sync – automatic, like she'd donethis with him a thousand times before. The music began a simpleballad and they began to spin around the room, her dress glitteringin the light of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Aftera moment, Hope relaxed even further and chuckled sheepishly. “Ihave to admit, I wasn't sure if you'd agree to dance.”

Lightingsmirked, squeezing his hand a bit. “I promised you one awhile ago,did I?”

“...Youdid,” he answered slowly, recalling a memory. “But you've beenwith so many others tonight. I wasn't sure if you'd be up for it.”

Eventhough it was the sort of kind and courteous thing a bodyguard wouldsay, there was something in Hope's tone that made her search his eyesfor what he wasn't quite saying. Maybe it was from all these monthsof royal training, teaching her to look people in the eye and findwhat was beyond the surface, but it eventually came to her.

“Waita minute...were you jealous?”

Hopecleared his throat and ducked his head a bit like he needed to watchhis feet, which was stupid since they were waltzing together sobeautifully. Lightning couldn't help but smile with a slight smirk,since his lack of verbal reply was more than answer enough.

Aftera couple more spins around the ballroom, he finally spoke. “Iwouldn't say that,exactly. I...I simply remembered that you'd promised me a dance and Iwas hoping I'd get to take you up on your offer.” He looked at herfrom behind his bangs. “That's all.”

Thatwasn't all and theyboth knew it. Even though she kept trying to push it out of her mindfor both of their sakes, her mind again drifted to their almost-kiss.Her eyes flickered down to his lips without realizing it, and not forthe first time, she wondered what it would feel like to finally havethem meet hers.

Ofcourse, usually when she had this stupidly girly daydream, she wasalone in her room, which meant that she had to snap out of it. Now!

Sheforced herself to meet his eyes. “I wouldn't leave my personalbodyguard hanging.”

Herwords brought a brilliant smile to his face and they fell even morein sync as the music swelled and got a bit faster, bringing joy totheir steps in a way she hadn't felt all night. She felt as light asair as Hope spun her around, occasionally letting her take the leadsince that was her instinct. The fact that he let her withoutquestion spoke volumes of how well he knew her.

Ormaybe just how often he'd worked with her. He was herpersonal bodyguard, after all, but then why didn't this feel like abodyguard-and-charge dance? How was he – and not the palace, gowns,tiaras, or hoard of servants - making her feel like an actualprincess for the firsttime since she'd found out about her royal blood?

Maybebecause, despite the friendliness of most of the other royals here,he was the only one who seemed to truly believe that she could do thejob and be better atit.

Ifit weren't for her stupid shoes, she honestly felt as though shecould've danced with him all night. As it was, she still wasn'tentirely used to being on her feet in heels for so long. Seriously,nobody could see her feet, so why couldn't she have worn somethingmore comfortable?

Lightningsqueezed Hope's hand to get his attention. Even though he was staringright at her, he looked a bit dazed. She couldn't help but wonder ifher expression was the same. “Can we stop? My feet are killing me.”

“Ofcourse.” He carefully guided her away from the rest of the peoplewaltzing – she saw Serah and Snow out of the corner of her eye,hmph – with a grace that she didn't really expect from a bodyguard.

Thenagain, he'd been surprising her since they day they'd met.

“Wouldyou like to sit, Your Highness?”

Sherolled her eyes. “Seriously? A few dances and you're going allformal on me again?”

Hesmiled. “Light. May I escort you to a seat?”

“Nowyou're just being ridiculous.” Impulsively, she flicked hisforehead, immediately regretting the action since that was definitelynot protocol.

Thankfully,he only blinked a few times before smiling again and offering her hisarm. “Well?”

“Ithink I just need to rest a minute.” How many hours had gone by,anyway? Sazh had mentioned offhand that the most splendid balls couldhave people dancing until dawn. She shuddered at the thought. “Canwe go somewhere quiet?”

“Ofcourse.”

Maybeit was from all the champagne that'd been served all night, buteverybody seemed too buzzed to notice the guest of honor basicallyescaping the party. Hope led her to a hidden hallway off in a cornerof the room, which further led to a door that opened up to thebalcony.

Sheinhaled deeply as they walked outside, glad for the fresh air. Themusic and hubbub seemed very far away. “Thank you.”

“You'rewelcome.” Hope wandered behind her, his hands behind his back asthey always seemed to be when they were around each other.

