#fine one moment but the slightest sent or something burning just snaps her back to 20 years ago

[bloominghands]

Idk about y’all, but I think the smell of burning books or paper would send Robin into a PTSD episode.

#;ooc #ptsd tw #ptsd mention tw #;headcanons #fine one moment but the slightest sent or something burning just snaps her back to 20 years ago

[wangsejabin]

Chapter 69

The East Palace was ablaze with lights.The Prince Consort's journey was quiet, but the bright lights made people feel uneasy.

Fools! Morons! Idiots!

On her way back, the Crown Princess had already cursed a thousand times, but it was useless to do so, for the matter had already come to a head. When a servant does something wrong, it is the master who bears the consequences. What she should be thinking about now was how to gain the Prince's understanding, not panic. But how? Would the prince understand her? He would surely loathe her even more given the past and this incident?

The Prince Consort felt that fate had a way of playing tricks on her, just when she had managed to figure it out and sink her teeth into it, trying to pick up what little was left of their relationship as husband and wife.

She should have realised the reality and not covered her ears and pretended that the Prince didn't know, when in fact he knew all about it, but only tolerated her for the sake of conjugal love.

So it's not as if there's no chance of salvaging her relationship with him, as long as she can put her foot down, as long as she doesn't deal with other women for a while. She already had a firstborn son, but he was too weak and she needed a second legitimate son to be on the safe side.

So even though her heart was burning, she held back from dealing with Su Pan'er, thinking it was a chance to show her generosity and prove herself.

The prince does favor that woman and will be satisfied with her attitude and think that she is still fine as the crown prince's consort. In time, the prince will forget all the unpleasant things that happened before and will be willing to give her a child again.

Today, at the banquet in the palace, the Crown Princess could clearly feel that the Crown Prince's attitude towards her had eased, at least not like before when he did not say a single extra word, but then something like this happened.

Sister Chen? Fu Dong? Help? Who would save her?

The Hall of Virtue was also lit up, but it was extremely quiet.

The Crown Princess passed by the door and continued to walk further back without stopping, followed by a series of servants with their heads bowed, not even a sound of extra breathing except for the slightest of footsteps.

Closer and closer, the Crown Princess could even hear the painful moans of a woman in labour. This sound irritated her eardrums and reminded her of many things ……She looked at the light not far away, took a deep breath and walked in.

--

The Prince was sitting in a chair, one hand coiled around a string of beads. He changed position every now and then as the moans from inside, the string of beads snapping against the arm of the chair as he coiled them.

Fulu stood by, not daring to utter a sound. When a young eunuch came in to change the tea, he hurried over, took it and placed it gently by the Prince's hand again. "Master, don't be anxious, it's like this for women to give birth, they all have to be in pain, without pain the baby can't come out.

The two doctors are watching over the baby, and Aunt Qing also sent someone out to say that the fetal position of Lord Feng Yi's baby is correct, and that the baby will be born in a few minutes."

The prince glanced at him, "You talk too much." Hu Liangdi, who was drinking tea at the side, covered her mouth and laughed: "Eunuch Fu is also like that, knowing that our master is worried about Su Fengyi, he can't listen to any words of comfort at this moment.

However, I can see that Su Fengyi is a lucky girl, so she will be able to keep all three of her children safe." Fu Lu's face blushed, "What Liang Di said is true." He retreated to the side and stood still.

At that moment, there was a sound of greeting outside and the Crown Princess came in. "How is Su Fengyi? I rushed back as soon as I heard the news. Your Highness, don't worry, Su Fengyi will definitely be able to give birth to a child in a stable manner."

The crown prince looked at the crown princess with an unmistakable coldness in his eyes.

The Crown Princess was looking more and more uncomfortable, and the smile on her face grew stiff: "Your Highness, why are you looking at me like that?

When you left, you didn't have anyone send word to this consort either, or the Chengrui Pavilion side broke up, only then did I learn about Su Fengyi's labour starting, and rushed back in a hurry, not even going back to the Hall of Virtue ……""All right, sit down." The prince impatiently waved the string of beads in his hand and said with a cold face.

Hu Liangdi gave a puff of laughter and stopped abruptly, invariably making the atmosphere even more awkward.

The Crown Princess went to look at Hu Liangdi, and the other woman smiled, with a little provocation.

But Hu Liangdi didn't stare at her for too long, instead she gave the Crown Prince a glance before saying, "Let me say, our Crown Princess has always been the most generous, she didn't even go back to see the Grand Duke, but came to see Su Fengyi first."

The Crown Princess had already planned to apologize immediately upon seeing the Crown Prince, but the presence of Hu Liang Di and the others had completely disrupted her plans, and she was being stabbed one after another, she was also very upset.

" Hu Liangdi, what do you mean by that? I am the crown prince's consort, there is a concubine giving birth in the East Palace, I should be concerned about it, how come in your mouth it has changed its tone?"

Hu Liangdi's face was sarcastic, but her tone was not weak at all: "I am also concerned about the Crown Princess, you probably don't know that Su Fengyi had an episode in the evening, but it so happened that the Grand Duke was sick at that time, so Sister Chen had the Imperial Doctor who was invited to see Su Fengyi stopped at the Hall of Virtue. I'm just saying, it's too much of a coincidence, you don't know, I came to see Su Fengyi when I received the news, that little face was in pain, it was white ……"

"You're spitting blood ......"

"Shut up!" The prince closed his eyes and waved his hand, "You all go back, you don't need to accompany me here."

"Your Highness ......" Fu Lu walked up and smiled with him, "Two masters, you see it's not clear here, you'd better go back and rest early."

Hu Liangdi twisted her body, curtsied to the Crown Prince and walked away. The Prince Consort hesitated for a moment, but knew that this was not the place to talk. As soon as she stepped into the courtyard door, Ruhua, who had been holding her breath for a long time, could not hold back a laugh.

"Master, the Crown Princess is definitely finished this time. If she had the ability to kill someone in one go, she should just done so, but she has used such a flawed method, and in the end she has become like this." Hu Liangdi glanced at her, "What do you know? If you were in her position, you wouldn't necessarily be able to resist this temptation.

The two sides have been feuding for a long time, one is obviously the vassal of the other, but because our prince is so fond of her, they have been turned upside down. One side has a sickly child, the other is carrying auspicious twins, there must be at least one son in there, and both sides are at the same age...

The side years are so close to each other, can the side of the Hall of Virtue be at ease?

"At best, Sister Chen was helping the Crown Princess make a decision. If she were faced with this situation today herself, she might have done the same."But if she were to do it instead, she would certainly have to do it more subtly.

"You'll see, our Crown Princess is not going down that easily, it's just a matter of losing two lackeys. As long as the Chen family is still around, the Crown Prince won't abolish her even if he puts her there as a decoration."There was so much meaning in these words that several palace maids, such as Ruhua, silently digested them.

But Hu Liangdi snorted, "Besides, I didn't want her to be abolished, even if she was abolished, it wouldn't be easier for me, so she might as well be an ornament."

-- Meanwhile, the Crown Princess had just entered the Hall of Virtue. When she entered the main hall, the room was silent, Fu Chun, Fu Xia and Fu Qiu did not dare to speak, only Fu Dong, who was following behind, sobbed. The Prince Consort went to sit on the throne at the top and then stood up again and went to the chamber. It was the Grand Duke's quarters.

The light in the room was soft, and as soon as she entered, she found a peaceful room, with Sister Chen sitting by the bed looking at the sleeping Grand Duke. "Crown Princess." Sister Chen stood up, her face calm as she knelt down on the spot, neither begging for forgiveness nor resenting, just kneeling there quietly. The Crown Princess looked at her and suddenly did not know what to say. "Sister!"

"That Su Fengyi was so domineering that she didn't take JideTang into consideration and ridiculed us because she was accompanying the Crown Prince on his southern tour. …"

"Sister, don't say that, His Highness didn't send anyone, there are no outsiders here, you don't have to say that, I understand everything, I know you are doing it for me, I know you are doing it for me ......" The Crown Princess cried. She has always been strong and does not cry easily in front of or behind people, because she feels that crying means she is incapable, means she has lost, no one will sympathize and will only invite jokes.

But now, at this moment, she couldn't hold back any longer. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She didn't know who to blame, Sister Chen? Perhaps there was something in her heart before, but when she heard what Sister Chen said, something that had happened in the past came back to her.

She remembered that no matter what happened when she was young, she had Sister Chen's arms waiting for her, and that her mother had sent her to Rong'an Hall to please her grandmother. She didn't really want to go there, so many of her sisters wanted to please her grandmother, all wanted to live in Rong'an Hall, but she was the only one who went there. She was afraid. It was Sister Chen who stayed with her, encouraged her, gave her ideas, and later, when she was crowned Crown Princess, accompanied her to the wedding.

"…… Don't cry, Crown Princess …… Old slave has no regrets, I would do it again, but I would do it more thoroughly …… Old slave would never have thought that the Crown Prince would put Liu Yuan as a nail in the coffin, and I never thought that Su Fengyi would be able to bring Liu Yuan in as assistance".

The master and servant, one standing and crying, one hugging the other's leg with tears flowing down their face, looking really makes people sigh with emotion. Fu Chun a few are also in tears.

They thought it was going to go on forever, but the commotion woke up the grand duke. After the Grand Duke fell asleep again, the Crown Princess went back to her room and washed up before continuing to talk to Sister Chen again.

"…… Even if the old slave carries all the blame, the Crown Prince is bound to be angry with the Crown Princess again, so we can only hope that nothing happens over there and that the baby is born in peace, and that the Crown Princess will take the initiative to apologise when the time comes in order to win a good impression… …

As long as the Chen family is there, the Crown Prince will not abolish you, but you must also be careful in the future, protect the eldest son, do not give people the opportunity to attack ……"...... With the character of the Crown Prince, he will certainly not make things difficult for you, nor will he let anyone humiliate you. If she knows how to repay her kindness, she shouldn't make trouble with you ...... "...... but Hu Liang Di, this person has always been restless ...... the Grand Duke has been fine recently, how come he suddenly vomited milk like that, and it also happened to be when Su Feng Yi started... ...but it happened so suddenly that the old slave had no time to think about it, and then after the incident the old slave thought about it and always felt that something was wrong ......

