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clatoera · 2 months

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Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 5: I once believed love would be black and white...but it's golden (like daylight).

Besties. I have said it many many times but I have once again achieved it when I say that this is the longest chapter I've ever written in my entire life clocking in at 10.5k+ words. And also... I know I've also said this before but this is my favorite chapter. Ever. I have been holding back the content of this chapter for about a year now. I knew it was going to happen. I've known about this chapter as long as i've known about the fic itself. It has been a long time coming.

The title itself is like..really fun to me. I think you will understand why it's called that once you read it, if not I spell it out on AO3 but don't want to do that here in case of spoilers. I chose the name literally a year ago, I have been workshopping it ever since, but that name has never changed. The title was not why I chose it..it just serendipitously worked that way. Title is of course Taylor Swift, being from the song Daylight.

AO3

Masterpost

I need to acknowledge all my friends of course, but @kentwells actually specifically is the one who gave me the idea on the timeline and some of the drama and ultimately this chapter is for you my friend. Also of course @bodyelectric77 absolutely came through with the Gloss/Enobaria/Cashmere help, and theres a line in here she created and So I'm crediting her with it (It's specifically when Gloss and Cashmere are arguing about who gets to see her first, so that "Gloss can be her favorite since he knew her longer." Especially the last few days you've been listening to me whine, and also, you have been helping me develop this for months at this point. This is for you, too. @ohhowwehavefallen my clato queen, I know this is not your cup of tea but alas. You've known just as long as I have (almost) about the girls so.

Also: Happy Late Valentines Day

I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night… but now I see daylight

The week of February fourteenth is consistently one of the worst weeks of the year for victors, or at least it was before the war. The weeks comprising the Games were most certainly the worst, but after six months would pass everyone started to get that itch for their favorites. To make things worse, the Capitol held on to some odd tradition of the past–Valentine’s day they called it– a day dedicated to, ironically, love. Part of the display of…love…involved many themed parties. Most of which involved their favorite victors barely clothed (or in lingerie) and being bought and sold as the ideal gift to their twisted loved ones.

Needless to say, it’s not a day that the victors think of particularly fondly, at this point. With less than two years having passed since the war that ultimately ended their abuse, most of them were just starting to redefine the moments and periods of time that hurt them so deeply.

Thus, why Cashmere woke up later than average that particular day. Well, that was not the reason she had woken up late, but rather the woman involved in such activities. Enobaria was always up before the sun, usually having gotten in an entire workout before Cashmere willed herself out of bed. Today was absolutely no exception, and as Cash extends her arms over her head and feels the slinky feeling of silk sheets against her skin she is reminded that they are in her home this time– Enobaria, oh she loved her more than anything, but the woman refused to update her own bed beyond a high thread count cotton, and even that had been a win in Cashmere’s book.

She reaches out, and as her hands brush an empty space rather than soft skin, she knows that as usual Enobaria has already started her day. The blonde gives a pleasant little hum, stretching the length of her body through the tips of her toes, before she slides her bare skin out from under the pale pink sheets and into the cool February air of her bedroom. She starts her day fresh, never daring to rewear something off the floor that had been discarded the night prior, and chooses a properly folded silk pajama set from the bedside table. She dresses in the shorts and cute little button up top, pausing to admire the little red hearts on the baby pink satin. Yes, maybe it’s the dead of a District One winter (which are somehow miraculously warmer than those of Enoabria’s home district), but she can still be festive.

Her routine every single morning is the same– pick something to get dressed in, check the status of her hair (still almost perfectly curled from the night before, thank you very much, save for the couple of knots where fingers had spent time twisting languidly in the afterglow of...activities), and then start the extensive skincare regimen she had been following for fifteen years.

Some habits die hard, and some will never die, such as proper moisturizing.

Cashmere is sitting in front of the lighted mirror, coating her face with a deep blue clay mask, when she hears the bedroom door creak open.A small smile spreads across her face as she awaits the return of her girl.

“Hiii baby,” She calls out to Enobaria before she even sees her, twisting in her seat to greet her face to face. When she notices the little smirk on her face as she holds something out in her hand, Cashmere’s smile falters just slightly, “what’s wrong?”

Enobaria holds out Cashmere’s phone to her, a bemused smile coming to her face. “You must be very popular. I could hear it in your coat pocket all morning…got someone else looking for you for Valentine’s day?” It’s so clearly teasing in her voice, both due to the sensitive nature of their past experiences, but also to ensure that she is merely teasing. It’s not even particularly uncommon– Gloss sometimes goes on those kicks, where he calls her twenty some times just to clarify some detail when he’s mid debate with Brutus or Finnick.

“Gloss probably didn’t sleep or something,” Cash reaches out her hand, but as soon as she sees the notifications on her home screen (overlying a picture of her and Enobaria at her sister’s wedding, notably) her heart sinks.

Seventeen missed calls. Forty-two texts. All of which being from her sister or Marvel, sent to her and Gloss both.

“Something wrong?” Enobaria’s voice calls, and when Cashmere feels the hand on top of hers she realizes she was holding her breath, her skin a sickly pale underneath the exfoliating mask. “Cash? Babe? Breathe.”

“I…” She can’t find words, as all the blood rushes from her face to the pit of her stomach. Cashmere can’t look away from the open phone in her hands, staring at the picture attached to the final text. There wasn’t an identifiable face, but that scarred arm, those pink pearlescent nails Cashmere had helped her sister choose the color of yesterday morning– that was most certainly Glimmer’s hand. It wasn’t even the hand or the arm that had her stomach sinking, no, it was the fact there was most definitely a little tiny head in that hand, there was absolutely a little hand wrapped around her sister’s perfectly manicured thumb. And though she could not see a face, and though there was no caption, there was absolutely no doubt what Glimmer was trying to tell her.

Sent 1:11 a.m. February Fourteenth.

“Oh my god..” Comes first as a whisper, and then a frantic, panicked “OH MY GOD,” She flips her phone towards Enobaria before she can ask, and immediately starts wiping the still setting mask off of her face. “I..my..she…glimmer.” Cash actually cries, fanning at her face to stop tears from falling from her eyes. “Enobaria look!”

Enobaria squints at the screen, tilting her head to try to discern exactly what angle she’s looking at. “Oh is that–”

“She had a baby! Without me!” Cashmere explains, and immediately picks up a makeup brush. “I need to go over there immediately.”

“It looks like she tried to tell you, Cash.” Enobaria hands her back her phone, a bemused smile as she watches her girlfriend continue about her typical morning routine. “Is her name Sunshine or Luxury?”

“She didn’t say her name, and it was between Sunshine and Golden– why are you giving me that look?” Cashmere continues to polish foundation across her clean face, albeit a bit faster than usual, an indignant pout peeking out from behind the makeup.

“Your little sister had a baby, you said you wanted to go immediately..then you went right back to putting on makeup. I promise, she won’t remember what you look like, she probably barely opens her eyes to see anyway–”

Cashmere gasps, lips falling open in shock. “First impressions are everything, Enobaria! She may not remember but I will! Besides…what if I want a picture with my niece. Oh my god. I have a niece. My sister had a baby. My sister had a baby.”

Enobaria sits herself on the edge of the bed with a soft smile, watching Cashmere silently speed through her makeup routine, every once in a while pausing to stare straight down so the tears can fall out of her eyes and onto the floor rather than down her face. Cashmere loves deeply, and Enobaria never can get past the fact she gets to experience being part of that.

Cashmere is shuffling through the closet, holding up various options for Enobaria to judge, when her phone lights up again.

“Look at that, looks like Gloss just woke up too. I’d pay to be a fly on the wall next door right now, I’m shocked we didn’t hear him scream through the walls.” Enobaria nods towards the lit-up screen, where Cashmere’s brother was already responding.

On my way right now.

Cashmere throws both outfits she holds in her hands down, and is frantically sliding her slippers on to run down stairs.

“Cash? Where are you-”

“Gloss cannot beat me to that baby.” She calls back up, before she opens the front door to that chilling February air in her seasonally inappropriate pajamas. “Bye Enobaria! Love you!”

Enobaria can barely slip out an “I love you too,” before the door slams behind Cashmere.

Cashmere full on runs across the street in her slippers and pajamas, careful not to slip on the icy street, nearly making it all the way to Glimmer’s front door when something absolutely collides into her from the side.

“What do you think you’re doing-” Gloss taunts, wrapping his arms around his sister’s waist to pull her back, and push her gently a few feet behind him. “I’m meeting her first,”

“Like hell you are-” Cashmere kicks her legs helplessly against his knees, and as soon as he puts her down she slides right between him and the door. “You aren’t claiming to know her longer, Gloss, I’m not stupid, you’ve done that with Glimmer for twenty four years.”

“Well I am her favorite, I did meet her first.” Gloss slides his arm right in front of Cash, wedging himself flush against Glimmer’s front double doors.

“Yeah by ten seconds!” Cashmere tries to slip in front of his legs, fully intending to trip him when the door opens to give herself a couple seconds of a head start. It does not feel like they are in their thirties, but rather the little six year olds excitedly sitting on the bottom of their staircase waiting for their mother to let them see their new little sister.

“Ten seconds is still ten seconds more than you’ve known her-”

Gloss is interrupted when the doors swing open, and Cashmere does succeed in tripping him– directly on top of her.

“Good morning!” Marvel greets as he swings open the door, and instinctively steps out of the way just in time for Gloss to come down on top of his sister to avoid being brought into the pile himself. “Lots of patience this morning I see..”

“You landed on my nose, Gloss.” Cashmere whines, pushing the body of her brother off of her, before rolling out from under him. “My knees are going to bruise– Marvel! Where is my sister!”

“Nice to see you too, Cash.” He jokes lightheartedly, a tired but teasing smile unable to be wiped from his face. Any real malice between them had been wiped away when he married their sister late last summer, as soon as they could possibly do so while having the wedding Glimmer wanted. Now, it was just the teasing air of near siblings between him and the twins, a welcome energy for the now orphaned boy who grew up with no siblings of his own anyway. “She’s right in there–”

He does not get to finish his directions before Cashmere gracefully jumps over her brother’s body and nearly runs into the living room just beyond the entrance way.

Cashmere feels like her legs are going to give out from under her when she sees her little sister.

Glimmer is curled up in the middle of the couch, legs crossed under her, looking not too different from Cashmere. From what Cash can see from under the fuzzy blanket on her lap, she’s even got on the same pajamas–not surprising considering who they were. When she flashes her older sister a tired smile she somehow looks both more exhausted and yet happier than Cashmere has ever seen her.

The most notable difference, of course, is the little tiny baby in Glimmer’s left arm.

“Hi, Cashy.” Glimmer whispers softly, looking up at her older sister before down at the baby in her arm..at her baby in her arms. “Come over here,”

“Hi Glimmy…” Cashmere whispers just as softly, a full 180 from the loud, aggressive way she pushed past her brother literal moments prior. “You had the baby!” Awe fills her voice as she approaches her sister, lowering herself to the space directly next to her sister so close that their legs pressed together.

“I had a baby.” Glimmer agrees, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder and letting out a heavy sigh, clearly exhausted more than she wanted to let on. “I had a baby.”

Glimmer props the baby in the bend of her elbow up into her hand so Cashmere can get a good look at her. She was little, absolutely swimming in the little red outfit Glimmer had her dressed in. Looking closer Cashmere realized what she thought were pink polka dots were individually embroidered hearts all over her, without a doubt the work of her sister. In the exact same shade of pink as the hearts was a little bow on her head, that somehow looked massive compared to the impossibly little size of this baby. Despite even the bow Cashmere could see this baby had a lot of blonde hair on her itty bitty head.

“She’s so tiny!” Cashmere reaches her hand out to run her finger over the little round cheek of her niece– god she had a niece, her sister had a real, live baby– and her fingertips grazed the tips of blonde hair. “When I saw you yesterday I didn’t think you were going to have a baby.”

“She definitely did not feel tiny at the end there, but yeah..she is. She’s not even five entire pounds, she’s so much smaller than I thought she would be!” Glimmer smiles as her new baby scrunches her nose at the sound of a new voice, but doesn’t quite feel drawn to open her eyes to take in the faces associated with it yet. “I…had a feeling she was coming today. But you were talking about your plans with Enobaria and you were so excited! I figured they wouldn’t get here until tonight and I could call you this afternoon..she had her own plans I guess. She’s just dramatic.”

“Glimmer! You could have told me you were having a baby, Enobaria would have understood.” Cashmere tsks in disbelief, but doesn’t look away from the baby for even a minute.

“Well you’re here now. And she’s only like…ten hours old. So you didn’t miss much. And she is soooo much cuter now, she was all squished when she came out I was worried she wasn’t going to be cute–” Glimmer stops herself, instead grounding herself in the way her sister so reverently touched her daughter. “...do you want to hold her, Cash?”

“Do I?! Of course–” Cashmere doesn’t even get the chance to finish before Glimmer is oh so gently transferring the baby to her awaiting arms. “Oh..” It feels like her heart is in her throat as she feels the weight of this tiny little girl in her arms, and she feels those tears rushing to her eyes faster than she can stop them. “I’m going to cry my makeup right off onto her!”

“She’ll still think you’re beautiful, I promise.” Glimmer muses, a content smile a permanent fixture on her face as she rests her chin on Cashmere’s shoulder. “I’m obsessed with her.”

“She looks just like you.” The older blonde admits with nothing short of reverence for the little person her sister made. “You looked just like this.”

“Hey. This isn’t fair!” Comes the teasing voice of Gloss at the same time he sits himself firmly on the other side of Glimmer. “How come she got to hold her first?”

“You held Glimmer first, it’s only fair.” Cash teases, but doesn’t even look over at her brother, not daring to look away from the little baby who somehow slept so peacefully despite all the noise.

“What’s her name?” Gloss reaches across his sisters to touch his niece’s little onesie covered foot, causing her to retract it up towards her chest.

“Well… we spent a lot of time thinking about it.” Glimmer begins, glancing up and giving an almost imperceivable nod to Marvel that is missed by her siblings who were too enamored with her daughter to notice. “Obviously she doesn’t have our last name but..everyone knows how good Belcourt gold is.” Neither of her siblings look at her, both absolutely wonderstruck by the person she created. “We wanted something that was pretty but not too District One. I’ve been called Glitter and Shimmer more times than I can count and Marvel..he’s called Marble half the time.”

Glimmer glances up when she sees Marvel in the corner of the room, and gives a sly smile neither of her siblings see as she watches him lean down to scoop something pink into his arms.

“Her name’s Aurelia. It means Golden. Gold. Something like that. We thought it was pretty. It meant what we wanted.” Glimmer reaches out and puts her hand on top of her sister’s. “Aurelia Cashmere. Because we couldn’t entirely abandon a District One name.”

Cashmere’s head shoots up, and she can barely see her sister through the tears that are completely obscuring her vision. “Really? You…really?”

“I would not have survived without you. I wouldn’t be here.” Glimmer admits with her own tears brimming at her eyes, and with the hand not co-holding her daughter she wipes them away.

Marvel goes mostly unnoticed by Cashmere and Gloss, until he is standing directly in front of them and his voice breaks through the Belcourt siling reverie. “...and this is her sister.”

Glimmer is glad she has a hold on her baby when both of her siblings’ whip their heads up to face her husband, and she can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes her at the gasp they let out in unison.

“What- huh- where- what!” Gloss whips his head between Marvel and Glimmer, his mouth actually hanging agape. “Where did you get that one?”

“From me.” Glimmer feels a smirk coming to her face as she sits up straight between them, feeling confident in Cashmere’s grasp on Aurelia before she faces her brother. “We didn’t steal a second one.”

“Fun fact. The type of twin that the girls are is completely unrelated to the type of twin you two are. We thought that was what happened but…nope! I’m just lucky! Buy one get one free babies!” Marvel sits on the wooden coffee table in front of them, his other daughter sleeping peacefully in his right arm. Much like Glimmer he has a seemingly permanent smile etched on to his face, which somehow gets even wider when he looks down at the slightly bigger baby in his arms. She’s dressed opposite of her sister, in a little pink onesie with the same hand embroidered hearts (only in red) and the corresponding red bow.

“Do you want to hold her?” Glimmer addresses her brother, nodding towards the baby Marvel holds. “There’s one for each of you.”

“Absolutely I do, what kind of question is that?” Gloss takes his other niece from his brother-in-law, and somehow despite being the bigger baby she looks even smaller in his massive arms. “Where the hell were you hiding a second one in there Glimmer, you were tiny.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. She’s the bigger one, though. She’s just over five pounds, but even together, that's less than ten pounds of baby.” Glimmer reaches out to adjust the red bow on the other baby’s tiny blonde head. “They’re identical, and they’re kinda early so…that probably helped.” She leans back on the couch, letting her twin siblings hold her twin daughters, and sighs in contentment that they finally knew the secret she’s held for nearly nine months.

“...you knew they’d come today because you knew they’d be early because there were two.” Cashmere mumbles in understanding, leaning over to look at her other niece, absolutely identical to the one she holds in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell us! I have to go home and order another one of everything I’ve bought for her…them…whichever! I need to go order double now!”

“Well…” Glimmer lifts her eyes to meet Marvel’s, and gives him a tired, but delighted grin. “After…everything…when I found out I was pregnant-”

“And everyone we know knew before me-” Marvel interrupts playfully, getting a teasing kick on the ankle from Glimmer.

“....and everyone but Marvel knew… We just wanted to keep it a secret. Just for us.” Glimmer admits, leaning back forward to appreciate the awestruck look of her siblings as they looked back and forth between her daughters.

“...I told you, Cash.” Gloss teases, looking between their nieces. “I had that feeling there were two.”

“...why did you think that?” Glimmer raises a suspicious eyebrow, trying to understand the hidden communication between her siblings. In that moment she realizes she will have to try to understand this twin telepathy between her own daughters one day as well, before she is brought back to the question at hand.

“He didn’t think it! He made a joke one time that it would be your luck. Don’t believe him..” Cashmere narrows her blue eyes, before choosing to focus instead on Aurelia in her arms.

Cashmere gives Gloss a look, and gestures her head down to the baby in her arms. For a second Glimmer thinks they’re going to trade, but when Gloss hands over the baby he held Cashmere maintains her grip on them both. If she were sobbing before she is completely inconsolable now as she holds both of her sister’s little girls in her arms.

Gloss takes the moment to wrap an arm around Glimmer’s shoulders and kiss the crown of her head. “We’re proud of you. Even if you are our favorite little unwed mother with her bastard children–”

“Hey! We got married as soon as we could!” Marvel defends, but doesn’t press on the issue when he realizes that Glimmer is narrowing her eyes playfully before rolling them at her brother’s antics.

“But I will always be able to do the math of which came first. And I know which came first. Don’t forget that.” He warns Marvel, and there is an edge to his voice that just might not be entirely joking. “Give me the other baby, Cash.”

He gives her no time to argue and simply slips his arms underneath Aurelia, pulling the tiniest girl right into his arms. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say her name is unfortunately, not girl glossy, as I seem to remember you liking when you were little.”

Glimmer lets the baby Cash remains holding wrap her little hand around her finger, and gives Gloss an appreciative, yet sleepy, smile. “Unfortunately, no. We did say that if one had been a boy, his middle name would have been Gloss and if I have a boy in the future, that will be his middle name. But they’re both my girls…and we’ve known they were both girls for a while now.”

“I seem to remember a little four year old girl who insisted girl Glossy and Cashy were the only acceptable names for her dolls, because the only names twins could have were Cashmere and Gloss.” Gloss taunts, but flashes her a reassuring smile to assure her there’s no real offense taken. The longer he looks at her the more he can see the four year old little girl she once was, with those two little blonde baby dolls she carried everywhere with her, that somehow became a twenty four year old girl with another set of two blonde little babies.

Glimmer leans back against the back of the couch, and tucks herself more firmly under the plush white blanket. She looks from her siblings holding her children, to the man who can’t take his eyes off of her. As she twists her wedding rings around her finger, Glimmer feels the happiest she has ever been in her entire life.

“Yeah, well, fortunately for my daughters, that little girl grew up.” She teases, before revealing the name of their other daughter.

—————————————————————————————————

“Alright, Cato. Final guess. Baby or trying to guilt us into doing something for them?” Clove crosses her arms over her chest as they continue to wait on the front porch of Glimmer and Marvel’s house.

“It’s got to be they want us to do something. Marvel would have sent some grossly sappy text if she had the baby. They’re definitely going to guilt you into making them dinner again. Or Marvel has something else he needs help building.” Cato leans against the frame of the porch, crossing his ankle over the opposite one impatiently. “I hope it isn’t a baby. Isn’t she supposed to come in March or something?”

“I dunno, they called us twenty-two times. That feels bigger than shrimp scampi.” Clove slides her fingers under the hem of Cato’s shirt, warming her freezing hands against the heat of his skin. “Marvel’s still got splinters from the swing-set, anyway.”

“At least his wrist healed and he can hold the baby if that's what it is. He’s the only person I know who could win an entire Hunger Games but somehow break his wrist by building a kid’s toy.” Cato wraps both arms around her shoulders, pulling her close enough that the heat that rolled off of him could directly warm her in the brisk winter weather. “I just really hope her name isn’t actually sunlight or whatever, I don’t think I can seriously call a child that without laughing at her every single time. Enobaria’s bet is on the other one.. Gold or something else ridiculous.”

“You know we are right on the other side of the door, right?” Marvel swings the front door open, glaring at his two friends. “And it wasn’t Sunlight. It was Sunshine.”

Clove buries her face in Cato’s chest to stifle a laugh, before letting herself into the house right past Marvel without the invitation to do so. They had spent plenty of time together to be beyond formalities at this point. “At least it isn’t Astonishment or Amazing, right Marvelous?” Clove taunts, kicking off her shoes as soon as she’s in the door. “Let me guess… you want me to teach you how to make tomato soup to go with that grilled cheese now, right?”

Marvel doesn’t even get a chance to answer as Cato and Clove simply let themselves into the house, heading right to the living room as if they live there (and to be fair, they once did).

“What the Fuck.” Slips oh so eloquently out of Clove’s mouth the moment she sees Glimmer on the recliner, curled up with something very very very clearly laying in her arms.

Once the twins had left a couple of hours ago, Glimmer found that the recliner was significantly more comfortable to hold and feed both girls at the same time in, and as such had taken a permanent place in for the time being.

“Nice to see you too, Clove.” Glimmer teases, rubbing tiny circles on her baby’s back, the tiny girl feeling even smaller as she swims in the too-big pink onesie. “What a great first thing to say to my baby!” Unlike when Cashmere and Gloss had come hours ago, the baby was far more awake now, little green eyes looking around hazily at the world around her but never seeing much beyond her mother who held her.

“She better get used to it eventually,” Clove says, though there is a softness in her voice that is so beyond anything Glimmer has ever heard from her, as she quickly closes the space between them. Clove sits on the arm of the chair, looking down at the little girl in Glimmer’s arm. “Oh my god you two are wearing matching clothes. Of course you are.”

Unlike Cashmere, Clove does not dare to touch her. She knows there are tiny little feet hidden in the bottom of that heart covered onesie, but all she can picture is the way her skin crawled when Glimmer tried to get her to feel those same feet through her skin only a week or two ago.

“How old is she?” Cato comes to the other side of Glimmer, also glancing down at the little baby she cradled so close to her. Unlike his wife he does not have any fear of the baby, and reaches down to touch her tiny hand that is smaller than his fingertip. “She’s tiny.”

“She was born just after midnight.” Marvel answers, this time joining the three of them. He didn’t need to give Glimmer a moment alone like he had with her siblings– it was different, with the four of them. “She’s just over five pounds.”

“...you had a baby fifteen hours ago?” Clove raises her head after she calculates quickly. “And you’re home? Just..hanging out?”

“I have a lot of bad memories in like..medical settings. I wanted out as soon as I could. And they said we were all okay so..we got to come home this morning.” Glimmer smiles down at her daughter, glancing up at Clove. “And she’s gotten much cuter in the last fifteen hours! When she came out she was all squishy and I was crying…only slightly because I thought she was going to be ugly. I didn’t know how we made an ugly baby I mean look at us but–”

“She was not ugly Glim,” Marvel lectures gently, but rubs a tired hand down the side of his face. “She was just..she wasn’t ugly. She was never going to ever possibly be ugly, look at you.”

“Anyway! She’s gotten much cuter!” Glimmer explains with a warm, truly joyful smile as she brings the baby down to rest on her propped up knees, fitting perfectly in the crease between her thighs where both Cato and Clove could look at her more completely.

“You look so so happy.” Clove admits, slightly in awe. Despite the fact that her braids were a little frizzy and she did look somewhat tired…Glimmer was nothing short of truly glowing. She had never seen her so genuinely happy in all the time she had known her.

“I have never been happier in my entire life, Clove. I’m tired, and I’m not feeling great physically but, god Clove. I have never been happier.” Glimmer looks down at her daughter, who’s already fallen back completely asleep with her face on the silk of her mother’s pajamas. “Clove..do you want to hold her?”

“Huh? Um..you know what, I don’t think that’s a great idea, I haven’t practiced and she’s really important and I don’t know if I want to risk it-” Clove almost rambles, and takes just a slight step back away from Glimmer and the baby in her arms.

“She was scared of my sister, too, back when she was a baby.” Cato teases, an amused smirk on his face as he watches the way his tough, scary wife seems almost afraid of this little baby.

“I’m not scared of her, I don’t want to hurt her, she’s little and I've never done it and–” Clove insists, taking half a step back before Glimmer reaches out and gently grabs her at her wrist.

“Clove. Ask me her name.” Glimmer directs, gently pulling her friend’s hand and giving Clove no choice but to touch her little foot hat she was so scared of weeks ago. “Ask me what I named my daughter.”

Clove stares with wide, fear filled green eyes as Glimmer gives her no choice but to touch the tiny features of this child. She feels a tightness in her throat as Glimmer brings her hand just high enough that the baby can wrap the entirety of her hand around just one of Clove’s lithe fingers. “....what’s her name?’”

“Her name is Stella.” Glimmer begins, pulling her hand up to rest on top of Clove’s, so she can not shrink away from the baby’s grasp suddenly.

“Oh thank god it isn’t actually sunshine,” Cato audibly sighs in relief, and Marvel has to physically pull him away before Glimmer would get a chance to get any injury on him.

“Stella means sunlight, actually. Sunshine..sunlight..sun..something. It means what we wanted it to. She’s our little sunshine.” Marvel explains, gently running the back of his hand over Glimmer’s knee absently.

“In District One there’s sort of traditions when it comes to names. I know you think we have ridiculous names, and maybe we do. But when it comes to middle names, it’s sort of a tradition to name them after someone you would trust with them. Or that you want them to be like. Or who means a lot to you. We kind of did all of the above.” Glimmer starts, glancing up at Clove to see if she could understand where she was heading with her explanation, but the way she is frozen with her eyes on the baby tells Glimmer that no, she’s not quite grasping it yet. “My middle name comes from my mom’s best friend. So does hers..”

Cato must catch on, because he lets out a soft “oh,” before his hand comes up to squeeze Glimmer’s shoulder gently in recognition and appreciation.

“....her name is Stella Clove.” Glimmer spells out, squeezing Clove’s hand where she is holding it to the baby.

The news is enough to pull Cato and Clove’s attention both enough to Glimmer that Marvel is able to slip to the other side of the room again, just as he had done when Glimmer’s siblings came to meet their children.

Clove is able to direct her eyes first to Cato, then finally is able to meet Glimmer’s eyes as she holds her hand even tighter. “You..thats-that's my name.”

“Because we love you, Clove. We have gone through hell together, all of us, Clove.” Marvel chimes in from across the room, but none of them look over at him. Clove is locked in on Glimmer and the baby, and Cato is watching Clove.

“You were quite literally tortured with Marvel. Cato and I only survived in Thirteen with the thought of you two. And then you single handedly helped me get better. You fed me, and made me feel safe, and gave me something to do in planning your wedding…you taught Marvel to cook, you fed me for the last two years. I got better enough to have her because of you. And besides, Clove. You’re my best friend. I trust you with her.”

“...and we’d trust you with her sister, too.” Marvel calls out from directly in front of Cato and Clove, little miss Aurelia now sleeping in his arms, and once again he gets the reaction that he waited nine entire months for.

Clove gasps in newfound fear, “Oh my god..what the-did you know there were going to be two or was that a surprise, please tell me you knew there was going to be two–”

“Holy shit you had a whole litter Glimmer!” Cato’s jaw drops in disbelief, but instead of the genuine fear in Clove’s eyes at the thought of a second surprise child Glimmer didn’t know of, he’s beyond thrilled at this grand reveal. “Oh this is so cool! Is there a third somewhere too?”

“Excuse me, I did not have a litter, Cato. There were two. That’s a normal amount of babies.” Glimmer sits forward indignantly, holding out her empty arm to take her second daughter into her arms. “And yes, Clove, I knew there were two. Don’t worry, you aren’t going to have a surprise twins one day, I promise.”

“How long have you known there were two?” Cato grins even wider somehow, looking at the two girls in their coordinating outfits snuggled into Glimmer’s arms.

“We’ve known…hmm at least a month or so before the wedding, right?” Glimmer confirms with Marvel, glancing down at both her babies, who fit so perfectly in her arms it’s as if they were made to be there (and they were). “And we’ve known they were both girls for about that long, too.”

“We didn’t tell anyone since everyone knew about them before me.” Marvel reminds them with a playful little smile, reaching over to let Stella hold his finger, now. “I’ve been waiting nine months to see people’s reaction and no one has disappointed yet.”

Cato cocks his head to the side, looking at the size of the two babies as if he is imagining them smushed together in a small space. “I can’t figure out how two fit.”

Clove has settled herself on the floor next to the rest of them, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands so she can settle her breathing and calm her mind from the way it spins a million miles a minute. “...I’ve been calculating how much you need to eat based on one baby, have we been starving the other?! Is that why they’re so small?”

“Trust me, Clove, I ate plenty. They’re very healthy girls. They’re just small because there were two of them sharing me.” Glimmer assured her, before drawing her attention back to her identical girls in her arms.

“How can you tell them apart? Are you going to color code them?” Cato lowers himself next to Clove, bringing his hand up to rub circles on her back, trying to comfort her as she tries her best to ground herself back in reality. “What's the other one’s name?”

“No, we aren’t going to color code them, Cato. We’ll figure it out. We’re their parents.” Marvel shakes his head with a silly smile, before taking the same twin from earlier from his wife. “Stella is in the pink. The one in the red, this is Aurelia.”

“Those are such normal names! Good job.” Cato leans over to get a good look at the other baby, and sure enough, she was absolutely identical to the first. “What’s that one mean?”

“Aurelia means Gold, and my family was in gold distribution before the war.” Glimmer explains, before she brings the baby up to her shoulder where she curls up almost immediately against her mother’s chest. She absently kisses the top of her little blonde hair, closing her eyes for just a moment to soak in the fresh, new baby smell of her.

“....you mean you really did name them golden and sunshine? I thought that was a joke when Finnick told me you liked Sunshine and Enobaria mentioned Golden. I thought this was all fake.” Cato raises a blonde eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “That’s unbelievable.”

“I thought it was funny to tell people different names, when they were technically the right names. It’s been fun to watch the infighting. Gloss was so convinced he was given the right name he started having things embroidered with her initials.” Marvel explains, bringing Aurelia’s little fist up to his mouth so he can kiss her hand gently. “Fortunately we told him sunshine so fortunately Stella has the same initials.”

“You had twins fifteen hours ago and are already home?” Clove reiterates her awe from earlier, finally looking up at her friend in absolute utter disbelief. “Where did you hide the second one? You’re so tiny. I can’t believe this. These babies were literally inside of you like..yesterday.”

“They were both in there, I promise, Clove.” Glimmer assures her yet again, nothing but amusement on her pretty face, resting her cheek on top of her girl’s soft little head. “We didn’t steal one.”

“...which one is the runt of the litter?” Cato pipes up, looking between Glimmer and Marvel both, sizing up the babies they respectively held. He points at the one Marvel holds, judging that to be the littler one. “That one. Can I hold her? I want to be her favorite.”

“For fucks sake they aren’t a litter, they’re twins, and yes Aurelia is smaller. Yes, you can hold her, if you stop calling her the runt.” Glimmer warns playfully as Marvel shifts the smaller of the babies to Cato’s arms.

As Marvel oh so gently places Aurelia in his arms, Cato glances up at his friend. “What’s it like?”

“The best thing that I've ever experienced in my entire life.” Marvel admits with the most genuine, happy smile Cato had ever actually seen from him. After all those days he had watched him yearn after Glimmer… he’d most certainly earned it.

If she looked small before, she looks absolutely unreal compared to the sheer size of Cato’s arms.

“That baby is the size of your hand.” Clove murmurs in literal awe, moving closer to Cato so she can get a better look at the way his arm wraps around such a small human. She reaches out and grabs the hand that is not holding the baby, and holds it directly next to her entire body. “Literally, Cato. She is the size of your hand.”

“She’s actually smaller than my hand when she’s all curled up like this.” Cato points out, but he can’t help but absolutely light up as the baby squirms to get comfortable in his arms.“Is she smaller because you made us tighten your dress so much at your wedding?”

“Make it tighter.” Glimmer leans forward, hands bracing on the wall in front of her to push her shoulders closer together to give them more room to tighten the corset back of her dress. It was the one and only tight part of the entire dress, the bodice of which she had painstakingly hand beaded for weeks, before the dress ballooned out over her hips into a full ivory silk skirt. This was the one and only part she needed tightened, and by god she was going to have it done.