Shegestured to his formal stance. “You can relax a little. It's justus.”

Hopesmiled a bit sheepishly – and handsomely, can't forget that – andlet his arms fall to his sides. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Likeforgetting to call me 'Light'?”

“Exactly.”

Theychuckled. She felt more relaxed than she had in ages. Her eyeswandered over the dark, star-studded sky and she grasped the railingof the balcony as though afraid of falling. The world seemed so bigat that moment. It was hard to believe that she mattered so much inthe grand scheme of things – that princesses went down in historybooks, while the families that did just as much or even more got norecognition at all.

Andhow many families like that were there? More than there was royalty,of course. If she squinted, she could just barely make out the areawhere she and Serah had grown up. Further off were the slums, wherethey'd been forced to live when money got tight.

Somany hundreds and thousands of people lived like that, and yet,because she just happened to be from the right bloodline, she wasplucked from it all. It didn't seem fair that there were peoplestruggling to survive while she was literally wearing a dress coveredin diamonds.

“Light?”

Onlya lot of self-control kept her from jumping in surprise. “Yes?”

“Youlook lost in thought.” Hope approached her a bit cautiously tofinally stand beside her. “Are you all right?”

“Iwas just...thinking about the last time we talked.” And almostkissed, but no need to acknowledge that. Again.

Itmay have been her imagination, but she could've sworn Hope held hisbreath before responding. “You have?”

“Abouthow I could use my experience to help.” He visibly relaxed at herwords. “It just...it seems like such a huge undertaking. I wouldn'teven know where to start.”

“Atthe beginning.”

Sherolled her eyes. “I doubt it's that easy.”

“Probablynot,” he agreed. “But everything has a beginning.”

“Iguess.” The words were pretty generic, but still, he had a point.“I just hope that I can do anything at all. A lot of people I'vespoken to tonight apparently didn't like the old royal family thatmuch.”

Ifthis surprised Hope, he hid it well. Maybe he hadn't liked them,either. “Really.”

“Yes.”Lightning glanced back up at the stars. The moon that followedPhoenix was just a sliver in the sky. “And when I was working as asolider, we didn't really talk about the royals. They were a worldaway. Even though they made our laws and everything, it felt likenothing they did ever actually affected us.”

“Butyou know they did,” Hope pointed out. “And like I said, you'veseen both sides. I think that'll eventually come to be your biggeststrength.”

She'dknown ever since he'd said as much during their last privateconversation that he was right. Her empathy towards those who weredown in life – it wasn't anything any of Eden's previous royalsseemed to have. Maybe that was a reason they seemed to be so dislikedby a lot of the other kingdoms.

“It'sa lot to take in,” she finally said. “Even though it's beenawhile since I was crowned and everything, I don't think it's allreally hit me yet.” She never would have admitted this to anyoneelse, but Hope was different. He'd been different from the start.

Thoughwith how much she'd been rambling about her feelings aroundhim, she still hadn't discerned if this was a good or bad thing.

“Ofcourse not. It's a big change, especially when they do something likethis.” Hope made a sweeping gesture in the general direction of theballroom. “I don't think gatherings for soldiers in the Corps werequite so...”

“Expensive?”

“Iwas going to say 'elegant,' but yes, that too.”

Lightningsmirked, finally looking away from the sky to face him, though to hersurprise, Hope was already staring at her. Had he been looking at herthis whole time? There was something strangely intense in his gaze –something she'd felt since the moment they'd met, but hadn't wantedto put a name to until now.

Desire.

She'dalready halfway closed the space between them by the time he wasleaning in, and she tugged on his tie for good measure, an anchor tohold onto when their lips finally met.

Heheld on tightly, his fingers clinging to the fabric of her gown. Eventhough the kiss was strangely soft, there was an untapped passionsimmering between them that she could feel as though it was tangible.She'd never felt anything like it before...not that she had muchexperience to compare this to.

Maybeit was instinct. That was the one rule in life she always followed –to trust her instincts. And if her instincts wanted her to part herlips so the kiss could deepen? No way in hell was she about todisobey.

Hope'shands felt like they were burning on her body. She could feel everytouch, every movement of his fingertips as he traced the lace on herback, every little twitch as he pulled her even closer. Her handsmussed his perfectly coiffed hair, just begging for somethingto hold onto. For a second, she contemplated on taking off the stupidelbow-length gloves she was wearing, but that probably requiredbreaking the kiss and she was incredibly reluctant to do such athing.