"…… old slave think that those few nannies, there must be someone who has a problem, the Crown Princess do not startle the snake, secretly investigate, or even tell the Crown Prince, let him go to investigate …… you just claim ignorance, old slave will just say I was too worried about the Grand Duke, so I did something foolish and let the Crown Prince know about it ……"

" There is also the Tai Hospital, how is it so coincidental that all the imperial doctors have been recruited out, leaving only a young man there, and Dr. Dong is not on duty …… and Su Fengyi's episode is also too sudden, she has always been in good health, if there are signs of premature birth, the imperial doctors must have reported up long ago ……

"…… how many people in the palace are watching our eastern palace, these are the ones that can be used, as long as we can muddy the waters, the Crown Princess should not be afraid …… as for the future, you have to calm down, as long as the Grand Duke is there, no one can cross you , our Grand Duke is a little weak, but it's not that he can't be raised well, this is the palace, children that can't be raised well elsewhere can certainly be raised well here ……"

"Sister ......" the Crown Princess cried again. "Don't cry, Crown Princess don't cry," Sister Chen gently stroked her back and forced a smile: "Old slave will be reckless today, talk to Crown Princess more, and when it's daylight, Crown Princess will lead old slave to apologize ...... " ...... This night was destined to be longer than expected. At five minutes past the ugly hour, a baby's cry finally rang out in the small courtyard.

"It's a little princess, there's another one, it has to wait ……"

After a messy commotion, the movement of the birth continued, and two bowls of ginseng soup used to replenish the qi had already been sent in, and finally, as the white of the fish's belly faintly rose in the east, another baby's cry sounded. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The prince stood up, rising slightly sluggishly.

"It's a little boy. Both mother and child are well." At the same time, the Crown Princess, still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, appeared outside the courtyard with Sister Chen at her side.

#mtl #yingchong

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hi I need to ask a favor of you... Can we get like,,, the reader trying to set cc!dream up with a friend of theirs and he actually likes the reader so we get like dream trying to say that he likes the reader. Idk if this makes sense but I just want a dramatic like "ARE YOU DUMB" moment. Thank u, I'll exit the stage.

Okay so long story short, I had a series about Dre that I was going to write (like a million years ago even before e!k) and I tuned up the confession scene because it fit with the request. Idk idk. It was back when I was having my romance novel phase. N E WAY. happy reading :) ♡ g

𝐄𝐆𝐎 & 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: language, angst, being so overdramatic, mentions of rivals to lovers, being in a shower, kinda cringe ngl

Dream eyed you over his glass from across the table, his legs long enough that he was invading your space beneath the surface. His green eyes burned into you, which you attempted to let roll off your shoulders innocently. Your friend was talking up Sapnap, completely destroying your plan put in place. It seemed like Dream could tell what you were up to as well, and by the look he was sending your way and the tension in his shoulders, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for it. Sapnap asked the girl beside you how she was doing in her classes and before he could boast about his own achievements, you butted in. “You know, Clay’s ranked fourth in our sociology class.” Dream rolled his eyes as your friend’s brow perked at your statement.

She cracked a grin in his direction. “Oh really? You some kind of a genius?” She joked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Dream chewed the inside of his cheek and folded his hands together on the table, uncomfortable now that you had shifted the subject matter to him. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s an intro course so…” he mumbled. She hummed in response and he wet his lips.

You jumped into the small bit of silence. “Come on, don’t downplay! He’s also helped me pass calculus last year,” you boasted. Dream shut his eyes briefly as if it were taking every ounce of his being not to scold you. You didn’t care.

“That’s awesome! I’m actually a mathematics major,” your friend eased. “Maybe if you are some kind of genius you could help me figure out homeomorphically irreducible trees sometime,” she jousted with a small wink. Dream chuckled and you thought maybe… finally… they were clicking. You knew you were right, you knew they were a perfect match. Dream just had to put forth a bit more effort.

Dream’s eyes flashed to you again briefly, as if a symbol of telling you he’d kill you for pushing this. “Oh, I don’t know anything about math really, but Sapnap knows a lot of the math professors,” he turned over with a soft smile, sending your friend back into Sapnap’s metaphorical tract. The two started rambling to each other and Dream shot you a dirty look. “Cut it out,” he bit, barely loud enough for you to even hear. You took this as a challenge.

Another round of drinks came to the table, Dream had yet to completely finish his first as it seemed like something was weighing on his mind. You had gotten into the habit of picking up every subtle tick he had and picking at it. You silently listened to the conversation between Nick and your friend as it wound down, giving you the opportunity to strike up something else about Dream. “So Clay, what was your beer pong average last semester?” You asked, taking a sip from your straw innocently.

He sent you a deadpan expression, but Sapnap answered for him. “Oh, trust me, Clay’s the one you want on your team at every frat party,” he praised. You knew how much your friend liked the whole idea of winning pointless party games.

“I think it’s time I walk you home,” Dream mumbled after standing before you could answer. You followed him out of the restaurant, sending your friend and Sapnap an awkward grin. They had barely noticed anyway; too caught up in their own conversation. You jogged a bit to catch up to Dream as he shoved his fists in his pockets. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He grumbled.

You furrowed your brows, nudging his arm playfully. “What do you mean? I’m trying to get you laid!” You chided. He rolled his eyes again. “Loosen up! Come on, she’s pretty isn’t she.”

Dream sighed deeply. “Of course she’s pretty. Just quit with meddling in my sex life,” he hissed.

You laughed mockingly. “You are so tightly wound!” He pushed the door open to your building. You could tell you were pushing his buttons as he pursed his lips instead of firing something back at you. “You’re such a killjoy,” you joshed, pinching his side.

He swatted your hand away, attempting to ignore you. “Quit.”

“Fine, whatever. Go home and make fast with your hand.” That was it---the last push.

Dream grabbed your arm and yanked you down the hall behind him. You could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders as he turned a corner and you began to grow tense. You knew he'd never hurt you but the sheer anxiety of what he was going to do next weighed on your conscience. Had you gone too far this time? You'd pushed him past his limit before, but he'd never taken you with him when he needed to remove himself from the situation.

You were shocked as he threw open the door to the communal showers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you began to claw at his hand. "Clay, stop! What are you doing?" You gritted, struggling against his grip. He threw open one of the stall doors and tossed you inside, your back hit the linoleum tiling with a quiet thump and you glared at him with scolding eyes as if to bite ‘don't you dare touch me’ into his skin.

He pursed his lips as if his anger was threatening to boil over and he turned the knob behind you, instantly soaking you and your clothes in freezing water. You painstakingly jumped for the dial and he grabbed your arm again, pulling you inches from his face. "You need to cool the fuck down. I'm serious!" He snapped.

Your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your head in disbelief at the audacity he had. His jaw tensed as he glared at your features and you drew his arm closer, turning on your heel so he replaced you in the water. His reaction was subtle to the dowsing; instead, he released his grip on you. "What the hell is your problem!" You yelled. This was unknowingly becoming your breaking point. You hadn't woken up that day and realized today is the day I choose violence but Dream's medieval form of communicating with you was striking a hidden nerve.

"My problem? MY PROBLEM?" He let out an exasperated sigh, turning slightly to twist the knob for hot water before laying into you. Why he didn't just turn off the water was unbeknownst to you. "My problem is you!"

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Me?" You tsked at him. "Why don't you get a fucking life-"

"Are you really that fucking stupid?" He bit. Your disgusted look you made sure to exaggerate twisted something behind his eyes. The shower began to produce steam over his shoulders. Dream's hair had begun hanging in short ringlets around his ears. His long-sleeved t-shirt clung to his body enough that you could see every dip in his chest. Every breath he drew in to calm himself down rippled through his silhouette. In the slightest way, it seemed as if the dragon was finally baring his soft underbelly to you.

His hands balled into fists at your look of disbelief at him calling you dumb. He groaned deeply, bringing his palms to his eyes and gritting his teeth. He then pushed his fingers into his wet hair, plastering it back from framing his face. Dream's bright eyes studied you with his features set in stone. "How could you not realize?" He let out a short exhale, his hands seemingly gripping for his own thoughts as they moved with his search of words. "I know you aren't as aloof as you put off. I know you know that I-" he stopped himself short with an aggressive shrug of his shoulders. It was almost humoring to see him standing like a wet dog in front of you and at a loss for words. That big head of his was proving to be a difficult landscape for him to form sentences. "... That I-" he bit into his lip, frustration settling into his brow.

You rolled your eyes again, your wet clothes feeling uncomfortable as they began to shrink against certain parts of your body. The steam from the water was enveloping the two of you in the small space, but your close stance kept a breath of clearance in your visions. "Spit it out, Clay. Obviously, I'm too dumb to put two and two together. You're gonna have to man up and get over it," you snapped and his eyes flashed up to the ceiling.

He gritted his teeth again. "Fuck. What am I trying to say?" He hissed. The gears in his head were beginning to rust with overstimulation, and you could tell. He was hesitant as if debating what would be his next move. The tall man before you was slowly unraveling into unarticulated emotions. The minuscule thought tugged at your mind that Dream was attempting to tell you he felt something for you. It was oddly satisfying to juxtapose your ill-fated seven minutes in heaven experience when you had met him with the close, wet atmosphere you were in now. Even back then Dream couldn't figure out what to say.

He swallowed, his anger had melded into something less aggressive and more inwardly scorning. "I care about you," he blurted, his voice coming out uneven. He wasn't nervous and it seemed as if he'd practiced this in the mirror yet was crumbling under the pressure of you actually standing before him. "I care about you," he repeated, his face still tense and severe.

You were taken aback by his simple statement, awaiting his next move. You didn't dare arrest your eyes from his, your mind blurring about what to say to his confession. You knew that was big coming from him at the way it tugged at your heartstrings, making you blush in the ferocity of the steaming stall. The beat of silence was broken as he took a step toward you, taking your face into his large hands in a gentle gesture. His fingers threatened to snake into your hair as his thumb traced the bend in your jaw. Droplets of water fell off of him to splash against your sopping wet clothing, the warmth of his figure nearly pressed against yours sending rushes of goosebumps across the plain of your skin.

His eyes searched yours as he hesitated, as if savoring being close enough to taste you, yet the anticipation of sealing the fated and quarrelsome air between the two of you with his kiss was nearly too unrealistic for his mind to comprehend. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly against the flesh of your bottom lip as if he were wondering if the shade was their true color, all of his movements completely foiling the way he'd always handled you.

His look of desire and unsteadiness gave him the appearance of an explorer wandering around a foreign planet with the consistency of practice but restraint. You'd heard other girls talking about being with Dream---a fumbling night of drunken fun or a quick use and jading---but the Dream standing before you now seemed to be his own breed. You let your mind flicker to the fantasy that maybe the boy itching to mark you was a figment of him reserved and stocked only for you.

You found yourself leaning on your toes as his eyes began to close, drawing you in with his subtle caress. The water thundered down against him as his towering frame shielded you from the shower, the sound of its stream bouncing off the floor and your matted articles of clothing mixing with Dream's soft breath. As he pressed his lips against yours, it seemed like he was hesitant as if you'd snatch yourself away from his cradling like you always had, but sure enough, your sneakers were glued to the floor beneath you. Wherever you were going in the next few minutes would be to follow his lead.