“Glimmer, we have it as tight as we can…” Cashmere assures, tugging the very top of the dress tighter so Clove could get any extra tension on the silky laces, which fails. “It looks great-”

“It can get tighter. Listen to me, I absolutely refuse to look pregnant in these pictures, you are going to get this tight enough.” Glimmer snaps over her shoulder, linking eyes with her sister-in-law of sorts from across the room. “Enobaria get over here and fix it.”

“Glimmer, you are pregnant though, and literally every one of us here knows that.” Enobaria tries, but the desperate look in Cashmere’s big eyes staring at her has her coming over to help anyway. She gently pushes Clove to the side, and twists the laces in her hands before giving a firm tug that does not budge the dress even an inch. “This isn’t coming any tighter.”

“Like hell it isn’t. I made this dress, I know how tight it can go.” Glimmer warns, ignoring the fact she had made it five pounds ago. She grabs Clove by the upper arm before directing her, “go get Finnick, Cato, and Gloss.”

“Glimmer you’re not even that pregnant, you don’t look it at all. What are you like..three months? You look great!” Cashmere tries, but the look of rage in Glimmer’s eyes is not one to be messed with, and she quickly agrees with a frantic nod “...yeah Clove, go get Cato, Gloss, and Finnick.”

“All three?” Clove raises an eyebrow in disbelief, resting her hands on her hips hesitantly. “I feel like that's extreme. Who’s going to keep Marvel from having too many mimosas, you know that man loves a mimosa, if no one's there to babysit-”

“Get them. Now.”

Clove’s hands come up in defeat as she slips out the bedroom door to track down the boys, and she says a silent prayer that at least one of them is coherent enough to actually help.

She returned a few moments later, with all three of the requested men in her presence, and fortunately mostly coherent.

“Don’t you look cute in your little pink dress.” Cato teases his wife on the walk by, leaning in to kiss the shoulder the one is not covered by the mauve pink satin, pinching where the fabric gathers at her waist on his walk by. “Is the glitter supposed to be there or is that from Glimmer?”

“Aww, Glimmy you look so pretty in your shotgun wedding dress.” Gloss grins, nudging Cashmere out of the way to take her place holding the top of the dress shut. “You can’t even tell you’re pregnant, you did a good job on this!”

“Oh shut up.” Glimmer scowls at her brother, getting beyond annoyed at the sound of all of them even breathing at this point until her dress was fixed. “Cato. You’re the one who will be least afraid to hurt me, You need to make this tighter.”

“Tighter where? I could literally wrap both my hands around your waist, Glimmer.” Finnick teases, coming around to stand in front of Glimmer so he can force the fabric shut from another angle. It is clear from the way he so effortlessly slides into position that he already knows how to do this from many days and nights together in the Capitol as teenagers.

“I don’t want to crush your kid. What if it comes out all fucked up? You’ll blame me.” Cato hesitates, unwilling to take the strings from Enobaria’s waiting hands. Clove stifles a laugh behind his broad shoulders, where Glimmer could not see, and gently nudges him forward.

“Will you just fucking do what I ask? For once you can stop running your mouth and just do it?” Glimmer hisses at him, bracing her arms on Finnck’s shoulders.

“Well if you’re going to be bitchy.” Cato grabs the lacing from Enobaria’s hand and twists it firmly around his two middle fingers. “Hold it tight.” He directs Finnick and Gloss both, before he gives a firm tug with his hands, somehow managing to pull the dress at least an inch tighter by sheer force, before he transfers the taut strings to Clove’s dexterous hands for her to tie it off far more prettily than he would have. “Don’t bitch at me when you can’t breathe.”

And when, after the pictures are over, and Glimmer needs to literally be cut out of the corset by Clove so that she can take a deep breath, she does not dare complain.

At least her pictures look good.

“..no, Cato, you did not make my baby small by tightening my wedding dress. You did not crush her.”

Glimmer once again gathers Clove’s attention, gently tapping her knee with her foot. “You will not hurt her, Clove. It would mean a lot to me if you would hold her. I trust you. You won’t hurt her. Please?”

Clove braces herself, and gives such a small nod of assent. Cato makes it look so easy, and there is something about the boyish smile on his face that makes her wonder if there is some magic to be unlocked in holding one of them. Besides, she can’t hurt Glimmer’s feelings, not over something as important as this.

Glimmer gives a relieved smile and oh so gently places her daughter in the arms of her best friend. Despite the fact Clove feels paralyzed by fear of hurting her or dropping her or somehow harming her she can’t help but smile at the tiny girl in her arms. She feels like she’s warming up a little, when the little girl settles contently against her. “Oh...she’s so little Glimmer…and she looks like you!”

“Thank god for that.” Cato mumbles in agreement, as Marvel feigns offense in the background, but does voice his own agreement that yes, thank god these little girls look like their mother.

Glimmer relaxes against Marvel’s arms as he wraps them around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head as he does so. They watch as Cato and Clove sit side by side on the living room floor, each with a different variation of their best friends’ daughters in their arms.

Clove finds her eyes lingering a little too long, not on the little girl she holds, but on the size of Cato’s arms compared to the baby in his. She trails her eyes from his arms to his face, and there’s something in the way he looks at the little girl that she cannot exactly name, but the twisted feeling it creates in her stomach makes her think maybe she wants to see that look again. She doesn’t quite understand what that feeling she gets watching him with the baby is, but has a feeling that she may want to understand it. It feels like something has grabbed her heart and is pulling it directly through her throat when she catches the way he just smiles at the tiny little baby in his arms. At some point, the frozen look of fear melts into a smile of her own.

There’s a wriggling in her arms that redirects her attention to the baby she herself holds, and when that same baby wraps the entirety of her hand around Clove’s little finger, and beyond any reason she understands, she want to hold her closer. Maybe it is because this is first baby she’s every held, or maybe it’s because she is the baby of her best friend.

Cato looks up just in time to miss Clove looking at him, and maybe it’s a blessing, because he gets to spend just a few seconds watching her smile at the little blonde baby in her arms.

——————————————————————————————————

“That was the best shower I have ever taken in my entire life.” Glimmer announces proudly from the adjoining bathroom that connects to the bedroom where she knows Marvel waits. She tightens the soft pink bathrobe at her waist, before leaning forward and letting the towel in her hair fall to the floor. “I could see my feet again.” She muses, grabbing a brush and starting to brush out the tangles of wet waves that soak her shoulders. “And make the water as hot as I wanted….and be in my own body alone.”

(Not that she minded sharing of course.)

Glimmer sets down the brush as she looks around absently for her own pajamas that she had set out- something she could finally wear again now that she had (what she felt, at least) significantly decreased in size in the past twenty four hours. She settled on something both comfortable and convenient for the fact she had two needy little babies, and as comfortable as she had grown in Marvel’s sweaters, that would certainly come back to bite her in the middle of the night.

She’s looking at herself in the mirror, doing her absolute best not to poke at her face or spend too long looking at body. It had given her not one but two little girls; two little girls she had dreamed of her entire life. How could she betray her body by hating it now?

“Babe?” Glimmer calls out again, when she realizes he has yet to get a response from her husband. She goes to peak out into the bedroom, which at least has the lights still on, when she asks again, “Are you sleeping?”

She feels her heart flutter when she actually sees him, most certainly awake, but leaning against the headboard with a baby in each of his arms. He isn’t looking up at her, instead absolutely absorbing every little detail of the babies who were less than an entire day old still.

He half whispers, still not looking away from their newborn daughters he holds in his arms, “I don’t want to wake them up.”

“I love you.” Rolls off of her tongue so easily she couldn’t stop it if she tried– and god she doesn’t want to.

As Glimmer slowly closes the gap, crawling into bed beside him and laying her head on his shoulder so she can look at their daughters with him. She can’t help but feel a little guilty. There was a time when she was so willing to rob them all of this. Not only herself and Marvel, but even robbing her daughters of a father who looked at them like that.

Glimmer pulls herself out of her own mind and her hand reaches up to find his face, turning his chin to face her so she can kiss him with as much love and adoration as her exhausted body can muster. The events of the last 24 hours are starting to catch up with her, but she is not letting this moment and this memory slip away from her. She pulls away and rest her forehead against his, their noses just grazing across each others. “I love you so so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises, and the smile on his face assures her that he absolutely means it. “I don’t have a free hand to hold you right now. But I would if I could.”

“I see that.” Glimmer giggles, pulling her head back down to rest on his shoulder, stifling a yawn into his skin. “We have two babies.”

“One for each arm!” Marvel jokes lightly, looking at the two absolutely identical girls in each of his arms. Now in their little matching pink pajamas they were actually identical..they’d be so easy to mix up.

Not to their parents of course, who insisted they could feel a difference in their weight. Marvel insisted one had eyes just slightly a different shade than Glimmer’s, and Glimmer insisted she could just tell because she knew which one was on which side and she just knew their personalities.

They had swore they weren’t just going to name them based on birth order, and they absolutely weren’t telling anyone which one was older. She listened to enough arguments of Gloss holding being the older twin over Cashmere that she would lose her mind hearing the same in her own home.

Glimmer insisted she’d know which one should be which, and sure enough she insisted Stella was Stella and Aurelia was Aurelia. Who was Marvel to argue?

“Really one for each of us,” Glimmer teases, reaching down to scoop miss Stella into her arms. She tucks her directly on her skin under the buttons of her shirt, letting the baby snuggle her face right under her collarbones.

“This is the coolest thing i’ve ever done. Literally the best day of my entire life. And I didn’t even do anything!” Marvel insists, shifting Aurelia forward so her body was held in his hands rather than his arm.

“Well. Technically you did something just..nine months ago. But! You handled the blood so well.” Glimmer assures him, rubnning her fingers over Stella’s head full of hair. “They have your curly hair, did you notice that?” She points out with a soft smile, looking over at the hint of curls on her other baby’s head too.

“I did my best.” He laughs softly, before brushing his fingers over his twin’s head. “Thank god they really do look like you though. Just like you.” He brings one hand up to hold her face as he kisses her cheek, before he motions to get out of bed. “ Take her, too. I have to go get something.”

“Mmkay.” Glimmer slips Aurelia onto her skin just like her sister, melting at the way they seemed to gravitate towards each other naturally. Of course they did– they never knew life apart from each other or from Glimmer, for that matter.

“Hello my little loves.” She whispers to them both, and though they both are fully asleep, she continues to talk to them anyway. “I know you don’t know me yet, but i’m your mama.” She feels her voice crack before she hears it. It’s words she never thought she’d say, something she relinquished nine years ago out of love.

Looking at them now, she knows it was the right decision. She’d never survive knowing her daughters would share the same fate as her. She wouldn’t survive their victory nor their deaths. No matter the outcome, the devastation would have killed her. They can probably feel the way her heart pounds in her chest at even the thought, which is somehow infinitely more horrific now that those little girls she dreamed of have faces and names. “I’m your mother.”

She thought there would be nothing better in the world than holding her daughters. She had dreamed of it for twenty years, and even once she had long given up on the blonde, green eyed little girls in her dreams she never stopped imagining how it would feel. Somehow, someway, it is the best thing she has ever felt.

It feels even better knowing that unlike her, unlike their father, unlike Cashmere, unlike Gloss, Finnick, Johanna, unlike even Cato and Clove they would be safe. They’re safe.

“Are you okay?” Startles her back into reality, and though she can’t wipe away the tears that now freely flow down her face, Marvel reaches down and does. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re safe.” Glimmer explains, leaning her head back against the headboard so that the tears she cries do not land on her babies but rather run down her face. “We have two little girls and they’re going to be safe. We’re parents.”

“We’re parents.” He reiterates, and the awe in his voice is not any less than in her own. It’s just as unbelievable to him as it is to her, if not somehow more. “You made them, Glimmer. You. You made them and they’re going to be just fine.”

Glimmer nods, and looks down at his hands, a sentimental smile coming to her face as she sees the ivory cake in his hands. “You really did it.”

Glimmer let out a sigh of something between relief, contentment, and exhaustion as she threaded her arms around Marvel’s shoulders. When her hands joined around his neck, she found herself fiddling with the new band of diamonds that now accompanied the other ring on her finger. His arms threaded around her waist, and pulled her as flush against him as the second dress would allow. Much like the first, it was largely sparkling tulle, except instead of beading at the top it was composed of draping of the same white tulle as the bottom with off the shoulder sleeves that rested on the middle of her upper arm. Naturally she couldn’t settle on one dress.

Still, despite the incredible density of the tulle, with her this close against him he was sure he could feel the absolute slightest bit of roundness at the very bottom of her torso. She insisted it wasn’t there– he knew better.

“I can’t believe I actually got you to marry me. Everyone knows you’re soooo out of my league.” He teases, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, careful not to disturb the elaborate pins and twists.

“Who knew all it would take was an accidental baby.” Glimmer taunts in response, resting her head against his chest to stifle a little yawn, and takes a moment to watch their friends from their place against the wall. “Clove said she’s going to take half the cake and go have sex in a closet as payback. Cato’s absolutely drunk enough to actually do it.”

“To be fair it was two accidental babies. I am an overachiever like that.” Marvel ran his hands over the bare skin of her upper back, squeezing absently as he joined her in observing their friends. “Cato would do that stone cold sober. Besides if thats their payback? Fine. I think our girls could use a friend close in age, right?”

Glimmer hummed, giggling just slightly as she honed in on Clove and Cato, Clove fully in his lap, both of them long past hammered. “I can promise they did not mean that part. Looks like they might actually just do it in front of everyone. They’re worse than animals.” She slides her arms from around his neck down so she can wrap them both around his torso, pulling herself closer to him. “Our girls sounds so nice.”

As truly frightening that moment had been, to see not one but two little bean sized babies were inside of her, and all the fear that came along with that, it was worth it the second she saw the wide smile plastered across his face and the look in his eyes. It had been even more worth it, when a few days later, she found out they were both girls. Her girls.

“I can’t wait to have them.” She admitted, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. “I also can’t wait for a piece of that cake.”

“Well we did try every bakery in District One before settling on that specific white cake with vanilla icing. As opposed to all the others. It’s an exciting moment.” Marvel agrees, squeezing her upper gently. “I think i’m going to save a piece of it for when the girls get here. It’ll be like their birthday cake.”

“As if you would leave it alone in the freezer that long.”

“Of course I did it. I keep my promises.” Marvel held up the single fork he brought up with him. “If you notice, it is also fully in tact as well. I didn’t even take a sample. We only have a few more hours to eat it, it’s still technically their birthday.”

He hands out a bite of it towards Glimmer, who leans forward as much as she can to get a taste of it. A little crumb falls on Aurelia’s little head, which has Glimmer stifling back a laugh that has her nearly waking the girls with the motion of her chest.

“They’ll get used to it.” Marvel waves off, before he takes some for himself. A few moments pass, as they savor the last piece of cake from their wedding some six months ago.

Once finished, Marvel carefully pulls Stella out of her mother’s arms and into his own arms. “I feel like we need to keep switching them. So they don’t feel like we have a favorite.”

“How long do you suggest we keep doing that?” She teases, before kissing his shoulder, and resting her head on it. There is a peace beyond anything she has ever experienced in her entire life, and she is not sure she will ever come close to the happiness she feels in this moment ever again.

“The rest of their lives, actually.” Marvel brushes off, bringing little Stella to his left arm so that she was still close to both her mother and her sister.

Glimmer notices the way his eyes are hovering over her and Aurelia, as well as Stella who he holds in the arm closest to her. She raises an eyebrow, a suspicious smile coming to her face. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I’m just looking at my girls.”

I once believed love would be black and white…but it’s Golden. Like daylight.

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karatekels · 7 months

Text

Fresh Start - Day 13 (Part 2)

Sorry for the delay everyone! I'm (mostly) recovered from my cold and Day 13 (Part 3) is already half written, so I'm hoping it's out today or tomorrow! We're quickly coming to the end of this fic, but I hope you've enjoyed it so far.

Previous Parts:

TW: Smut; oral sex (male and female receiving); teasing; dirty talk

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Day 13 - Morning

Waking up the next morning, the memories of the night before run through your mind before you even open your eyes. Part of you can’t believe that last night was real; rolling onto your side and feeling a pleasant ache between your legs, you are reminded that it most definitely was.

You take a deep breath, your pillowcase smelling like Terry, and sigh happily before rolling over to cuddle your lover. Disappointingly, you see he isn’t in the bed with you, taking in the rumpled sheets on his side of the bed with a frown. Looking around, you see that both the bathroom and closet doors are open, and your bags have been brought in, set just inside the room; you presume he will be back soon.

Sliding out from beneath the sheets, you walk over to your suitcase, fishing out your toiletry bag and heading into the bathroom. Like everything else in Terry’s house, the ensuite was huge and opulent, but still comfortable. You brush your teeth, leaning back against the bathroom counter and looking from the bathtub to the shower, trying to decide which you’d prefer trying out. The shower made more sense to wash your hair, and maybe you could try out the tub with Terry later…

Smiling to yourself, you turn to spit in the sink and rinse your mouth when something catches your eye in the mirror. You look down, confirming that all the love bites you’d just seen in your reflection are really there with a gasp. You put your toothbrush down on the counter and run to the floor-length mirror you’d seen in the bedroom the night before.

You are covered in marks all across your breasts, up your collarbone to the sides of your neck. You couldn’t even count them all. You don’t think you’ve had a hickey in over a decade! Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re also oddly… aroused? You would’ve thought that you’d be upset, but these just make you think back on the night of passionate love-making that you’d had with Terry, dirty little reminders of what you’d done together.

You hear the bedroom door open behind you, and bite your lip to keep back a giggle.

“Y/N, you’re awake! I was just coming to –”

“You’d better be here to explain yourself, Terry Silver.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks with concern, and you whirl around with your hands on your hips, glaring at him, trying not to smile. He takes in the hickeys dotting your torso, his lips curving into a very self-satisfied smirk.

“Well?” you ask impatiently, trying not to be distracted but how good he looks in nothing but a red silk robe. “How did this happen? When did you even do this?!”

“I believe most of it was while I had you… wrapped around my finger?” he teases, and your blush comes back in full force as you scowl at him.

“I look like a damn dalmatian, Terry!” you grumble, ignoring his innuendo.

“I quite like it,” he comments smugly. “Think of them as reasons to stay,” he suggests in a low, attractive voice, echoing the phrase you used to seduce him last night.

“Oh, aren’t you clever,” you snap at him, sticking out your tongue. He grins at you, completely unabashed by his actions and your response.

“I can’t remember the last time someone made me feel like a hormonal teenager; I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t think you can get out of this with flattery, Terrance,” you say huffily, narrowing your eyes at him as you walk past, though inside you’re nearly giddy at the thought that he had enjoyed last night as much as you had. “You will pay for this.”

You stalk past him into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to muffle his laughter. Trying to keep your own giggles down, you head over to the shower to turn it on, scouring the room looking for towels as you wait for the water to heat up. Gathering the needed bottles from your toiletry bag, you place the towels just outside of the shower door and slip inside.

The water pressure from the shower head is amazing, and you feel your muscles relax under the hot water. Whether it was because you hadn’t had sex in the months since your break-up, or just from Terry’s size and… thoroughness, you were definitely aching more than you normally would the morning after.

Lathering up your hair with your shampoo, you close your eyes, trying to relive the memories of the night before. Never in your life had you even imagined that sex could be that good. And it wasn’t just the sex itself; every one of his touches, his words, the way he looked at you, all of it had been so erotic, so intimate… you feel like you finally know the difference between just fucking and making love.

Rinsing your hair, you hum happily to yourself, picturing Terry’s hands on you despite knowing that you aren’t doing the experience justice. Perhaps you could convince him to give you a reminder…

“You have a lovely voice.”

“ARGH!” you scream, whirling around and blindly swinging your fist. Terry catches it in his hand easily, looking briefly surprised at your reaction before kissing your knuckles.

“You’re awfully jumpy.”

“How the hell did you sneak in here, Terry?! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you exclaim, trying to calm your racing heart. It was a difficult task to achieve, seeing as you are currently faced with the sight of a naked, wet Terry, and you bite your lip, forcing yourself to turn around and grab the soap off the shelf carved into the tiled wall. It smells like Terry, and you feel the urge to scrub it all over your body. Terry seems to be thinking along similar lines, snatching it out of your hand.

Before you can turn to tell him off, he is lathering your breasts with soapy hands gliding across your skin, and your complaints turn into soft moans. He tugs you back slightly, and you lean against his chest, feeling his cock twitch against you as he starts to get hard.

“Why so wound up, sweetheart?” he asks patronizingly, teasing your nipples until you’re grinding back against him. “I thought I had worn you out last night, but based on the look on your face when I snuck in here, you’re already wanting more, isn’t that right?”

One hand slides down your stomach and through the closely cropped curls between your legs. Curling a long finger into you, Terry finds you slick with arousal. You feel him smile against your shoulder, immediately setting a steady pace with his finger, bringing another above it to play with your clit.

“Unh, Terry!” you whine, grinding against him. The ways this man could make you feel better than you ever had in your life…

But no, he had been in control more than enough last night, and there were still things you wanted to do that you couldn’t do in here. Forcing yourself to remain in control, you slip away from him and out the shower door before he can stop you.

“I wasn’t done with you,” Terry protests through the foggy glass as you wrap your hair up in a towel. “Get back in here.”

“I’m not done with you either, darling,” you respond as you towel yourself off quickly, teasing him with the petname. “I have plans for you that require more space and less water.”

You spot a red silk robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and throw it on, swimming in the fabric as you escape to the bedroom, giggling to yourself. You snag a pillow off the bed and run to hide behind the mirror once you hear the water turn off.

He emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, looking around the room with amusement when you aren’t immediately visible. He looks for you on the other side of the bed before turning to head into the closet, at which point you spring out from your hiding place and go to bat him with the pillow.

He has you on your back on the bed before you even realize he’s dodged the pillow, and looks down at you intently. How did he move so fast?

“I was looking for that,” he says pointedly, eyeing his robe as it slips off one of your shoulders. “Stealing from me now, are you?”

“Oops?” you chirp up at him, completely unapologetic.

“I can see my lesson on manners didn’t stick,” he comments with a sigh, stepping further into your personal space. “I guess I’ll have to be a bit firmer with my instruction this time…” he continues, and you feel a hand slip under the robe to caress your thigh. Your mouth goes dry, your body immediately responding to his touch.

“I quite like you making yourself at home here,” he continues casually as his fingers move up one thigh, past your hip to your belly button before trailing down your other leg. “Even if it means you getting your greedy little paws all over my things. Provided, of course, you allow me to take the same liberties with you…”

His hand draws smaller and smaller circles as he speaks, refusing to touch you where you need him to.

“No.”

His hand stops.

“No?” he questions, and you force yourself to sit up and slide off the bed, turning around to face him with your hands on your hips, determined to regain control of the situation… if you’d ever had control in the first place. Terry, amused by your posturing, turns and sits on the edge of the bed to listen, pointedly letting the towel fall from around his hips. You stubbornly lift your chin and keep your eyes on his face, though you feel the blush creeping up your neck.

“You’ve ruined all my plans, you know. I was hoping I’d wake up first,” you tell him petulantly; it was hard to appear intimidating in a robe far too large for you.

“And why is that?” he asks complacently, looking down at you with a smirk. Quick as a flash, you reach down, taking his cock in hand and stroking it lazily. He hisses through his teeth, snatching you up and pulling you onto the bed, moving himself to fully lay on the bed. You look at him with exasperation as he takes control again. It wasn’t fair that he was so much bigger and stronger…

“Oh, by all means, keep going,” he insists, seeing your grumpy expression. “I just want to watch,” he adds cheekily, folding his arms behind his head as he leans against the headboard, a smug smile on his face. You roll your eyes at him and he chuckles at you, his laughter immediately turning into a whimpering groan as you suddenly take one of his balls in your mouth, sucking gently as you wrap your hand around him again, feeling him getting hard. He tastes like pure sin.

“What was that?” you ask innocently, cocking your head to the side, still stroking his length with one hand. He looks dazed from the sensation, his eyes darkening almost to black, and you do it again, toying with him with your tongue. His upper lip curls as he growls, and one hand reaches down to tangle tightly in your hair. “Are you alright, baby? Should I stop?” you ask teasingly.

“If you stop now, Y/N, I’m going to lose my mind.” His voice is hoarse in its desperation, and you find it incredibly sexy, resisting the urge to touch yourself. This was about you being in control and pleasing him.

“My plan is for that to happen either way, Terry,” you reply, slowly licking his cock from the base to the tip with the tiniest touch of your tongue, your eyes locked with his. “Now, why don’t you show me what good manners look like, hmm?” you ask with a wicked smile, your lips poised to take him in your mouth.

The look he gives you is a mix of emotions, but he seems to have settled on grudging admiration as you take his words and use them against him, one side of his mouth curled up in a smirk even as he looks down at you with need.

“Is this really a game you want to play with me?” he asks you softly, his voice dangerous. You respond by giving the head of his cock a firm, wet lick of your tongue that makes him buck his hips towards you. “Christ. Please, Y/N,” he groans, and your grin widens as you watch his self-control crumble.

“Please whaaat?” you tease in a singsong voice. He gives you a withering look, but the effect is greatly lessened by the way he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Please put those beautiful lips around my cock, love. I need to feel you.”

Your pussy throbs with need at his words and you barely keep back a moan. You look into his eyes and see a mischievous twinkle, and realize that he is fully aware of the effect his words are having on you. Smug bastard… you would not let him get the best of you this time.

In one fluid motion, you take half his cock into your mouth, wriggling your tongue along the underside, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at the deep moan he lets out. You bob your head up and down, gradually taking more of him into your mouth and throat, swirling your tongue around him and trying your best to keep your eyes on his face; his reactions were incredibly sexy.

The closer he gets, though, the more determined he seems to be to take you down with him, dirty words spilling from his lips along with his moans as his grip on your hair tightens and he thrusts his hips up to meet you.

“That’s it, babygirl,” he coos, though his voice has a harsh edge to it. “Put that mouth to work, just like that.” You moan around him in response and he hisses in pleasure. “Such a dirty girl, getting off on sucking my cock. Are you going to come before I do, Y/N? Come for me with my cock in your mo–” Terry’s smutty words turn into a loud groan as you take him fully down your throat. Good. Serves him right, the smug, dirty-talking bastard, teasing you when he was meant to be letting you have your way with him.

He stares down at you with glittering eyes, his mouth slightly open as he watches you deepthroat him. Your own eyes start to water but you stay put, letting your throat convulse around him while he moans.

“Fucking hell, Y/N! I’m going to come, baby,” he warns you, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut. You slowly release his cock from your mouth, replacing it with your hand for a moment while you catch your breath before sucking him again, swirling your tongue around him and bringing him to his peak, swallowing his cum as he grunts with his release.

Licking your swollen lips, you take in the sight of Terry post-orgasm, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, a slight smile twisting his lips. Perfectly vulnerable.

You crawl up the bed and straddle him, sitting on his lap and immediately latching onto a soft spot where his neck meets his shoulder. You nibble and suck for a long moment, hearing him hiss in a breath as his hands remove his robe from around you before he wraps around your hips. He was certainly being well-behaved…

You lean back for a moment, surveying your work, pleased with the large hickey you’ve left on him. It didn’t compare to the dozen or so he’d marked you with, but it was the principle of the thing. Satisfied, you sit back, looking into his eyes.

“Proud of yourself?” he asks, lips quirked, his eyes darting in the direction of the love bite. You give him a cheeky grin in reply, feeling victorious.

“Are you done?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you, and you nod.

“Good.”

In a move far too quick for you to fully process, Terry lunges forward, pushing you onto your back, your head at the foot of the bed. He’s taken the silk tie off of the robe you were wearing, and quickly binds your hands together over your head before securing them to the bedpost. You glare up at him, though you’re sure it’s far from intimidating.

“I did tell you I would be prepared this time,” he says teasingly, looking quite pleased with himself. You scowl at him, your body twitching as he slowly traces patterns across your stomach with his fingers.

“So, what, you’re just never going to let me be in control?” you demand, pouting. “That’s sooo unfair!”

“On the contrary, my dear,” Terry murmurs, leaning down to kiss you deeply, stroking your sides softly. You initially try to resist, but he is far too tempting, and you quickly find yourself laying back obediently against the sheets, kissing him back as passionately as you could from your position. Letting you up for air, Terry’s lips move slowly down your neck, making you arch up against him with a gasp.

“You still fail to realize the extent of the hold you have on me,” he continues, teasing your nipples with his tongue and making it very, very difficult to actually string together what he’s saying.

“T-Terry,” you stutter, squirming against the sheets, his hair tickling your chest as his head moves further down your body, tongue swirling around your bellybutton.

“I frequently find myself completely at your mercy,” he goes on as though you haven’t spoken, sliding between your legs, which you part willingly for him. You were so wet…

“I fully plan to give you everything, sweetheart,” Terry croons, kissing along your inner thigh even as he pins your legs and hips down with his strong arms. Your head is spinning.

“So if, on occasion, I have to pin you down in one way or another so that I can be in control, I will do so without hesitation.” His words are vibrating against your entrance now, your thighs twitching at his proximity. “Now be a good girl, and let me taste you.”

His hands grip your hips firmly and he swipes his tongue up and down your entrance before latching onto your clit, eating you out like a man starved as you cry out in ecstasy. He thrusts his tongue inside you, moaning at your flavour as he presses himself closer still.

“Oh God, Terry! YES!” you cry out, thrashing against your restraints. You desperately want to run your fingers through his gorgeous hair and hold his head in place.

“That’s right, babygirl,” he growls, lifting his head to lock eyes with you with a wolfish grin, his mouth and chin shining with your juices. “Just lay back and enjoy, and let me drink you up.” He lunges forward again, and you grip his head with your thighs, grinding your hips against his lips and tongue desperately. He allows you to do this for a minute or so, panting against you and driving you wild, before pinning your hips to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“I love seeing you come apart for me, Y/N,” Terry purrs. “I know you’re close; come for me, honey, please.”

Him begging for your orgasm takes you over the edge, and you scream his name again and again as you come, his tongue remaining at your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you’re a shuddering, whimpering mess. Finally, he relents, and your legs collapse bonelessly onto the bed as you struggle to catch your breath. Terry comes up beside you, looking down at you, kissing you the instant he thinks you’ve had enough of a break.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you say breathlessly once he lets you come up for air. He cocks his head to the side, looking up and down your body with a frown, eyes lingering at your bound hands. He shrugs.

“Hmm? No, I don’t think so,” he replies innocently, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Terry!” you whine, and he chuckles at you, moving to untie your wrists from the bedpost.

“Fine. I’d love to keep you here and give you more reasons to stay,” Terry says, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively and making you laugh. “But we do need to talk about things, and I know that I won’t be able to focus if we stay in bed all day.” He massages your arms as he speaks, helping your circulation and making the thought of your much-needed discussion slightly less intimidating, and you give him a small smile, standing up on your knees to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Maybe we could talk over breakfast?” you suggest, reluctantly slipping out of his arms and walking across the room to your suitcase. “Just let me get dressed and I can whip something up.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You freeze partway through picking out your clothes for the day.

“Oh no, your staff are here already?!” you squeak, turning bright red. “Did they hear us just now? Did they hear us last night?”

You whirl around to face him, still babbling in a panic, until Terry quiets you with an indignant look.

“First of all,” he begins imperiously, throwing his robe on and slipping the silk tie back through the loops to knot it around his waist, “I sent everyone home last night before I went after you. They won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” He stalks towards you, and you find yourself mildly intimidated, though you know he’s not really upset with you.

“Secondly,” he continues, rapidly closing the distance between you, and you find yourself backing away instinctively. “I meant that I would cook for you, silly girl. I do know how to take care of myself, you know,” he adds, arching an eyebrow at you, and you have the grace to blush.

“And lastly,” he says, trapping you in his arms and bending down to speak in your ear, “I fully intend to take you frequently when my staff are here, so you’d better get used to the idea, or plan on being gagged quite regularly.” He ends his speech by giving you a searing kiss that has your mind reeling, then winking at you before walking past you to the bedroom door.

“Now get dressed please, Y/N, and meet me downstairs for breakfast. We really don’t have time for all of your theatrics,” he teases as he makes his escape, leaving you to process things alone in his bedroom.

---

You find Terry in the kitchen around twenty minutes later, dressed in a comfortable but pretty summer dress. You were starving; it’s fairly late in the morning, and you hadn’t eaten much yesterday. The kitchen smells delicious, and Terry looks… incredibly attractive, even when acting all domestic, cooking breakfast in nothing but his robe. You lean against the wall for a moment, taking in the picture he makes with a smile.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases, not looking up from dicing fruit.

“Maaaaybe,” you reply, skipping over and hopping up on a barstool that sat beside the counter. You reach down to snag a slice of banana, but he swats your hand away, lightning quick. “Hey!”

“Patience, my dear,” he says, adding to the growing fruit salad in the bowl before you. “Or do I need to tie you down again?” You blush, and he smirks, turning to the frittata on the stove. You sneak a banana slice while his back is turned, feeling victorious. He places the frittata pan in the oven before turning to you. You take a moment to appreciate the way that his robe reveals a good portion of his chest.

“Can you behave yourself long enough for me to go get dressed?” he asks you sternly. “I can’t have you ogling me if we’re going to talk.”

“Well, that will likely happen regardless of what you’re wearing, but please, go get changed!” you reply sassily, shooing him away. “I’ll make sure the kitchen doesn’t burn down.” Staring at you coolly, he wordlessly picks up the bowl of fruit salad and easily places it on top of the fridge and out of your reach.

“Just in case you think I didn’t catch you stealing from me,” he murmurs, giving you a wide smile before leaving you alone in the kitchen. You make a huffy noise of discontent, and hear him chuckle from down the hallway.