Gods,kissing him was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It didn'teven compare to, say, suddenly becoming the princess of the kingdomyou'd lived in your whole life. This was far more intense. Lightninghad never been a particularly romantic person or someone who boughtinto the whole idea that someone could be your other half, but withHope, all of those weird ideas felt like an actual reality.

Andit was all of this from just a kiss.

Okay,so it was a lot of kisses. But even so...

Eventually,one of them pulled away – she honestly couldn't tell who, since shewas already so lightheaded – and she resisted the urge to reconnecttheir lips as they both quietly gasped for air. All of this wascompletely unlike her.Maybe it was just the stress from everything catching up with her.Yeah. Except not.

“Light...”Hope murmured, his eyes only half-open. Clearly, he was just as dazedas she was. “Light, I...”

“Yes?”Her voice was husky in a way that she hadn't even known she'd beencapable of.

Somethingabout it, however, seemed to snap Hope out of his daze. He suddenlygasped and they flew apart, his eyes wide with something akin topanic, which was strange in itself since she'd never seen him lookanything but calm and collected.

“I...I'msorry,” he said, not quite looking at her. She could've sworn hewas trying to avoid staring at her lips. “I can't.”

“What?”

Hopestammered out something unintelligible, but before Lightning couldeven think to get him to elaborate, he turned and went back inside.

Yearsof training instantly kicked in and she followed, calling out hisname and demands for him to wait, just waita minute, but either Hope was way faster than she'd given him creditfor or he was using some secret passage that nobody had told herabout yet. When she finally made her way back to the ballroom, Hopehad completely vanished.

Andhe hadn't even left a shoe behind.

Lightninghad no idea how long she stood there, just staring into the crowdlike it was going to give her an answer, but eventually, someonetouched her arm and brought her mind back from wandering.

“Sis?”

“Serah?”Thank goodness it was her and not anybody else. Except Hope. Hopewould've been preferable, and she hated herself for thinking that.

“Areyou okay?” Serah cocked her head a little. “You look tired. Comesit down with me, okay?”

“Allright.” Lightning let Serah lead her around, not even wondering howher sister managed to extract herself from the Patron's side or ifthere was something else going on. There was only one person on hermind, and now, one question.

Whyhad Hope pulled away?

Ormore importantly...

Wouldhe return?

#syna esthesia #hopelight #hoperai #hopurai #hopelight fic #royal!AU #FINALLY #SHE'S GOING TO THE BALL #HELL YEAH #i've had all of this floating around in my brain for ages lmao #and finally i wrote it #hopefully people are still interested in this AU whoops #i should probably stick them up on ao3 one of these days #BUT YEEEEEEAH #OTP TASTIC #THAT'S ALL I'M SAYIN' OHOHOHO #ahem

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tetsucchin · 7 years

Text

Of Wrists and Weaknesses

Summary: Kuroko Tetsuya had strong hands, and Kagami maybe had a crush on them.

Rating: E for explicitly explicit

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: A VERY HAPPY AND VERY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO THE MOST WONDERFUL @wingroad!! I meant to have this done way before now, and I don’t really have an excuse!! I just hope you enjoy it, since I know you like the hand headcanons and wrist massages and all that good stuff~

AO3

Kuroko Tetsuya had strong hands.

Kagami squinted at them from his place on the bench across the court, brows knitted. The ball passed between his teammates in a blur—from Hyuuga, to Izuki, and then to said teammate that held Kagami’s focus with all the force of a buzzer beater. A tapping sounded from somewhere beside him, and it took him a moment to realize it was his own bouncing leg.

When the ball reached Kuroko, his palm smacked against it to send it soaring to the other end of the court, to Kiyoshi under the net. Kagami’s hands curled into fists and his leg tapped faster as the ball landed perfectly in Kiyoshi’s grip. He could almost feel the pleasant burn of it against his own fingers from over here. The heat coiling in his gut and legs grew worse, and he wanted to run out there to catch that pass even though Riko benched him to cool down.

He wasn’t sure when his jaw had dropped, but it wasn’t long before Riko was curling a finger under his chin and pushing his mouth closed.

“You do this every time he plays and you’re on the bench,“ she said with a mischievous grin in her voice. "Do you forget how he passes or…?”