His fingers dipped into your locks, bringing you deeper into his gesture of passion. Your mind clicked into the reality of the situation as your shoulders sank into a sense of calmness. Your hands found purchase around his waist, wanting to reassure him that you were reading his actions as your fingers traced the lines and dips in his back.

He kissed you with a needy passiveness that bled into the echoing taste of mint, bitter coffee, and the soft embrace of his mildly chapped lips. You'd been close enough to him in the past to dig your nose into his clean scent, but as he pressed against you, it was all you could focus on. He kissed you as if his lips were studying to be experts on your own; a kneading of exploratory gentleness met with a keen sense of wanting to pour everything unsaid between the two of you into this action. It was like he hungrily wanted to know the curvature of your mouth like the back of his hand.

He broke away from you breathlessly and your floating sense of calm clouded and compacted your words. You hesitated to open your eyes as you felt him settle his forehead against yours, not wanting to extract himself from you yet. You subtly enjoyed the fact of sharing air with him as you drew in a deep breath, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth. You wanted that taste to live on your tongue.

Clay stepped back, shrugging out of your hold reluctantly. His hand moved to settle over his mouth as if he was silently apologizing for the suddenness of that action. Your mind was running wild with the thought of him. You parted your lips, stunned enough that you could barely remember how to stand on your own let alone string together a sentence.

He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes. "I- um," his tongue darted across his lips and you yearned at the fact that you wanted to be pressed against him again, selfishly needing to be tangled among his long limbs or you'd surely die. "I'll see you around," he stated, undoubtedly noticing how verklempt you were and what kind of effect he'd had on you.

He moved to step around you and your eyes glued to where he was standing before. He halted when his shoulder brushed against yours, his gaze turning to trace against your features as you struggled to meet his eyes. You knew he was biting back a smirk as he went on his way again, leaving you to decompose at the mental imagery of him.

You heard the door swing shut behind him and you pushed your wet hair away from your face, turning off the water. As you stepped from the stall, you met eyes with a girl who perked an eyebrow in your direction. She froze in the middle of brushing her teeth, having obviously seen Clay leave, and at the sight of you, she smirked. “Alright, alright. I see you, Elizabeth Bennett,” she winked, swaying a bit before continuing on with her routine.

Dream Tag List: (follow this link to be added ;))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy

#dream imagine #dream x reader #dream fluff #dream x you #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you

[ktheist]

1 | play me like a toy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read the last part, all yours to enjoy, here.

muses. mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au. office au. modern au.

words. 5.8k

warnings. contains smut. mentions of gun use. mentions of cheating.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. 

synopsis. 

sit still, look pretty. 

such were the words your maid-turned-mistress of a mother has ever taught you. the mindless marionette mask worked for the most parts. but when you find yourself hanging by a thread - or is it the beeping line of your dying father’s heart rate monitor? - you decide it’s time to shed off that mask and seek han group’s infamous loyal dog that went off radar 17 years ago.

jung hoseok.

alternatively;

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

jung hoseok is in a dry spell.

there was no doubt as to whether he could score a date, get laid and maybe even have his nightstand to call him up again exactly the week after.

the issue was time.

with his boss and longtime friend getting married, he ends up coming to work with a different pile of papers on his desk every day. well, it was his idea to sign a promissory note that if kim namjoon ever found a woman he loved and married, hoseok would take half of the ceo-ly workload so his overbearing boss could enjoy his honeymoon and truly, as hoseok would put it, live.

the order went a little differently but namjoon found a hole in the way the sentences were worded that got him flying away to the caribbean and leaving hoseok to fend for himself in these trying times.

oh, and it’s almost hit the third month of the newly weds going mia.

in the first place, he didn’t think namjoon would hold the agreement over his head like he was flexing a few hundred thousand dollar’s worth of lawsuit.

but the man did just that and now hoseok is slaving over his nine-to-five which actually tend to drag on till ten or, if he’s lucky, even midnight. sure, he got promoted from head secretary to director but he’s wondering if this endless cycle of coming back home only pass out in the bed and wake up earlier than a parent with a toddler - is worth it.

hoseok groans, his hand grabbing around for his phone to put a stop on that obnoxious alarm even if it’s just for five minutes before he has to hear it again.

and grab something he did, but this so called phone feels too soft to be a phone and shapes like an cup but softer and - he puts more pressure to his grasp out of confusion -

“mhm, what the hell?”

- it complains in a groggy voice too.

almost as if pricked by a needle, hoseok leaps right out of bed, sending the duvet flying to the floor and revealing the naked woman - you - who’s stretching her limbs whilst her face scrunches in displeasure at the rude awakening.

“__-___?! wh-what the- what are you doing in my bed?”

x

“so you touched my boob,” you say, legs crossed and arms folded over said boob.

“i-i-” it’s the first time you’ve ever seen hoseok opened his eyes so wide - he has pretty eyes. especially when they’re brimming with fear and bashfulness, “i’m sorry, i have no excuse.”

he hangs his head low.

“why didn’t you touch the other one?”

it’s then, when hoseok’s eyes snap up to you, gaze searching for a sign - any sign, to confirm that he misheard that, does the man realize that you’re messing with him.

that, and you doubling over with laughter trickling out of your mouth should be affirmation enough.

“god, you should’ve seen your face, hobi!” you’re still holding your stomach when hoseok’s shoulders stiffen and his round eyes turn sharp.

“that’s not something you joke about, ___,” he says, it’s easy to mistake his sternness with anger if you didn’t know him your whole life, “are you gonna let it go every time someone disrespects you? mr. han would’ve snapped their neck in half-”

“hoseok, come on,” you cut him off with a dismissive hand, “none of those gory talks about snapping necks and pulling out nails. that’s the reason i end up here in the first place.”

it’s the way silence lulls into the room and hoseok looks at you with the hardest knitted brows and eyes that seem to have retracted his soul far back into his memories, as though searching for something - that makes your heart drop.

all sense of humor now gone.

“you don’t remember what happened last night... do you?” the last part is just an addition to ease your throbbing heart.

if you’d left it as a statement, it made it more real that he did forget.

just a man, sitting at a half empty bar, three shots of vodka in and hostility in his voice that could’ve killed but so very hoseok of him, “that seat’s taken.”

aloof. distant. and every word in the book that described a man who didn’t want to be bothered and he drowned himself in alcohol.

“i’ll leave once the owner comes back,” you’d slipped into the seat anyway, despite the heat of hoseok’s stare.

not paying any heed, you ordered yourself a margarita.

“it’s been awhile, hasn’t it, hobi?”

that’s when he turned to you. truly looked at you.

“do you perhaps have a little sister who,” his eyebrows began to knit as if the screws in his head started turning, “would be about your age by now... ____?”

you didn’t really catch up. all you could remember was hoseok’s calculative stare as he watched you down one drink after the other. the the chilliness of the margarita somewhat soothing the burning sensation as it went down your throat.

“that’s the fifth for you,” his large hand covered yours, stopping you from picking up the glass as he cautioned you.

“yeah? i’m only stopping if i have something else to occupy my mouth with.”

in his distracted state as he tried to make sense of what your words meant, you lifted the glass to your mouth and downed the last of your drink.

and then, you stood up, walked the tiniest distance between your seat and his, grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips on his.

you remembered your confidence dissipating like air with every second passing without hoseok so much as responding to your kiss.

maybe it was the shock.

because one that passed, you found his arm around your waist and his lips kissing you harder than you kissed him.

you stumbled into your car, not caring if yeojun had a front row view from the rearview mirror of the things that transpired at the back seat. you barely remember the walk from the parking lot to his apartment.

those sweet whispered promises. the hands that burned your skin with every touch. those eyes that pierced right into your eyes, as if invisible hands reached into your soul and grasped it in his palm.

“mine,” hoseok husked, voice sending ripples of pleasure dripping down your legs. he’d thrust himself balls deep inside you, like a beast who hadn’t had a drop of water since the drought, “you’re mine from head to toe.”

if that wasn’t enough, he fucked you raw until you were at your limit and he’d just... stop.

“hoseok, why-” you’d been breathless, skin glistening with sweat and knees trembling to give in but he’d banded an arm under your torso and held you to him so your bodies remained connected even if none of you moved.

“you think i’d just let you cum so easily?” he placed a hand on your ass, as if warning you what would happen if you’d pull away, “after all these years... you grew up fine as fuck.”

he’d languidly pulled out of you, as if knowing how torturous it felt for you with his fingers on your clit that sent electricity through your veins.

“what is it, hm? is it the kang’s or is it the seong’s? i guess the rumor about boss being hospitalized was true,” his words barely registered in your mind as his index finger touched your back and traced down your spine whilst he started thrusting in and out of you agonizingly slow.

“please, just fuck me,” you’d hissed, pain and pleasure and frustrations mixed in your voice.

“hm, still as tight-lipped as ever, huh?” he’d sounded completely relaxed as if the smacking sound that echoed in the air as his body slammed against your deliciously - didn’t affect him in the slightest.

as if he took no pleasure in fucking you. as if this was only for your poor little soul that came running back to him because you had no one to depend on.

“y-you have to- ah! s-swear your l-loyalty to- oh my god,” it was last night, while the citylights poured through hoseok’s window, his room was directly across another apartment building.

“loyalty, huh?” he tested the words on his mouth, as if it was a foreign candy gifted to him as present.

his body feels hot against your back as he lowered himself flush against you, his breath fanning your sweat-glistened skin, his voice brushing the shell of your ear, “you should know i’m yours as much as you’re mine. nothing i wouldn’t do for you, kiddo.”

he’d used that nickname he’d used to call you as he fucked you into his bed, and sent you moaning his name like you wouldn’t know any other name.

anyone could’ve seen.

neither of you cared though.

well-

you throw your gaze out at the twenty storey building, noticing a man vacuuming the living room three units to the left from the unit directly across from hoseok’s. above him, two kids, a boy and a girl are jumping around while holding an airplane in their hands.

-until now, that is.

hoseok had become an entirely different person last night. no - rather, he’d returned to you as the man you’d always kept in that special spot in your heart and locked it up so no one would be able to see past your steel schooled expression and the devil may care nature.

“i...”

your gaze snaps back to hoseok once again. he parts his lips for the briefest moment, as if to say something but clamps them shut again. the way his eyes gleam with guilt is enough to tell you the unspoken words that hang in the air.

and yet, your heart hardens like the steel mask you often wear on your face.

“and... to think i gave you my virginity too...”

the silence that lapses between you is tangible.