You sigh deeply after a moment, trying to take in the fact that this could be your home, one day. You felt comfortable here already, and thought that that was a good thing, but still… you worry your lip between your teeth. You were going to have a serious discussion in a few minutes about your future, and you didn’t think you had any answers for the questions that Terry was bound to have for you. What did you want? What did you not want? How were you supposed to know? What if you made the wrong decision? This was all so overwhelming, and you hadn’t even gotten started yet!

“What a pleasant surprise, seeing you exactly where I left you for once,” Terry says from behind you, kissing you on the cheek as he walks past to take breakfast out of the oven… and off the top of the fridge. He serves you each a portion of frittata and a small bowl of fruit salad, sliding yours over to you. You nod in response to his question of coffee, and he sets it to brew before leaning against the counter beside you.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he says softly, taking one of your hands in his own and stroking the back of it with his thumb. You blink slowly, looking up at him, and he kisses the worried crease between your eyebrows. “Please, don’t start worrying before we even start talking. Everything will be fine,” he says soothingly, stroking your cheek.

“It must be nice to always be so sure about everything,” you muse, trying to lighten the mood. He snorts, going to fetch coffee before taking a seat beside you.

“There are very few things I’m sure of, my dear,” he corrects you, pausing to take a sip of coffee. You mirror his actions, not wanting to be chastised for not eating. “You just happen to be one of them, so of course it would appear that way to you.” You melt a bit at his words, but your tension rises again as you see that he’s slid a notepad and a pen towards himself on the counter.

“You’re planning to take notes?” you ask, feeling nervous. He gives you a patient smile, taking one of your hands again.

“Only because I want to be thorough with this,” he says gently. “If you’re anything like me, which I suspect you are, at least in this regard, then you’ll feel better once you can look at things once everything is out in the open. This isn’t a contract or anything, I promise.”

You take a deep breath, trying to nod with some degree of confidence. “Okay.”

“Do you want to eat first and worry about this later?” he suggests kindly, but you shake your head firmly.

“No, we should do this now. Maybe doing it while we eat will make it seem more like a conversation.”

“It is just a conversation, sweetheart. All I want to do is hear about your life and what you want, and then I’ll try to figure out how to fit myself into that picture,” he says with a wry smile.

“But what about you?” you grumble, spearing a blueberry with your fork.

“What about me?” he asks patiently, surveying you over his mug of coffee.

“Why doesn’t your life and what you want fit into the equation as much as mine?” you ask, cocking your head at him.

“My life is far more… malleable than yours, Y/N. The only thing that I want is you; everything else can be adjusted. You have much more of your life ahead of you, my dear,” he murmurs, his voice taking on a slight twinge of sadness. You immediately lean over and give him a brief but deep kiss, needing to banish that train of thought from the conversation immediately.

“Don’t talk like that, Terry Silver,” you order him, whispering fiercely against his lips. “And just because I have more to figure out than you do doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have the same say in the conversation as I do,” you continue, leaning back into your seat and cutting off a corner of your frittata.

“In fact, you should have more of a say, since you’re bringing all… this to the table,” you add, gesturing around to the house with your fork before bringing the mouthful to your lips. “This is good,” you say approvingly, digging into the meal with more gusto. Terry smiles at you, amused as always by your intense and quickly-changing moods.

“You need to stop devaluing yourself,” he tells you firmly. “You’re terrible at business negotiations.”

“Good thing this isn’t a business negotiation then,” you reply lightly, licking yogurt off of your spoon. Terry arches an eyebrow at you, and you sigh. “Alright, but you’ve clearly thought about this more than I have. I don’t even how to start thinking about this; help a girl out?” you ask, and while you can admit that you’re playing up the damsel in distress angle a bit, you do honestly want his help figuring this out.

“I have some questions that might help you organize your thoughts,” Terry admits, chuckling slightly when you perk up at the thought of having some direction. “But I don’t want to steer you in any direction one way or the other, Y/N. This is your life we’re talking about.”

“Our lives,” you correct him firmly, and he smiles indulgently at you.

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Will you answer the questions too?” you ask pointedly. He needed to value himself more, you think to yourself, looking up at him with affection.

“After you do,” he replies calmly. “And I will always be honest with you, Y/N.”

You consider the compromise over a few bites of food, and he gives you the time to think, digging into his own breakfast. After a minute or two, you nod at him, accepting the agreement.

“The first question is the most important, and it’s the hardest,” he says, his eyes tracking your movements as you tense up again. He leans over, kissing you until he feels you relax beneath him again. He tastes like strawberries.

“I think this will be easier if we take frequent breaks to make out,” you inform him seriously, your face still flushed from the kiss, and he laughs warmly at you.

“I’m sure I could get you to agree to all sorts of things that way,” he replies teasingly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, “but you need to think things over with a relatively clear head.”

“Fiiiine,” you whine, though you’re smiling. “Lay it on me, Mr. Silver.”

“I want you to think about what you’re feeling about all this, and try to figure out the roots of those feelings.”

You bite your lip, looking down at the counter. Terry takes your hand, and you give it a squeeze.

“I know it’s hard, just take your time,” he says encouragingly, and you nod, thinking.

“I’m feeling very scared and… overwhelmed, honestly,” you begin. “When I go back home, I’m not really sure what I’m going back to. Like I said, I kind of came here to reevaluate, gain some perspective… you ruined that plan, by the way,” you say teasingly, looking into his eyes for the first time since you’d started speaking. He preens a bit, making you giggle.

“I don’t have a job or anything to go back to, I quit before I came here. I have some interviews lined up over the next couple of weeks, but not for anything I’m really passionate about…” you shrug nonchalantly.

“I don’t feel particularly close to anyone there right now either.” Not compared to you anyway, you think to yourself. “I was never really a social butterfly, and a lot of my time was spent with my ex and our mutual friends, and I’m really sick of all of them looking at me like a kicked puppy.” You sigh, biting your lip. “I’m sure this is all great stuff to hear from the person you’re interested in,” you add sarcastically.

“Not tied down by anything or anyone, just begging to be whisked away? My kind of woman,” Terry replies teasingly, leering at you, and you giggle. He leans in to whisper in your ear. “And I think we’ve established that I’m far more than interested in you, haven’t we, love?”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and he rests his forehead for a moment on yours, staring deeply into your eyes.

“I guess that’s why this is all so overwhelming,” you confess, still close enough your noses are touching. “It would be so easy to just drop everything and move to L.A. and be with you, and that’s what makes it so scary. There’s nothing to hold me back…” your breathing hitches and your heartrate increases, and Terry leans back, giving you space to just feel.

“It’s crazy, moving across the country with nothing, and there would be so much to figure out so fast…” you continue after a moment, trying to maintain some composure. “What if I make a mistake?”

Terry strokes the side of your face comfortingly, and you close your eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Any better?” he murmurs, and you nod slightly without opening your eyes.

“A bit. Your turn?” you ask, looking at him pleadingly, and he nods.

“Eat while I talk,” he instructs, and you pick up your fork obediently, making him smile at you.

“This is incredibly overwhelming, Y/N, you’re not alone in thinking that. And while I obviously can’t share your concerns for a number of reasons, I hope I can help ease your worries no matter what decision you choose. If you want to stay back home for awhile, I will fly you out as often as you’d like. I’ll come visit you, I’ll buy a damn house there if that would help. The same goes for if you want to move here. If you want a place of your own, I’ll help you rent one, or buy you one, or move you right in here with me. Renovate the whole west wing of the third floor and call it your own, if you wish.”

“Now, I know that that’s a problem for you,” he says, as you go to interrupt him, pushing your fruit salad towards you and giving you a stern look. You scowl, taking another bite. “And I want to respect your independence and desires for your life. I know that you’re not comfortable with me using my money to solve your problems. So if you want a job here, I can and will open doors for you. I can give you a job at one of my own companies. If you never want to work again, that’s more than alright with me. Anything you need, Y/N… I’m there for you. Your whole life.”

Terry takes a casual sip of coffee after his confession, while you struggle to swallow your mouthful of fruit.

“But how are you so sure?” you protest once you manage to swallow. He smiles at you.

“Because I want to be,” he replies, as if that explained everything. “I want you, I feel oh so many feelings for you, and I want to plan for a future with you. I am in a fortunate position where I can and will move mountains to make that happen; you just have to tell me where to put them. I am happy to help you figure everything else out along the way, my dear. I plan on spoiling you as much as I possibly can, in whatever capacity you will allow me to. If that has to start in separate houses across the country or across town from each other, it makes no difference to me. As long as you’re mine,” he purrs possessively, gripping your chin firmly in one hand. You’re shaking like a leaf, something he notes with a self-deprecating smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m scaring you,” he says softly, releasing your face. “Tell me why, and I’ll fix it.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re willing to risk all of this on me,” you whisper, your voice breaking. You’re not even sure why your heart is clenching the way it is; the man you were crazy about had just told you that he would do anything and everything in his power to give you the exact life you wanted. All you had to do was choose.

He takes your face in hand once more, tilting your face up until you meet his eyes. You try your best not to tremble this time.

“Are you only interested in me for my money, Y/N?” he asks bluntly, and your jaw drops.

“What? No, Terry, of course not!”

“Would you still consider a relationship with me if I was just another middleclass man?”

“That would actually level the playing field between us a bit.”

He gives you a look, getting out of his chair and turning yours around, your back now to the counter. He comes to stand in front of you, leaning down and caging you in.

“People meet and fall in love in all sorts of circumstances, Y/N. When they stay together, they try to build the best life together that they can. It’s not your fault that I’ve had a few decades more than you, and a great deal of luck, that have allowed me to build up a life for both of us before I met you. We just get to skip the part where we struggle together.”

“And live happily ever after?” you tack on cheekily, trying to process his logic. This kind of thing didn’t happen in the real world, did it?

“Yes, if I get my way.”

“You usually do,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, gently tugging a lock of your hair. “You’ve been undermining me since I met you.”

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” you reason, looking up at him meaningfully. His blue eyes lock with yours, his mouth opening as he tries to find words.

“I don’t know just what I want yet,” you tell him firmly, wanting to be clear. “I just know that I want you. And I still have to go home first, but I don’t see the point in going back and forth and wasting all your money on pointless flights when we both know I’m going to end up here eventually–”

You had several other points to make, but Terry’s mouth on yours has them quickly slipping from your mind. He lifts you into his arms with ease, kissing you with a fierce joy that has your heart singing as he carries you to a couch in the living room. Negotiations were over, it would seem.

---

Day 13-C | Day 14-A | Day 14-B | Day 14-C

#terry silver #thomas ian griffith #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #smut #fresh start

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madamedevien · 3 years

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Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

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hurricanery · 3 years

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay- here’s part 3 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU - interns fic). It’s been a while since i’ve updated this so if you need a refresher, previous parts here: part 1 // part 2

If you’ve sent me a prompt recently, or even a while back, I promise I am starting to get to them. I’m on a break from school so I’m trying to write as much as I can <3 Also, I’m starting to switch around the POV for this story (this one is Link’s), and it’s very :) difficult :) to do :)

_______

It comes apart

The way it does in bad films

Except in parts

When the moral kicks in

_______

Link knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

That’s something he knows. The reason behind it though, is a little less clear to him. She’s unpredictable. And he thinks that that’s part of it. Part of the reason his pulse quickens when she walks into the room. Sometimes, he’ll bump into her in the apartment, and she’ll be all darting eyes and nervous hands wrapped around a mug of tea. But most of the time, it’s the opposite. It’s shameless, the way she’ll walk into a room and say something completely audacious. Unexpected. Is the way he wants to label it. And the anticipation of it, the anticipation of which Amelia he’s going to get, is what makes him the most nervous.

This morning there’s an edge to her smile. One that feels measured and purposeful. Link watches her as she enters the kitchen. He finishes pouring himself a cup of coffee and witnesses, just in time, for Amelia to survey Maggie and Winston as they innocently eat their breakfast at the counter.

The smirk that grows on her face causes Link to instinctively brace himself. Because it’s the same look she gives before she’s about to say something completely untamed. Untamed, yet at the same time, Link knows whatever she’s about to say, she’ll say it so unashamedly. But when the words finally drop from her mouth, Link still doesn’t feel prepared.

“I miss sex,” she announces, as her eyes dart amusedly between the couple at the counter. “And you guys are doing a great job of reminding me of that.”

Link has to stifle the coughing fit that threatens to overcome his body as he struggles through his first sip of coffee. And the startled look on Maggie’s face just adds fuel to the fire. Like Amelia somehow gains something from this type of reaction.

“What’s with the faces?” she adds, nonchalantly, as she reaches for a mug and turns back to Maggie and Winston. “I’m saying I feel inspired by you.”

“Okay…” Maggie gives a warning stare. “But we’re not-”

“No, I get it,” Amelia interrupts. Link shuffles out of her way as she reaches for the coffee pot, but he doesn’t miss the sideways glance she gives him. “You guys aren’t together together, you’re just…” She trails off as she focuses on not overflowing her mug with the hot liquid. Then she turns back around to face the pair at the counter. “Having fun?”

Winston shrugs at this, and Maggie refocuses all of her attention on the food in front of her.

“Like I said,” Amelia’s expression falters only slightly to incorporate some sympathy towards Maggie. “Inspiring.”

And with that she turns on her heels, ready to leave. Like she always does. After dropping a bomb of awkwardness amongst the group, she immediately fleas. And Link feels his heart rate slow at her absence.

His eyes shift to Maggie and Winston, eyebrows raised.

“She’s pleasant in the morning.”

There’s hums of agreement, and Maggie stands up, beginning to clear their dishes.

“We carpooling today?” Link inquires, as he starts to help Maggie clean the kitchen.

“Well, there’s that intern mixer tonight,” Maggie reminds him. “That thing Dr. Webber is hosting?”

“Right,” Link sighs.

“I was going to go straight there after my shift,” she adds. “So, we’d all have to sort of plan our timing with that.”

Link nods, stepping forward to set his empty coffee mug in the sink.

“Will you ask Amelia what she’s doing? If she’s planning on going?”

Link nods again at Maggie’s request, and begins moving slowly down the hallway towards Amelia’s room. It dawns on him that he’s never stepped foot in Amelia’s room, or even properly had a glance inside. So, it feels foreign to him that his fist is knocking against the wood of her door.

“Yeah?”

There’s music playing on the other side and Link clears his throat to compensate for that.

“Hey! Maggie wanted me to ask you-”

“I can’t really hear you, just come in!”

Link hesitates. And he doesn’t know why. But then he’s annoyed with himself for not knowing why, so he pushes forward. His hand wraps around the door knob and then it’s twisting and suddenly he’s standing in her bedroom.

“Hey.”

His head turns to follow the sound of her voice and his eyes settle on her, to where she sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a full-length mirror. She raises her eyebrows at him, through the reflection in the mirror. And when Link doesn’t speak right away, she reaches forward to turn off her music.

“Can I help you with something?” She sounds smug as she resumes her mascara application.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Maggie wanted me to ask what your plans are for the intern mixer tonight?”

“Shit. I totally forgot that was tonight,” she mutters, concentrating on what she’s doing in the mirror.

Link sighs, and he feels the inexplicable need to shove his hands in his pockets. He takes a moment to let his eyes wander around the room. He can’t help it. The new territory makes him curious.

The room is a mess, and that’s putting it lightly. It almost looks like she hasn’t unpacked all the way. There are clothes scattered on almost every surface, and nothing seems to be put away. He’d like to assume that it’s because she’s not moved all the way in yet, but the pictures hanging on the wall say otherwise.

It feels self-indulgent, as he lets his eyes scan the framed photos around the room. They mostly consist of what Link gathers to be college friends and travels. But, there’s also a significant presence of people that look extraordinarily similar to Amelia. Her siblings, he presumes. There are two photos in particular, that stand out to Link. One consists of a young girl, no older than 6 or 7. In the photo, she’s riding a bike, and there’s a dark-haired teenage boy gently pushing the bike forward from behind. Derek, Link imagines. And it makes him smile to imagine Amelia learning to ride a bike.

The second photo that catches Link’s eye is just a solo shot of a middle-aged man. He’s standing on the edge of a dock, holding up a fishing pole. The man in the photo has a striking resemblance to Amelia and Derek, and Link is inclined to conclude that it’s their father.

Link snaps back to reality when he hears Amelia clear her throat. His eyes meet hers in the reflection of the mirror and she’s sneering at him incredulously.

“Get a good look?”

“Sorry,” Link mumbles, shaking his head at himself. He struggles for a moment to arrive back to his reasoning for being here in the first place. “Uh, yeah. Party tonight, or….‘intern mixer,’ or whatever you want to call it….do you need a ride?”

“Ugh,” she groans, starting to stand up from her spot on the floor. “Derek requested Lexie and I on his service, again, so. If we’re not too late I’ll probably grab a ride with him.”

Link nods. He tries to suppress the sudden disappointment he feels. Because it makes no sense to him, that he should feel anything based upon whether or not Amelia would be in attendance.

“Okay,” he turns on his heels, deciding he doesn’t need anything more than that answer from her.

“Link?”

He turns around in the doorway, looking at her expectantly.

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he forces an element of nonchalance to his response. She’s staring at him with an expression of bewilderment and it only makes him want to rush his exit more.

He rips his gaze away from hers as he steps into the hallway, and when he pulls the door shut, he feels relief.

_______

Links knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

The second is that this party is lame.

“This sucks,” Jo huffs out a sigh, from where she’s standing next to him.

They’re stationed at one of those tall cocktail tables, in the middle of a decently packed banquet room. Link’s eyes scan the room, for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

“Who are you looking for?” Jo ridicules him. She smirks at him knowingly as she sips her drink and Link tries not to roll his eyes at her.

“I’m not looking for anyone….” He trails off, as his eyes roam the room again. Because although he dismisses the accusation of looking for anyone, he does find her.

She’s standing near the entryway with Derek. And they must have just arrived, because there’s a leather jacket still covering her frame.

He thinks for a moment that he should cross the room. Walk towards them and casually point out where the coat check area is, perhaps. But he doesn’t do that. Because the closer he looks, the more it becomes obvious that the two are arguing.

Amelia’s back is to him, but her body language, and the sharpness to Derek’s expression, are all the evidence he needs.

“You’re staring.” Jo’s voice breaks through his concentration, and Link glances sideways at her.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” she bites back. “And you’re boring me. I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”

Link shakes his head at the offer, his eyes returning to his current preoccupation. He barely notices Jo’s dramatic sigh, as she walks away. Barely notices, because now Amelia is crossing the room, her eyes narrowing in on his as she visibly tries to shake off her anger.

“You made it.” It’s all Link can come up with as she approaches the table.

Amelia huffs out an exasperated breath as she settles across from him at the table. She shrugs, her eyes dancing around the room as she takes in the atmosphere of the event.

“Of course I did,” she mutters. “I’m a blast at parties.”

Link frowns. Unsure of how to lighten the mood.

“There’s a coat check, you know?” He glances down at her, surveying the black form-fitting dress and leather jacket. He suddenly feels unimpressive in the dull grey of his suit jacket.

“Nah,” Amelia shakes her head, still preoccupied by the room around them. “I’m fine like this.”

Her eyes finally rest on his. And she breathes out again, but this time Link thinks it sounds more relieved.

“I really am a blast at parties,” she bites her lip, grinning slightly. “Or, I used to be.”

“I believe you,” Link offers a smile in return.

And suddenly there’s a sense of ease between them. One that Link wasn’t expecting.

There’s something about her, or rather about her demeanor, that makes him feel nostalgic. He takes in her energy and it makes him feel at home, but not necessarily in a yearning way. Because there’s an edge to it. Like the feeling he’s nostalgic for triggers an almost anxious familiarity in the pit of his stomach. Like home is broken.

“So, what is it?”

He hasn’t even realized he’s voiced the question out loud. It’s when her defensive tone kicks in, that he realizes what he’s done.

“What?”

Link groans internally. Because he hadn’t necessarily intended to speak on behalf of his revelation.

“You….remind me of….me, Amelia,” he mutters the confession, shaking his head at himself as he tries to make sense of the direction his thoughts are taking. “Like a sixth sense almost….”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t offer any words. The silence urges Link to continue.

“Okay, no. I mean, you don’t remind me of me, totally. I just mean….”

“We are very different people,” she interrupts him. And it causes Link to look up from the pattern of the tablecloth he’d forced himself to analyze while he stumbled through his words. But he locks eyes with her, and there’s a smug smile on her face. It basically grants him permission to move forward.

“Yeah,” he chuckles in agreement. “But there’s some common ground here. I can feel it.”

Link tries to match her smirk, but he knows he’s not doing it any justice.

“So, what is it?” He repeats his question from earlier, his tone playful. “That makes you this way?”

There’s a fraction of a second where her face falls, in reaction to the additional question. It’s so subtle Link thinks he’s imagined it. Because he’s looking at her now, and the smirk is still there. So he continues.

“Doesn’t seem like you get along with your family,” he nods towards Derek across the room, to where he’s now stood chatting with Mark Sloan. “And from my experience, that kind of thing usually happens for a reason.”

Amelia shrugs dismissively, and reaches forward for a handful of pretzels from the array of snacks on the table.

Link watches her, notes her form of deflection, and he takes it upon himself to start lighthearted. Because that’s where they are right now. That’s the stage they always seem to be stuck in. “You….what? Scratched your brother's car up? Forgot to feed the family’s pet fish? And everyone still holds it against you? What is it, huh?”

Amelia stifles a laugh around a mouthful of pretzels, and it urges Link on.

“I’m getting closer, aren’t I? Should I dive deeper?”

Link tries not to laugh at her, as she struggles to chew the pretzels in her mouth. He lets himself be relentless, continuing with the interrogation.

“Okay, so….some sort of chronic diagnosis tear your family apart?” Link glances across the room as he speaks, and his eyes settle on Derek. There’s a snide expression on Derek’s face as he talks to Mark, and all Link sees is Amelia in it. His eyes dart back to hers as potential realization hits. “Children of divorce?”

Amelia immediately stops chewing her pretzels. And this time around it’s not as subtle when her face falls.

“Children of divorce! I knew it! I told you I could sense that kind of thing.”

Link is proud of himself for a moment. Until he watches her harshly swallow. It’s the kind of action that makes him instantly retreat. Instantly regret his exclamation.

Amelia finally finds her voice. And when she does, it’s laced with irony. “I wish it had been a divorce.”

And now it was Link’s turn for the silence. For the lack of response that would hopefully urge her to continue.

“Your parents are divorced?” There’s something cunning about her tone, and Link can’t quite place why it’s there. It surely doesn’t sound like a question, when she asks it. It sounds like she already knows the answer, and she’s choosing to be sly as she witholds whatever she’s about to throw his way next.

But Link nods at her anyway, disregarding the non-question.

“Wanna trade childhood traumas?” She eventually mutters, a slight smile on her lips as she looks down at the bowl of pretzels. Link can see it in her face, the way she’s determining whether to abandon the conversation and reach for another handful. But she doesn’t do that.

He continues to stare at her, in a desperate attempt to decipher which version of Amelia this is.

“My Dad died when I was five,” her gaze shifts from the pretzels to his face and Link’s heart drops to his stomach. “So, he kind of missed out on the divorce stage....” She laughs under her breath, almost in disbelief. “Not that there would have been one,” she adds the after-thought.

“Amelia,” he murmurs. And he thinks he steps forward, but there’s a table in front of him, blocking him, so there’s really no point. “I’m so sorry, I-”

It’s her laughter that cuts him off mid-apology. Link doesn’t know if he can categorize it as authentic laughter. The bizarre reaction would probably be more accurately described as harsh exhales and another out of place smile.

“Amelia.”

She swallows her laughter a bit at the seriousness of his tone.

“God, I feel like an asshole,” he mutters.

“Okay, but don’t,” Amelia shrugs. “Believe me I’ve had years to process it.”

Link feels his eyes narrow at this.

“And honestly I’m pretty impressed you could sense the childhood trauma in the first place,” she adds. “Maybe we’re more alike than I thought….” She trails off, and there’s a softness to her next words. “And I don’t at all mean to downplay yours….I just….have a dark sense of humor. Sometimes I forget that it can put people off.”

“No, I get it.”

Link watches as a subtle grin take over her expression, and he sighs in relief. But he can’t help but to notice how distracted she is. How her eyes keep shifting around the room.

“This party is kinda lame, huh?” Link muses. “I was going to head home soon. Want a ride?”

For a moment her wandering eyes stop, and Link thinks her smile looks polite. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, distracted again. “I feel like I should make the rounds first though, right? Say hello to a few people?”

Link nods. Because this makes sense.

“Give me like 20 minutes, okay? And then we can leave?”

“Okay,” Link agrees, but she’s already walking away by the time he says it.

_______

Link knows a few things.

But there’s one fact at the forefront of his mind.

This party is lame and he wants to leave. He’s promised a ride home to Amelia, but it’s been over an hour and since then, he’s completely lost track of her.

He gives up. Assumes she’s gotten a ride home with either Derek or Lexie.

He makes his way to the parking lot and he hears her voice first. It’s low and it’s gravelly and it’s certainly Amelia.

But it’s perplexing, because the first person he sees is Mark, and not Amelia.

But then Mark steps to the side, and there she is.

He watches, and he hasn't realized that his feet have stopped moving. But his eyes are glued the same way his shoes apparently are to the pavement below.

She’s smiling at Mark, but the look she’s giving him makes Link feel gross. Because it’s almost performative, the way she gets into his car. And suddenly there's another thing that Link knows.

That being, that for some reason, this hurts.

_______

It’s more accurate to say that Link has learned a few things. Especially since moving in with 3 strangers.

He’s learned the separate soundtracks of each of his roommate’s arrivals home.

He can tell when Maggie is home, because she usually mutters to herself as she walks about, hanging her purse and coat up.

He can tell when Lexie is home, because the first thing she does is walk to the kitchen. Link will hear the distinct sound of the fridge door opening just after someone comes home, and immediately he knows that it’s Lexie.

He can tell when Amelia is home, because of the clacking sound her boots make across the tiled floor of the entryway. He doesn’t know why she always seems to be wearing the heeled boots, but he finds comfort in the association.

Another thing he’s learned is that he’s usually the first to wake up in the apartment. Especially on Saturdays.

He likes waking up early on the weekends, but this morning feels a little different. Definitely due to the lack of sleep the night prior. He wants to blame the restless night on anything else, besides the fact that he’s yet to hear a pair of heeled boots cross the tiled floor.

Link seeks distractions on this Saturday morning. He thinks he’ll make breakfast. But, the relative emptiness of the fridge causes a change of plans.

And so he distracts himself by going to the store.

_______

When Link returns home, he’s not expecting to see Amelia right away.

He walks towards their front door, arms full of grocery bags, and there she is. Leaning against the wall outside and watching him carefully as he approaches.

She’s wearing the same dress she wore last night, her leather jacket slung over her arm.

“Well, good morning,” he tries to mask the sharpness in his tone.

She looks at him tiredly.

It’s then that he decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d had a feeling in the pit of his stomach all night. He’d lost sleep over it. But he looks at her now, and everything he’s been feeling is replaced with one thing: concern.

So he re-routes his attitude.

“You waiting out here just so you could hold the door open for me?” He jokes, gesturing towards the bags in his arms.

“I lost my keys,” she admits.

Link notices the way she can’t seem to hold eye contact, and he decides to drop the joking manner.

“Ah,” he hums. “Here.”

He unceremoniously shoves a grocery bag into her arms, so that he can free up a hand to reach for his own keys.

He unlocks the door and Amelia basically darts past him, setting the bag on the counter and heading towards her room.

Link tries not to feed into his concern, and he busies himself by putting groceries away.

But, a moment later, he hears the familiar sound of her heels against the floor. The sound amplifies until she rounds the corner into the kitchen again, and Link looks up just in time.

She looks at him sheepishly.

“I, uh. I have so much stuff all over my bed….you don’t mind if I take the couch for a bit, do you?”

It takes Link a moment to process this information. He glances past the kitchen counter, to the living room area. It’s all pretty much one big room, an open floor plan.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs. “I was about to make breakfast though, so, hopefully I don’t bother you too much over here?”

Amelia shakes her head, as if to say she won’t be bothered, and she continues over to the living area.

“You should really….unpack all your stuff. Put things away,” Link jokes, recalling just how messy her room was as of yesterday morning.

“‘M too tired right now,” she slurs, as she collapses against the couch on the opposite wall.

Link attempts to carry on making breakfast. But he’s admittedly distracted by her presence.

She doesn’t look comfortable. She’s still wearing her dress from last night. And she’s sitting upright, her head tilted back against the cushions.

“I could help you, you know?” Link offers. “Put away your things and clear off your bed?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Amelia, it’s 9am.”

This makes her laugh.

Her eyes are still closed but she’s laughing under her breath.

“Oh!” Suddenly Link remembers. “I saw this loose tea variety at the store and it made me think of you and I bought it.”

Even with the length of the room, Link can tell she’s slightly opened her eyes, peering at him.

“How about I attempt to make some? And we do some unpacking?”

There’s brief silence. But then her head is lifting from the cushions.

“Okay, but make your breakfast first.”

Link breaks out into a toothy grin, nodding at her suggestion. He watches curiously as her head drops back against the couch.

_______

It’s about 20 minutes later when he’s eaten and decides he’s happy with his attempt at tea. He walks over to the couch, proudly balancing two mugs, but it’s obvious that Amelia is drifting off to sleep.

He places a mug on the coffee table in front of her and the sound of it causes her to stir.

“Oh,” she sits up. “This looks….decent. Thank you.”

Link sits on the armchair across from her and watches as she takes her first sip.

“You’re allowed to say if it’s shit.”

Amelia exhales a laugh before setting the mug back down.

“It’s not bad, honestly. I’ll have to teach you my ways, though.”

She rests back against the cushions, and this time she shifts her body so that she’s more comfortably laying across the entire couch.

Link sighs.

And it’s like she hears what he’s thinking.

“Just a few minutes, then we’ll start unpacking,” but her voice is laced with sleep. She turns to him, her mouth twisting up in a familiar movement, and her eyebrows raising almost provocatively. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Ugh,” Link groans. “I do not need to hear about you and Mark-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs a breath. “I had to.”

Link just shakes his head at her, not sure when he went from worried about her, to amused.

“I promise,” she adds, and the element of exhaustion is back in her tone. “Just 10 more minutes then I’ll be good to go.”

“Sure,” Link laughs.

Amelia still holds his gaze, and there’s an expression on her face that feels brand new to him.

There’s a hint of a smile. It’s barely there. But it’s different this time. It’s not the smirk he’s used to seeing, and it’s not in any way laced with mockery or self-doubt.

Link knows a few things.

But he learns a final thing by the end of the conversation. He learns that he’s going to do everything he can, to see the version of her smile that’s the most genuine.

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

Coach Cavill - Chapter 11

Summary: Amelia and Henry are going apple picking.

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 5.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: I don’t know Henry’s family (well duh 🙄), but I wrote them in a way it would fit into this story. However, please keep in mind that this is in no way reality. Also, I know it has been over a month since I last updated this fic, so thank you for your patience 🥰

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

After what seemed the longest day at school, I quickly drove home, so I could get ready for my date with Henry. I’ve been looking forward to it since the moment we agreed to it. I love apple picking and the fact that I get to spend even more time with Henry, is definitely something I’m not saying no to.

Yesterday morning and this morning Henry came by to bring us all something nice to drink (a caramel cappuccino in the morning just hits different) and to pick up his sandwiches. I can’t believe that this is actually happening right now. After divorcing Dean, I thought dating was out of the question, really. I figured Dean would move on with his new girlfriend (and I mean, he certainly did: they’re getting married and have a baby—I think that definitely qualifies for moving on), while I would sit in my house, surrounded by my kids and my friends and I’d probably date when I was over fifty, when the kids would be long off on their own.

I mean, I wasn’t opposed to it. I had been with the same man since I was eighteen, being on my own felt like an entire lifetime ago and I was thoroughly enjoying it.

However, I met Henry and it seems to fit. I wouldn’t have dared to dream someone like him fitting here so perfectly.

My house is filled with kids. They all know I’m going out and when I’m gone, they have the place to themselves and don’t have to—and I’m quoting both myself and Eve here—use their inside voices as Eve is still working. While Benji, Lola, Jake, Isabella and Yara are all hanging on the couches watching some tv, I’m frantically running around, in order to get myself ready for this date. I took a quick shower, to clean myself up a little, since there was a slight peeing incident today at school and unfortunately, some got spilled on me. Not on accident of course. Poor kid was really anxious the entire day, since it’s not going well with his grandma. Besides, my own kids and Eve’s kids all peed or puked on me at least once, so you could say I have seen my fair share.

‘Amelia,’ Lola says, as I’m pacing through the living room, ‘why are you nervous?’

‘I’m not nervous,’ I tell her.

Benji smiles. ‘Yes mom, you are. Relax, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a date.’

I sigh deeply, knowing deep down that it’s not a big deal and I should relax. It’s indeed just a date and I already know Henry. He comes by in the morning and gives me a kiss. Nothing to worry about. ‘Am I looking too casual?’ I ask them, as I look down to my tight blue jeans, the thick black sweater and the black ankle boots. I have my warm white coat ready on the backrest of the seat. ‘This is too casual,’ I conclude.

‘Mom,’ Isabella says, while she sits on Lola’s lap, ‘you look really pretty and I know that Henry thinks so too. This morning he said that you looked really pretty.’

He did what? ‘When did he say that to you?’ I ask her.

‘When you were checking your bag.’ Isabella smiles and I can’t even hide my blush.