Honestly, even Kagami wasn’t sure why this happened. His attention started on the game, on their opponents and their own plays. But soon enough, his eyes drifted to Kuroko, as they often did as of late. Then all of his attention was on pale, bony hands and how they wrapped around the orange of a basketball. His eyes never strayed from Kuroko, even when he didn’t have the ball. He took in every pass, every drive, and every shot Kuroko made, with all of the grace as if he were simply doing ballet along the court lines.

He’d said it a thousand times, but it really was just amazing.

“He’s good,” he said, shrugging in what he hoped was casual. “Sometimes I forget just how good.”

Riko hummed. “He is. He’s better with you on the court though.”

Kagami tried not to let that mean more than it was supposed to.

With Kuroko’s miracle passes and their impressive teamwork, Seirin won easily even without Kagami, the final score 82-65. The rest of the benched team ran onto the court, swarming their teammates with hugs and pats on the back. Kagami was quick to follow, but slowed until he stood in front of Kuroko. Kuroko was wiping the sweat off his forehead with his wristband, when he peeked up at Kagami with a smile.

“We won.”

“We did.” He cleared his throat. “You played good.”

Kuroko’s smile grew even wider as he offered his fist out to Kagami. It was probably the first time he’d ever hesitated in returning Kuroko’s fist bump, taking a moment to stare at that small hand instead. Sweat dripped along the back of Kuroko’s hands, his knuckles white under the stadium lights, and Kagami noticed a faint scar running along the side of his index finger.

Something in him stirred—something unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant. He still didn’t understand why he was so fascinated with Kuroko’s hands (or Kuroko himself really), but a piece of him wanted nothing more than to reach out and twine their fingers together. He wanted to know how hard Kuroko could squeeze his knuckles together. He wanted to know a lot of things.

Blue hair shifted as Kuroko tilted his head at Kagami, his fist wavering. Kagami quickly made his own fist and knocked their knuckles together, stilling for a moment just to feel their skin brush. His answering grin was wild and reckless, but his teeth were all nervousness.

“C'mon, let’s go get some food.”

It wasn’t until he first held Kuroko’s hand that he really understood.

Kuroko was delicate almost, elegance personified and fragile in appearance only. As if he were meant to grace the earth with his subtle presence for only a few moments before disappearing without a trace of sound. But his hands, god his hands, were anything but.

Rough in all the right places from years of determination, slender but filled with strength unwilling to let go, and sturdy in a way that could hold Kagami up. Their hands fit exactly together, callouses matching like mirrored puzzles. Sure, Kagami’s hand was a bit larger than Kuroko’s, but Kuroko made up for that with how tight he held on.

Kagami liked it. That Kuroko couldn’t break so easily. That Kuroko was strong enough for the both of them. That Kuroko could keep him grounded with his grip alone.

Kuroko Tetsuya had strong hands, and Kagami maybe had a crush on them.

Kuroko Tetsuya had thin wrists.

Kagami scowled down at them as he stood in front of the couch, brows furrowed. He dropped to the floor and crossed his legs before tugging Kuroko’s hands gently out of his lap. The roll of elastic bandages he brought from the bathroom balanced on his knee.

It wasn’t like he’d never looked at Kuroko’s hands before, because he probably spent more time looking at them than he would ever admit. But as he turned Kuroko’s hands over, inspecting the slight swelling of his right wrist, it felt like he had never seen them before. He gingerly held Kuroko’s wrists, and was surprised to find his fingers wrapped all the way around them, middle finger touching thumb, with room to spare.

No wonder those passes hurt him like hell.

He grabbed up Kuroko’s sore wrist, and began unrolling the bandage around it. He’d quickly looked up a video online about how to properly wrap it and tried to be as gentle as he could, but his hands were still clumsy. If he was a little too rough, Kuroko didn’t say anything about it.

“I thought Coach told you to take it easy,” he said lowly.

“Last year, Coach told you to take it easy and you played against Aomine-kun.”

He paused in his wrapping and pointed accusingly. “That was different! I don’t have bird bones like you!”

Kuroko pouted. “I don’t have bird bones.”

Kagami loved Kuroko’s hands. Maybe that was a stupid thing to love about someone, their hands of all body parts, but he still did. He loved how slender and pale and slight they were. He loved how Kuroko used them to win games, to offer Kagami encouragement, to prove everyone who ever doubted him or his team wrong.