“sike, i’m kidding,” you grin, brows rising to the ceiling but when hoseok doesn’t so much as laugh or frown - he simply looked at you like a parent disappointed of his child who still didn’t see why what she did was wrong - you tilt your head to the side slightly, “or am i?”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you throw your head back after failing to gouge a reaction from the man who screamed bloody murder as if you’re some street rat that he was so close to calling infestation control.

“i need to meet mr. han,” he announces after a whole solid minute of sitting on the edge of the bed with feet planted on the floor.

“what for? what are you gonna tell daddy? ‘i’m sorry i took your daughter’s virginity, sir, it won’t happen again?’“ you watch him get up, tongue unconsciously slipping out and sweeping over your bottom lip as you watch the curve of his ass as he walks to the closet and disappears into it.

“were you really a virgin?” he comes out dressed in fresh crisp button down tucked in a pair of black pants, a contrast to his rolled up sleeves, creased shirt and disheveled hair from last night.

“i don’t know, did it feel like i was?” you shoot him a coquettish smile.

the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple bobs up and down, his lingering gaze on your crossed, bare legs not going unnoticed by you. you’re donned in last night’s dinner dress that hugs your curves and stops mid thighs.

but his gaze is gone too soon.

“you’re not seriously going to daddy, are you?” you tug on his sleeve just before he steps out of the door, “hobi, i’m just kidding, i’ve been with multiple guys before you,” the way his brows threaten to knit into a frown doesn’t go pass you but it’s gone too soon, “and does daddy like the idea? he’s not fond of it, but he knows he can’t stop me from doing whatever i want with my own body.”

the beep of the door as he opens it rings in the air as he looks at you in the eye, “did any of those men work for mr han?” 

only silence follows his reply as you bite your lower lip, hesitant.

“we can’t hide this- mr han might already know. he has eyes and ears-” hoseok steps out of the door only to stop dead in track when he sees at least half a dozen men lined up in front of his apartment in black suits.

“good morning, miss ____.” they bow at exactly 90 degrees angle like robots.

“-everywhere...” hoseok trails off, eyes scanning the area on high alert.

“don’t worry, they’re not daddy’s men. they’re my men,” you raise one hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling as you shoot them an expression void of any smile.

they seem to understand that as they dip into a bow again, the leader, yeojun, stops in front of the elevator when he and his men would have joined you in any other circumstances.

“it’s not about saving my own ass, ___,” hoseok begins.

the way his arms cross over his chest makes his sleeves wrap deliciously around his biceps.

his deep brown eyes appear like a hazel storm under the sunlight that pours from every crevice of the parking lot where the elevator stopped at. “mr. han asked me to protect you from everything and i’m sure he hired someone else after i left to keep trash men away from you... and to think i did exactly what he wanted me to protected you from-” 

“hobi,” nimble hands hover over his chest before you gaze up at him through your lashes, making sure to give it a slow, innocent blink before speaking, “i didn’t regret what happened last night. and you trying to apologize for someone i’m not sorry kind of hurts.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t think of it that way...” he trails off, lips pressed in a straight line as though deep in thought.

“if it makes you that uncomfortable, i won’t talk about it but promise me this stays between us, please?” you hold up a pinky finger like you would when you were younger.

the smile that makes its way to hoseok lips causes your heart to palpitate just when it’s barely calmed down.

his pinky finger is much larger than yours as it hooks around yours in a promise, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. as if he’s still unsure if he should be making any promises. as if he’s unsure if he should be hooking his pinky with yours instead of pushing you as far away from him as he could. but before he can come to a conclusion, a voice reverberates into the air.

“miss ____.”

the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath rings in your ear as a dozen men in black suits bow at the sight of you.

before another word comes out from anyone else, you speak, voice echoing against the walls.

“listen up you sons of bitches, if i find out any of you snitched to daddy, i’ll make sure your wife, your husband, your kids, your grandparents, hell even your neighbors pay for it. got it?”

a round of rigorous “yes, miss!” follows after the splitting silence that hovered after you finished.

turning around, almost getting lost in those pretty, star entrapped eyes of his, you smile, “see, they’re loyal to me.”

“uh, i can see why.” it’s the humorous tone that finally wraps around hoseok’s words that makes your heart clench painfully.

he’s still the same hoseok you know.

some things never change.

“well, i’ll lend you one of my cars,” you say all of a sudden.

almost as if hit by a foul ball, hoseok’s eyes widen, “shi- what time is it?”

you don’t expect much when you check your phone, the digits on the screen staring back with a 9-something am - you don’t care to check the details, “late.”

“fuck, i was so focused on gathering enough balls to meet mr. han - i need to get the papers i was supposed to look over for today’s meeting,” a string of curses follow hoseok’s scampering retreat. and you simply watch in your spot - he’s always been such a klutz, forgetting the important details and scrambling to get what he’d forgotten and just remembered - done.

before the doors of the elevator close and swallow him in its belly, hoseok’s nimble fingers slip between the shutting gap, making the doors split open again, “oh,” he says, as if remembering something, “you don’t have to do that - i can drive, i got a driver’s license like, eons ago.”

right.

when he left, he was only 18 and had nothing more but a duffle bag filled with all his belongings and an acceptance letter of the university he applied to.

hoseok had been driving you around everywhere before that. he got pulled over by a cop once but your father easily handled that.

jung hoseok’s been with you for as long as you remember.

you recall bawling your eyes out and clinging onto his leg, begging him not to leave because your nanny left and you found out a few months later that her body was found washed up along the river bank near her hometown.

mr. kim, the gardener quit and said he wanted to visit his kids but the whole family ended up dying in a fire.

everyone who left ends up dead.

pushing the somber feeling that’s threatening to pull the muscles in your face into a frown, you shake your head, an amused smirk tugging on your lips as you mask away every other feeling.

“you really don’t remember anything, do you?” somewhere in that innocently clueless gaze of his, you search for a lie - it would’ve been better if he lied about forgetting for whatever reason.

but when the genuinity over pours from those pretty eyes, you push away the gnawing feeling in your heart, “we were both shit faced drunk last night so we came to your place with my driver and you left your car at the bar’s parking lot.”

“oh shit,” he begins punching the button on the inside of the elevator, “i won’t take long, i pro-”

the metal doors gradually shut, cutting off what he was about to say.

x

“p-please, i’m sorry, i’ll do anything...” the man’s words got blurred out as you stare out the window of his medium sized flat with a master bedroom, a room and a bathroom connected to the common area.

it’s been a week since you met hoseok. you want to be mad that he doesn’t call, especially after not seeing each other for so long and finally reuniting only for him to forget everything about that night.

but you didn’t even give him your number and you may or may not be mad that he didn’t think to ask.

a bloodcurdling scream drums against your eardrums, making you physically flinch as your head snaps towards the man lying on the ground with his mouth wide open and no longer any sound coming out.

his head is titled at the new guy who’s standing over him with a baton gripped in one hand. the sight itself makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“god fucking damn it, yeojun,” you shoot a glare at the head bodyguard, “didn’t you teach him rule number 1? make no sound, catch no attention?”

at that, yeojun snaps his fingers and two of the bodyguards closest to the new guy - soon? soobin? was his name? - approach him. one of them places a firm hand on his shoulder whilst he kicks soobin behind his knee, sending him kneeling with a thud.

“i’m sorry, miss ___, it seems soobin,” ah so you did get his name right, “needs to join mr. yoo here in learning a thing or two about obeying orders.”

yeojun doesn’t even flinch when one of your donned-in-black bodyguard strikes one of their own at the back of his head with that baton they usually carry around their waist.

soobin’s face scrunches up painfully as he breathes out through his nose, teeth gritting together.

“you boys, break some things and you, get the car ready,” with that, the bodyguards hovering over the middle-aged borrower and soobin begin scampering around, toppling shelves over, pushing vases to the ground and breaking plates in the kitchen.

“you were too nice,” yeojun murmurs underneath his breath once you’re in the hallway, the sound of glass shattering and furniture breaking still echo off the walls.

“i shouldn’t even be doing this shit anyway. who does he think i am? sending me to take care of small fries...” agitated, you shoot yeojun a glare.

to which he only responds with raised eyebrows, as if asking if you’d go against your brother’s orders just because you’ve never liked to see violence yet violence follows you everywhere.

“let’s see.... richest bachelor, heir to han group, one of the biggest conglomerate family that runs the underground ring...” the black haired man starts counting off with his finger until you swing your purse to his side.

“which side are you on? me or my chanyeol’s?!”

laughter trickles down his lips as he follows you into the elevator. somewhere in the distance, the hallway faintly rings with the fading sound of mr. yoo’s helpless pleas.

x

when you arrive at kimcorp, the secretary shoots up from your seat, her smile is gorgeous and welcoming but the knitted set of brows above her eyes do a poor job of hiding her anxiousness.

odd.

you didn’t use the han name to get past the receptionist, only mentioning “hoseok is expecting me, tell him i have something of his he’d really like back.”

was it the lavish dinner dress? was it the couture handbag?

“ah, it’s the fox fur, isn’t it?” you twirl on your heels, lips curling prettily as you narrow your eyes at the startled secretary.

she’s standing there like a thief caught red-handed. as if her worst nightmares came true the moment you started saying something besides the “i’m here to see jung hoseok.”

“i-i’m sorry, ma’am?” her shoulders tense up and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“nothing, it’s nothing,” you put on a billion dollar smile - one that she seems to be struggling to wear.

before the poor thing peed her pants, you turn around, your back on her and push on the double doors of the office with a white plate that spells out “head director jung.”

the syllables of your name roll off the mouth of the man behind the large desk that almost takes up half of the room, piles of documents stacked up on either sides while the middle section is cleared for a mac and a macbook perched directly in front of him.

“you sound surprised, didn’t the receptionist tell you i was coming?” you put on your best smile even as you watch him push a button on a smaller-than-a-palm-sized remote directed at the cctv and dash for the blinds and close them so that the secretaries facing his room won’t have any visual access to what goes on from now on.

“yeji didn’t specify who,” he says mindlessly, still peeking through the blinds - possibly to check if anyone noticed the sudden move.

somehow, hearing the name of another woman leaving hoseok’s lips doesn’t sit right with you.

“since you easily told her to send me right up, i assume you have an idea of who it was,” a devious smile tugs in the corners of your lips as the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath brushes your ears.

as he was in the middle of turning around and facing you, you managed to catch him off guard and trap him between the window and yourself. the ridges of his toned abs brushing against your front torso with only layers of clothing separating you.

the warning tone he uses to say your name with is music to your ears.

he sounded like the old him. the old hoseok who’d drive his fist into anyone’s face without batting an eye. the old hoseok who would turn to your crying frame with the sweetest smile and hand you back your backpack that fell on the ground amidst the struggle of trying to bite and kick your kidnappers in the shin.