The doorbell rings and I let out a high pitched scream.

Yara starts to giggle. ‘You can do this, Amelia,’ she says. ‘Really you can.’

I can’t believe I need a few kids to hype me up, but to be fair: I am a bit rusty in the whole dating department. If they think I’m a nervous wreck now, they should’ve seen me seventeen years ago when I went on a date with Dean. ‘I know, I’ve got this,’ I say as casual as possible. I walk to the door and when I open it, I’m met with the beauty that is called Henry Cavill. His coat hangs open, only to reveal yet another cable sweater.

‘You are absolutely breathtaking,’ Henry says with a smile. ‘I’m so lucky.’

My mouth falls open. ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ I laugh. ‘Seriously Henry, you are already the embodiment of perfection and then you say this.’

Henry looks at his shoes and from the looks of it, he is trying to cover up a blush. That is adorable, really.

‘I just have to get my coat. You want to come in?’

‘Of course,’ he says, when I step to the side to let him in.

‘Where is Kal?’ I ask him. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while.'

‘Greg and Annabelle are watching him. I can’t say no to that sweet face.’

‘Whose sweet face?’ I ask with a chuckle.

Henry simply rolls his eyes, but lets out a laugh anyway

‘Oh, by the way, you have to know there are three teenagers and two young girls sitting in the living room.’

He nods. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He closes the door behind me and presses a light kiss on forehead. ‘Did I already say to you that you’re pretty?’

‘You told me I was breathtaking,’ I say with a smile. ‘But I did hear you were talking to my daughter about how pretty I looked this morning.’

He chuckles. ‘I might’ve.’ I feel his lips on the tip of my nose and my stomach twists and turns in a pleasant way. I almost forgot how the first weeks of a new relationship type of thing feels like.

I clear my throat as I try to regain some composure and together we enter the living room. Jake starts to make kissy sounds, causing me to roll my eyes. ‘Grow up, will you?’ I say to him, as I grab my coat.

Henry gently pulls it out of my hands, before holding it up for me, so I can easily slide my arms through the sleeves.

This man… Is he honestly real? I hope every minor on that couch is making mental notes, because this is peak gentleman behavior and I want them all to remember this for when they start dating.

‘I won’t,’ Jake laughs. ‘This is way too much fun.’

‘Well, I’ll keep this in mind for when you start dating,’ I say, as I zip up the coat. ‘Remember, I can embarrass you even better. Remind me, how old were you again when you peed on my porch?’

Yara pretends to vomit, while Isabella exclaims: ‘Ew, you peed on our porch? That’s disgusting!’

‘I think he was six the first time, mom,’ Benji says with a chuckle and Lola starts to laugh as well, before adding: ‘And the last time he was ten.’

‘You wouldn’t, right?’ Jake asks, his eyes enlarged.

‘If you don’t zip it, I definitely will. I have tons up my sleeve,’ I say with a smile. ‘Okay, kids, I’ll be back around dinner time. Isabella and Yara, please don’t touch the stove and oven. If you need something, ask the older kids, okay?’

‘Yes,’ the two of them say.

‘If you guys need anything, just remember, Eve is next door and I’m one phone call away.’

The five of them nod. ‘We know.’

‘Also, I’d rather have something left to eat here, so please don’t be swines and eat everything.’

‘We won’t,’ they all say.

‘And—’

‘Amelia, just go!’ Lola laughs. ‘We know how to behave ourselves here. It’s not the first time we’re alone here.’

‘Yes, mom, we’ll manage,’ Benji adds.

I nod, realizing I’m totally overreacting. They are home alone here all the time, while I hang out with Eve and Johnny. This isn’t new. ‘Right, you are totally right. I’m so sorry.’

‘Have fun,’ my daughter says.

‘We will,’ I say, ‘and Jake, for the love of God, don’t say: but not too much fun.’

‘How did you know I was about to say that?’ he asks, his voice a bit higher from sheer surprise.

‘You are fairly predictable,’ Henry says. ‘Even I knew you were going to say that.’

I finally manage to leave the place with Henry and when we’re finally in his truck, I lean over to give him a long kiss on his soft lips. He hums against my mouth, as he places his rough hand on my cheek. I can’t believe he actually deepens the kiss, but I’m not complaining at all. I could kiss this man non stop for hours on end, without getting tired of it. When we let each other go, I smile. ‘I really missed you,’ I say, ‘though I saw you this morning. Is that too clingy?’

‘Not too clingy at all, because I missed you too. I can’t get quite enough of you.’ He starts the car when we put on the seatbelts and he says: ‘I bought the ingredients you told me to buy for the pies. I also bought some whipped cream, because Greg told me if I were going to eat one of your apple pies, there has to be whipped cream on top of it.’

‘Greg is an absolute angel for reminding you, because I am out of whipped cream and he is totally right. Did you know I won the pie baking contest back in middle school with my fabulous apple pie?’

‘I did not know,’ Henry says, as he drives off. He mindlessly places his hand on my leg and I can’t stop myself to place mine on top of it. ‘I really look forward to this,’ he admits. ‘I have never been apple picking before.’

‘It’s so much fun. Pro tip: you have to walk at least twenty minutes before you start picking. Then you find the best apples.’

‘Good thing I have an expert with me,’ he says. ‘Greg told me it would be fun.’

‘You tell Greg quite a lot,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘Well, no wonder he kept wiggling his eyebrows at me yesterday.’ I wrap my arms around his thick one, before placing my head on his bicep. When Dean and I were still married, I could never sit against him like this in the car, because our seats were separated. Henry’s truck allows me to scoot over a bit to the middle, so I can melt against his broad frame. ‘I’m sorry about Jake,’ I say.

‘Well, don’t be. I really love the way you are with not only your kids, but also with Eve’s. It truly shows how close you guys are. I think it’s great you two live next to one another and you can always lean on each other.’

‘It sure is.’

‘Tell me, Amelia, how was your day at school?’

I tell him about how the kids were sweet today and how we made some Halloween related drawings. I even mention the slight peeing incident, but also that it was no big deal really. ‘How was your day?’

‘It was okay,’ he says, but I can hear his voice flatten a bit.

I look to the side, only to discover a deep frown between his brows. From the looks of it, today was not okay. ‘What happened?’

‘My mother called,’ he says, ‘telling me to come back home.’

‘Oh,’ I say. That can’t be good? ‘Are you going back?’

‘No of course not, I just arrived here. Besides, my life here is much better than in Jersey.’ He sighs. ‘She thought it was a horrible idea to move here. She also didn’t approve of my choices of work and sure doesn’t like it I’m doing it overseas now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, when you have four brothers who are either with the Marines, lawyers and all that stuff, you could say I’m the loser of the family.’

‘Or are you the only one that followed their heart?’ I ask. ‘I mean, do you even know if your brothers enjoy what they do?’

He simply shrugs. It’s been hard on Henry to open up, I can see that. ‘Henry,’ I say, ‘when I grew up, I wanted to work at the mortuary.’

‘What?’ he asks. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I went to my granddad’s funeral and I was in that age where I wanted to experience everything. The woman who helped us arranging the funeral, I was in awe of her. I went with her probably the entire time and she told me what she did for a living. I was actually planning on becoming one, figuring out to what colleges I had to go to, but then I went to Korea. After I came back, I realized I didn’t want to work with the dead, but with the living and preferably our future.’ Realizing that, per usual, I’m about to miss the point I was going to make. ‘What I’m trying to say with this, was that every career move I had in mind, it wasn’t something my parents wanted me to do. They envisioned me becoming a doctor, or a a lawyer, owning my own business. But they just accepted all the choices I made, whether they liked it or not.’

Henry laughs. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I just can’t believe you wanted to work at a mortuary. You sure are quite something, Amelia.’

‘I like to keep on surprising.’

‘Figured. What about your kids?’

I chuckle. ‘They have interesting plans. Benji wants to become a career judoka, but I told him he needs to think about getting a degree. He might be quite the judoka now, but what if one day he gets injured or he doesn’t make it? So he came up with the idea of either becoming a dentist or a coach, like you.’

‘Really?’

‘Mhm and to be honest, I’m leaning more towards coach. I think he would be really good at that. He really has an eye for the details, with not only himself, but also with others. And Isabella wants to be famous, but she hasn’t figured out how she’ll get famous.’

He nods. ‘And you support them?’

‘Of course, they are my kids. The point is that your parents should accept you and your choices. The idea of parenting is that you prepare your kids to be ready for the world, not to dictate their lives. You might have an idea of what type of career fits them best, but they have to decide for themselves, make their own choices and mistakes. Besides, I could think of worse career moves. I mean, a judo coach is a great job and being famous… It’s quite something, I have to give her that and with Isabella’s personality, she would enjoy it so much. She loves being in the spotlights, preferably alone.’

‘You’re an excellent mother. Mine could learn a thing or two from you.’ Henry parks the car on the lot, but doesn’t get out. It’s almost like he wants to say something else to me. Knowing how hard it can be for some people to open up, I decide to wait and see whether or not he wants to tell me what is on his heart. ‘You know,’ he starts with a sigh, ‘my mom never went to one of my games.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I ask him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Seeing these kids here, with their entire support system at the games, it warms my heart. I’m happy they have that.’

I study his face. ‘But you can be a bit jealous,’ I say. ‘That’s allowed.’

‘By you?’

‘By everyone. We all want something we didn’t have growing up and that’s normal. Parents try—or at least it appears as if they do—but they can never give their kids what they deserve. It pains me to know that there are things that I can’t provide for my kids or that I can’t meet their needs. I remember when I was doing my first internship at a primary school, I saw this mother who had four beautiful daughters. That’s what I wanted: sisters or brothers. I was all alone growing up and people would kill for that, but I just wanted a companion within my family. But my parents couldn’t give me that.’ I send him a reassuring smile. ‘Believe me, it can be hard to see kids who have what you have always wanted growing up or kids that are deprived of that what you had.’

Henry nods. ‘Wise woman you are.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I mean it! And just know that when I look over at the bleachers now and I see you, I realize that you are my support system.’

That is the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me.

We get out of the car and all the nerves I experienced back in my own house, are all gone now, especially when he reaches over to hold my hand. Being around Henry is so easy and it worried me a bit I didn’t feel so tense and nervous around him. When I first started dating Dean, I was a nervous wreck for at least two months. But maybe it’s unfair to compare teen Amelia, to adult Amelia who is divorced and has two kids.

When we arrive at the apple picking field, Henry hands me a bucket and together we walk over the grass, finding the spot with the best apples. ‘So tell me all about the divorce, Henry.’

He chuckles. ‘How long have you been thinking about this?’

‘To be fair? The second you told me about it. I mean, who would divorce you?’

‘I could say the same thing about you. You are the catch of the town.’

‘You are too,’ I say.

He bites his bottom lip as he stares ahead of him. ‘Okay, so I told you that my parents wanted me to marry her and her family wanted her to marry me.’

‘Yes.’

‘And how she dated my friend behind my back and we got divorced, right?’

‘Yes. I’m just curious to why you agreed to it?’

He snickers. ‘It had to do with a trust fund.’

‘Trust fund? That is honestly a thing?’ I ask.

Henry nods. ‘It is. So, if I married her, I would eventually get access to the trust fund.’

Eventually. That isn’t promising. ‘But you got divorced,’ I note. ‘What happened to the trust fund?’

‘It is now a yacht, owned by my parents.’

I place my hand on his arm. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

‘Never expected the word fucking to leave the lips of kindergarten teacher Amelia Jung,’ he chuckles. ‘But no, I’m not kidding. When I divorced Vera, that’s my ex, they knew she slept with my best friend, but they blamed me.’

This is absolutely infuriating me. ‘You have to give me your parents’ number,’ I say in all seriousness, ‘so I can call them and tell them their parenting style is honestly unbelievable. Henry you are a grown man! You should decide for yourself who you are dating or what kind of career you want to pursue. And that trust fund thing, how low, my goodness.’

Henry chuckles. ‘You understand why I had to leave?’

‘Oh, I more than understand, I just wonder why you didn’t leave sooner. I really don’t want to talk badly about your parents since I don’t know them, but this crosses a line. What an idiots.’

He nudges my side. ‘This fired up look really suits you, Amelia,’ he admits. ‘I like it.’

I look up and he smiles. He is so beautiful, my oh my. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Always.’

‘How rich are your parents? I don’t need a number, but just an indication.’

‘They are pretty rich,’ he says. ‘Like, there is a possibility we would have marry a distant cousin to keep the money in the family, if there are no more trusted family friends who are single.’

Why do I know exactly what kind of family this is about? ‘I didn’t know Jersey had those types of rich.’

‘We keep on surprising,’ he chuckles. ‘Honestly, I never really fitted in, always the black sheep of the family. I’m just grateful I’m out of there and living my own life, even if it’s at age thirty eight.’

‘Luna Meadows sure is lucky to have you here.’ I stand on my toes, to give him a kiss on his soft lips. ‘You sure you don’t want me to call your parents?’

‘I don’t think they are ready for that,’ he smiles. ‘If they find out I’m dating you, they’ll flip.’

Oh my, we’re dating? Is that what he is saying? ‘Is it because I’m Korean?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s more you having kids.’

‘Don’t your parents want grandkids? I thought everyone with kids is desperate to become grandparents.’

‘They do, just blood related grandkids.’

I simply scoff. ‘Your parents are a piece of work.’

‘You can say that again.’ I’m already opening my mouth, but he is way ahead of me. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he chuckles. We start picking some good looking apples, as the late autumn sun warms my back. ‘Okay Amelia, I see a nice apple, but I can’t reach.’

‘Well, that sucks,’ I say, ‘because of you can’t reach it, I certainly ca— Oh no! Henry, put me down!’ I scream as he wraps his arm around my legs, lifting me up.

‘It’s the one on your right,’ he tells me, but I have closed my eyes shut. ‘Come on, Jung, it’s not that high!’

‘It is!’ I say. ‘You know I’m afraid of heights.’

‘I know you are. Just pick that one apple.’

I manage to open only one eye and quickly grab the one on my right. After I nearly broke the branch while picking it, he carefully puts me down. ‘That wasn’t funny, coach Cavill,’ I tell him, pointing dangerously at him with my pointer finger.

‘Oh look at that,’ he chuckles, ‘the teacher-finger.’

I try not to smile, but I fail. ‘Shut up.’

He bites his bottom lip, only making my heart pound really fast. Is he aware of the effect he has on my heart, especially when he does that? Henry leans in to give me a quick peck on my lips.

Amelia, please, now is not the time to faint.

‘Excuse me,’ I hear a voice behind me say and I cannot believe it’s Trixie again. Of course she is here, to ruin my fantastic date. She accidentally sat in the booth next to me on my second date with Dean, together with her friends. ‘Coach Cavill, I wanted to talk to you about George, is now a good time?’

I want to smack that smug grin of her face. No, now isn’t a good time and any human being with even one braincell could’ve figured that out.

Henry clears his throat, obviously a little caught off guard. ‘Uh, what did you wanted to talk about?’ he asks, as he scratches himself in the back of his neck.

‘His progress.’

Well, I can tell her all about that: her twelve year old is just as bad as he was three years ago. There is no progress with George Yates.

‘I think we should have that conversation a little later,’ Henry says with a professional tone, ‘when we’re at the center for example. I have video material and all. We could have a chat tomorrow, before training.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she says. ‘Amelia, are you having fun?’

‘Mhm, we’re going to make an apple pie at his place,’ I say, holding up the basket. ‘Remember, back in middle school when we were in that pie baking contest and I made one of my famous apple pies. What did you make again?’

Her face grows pale.

‘Oh right, pecan pie, with that very dark crust.’

Trixie is ready to skin me alive and honestly, I can’t really blame her, because I have been in her shoes more than once. For years her words would stab me like knives and now it’s the other way around. I remember when I came back from Korea, the way she gave me a hard time because my band Forever Hope disbanded. I mean, what did she accomplishment in those years? A date with Lucas Yates?

However, back then I just ignored her, but now I can’t. She will do anything to discredit me, but after that last phone call I had with Eve, when Trixie told me how I did not want to host a baby shower and a sweet sixteen at the same time, I felt this newly gained power to not allow her words to get to me.

I came to the realization that Trixie is still stuck in her high school mentality, while I grew up and actually matured. This gossiping and undermining thing was ridiculous back in school, but now… It’s still ridiculous, but also just plain pathetic. And maybe my comments aren’t exactly mature, but this is honestly just a small part of the payback she deserves after all those years of nearly bullying me.

‘Well, Trixie, Henry and I have some baking to do. See you later.’ I grab Henry by his hand and pull him with me. Henry doesn’t say a word on our way back to the truck, but once we’re both seated, he starts to laugh. ‘What?’ I ask.

‘How much underlying anger was in that conversation?’

‘Oh, quite a lot,’ I chuckle. I try not to think about the whole kid thing, because I honestly think it’s too soon for Henry and I to have that discussion. ‘Trixie and I go way back and I just felt this need to tell her off. Sorry.’

‘No need for apologies, remember?’ He places his hand on my leg and gives me a comforting squeeze. ‘Just so you know: I like you seeing you like this.’ He leans over and presses a kiss on my lips. ‘Now let’s go and make that famous apple pie of yours.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Making apple pie with Henry was nearly impossible. For starters, I had to make a checklist of every single thing that needed to be done at his place and spoiler alert: it’s a lot. I don’t want to call this place a dump, but… It kind of resembles one, if I’m being honest. When I finally managed to get myself to the kitchen, he continued to distract me with hugs and kisses. I mean, it’s not the worst thing I could think of (it was quite romantic), but once I’m baking pies, there is just this instant switch and I have a severe case of tunnel vision.

But of course, I managed to pull it off, with shockingly little help of Henry (but he made it all up by being handsome and handing me the stuff I needed). Now we are waiting for the three pies to cool a bit, as we are sitting on the couch. ‘I didn’t get any texts from the kids,’ I say, as I stare at my phone. ‘Or Eve for that matter. Are they okay?’

‘I think you are worrying too much.’

‘I’m not,’ I tell him, but when I look up and see his eyes, I realize I’m lying. ‘Okay, maybe I worry too much. It’s a trait I got only after the divorce. I usually was pretty chilled, very laid back, however when they went to their dad for the first time after the divorce… I was a nervous wreck. I think I finished up an entire bottle of wine and some.’

‘Oh no,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m sorry.’ He wraps an arm around my shoulders and lets out a sigh. ‘But I think it’s a mom’s job to worry.’

‘Yeah, part of the job, indeed.’

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then he breaks the silence by saying: ‘You know, I keep thinking about Benji and that… anger outburst he had the other day.’

‘I know, I know, we’re trying to work on it, but… He just bottles up all of his emotions and then they come out uncontrolled. It’s so uncharacteristic of him, but he has been having them since he was little. I just worry sometimes he might hurt someone.’

‘I understand,’ Henry whispers.

‘But when he was younger, he would also save it when it was just us, when his dad wasn’t around. Probably because I just let him have his rage, before finally stopping when it was about to get out of hand. Dean on the other hand would get really angry. I think he felt and still feels safer to do it when he is with me.’

‘Understandable.’

‘I just worry a lot and that resulted in quite a few grey hairs.’

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘you are doing an excellent job, that I can guarantee. I mean, listen only to my parents and how much of a train wreck they are.’

I chuckle. ‘That’s a wonderful compliment, thanks for that, Henry.’

‘You understand what I mean.’

‘I sure do and… I know I’m doing good, but sometimes I just lack so much in my own opinion.’ I lean towards him, to press a long kiss on his lips. Before he can say anything to that last statement I made, I say: ‘We should get going. Think the pies are ready.’

‘And you desperately want to get back to your children, copy that.’

Henry and I get in his truck, with the slightly steaming pies covered in tea towels so you won’t burn your hands when you hold them. I adore being in a car with him, especially when he places his hand on my thigh. When we arrive home, Henry holds the pies in his hands and when I open the door, I only hear Isabella’s and Benji’s laughs, meaning the other kids went home. I’ll bring the other pie to Eve’s tonight. ‘Hi sweeties,’ I say when I walk into the living room, seeing the two of them on the couch.

‘Mom!’ They jump up and rush towards me and hug me close. ‘How was it?’ Benji asks.

‘It was wonderful,’ Henry says, ‘and you kids are lucky your mom loves you a lot, because otherwise I would’ve eaten all of this all by myself.’

Benji holds out his hands to help Henry out and brings the pies to the kitchen. Isabella jumps up and with one arm he balances her on his hip. ‘You wouldn’t, right?’

‘Oh, I think he would,’ I chuckle.

We walk to the kitchen, where Benji already has four plates prepared. ‘Oh shoot,’ I say to Henry, ‘I left the whipped cream in the car.’

‘I’ll get it, no worries,’ he says with a smile, before turning around, as he grabs his keys from the counter.

When he is out of hearing distance, Isabella pokes my arm. ‘And?’

‘And what?’ I ask her.

‘Did you two kiss again?’

The fact that I’m stammering, is the answer to her question. ‘Why do you care?’ Benji asks his little sister.

‘It’s just so romantic,’ she exclaims and wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her cheek against mine.

Henry walks back in with the whipped cream, tosses it up, before catching it with his other hand. Show off, I think to myself. ‘Who wants some?’ he asks.

‘I do, I do!’ Isabella says.

‘On your nose or on the pie?’ Henry asks with a smile.

‘On the pie,’ she chuckles. ‘You are a pig.’

‘You can’t just call people pigs,’ I say to her, softly squeezing her side.

‘You do it all the time, mom.’

‘Some things need to stay within the Jung family, honey,’ I whisper in her ear. ‘Okay, Isabella, pick a piece.’

We take our plates with the piece of pie and the whipped cream and sit at the table. Benji is seated next to me and when I look to the side, I notice him looking at Henry and how he is treating Isabella. I bump my knee against his and our eyes meet. My sweet boy, I think to myself. He sends me a quick smile and I chuckle.

‘Benji and Isabella, do you mind if I talk to you two about something?’

‘Is it something we did?’ Benji asks, his voice dripping with worry.

I place my hand on his wrist. ‘No, sweetheart, it’s nothing you did.’

Henry shakes his head. ‘It’s just something I need you to know.’

Isabella looks up to the side, as she takes in the broad man next to him. ‘What is it?’

‘Well I want you two to know that… Just because I’m dating your mom, doesn’t mean I’m trying to steal her away from you nor to become your new dad. She is still your mom and you two are her number one priorities.’

My daughter chuckles. ‘Henry, we know all that.’

‘And we are more than happy to share our mom with you,’ Benji tells him.

While Henry is a bit surprised, I am not, because I just knew my kids would react like this. ‘Really?’ He can’t help but smile and that melts my heart.

‘Really,’ my two kids confirm and I smile when I see how happy the three of them are. ‘Is there anything you wish I know or you expect from me?’ He looks over at Isabella, who already opened her mouth. ‘And that does not involve watching television with you passed your bedtime,’ he says, causing her to pout.

‘Just make my mom happy,’ Benji says and if my heart wasn’t completely melted away, it is now.

‘Honey,’ I say, as I wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel he is rolling his eyes. ‘You are too sweet.’

‘Mom, stop,’ he laughs.

‘My boy is such a darling,’ I continue, simply to pester him.

‘Mom!’ Benji says, trying to push me off, but I’m simply too strong for now.

‘I did such a good job raising you,’ I chuckle, as I pepper his cheek with kisses.

‘Mom!’ He starts to laugh and I actually let him go now. ‘Don’t hug me like that again, but I meant what I said. Just make my mom happy and then I’m happy.’

‘I can do that,’ Henry says. ‘I promise.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #coach!henry cavill #henry cavill x amelia jung #amelia jung #henry cavill x asian ofc #asian ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #Coach Cavill

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lunatens · 4 years

Text

felix felicis (iii)

word count: 3.0k

part iii/iv

genre: fluff, harry potter au

pairing: hufflepuff!felix x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: it’s been uhhhhhhhhhhhhh over a year since i last update this whoOPS i am so sorry to keep you all waiting. thank you to everyone who patiently waited, and to everyone who’s new, i hope you like it!! there will be one more part to this series (that i will try my best to write in less than a year lol) (also for obvious reasons w**jin will no longer be a part of this fic)

the day of the gryffindor vs ravenclaw quidditch match has your stomach in knots, not about the game itself (you really couldn’t care less about the results) but about the boy you’re going to be spending the next couple hours with.

“okay y/n, first things first: that tiny ball is the golden snitch, and-”

“felix, i’m not stupid,”

“right, yeah, sorry i’m just uhh..excited is all,’ he says shyly. you watch as the two teams whizz around the pitch, trying to keep track of all the different balls and players as felix rambles on about the rules to you. despite chan, changbin and jisung being your closest friends, you’ve never actually come out to watch them play before, always finding an excuse to stay indoors instead of sitting miserable and alone on an uncomfortable bench in typically less-than-pleasant weather.

“wow y/n, your friends are actually really, really good quidditch players.” felix comments with a look of mild surprise. “too bad they’re not hufflepuffs!”

“actually, at your last game they were telling me they wish you were in gryffindor, so i guess you’re not too bad yourself,” you comment with a small smile, and you have to stifle a laugh as felix’s face turns bright red. you hate to admit it, but felix is really, really cute--especially bundled up in his yellow hat and scarf, his hair sticking out and gently waving in the breeze whenever someone flies by on broomstick.

you watch the game in silence for a moment, still trying to find the appeal for the sport. the game’s been going for a while now, with neither team having found the snitch yet, although gryffindor’s leading in points. jisung zooms around the far end of the pitch, expertly evading the ravenclaw beaters’ attacks and catching the quaffle with a flourish. it doesn’t take long before he’s put the quaffle through one of the ravenclaw goalposts, and the gryffindor crowd roars in excitement. jisung does a lap of the pitch, posing ridiculously and waving to the crowd to get them even more riled up. you hear felix squeal in excitement beside you, and turn to look at him with curiosity.

“that’s just the best feeling ever, flying through the air and just having fun like that. it’s so freeing,” he says with a contented sigh. you furrow your brows and turn back to look at jisung, who’s now rejoined his team as the game continues.

“really? i mean, it doesn’t seem that great. it looks so cold and windy, and what if you fall? yeah, no thanks i’d rather stick to the ground,” you state. it’s not like you want to offend felix or anything, but you just really don’t get the hype about flying.

“what?? you don’t like flying y/n?? but it’s so epic!” felix says in disbelief, and you shake your head in response.

“the only time i’ve ever ridden a broomstick is way back in first year, when we had to learn the basics, and i’ve got no interest in trying again.”

“i’ve never met someone so opposed to flying,”

“well, that’s what happens when you fall off and break your wrist and can’t take proper notes for weeks,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the memory. “see unlike you, i’m not gifted with good luck.”

felix looks at you blankly for a moment, thinking to himself, before a wide grin creeps onto his face.

“no.”

“i haven’t even said anything yet!!”

“ok but i know what you’re thinking and i am NOT riding a broomstick, felix!”

“oh come on y/n, live a little!! it’ll be so much fun! what, are you afraid of heights?” felix asks teasingly. you shoot him a glare in response.

“yes!! besides, i don’t even own a broomstick.”

“yeah i kinda figured, so we can just use mine! i’m sure we’ll both fit, it might be a bit squishy though…” felix trails off in his own thoughts, and you choke on your own spit. you turn to look at the pitch, trying to focus on the game rather than thoughts of being pressed up against felix and holding onto him for dear life, breathing in the scent of h-

“eh, i think it’ll work fine. so it’s settled, after the game i’m taking you for a ride.” felix says definitively, interrupting your thoughts (good timing too, your brain was entering dangerous territory).

“i dunno, felix…. it really doesn’t sound safe, i mean two people on a broomstick? i don’t care how lucky you are, i’m not taking any chances.”

“y/n, i promise nothing bad will happen. we won’t even go that high, and we can take it slow. trust me, it’ll be okay,” felix says, tentatively placing a hand over yours and looking into your eyes. you’re silent for a moment; has felix ever been this sincere in his life? you let out a sigh of defeat.

“i better not regret this.” you mumble, and felix squeals in excitement. your heart flutters a bit when he grabs onto your upper arm enthusiastically

“you won’t, y/n!! it’ll be so much fun, i can’t wait. it’s gonna change your life for the better,” felix says confidently, and although you roll your eyes at him, you can’t help but smile giddily to yourself.

***

the game ends in an overwhelming victory for gryffindor, and you and felix dodge red and gold banners and streamers on your way out of the pitch past ecstatic gryffindors and gloomy ravenclaws. you finally make it out, your stomach filling with dread as you remember what’s happening now.

“i’ll be right back y/n, i’m just gonna go grab my broomstick from the locker room!” felix says excitedly, before rushing off into the depths of the pitch structure. you stand awkwardly by yourself, shoving your hands into your pockets for warmth. your breath escapes your lips in visibles plumes, the air growing colder as the sun begins to sink lower into the sky. one of your professors walks by, reminding you to return to the castle, and you nod, telling them you’re just waiting for a friend. it’s not a complete lie, right? you think to yourself. the adrenaline from not only your upcoming flight, but also breaking the rules again (and for felix, of all people) fills your body with jitters.

as you wait for felix for what seems like forever, your mind starts to wander. watching the game with him today was...surprisingly fun? and my goodness, the way his eyes sparkled or his voice got squeaky when someone made an awesome play was maybe the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. not to mention his freckled cheeks, rosy from the biting cold, or his tiny hands that flailed excitedly when talking about strategies. was chan right after all? do you have feelings for felix? no, that’s absurd. you’re just excited to have made a new friend is all...haha...right?

you don’t get the chance to think more about it before someone pounces on you from behind.

“Y/N!!! YOU CAME!!!!” jisung’s loud voice rings in your ear.

“ew get off me, you’re all sweaty,” you say with a grimace as you shove the excited boy off your shoulders. “but good job guys, you did great! who knew you were actually good at quidditch huh,” you tease, and chan gives you a playful nudge.

“i saw you with a certain hufflepuff boy in the stands,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and you slap him on the arm.

“ok he practically forced me to go, it was the only way to stop his stupid begging and whining,” you argue, and your three gryffindor friends nod their heads in clear disbelief.

“sure y/n, keep telling yourself that.” chan says, giving you a pat on the head which you swat away.

“sorry that took so long, i-” felix’s out-of-breath voice stops mid sentence when he spies you with the other boys. “oh uh, hi,” he says shyly, clearly not expecting their presence. your friends grin knowingly and changbin and jisung start to whisper to each other. chan puts on a friendly smile and greets felix back, reaching out to shake his hand.

“thanks for coming out even though your house wasn’t playing,” he says, and felix seems to warm up to chan a bit.

“i’d never turn down a chance to watch a good quidditch match! you guys are amazing,” he babbles, and you giggle at his enthusiasm, glad to see him and chan connecting.

“you’re not so bad yourself dude. too bad we’ll have to crush you in a few weeks,” chan teases, and all the boys laugh.

“i’m impressed you were able to drag this one out, we’ve been trying to get them to come to our games for years,” changbin groans, gesturing to you. felix shrugs in response.

“i mean it wasn’t too hard, just a small bribe of some chocolate frogs and here we are,” felix says, and you feel three pairs of eyes burning into your soul. you can practically feel the smirks on their faces, and you can already hear the teasing you’ll experience later.

“well anyways, we’re gonna hit up the great hall for some snacks on our way back, you coming? you’re welcome to join us, felix,” jisung invites.

“um actually...felixistakingmeforarideonhisbroomstick,” you splutter out, and you hear jisung make a strange noise of disbelief at what he just heard.

“sorry, what?” chan asks, and the grin on his face tells you he knows exactly what you just said. you let out an annoyed huff and repeat yourself.

“felix is taking me for a ride on his broomstick, and we better get going before it gets too late.” you say in defeat and embarrassment, reaching to grab a confused felix’s hand so you can get away from your friends before they have the chance to say anything about it. jisung opens his mouth to make what you assume is a raunchy joke about riding broomsticks, but a death glare from you shuts him up.

“okay, have fun! but not too much fun,” chan says with a wink before quickly ushering a protesting jisung and changbin back towards the castle. you’re grateful for the falling darkness, because you can feel how bright your cheeks are burning right now.

“i’m so sorry about them,” you apologize, and felix laughs it off.

“they seem fun,” he says, then tugs on your hand gently. “follow me, i know the best place to go where we won’t get caught. trust me, i sneak out all the time with hyunjin and minho and we’ve never seen a soul.” you nod nervously as you follow felix’s lead, praying that you won’t regret this.

after a bit of walking and some light conversation, you arrive at a small clearing near the edge of the lake.

“this is SO against the rules,” you mutter to yourself as you step over some large roots. felix gets to a spot where the sky above is clear (and growing darker by the minute), and there’s lots of room around you. he straddles the broomstick and motions for you to join him. as you make your way behind him, you can’t help but wonder if you're more nervous about flying or about the prolonged close contact with felix. there are so many layers of clothing between us, you tell yourself, it’s fine. you place your arms loosely around felix’s waist, nervous to get any closer.

“we’re gonna start off just hovering, okay? we’ll take it slow, it’ll be alright. you can tell me if you want to stop, but i really think it’ll be fine, trust me,” he says to comfort you, and you nod. felix kicks off the ground, and you gasp as you feel your feet dangling in the air. instinctively, your arms squeeze tightly around felix, and you press yourself as close to him as possible.

“i can feel your heart racing, it’s okay just relax!” felix says with a laugh.

“easy for you to say, you practically live on a broomstick,” you grumble, and you feel felix’s body shake with giggles underneath you.