Then the other day at practice, Kuroko had passed the ball to Kagami, smacking it down the court like usual. And winced. His arm curled against his chest defensively before he shook out his hand. It was quick, something only Riko noticed because it was her job as coach, and Kagami noticed because it was his job as a professional Kuroko observer.

Coach immediately put him on light practice, told him to take the passes easy and rest so he could play in the next game. But surprisingly, as Kuroko often was with everything, he was too stubborn to listen to her. He was determined to win the Winter Cup this year too, even if it meant his body didn’t quite make it with him.

And it pissed Kagami off.

When he went back to wrapping, around Kuroko’s wrist and between the webbing of his thumb and index finger, he tugged a little too tight in his frustration.

“What if you’d seriously hurt yourself, huh?” he asked, scowling just at the idea of Kuroko hurt. “What if you had to be benched next game? What if I—we couldn’t play with you, Kuroko?”

Kuroko paused, in that way Kagami knew meant he was choosing his words carefully. His voice was calm, factual and cool.

“…I’m not that vital to the team, Kagami-kun. You would have managed just fine without me.” He glanced down at his hand and wiggled his fingers. “You have before.”

Kagami felt anger course red hot down his spine. It burned down to his stomach and left ash in its wake. He glared up into blue eyes.

“Shut up.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kuroko swallowed.

Another tug and Kagami finished wrapping Kuroko’s wrist, tucking the end inside the bandage on his palm. The quiet was only interrupted by Kagami’s frustrated huff as he frowned at Kuroko’s hand.

Before he could stop himself, he picked up Kuroko’s bandaged hand and held it lightly in his grip. Then he started rubbing around his wrist, fingers tender and circling while his thumb pressed to Kuroko’s pulse. Over his palms, down his fingers, then back to his wrist, Kagami massaged diligently.

“You are vital,” he said, breaking the quiet. “To the team.” He paused and dug his fingers in harder. “To me.”

He didn’t notice how Kuroko still hadn’t spoken. He didn’t notice the content look crossing Kuroko’s face. And he didn’t notice slender fingers fanning out when Kagami neared them. He just kept rubbing across knuckles, feeling the thin bones underneath.

“So don’t let me hear you say anything like that again. Idiot.”

Kuroko blinked owlishly at him. Then smiled. “You’re shockingly bad at pep talks, Kagami-kun.”

Kagami didn’t even bother to say anything, just kept massaging Kuroko’s wrists and hands while Kuroko closed his eyes and reclined his head on the back of the couch. Somewhere along the way, he finished with the sore hand and switched to the other, working his fingers into the tendons and bones, until Kuroko sighed happily.

It was only minutes later that he finally dropped Kuroko’s hands and sat there awkwardly.

“Don’t hurt yourself like this again, okay?” Heat spread across his cheeks as he scratched at the back of his head. “I…kinda need you.”

Kuroko was quiet for a long time. His voice was soft when he finally answered. But not as soft as the fingertips that grazed along Kagami’s jaw.

“I need you too.”

Kuroko Tetsuya had thin wrists, and Kagami was always worried about them.

Kuroko Tetsuya had unfair fingers.

Kagami watched them through hooded eyes as they traced over his cock, brows scrunched. Kuroko’s fingertip followed down a vein, blue eyes tracking the answering twitch of his flesh with interest. Kagami was close to wrapping his hand around Kuroko’s, to grasping himself with their joined hands and fucking up into Kuroko’s grip. But while Kuroko may have been a tease, Kagami knew he would make it worth it in the end.

It didn’t take Kagami long after they were together to learn Kuroko’s fingers were pure wickedness. All of his training, his dexterity, and his observation made him a force to be reckoned with in bed. Every twitch of muscle, every breathless moan, Kuroko noticed all of it. His hands could do things that only dirty poetry and legends spoke of.

The first time they tried this, with Kagami on his knees and Kuroko kissing down his thighs, it was like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he’d already made Kagami his home and knew him like a fingerprint. When his fingers searched inside, sending lewd sparks up his spine, Kagami nearly shot off the bed with the loudest mewl.

He came embarrassingly quick after that.

Kuroko’s middle finger circled the head of his cock, so light and feathery and teasing. Like it was there without being there, just long enough to send heat pooling from Kagami’s pelvis to his thighs. When Kagami was on the point of breaking, a keening noise slipped from his struggling throat. Kuroko lifted his finger, and a string of slick still connected them together.