“i missed you, you know?” your voice is tinged with playfulness but your heart skips a beat like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“i-i... we...”

the words get stuck in his throat the moment your lips brush his. what surprises you is the softest sigh that leaves his mouth before a large hand buries itself in your hair, pulling you close until he’s tasting you. licking your bottom lip as if asking for something he didn’t need to ask for in the first place.

his free hand grasps your ass as if he’s been dying to feel your soft cheeks in his palm. you part your lips for him, tasting the faintest sense of cigarette in his breath.

hoseok tends to smoke when something bothers.

you hope it’s you. you hope he lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. you hope you’re all he thinks about.

by the time you pull apart, you’re both heaving for air. a soft thud drums in your ears as hoseok leans his head against the blinds-covered-window. you press your cheek against his chest, face hot.

one of his hands sits on top of your ass as if paying his overdue respect for your body but yet unwilling to let you go. the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb mindlessly caressing your scalp.

“hoseok?” you’re the first to break the silence.

he simply hums in response, “hm?”

“i can’t give it back,” you turn your cheek to bury your face in his chest, your voice coming out muffled, “i can’t give back your freedom.”

x

“so you’re saying you can’t let me go...” hoseok echoes the words you say to him.

but the way his lips curl into a pleased smirk and his white shirt creasing at the front from having your bodies pressed together a moment ago, gives those words a different meaning than you intend them to.

somehow, the distance between you seems smaller.

“thanks miyeon,” hoseok’s smile switches to that of a kind, considerate superior.

miyeon, the woman who guided you to hoseok’s office returns his smile. but you don’t miss the cautious gaze she throws your way before slipping out of the room after setting down the tea cups.

he’s back to himself. the kind that jumps at every little sound and tends to wear a frightened puppy look almost too often.

“no, rather...” you trail off, chanyeol’s face burning at the back of your mind - your brother, the heir to han group and the man that will marry you off to the kang’s in order to mend the strain in the family ties as soon as your father breathes out his last breath.

you shake your head, a smile on your face, “it’s been awhile, how bout catching up over lunch?”

and so it goes, you visit hoseok every few days in a week. at times you tell the secretary to keep your visit a secret so you could surprise him, you’d end up catching him neck deep in work yet he still manages to pull off the rolled up sleeves, two buttons undone and slicked back hair with a single strand falling over his forehead, its tip grazing those set of strong eyebrows.

when you knock, he looks up and the tension in his brows seem to fade away. he shoots you a dimpled smile as if he’s been waiting for you to whisk him away from work.

and you do just that. arm looped around his, you both walk out of his office like lovers.

hoseok talks about his past - the one you’re not part of - fondly. as if looking through a lense of something he never dreamed he could have.

at first, he attracted the wrong kind of crowd with his permanently set furrowed brows. but then he finds things he enjoys doing outside of classes that he couldn’t get to enjoy when he was with han group.

dancing, tracks, boxing and more. he likes that rush of adrenaline that courses through his veins. 

and you tell him about the meetings and gatherings and social events to maintain your relationships with the vassal families. they’re usually attended by the women of the han family which means you and han chohee would be smiling and laughing together in front of the wives and daughters of the vassal families before taking off that loving step-mother-and-step-daughter facade once you walk out of the vicinity.

your lunches and dinners are spent with trips down memory lane, filling the other in on the moments each of you miss in each other’s lives. and for a moment, the hoseok in front of you who flinches at the sight of bugs and little, random noises feel familiar.

that is, until you hit your one month reunion mark.

chanyeol’s been gathering support of the vassals by personally accepting their invitations.

his presence easily overshadowed yours and yeojun confirmed that your father’s condition isn’t getting any better.

“i need you to come back and work for me, half of the men would drop everything and follow you,” you stare at the girl staring back at you on the surface of the tea. she bites her lips and you feel the faintest taste of blood in your mouth.

eyes snapping to his calculative ones - as if he already knows what you’re going to say before the words even pass your lips, “i need you by my side so i can take over han group.”

the hoseok sitting in the single couch next to you with parted legs and feet planted on the dark carpeted ground fits the head director setting better than the inked skin, cigarette smoke and gun-in-waistline setting you’re about to drag him in.

“you’re willing to go against chanyeol to become the head of the family?” he asks, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

hoseok’s always been an enigma. his mind, a maze you’ll never end up figuring out.

guess that part of him is still the same.

“it’s not a choice for me to make,” a clean click! resonates in the air as you place the gun you’d pulled from your garter, point facing him, index finger on the trigger, “you have two though.”

it’s the way his eyebrows rise whilst his eyes glint with amusement tells you that hoseok - your hoseok - is still somewhere in there.

throw a sane man into an asylum and he’ll start going insane. put a mad man  back in society and he’ll trick you into believing he’s sane with his warm, dimpled smile.

“marry me or be killed,” you say simply.

that amused glint is still there, granted, it shines faintly compared to the caution that overflows from those sun-hit brown eyes as they fix themselves on the gun perched on the see-through coffee table before they travel to your knuckles, to your arm and meet your steel gaze.

his the softest protrusion of his adam’s apple drops and rises again as he swallows, “is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the air is dense with tension. it fills up your lungs and almost causes your chest to cave. you’re not sure how long to stay there, stiff and still like a rock with your back straightened as if your etiquette teacher was hovering right behind you with a long, wooden ruler that’d be ready to strike your arm at a slump of your shoulders.

but liberation comes to you in the form of a phone call.

“___, we have to go, th-the boss- the doctor says he’s not gonna make it through the night.” it’s the first time you’ve heard yeojun stammer as if he hasn’t quite yet recovered from the shock of the news he’s relaying to you.

“are you sure?” you can almost hear the thump of the organ in your chest slowing down before it ceases to throb completely, “you know how bad chanyeol wanna fuck me up, he could’ve made the doctor tell you this because he knows you’ll tell me and if... if i rush there and daddy’s laughing that obnoxious laugh while trying to make pass on the nurse like he usually does...”

yeojun grunts, “yes, ___. i have men planted there as patients, nurses, janitors and they all say the same thing - that the doctors are rushing to the vip ward and they’re trying to make it look like your usual hourly check up but it’s not... look, this is the real thing. if we mess up, there won’t be another chance. now, did you convince hoseok to come back?”

almost as if reminded that you’re not the only person in the room, your eyes snap to hoseok whose eyes are already fixed on you with a concerned expression.

“he’ll come back.” with that, you hang up the call.

“i’d love for you to think it through for a few days, realize this isn’t really a life you want and come to me on your own to sign our prenups,” you say casually, placing down the teacup and slipping your phone back into your handbag as if you’re getting ready to leave the tea party, “but...”

but before you can lift the gun and fully point it at him, a large hand covers yours. his warmth seeps through your pores and makes your body feel warmer.

“the gun’s a bit excessive,” his breath fans your face as your eyes fix on the supple skin of his neck.

it’s as if invisible hands reached out and held your head in place, forbidding you from tilting it and gazing into his eyes. his fingers reach over the back of the gun, grazing your hands.

a click cuts through the silence.

“at the very least, unlock the safety,” his teasing tone doesn’t match his saddened eyes.

and just as you thought you’d closed the distance between you and him, the circumstance forces you to take five steps back.

#bts scenarios #bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok fic #bts fic #bts x you #bts x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok scenarios

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Five Words

I’m back again ... this time with a requested ‘Leonard Betts’ follow-up ...

this tried to kill me a little bit ... not lying ...

@laurenclare88 @today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

No surprise to either Mulder or Scully, he was awake when she called, “hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, me, you okay?” Twisting his head back to see the clock behind him, “it’s almost midnight.”

“Feel like getting some hot chocolate? Coffee? Platter of waffles the size of your head?”

He heard something in her voice, and not sure if she’d been crying or sound asleep until five seconds before she called, he sat up, “well, Waffles and Stuff is open and in the middle so we can meet there, if you’d like, or if we hit Rolls and Holes, I’ll come pick you up.”

It was actually called Benny’s Café but they specialized in homemade cinnamon rolls and peanut butter donut holes, hence Mulder’s highly inappropriate, yet completely fitting, nickname.

She didn’t laugh like she normally did, juvenile as the nickname was, and he headed towards his shoes, wondering what could have happened since he left her yawning, at her front door, two hours ago, “Waffles and Stuff is fine. See you in ten.”

She must already be in the car because it took ten minutes to get there. Hurrying now, he tossed on a sweatshirt, then his jacket, heading out the door a minute later, turning left for the stairs instead of right to the elevator because hoofing it would be faster. The car ride there was quiet, traffic light, pavement dry.

Waffles and Stuff was empty this time of night, and as he parked, he spotted her already in their booth in the corner, having graduated from the counter a year or so back. Waving to both the cook and lone waitress, Max and Catherine as they had learned some time ago, he slid into the bench across from his partner, “fancy meeting you here.”

She didn’t feel like banter tonight, heavy burden weighing but not forming concrete thoughts able to be spoken out loud just yet. Instead, “you want to split the waffles or fly solo?”

“Scully.”

Hands on the table, she raised one in his direction, fingers waving absently, wrist bobbing in a ‘give me some time’ gesture, “I think I’d like to split a set of Belgian with extra butter and get bacon and sausage on the side. How’s that sound?”

Now she was just freaking him out. Stopping her flopping hand, “Scully? What happened? Is it your mom? Bill? Talk to me, please?”

She jerked her hand away from him, nearly taking out her water glass in the process, “just … they’re fine … I just …” frustration made her words stutter, nostrils flare, jaw tighten for a moment, “I haven’t …”

Not pushing in the moment, he leaned forward, holding his pointer finger up to stop Catherine’s approach, “do you want to eat here or get it to go? We can share in the car if you want.”

Eyes shutting, she took a deep breath, palms flat on Formica. Exhaling slowly, she found her center for a brief second, “just some hot chocolate for now.”

Mulder called the order to Catherine, adding a ‘thanks’ before returning to Scully, speaking slowly again, “are you okay?”

Her head shook a ‘no’, eyes glued to the table, fingers white. Mulder’s stomach tightened but venturing a guess that she’d had a nightmare about Betts and couldn’t form the words yet, he nodded, trying again to touch her, tracing his fingers over the cold knuckles on the back of her hand, “you’re fine here, okay? We can stay as long as you like.”

Caught between crying and screaming, she let him run his fingers over her for another moment before sliding back, hands dropping to lap as eyes bounced from his chin, then to his chest before landing on his still extended hand, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She knew damn well she didn’t wake him up, but both realized she needed to steer them back to middle ground, neutral conversation, “you didn’t. I was watching ‘Golden Girls’.”