“i’m gonna take us a bit higher now,” felix says, and you press your face into his back as you feel yourselves rise higher, the air getting colder as you ascend. you feel a gentle breeze tangling your locks, and the broomstick begins to inch forward. you open one eye slightly and let out a small squeak as you see how far the ground is below you. you’re almost above the height of the trees now, and felix is doing slow laps of the clearing.

“see, it’s not too bad, right?” he asks, and you force yourself to open your eyes again. if you don’t look straight down, you have to admit the view is really nice. trees and rolling hills pepper the landscape, and you can see the quidditch pitch and hogwarts a bit farther in the distance. the last rays of sun are reflecting off of the lake, and the twilight sky is beginning to sparkle with the night’s brightest stars.

“yeah, i guess it is pretty nice,” you begrudgingly agree. your knuckles are white as you hold on to felix for dear life, but the more time you spend up here the more you realize how stable he’s keeping the broomstick, and how much he does seem to be taking caution to make sure you’re comfortable. you let out a shaky sigh as you try to relax and take in the scenery as you hover above the trees.

“there’s one more thing we can do, if you’re okay with it,” he says, asking for your trust. you say nothing, simply nodding into his back; you’re afraid if you open your mouth you’ll regret it. as soon as he has your confirmation, the broomstick suddenly bursts forward and you can’t help but let out a piercing shriek.

“FELIX!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!!” you manage to yell over the howling wind. your eyes are tearing up from the cold night air, and your throat feels dry, and you’re convinced your heart’s stopped beating. felix just lets out a joyful laugh in response, yelling back to you “SHOWING YOU THE BEST THING ABOUT FLYING!” before plunging the nose of the stick into a dive towards the ground. he pulls up, of course, and does a few more fancy tricks before slowing down to a more leisurely pace above the treetops.

you sit there in shock for a moment, wide eyed and breathless, trying to take in the wild turn of events.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!! YOU IDIOT WE COULD’VE DIED OR SOMETHING,” you scream in between breaths, still trying to get your heart to stop racing.

“but we didn’t, right? i told you you could trust me!! was that not fun??” he asks, giddy with adrenaline. you choose not to respond, because he’s right--as much as his sudden moves scared the living daylights out of you, you have to admit it felt pretty freeing.

“this is my favourite view,” felix says to change the topic, and you lift your head up to look around. you’re coasting above the lake, the last rays of sun painting the landscape golden. more stars are out now, and the glow of the castle feels truly magical and welcoming. you steal a glance at felix, cheeks nose and ears bright red from the cold but an awestruck look on his face nonetheless. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so peaceful and content, and the feeling spreads to you as you finally relax your grip a little and rest your cheek on felix’s back.

“thank you, felix,” you mumble, feeling surprisingly at ease now.

“sorry, what was that?” he asks and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“i’m not saying it again,” you warn, and he remains silent. part of you wishes you could live in this moment forever, gliding over the mirror-like surface of the water with the warmth of felix to stave away the cold tendrils of night air.

“we should uh, head back. it’s getting pretty late,” he eventually says after a comfortable silence passes. you nod in agreement, and felix takes you back to the quidditch pitch, where he returns his broomstick quickly before coming back to walk with you to the castle. the walk back is mostly silent, with the two of you hiding from professors and prefects a couple times but making it back to the ravenclaw common room unseen. there seems to be some shift in the energy between you now, the silences feeling a bit more awkward than before, but neither of you wants to acknowledge it.

“well, uh, thanks for trusting me. and sorry if i scared you,” felix says with a small laugh as you reach to door to the common room.

“it’s okay, i uh...i actually had a really good time. you’re right, you know, it is a really wonderful feeling being up there.” you admit. you have to stop yourself from adding “with you” to the end of that sentence. “so thank you for everything, lix,” you say and you cringe at the nickname that accidentally escaped your lips. felix tries to hold back a smile but fails miserably, blushing at the nickname.

“goodnight, y/n,” he says after clearing his throat.

“um..goodnight,” you say before going to answer the riddle to enter the common room. as you mutter the answer and begin to enter, you hear felix call after you.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

there’s a long pause.

“uh, nevermind. goodnight!” he says, and before you know it he’s down the stairs and out of sight. confused, you creep up to your dormitory to get ready for bed. your dreams that night are filled with the wind rushing through your hair, beautiful landscapes whizzing past you, and most importantly of all, felix’s joyful laugh ringing in your ears.

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babi-correia · 4 years

Text

What Could Have Been (Part 2)

Words: 1605 Warnings: Flashbacks, nothing too violent A/N: ...I’ve been going at this fic and it’s going to be over 20 parts long... It’s going to be good, I promise! Also, two updates in one day, who am I?!

Part 1

Back in the firehouse, you rush into the showers, eager to scrub away all the remnants and memory of what you saw on the bottom of the river. You allow your mind to wander while you’re under the water, your fingers absentmindedly running through the multiple laceration scars on your right hip. You can remember the incident like it was yesterday.

You’re making small talk with the other marines on your truck when it comes to an abrupt stop, and you hear ruckus coming from the outside.

“C’mon Peacemaker, go out there and settle whatever is going on.” Your CO orders, making you hop off the truck and jog towards the front of the convoy, where several Rangers are yelling in English, Spanish, and Pashto at a small girl standing in the middle of the road.

“Cut it out.” You snarl at the Rangers, moving forward. You see Jay and Mouse up front as you approach on your left. “We’re in the fucking Valley of Death, and I’d appreciate it if we didn’t have to be here any longer than strictly necessary.”

“That girl is blocking the way.” An older Ranger barks, his gun trained on her. You roll your eyes at him, noticing the frightened look on the girl’s face.

“Put that fucking gun down.” You bellow, coming closer to the girl until you feel a hand on your arm. You see Jay on the other side, shaking his head.

“Don’t go any closer. We don’t know what could come of that.” He says, and you nod. You turn to the girl, playing your role as an interpreter.

“What’s your name?” You ask her in Pashto, lowering the bandana around your mouth and raising your hands, showing her you meant no harm. “I’m (Y/N), what about you?”

“They… they said the infidels were going to suffer.” She whimpers, making your eyes go wide.

“Everyone, get back!” You call out, but it’s already too late.

You watch as a missile lands where the girl is standing, throwing you back and making your ears ring. You scramble, screaming when you feel the debris and shrapnel embedded on your right hip and leg. You drag yourself a few inches, looking around at your teammates and seeing complete carnage, crawling towards Jay and Mouse, seeing the latter scramble up-

“Hey, (Y/N), you ok in there?” You hear Kidd’s voice outside the door, snapping you from the trip down memory lane. You thank her mentally, remembering that what came next was not something you liked to relive.

You and Kidd had had some problems in getting along when you first met, but with time and some hangouts, the two of you quickly became good friends. She knew about most of the events from your deployments due to your own drunk blabbermouth, but even when drunk you saved her the most gruesome details, and the part that you knew Jay and Mouse.

“I’m fine, just got a bit distracted!” You call out, shutting off the water and wrapping a towel around yourself as you exit the stall. Your right leg seizes, causing you to curse as a sudden surge of pain floods your hip and shoots in every direction.

“I’m coming in.” She warns, opening the door you thought you had locked and closing it behind her, turning the bolt. “You did lock it; I picked the lock.”

She comes to your side and helps you sit down on the little ledge in the shower, crouching down in front of you.

“I heard about your find today, how are you holding up?” She asks, resting her arms on your knees as you secure the towel around your chest.

“I’m fine. I’ve seen worse.” It wasn’t a complete lie: even though the bodies in the river were a gruesome sight, your deployment had given you plenty worse. “But my leg is acting up again with the damn ghost pain.”

“Let’s get you dressed and then you can rest a bit on the bunks.” She suggests, gathering your clothes and helping you up. “It seems like the rest of the day is going to be slow.”

“Don’t jinx it, I need that desperately right now.” You mutter, putting on your underwear before taking a little pause. You can see your reflection on the mirrors from the corner of your eye, your skin littered with scars, both small and big, faded and evident, shallow and deep, all reminders of a time in your life that you wish you could erase from existence.

“What’s going on, (Y/N)?” Stella asks, her hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. You give her a sad smile, putting on your shirt.

“Saw some people I wasn’t expecting to see today, and it brought back memories.” You mutter, grabbing the pants from Stella’s hands and putting them on with her help.

“Someone I know?” She asks, raising a brow. You sigh, sitting back on the ledge as you put on your socks and boots.

“Yes.” You say defeatedly, making her look at you curiously.

“Who??”

“…Jay Halstead.”

“What do you mean, ‘Jay Halstead’? How do you know him?”

“You remember the convoy ordeal?” You ask, seeing her nod before continuing. “Well, his team was there with mine. We both got blown up.”

“Holy shit, I had no idea.” She mutters, her eyes wide in shock. “How long ago as that?”

“Very long ago. He looked right at Squad table and greeted Severide, didn’t even recognize me.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him?”

“Well, it’s more complicated than that.” You say, finishing the bow on your boot’s laces before getting up, moving to the mirrors to comb your hair. “We were very good friends during a very tough time for the two of us, and as you can see, recognition brings back not so pleasant memories.”

You put your hair in a sleek bun at the nape of your neck before grabbing your dirty clothes and limping towards the laundry room.

“But still… Maybe he could help you see some good in reminiscing the times with him.” She suggests, watching as you load your used clothes into the washer. You shake your head.

“Stella… Trust me, it’s better like this. It’s better only one of us suffers.” You say softly, pressing the buttons and prompting the machine to start its cycle.

“Ladies, excuse me.” Severide interrupts, stopping at the entrance. “(Y/L/N), Boden is asking for you at his office.”

You frown as you follow Severide, trying your best to mask the limp on your leg but failing miserably.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” Severide asks, slowing down. You shake your head, slapping your right hand down on your hip.

“Old pains tend to flare up some times.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. He seems to accept the answer, nodding before he stops you in the hallway, mere steps away from Boden’s office.

“Fair warning, Voight and Halstead are inside.” Severide says, watching as you clench your jaw and take a deep breath. “It’s probably something about the bodies in the river.”

You nod, trying to relax and stop your heart from beating franticly against your ribs, the anxiety of it all leaving you a little light-headed. You enter the office after Severide, closing the door behind you before joining the small group on the opposite side from Jay.

“(Y/N), Sergeant Voight asked me if he could speak to you in person about the last call.” Chief Boden says, crossing his arms in front of him. Voight reaches his hand out to shake yours, and you give in.

“Sergeant Hank Voight.” He introduces. You give him a firm handshake, noticing Jay extending his hand as you let go of Voight’s. You quickly grasp his hand, trying to hide the shaking.

“Detective Jay Halstead.” He says, shaking your hand, and your mind gives you flashes from your deployment: from the actual first time the two of you met, from the times where hand holding between the two of you meant comfort and understanding instead of just formal pleasantries-

You force yourself to snap out of it, forcing a smile as your chest tightens.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You introduce yourself to the two men, watching the slight puzzlement taking over Jay’s face for a few moments before he shakes his head. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“We just wanted to let you know that you singlehandedly gave closure to the families of the 5 victims we recovered from the river today. You have our appreciation.” Voight says, nodding his head in a small sign of respect.

“If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else, you have nothing to thank me for.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You feel Severide’s gaze on you as you try to level your breathing, the uneasy feeling in your chest only growing.

Voight’s phone rings and he answers, listening for a bit before disconnecting the call and nodding at Jay. The two men quickly shake hands with the three firefighters in the room before excusing themselves.

“We caught a break on the current case, we have to go.” Voight declares as he and Jay leave the office. Boden nods at you when you look at him, a silent permission to leave, and you just about run out of the office and through the kitchen’s access to the outside, slumping against the wall as the snow comes down around you.

Seconds later, Stella comes out of the same door you did and wraps you in a hug, sliding down the wall with you as you burst into tears.

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ruewrites · 3 years

Text

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 1: Making Deals with the Devil

AO3

Ship: ???

Word Count: 3012

Warnings: None

A/N: Welcome to the start of my next chapter fic! I’m not sure if I’ll be able to update this one as regularly, but I’ll try! I hope you guys enjoy it! (I’ll also still try to post stuff in between chapter updates!)

Solomon’s fingers tapped along the desk of the meeting room rhythmically. The sound bounced off the walls filling the lonely void that surrounded him. He was known as a powerful man, a womanizer, and clever. He wasn’t exactly sure what part of his reputation had earned him the title of womanizer, but he happily accepted the other two titles. It wasn’t a surprise that many sought him out for advice, aid, and offers of betrothal. Many times he would cast the latter to the side, the kingdoms often had nothing to offer that he was interested in, he was a powerful king with ambitious goals. He couldn’t risk any small amount of set back.

It wasn’t like he thought much about marriage. No. To him it had always been presented as a contract, something both parties gained something out of. His parents had made that example clear to him growing up right to the point where he had taken the throne. It didn’t bother him all too much, the idea that he himself never would experience love, he learned to accept that long ago. It was just the way things were.

People thought Solomon had been too young to be a king when he took the throne, too inexperienced, but he quickly proved them wrong. They doubted him. He worked hard to gain their favor and their trust, and to show them that he was not one to be made a fool of.

And he wasn’t about to lose his reputation.

When the king of Arcadia approached him with an offer, Solomon’s interest had been piqued. Arcadia was a powerful kingdom, no, a powerful empire. An offer from them could certainly be beneficial to Solomon. The more the clock ticked by, the more anxious he became.

The door opening brought a flood of relief with it, and Solomon stood to greet his guests. Three figures entered the room, accompanied by two of his guards: The broad shouldered king, his eldest son the pride of Arcadia, and a smaller daintier figure. It wasn’t polite to ogle at his potential bride, but Solomon did have a quick glance. There would be a more appropriate time for looking if this was meant to be. He bowed slightly towards the group as the doors shut behind them.

“You’re majesty,” he smiled, “I can’t begin to express how happy I am to have you in my home, please, make yourselves comfortable.”

The King of Arcadia nodded and took his seat, and Lucifer quickly pulled out the chair for his sister to sit before taking his own seat.

Solomon clapped and servants flooded the room carrying trays and pitchers and setting them down on the table. “Your trip must have been long, I decided to have some things prepared for your arrival. If there is anything else you need don’t hesitate to ask.”

His eyes drifted back over to the king’s bargaining chip. The first thing he noticed was her bright orange eyes. They reminded him of a sunset disappearing behind the mountains. He liked the way they followed movement around the room. They were so full of curiosity and wonder. Pretty.

The more he stared, the more he became intrigued. Thoughts were stirring behind that pretty face, thoughts that went deeper than what was surrounding them. He wanted to go deep within her mind and poke and prod until he found answers. Surely there was something there, something that would interest him.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” the king smiled leaning back in his chair, “I must confess, I wasn’t expecting a country this successful to be run by such a young man.”

“Oh please, you flatter me!”

“A man like you would certainly make a fine addition to the family,” he mused, “Allow me to introduce my children. Lucifer, my eldest, and my only daughter, Lilith. I have seven children, six boys and one girl. Each one is an heir to a sector of the Empire, and Lucifer is the head.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, especially you Lilith,” he flashed a smile in her direction and held out his hand. Lucifer remained stoic and watched Solomon with calculating eyes. Honestly it didn’t seem too out of place for the heir to an empire. What did strike Solomon as odd was the way the Arcadian King reacted. He nudged Lilith forward, jolting her into offering her hand for him.

Soft.

Whatever lotions they used in Arcadia smelled absolutely divine. Slowly he brought the hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

“I- ah- It’s a pleasure to meet you too, your majesty.”

“Please, call me Solomon dear one. May I say you have a lovely voice. Are you a singer?”

Oh the giggle that came from her was pleasant. He could do this. This would work for him.

“I am actually, sometimes I sing for the court.”

“Perhaps you could sing for me sometime then? I’d love to hear your voice.”

He’d never been one for small talk, but in this case he could make an exception. Even if he didn’t believe a world in which marrying for love was a possibility, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be kind to her. It would also be a terrible thing for the family to change their mind and recede their offer.

“Maybe today? I could take you outside, and we could have a private walk together,” he offered, giving her hand a light squeeze. Perhaps he could poke and prod and learn a few more personal things about Arcadia, “It wouldn’t be long, just a short little trip on my grounds.”

Lucifer coughed and brought in Solomon’s attention, “With all due respect, I believe Father had some things he’d like to discuss with you. That and I’m not sure I’m personally comfortable with leaving you alone with- with Lilith.”

He said her name oddly, as if it caught in his throat.

“I mean no disrespect-”

“Of course not! My apologies, I got carried away. It’s not everyday you get to see such beauty.”

Oh such a lovely laugh. Solomon was enjoying the noises leaving his future bride’s lips.

He couldn’t let himself get carried away though. Yes, she seemed to be a beauty and yes Solomon wanted his share of Arcadia, but he had to be sure that this deal would be beneficial to him. Ambition and future goals wouldn’t allow him to be skimmed of what he wanted. He knew he was quick with his witt, and he would certainly be using that now.

Holding up his cup, a servant quickly came by and filled it, “I suppose we should get down to business then, no? That was the reason for your trip. Please enjoy yourselves while we discuss.”

The King of Arcadia was a rather boisterous man especially when compared to his children. He honestly seemed more than eager to have Solomon on his side, especially when his reputation preceded him. It certainly made it easier for Solomon when it came to worming in his own wants.

His eyes wandered over to Lilith every now and again. He wanted to see if he could catch a space to start conversation with her. But the king and his son were quicker in stealing discussion away, and she seemed to have something constantly pressed to her mouth. A silver chalice always seemed to beat him to her lips.

Interesting.

Well, he’d get to speak with her sooner or later. He wouldn’t let it bother him all too much. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He was going to go down as one of the Great Kings of history. All he had to do was secure his place in this moment and his future would be sealed.

They talked well past the point where the sun set into the sky. Solomon offered the family a place to stay within the palace. After all, it was dangerous to travel at dark with all of the thieves and other such beasties of the night.

“I think I’ve heard everything I need to hear,” The King said, standing from his seat, “I’d be thrilled to have you rule part of Arcadia with Lilith, and your kingdom will make a fine addition. Until we consider you family, consider yourself a valued friend and ally.”

Those words kept running through Solomon’s head, and his chest would be puffed up with pride for months to come. Sleep seemed impossible. He couldn’t stop himself from tossing and turning all night long, but he didn’t even notice his lack of sleep the following morning. As he wandered the halls preparing himself to check on his guests, he noticed someone.

The princess seemed to be wandering the halls. Her movements were hesitant and unsure, and she hadn’t seen Solomon yet.

“My my, what are you doing up so early dear?” ‘

Solomon couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from his throat as she jumped. He came closer, his hand curled around something.

“Oh my lord!”

“Please, call me Solomon.”

“Oh, Solomon. I was just looking around, and I-”

Solomon moved closer. He didn’t want to corner her or scare her, but he did want to get closer to his fiance. His free hand came up and made contact with her cheek. She was frozen, mouth open ever so slightly. Her cheeks were just as soft as her hands. His thumb slowly moved up and down.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking for any sort of reaction. Even if this wasn’t love, he could still be a decent husband towards her. There was no reason for him to be an ass.

“This is fine, yes.”

She still seemed so nervous.

Well, they didn’t know each other, and Solomon did have a rather intimidating reputation. He wasn’t offended, he just wanted her to be comfortable. After a moment he removed his hand from her face and slowly brought up his other hand.

“I brought you a present, I was going through my treasury last night after we retired, consider it an early engagement present.”

Slowly he opened his hand. A small pendant stared back up at Lilith, gold shimmering in the early daylight. A golden scorpion wrapped around a ruby heart. His fiance’s eyes widened and a small noise escaped her.

“May I?” Solomon asked, nodding towards her chest.

“Oh, of course.”

With careful hands, Solomon started fixing the pendant to her chest. “Scorpions are dangerous, yet some species are also incredibly beautiful. Only fools choose to underestimate them. I believe my future wife is just as beautiful as she is dangerous,” he said, he met her eyes as he removed his hands once more, “Pay anyone back tenfold whoever dares to underestimate you.”

It was another lesson Solomon learned long ago. Anyone who dared to demean him was quickly reminded of who he was. People can never be allowed to walk all over you. They can’t be allowed to step on you. Sometimes you have to force yourself to be strong

The blush that bloomed across her pale cheeks made him smile.

Arcadia and a lovely bride, he really lucked out. Good things come to those who wait, and Solomon had waited for an opportunity like this for so long. His waiting paid off. Solomon wasn’t just going to be a good king, he was going to be a historic king.

“Thank you,” Lilith said. The way she smiled at him- Words couldn’t begin to describe it. It made his voice catch in his throat and his heart stutter deep in his chest. It wasn’t love, no, it couldn’t be. Perhaps an infatuation or the early beginnings of something else. What that something was he couldn’t say.

All he knew was that the word ‘beauty’ couldn’t begin to describe her. She was something beyond radiant, beyond lovely with the way she looked at him. She leaned in and pecked at his cheek and Solomon felt the tips of his ears burn. There was a tension between them, he could feel her wanting, craving. Resistance felt like a knife inches above a taut rope. He was about to say more when they were interrupted.

“What are you doing?”

The crowned prince was walking down the hallway quickly towards his sibling, and he seemed displeased.

“Luci I-”

“You were supposed to stay in your room until Father came to collect us. You shouldn’t be out here alone. A- Lilith. You know what Father told us.”

Solomon stepped in, “I didn’t mean to keep her out. I just couldn't resist giving her a gift before you all left. After all, it will be a while before I can see my bride again.”

“I just wanted to kiss him! Just once… On the cheek.”

Solomon had to stop himself from laughing at the tone in her voice. It was impatient and yearning.

Lucifer hesitated before looking over to Lilith. The two of them seemed to be having a silent conversation. “Father was… Worried you might not like her. He believes that she has a habit of talking out of turn or just too much in general.”

“How could I not find her lovely? She’s like a blushing rose. And I prefer a partner who can speak for themselves. I think it would be boring to have someone who wouldn’t be able to have a conversation with me,” Solomon frowned. He shouldn’t be surprised this king thought this way. Many rulers did, especially when it came to arranging marriages. Perhaps he was the odd one out when it came to kings. Hopefully things could be different once he came to Arcadia. “It’s a shame your father would want to control someone he considers so spirited.”

The siblings hesitated for a moment more.

“I suppose we don’t have to tell Father, I must admit, I didn’t agree with his decision in the first place,” Lucifer said, “If this stays between us, we should be alright.”

Lilith nodded in agreement, “What Father doesn’t know won’t hurt him...:”

“Then I see no issue with our little alliance,” Solomon said, reaching up to fix the silk once more, “This will be our little secret.” Although, now Solomon had a little flicker of information about the family, one that could possibly be useful to him.

Lucifer eyes flickered with distrust.

Lilith’s eyes sparkled.

“I suppose in this moment, it would be in our best interest,” Lucifer said, of course it wasn’t hard to tell that he was more concerned with his sibling and himself rather than Solomon. Solomon knew that in this situation, he had control. What better of an opportunity to present himself as a gracious man? And one who could keep secrets nonetheless.

“Well, let’s get you back to your room before father wakes up, I wouldn’t want him getting angry with you,” Lucifer said, leading her back down the hall. Solomon couldn’t help but watch as they left.

This was an adventure waiting to be travelled. If his wife was anything like what Lucifer had hinted at, he could count himself excited for this union. It would be a bonus accompanying an even bigger prize.

Parting was always sweet sorrow, or that’s how the saying went anyways. Their father hadn’t been any wiser to their impromptu meeting in the hall. Capturing Lilith’s hand, Solomon stopped her from entering the carriage. He pressed another kiss against her soft skin, “Until we meet again.”

Her smile graced him one last time before the door shut, and her eyes followed him until he could see her no more.

Turning on his heels, he reentered the lonely corridors of the castle. The echoes of his footsteps resounded off of cold stone walls. For the briefest of moments, they’d felt warm, but now even the torchlight barely brought heat to his bones. Reentering his chambers, he plucked a silver medal encasing a heart cut from lapiz on his bureau. He held it close in the silence and closed his eyes.

A flutter of warmth set through. It wasn’t as strong as he thought it would be. There seemed to be an overlying fear surrounding it, but it was struggling to stay afloat, a soft light surrounded by darkness.

Perhaps it had been his fault. He’d come on a little too strong and cornered the poor thing. But he’d make it up to her. They’d have time to get used to each other.

People often spread rumors of him dabbling in magic. Not that he cared, it was true. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to his bride. He was sure that was another piece that had led the king to seek him out. He’d heard rumors himself about how Arcadia held old magic within it’s land, powerful magic, and Solomon couldn’t wait to tap into it.

There was so much to learn.

So much to discover.

So much potential to bring forth,

And it was all so close within his grasp.

Could she feel him too? Or was she oblivious to the magic surrounding her?

He brought the pendant closer to his face and inhaled. Hints of sweet perfume from Arcadia wafted through.

Without a second thought he pinned it to his chest. There wasn’t any harm in seeing how Lilith’s days were going. Perhaps it would help him relate to her more and make her more comfortable to be around him. If he was the cause of her anxieties he needed to mediate that. The most effective bonds were built out of trust. He needed her to trust him to reach his full potential. He could worry about winning her family over later.

Part of him missed her presence and her wonderful smile. For now, he’d settle being close to her in a particularly distant sense of the word.

He honestly couldn’t believe his luck on his end of the bargain. Oh how he hoped time would fly swiftly.

“The next time I see you, I’ll get to hear you sing for me in Arcadia,” he smiled, fingers brushing ever so lightly against the heart.

#obey me #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #solodeus #asmosolo #soloasmo #asmodeus x solomon #ruewrites #slow burn #arranged marriage!au #royalty!au #tabol

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (No TW this chapter, but keep in mind the grander story involves major character injury)

Words: 6.7K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Chapter Summary: Aftermath.

This is officially the longest complete SU fic I’ve finished. I’m so proud ;w;

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

_____

Chapter 4: The Remembrance

His mind is shrouded by darkness for long enough that in the split instant the curtains finally part, for just a momentary shard of infinity, the mere idea of any world beyond the pitch-black he’s become so accustomed to seems like a farce.

Resultantly, his journey to consciousness is about as labored and exhausting as a backpacking trip across the Great North in the dead of winter.

He’s greeted by flashes of white, first— intermittent, dim. They splash across his inky sky in unreliable patterns, little bursts of static gearing up to pull him out of this all-consuming nothingness and back to reality. Next, a heartbeat. Steady and sure, such a relief to experience that his throat can’t help but constrict in a wave of all-encompassing emotion. (Why is he so relieved to feel something this normal?) Lying somewhere intangibly beyond his awareness, he can hear... water? Waves, he immediately corrects himself. The aching familiarity of waves crashing upon the shore, a sound he’s shared his front yard with for almost his whole life. Elsewhere, the faint scent of herbs and simmering broth delicately pulls on his consciousness, burning through tangled threads of disorientation and confusion and beckoning him awake.

Steven’s eyelids flutter open, thin lines of light streaming through the gaps between his eyelashes.

The moment he does however, the stark actuality of his situation slams into him with a vengeance. His head throbs as memories begin to re-establish themselves like individual puzzle pieces locking into place.

I was— Dad, and Amethyst... the fountain... empty, and then Pearl had to....

His heart’s pace snaps into overdrive in seconds. Thrashing under his blankets, he manages to kick his arms and torso free so he can rush to sit up. Dizziness assails him as he yanks up the bottom of his pajamas and splays his hand across the smooth, warm surface of that diamond at his core, feeling for cracks, for chips, for—

Huh. Imagine that.

Steven inhales deep as he attempts to balance out the pace of his breath, blood still pounding in his ears as he delicately traces a shaking index finger around the edge of the central pentagonal facet of his gem, entirely unblemished and whole. There’s no sign of damage, no thin stress fractures left behind. No evidence that it was ever cracked at all, really. For an excruciatingly lengthy moment his brow creases inwards in confusion as he wonders if all this agony was nothing but a stress-induced nightmare. But then again...

He groans, pressing his fingers to one of his throbbing temples as the ambient pain hits him.

Oh stars, everything aches. His head, his limbs, his spine, every square inch of his body feels like he’s been pressed through a meat grinder and ruthlessly spat out on the other side. If that’s not proof that what happened on his mission with Amethyst was real, then he doesn’t know what is. Drowsily, he flops back against his pillow and squeezes his eyelids shut, stubbornly yearning for the comfort and familiarity of sleep-induced unconsciousness. Maybe, just maybe... he can sleep these aches away.

Time passes far too unreliably as he’s laying motionless there, struggling against a hyperactive flood of thoughts to return to his earlier state of rest. Has he been awake for a minute? Half an hour? He has no idea. The only concrete thing he can glean is that he definitely has a headache right now. Maybe even a migraine. He’s still not sure what the difference between those is supposed to be. Is it a ‘squares are rectangles, but rectangles aren’t squares’ sort of scenario? Or are they synonyms? Hmm. Maybe he should ask Dad, he’d probably know. In fact, where is Dad? And how’d he end up in bed in his pajamas, anyways?

He’s honestly relieved when he hears the unmistakable sound of Pearl’s light, precise footsteps climbing the stairs to his room, if only that it gives him a solid excuse to face reality and stop deluding himself with the tragic, unobtainable lie that is peaceful slumber. He lets his eyes flutter open again.

“Hi, Pearl,” he mumbles when she reaches the top step.

She’s carrying a small dinner tray with a steaming bowl of something delicious smelling (the broth he recognized earlier?) and a glass of water perched atop. Meeting his half-alert gaze, her expression lights up with a glow of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” she says, a great deal of the stress locked in her shoulders melting away as she crosses the room towards his bedside. “I was just about to wake you myself, if you weren’t already.”

Rubbing away the exhaustion crusted at the corners of his eyes with the joint at the base of his thumb, he watches as Pearl carefully places the tray on the nightstand at his right. With a groan, he bows upwards under his covers, the vertebrae in his back popping and sighing all the while as he stretches. Goodness, he’s not sure his spine has ever felt so stiff and tight. Remind him to never accidentally get hurled against a tree in combat again.

“How... how long was I out?” he asks then, the workaholic part of him already fearing her answer.

Pearl glances towards the ceiling, her brow creasing as she makes the calculation in her head.

“Hmm, I think... around seven hours?“

“What??” he cries, shooting upright in bed with the speed of a spring trap. “Seven hours?! That’s like, the whole day! I had plans!”

She frowns pensively, gesturing widely with her hands as she replies. “Steven, you were cracked and needed time to recover. A hit like that is bound to take a serious toll on any body, hard-light or not.”

His features morphing into a scowl, he slouches back against the wall. That’s a fair point, how disruptive cracks can be for full-Gems as well. It’s not just a matter of Pearl babying him. Even though they healed Amethyst’s fracture fairly quickly, years back, it still took her a few days of rest before she rose to the top of her game again. And as much as he’d love to deny it, right now his whole body honestly feels like it’s been hit head on by a truck at sixty miles per hour. It’s a dull but constant brand of pain he can’t claim he’s ever dealt with before all this mess. That month he shot up almost a foot in height back when he was 14 came close, but even that period of ache was more subtle than this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says with a heavy sigh, threading his fingers together in his lap.

“Anyways,” she says gently, the reminder of her presence cutting through some of the layers of his pain-induced melancholy, “it’s 5:38 now, just in time for dinner! And I took the liberty of cooking a batch of your favorite soup.”

Unable to help himself, his inner child gasps in sheer joy. He sits up again, slamming his palms to his cheeks as he gushes with excitement. “Chicken and vegetable soup with the tiny star noodles??”

Any lingering crankiness about the percentage of the day wasted dissipates into a fine mist as Pearl picks the tray off the nightstand and passes it into his lap, confirming the identity of his homemade dinner. As he begins to eat— carefully, taking small spoonfuls at first to ensure that his stomach can handle it— his guardian sits at the edge of his bed and provides him updates on the rest of the family’s whereabouts. Apparently Garnet’s still halfway across the galaxy, but should be returning home tomorrow the moment she’s through with her mission. She sends her love, Pearl says. She also texted Connie to let her know what happened, and his friend plans to come over as soon as she can in the morning to spend time with him as he recovers. Meanwhile, Greg left a few minutes before he woke up to hit the store. He’s picking up some new food for the both of them, and intends to sleep downstairs on the couch the next few nights to keep tabs on him.

“He’s been really worried about you,” she admits, reaching out for his hand as if she too frets he might suddenly fade into the ether if she takes her eyes off him for one moment. “Before I told him to step out of the house for some mental rejuvenation, he never left your side.”

Steven responds to her tactile affection with a soft squeeze for her benefit, but quickly lets go to continue eating his soup.

“Well,” he says through a fresh spoonful of food, “‘m fine now, so...” Pause to swallow, the bump of his larynx bobbing in his throat. “So there’s no need to worry anymore.”

“Oh, if only it were that easy,” she comments, a melancholy smile framing her face.

With a sigh, she stands to her feet, smoothing out the edge of the covers where she once sat. Watching this small act, he suddenly wonders if her vast history with deeply troubling experiences like what she had to witness this morning are why she’s so emotionally drawn to tasks such as tidying and repairing; after all, these do allow her space to exert a small degree of control over areas of her life she might otherwise harbor concern or anxiety towards. Huh. He presses his lips into a tight line as he willfully contemplates this concept. Considering his earlier disappointment about how much daylight he’s wasted, (so many business and socialization meetings he’s missing in town today!), perhaps he inherited a portion of his own workaholic tendencies from emulating her throughout his childhood. He dares not follow this rabbit any further, however... dares not ask what he’s distracting himself from.

Another time, Universe.

Brimming with a renewed sense of purpose, Pearl crosses towards the narrow patio outside the open slider door, her features returning to their neutral, observant state.