Kagami didn’t recognize his voice. It was something stretched thin like cracking glass. “You’re so—you’re so fucking mean.”

The subtle smirk that twitched on Kuroko’s lips was enough of an answer.

Then Kuroko suddenly jerked him, just a few strokes to keep him on the edge and make Kagami groan out his name. His teasing fingers walked further down, past his cock, to cup Kagami’s balls in his palm. His fingertips fleshed them out, his nail dragging down the seam to the tune of Kagami’s whimpers. When he started to rub them gently, wetness dribbled from Kagami and a noise left him so loud, he was afraid the neighbors would hear.

“You’re very vocal tonight,” Kuroko said as if he were discussing the weather. His hands never stopped their work, dragging the back of his knuckles from Kagami’s balls, up his cock, to brush the head again. “Would you like more?”

“Tetsuya—Tetsuya, please.”

Only after Kagami’s panting turned to nonsense, his hands close to ripping the sheets, did Kuroko have mercy on him. The bottle of lube left neglected beside them was picked up and spread across Kuroko’s fingers. The brush against his opening was slight, merely tracing his hole in patient circles.

Kuroko briefly glanced up, and Kagami wondered what he saw for his pupils to dilate like they did.

“Are you ready?” Kuroko asked, voice pitches lower.

He wiggled impatiently. Took a breath.

“Been ready.”

From there, it was easy as sin. Kuroko pressed a finger inside him, worked him slow and deep. Until two fingers could fit, scissoring until Kagami pleasantly burned with the stretch. Then Kuroko’s fingers crooked with precision, searching with muscle memory, and Kagami was arching off the bed with a wide eyes and a choked whine.

“Tetsu—Tetsuya-ah!”

He was so close, so close, so close. His thighs shook with effort as he craned on the bed, his nails clawing at the sheets. He nearly begged, pleaded with every pretty word he knew. Except Kuroko knew, because he always did.

Kuroko’s free hand wrapped around his cock, tugged him in time with the in-out of his fingers. It only took a few strokes, a few prods in that spot Kuroko exploited like a professional. Kagami came hard, bucking off the bed as he spilled white over Kuroko’s knuckles, painting up his own stomach and chest.

Breath still barely in his lungs, Kuroko started to clean him up. Kuroko’s pink tongue lapped over his fingers carefully before catching all the ribbons in the dips of Kagami’s stomach. When he was done, he merely sat up and met Kagami’s eye, wicked tongue tracing his bottom lip.

Fuck, Kuroko was such a shameless bastard. And fuck, if it wasn’t hot as hell.

Kagami tossed his arm over his eyes and panted a laugh. “You’ll be the death of me one day.”

Kuroko hummed before crawling up the bed to lay beside him. “Will it at least be a good death?“

"The fucking best.”

Those same hands that could bring him to his knees with ease, now softly carded through his hair. Kuroko tugged until Kagami was resting on his chest, and his arms wrapped around Kuroko’s waist on instinct. As Kuroko idly played with the red strands, scratching at the back of his neck, he purred as an afterthought he never noticed.

“Did you know?” Kagami asked, voice thick with drowsiness already.

“Did I know what, Taiga-kun?”

“That every inch of you is perfect.”

He felt more than heard Kuroko’s laughing huff. There was a tug on his hair before Kuroko’s lips pressed against his forehead.

“Hardly. But every inch of you, Taiga-kun? That is true perfection.”

He thought he tried to glare accusingly into blue eyes. He thought he tried to argue he wasn’t perfect at all. He thought he tried to tell Kuroko that he’d prove every inch of his pale skin was flawless.

But instead all he tried was to kiss Kuroko and miss spectacularly, landing somewhere on his chin. Kuroko giggled and cupped his jaw, guiding him up to smiling lips, and then proceeded to take his time with him. And as he dozed off against Kuroko’s mouth, all he could think about was the fingers caught in his hair.

Kuroko Tetsuya had strong hands, thin wrists, and unfair fingers like no one else.

And Kagami Taiga loved every callous, scar, and bone of them.

#Kuroko no Basuke #kagakuro #kurokaga #my writings #wingroad #I'm still sorry this is so late!#I wish I had time to write something else #but I'm really happy with this too!

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