Not knowing this particular vice, she met his green eyes, almost smiling, “who’s your favorite?”

“Um, Sophia. What kind of asinine question is that?”

Hot chocolate arrived amidst the debate of Sophia vs. Rose and ordering their smorgasbord, things stayed light through another side of bacon and a second helping of hot chocolate. Stuffed by 1:15am, Mulder saw her drifting away again, heaviness settling where frivolity had been moments earlier. Tapping her ankle with his shoe lightly, she didn’t startle but refocused on him, “that better be you.”

Continuing, “it is.”

“Good. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to come here again.”

Catherine somehow managed to clean their table without disturbance, in, out, feeling the odd pall over them. Neither so much as glanced her way.

Subtly lifting his leg, he set his foot on the booth beside her, preventing any escape from his next questions, “what happened? Did you have a nightmare about Betts? Did you see something? Hear something?” He felt microscopic pressure against his ankle as her thigh muscles tensed to move but he held steady, not letting her leave. Voice dropping to a whisper, he leaned forward, “you’re starting to freak me out.”

Her face crumbled for a moment, then snapped back to normal 1 am, shifting gears a third time when her eyebrows crashed together, lip curling, chin wobbling in an instant, then back to normal. The gambit of emotions that crossed her face in under four seconds was heart-wrenching and Mulder followed along, panic about to overrun control.

Moving his foot, he shifted in beside her, arm around her shoulder, fear growing exponentially, his voice wobbling quietly in her ear, “what happened?”

“Betts told me I had something he needed.”

With the speed of a fucking bullet, realization froze his heart, and his other arm completed the circle around her, pulling her into his shoulder, burying his face in her hair, “Betts in a psychopathic fucker.” She couldn’t quite find words to tell him about the bloody nose that had sent her spiraling so she tried to move closer instead, wishing for a way to crawl into his lap without rebuke or reprisal. Ice still coursing through his veins, he choose denial mode as opposed to depths of despair, comfort instead of chaos, “he’s certifiable, Scully, why would you give him a second thought? A first thought, even?”

When she didn’t respond, he let go of her, standing, tossing money on the table and taking her hand, “come on.”

When he pulled away from her, she nearly sobbed, missing him in that second more than she’d missed him in … well … possibly ever. Seeing his extended hand started the roller coaster all over again and shifting, she followed in silence, little hand wrapped in big, not waving goodnight to their hosts, not seeing anything but his jacket inches from her nose.

Her nose.

And the slightest headache thrumming behind it.

She stumbled over the curb, running into his back, catching herself before hitting the ground. Her control was gone, her walls blown to hell, her mind focused on five words, four years, three drops of blood, two people, one soul and the suddenly ticking timebomb of a six-letter word.

She couldn’t say it.

Mulder had her face in his hands, trying to comprehend the unimaginable, eyes darting between hers, betraying any kind of cool exterior both knew he didn’t have, “you’re fine, Scully. You are going to be fine. Betts is … was … and ever shall be … nothing to us. He wanted to get under your skin and he knew how and he did it and he’s burning in hell right now and you can’t listen to anything he said. Do you hear me?”

Held still by large palms and calloused fingers, she let the tears escape, her voice reaching his ears in a wet, spitty, stilted stutter, “you … you didn’t hear … how he said it … Mulder. He … he had sympathy in his words, the look …” eyes closed for a moment, swallowing hard, “he looked genuinely sorry.” Choking inhale in, one sob shook both to their core, “he wasn’t saying it to be cruel. He was saying it … to be kind … and he’s dead and he can’t … he could have …”

Shaking his head, he finally pulled her into a hug, most of her upper body disappearing into his embrace, “he couldn’t have done anything, Scully. He removed tumors because he needed them. Doctors do the same thing. He didn’t cure, Scully,” he kept saying her name, needing to hear it out loud, prove she was still standing in front of him, his denial in place but his fear still winning, “he removed. Doctors cure, he mangled, he cut, he … he couldn’t have helped you but Leonard Betts doesn’t matter anymore because your fine and he’s gone and he was just fucking with your head because he could. He would have said the same thing to me had I been in the ambulance with you. I know enough about these people to know it would have ended with that phrase regardless of who was in the truck.”

Neither was sure who he was trying harder to convince and neither dwelled on it.

Instead, she stayed up on the curb while Mulder was one notch below in the gutter, hug evened out, height difference conquered with concrete and asphalt. A cone of silence enveloped them, traffic noise, barking dogs, airplanes overhead, all fading away, until, Scully, mess of emotions somewhat in check, spoke quietly into his chest, “will you take me home?”

“Of course.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Leaving his car behind, he drove hers to her apartment, both climbing stairs and locking doors behind. Her microwave clock now read 2:09am as she held out her hand to take his coat, walls still down, mind and heart exhausted, “would you mind sleeping in with me tonight? I wouldn’t normally ask but …” sentence running off to nowhere, she waited, eyes pleading in that Scully way.

“You got any sweats for me?”

Once in bed, not as awkwardly as either expected, they remained a civil distance apart but facing each other, eyes tired, eyes burning, eyes not breaking contact for fear the other would disappear in the time of a blink. Mulder, desperate to reach out to her, kept his hands to himself, “you’re fine. You will always be fine. You’ll go to the doctor if you need to tomorrow and he’ll tell you there’s nothing to worry about and then we’ll go ride roller coaster somewhere or run through the fountains of DC naked in celebration that I was right and you were wrong.”

She had already planned the following morning in her head but staying silent about that, she instead flashed him a small smile, trying her best to make it look genuine, to force her eyes to sparkle in amusement just enough to allow him to fall asleep in peace, “naked, huh?”

He saw through her bullshit like she was a plate glass window, “not on the roller coasters.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not on the roller coasters.”

Trying to keep his voice steady, “you’re going to be fine.”

Finally reaching towards him, his hand met hers halfway, “I know.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Sleep eluded him, preferring to listen to her stuffy inhale than to drift into slumber but even the great Fox Mulder eventually had to give in to sleep, drifting off around 4:15. Scully, faking until 3:30, woke at 5:45, slipping out of bed, five-minute shower, out the door by 6:30, leaving her partner behind.

Three favors later, she was trying to hold herself together in the MRI tube, magnets banging, head aching, muscles tensing with each new sound. How could that machine capture anything when her mind was racing so fast the images should just be a blur of thoughts, smudged terror captured in black and white, brought to you by the marvels of science?

She wished he was there so she could hold his hand.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Mulder could fake a few things as well. He woke when she left the bed, stayed still, eyes shut, while he listened to her shower. He heard her come back in, sort through her closet, open dresser drawers, felt the air in the room change as she did, donning armor for her day ahead. She was at the foot of the bed so not in his possible waking view but to know she was comfortable enough to do her routine with him asleep five feet away made him quake inside. He held it together, even as she returned to the room, keys lightly clinking in hand, to give him a lingering kiss on the cheek, to brush his hair back as her thumb ran over his forehead.

He waited five minutes after he heard the front door lock before rolling over, stretching, missing her beating heart and radiating heat. Staring at the ceiling when done, he refused to ponder, instead, two grunts and a back crack later, he was up, standing, heading to the shower.

Problem was, the warm water, the smell of her soap, the view of damp towel on rack and dry one beside, just for him, caught him off-guard. Halfway through soaping up, he broke down, standing under the water, sobbing tears covered by loud water pinging off the walls. He gave himself what felt like five minutes before straightening back up, finishing his shampoo and wash, ending with a steamy-mirrored pep talk during which he convinced himself Scully would be just fine.

Making the bed, he headed out, calling a cab to get him to the diner, then driving himself home, waiting impatiently for a phone call he knew was inevitable. He could have heading to the basement, he could have taken a nap, he could have stared at the wall and had a panic attack the size of Montana but instead, he read his email, his phone never far from his hand.

&&&&&&&&&&

Scully saw the mass, a bright white spot of dread in her sinus cavity, doctor explaining, in the background, diagnosis and treatment options, but most of her attention was filled with it.

It.

IT.

That thing settled comfortably next to her brain.

IT.

Mesmerized, she nodded when they asked if she’d like to be alone for a minute; if she would like to call someone.

And then it was quiet, the snick of the shutting door the only noise in the room.

Leaving just her and the bright white mass on the light board.

“Mulder. Could you come down to the hospital, please?”

She could hear it in his voice as he said, “which area?”

“Oncology.”

The sound of a fight building. The sound of defiance taking root.

Or denial.

“I’m on my way.”

#msr #MulderNScully #leonard betts #x-files fanfic #My writing #five words #four years #three drops of blood #two people #one soul #and the sudden ticking timebomb of a six-letter word

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty Two | Another Medium (Part 2 of 4)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

"Hurry, ren. We're gonna be late!"

You smile down at Frisk and watch as they tug at the edge of your shirt to try pulling you along with them.

The door's left open, and even though those meant to pick you up for the event aren't here yet, they still urge you to go outside and wait.

"It's only seven, honey." Your thoughts drift back to your video call and Sans's most recent text message, letting you know half an hour later that he'd be here soon. "We've got a few minutes left." You grab their hand and put a stop to their energy, facing their eyes. "Are you that excited about starting school?"

They nod and grin wide. "Even more, if you're gonna be working there, too!"

Your smile falls as you remember the folder Sans had given you. It had been thrown into the farthest corner of your bookshelf that same day, and you'd been too reluctant to look at it any more ever since. You didn't want to take their kindness and help for granted, just as much as you didn't want to forget about your reasons for learning more about monsters. Your godmother was right in terms of you needing to understand them more, so you've established it upon yourself to bring that up during your first, official date night with the skeleton. Understanding the changes being made to the Underground could aid you with the slim chance of finding a way to either halt or delay it from becoming a big tourist attraction, and you could finally be more clear and upfront about your feelings related to the dream -- even if all of that was easier said than done. Not only had you crossed far too many boundaries with him already, but you were still keeping your dubious relationship with him, all while continuing to be wary of him and everyone else for their past. The subtle but no less irate light to his gaze when having your aunt bring up the the Judgement Hall had been more than sufficient for you to try something -- or at least, assist him and every other monster with that process.

In short, hypocrisy's absorbing you bit by bit, and today's your very first attempt at trying to break free from that. Whether you succeed or not doesn't matter. Giving it a shot, on the contrary, does. Even the slightest amount of closure achieved with your research could help in setting your thoughts straight, and -- perhaps -- to finally stop yourself from comparing monsterkind with Jerry.

To put it this way: you couldn't allow yourself one thing if you were allowing the other to continue happening.