“In any case,” she continues as she rests her palm flat against the glass, “please do enjoy the rest of your meal! I’m going to fetch Amethyst from the observatory. She’s been, um... how to say... on Diamond pacifying duty these past few hours, and I’m sure she‘s desperate for a break.”

He offers a sharp grimace in response to this sentiment, knowing from almost two years of firsthand experience that patiently keeping watch over those Gem monarchs is no easy task. “Youch, my condolences. Feel free to send her in, I’d love to see her.”

Pearl nods in confirmation, and then slips out the doorway towards the observatory’s ramp.

He enjoys what little is left of his soup as he waits. Thankfully, his system shows no signs of unrest, which allows him to finish the whole bowl. Good thing, too. He unfortunately recalls losing his breakfast earlier this morning amidst the blunt force of that spiked tail to his stomach, which means he’s had little to no food in him all day. Now, he’s no medical expert, (Connie would likely know the answer thanks to her mom, though), but surely that can’t be good for recovery.

Amidst his better wishes, his thoughts turn to all the social meetings and appointments he’d planned for today. He can’t imagine Pearl knew his itinerary well enough to contact each and every person he’d unintentionally blown off, so that means from all of their perspectives they waited and waited and he simply... never showed up. Like Mayor Nanefua. He was supposed to discuss logistics about Little Homeschool’s eventual opening with her at town hall immediately after the corrupted Gem mission. Peridot. He agreed to meet with her at one of the ancient drop ship sites to assist in de-arming it for safety purposes. Lars. Before all this happened, he was genuinely looking forward to hanging out with Lars and the rest of his Gem gang this afternoon. And because he was reckless and got himself cracked on what should’ve been the most straightforward mission of all time, he let them all down. He groans, slumping backwards until his head clunks against the wall. Ughhh. Stupid, stupid Steven. Now, where on earth’s his phone? He should probably start to clear up this mess.

Steven places his empty bowl on the tray on his nightstand, and begins dutifully searching the tabletop. Before his search can bear any fruit, however, Amethyst bursts into the room, toting one of the handheld diamond communication lines they store in the observatory. (Blessedly, this one comes without self-destruct functionality. Times have sure changed since the daring days when Peridot emphatically called Yellow Diamond a clod.)

“Hey, little man!” she chimes when they meet each other’s glance, her relieved smile admittedly rather infectious. “It’s great to see ya’ up and at ‘em again.”

He offers a bashful laugh, twirling his finger around a short curl at the nape of his neck. “Y-yeah, I’m—“

“Yo, what’s this here, though?” she interjects, bee-lining to his nightstand to stick her nose in his dinner tray. Her face falls the moment she sees inside the bowl, which he’s dutifully scraped empty. “Dude, come on, you didn’t leave any for me?”

“What? Nooo,” he says in mock protest, his voice wavering in laughter. “I already ate it.”

Amethysts reaches forward and gives him a solid noogie, ruffling his hair until its ends are all mussed. Even though his head still hurts he can’t help but giggle, playfully batting her arms away. Hah, typical quartz sibling affection. Gotta love it.

“Nah, I’m just goofin’!” she grins. “You’ve lost enough food today on the forest floor, so I wouldn’t be stealin’ any even if I could.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” he comments with an eye roll, lips pursed as he tries not to muse too hard about the uncomfortable burning sensation associated with that abhorrent experience, least he vomit all over again.

Meanwhile, Amethyst’s high spirits finally hit their crest and begin to break like the distant din of white water waves offshore as she nervously tussles with the crystal octahedron clasped in her palm.

“But, ah... ignoring all that, Blue D said she wanted to talk to you?”

She presses the diamond line into his possession with fettered urgency, the posture of her hands vocalizing an unspoken, underlying message of “oh stars, I’m going insane babysitting these ancient Gem monarchs, please take this from me NOW.” Or at least, that’s what he gleans from it. To be fair, his months of near-constant interaction with them may make him a little biased on the subject.

“Probably best not to keep her waiting. We can catch up later,” she says, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.

And with that she hurtles down the stairs into the main living area, ditching him within this empty room with the equivalent of an intergalactic phone that dials direct to who he can only describe as his honorary Gem grandparents. Sure, so maybe most Gems don’t have “children” in the same manner humans do, and maybe the Diamonds themselves have no clear understanding of the classification of human familial relationships, (despite their somewhat touching attempts at learning a few details about Earth culture for his sake), but the quasi-parental role they played in his mother’s life is undeniable from his perspective. So is their “out-of-touch” nature, a common stereotype he sees played up for drama with fictional grandparents on TV shows all the time. He’s not sure how he feels yet that this stereotype rings so true with his own.

Regardless, if Blue wants to talk, then there’s no time like the present. As much as he dreads it, this conversation is bound to happen eventually, of course— and after all their concern, the diamonds more than deserve an update on his well-being. Steven swallows hard, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the crystal as he summons the courage to dial, desperately attempting to not let the sour notes of their last interaction tint the underlying sentiment of this one before it can even begin.

Eventually, he sucks in a deep breath and activates the communicator. The octahedron glows a soft blue, and after a few seconds’ time during which the signal is crossing to the far edge of the galaxy, projects a view screen above its upper point.

The image is fuzzy at first, but sharpens fast once Blue connects from her end. She immediately smiles as she looks upon him, elated emotion running so deep within her that for once, it even manages to reach her eyes.

“Steven! I’m so glad to see that you’re okay,” she begins in full earnesty, clasping her hands together in front of her gem.

He doesn’t respond at first, finding himself too distracted by the scenery, and by the radical juxtaposition of Blue’s current demeanor to her behavior last night. Given the glimpse of White’s empty throne behind her shoulder, he’s pretty sure she’s sitting alone in the ballroom, the sight of which can’t help but stir up unwanted memories of the brief argument they had right before he rushed off to visit home, b-because... oh stars, he was right there, standing right in her presence when she reflexively forced her tears on him.

She wanted to throw him a massive planet-wide ball honoring his sixteenth birthday, wanted to organize a whole coalition of Gems to set up the venues, the entertainment, the food, everything— and when he finally managed to squeeze a word in edgewise between all her unfettered excitement to inform her that he wished to spend his birthday celebrating with his family on Earth instead, she was inconsolable. Crying. Raising her voice. Blaming him of running away from her just like Pink did all those years ago. In the heat of the moment he believed he was simply standing up for himself and his preferences, but fast forward to the present and he can’t help but question the etiquette of his own response more and more as the cruel minutes tick onward. Did he do the right thing, or did he only cause her undue emotional harm? Will Blue Diamond accept his stance moving forward, or will she press the topic again? (After all, he knows her desire to tether him to Homeworld for his birthday is merely a symptom of her greater longing for him to live in the palace with them permanently.) And if she does, is he even allowed to express his opinions when he’s outright walking a tightrope every day he’s in the public eye, single-handedly balancing Gemkind’s delicate political situation in both hands as he slowly but surely advances towards the light on the other side? He must be careful. One wrong move, and everything he’s been working towards for the past year could topple, could cause a disastrous vacuum.

No matter the personal cost, isn’t it his duty as savior of the galaxy to ensure that doesn’t happen?

Gems are depending on him.

And as much as he wants to be selfish and dig his heels into the ground to ensure his own comfort for once in his life, he’s not sure that’s even an option anymore.

Steven grips onto the edge of his bedspread with his free hand, clamping his fingers in tight, reveling in the sensation of skin shifting against downy fabric. It’s just enough to tether him back to the present. To ensure he doesn’t lose himself in the riptides of bitter memory. But by the time his scattered awareness clues in on the fact that he’s probably remained silent for an overly awkward period of time, it’s much too late, and in due consequence, he mentally returns to the scene to find that Blue has kept on talking with or without his conscious attention.

Hah. Serves him right, honestly.

“—was just explaining the details of the disastrous mission you embarked on today,” she says, making small gestures in embellishment of her soft-spoken words, “when your Pearl entered to announce you were awake. I’ll let the others know as soon as I can.”

He swallows, his throat hopelessly dry, as dry as the fine granules of sand scattered across the upper shore on an intensely hot summer’s day.

“I, um—“ he manages, voice wavering. (And quite honestly, feeling stupid for it, in her presence. How many months has he spent perfecting his technique for confidently speaking with the diamonds, again?) He adjusts his hold on the octahedral crystal as he vies to regain some sense of inner balance for the rest of this conversation. “So Yellow and White know too, then?”

Blue leans upon one of the armrests of her throne, releasing a weary sigh. It’s only then that he begins to take note of the residual anxiety blanketed across her form— the almost bruise-like shadows under her eyes appearing deeper than usual, her normally flawless hair now frizzy and unkempt— and if he’s honest, he struggles to understand how he truly feels, knowing that the news of his injury could affect her in such a soul-striking manner. (He often wonders if it’s fair of him, interacting with them in such a detached business-like fashion when, despite their intermittent shortcomings and confusions, they’ve offered him nothing but love and adoration in return since the beginning of era 3.)

“Oh, they were the first to know. Yellow answered the initial call, and White, she was hosting a court session with some of the fusion Gems just next door. I—“ She presses the pad of her thumb to the center facet of her gemstone, pausing in her words a moment to take a sharp inhale. “I only learnt about what nearly happened to you a fragment of a rotation ago, upon my return to the palace.”

His brows furrow, suddenly realizing the fact that, beyond Blue, the throne room she sits in sounds desolate. Void of all Gems. “Where is everyone, anyways?”

“Distracting themselves, mostly. Last I heard, they’re busy trying to locate any of Pink’s essences that might still remain within our stores, just in case something like this should happen again. Of course I dread the very thought, but...”

Her voice wavers with just the hint of a sob, as she momentarily breaks from her explanation to regain her composure.

(Steven is ashamed to admit that he fails to mask the instinctual tightening of his shoulders as he sees fresh tears brim upon the digitized representation of her visage, even though logically he knows there’s no chance her influence could cross all these light years to weigh down on him here. Not on Earth. Not this far away.)

“...I couldn’t bear to lose another,” she manages, and— after dabbing those teardrops away with her curled fingers— glances back up to meet his gaze with those boundless, melancholy eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, chest growing tighter at the untimely reminder of his mom’s passing, an inseparable facet of his life history he still hasn’t managed to process yet. Perhaps subconscious in nature, his free hand creeps its way under his shirt to rest protectively over his gem. “No one deserves to go through that pain again.”

“Y’know, that’s why I really do wish you’d consider our offer to permanently live with us on Homeworld, in the safety of the palace,” she mentions then, clasping her hands together as if this were a dawning, glorious new idea Steven’s never heard before. “After all, I’m sure none of this would’ve happened under the protection of the guard.”

“Uh, I don’t thi—“

“Can you imagine it, all four diamonds finally reunited under the same stars?” Blue continues, a wide smile passing gracefully across her lips as she waxes on about this indulgent dream of hers. “We could grow you an orchard, so you have as much food as you need, and your pebbles could make you whatever clothes or luxuries you desire. And of course, there’s still the matter of your annual birth celebration to attend to...”

Steven can’t help it. He can’t manage to stop himself, no matter how pathetic he knows his reaction is.

In the light of this topic’s re-emergence, he zones out again. He slips directly into the welcoming embrace of inattention and subconscious thought. His head’s pounding, the pulsing discomfort birthing a brand new species of ache right behind his eyes. It’s miserable, but no more miserable than the idea of the future Blue Diamond has been continuously pushing for the last few months. No more miserable than the idea of being trapped on a planet with individuals who — no matter how hard they try and change their habits for his sake in the present— have all deeply hurt him at various stages of his life. And sure, he knows this is a twisted, selfish sentiment for him to harbor, because of how Pink abandoned them in the past, because of how all three of them have worked so tirelessly these past months to reorganize their entire way of life: to actually see him as his own person instead of a shadow of his mom, to healthily process their own emotions instead of tearing others down, to openly invite fusions and off-colors into the light of society. They’ve genuinely changed for the better. He should be overjoyed about that, shouldn’t he? He should be happy for them.

And yet joy is the last thing he feels when faced with the genuine possibility that he might not be strong enough in his own convictions to stand up to Blue’s desires, that he might one day find himself trapped long-term on a planet that— albeit picturesque in its own unique way— he doesn’t call home, his feet rooted to the dead soil by thorny vines born of his own timidness.

Somehow, in the face of all his fears, he swears he’s transforming into a coward.

He didn’t used to be. The Steven Universe of Era 2 wouldn’t dare stand down from making his opinions heard, would fight for what he believes in until star-shine glistens overhead and all denizens of the galaxy could experience true freedom.

So what the hell is his hang up now? He knows exactly how he wants to respond, so why can’t he simply summon the courage to do it? Why can’t this be as intuitive as summoning his shield, or a bubble?

Why does he have to feel so... so twisted up inside about this?

Steven clenches his teeth then, a sudden spike of residual pain arcing up his spine. Yikes, okay. That doesn’t feel great. Maybe he’s been sitting up for too long, and needs to lay down and rest again.

Or else, maybe after he’s finally done discussing matters with Blue he could...

Wait a minute.

The fingers of his free hand begin to knead the blanket in his lap with a new wave of gusto as he comes to an abrupt revelation about his present condition that could change literally everything.

Stars, that’s perfect. That’s not even a lie! Why on Earth didn’t he think of this before?

He was severely injured this morning. The gemstone at his core outright could’ve shattered, without treatment. Surely any fellow Gem would understand if he says he needs some extra time to fully recover? Perhaps even... the rest of the week? Including his birthday? And on top of that, this extra time would allow him all the privacy he needs to figure out how to confidently and politely decline Blue’s recurring request to live on Homeworld. He’d literally be hitting two targets with one shield!

He nibbles at the inside of his bottom lip as he considers how best to phrase this.

“Hey, Blue?” he calls, immediately garnering her full gaze. “Um—“

Although briefly squirming like an insecure child under those intense azure irises, he stamps down that devilishly tempting urge to go silent and recede into the shadows of this conversation again, wholly compliant to whatever she says. No, he has to speak his mind. No positive change in this relationship will ever occur unless he resolves to stand up for himself, no matter how many reminders it takes. His muscles grow tense as his mouth bobs open once again.

“About the whole birthday celebration thing, I, uh...”

His tongue grows excruciatingly dry in his anxiety, and he’s suddenly struck with the reminder that he never drank the water Pearl left on his dinner tray. Pity, that. He swallows, throat tight and scratchy, and continues.

“I think it’s very kind of you to offer hosting a ball for me on Homeworld, but as of right now, I... I’m very, very sore, and need to stay at my home for a few days to recover from my injury, okay? I promise I’ll visit in person as soon as I’m physically able to,” he rapidly blurts, recognizing a glint of hurt coat Blue’s otherwise attentive expression, “just... after my birthday.”

The diamond lets her weary eyes flutter shut as she takes a moment to soak in everything he just said. Honestly, he can’t think to guess what’s running through her mind right now, and he’s not sure he wants to. Eventually however, she offers an extended sigh, its watercolor edges brushed with an air of melancholy.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replies, offering him a watery smile. “We wouldn’t want to upset your fragile organic system so soon after such an ordeal, now would we? Very well, then. I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Thank you,” he says, his shoulders finally loosening up from their overwrought state.

“We can do something to celebrate when you’re back on Homeworld, just the four of us. In fact, I’ve been talking with White, and we have the perfect idea for a gift!”

Steven gives a small nervous laugh, fiddling with the back of his shirt collar. “Hahah, yeah? Well, I guess I’ll look forward to it. Anyways, uh... thanks for checking in. Bye.”

His heart still pounding despite the overwhelming sense of resolution, his thumb presses the bottom point of the octahedron inwards, ending the call. He gently sets aside the communicator on his nightstand, next to his empty soup bowl. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he flops backwards on his bed with his arms stretched wide and gives a sharp, celebratory cackle of relief. He... he finally did it! He spoke his mind. He stood up to Blue’s headstrong desires, successfully reasserted his intentions. Set clear boundaries, just like Amethyst said he should. And as his reward, maybe now he can celebrate his birthday at home without guilt hanging like a weighty anvil over his head. Just maybe. He smiles, allowing his sore body to sink right into the plush cocoon of his mattress.

For the first time today, things are finally on the up-and-up.

And so that pattern continues through the rest of the evening. It’s not long after his call with Blue that his dad returns from the store, not even bothering to put the frozen and refrigerated foods in their proper temperature controlled places before bounding upstairs to check on him upon the call of his name. No amount of detailed description could ever hope to intimately capture the full spectrum of sheer elation and love Dad unloads on him in the precious minutes that follow, but by the end of it his father’s sobbing in his arms, exhausted tears staining the collar of his pajama shirt as they clutch to each other with iron clad grips. At this point, the only way Steven can hope to respond is to act as nothing more but a solid rock, if only to reassure him that he’s alive, he’s well, he’s here.

The two of them spend a good chunk of the remaining evening together, watching reruns of Under the Knife at the foot of his bed while nibbling on some cheddar popcorn. It’s rejuvenating, honestly. Stars, is it rejuvenating. Somehow it seems like an eternity since they’ve been able to just... live life together, even in the simplest of ways. They’ll share a dinner here and there when he visits home, sure— a video call from another planet every week or so, yes— but there’s something so fundamentally irreplaceable about physically leaning against your loved ones and spending a tangible amount of time with them that he’s sorely missed over his busy months as Era 3’s ambassador. It’s special. Something to cherish. And something he dearly hopes to engage in with his family and friends a lot more as his immediate duties with the Diamonds wind to a close.

At some point in the middle of their fourth episode, Steven finally finds his phone. It was in his jacket pocket, of course— the new pink wool one he left slung over his desk chair before leaving on the corrupted Gem recovery mission this morning. With that retrieved, he makes sure to text a quick update to all the friends he missed seeing today. Even though logic tells him getting cracked wasn’t entirely his fault, it’s hard to dodge the temptation of guilt. Thankfully though, with the rest of the week now scrubbed entirely free of Homeworld stuff, perhaps he can reschedule a few of these gatherings.

The rest of his night is uneventful.

The Gems pop in and out to check on him, otherwise attending to their own obligations. Over the comforting backdrop of the television, Dad gushes about the concert he’s organized in town next week for Sadie Killer and the Suspects. Says he’s hopeful it’ll be a sellout. In return, he provides lush descriptions of some of the distant former colonies (now free planets) he’s gotten to visit as part of his political service. There’s some pretty stunning ones, he has to admit. The sightseeing he gets to engage in is a small but shining perk of his current responsibilities.

At ten, the TV is turned off. They hug and part ways, his dad quietly shuffling to the bathroom downstairs to brush his teeth and throw on a sleep shirt.

His headache is almost gone by now, having reduced to nothing more but a faint aura.

He’s standing outside on the porch enjoying some fresh, salty air before bed when Amethyst quietly slides into place alongside him, seeking his affection. She wraps her arms tight around his torso, burying her face against his shoulder. He reciprocates in kind. She doesn’t cry like Dad did, however. She doesn’t even speak. Rather, her purposeful silence ripples through his soul more than any concrete word or phrase ever could. Innately, he knows what she’s asking.

“I’m okay now,” he murmurs softly, blinking away his own budding tears while his expression is still hidden from her. “You healed me, I’m okay.”

“You’re a big liar, y’know that?” she says, voice muffled.

He rolls his eyes, pulling away from her embrace. “Fine, fine. I’m still a little sore. ‘Ya happy?”

Amethyst frowns, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she shifts her stance to lounge against the railing. “I’d be happier if none of that ever happened in the first place.”

Her frank statement hangs amidst the wind like a tattered flag upon an abandoned battlefield. Steven swallows, the resulting lump settling uneven in his throat.

(For a second he almost feels sick again, a surge of lingering discomfort churning at his core.)

“Yeah...” he sighs, staring off into the dim ocean horizon and forcing himself to acknowledge her unfortunate experience with this type of injury. “Yeah. I’m sorry if that brought back any bad memories for you.”

She scoffs. “Ch’yeah, so... I’m not gonna say it didn’t suck, but. It’s over now, y’know? I’ll deal. You don’t have to apologize for it, or anything.”

Long pause. His quartz sibling threads her fingers together as she leans against the chipping wood, silently tussling with herself under the ebbing solidarity of the ocean tides. A significant stretch of time passes between them before she finally takes it upon herself to speak again.

“‘S’not like it was your fault, anyways.”

His chest tightens upon recognition of that familiar self-blame inherent in her tone. If he were a stronger, better person, he might take it upon himself to chip away at the walls of that insecurity with love and reassurance, to be the kind, encouraging Steven he used to be. But he’s tired, and he’s lived long enough to acknowledge by now that perfectly formed words can’t fix everything. Not immediately, at least. People are complicated. He’s complicated. And sometimes the best one can manage is to simply act as a supportive companion to another.

Starlight glittering overhead, and the cool coastal breeze tussling at their hair, he joins Amethyst at the balcony and rests his cheek on her shoulder just like he used to do when he was little. Together, enveloped in a tension-filled silence, they watch the waves together. Watch the gulls pick at old food scraps further up shore, closer to the edge of the cliffs.

“Hey, what kind of gem was it, by the way?” he asks eventually. “You never said.”

“Ughhh,” she groans, dropping her head against the wood with a soft clunk. “A dang sapphire. Literally no wonder why she was so slippery!”

Steven can’t help the bubble of oddly placed glee that rises within him upon her answer. He cracks a dopey grin, shaking his head at himself. A snicker passes his lips.

A sapphire. Of course it was a sapphire. Gosh, isn’t that sweet, sweet vindication.

Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”

Perhaps finally cracking under months of accumulated stress, he breaks into peels of low laughter.

“What is it? Dude, ya’ gotta tell meeee!” she cries, playfully rustling at his arm as he doubles over against the railing, clutching his sides as he wrests to catch his breath and respond.

“No, it’s- it’s not even funny,” he says, pushing past the final surge and gaining some sense of composure again. “I just... my guess was spot-on. I’ve never seen a corrupted sapphire, before that.” His demeanor falls sober in a snap, wholly humbled by the abrupt reminder of the vital task waiting in his future, a task that— alongside the Diamonds’ bottled essences— only he can hope to see through. “I hope she’ll be okay, once she’s healed. I’m not even gonna mention what happened, honestly.”

Amethyst visibly pales at his allusion to the incident this morning. To ‘what happened.’ Hah. As if cushioning the truth in vague, non-specific language could at all erase the stark reality of what he went through. Sometimes he really is daft.

“Steven, I—“ she swallows hard, nibbling at her knuckles for a moment as she contemplates the greater details of whatever seems to be assailing her mind. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, okay? But... I have to at least ask. Do you, like... remember anything?”

He frowns, avoiding her direct gaze as he moves to lean against the balcony, overlooking the blustery shoreline.

“What, you mean about... everything after the fight? And at the, ah... at the fountain, yeah?”

Amethyst offers a hesitant nod, her eyes glossed with marked worry. Peering at the pinprick constellations above as he reflects on this question, Steven experimentally nudges scattered fragments of memory closer together, the seconds and minutes of that experience progressively locking into place until—

The world bends and splinters within his sight, his dad and Amethyst’s tear-stricken faces phasing into each other as they sink ever further into the thickets of their fearful despair. He’s prone in their hold, hard light pulsing rampant through his veins, unregulated, unrestrained, stretching out from his broken gemstone like clawing, yearning fingers... his muscles taut at one moment and pliable at the next, wholly unable to exert control over his body as his every limb jitters and jerks, unable to staunch his hoarse sobs as he soaks in the cold, terrifying static of it all, and now his words are jumbled and backwards, and deep within he knows this with an intense clarity but he can’t help it, he can’t fix it, he can barely even think, he ca—

Steven inhales evenly, purposefully not allowing his expression to flash even a minuscule micro-expression of residual fear. After all, it’s Era 3. Everyone’s supposed to find happiness and fulfillment now, which can’t happen when people are stuck dwelling on their shadowed past. Thus, Amethyst doesn’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of what he does or doesn’t know. That’s his problem to shoulder, his boulder to carry.

And he refuses to force anyone else to carry the weight of his past for him. He refuses to become like Blue, still stuck in a tempestuous pattern of pushing her emotions on everyone around her and making them feel like crap.

Perhaps it’s foolish, but he sorely wants to believe he’s better than her.

“Nope,” he says, feigning an unparalleled air of confidence as he shakes his head to confirm the negative. “Can’t remember a thing.”

#su #steven universe #amethyst #blue diamond #pearl #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

first frost and cosy night in? :3

30. First Frost + 33. Cozy Night In

from autumn fic prompts here

here’s a quick lil penpal era fic before class!

--------------------

Newt’s used to hard winters at this point, and winters that come early, and winters that send him searching desperately for the most high-grade space heater available on the market (his heating is always busted, always), but he thinks the universe is feeling a certain kind of sadistic today, because the instant he steps out onto the tiny patch of grass that’s technically his front lawn, it’s to feel a loud crunch. Not the charming crunch of dead leaves either, which is what’s to be expected for pleasant autumn’s been; it’s the unmistakable crunch of frost. Early frost. The first frost. Newt looks down at his docs with a sigh. “Not fair,” he groans. He lifts one up, then back down on the white-tinged grass. Crunch.

The wind is on the uncomfortable side of chilly, too, more than Newt’s trusty sweatshirt is willing to endure, and he shivers as a gust of it kicks up a pile of leaves and sends them tumbling past him. It’s the kind of wind he associates with the cold, dark days of late November—way too premature for October. He’s so not looking forward to walking the whole twenty minutes to campus in this. He’ll need a scarf, at the very least. And maybe a stop for coffee. Definitely a stop for coffee.

He shoots off a quick email to his class as—scarf his uncle knitted him wrapped freshly around his neck—he makes a jog for the nearest Dunkin: Running late! Feel free to use time to discuss questions about the midterm w/ each other, will answer when I get there -Dr. G. Then he picks them up a dozen donuts to make up for it, too, because he’s just that a great of a professor.

The donuts are a hit, and the resulting combination group sugar rush and sentiments of good will makes for one of their most spirited class discussions of the semester. Newt fields questions left and right, develops a cramp in his hand from needing to scrawl so fast across the whiteboard, and dishes out no less than twenty total points of extra credit. He gets so into it, in fact, he forgets about how much he’s dreading to walk the twenty minutes back home in the cold, cold wind. Almost, anyway. He lets class drag on just a little over the ending time, and is relieved when a handful of students stay behind to ask just a few more questions about midterm submission guidelines. He lets that drag on, too, and it’s not until the eleven AM environmental science class that uses the room after him begin peeping their heads around the doorframe and clearing their throats that he’s forced out.

Out into the cold.

He goes straight for his living room couch after a brisk walk back to his place, diving beneath his pile of throw blankets and pillows and cranking the little knob on his space heater up to ten. It’s really not that cold compared to what’s to come in January, but it’s still too fucking early for it, damn it. Unseasonable! Newt deserves to enjoy a little mild autumn weather before the winter.

“It’s just unseasonable,” he gripes to his cat, who’s curled itself up lazily in front of the space heater in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t even look at Newt. It’s not fair, really, that it got to stay home all day and Newt didn’t. Or that it’s soaking up all the heat before any of it can reach Newt. “You don’t know how good you’ve got it,” he tells it.

His phone buzzes.

His spirits do an immediate one-eighty: it’s an email from Hermann. Suddenly, staying in for the rest of the evening doesn’t seem so bad. Desirable, even.

So (Newt rushes to grab his laptop) he has a little bit of a crush on his mysterious penpal. So (he quickly lights a few candles he has spread out across the living room) maybe it’s actually more like he’s a little bit in love with his mysterious penpal So (he dims the lights) emails from Hermann are the highlight of his day. Or (he fixes himself a little mug of tea) maybe more like year. It’s normal. It’s normal to have friends, and crushes, and penpals, and penpals who are your only friend and maybe also your crush. It’s all totally normal!

He explains all this to his cat, who is very uninterested, but who hops up onto Newt’s legs the instant Newt curls back underneath his throw blanket, which Newt takes as a sign of affection if nothing else. He holds his breath as he opens Hermann’s email, ignoring the stupid butterflies in his stomach. It’s normal.

Dear Newton-

I apologize for my rather belated, and rather short, response; Father has me working day and night on updating the coding for our newest jaegers, and this is the first moment I’ve managed to steal for myself in well over a week. I appreciate your design inputs, though I must--once again--remind you that built-in Bluetooth speakers are impractical, useless, and unnecessarily costly, and that between us two, only one of us has pioneered the jaeger tech field. In more personal matters...

Newt pets his cat as he reads on, a little smile blooming over his face. Hermann bought a sweater; Hermann switched tea brands out of rationing necessity, and found he likes the new one better; Hermann’s article was accepted into the next edition of a Jaeger Science journal he's obsessed with, and he wants Newt to glance over it one last time for any final edits. (That’s attached to the email, as is a very poorly-lit and very blurry mirror selfie of Hermann looking grumpy in his new sweater. Adorable.)

As always, Newton, I appreciate your correspondence.

Sincerely, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.

It’s how he always finishes. It’s also kind of adorable, to be honest--three years of writing to each other, and he still signs off like they’re total strangers, and like they don’t send each other birthday cards and Hanukkah presents every damn year. “Adorable,” Newt says, and shakes his head. He scratches his cat behind the ears, and it purrs happily.

Hermann (he writes back)-

I notice you didn’t say anything about the totally cool and totally practical laser-beam eyes idea I had too. Does that mean you’re using it? Don’t forget to credit me.

I’m sorry you’re overworked. I don’t think I know anyone who needs a break or a little bit of fun more than you. I wish I could...

What Newt wishes is that Hermann was relaxing here with him: he wishes Hermann was curled up under his throw blanket, with Newt’s cat purring on both of them, and Hermann’s arm around Newt, and that he had a mug of tea, too, and Newt could read over his article out loud while they huddled over his laptop, and Hermann would be so impressed with how smart his edits were that he’d say something like well done, Newton! and then he’d... Well. Newt backspaces over the paragraph. Too much.

I wish I could help, he says. Lame, but whatever.

He writes (about the cold, about his classes, about the kaiju sample he’s finally managed to get the funding to afford) until the sun sets outside his window, and one of his candles finally burns down to the wick and flares out with a sputter of smoke. Newt’s cat begins to knead at his chest in the way that means I’m hungry, feed me dinner. “Alright, alright,” Newt tells it, because he’s feeling pretty hungry himself. He glances over the email one last time to make sure he doesn't sound pathetically lovesick before signing off with a -Newt and sending it.

He feeds his cat and fixes himself a little bowl of soup to eat on the couch. It’s turned into a pretty nice night, actually. Cozy. Comfortable. He can’t stop smiling. Maybe he’s a little bit in love with Hermann, so sue him.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

TMA jonmartin fics

Organising these, mostly so I can keep track to be honest. All some flavour of jonmartin, predominantly fluff or angst. cws in original tags.

Updated as of June 2020

If you'd like to send any prompts, feel free! All of these are also bundled together on A03.

Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias, post-160

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn’t my Archive magnificent?

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

Martin feels the pull of the Lonely. Jon draws a bath.

“Come on,” Jon says, enfolding their hands together. His voice is kind, and that’s never died, no matter how the world bricked it up and starved it of sunlight. Jon’s kind to his bones, and it wells up from the deep down of him.

Jon pulls the way, and Martin follows behind.

Even after Jon stops being the Archivist, they aren’t safe. (parent!AU)

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I’ll at least listen.”

Martin's nightmares never quite leave him

Martin feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I…. I mean, do you want to…?’

The question isn’t fully born before he’s heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he’s pillowed on. Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

Things were always going to catch up with them eventually

He’s a light sleeper, and they knew he would be. Didn’t want him to wake too soon, to be denied a proper welcome. Jon shifts and stretches and burrows as he slips dazedly into consciousness, nestling tighter against the body next to him still fast-asleep before the thick weight of sleep is dropped and he jolt up, a punched out breath of shock escaping them.

And finally they are witnessed. They watch his expressions free-fall from understanding to despair.

Local Man cheats at card games, Local Avatar is smitten

Martin likes playing, not necessarily competitively, but where he does excel is in cheating. Jon catches him swapping out a three for a queen out of the corner of his eye – well, Martin wants him to catch him – and his smile is wide and shocked and gleeful in his own way –you cheat! How could you?!

soulmate-identifying marks, or: fuck yeah tattoos

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly. Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

Something is wrong. Martin just can't put his finger on it.

“Sorry,” Jon says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin’s neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon’s hands in his own.

Martin has certain standards

Jon feels a wide smile begin on his face (still so rare, still hard-won, but Martin teases them out of him with the smallest things these days).

“You hipster!” he says with delight, secretly pleased he’s found something he can tease Martin about. “Have you thrown out my teabags just to make a point?”

Jon wakes up and finds Martin gone

– Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

Jon strikes a bargain to save Martin

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that’s impartially mocking. “You aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.”

Martin showing normal, genuine human anger, feat. Blackwood Snr.

“Right,” comes the short response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin’s voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

MLM solidarity front, or: Tim and Martin go drinking

“I mean – I – I’d like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he’s trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood.”

Back-and-forth early morning teasing

“It’s a bit late to tell me you’re a dog person,” Jon chides instead. “I’m afraid I might have to call this whole thing off, if that’s the case.”

Martin looks up at him with his face squashed into his ‘you are not, and have never been funny, Jonathan’ face.

Martin hides an injury. Jon is freaking out in his own way.

He can taste grit and dirt in his mouth and there’s a stinging dampness on his upper lip. He blinks, coming to terms slowly, and it’s then that he realises, just from a brief glance, that Jon is absolutely fuming.

Jon is getting better at expressing what he wants

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

How to proposal to your boyfriend during an apocalypse, and definitely how not to.

Jon tries to write vows.