After all, why were you willing to engage in a relationship with someone like Sans, when you were still far from forgiving and much less forgetting Jerry over abandoning Frisk for so many years?

Why were you willing to befriend someone like Alphys, who'd been close to ending up in jail due to the failed experiments made on those of her own kind?

Why were you willing to book a night at Mettaton's hotel, knowing he'd once set Frisk into danger greater than any other monster you knew had -- Undyne being a close second?

Even someone like Papyrus brought harm to them once!

"Ren," Frisk calls out, tugging your hand. "You look angry. Are... Are you okay?"

You nod and let out a breath, composing yourself. "I'm fine, honey."

"Are you still thinking about avenging me?"

Your eyes shoot wide open at that, and you can't avoid suspecting they might have the capability of reading your mind.

Regardless of their word choice, you were -- in a sense -- wanting to avenge them from anyone who'd once caused them harm, be it Jerry, the monsters, or the loud and nosy neighbour from next door wondering why Frisk enjoyed playing with action figures just as much as they did playing with princesses.

"Ren!"

Hearing their whine of concern, you snap out of it and look down to see they've let go of your hand, both their arms now outstretched and in wait for your embrace.

"Do you want a hug?"

Your smile returns at that, albeit a bit more melancholic compared to the first time. You get down to their height and pull them in for a hug, sighing when you have them safe in your hold; it feels right to have them close and in your care, no matter how much your mind insists otherwise. The question you brought up back at the Judgement Hall still feels like the most subconscious part of your mind had possessed you, insisting you turn back to how you used to be after Frisk's fall.

"You don't need to protect me that much!" they say, letting go. "I... I know all the monsters well, so I'd tell you if any one of them's bugging me. You don't need to hate them for my sake, and you don't have to compare them to dad, either." Without a doubt, if humans still had the capability of using magic and spells, you would label them a mind reader. "You should get to know them on your own first, and not just based on who they are to me. Because if that's really all up to me, then the only one I don't really like much is..."

At that, they stop; they bring a finger to their chin and tap it twice, delving deep in their thoughts along the way.

"Huh..." Frisk taps their chin again and their gaze turns furrowed, scrunching up the more they think about it. "I mean, I don't really know if I dislike any of them... I just know I wanna have friends!"

You're compelled -- if not, urged -- to argue against that, though your heart stops you from spilling any of those thoughts out. Still, your mind attempts to push through it. Personal feelings couldn't cloud your judgement, if that meant it could bring harm to your child.

"Even if they-"

Hearing the engine rumbling as Papyrus parks close by the sidewalk is a blessing in and of itself; the aforementioned date night with his brother can't get here any sooner. You need to sort your thoughts out once and for all. Almost half a year of waltzing with the seemingly never-ending issue of Frisk's journey and the bonds they made through it was far too much. If you were slowly making friends with those same people too, then you needed to stop this at once. No matter how much you wanted to avoid said confrontation, that had to be done -- for both CPS and reasons beyond.

"You're right." You huff, bring a hand to your forehead, and go lower to massage the brim of your nose. Not a moment after, you fix your glasses, look back to their side, and form a smile. "Thank you, dear."

• • •

You close your eyes just before the monster presses a damp cotton ball to your wound.

Isopropyl makes it sting immediately, yet you're too busy with your thoughts to care about it that much.

"You okay?" Sans asks, meeting your eyes when you open them. "You've been quiet since we got 'ere."

"I'm okay, but..." You think back to how you greeted him with a wave, right as you did with his brother. While the monster before you didn't seem to mind it, you can't avoid the thought of how you used to be with Jerry. It was easier to be more affectionate back then, and it was easier still greeting him with a kiss -- be it a simple one on the cheek or a quick one on the lips. Now, you can't so much as imagine the prospect of doing that with your new partner without overthinking or feeling stressed about it. "I was wondering if we... if we should maybe keep our relationship private -- f- for now?"

He finishes wrapping the bandages and fixes them tight before replying with, "That's fine with me. Did you watch the video?"

"No, I'm..." You grow short of breath at the thought of how many people have likely seen it by now -- how many times it's been shared, and how many more discussions and heated arguments have revolved around it. "I'm too scared to."

You can't bring yourself to look at him any longer, so his expression falls unknown as he suggests watching it together, a question you answer to with a quiet and mumbled 'sure'.

Sans proceeds with a nod and stores all the items used back into the first aid kit before taking out his phone, settling down in bed, and holding your hand with his free one. "Really sure?" he asks, squeezing it once. You reply with an even quieter 'yes' and watch in silence as he clicks on the link sent by what you assume is several people, based on how Undyne, Brenda, and even the man from the train station -- now his friend and your co-worker -- have messaged him the same information, all three left unread. The one he chooses is farther back and dated with yesterday, this one sent by Jerry.

It plays in an instant and the first thing to appear is Asgore's garden, while murmurs are what compose the audio as the one filming shows himself around a field of trampled flowers, these now a mess of broken pots, thrashed earth, and missing rocks. A few others make him company and engage in small talk, though it ends quickly when one of them shouts for everyone to 'get over here quick'. The group does as told, leading for the cameraman to rush along with them out of the garden and into the Judgement Hall. The audio grows quiet as he ventures further, steps and voices now discreet as he films a fuzzy image of two people sitting at one of the benches laid around, with the exception that one sits on top and has their arms wrapped firm and tight around the other. Multiple people urge the cameraman to approach the scene more, making him show you and Sans kissing, albeit of a blurry quality with how much he has to zoom in so as to not be caught. Even the noise is recorded with how silent everything else is, this one mostly composed of hitched breaths and clothing shuffling against each other as you hug him closer. Thankfully, no kissing noises are recorded, something you assume is due to him having a shapeable skull rather than lips, along with how slow and careful your actions are.

The video ends when the kiss does, and it leaves you in the same silence created right before clicking on it.

Regardless, Sans opens up the page it was posted on to reveal more information about the creator.

'Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this stuff? This is the future that awaits us, if we continue to act as if we can live peacefully with these people. Opposing these changes is necessary, if we wish to keep our normalcy. Casual make outs with a being so far from human shouldn't be the norm of our world', reads the caption.

Below, some of the replies read from ones saying the poster isn't the only one who shares those thoughts, to ones who've taken the time to write an entire paragraph about the situation.

'🤢🤮'

'Absolutely not.'

'No, you're not. This is outright hideous.'

'Click here to see my 👄 HOT 🔥 noods 🍝: www.uhohspaghettios.xd'

'Wow, this is just like 1984.'

'Next thing you know, we'll be the ones living in the Underground.'

'I need eye bleach ASAP!!! 😱'

'Yeah, no. Hard pass on whatever the hell I just watched. Why did you even film this?'

'That skeleman is nothing but a closeted cradle-robber. Anyone who's met (Y/N) knows how naïve and childish they are, and them dating someone like that screams bad news. Forget that he's a monster, people! What's more important here's how he's got a liking for them despite that gap -- both mentally AND physically. He should be ashamed for bringing their reputation even further down with this video. At this point, I have trouble believing they'll ever recover from all this.'

'...Ok, but...... Am I the only one who finds this kinda.................. Hot? 👀💦'

'Of course, even a monster would try to have his way with someone like them. Look at how they're dressed!'

'To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand how wrong this stuff is. The degeneracy infesting the Surface nowadays is extremely subtle, and without a solid knowledge of social sciences, most of the immorality will go over a typical person's head. There's also the skeleton's nihilistic outlook, which is deftly woven into his characterisation -- his personal philosophy draws heavily from George Orwell literature, for instance. People like us understand this stuff; we have the intellectual capacity to truly appreciate the depths of these social rejects, to realise that they're not just ridiculous -- they say something deep about LIFE and SOCIETY. As a consequence, people who see nothing wrong with this truly ARE idiots -- of course they wouldn't appreciate, for instance, the humour in the skeleton's existential catchphrase "Genocide is wrong", which itself is a cryptic reference to Er*n Yeag*r from Att*ck on Tit*n. I'm smirking right now, just imagining one of those addlepated simpletons scratching their heads in confusion as our fight against this backwards evolution unfolds itself on their phone screens. What fools... How I pity anyone who disagrees with you and tries to defend this behaviour. 😂'

At the bottom of it all, a neglected comment reads:

'Not only are you and your companions trespassing in an unsafe location, but your recording shows clear evidence you were damaging former King Asgore Dreemurr's property. You have also chosen to film these people without their knowledge despite them being in a private area, and uploaded the footage to a massive social media platform, as well. This is punishable by law, and I will not hesitate to stand for these people, if they decide to file a lawsuit against you.'

What stands out the most goes beyond the commenter's name, as his profile picture is what captures your attention first, regardless of how well-dressed he appears in the image and how small it is without clicking on it. Sans seems to share the same thought as you, as he clicks on the man's account without thinking twice. It takes some time to load, but when it does, your mouth gapes and you find yourself at a complete loss for words.

'Gerardo "Jerry" Gonzalez Gutierrez del Valle. Family practice lawyer since 20XX. Co-founder of the first Alcohol and Smoking Helpline for monsters. Former quarterback for Ebott U's Football League,' his bio reads.

You're overcome by what feels like an hour of silence before you can process what you've read. The age-old experience of reviewing material from your textbook at three thirty in the morning arrives when you try to read through his profile a second time, then a third. Even his pictures are difficult to process, these a variety of him posing with his co-workers at the newly-opened helpline building, screenshots of his progress with quitting alcohol and his strike of days and months sober, images of him in different suits, and -- last but not least -- a couple of Throwback Thursdays from his glory days, featuring both high school and college memories. It's hard to decide which feeling out of multiple is stronger than the rest, as jealousy combines with the slightest thing you expect out of this discovery: being reminded of the good ol' days. Guilt arrives next when growing aware of your current relationship with the one sitting next to you, even if it's only the thought of how happy you used to be with the man in those pictures before everything went haywire.

"You're... You're seeing this too, right?"

You hear him chuckle and see him agree with a nod, though you can't exactly fall back down to Earth again; were this a dream, you would accept it as such.

"Yeah." The monster looks you over once before adding, "And am I imagining it, or did I catch you smilin' at 'im just now?" He winks.

"So you're telling me you're really not surprised by this, at all?"

"...Touché."

You stand up and give your back to him, irked by his assumption despite him being nothing close to serious about it. "But, please don't think I still like him." Your hands turn into fists at the thought of going back with someone like him, no matter his current intentions. "I still haven't forgiven him, and I still..." Bile rises to your throat as your stomach churns wildly. "I still hate him." Then, you take a pause to gather strength. "And maybe that's a strong word, b- but... It's hard for me to forget that's the same man who once accused me for every little thing that wasn't 'normal' with Frisk, from them running away the first time, to them refusing to call him dad -- even when I never prevented them from visiting him, and e- even when he stopped visiting them first." Your chest shakes as you huff. "I... I still dislike him, and I really hate that I remembered good things about him just now."