Domesticity and going on holiday, post Watcher's Crown

“Jon!” Martin is shouting with his head shoved in the under-stairs closet. “You got your raincoat?”

“I won’t need it,” comes the low response from the kitchen.

“The weather said it might rain.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jon replies, only half listening really, with a willfully misplaced confidence in the weather.

“I’ll pack it anyway,” Martin calls back, kicking something else with his foot that sounds like the hoover. “In case.”

Jon does not react well to ending the world. Martin puts together the pieces.

Under the watch of that terrible sky, Jon crumples like something demolished.

Martin catches him. He always will, he remembers thinking.

In the Lonely, Jon hugs Martin (set mid-159)

Jon’s arms go around him, and there is nothing tentative, soft-shoed, there is no awkward displacement holding him slightly at a distance. Jon’s arms go around him, and he – his body unfolds against Martin’s. There is much too much of him, a surge of all-at-once motion and Martin feels like splintering.

Martin's not the only one susceptible to the Lonely

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that’s what Jon is, in the end.

The day-to-day ramifications of being a record of ceaseless terror

In the dark, under the covers, the sound is the shift of grave soil, of pressing earth, but it is also Martin, ensconced in warm empty dreams, Jon trying to breath through his nose and not wake him up, and it can be all of these things at once.

Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

'I'll stay right here, ok?”

“The ambulance will be here s – ” Martin starts, trying to be gentle, but Jon tightens his grip ever so kindly, shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be waiting around for that,” he says, and it’s almost light-hearted in the face of what they both know is now inevitable.

Patron swap, Lonely!Jon, Beholding!Martin

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

In the days after the end of the world, Jon finds Martin a gift

“Woss, what’s wrong?” Martin starts, but Jon’s pressing something into his hands firmly, so self-satisfied, joyous and smug with a mysterious success, and he feels his own grin start to blossom in kind, wanting to take part in the same delight. “What is it?”

sleep doesn't look pleasant, spoilers for 161

Martin won’t wake up. Eyes clenched closed, breathing laboured, and for a long while, Jon’s world gets quieter as his own immediate louder fear rises like gall in his throat. He tries compelling him even.

Jon doesn’t know that this will happen every time Martin dreams.

Jon is admitted to hospital. Martin frets.

Jon nearly died today, his brain keeps reminding him. You nearly lost him, you nearly weren’t fast enough.

Trans!Jon, Trans!Martin, intimate rituals

Jon’s hair is getting long.

Morning rituals, Jon admiring the view.

But he much prefers this slow and lazy unwinding of a day because he gets to study Martin. He puts his elbows on the wooden table off to the side of their pokey kitchen, and enjoys watching an artless, intimate one-man performance just for him, as he acclimatises to the day.

Scottish honeymoon, soft get-together

Martin wonders why Jon didn’t go upstairs. Take the bed. The cottage is an old crofter’s place, two small and utilitarian bedrooms where they discarded their meagre belongings on arrival.

Martin looks at the tea. Feels the scarf under his head, the heavy coats weighing him down.

Thinks he might know why.

Monster!Jon, AU S5

“What the fuck are you?” she says. She does not lower her weapon. The guard to her left has raised her own.

All of its eyes blink out of rhythm as its unseen mouth moves with that croaking, piteous whisper. “He’s, he’s human, he’s hurt and he needs – he’ll die, please.” The man it is carrying looks human. Painted with dirt and filth, the slick of insects broken over his skin. His breathing is starting to rattle.

Tim is mildly cursed, S1 shenanigans

Whoever is closest, but usually Sasha, will give a sarcastic cheer. To which Tim – cradling his injury, glowering with a fire-starter expression at whatever file or paper or fragment dealt the blow – will reply: “Piss off, right, it’s not funny, I’m cursed. This is a curse.”

OG Archive crew sad hours

There could have been a day, when they’d all just talked.

Martin struggles to readjust to the world, post 159

Some days though, when the tempest around has dropped from squalling, Martin feels brave enough to look over at Jon.

Jon and Martin’s post-s5 wish list

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“After all this, after we’ve – what do you want to do? If we manage to – ”

“When we manage to.”

“Fine, when all this goes back to the way it was, what do you want to do?”

Safehouse drabble

Jon doesn’t sleep but this rest is as close to peace as this world allows him.

AU S3, Breekon and Hope take Martin, not Jon.

Tim always thought Martin was reliable. Unshakeable.

That he was always going to be there.

Martin’s daemon is a spider. People have mixed feelings about this.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we’ve settled, haven’t we?”

Aron can’t nod. His form can’t allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won’t look at Martin, and that’s answer enough.

Aspec Martin Week - Daemon!AU

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

Aspec Martin Week - Martin’s first Pride

Restored from their dramatic hangovers, Monday comes. Martin arrives huffing and delayed from the Tube to see Tim’s stuck his flag so it stands battered and proud over the lid of his laptop. Sasha’s made her small desk teddy bear hold hers. And it’s the memory of the day, the sun and the heat and the wild dizzying lack of expectations of it all, that gives him the courage to bring the flags he carefully preserved in on Tuesday, to put them jutting out of the mug on his desk that holds his stationery.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect anyone to comment on them. It’s not like anyone else comes down to their offices anyway.

Aspec Martin Week - Martin comes out (with help)

You surge against his lips again so he can’t see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe… not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You’d lie on your back, or you’d cover him with your shape, and you’d try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn’t notice you not sharing the same. “’m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

Martin is a massive fan of Jon’s multitude of eyes

“I just want to see,” Martin mimics petulance and Jon huffs a smirk.

“They are my eyeballs,” he responds primly, putting down a dry mug and picking up a plate to towel off.

“What’s the point of having horror-bestowed physical improvements if you don’t show them off?”

Martin worries about being a father

That’s not – ” Martin says, stops. Pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes puffy.

He takes Jon’s hand, still perched on his knee, laces their fingers together. Over the baby monitor, Jon can hear the soft untroubled in-and-out of their son breathing.

“I sounded like my dad,” Martin confesses finally. Fat tears well up and stagger down his tear-prickled cheeks. “I sounded exactly like him.”

Martin and Jon get wine drunk

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don’t want to.”

There’s nothing sexier than open and honest communication (post-166)

“I fucking hate the Buried,” Jon says into Martin’s shoulder.

“It sucks,” Martin agrees. “You er – you have any more poetry this time?”

Martin feels Jon’s ‘no’ like an earth tremor over his breastbone.

“Worms,” comes the reply muffled shapeless into his coat.

“Like…normal worms?”

“People worms.”

“Rrright. Less fun then.”

Martin has some thoughts about the Web

Martin does not think about spiders.

(Except he does.)

Did you feel, Jon had proposed delicately, like she was influencing your mind at all?

Jon’s world has no certainties. No maps, boundaries, no promises that can remain unquestioned.

Martin has the edges of his world now. He has to be able to trust in them.

Jon gets hurt and doesn’t tell Martin

Jon burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won’t wake, not for Martin’s calls and shakes, not for anything. When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Martin still struggles with his mental health

It was easier, Martin thinks sometimes, when he could blame it on the Lonely.

Episode 170 could have gone so many different ways

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

#tma #long post #jonmartin #the magnus archives #fic #prompt fills #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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songtoyou · 4 years

Text

Chapter One: Move You

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC) Rating: PG-13 (Will be 18+ for some chapters)

Description: There was always one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to communicate with one another openly but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation.However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either is willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: Mention of anxiety

Word Count: 2,530

Note: This is the first fic I have written in ages. Everything about it is fiction. Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.

Thank you to @southerngracela and @sullyosully for the support. I also want to give a shout out to @royallyprincesslilly for the text divider.

*Updated for grammar edits.

June 2019

The early morning sun was peeking out of the sky, and the air became crisper after a night of pouring rain. It was supposed to be a scorcher day in June, according to the weather reports. That was not something Chris Evans was looking forward to since he would have to be on-set partaking in outdoor scenes wearing sweaters, business suits, and heavy coats for most of the day. Despite the uncomfortableness his job could be at times; it was all worth it in the end. Acting was Chris’s passion, and he was fortunate to do it for a living. Chris knew he was lucky to be where he is at in his career. From the ups and downs to disappointing film projects that either went nowhere or were rejected by critics and moviegoers, it all helped steer Chris to become the actor he is today.

With Captain America’s story arch now complete, Chris understood that it would take a while for audiences and some of his fans not just to see him as Steve Rogers. Taken on Marvel’s top Avenger’s mantle was one of the best decisions he ever made as it took his career to new heights. Yes, Chris had some reservations at first when he was approached for the role. He did not feel confident enough if he could handle the responsibility of playing such an iconic character. Chris was also worried about losing his anonymity. He liked being able to walk down the street with no one recognizing him or asking for a photo and autograph. Now Chris was lucky to make it a few blocks without someone yelling out at him or screaming “Captain America!”, it most definitely did not help ease his anxieties.

“You got that Marvel money saved up. You can live comfortably while pursuing projects that people would not expect you to take. It’s a win-win situation for you,” said Raina, one of Chris’s best friends, when mentioning the project, Defending Jacob.

“You sound like my mom when you say that,” Chris replied.

Raina laughed at that and said, “I take that as a compliment, you know.”

“Good. I meant it as one. You both don’t take shit from anyone. And I know you’ll always have my back as she does.”

Raina and his mom kept telling him to accept the lead role as Andy Barber in Defending Jacob. And how it would not only be beneficial to his career, but also because 1.) the show was filming in Massachusetts so that he would be in his own home every night, and 2.) it was a role he never played before: a father.

Sipping his coffee, Chris stood on the porch of his house as he watched Dodger relieve himself. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you some breakfast,” Chris waved Dodger over to get inside. The pup was happy to oblige his owner and trotted up the steps into the house.

Chris heard his cellphone buzz just as he put down Dodger’s food bowl. Reaching over the counter to retrieve it, Chris smiled when he saw the name pop up.

Raina: Why didn’t anyone tell me that New York is always hot as balls! I can’t take it!

Chris: I warned you about that, but you didn’t listen to me. What are you doing up so early?

Raina: Couldn’t sleep. Nervous about the preview shows for Moulin Rouge. It is coming up quickly.

Chris: Again, congrats on Moulin Rouge. You got nothing to be nervous about; you are going to be great.

Raina: I’m just worried if people will like the show.

Chris: You and the crew wouldn’t have gotten to Broadway if people weren’t interested in seeing it, especially with you as Satine. This is what you were born to do. Scott, Ma, and I will be there on opening night. Carly and Shanna won’t be able to come but plan to see the show on a girls’ trip to New York later in the summer. I know both are proud of you as well.

Raina: Stop! You are going to make me cry. All of you are so sweet. Seriously, I am forever grateful to you and your amazing family for supporting me all these years.

Chris: Can you believe it has been ten years since we met at that Vanity Fair photoshoot for West Side Story.

Raina: Oh God! Do not remind of that shoot. I was a ball of nerves that day.

Chris: I thought the paramedics were going to need to be called for you.

Raina: Haha. Seriously though, they probably would have if you didn’t help calm me down.

January 2009

“Wait, what is this photoshoot about?” Raina asked her manager, Jerry, who sighed in response.

“Raina, I’ve already told you. It is to celebrate the Broadway revival of West Side Story. The photographer is re-creating scenes from the film version,” explained Jerry.

Now it was Raina’s turn to let out a sigh. Despite being in the music industry since she was 16 years old, the whole idea of photoshoots still did not make her comfortable. Plus, the long hours, the bright lights, and the shoots’ craziness left Raina feeling drained. It was now adding other celebrities to the mix brought on a whole new set of anxieties.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Jerry assured Raina and added, “Today’s going to be easy. You don’t have to worry about being front and center this time. You’ll be in the background so that you can relax.”

“If you say so,” Raina retorted with a small smile. She trusted Jerry.

When Raina finally arrived at the photoshoot, she was whisked away to hair and makeup and then onward to change her costume. She had already been introduced to her fellow photo mates, such as Ashley Tisdale and Robert Pattinson. Both were very pleasant and nice.

“I am such a huge fan. I have all of your albums,” Ashley gushed admirably.

“Thank you. That is very sweet of you to say. I loved your album ‘Headstrong,’ by the way. Such great bops,” Raina complimented, and Ashley’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

As the two made their way to the set, each shared what project they were currently working on until Ashley stopped dead in her tracks.

“What is it?” Raina asked, concerned.

“Chris Evans,” whispered Ashley and went on, “Chris Evans is over there.”

“Yeah, didn’t you know he’d be here? Oh my God, you guys didn’t use to date, did you?”

“Ha! I wish. He is just so cute,” Ashley said dreamily.

Raina just laughed and shook her head, “Yeah, he isn’t bad looking.”

They filmed the dance scene from the movie where Maria and Tony see each other for the first time. Camilla Belle and Ben Barnes were assigned the lead roles for the shoot. Raina had to admit; both looked the part. The photographer, Mark Seliger, gathered everyone around to discuss how the scene would go. He started placing people in their spots with Jennifer Lopez and Rodrigo Santoro in their positions as lead Shark dancers Anita and Bernardo, with Camilla and Ben on their respective sides. Ashley was assigned as a Jet girl dancing with Chris’s character, the Jets leader, Riff.

Raina hid her smile when Ashley shook Chris’s hand and introduced herself. Poor thing looked as if she could faint. Settled in the back, Raina was one of the Sharks. She was perfectly content where she was at standing next to Minka Kelly and Jay Hernandez. The three would even make little side chat here and there.

Overall, the photoshoot was going well. Until the bright lights, the loud music, and the uncomfortable costume started getting to Raina. She felt like she was going to pass out. However, Raina was determined to pull through in fear of being labeled a “diva” or, worse, “difficult” to work with; that was not the kind of press she needed now. Remembering what her mother told her to do when the first signs of an anxiety attack were coming on was to breathe in and out. She did that a couple of times as she closed her eyes when Mark said they were changing film and wanted a couple more shots.

Unsurprisingly, someone else was beginning to get restless during the shoot as well. Chris was not a fan of photoshoots. He always felt awkward and never understood what he was supposed to be doing. He would continuously worry if he were coming off stupid or looking like a fool.

Chris was more cautious of the types of photoshoots he would take part in and made sure to steer clear of the ones wanting him to be viewed as eye-candy merely. He was working hard to make a trajectory in his career from heartthrob to serious actor. However, Chris knew he had more to prove to audiences and critics for them to see past his ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ or ‘Fantastic 4’ roles.

Nevertheless, when he got word about Vanity Fair’s West Side Story photoshoot, Chris was immediately on board. He was a theater kid, after all, thanks to his mother. Similarly, with other shoots, it all starts the same. The photographer talks about the art direction of the shoot and expectations for the day.

During the short breaks on set, Chris looked around to see the other actors and performers. While he knew some of the folks on set, he did not honestly know any of them personally. The only person he was more acquainted with was Camilla, and that was because both filmed the movie Push a year ago.

As Chris’s eyes roamed around the room, they landed on Raina, who was fanning herself with her hands. While others were making small talk, he noticed that Raina took deep breaths and her eyes were closed. She stepped down on the chair she was standing on to take a seat and put her head in her hands.

Chris felt bad. He knew an anxiety attack when he saw one. Slowly making his way over to Raina, he kneeled in front of her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asked in a whisper.

Raina jumped at the sound of his voice. She did not expect anyone to come up to check on how she was doing. She thought she was doing her best to be discreet.

“I don’t know. It’s too hot in here. The lights are hurting my eyes, and it’s hard to breathe,” Raina said, continuing to fan herself.

Instinctively, Chris reached out to hold one of Raina’s shaking hands to help calm her down.

“Have you ever tried the 4-7-8 breathing technique?”

Raina shook her head no and said, “Never heard of that technique.”

“Trust me; it has helped me out a lot. Okay, so you’re going to breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds. Do you want to try it with me? Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and exhale 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5, 6, 7, 8. Very good. Let’s do it again,” Chris calmly instructed Raina.

“I’ll get you some water. Just keeping doing the breathing exercises, okay.”

When Chris returned, he again kneeled in front of Raina and handed her the water cup.

“Thank you,” said Raina as she sipped slowly.

“You’re welcome.”

Raina let out a little chuckle, “I can’t believe I had an anxiety attack. I told Jerry I was worried about this happening. Again, thank you. I appreciate you helping me out,” expressed Raina gratefully.

As Raina continued to sip her water, Chris took the time to look at her. She was attractive, and he could tell she was a little bit younger than him. While this was Chris’s first-time meeting Raina, he had seen her before at other Hollywood functions. Neither having their paths cross until now.

“Okay, folks, let’s get back in your positions!” Mark yelled to get everyone’s attention.

“You going to be okay?” asked Chris as he stood up.

“Yes. I’m going to be fine,” answered Raina, standing up as well.

Chris helped her back up on the chair, and he returned to his spot next to Ashley. It was weird. No one else seemed to notice what went on between the two. It was like for those few short moments, Chris and Raina were in their own world.

Chris kept stealing glances towards Raina for the rest of the shoot. He kept telling himself it was to make sure she was okay, not that he was drawn to her or anything.

‘Don’t go there, Evans. The last thing you need is to be in a relationship, and she doesn’t look like the type to do hookups,’ Chris scolded himself and added, ‘Most likely won’t ever see her again after this day.’

“I am glad that it didn’t take long for us to meet again after that day. We do have Scott and Shanna to thank for that, by the way,” Chris happily reminded Raina.

He decided to call her that morning after their text exchange. He preferred hearing her voice anyways.

“Oh yeah, at my concert in Boston. It was fate. We were destined to be friends.”

“Yep. Even though you are a fan of the New York Mets and Giants fan, I still love ya,” teased Chris.

Raina groaned, “Let us not bring up sports, shall we. It can only get ugly from here. Anyways, I’ll let you go. I gotta start heading out for rehearsals. Talk to you later. Bye,” said Raina.

“Bye, sweetheart. Take care,” replied Chris and ended the call.

He looked over at Dodger, who had finished eating and was now lying in one of his dog beds near the kitchen table. As Chris continued to sip his coffee, he decided to make breakfast and went to the fridge to take some eggs. Once he got everything ready to begin cooking, his mind drifted to Raina. Chris noticed that his mind had been doing that more recently lately.

For Chris, his relationship with Raina was more than just a friendship. She was someone he could confide in about things he was not comfortable bringing up to his family or close childhood friends. Their friendship evolved when both began a “friends with benefits” type of relationship. This would only occur when both were not in committed relationships with other people.

Surprisingly, this arrangement only managed to make them closer friends. The boundaries they agreed upon were put in place not to fracture their friendship. He went into the situation not wanting to build some domesticated life with Raina. However, at times, Chris kept thinking if he could turn his friendship with Raina into something more. Something more than friends, more than sex buddies, but as a life partner. A wife and mother to his children.

‘Stop lying to yourself,’ Chris’s inner voice spoke up, ‘You’re in love with Raina. Just admit it!’

Nevertheless, Chris could not admit to himself. He was not ready to deal with those feelings for one of his closest friends.

Not yet, at least.

#chris evans #chris evans x ofc #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x oc

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 7

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin, Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education

Summary: A little making out, and family time.

Notes: Soft chapter, but one that was difficult to write. Definitely look up the song Wei WuXian plays on the dizi. There’s a version on YouTube played with the xiao, and it’s lovely. Last week of summer semester, so it might be a bit before I update.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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Though at first their teeth collide a few times, Lan WangJi discovers that kissing, as with anything else, is a skill one can improve with practice. He is startled a bit when Wei Ying opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he finds the sensation of his tongue against his own more than enjoyable.

He finds it even more enjoyable to be able to finally give attention to the mole under his lip that has taunted him all these years. Wei Ying seems to realize his focus because he laughs, joyous and breathless and beautiful.

Lan WangJi hooks his arm around Wei Ying to pull him closer, but he freezes at his pained hiss.

Of course; Wei Ying was injured by Wen Ning, and likely hurt himself last night falling to the hard cave floor in his haste to escape the dog spirit.

As much as he would prefer to continue this, Lan WangJi forces himself to stop. He can’t help but remember Wei Ying’s reminder that their union hasn’t been consummated, and that doesn’t make it easier. He has, after all, been waiting since he was fifteen.

“You are injured,” he says softly, sitting. “And malnourished.”

Wei Ying pouts, but doesn’t protest vocally or move to get up, which tells Lan WangJi he truly is in pain, and judging from the way his eyelids are drooping, absolutely in need of more sleep.

“I will meditate here, and we will have breakfast together when you wake. We should also discuss my brother’s impending visit.”

“Ah, I guess you want to tell him we’re married, then?” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Can we at least ask him to keep quiet about it until after shijie’s wedding? She deserves better than to have her happy day overshadowed.”

Lan WangJi has not, in fact, thought yet of how he will tell his brother he married Wei Ying all those years ago and neglected to tell him. But he does agree that the news should not detract from the marriage of Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan, though he disagrees with the idea that the their marriage could be a dark thing.

“Agreed, but…”

He pauses, considering how to say what comes next, how not to risk driving Wei Ying away again.

“Please consider telling my brother you no longer have a golden core, if not the circumstances,” Lan WangJi finally says.

He is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, only grimaces, but his relief is short-lived.

“You think he’s more apt to help if he knows I’m broken,” he whispers.

Lan WangJi feels his jaw drop, horror rising as he realizes just how deeply Wei Ying’s self-loathing goes. He wishes he could assure him of his own worth, but he also knows it will take time to convince him. But this, he knows, is his fault. He did not help Wei Ying until he knew the truth, when he should have helped from the beginning, should have trusted him.

Does Wei Ying believe he pities him? The idea chafes.

“You are not broken,” he tells him, “and certainly not simply by virtue of being without a golden core.”

Wei Ying snorts derisively.

“Then what am I? A cultivator who can only cultivate on the crooked path?”

Lan WangJi gently pulls Wei Ying closer until he’s pillowed in his lap, until he can look at him directly, if upside down.

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You need be nothing more.”

His zhiji looks away, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight. Lan WangJi feels helpless in the face of his despondency, knows he is in part the cause.

“I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng. He’s going to be so angry.”

He understands; the secret involves his brother, and he has a duty to tell him first, regardless of how long it will be before he sees him next. Wei Ying’s public break with the Jiang clan makes that uncertain, and it is not the sort of revelation that would be appropriate in a letter. In fact, if it were known he sent a letter to Jiang Cheng at all, problems could arise.

Perhaps XiChen could send one on their behalf, though, asking Jiang Cheng to at least visit in secret.

“I will tell no one, Wei Ying. Not even xiongzhang, if you do not wish it. But… eventually you will no longer be able to hide it.”

Lan WangJi strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, hating to have to think about or reference the inevitability of his mortality. Hating that it is an inevitability.

“I ask only that you consider it, nothing more. I will honor whatever decision you make.”

Wei Ying doesn't reply, instead curls closer, shifts until his face is hidden against Lan WangJi’s side, his arms around his waist, his body further in his lap.

“You are not broken,” he repeats, running his hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “You are beautiful and honorable.”

He wishes the rest of the world could see Wei Ying as he does.

In the silence, he has little to focus on, noting the brittleness of his hair, how it seems as unhealthy as the rest of Wei Ying. But Lan WangJi has never had much opportunity to touch him this way—after XuanWu and when he fell after Wen RuoHan’s death notwithstanding.

Neither are pleasant memories, particularly the latter. The image of Wen RuoHan dangling Wei Ying by the throat over the steps of Nightless City still fills him with dread. He was certain then he was about to witness his zhiji’s death, to watch his neck snapped, to see him tossed aside like a broken doll.

Afterward, in the days he was unconscious, watching the bruises around his throat fade slowly, fearing he may never wake again as his spiritual energy did not seem to be recovering… It did not recover, but it was not, as he suspected then, due to demonic cultivation.

Lan WangJi wishes he realized sooner. He will always wish that he somehow was able to help Wei Ying more, will always feel the sting of having failed him for so long.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens slowly as he falls asleep, and Lan WangJi matches his breathing. Though he has never attempted meditation with someone in his lap, his zhiji’s presence is soothing, and he slips into the necessary trance easily.

He slips out of it just as easily a couple hours later when he hears footsteps approaching their chamber of the cave. From the sound, very short legs, the pace puttering against the stone and dirt of the cave.

Lan WangJi is unsurprised when a-Yuan enters. The child surveys them quietly for a moment.

“Xian-gege sad?” he finally asks.

Only then does Lan WangJi remember that Wei Ying is asleep in his lap, arms still twined around his waist.

“Mn,” he says with a nod.

Because despite Wei Ying’s happiness at his insistence that he indeed wanted to be married to him, his request regarding his brother upset him. And it had taken far too much convincing for his liking for Wei Ying to believe he was worthy of him.

“Hugs make me feel better when I’m sad,” the child says. “I can hug Xian-gege, too.”

Lan WangJi nods again, and a-Yuan toddles over and chooses the most expedient way to deliver a hug: flopping onto Wei Ying and then hugging him.

He resists the urge to scold the child when Wei Ying wakes with a pained grunt, and instead lifts a-Yuan off, settling him on one knee.

“Ah, a-Yuan, be careful,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice a bit strained. “You’re getting big.”

“Xian-gege needed hugs. And gugu said you need to wake up for breakfast. And popo said you’re too skinny.”

“Popo always says that.”

Wei Ying winces when he sits up, which lets Lan WangJi know Wen Qing should examine him. He hopes he will not injure as easily once he’s in better health.

“She is not wrong, Wei Ying.”

He pulls a face in response, but can’t help but laugh when a-Yuan imitates him.

“All right, all right. Let’s go eat.”

Lan WangJi is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t need help getting up, though he doubts very much he would ask if he did. He carries a-Yuan with them, and the boy seems content with being carried.

“I did not inquire yesterday about bathing facilities,” he comments as they make their way to the communal area.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“‘Bathing facilities.’ You’re so proper. We have a river, Lan Zhan. That and basins and rags. That’s about it right now.”

The river was practical, but not in the long term. Perhaps that was something to address with Wen Qing, then, whether tubs could be purchased. Before winter, when bathing in a river would be less than ideal.

“I know you’re used to better, but I’ll show you where later today,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, I’m probably overdue for a wash myself.”

“Xian-gege stinky?”

Wei Ying drops back to tickle a-Yuan.

“Stinky, eh? You just wait, stinky radish. I’m sure your gugu will want us to give you a bath, too.”

“A-Yuan not stinky!” the boy squeals with a giggle.

Wei Ying darts in and makes a show of smelling him.

“Oh, my little radish is ripe. It’s almost time to pick him and cook him up for dinner!”

“No cook a-Yuan!” he shrieks, still giggling, as they enter the communal area.

“Oh? Should we sell the little radish at market instead?”

“Noooooo! Gugu, tell Xian-gege!”

Wen Qing scowls at Wei Ying, but it’s without heat, a sort of play-acting likely affected for a-Yuan’s amusement.

“I swear sometimes you’re a child yourself,” she mutters.

“Xianxian is three,” Wei Ying sings with a grin.

“Brat,” she says, rolling her eyes, her voice fond.

They’re a family here, Lan WangJi has come to see. The closeness of their relationships brings light to the darkness of the Burial Mounds. He is glad they have been there for his zhiji when he has not.

Wei Ying winces when he settles on one of the seats and Wen Qing’s sharp gaze catches it. She looks between them with an expression that looks far too amused, and despite the fact that her assumption is incorrect, Lan WangJi can feel his ears heat.

“Dog spirit,” he explains. “Wei Ying fell.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifts to concern. It’s clear she knows of Wei Ying’s phobia.

“The damn thing came back again?”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying—he didn’t mention it had bothered him on previous occasions.

“Bad dog,” a-Yuan contributes.

“Lan Zhan eliminated it this time,” Wei Ying says, avoiding both their gazes.

Wen Qing shoots him a grateful look.

“Last time he knocked into the cave wall and almost broke his nose,” she tells him. “Hopefully all he’s got this time is a few bruises, but at least it won’t be back.”

She turns her attention back to Wei Ying.

“I’ll examine you after breakfast to be sure. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

“Aiya, no needles, Qing-jie! No need to bully me.”

Wei Ying grabs a-Yuan from Lan WangJi’s lap to use as a shield. The boy just giggles, like this is a common occurrence. Knowing his propensity for dramatics, it probably is.

“A-Ning is giving you double portions today,” Wen Qing continues, ignoring his antics. “And I’ll trust Hanguang-Jun to make sure you’re not feeding it to a-Yuan. He’s getting plenty, too, and we have radishes ready to harvest in a few days so we’ll be fine with food for a little while at least.”

She glares at him when he looks like he might protest.

“You’re unhealthy and everyone is worried about you. Popo was encouraging me to use needles and find a way to shove it down your throat earlier. Don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

Wei Ying, thankfully, takes her seriously enough to behave throughout breakfast. He eats enough that even popo, who seats herself at their table and manages to look both sweet and intimidating throughout the meal, seems satisfied.

True to her threat, Wen Qing has popo take charge of a-Yuan and drags a lightly protesting Wei Ying back to the Demon Subduing Cave to be examined. Lan WangJi hesitates, but follows at his zhiji’s pleading look.

“Sit,” Wen Qing orders when they’ve reached the alcove “I want to make sure you didn’t break anything, at least. You have horrid luck. Where did you fall?”

“Shoulder and hip,” Wei Ying says with a resigned sigh. “But it’s really not—”

He goes silent at her glare, which Lan WangJi has to admit is formidable.

“Don’t even,” she huffs. “You always lie about your injuries. Strip.”

Wei Ying, to Lan WangJi’s surprise, actually blushes, glancing at him. Wen Qing takes notice, looking between them.

“Ah, you told him, then?”

She looks almost amused.

“Wait, you told her?”

Lan WangJi almost winces at the bit of hurt in his tone.

“That he’s besotted with you? Any fool could tell, except you,” Wen Qing snaps.

“I did not tell her,” Lan WangJi confirms.

He is a little concerned when a slightly gleeful look passed over Wei Ying’s face, replaced with one that is utterly fond.

“So I was the first one you told that you handfasted me when we were sixteen?”

Wen Qing makes a noise that sounds almost like a choke, looking at them uncertainly.

“I did not even tell xiongzhang,” he confirms. “I would tell no one without telling you first.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns to one of adoration, and Lan WangJi starts mentally reciting the Lan principles, as he is sorely tempted to revisit their morning activities.

Wen Qing is still staring at them, and Lan WangJi takes pity, explaining in brief what occurred in the Cold Spring cave, with Wei Ying contributing details. He finishes by explaining the meaning of the forehead ribbons in a wedding ceremony and the bow to Lan Yi as essentially an elopement.

“You’re married?” Wen Qing murmurs, her voice hoarse with shock. “Married.”

Her gaze turns shrewd.

“Has it been consummated?”

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to choke.

“Qing-jie!”

Lan WangJi doesn’t trust himself to answer verbally and simply shakes his head.

To his surprise, she starts pacing, hands clasped behind her back. He didn’t expect her to be someone who paces.

“And you want to be wed, correct?” she asks after a moment.

Wei Ying’s “definitely” and Lan WangJi’s “of course” are simultaneous.

“Good,” she says, her tone surprisingly emphatic, as she turns to them. “So you’ve had quite an extended engagement, and we can figure out what this idiot gave as courting gifts since you bought a-Yuan toys and provided the Burial Mounds with money. I hate to simplify what is obviously a love match to political terms, but you need to consummate before Zewu-Jun arrives, in anticipation of the question of its validity.”

Lan WangJi can feel his ears heating, and Wei Ying’s face blushes more fetchingly than before. Wen Qing looks between them, and her brief look of glee is ever more concerning than Wei Ying’s was.

“Well, since you’re both clearly virgins—”

She ignores the “hey!” from Wei Ying.

“—and I am familiar with all forms of sexual hygiene as a doctor, I’ll go ahead and explain exactly what you’ll need to do to make it a safe and enjoyable experience.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. Wen Qing gestures for Lan WangJi to sit, and he’s honestly grateful to as she starts talking. She brusquely yanks Wei Ying’s robes from his shoulder to check his injuries as she does, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze from his zhiji’s milky skin to avoid reacting to it.

He cannot deny he has thought quite a bit about what he wanted to do with Wei Ying very often almost since first meeting him. Wen Qing’s very detailed and blunt explanations make those imaginings far less fuzzy than they were before. She even includes a discussion of aftercare, advising they keep a basin of water and rags nearby for the “mess.” By the time she’s finished, Wei Ying’s very red face is buried in his hands, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze as she pulls his trousers away from his hip, revealing the curve of one bruised buttock.

“And I guess I’ll have to send Merlin-yi to market for the oil,” Wen Qing says as she wraps up both her lecture and her examination. “I’ll send a-Ning, too. Even if we can’t provide a proper banquet, a marriage deserves celebration. You’re family, Wei WuXian, and we’ll do our best.”

“Qing-jie,” Wei Ying whispers, sounding touched.

She offers him a smile and shoves his robes at him.

“If we could afford red silk, we’d throw a whole wedding. You don’t mind the others knowing, right? They’ll be very happy for you.”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying, careful to keep his eyes on his face—he may be wearing trousers, but he might as well be naked and it’s terribly distracting. The look on his face assures him he doesn’t mind, so he nods affirmation to Wen Qing.

“It’s just some bruising, thankfully,” she assures them. “I’d put on salve, but I heard you discussing bathing at the river, so I’ll leave that for later. It’d be a waste to apply it twice.”

Wei Ying pulls his robes on, still red in the face.

“Right, a bath.”

His gaze is shy when he looks at Lan WangJi, who is trying to imagine how they’ll get through bathing together without engaging in some of the activities described by Wen Qing.

Some of that thought must have been apparent to Wei Ying, because his face flushed again.

Wen Qing snorts.

“Not so shameless after all, are you? We’ll be sure to give the river a wide berth.”

Wei Ying’s response is to hide his face in his hands again.

“We will bathe separately,” Lan WangJi states, pulling Wei Ying to his feet.

Wen Qing just laughs at them.

When they reach the river, which is a short trek from the settlement, Lan WangJi insists Wei Ying bathe first, pulling the fragrant soaps he uses for his body and hair from is qiankun pouch for him to use. He knows they are likely a luxury, and he is happy to share it with him.

He plays his guqin while his zhiji bathes, starting with “WangXian” and moving into “Cleansing,” infusing the latter with spiritual energy. He is pleased when the resentful energy in the area eases, and hopes it helps Wei Ying as well.

When Wei Ying returns, clad in fresh robes, he takes his own turn to bathe. The water is chilly, but not inordinately so in the summer heat. He is pleased when the notes of a dizi fill the air, playing “WangXian” as well. Though he composed the song with the guqin in mind, the rendition Wei Ying plays on ChenQing is lovely. Lan WangJi is glad it has brought him comfort.

The notes shift into what he recognizes as “Plum-Blossom in Three Movements,” a song he rather likes but didn’t know Wei Ying knew. Lan WangJi has heard xiongzhang play it on the xiao and can play it on the guqin, though it was originally composed for the dizi. But he shouldn’t be surprised; Wei Ying is a master of the six arts and has displayed such with references to literature and poetry even in his playful moments.

The plum blossom is an apt symbol for the resilience of life on the Burial Mounds and for Wei Ying, who always endured despite the hardships he faced. Perhaps the song is an expression of Wei Ying’s hope, his faith in Lan WangJi. He wants to give his zhiji hope, longs to ease his hardships.

When he has finished and dressed in fresh robes, he rejoins Wei Ying and asks if he may comb his hair.

He uses his own sandalwood scented oil, giving it the proper treatment.

Wei Ying is swaying slightly when he finishes, the pampering lulling him nearly to sleep. Lan WangJi longs to style his hair, to put it in the GusuLan style as though Wei Ying was marrying into his clan. But he is not, and so he refrains.

Instead he brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, leaning forward to brush his lips against the soft hair there.

Wei Ying shivers and turns to him, pulling him in for a proper kiss before taking the comb and hair oil from him to return the favor.

Lan WangJi didn’t expect the sensuality of his husband brushing his hair—husband. They’re married. Wei Ying’s deft fingers make short work of his tangles, gently spread oil to treat his hair, grazing his scalp in blossoms of sensation, love in every touch.

Wei Ying braids his hair, his fingers weaving the locks with care, and Lan WangJi lets him. He is not in Cloud Recesses, not required to wear his hair in GusuLan style. When it is finished he turns to see a flourish of red, Wei Ying having used his own ribbon to tie off the braid.

And so it is natural to braid his hair in return, to weave the sacred ribbon that usually rests on his forehead in his hair, leaving the cloud symbol at the top, adorning the top of the braid like a jewel.

“Your forehead ribbon?” Wei Ying asks, startled, when he catches sight of the very pale blue ribbon tying his hair off.

Lan WangJi cups his cheek in his hand, moving forward until their noses are almost touching.

“Airen, you may touch it.”

A soft smile blossoms on Wei Ying’s face, and he rests his forehead against Lan WangJi’s.

“Airen. I like that,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wei ying #lan yuan #wen yuan

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

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If you're still taking asks, maybe a modern wangxian au where LWJ finds out WWX never learned to ride a bike so he decides to teach him? Or in line with those LWJ does something uncharacteristic but only for WWX's eyes (like winking at him) and WWX is so shocked and tries to convince anyone else that it happened but no one believes him. Just some general fluffiness 🤗

Anon, I hope you don’t mind that I threw A-Yuan in here too,because I had a brainwave halfway through writing this and “fluff”plus “Lan Wangji acting in ways other people won’t believe”came up with an answer of “A-Yuan.” (Also I re-watched relevantscenes and realized A-Yuan calls Wei Wuxian “Xian-gege” and Icould not resist.) This fic is ~2.7k and can also be read on AO3.

When Wei Wuxiansteps off the bus with A-Yuan balanced carefully against his hip, hefinds Yiling park is less crowded than expected for a sunny autumn day. That may be due to the exhibition downtown, or to the coolbreeze snaking over the grounds and blowing hair into people’sfaces no matter how carefully they’d tied their ponytail. He swipeshis hair back irritably and checks that A-Yuan’s coat is stillbuttoned up. It hadn’t been this cool back at his apartment, butafter a few months of babysitting Wei Wuxian has learned at least afew things, and one of thosethings is that Wen Qing will absolutely pummel him if he takes thekid out without a jacket.

“This is usually areally nice place,” he tells A-Yuan as they walk hand-in-tiny-handtoward the pedestrian boulevard. “When I was in school, fourdifferent classmates of mine got engaged here, over by the river, andthere’s a playground further in, and sometimes there arefireworks.”

The grounds haven’tchanged much since those days, which were, admittedly, only a yearago so he’s not sure what he was expecting. The walking paths arestill lined with trees and flower bushes for every season, and theelectric lanterns overhead creak as they swing in the breeze. It’sjust not really the sort of place he ever imagined Lan Wangjifrequenting. Full of couples and families with children, or usuallyfull anyway. Lan Wangji likes solitude and quiet. At least, he usedto.

Maybe something’schanged in the last few months. Something that would make himactually respond to one of Wei Wuxian’s messages for once. Andinvite him somewhere. On a not-date, because Wei Wuxian is verycertain that Lan Wangji doesn’t… date. And he definitely doesn’tdate university dropouts, no matter the state of their previousfriendship, or what sorts of daydreams and hopes Wei Wuxian stillguiltily harbors.

Not that theknowledge stops Wei Wuxian’ heart speeding up as he finally catchessight of a figure in a long white overcoat, standing quiet andself-contained next to one of the bubbling fountains spreadthroughout the park. Not that reminding himself of it keeps his palmsfrom sweating as they draw nearer.

“Lan Zhan,” hecalls when he can’t bear to wait any longer, and it’s gratifying,how quickly Lan Wangji turns.

“Wei Ying,” hesays, and there might even be a hint of a smile there before his eyeslock on A-Yuan and a frown etches itself between his brows. “Thisis …?”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxianrealizes, quite suddenly, that he never actually… sent that updatetext about his situation. Oops. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologies.“This is A-Yuan. I don’t usually watch him on Saturdays, but hisfamily had a—a thing today.” He waves his free hand, as if it canencompass the Wen family’s various complications and commitments.

Lan Wangji staresdown at A-Yuan without responding.

“Is—is thatokay?” Wei Wuxian bites his lip. “If it’s not I think I’mfree next week—”

“It’s fine,”Lan Wangji says. And then, with some concern, “Is he cold?”

Wei Wuxian looksdown to find A-Yuan has turned his face into Wei Wuxian’s leg, likehe’s hiding from the wind. But he’s not shivering, or clinging.It’s more like his occasional behavior at the supermarket, whenit’s overcrowded.

“Ah, no, I thinkhe’s just shy.” He pets A-Yuan’s hair. “A-Yuan,” he coaxes,“This is Lan Zhan, Xian-gege’s friend from school. He’s the onewho invited us out to play today.” A-Yuan shakes his head and staysstubbornly turned into him. Wei Wuxian can barely bite back his smileas he says, “Lan Zhan, your face is too severe, he thinks you’reangry.”

Lan Wangji managesto look even more concerned at this, and Wei Wuxian laughs. “It’sfine, it’s fine, he really is shy. It took him two days to warm upto me when I was first watching him.” He slings off his backpackand nudges A-Yuan closer to the fountain. “He’ll do better for abit of a distraction.”

The backpack isoverstuffed with things he or A-Yuan might need, but it’s easyenough to find the butterfly and the dragon he likes best.

“A-Yuan,” hesays, holding them out, “Do you want to show Lan Zhan your toys?”

A-Yuan bites hislip, his little hands clenching tight as he reaches out and thenpulls back.

“A-Yuan ishungry,” he declares, and Wei Wuxian sighs.

“We ate lunch anhour ago. I told you already, we can get noodles in a little while.All I have for you right now is shrimp crackers and dried plums.”

A-Yuan pouts. Shrimpcrackers and dried plums are tied for his least favorite snack, butbetween his anticipation of this outing with Lan Wangji and theunexpected chaos his morning had turned into Wei Wuxian hasn’trefreshed his supplies yet this week. He sets the toys on the wideedge of the fountain and turns with a grimace. “Sorry, Lan Zhan,”he says. “Sometimes he—”

“Will these work?”Lan Wangji produces a brightly colored bag of Lotus chips and holdsthem out to A-Yuan, who nods eagerly.

“Lan Zhan...”Wei Wuxian watches him open the snacks and pick out a careful pile ofchips that he presents on a paper napkin. Watches A-Yuan smile widelyat him and offer up his most polite and heartfelt ‘thank you.’There’s another, immediately recognizable snack bag peeking out ofLan Wangji’s bike pannier—the spicy version of the same brand oflotus snacks, which Wei Wuxian had eaten almost every day while theywere in classes together and which he knows for a fact Lan Wangjipersonally abhors.

For a moment he’sso overcome with nostalgia and inexplicable gratitude that he can’teven see what’s directly in front of him until Lan Wangji call hisname.

“What?” heblinks hard and clears his throat before meeting Lan Wangji’s gaze.“Sorry, Lan Zhan, what-ah. What did you even want to do today,anyway?”

Lan Wangji looks athim for a moment, and then at A-Yuan happily eating and playing, andthen nods to himself. He goes back to his bike panniers and rummagesfor a moment, reappearing with a bike helmet, which he pushes intoWei Wuxian’s unresisting hands.

“What’s thisfor?” he asks, staring at it. It looks suspiciously like LanWangji’s own bike helmetwith the white and the blue detailing tomatch his fancy road bike,but he supposes it’s possible there’sa second one. Lan Wangji had to buy it somewhere, right?

“Riding,”Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian sighs and passes the helmet back.

“LanZhan, wherever you want to go I’m sure we can walk. Or catch a bus!Get a taxi. It’s too—too windy to bike, and there’s no seat forA-Yuan on a rental.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and huncheshis shoulders like he’s warding of chills. Hot noodles are soundingmore and more appealing.

“Youshould learn,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian goes still. Noteven remotely adate then. Definitely nota date. No, instead LanWangji has found yet another weakness to poke his long, beautifulfingers into. Damn him.

“Whotold you?”

LanWangji is impassive, as ever. “You were at the skate park. With WenQionglin.”

WeiWuxian frowns. He spends a few evenings a week at the skate park withWen Ning, but none of that time is really related to—oh. Oh.The trick bike, two weeks ago. Which means Lan Wangji saw him crashinto a bench and nearly break his wrist. Whoops.

“LanZhan, that was a one-time thing,” he promises. “Don’t worry,I’m not going to be trying that again.” Even if riding a bikewould be worlds more convenient than walking next time he misses thebus to work.“I’m fine, really. Thereare plenty of ways to get around the city.” Heturns on his heel and scrunches up his face in the direction of ahappy couple on the walkingpaths. This is reallynot—wait. “Wait.” He spinsback around. “Did you mean—youwant to teach me?”

LanWangji is looking down at the helmet in his hands, not meeting WeiWuxian’s eyes.

“Mn,”he says, low enough that Wei Wuxian can hardly hear it over the rushof the fountain. He leans closer.

“Isthere a special reason?” he asks with renewed hope.

“WeiYing should learn,” Lan Wangji repeats.

Somuch for that then. Wei Wuxian pouts. But maybe he can turn this tohis advantage. Bike riding lessons could take hours. Maybe days. Itcould take multiple meetings, with and without A-Yuan in tow. Atminimum, it means more time spent with Lan Wangji, more opportunitiesto figure out if this is friendship rekindled or—or something else.

“Okay.”He plucks the helmet from Lan Wangji’s hands and smiles at the hintof surprise on his face. “Let’s do it.”

Ofcourse, as with anything involving Lan Wangji, there arecomplications. It’s not enough to just get on a bike and point itdown a clear patch of pavement, no, there are steps.The first of which is wearing a helmet, which takes a few minutesto get settled properly; WeiWuxian has no idea how Lan Wangji manages to wear it and still havesuch perfectly neat hair all the time.Wei Wuxian does not have thatgift. His ponytail gets inthe way, and Lan Wangjimeets the suggestion that they could just move on without the helmetwith an icy stare. So Wei Wuxian takes down his hair and puts it upagain three separate times, and stops to tease A-Yuan and let himselfbe laughed at, and then the straps have to be adjusted again, andagain.

Thatpart at least is mostly pleasant. Lan Wangji stands close enough thatWei Wuxian can count his eyelashes as he frowns and messes withplastic clips and slips his fingers carefully between Wei Wuxian’sskin and the buckle. It takes two tries before he’s satisfied thatthe helmet isn’t going to slip off and leave Wei Wuxian to rattlehis brain against the concrete, and by the time he steps back WeiWuxian has very nearly convinced himself that a kiss would be aharmless, innocuous thing and not at all a risk that makes hisinsides tie themselves into knots. Very, very nearly, but notquite well enough to close that last bit of distance between them.

Adjustingthe bike’s seat is significantly more frustrating.

“It’sfine,” Wei Wuxian insists, impatient after getting on and off thebike four times for what seem to be extremely minor adjustments.

“It’ssafer if your feet can touch the ground while you’re learning,”Lan Wangji says, unhooking the latch again.

“Theytouch!” Wei Wuxian fumes. “I’m not that much shorterthan you, I’ll knock myself out with my own knees if that seat goesany lower.” Not that any of his protests seem to matter in the faceof Lan Wangji’s conviction.

Finally,finally, after the seat is adjusted and Lan Wangji hasstubbornly held the whole bike still so that Wei Wuxian can tryputting his feet on the pedals without falling over, they can reallyget underway. Wei Wuxian moves A-Yuan to a slightly safer distancefrom both bicycle and fountain, tells him to stay put so he doesn’tget hurt, and straddles the bike one last time. Lan Wangji holds ontothe rack in an effort to keep the bike steady without being directlyin the way, but it’s still a wobbly effort. Wei Wuxian looks downthe stretched out downhill slope of pavement before him and seesnothing but a hard surface to fall on. For a moment he considers themerits of calling the whole thing of and insisting on an early dinnerafter all. His wrist twinges with remembered pain.

ButLan Wangji has gone to so much effort, and this is the first timehe’s reached out for anything in months. If Wei Wuxian backsout now he might not get another chance to see him for even longer.

“Okay.”The handlebars wobble and he tightens his grip with a grimace; LanWangji’s biek is the lightest, most responsive bicycle he’s everso much as touched. “Okay,” he repeats. “What next, Lan Zhan?”

“Pedalslowly, and remember the breaks,” Lan Wangji says at his shoulder,and then they’re moving, Lan Wangji’s footsteps at his side asthe tires roll and the pavement speeds by, faster and faster, andthen he realizes he can’t hear Lan Wangji’s footsteps anymore andhe’s gliding along on his own. Coasting down the hill. Speedingup.

Thespeed is exhilarating. Like jumping off a diving board or taking thehalf-pipe a little too fast. He lets out a whoop and leans into itand tries to pedal faster, and then the bike leaps suddenly sideways,and there’s a moment of trying to pedal backwards and trying toreach the brake levers at the same time, and then the whole bikeshudders underneath him and the horizon slips sideways and he hitsthe ground and slides.

Fora few seconds he just lies on his side doing a mental inventory ofhis parts. Ow. His left ankle and upper arm hurt. There’s gravelunder his face. He has no idea where the bike is. He thinks A-Yuanmight be crying in the distance.

“WeiYing!” Lan Wangji’s voice draws nearer. “Wei Ying,” rightoverhead. A hand grabs at his shoulder, another pressing to his face.

“Xian-gege!”A-Yuan yells, almost directly into his ear, still crying, and WeiWuxian reaches a hand up for him.

“I’mokay,” he says as soothingly as he can, patting blindly at A-Yuan’shead.“Shhhh, Xian-gege is okay, A-Yuan.”

“WeiYing,” Lan Wangji repeats, like he thinks Wei Wuxian can’t hearhim.

“LanZhan.” Wei Wuxian struggles to sit up, a process made moredifficult by both A-Yuan andLan Wangji’s hoveringpresence so close to his face. “Did I scratch up your bike?” Helooks around for clues to its whereabouts, but Lan Wangji makes adismissive noise and grabs at his hand.

“Areyou hurt?” he asks.

“No,”Wei Wuxian lies. Bruises don’t count, especially not with LanWangji holding his hand. “Lan Zhan, I’m fine, I promise,” heinsists when Lan Wangji looks unconvinced. More than unconvinced, LanWangji looks almost regretful. “Hey, hey, no,” Wei Wuxiansqueezes his hand. Dares to tug him a little closer. “I’m fine.Nothing an ice pack won’t cure.”

“Xian-gege.”A-Yuan chooses that moment to crawl from Lan Wangji’s lap to hisand press tiny toddler hands into his face. “Xian-gege is hurt,”he says, pushing at Wei Wuxian’s cheeks in a way that does,admittedly, make him wince.

“Everything’sokay, A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian sighs and lets of of Lan Wangji’s handto wipe at the tears on A-Yuan’s cheeks. “I’m not hurt. I justmessed up. Do you remember what we do when we mess up?”

A-Yuannods seriously. “Try again,” he says dutifully, and Wei Wuxiangrins and bops his nose gently.

“That’sright! We try again. So that’s what we’re going to do, and thenwe’re going to go get noodles. Deal?”

“Mn!”A-Yuan nods eagerly.

“Deal,Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, still grinning even though his cheekhurts with it, and even though his whole body is probably going toache tomorrow morning, especially if he falls again. “Let merepay you for the lesson with dinner?”

LanWangji gives him a long, slow look, but there’s a hint of a smilethere. Just enough to send Wei Wuxian’s heart soaring all overagain.

“Mn,”he agrees.

#wangxian #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #chen qing ling #a yuan #alex writes #Anonymous

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justcallmehermione · 4 years

Text

Fic update !

Story: Small Bump Rating: M for some delicious smut

Pairings: Linzin, Tokka, and Kataang

FF.net

AO3

Chapter 10: Spotlight

“Can you please remind me why we’re making this pit stop at the Southern Air Temple, again?” Lin inquired a little icily. Winter was in full effect this far south and Lin sat on Oogi’s back wrapped in several layers of furs Katara had lent them for their journey south.

“Dad asked me to drop these scrolls off so they can be filed in the big library they’re adding to the grounds of the temple,” Tenzin replied without turning around.

“Well, do we have to stay long? It’s freezing up here and I’d much rather get to our final destination sooner rather than later,” Lin barked at Tenzin.

Tenzin, getting a little angry at his wife’s tone turned to her and asked, “Is there something wrong? You’re not exactly treating me well.”

“Oh forgive me, Master Airhead. I’m just a little pregnant with your child, and I’m sitting on the back of this giant ball of fur, freezing to death. Oh and to top it all off, we have to make a pit stop where I’m sure we’ll be asked incessant questions about the child I’m carrying!” she spat at him.

Mustering all the patience years of meditation had given him, Tenzin drew a deep breath before he began, “I’m sorry we are stopping at the temple. We don’t have to stay the weekend. I’m sure Oogi can continue to Kya’s place immediately after the scrolls are dropped off.”

Oogi groaned in response. He didn’t sound too happy about continuing in the darkening, cold winter sky.

Lin acquiesced, “No, I don’t want to tire Oogi out and make him freeze up here. We can stay the two days. I’m sorry for my attitude. Pregnancy is really taking its toll on me.”

Tenzin climbed back to where Lin was and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

“It’s alright love. I’m sure this cold isn’t helping any. We should be landing soon. In the meantime, is there any room for me under those furs?”

Lin pondered for a moment, then replied, “Hmm, I don’t know. That would require me opening the furs up to let you in. Not to mention, you’re probably freezing and going to make it cold in here.”

Tenzin didn’t wait for permission. He wrenched the furs open and slid in next to his wife. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and placed his ice cold hands on her protruding stomach. Lin shivered at his touch. He quickly wrapped them back up in the furs and they snuggled to keep each other warm while Oogi completed the well-traveled route to the Southern Air Temple.

…

Tenzin gently nudged Lin under the furs. He whispered, “Wake up, beautiful. We’ve arrived.” Lin stirred and blinked open. The sun was setting and the air was growing colder by the second.

“Thank the Spirits!” she exclaimed, “Let’s get inside in front of a nice warm fire. Maybe I’ll be able to feel my toes after a few minutes in front of the flames.” She bent a pillar for herself to use to descend from Oogi’s back.

Tenzin chuckled, “Of course, dear. As you wish!” He followed her, a bundle of scrolls and their overnight sack in hand. By the time he landed softly on the ground, an entourage of Air Acolytes had made their way to the courtyard where they landed. The group reached Tenzin & Lin and bowed in unison to them.

One of them stepped forward, head still bowed, and said, “Master Tenzin, Ms. Lin, my name is Devadas and it is my honor to serve you both during your stay here.”

Tenzin glanced at Lin and noticed the scowl, he quickly intervened, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Devadas. Thank you for your warm welcome.”

Devadas rose, but kept his eyes downcast, “Please, allow us to take your things to your rooms. Some of us can also escort Oogi to the bison stables so he has some shelter for the evening--”

“We’re fine carrying our own things,” Lin snapped, “Can you please just show us to our rooms?”

Devadas glanced towards Lin, then looked to Tenzin to see if he was also angry, he began, “Forgive me, please. I did not mean to offend anyone.”

“You didn’t offend us. We’re more than capable of carrying our own bags since we won’t be here that long,” Tenzin intervened before Lin could reply.

“Please, it is our honor to help, and we were hoping you’d consider staying here longer..”

“No, we’ll be here for the weekend and be on our way once Oogi is rested,” Lin interrupted, “Please show us to our room and Oogi to the stables.” She felt Tenzin’s hand on the small of her back and added a quick, “please,” to try and make up for her tone.

“As you wish,” Devadas acquiesced, “follow me.” Devadas motioned for the couple to go one way while the other acolytes led Oogi to the stables.

As the trio were walking towards the dormitories, Tenzin began, “Thank you again for your hospitality, Devadas. Lin and I really appreciate it.”

“It is an honor to have you both here. We are here to help in any way we can,” Devadas assured them.

“We’ll let you know if we need anything while we’re here for the weekend,” Tenzin assured him.

The trio arrived at the dormitory building. Devadas motioned to the left and explained, “Men’s rooms are that way, and women’s are the other. We share a washroom in the center of the building. I personally made sure there was a vacant bed for each of you in your respective parts of the rooms.”

“We’re not allowed to stay together,” Lin asked while rolling her eyes.

“It’s just for the weekend,” Tenzin whispered to her while rubbing her back.

“Whatever,” she retorted and stomped off away from the men.

Tenzin turned to their host and smiled sheepishly, “Sorry about that, the journey here was not the most pleasant we’ve ever had. I’m sure she’ll be fine once she warms up and gets a good night’s sleep.”

“Of course, Master Tenzin. Now if you’ll follow me, I saved a spot next to my bunk specially for you,” Devadas eagerly explained as he led Tenzin towards the men’s wing.

Oh spirits, Tenzin thought to himself, this is going to be one long weekend.

…

Tenzin awoke, but did not feel well rested. Devadas had kept the two of them up late talking about all the plans they had for the new library. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish he and his wife had continued to the South Pole last night to avoid all that.

“Good morning, Master Tenzin!” Devadas greeted cheerfully.

Tenzin drew in a deep breath, remembering that this was just for the weekend and he would survive. “Good morning, Devadas,” he responded, mustering as much cheer as possible.

“Will you be meditating with us this morning,” the air acolyte inquired.

Tenzin took a deep breath and replied, “Of course. I think I’m just going to check on Lin quickly, first.”

“I don’t think that is necessary. I left one of my best acolytes with specific instructions to ensure Ms. Beifong has everything she could ever need or want,” Devadas assured him.

“I’m very grateful for that, but I still would like to check on my wife,” Tenzin declared.

“Please, Master Tenzin, we would absolutely love it if you lead us in this morning’s mediation. I promise, Lin is better than fine. She is fantastic,” Devadas said while ushering Tenzin out of the dormitory and towards the East-facing plaza where they normally conducted morning meditations.

But before the pair could completely exit the dormitory, Tenzin got his wish as he saw Lin being ushered out by a group of female air acolytes. She appeared disgruntled, as if a good night’s sleep had escaped her and had only worsened her mood from the previous night.

“Tenzin!” she shouted, “Thank the Spirits you’re here too!” She quickened her pace to catch up with him, escaping from her wranglers.

“Lin!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her as she flung herself at him. She tried burying her face in his chest, but he grabbed her chin and lifted her face so he could try to read her. Her brow was furrowed and her jaw was tense. She was clearly disgruntled by whatever had happened during the night or when she awoke this morning. Tenzin planted a kiss on her forehead to try to offer some comfort.

He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd of air acolytes that were waiting for him, “Please, proceed to the plaza. I will be there shortly for meditation.” The air acolytes bowed in unison and followed his command, quietly.

“What happened,” he inquired once they were the only ones left in the dormitory.

Lin huffed, “I was sound asleep because I was planning on resting for a while longer today after traveling last night, when I was prodded awake by those insufferable acolytes.”

Tenzin couldn’t help a smile from appearing on his lips, “Is that so?”

Lin rolled her eyes, “Yes! They were trying to wake me gently, but it felt like they were just trying to be the first to rub my belly and feel the baby kick, and all to get me to come meditate with them!”

“Ah, well, I can see why your mood hasn’t improved much since last night then.”

“No, it hasn’t. In fact, it may be a little worse even. They all started blabbering about how I needed to get up to meditate because it’s good for my health and in turn is good for the baby. One of them also mentioned something about --”

Her story was interrupted by Tenzin’s mouth covering hers. He knew she was upset, but that she wouldn’t be forever, especially if he could try to make her feel other strong, passionate emotions. Lin tilted her head up more, granting him full access to her mouth. Tenzin took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her mouth. He pulled her as close to him as possible and let one of his hands slide down slightly, cupping the curve of her backside. After a gentle squeeze, he pulled back and let her go while they caught their breath.

“Well, hopefully that calmed you a bit. Now, go back to bed and get some more rest. I’ll come get you when meditation is over,” Tenzin explained.

Lin blinked at him for a moment, collecting her thoughts, then chided, “I know what you did just now, and that was plain cruel, especially since we won’t be alone till we leave the temple.”

Tenzin smiled at her and smoothly replied, “I have no idea what you’re getting at. I’m late for meditation. I’ll see you soon.” He left her standing in the hallway as he sauntered out of the building to see to his duties.

…

“And here we plan on holding scrolls devoted to the Avatar and his past lives. We already have quite a collection of tales about Master Aang, and we’re hoping to get more about him and his past lives soon,” Devadas rambled on and on as he was showing Tenzin the refurbished library the acolytes were working on restoring. He hadn’t noticed Tenzin had stopped listening to most of what he was saying a while ago, and continued on with the tour. Tenzin was preoccupied with thoughts of Lin. He hadn’t been able to see her since breakfast, where her mood had improved slightly. He prayed to the spirits that she was doing well, for the sake of all those around her, as well as their unborn child. Devadas had finished the tour and was guiding the two men back to the cafeteria for lunch when another acolyte came running towards the two.

“Excuse me, Master Tenzin” the acolyte started, huffing and puffing trying to catch his breath, “but we need your assistance urgently. It’s your wife…”

“Lin!” Tenzin interrupted, “What’s the matter? Take me to her!”

“Right away,” the acolyte responded and took off the way he came from.

As the trio got further away from the library, they started to hear and feel the faint rumble of the ground shifting around them. Tenzin knew they had to be getting close to Lin. His idea confirmed, as they now heard Lin yelling as the ground continued to shift and split.

“Here we are,” the acolyte proclaimed, stopping at the edge of a clearing on the side of the mountain, not daring to get closer to Lin.

Tenzin immediately dropped into a defensive stance and started to assess the situation, ready to protect his wife if the need arose. He scanned the scene. He saw Lin facing off against two air acolytes, her frame clearly tense and rigid. The acolytes, both female, were trembling as they continued to plea with Lin, “Please, Ms. Beifong! This isn’t healthy.”

Lin stomped and kicked up a huge boulder from the ground. She shifted her weight and punched towards the boulder, sending it flying off the side of the mountain so it could crash into an adjacent one.

“I’m perfectly capable of practicing my forms, you ninnies!” Lin yelled back at them. She continued to move through different bending stances, kicking up more rocks and rock clusters, sending them flying around. The acolytes continued to tremble and plea with her to stop.

Tenzin stood up straight, realizing there was no danger, and inquired, “What is going on here?”

Lin swung around to face him with a rock in mid-air, ready to send it at the newcomers, and shouted, “Oh, don’t you start on me too, Master Arrowhead!” Tenzin gave her a quizzical look, unsure of why he was being admonished.

Tenzin turned towards the acolyte that had run to him and Devadas and interrogated, “Why did you come get us? Lin isn’t in any danger…” Tenzin glanced over at his wife again. She was still standing in the same pose with the rock ready to be flung if she were challenged by anyone. He noticed she was a little sweaty, despite the cool autumn air, and there were a few streaks of dirt here and there on her body and clothes. Tenzin also noticed the small swell of her belly and started grinning. His wife was perfectly fine, and so was his unborn child. Nothing was wrong, his heart rate can start decreasing now.

“Allow me to try to shed some light on the situation, Master Tenzin,” Devadas stated. He waved his hand, beckoning the two female acolytes to come towards him. The two women shuffled towards the men, not taking their eyes off of Lin for fear she might strike at any time. Once they were close enough, Devadas inquired, “Ladies, what is going on here?” Lin had decided to fling the rock away and approach the group, her face in a scowl.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on here,” she spat, “These two turtle-ducks were trying to interrupt my exercise!”

Devadas nodded, “Yes of course, as they should.” Tenzin whipped his head at the acolyte and had a look of pure shock on his face.

Lin stared daggers at him and spat, “Excuse me?”

Devadas explained, “They should stop you. I put Masami and Lawan in charge of caring for you and the baby while you were here. I had hoped they would be able to convince you to stay for the remainder of your pregnancy so they could be your doulas when your time came to bring the next airbender into the world.”

“Precisely,” Masami or Lawan, Tenzin wasn’t sure who was who, piped up, “We both have experience with bringing new life into the world. We have worked with expectant mothers for many years now and we know that this kind of exertion is not good for the baby.”

“They sent me to get you, Master Tenzin, to try to talk some sense into your wife,” the male acolyte chimed in.

“Sense? Why would he need to talk sense into me?” Lin continued to argue, “There is nothing wrong with me practicing a bit of earthbending!”

“But in your condition, --” one of the doulas started to argue back, but was quickly cut off by Lin again.

“My condition? What? Am I dying now? I didn’t realize growing another human inside of me suddenly turned me into some fragile piece of pottery that needs to be wrapped up and stored in a room for 9 months until the baby finally comes.”

“You aren’t pottery,” Devadas tried explaining, “But the next airbender you are carrying should be treated as such. His or her life is very important and sacred.”

“Oh, stop that!” Lin was seething now and the ground beneath them started trembling. “No one even knows if the baby will be a bender of anything!” Her fists clenched, causing cracks to form in the ground around them.

“Lin,” Tenzin spoke softly, reaching out to grab his wife’s hand in an attempt to calm her, “Please, take a deep breath.” He took a step closer to her, reaching an arm around her waist. Lin spun to face him. He stared into her pale green eyes and wanted nothing more than to make her pain disappear.

Tenzin placed a kiss on her forehead, then turned to address the acolytes, “Thank you for your concern for Lin and the baby.”

“What?” Lin exclaimed “You can’t possibly be taking their side in this!”

“I-I wasn’t,” Tenzin stammered.

“You just thanked them for what they did!”

“You didn’t let me finish what I wanted to say.”

“Oh, please! You won’t put these airheads in their places. You never want to step on anyone else’s toes!”

“Lin, please.”

“No. I’m done. I’m tired of being treated like this and I’m tired of everyone assuming my future child’s identity!”

“I know, but--” “No, Tenzin. Don’t argue with me. You know how I feel about that.”

“I do, and I’m on your side, always.”

“Now, I hardly think that wise,” Devadas interrupted the couple, “You have no training in these matters, Master Tenzin. Masami and Lawan know what they’re talking about. We should all trust and follow their advice.”

“If those two are going to continue to give unsolicited advice on your orders, then I’m outta here,” Lin declared and started heading towards the dormitories.

“I’ll be at the bison stables in 20 minutes. I’ll take Oogi with or without you, husband,” she called back.

“Look, I’m sorry for my wife’s behavior and I do really appreciate your concern for Lin,” Tenzin reassured the acolytes, “However, no one knows Lin better than herself, so I’m sure she is more than capable of exercising while pregnant. She loves the baby more than anybody does and I know she’d do everything to protect him or her. Please trust my wife’s judgement.” And with that, Tenzin bowed his head to the four air acolytes then took off after his wife, knowing full well she would leave him stranded without his staff or Oogi.

Notes: Another update! I definitely got some Katara calming Aang out of the Avatar State at the end of this chapter. I figured pregnancy hormones in Lin would draw some pretty powerful emotions/bending out of her, so hopefully this all makes sense. I’m hoping to update again soon as this pandemic continues. Comments and Kudos are always welcome!

#linzin #fan fiction #fanfic #atla #lok #my writing #small bump #just call me hermione

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