Your mouth refuses to shut up and makes you continue on with, "So if I still can't forgive him, how can I make a decision for CPS with so many of you and in so short of a time? I still can't decide what to do, no... no matter how much I've learnt about everyone else." Your throat turns dry, and you find it difficult to swallow. "Hell, it was only yesterday I finally gave into one of my doubts. I thought it twice before asking if you wanted to kiss, but it'd been in my mind for a long while before that."

"You're sayin' the kiss was you decidin' to trust me?"

"Yes."

He scoots closer to your side and furrows his gaze.

"Even after that dream, and even though I started it?"

"Y... Yes." You do the same as him and smile. "I trust you, and... And I know the dream's likely just me overthinking this. One thing's spilling the truth when you're drunk, and one thing's getting... too caught up in your fears -- to the point where you have these warped dreams about someone else, no matter how much they mean to you."

His irises soften in their light, and a hint of culpability seems to fall on him. "Then I'm sorry for bringin' your ex into this." You sit back down with him and hold his hand again. "It wasn't right."

"It's okay."

"Doesn't look that way."

Before you know it, you're held by your lower back, pulled close, and brought down in bed.

He stays on top, gaze focused on yours rather than on your lips or anywhere else suggesting something more.

"Have you found that help yet? Counseling, I mean." His gaze remains the same despite having changed topics so abruptly. "How're ya doin', puddin'?"

"Bubbles and Brenda suggested two recently, but I... I still haven't gotten around to calling either one of them."

"Want me to make you company while you try that now? We've got time."

"...Kiss me first, please?"

He lowers more and presses his teeth to your neck.

"Gladly."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

@homesickinvader

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔] Chapter One- Pumpkin Spice

DISCLAIMER: I do not own AOT/SNK or the characters.

WARNING 18+: Heavy Sexual Themes/SMUT, Alcohol Consumption, Drug Usage, Profanity, Violence, and Some Uncomfortable Themes.

Click away now if you’re uncomfortable with anything listed above.

The fresh mid-October air plunged into your lungs after inhaling deeply through your nostrils as soon as you broke through the doors belonging to the lecture hall. Though the temperature outside was brisk, the sun was still shining above brightly. The white blotchy clouds were condensed together almost like puzzle pieces that were yet to fit together.

You were grateful for perfect weather on a day like this, and couldn't help but smile to yourself out of pure bliss. Because in all honesty, being stuck inside of lectures for the majority of the day wasn't ideal, but you sure were paying good money for it.

Pinching at the thin cotton material of your jacket, you pulled the fabric closer against your body when a gust of wind whipped past you. Maybe you should've thrown on a thicker jacket, but it's not like you took the initiative to check the weather for the day ahead when your attention was focused on making it out of your dorm room before being late for your eight am. Stopping at a large water fountain that was positioned perfectly center in the intersection of two walkways, you took a slight step with your left foot to turn and look around at all of the people floating about. Awkwardly searching for a particular face in the crowd as the sound of water gently overlapping played in your ears from the old fountain. Today, you had plans to hang out with your boyfriend, the plan was to meet up with him at this exact location. 'Maybe he's running late...' When another two minutes passed of you keeping an eye out for his familiar face, and there was still no sight of your boyfriend, you pulled out your phone to see if he'd sent you a text of his whereabouts or any piece of information. A clear notification screen surprised you, maybe even worried you just the slightest bit, but you shoved that hollow feeling down deep inside of you to tried to ignore it. 'Okay, maybe I should just text him.' Today 15:04 Where are you?✓ Your message had been sent, all you had to do now was play the very annoying waiting game. 'He wouldn't just ghost you for no reason without an explanation.' You tried reasoning with yourself. Your eyes tore away from your phone screen, deciding it was better to distract yourself with something instead of aimlessly waiting around for who knows how long. With only one glance around the perimeter, you elected that a nearby coffee cart parked further down away would be your means of distraction. What's a better distraction than caffeine? As you closed in on the dark oak wooden coffee cart, you couldn't help but notice a familiar face standing behind the cash register. The young man stood slumped over, a disengaged expression on his face, almost as if he were frowning. You lifted a brow quizically, taking the last few steps of your stride towards the cart. The man with blond hair and prominent sideburns perked up behind the register as you stood adjacent to him, "(L/N), is that you?" "Yeah, hey, Thomas! I didn't know you worked here. It's been a while since we've last spoke, how have you been?" You smiled, reminiscing in the few friendly memories you shared together. Thomas was in your German class at the beginning of the semester until you decided to drop the class and swap your minor out for French instead. There hasn't been much or any conversation between the two of you since then. "I just started two weeks ago, and about that..." the slight smile he'd managed to put on his face when you originally approached the cart faded away momentarily, "not so good actually," his cheeks flushed out of embarrassment and his smile kept wavering. "What happened? Are you okay?" You asked, genuinely concerned about your friends' feelings. "My girlfriend broke up with me yesterday," he admitted with a sigh. "Mina?" You asked and Thomas nodded, "that must suck, weren't you and her together for a while?" You could remember the few mentions of his ex-girlfriend in some of the conversations you had together before. "Since junior year of high school, she was my first girlfriend," his light brown eyes fell to the counter. "It was so... all of a sudden. She didn't even tell me why, but, in all honesty, I think it was for another guy," his fingertips tapped away at the counter anxiously. Hearing Thomas tell you about the recent breakup with his ex made your stomach twist and turn into knots for some unknown reason. There was suddenly a burning temptation to check your phone, but you refrained from doing so. "I'm sorry to hear that, and I wish there was something I could say to make you magically feel better," you shot him a sympathetic smile when he finally lifted his eyes to look up at you. "You know, I kind of feel a little bit better talking to you about it," Thomas admitted with a meek chuckle. "Anyways," he flicked the brim of his visor, "enough about me, is there anything I could get you?" He suggested to the menu of drinks. "Surprise me?" A small grin pulled at his lips, "on it." You couldn't help but notice how Thomas's emotions seemed to have pulled a full one-eighty compared to when you saw him standing idle behind the counter just a few minutes ago. "Here you go, one large pumpkin spice latte from our seasonal menu," Thomas reached over the counter, handing you a rather large paper cup, "careful, (L/N), it's hot." You accepted the latte with slight hesitation, "thanks, how much do I owe you?" You were struggling to reach your wallet inside of your purse when Thomas said, "don't worry about it, the drink is on me." "Are you sure? Because I can-" "Think of it as thanks for talking to me," Thomas showed a genuine smile while plucking a napkin from a dispenser to give to you, "just in case you need one of these." "Fine, but I'm paying for my next drink," you said, but still feeling reluctant to just walk away without paying for the drink. Quickly, you reached into your purse, feeling around for any loose money lying about. After a few seconds, you swiftly inserted a few crumpled bills and loose change into the nearly empty tip jar without even examining the tip amount. Thomas laughed after watching your efforts, "see you around, (L/N)." "Bye! Thanks again, Thomas," you sipped on your hot beverage as you steadily walked away from the coffee cart. When you passed by someone looking down at their phone, it reminded you to check yours to see if there was any response from your significant other. To no avail, there were no new messages on your lock screen, only a single notification that alerted you of a spam email message. You tabbed into your text messages once again because the curiosity gnawed away at your insides. Today 15:02 Where are you?✓✓ Immediately you felt your heart sink through your chest as you noticed that he'd definitely read your message. The same annoying worrisome thoughts intruded your mind once again, and this time it was difficult clearing them from your headspace. Today 15:09 Floch?✓ Unfortunately, the smile you had plastered on your face quickly faded away. You groaned under your breath, casually placing the hot beverage just at your lips, the scent of various warm spices tickled your nose as you precariously watched the chat bubbles appear then disappear, and reappear once again. The hot liquid almost scorched your mouth as you anxiously drew in a sip, and then another, all while waiting for his response. A sense of bile rose through your throat as the chat bubble disappeared and finally a response from Floch appeared. You read the message over and over again, trying to decipher if there was some hidden intent behind it. Floch❤️: I'm at your dorm building The page stilled for a moment when the second message of his came through. Floch ❤️: We need to talk 'We need to talk... that could only mean one thing.' In a complete utter panic, and with every intent on running to your dorm room, you forced your phone into the depths of your pocket. You carelessly cut a sharp right, the thoughts in your head running rampant as you headed for your dorm to see what it was exactly your boyfriend wanted to talk about. Your mistake was forgetting to double-check for any people around you before taking off into a sprint. Because now you came into contact with what felt like a slab of concrete in a head-on collision. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The fresh latte flew from your grasp and tumbled onto the sidewalk, splashing you with its scorching hot liquid mid-process. Your purse fell from off of your arm as you landed flat on your back in front of everyone, and your victim had fallen to the ground with you- wait- on top of you? "I'm so fucking sorry," you hissed at the burning sensation from the drink, but also at the pain you felt from falling onto your back, the contents of your backpack digging into you. Hovering above you was a man dressed in a heather grey tracksuit. In one ear was an earbud, while the other earbud was detached and dangling in your face from the neck slit of his hoodie. A few pieces of his hair fell over his forehead and the sides of his face. You swore you could hear the faintest music pumping through his earbuds. You blinked a few times, unsure if you were seeing things clearly as he pushed himself off of you and held out a hand for you to take. Without another word, or any hesitation whatsoever, you placed your hand into his and he firmly clasped it, pulling you up onto the solid ground. The two of you bumped into each other but you promptly took a step back after you found your equilibrium. "I hope I didn't crush you, are you alright?" "Huh?" your eyelashes fluttered together rapidly, snapping yourself out of the weird trance you were in. The unnamed man chuckled dryly, "are you okay? That was quite a nasty fall. I hope I didn't break you or anything," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, but overall it seemed that he was genuinely concerned about your well-being. "Oh, yeah, I'll be okay," you said, taking a look at your ruined jacket and shirt that was damp and beginning to grow cold from the latte, "shit." His intense light brown eyes stared down past your feet, examining the spoilt cup of coffee and the rest of the scene itself. "Here," he scooped up your purse from off of the ground for you. You awkwardly accepted your purse from the man and readjusted both straps of your backpack on your shoulders. As he stood in front of you, you couldn't help but stare at him, fully taking in his features. He was tall. Much taller than your boyfriend. His long jaw was sharp and perfectly lined with facial hair. His hair was long and a nice shade of light ash-brown and seemed to be shaved on the sides like an undercut. But, it was hard to tell since locks and strands of his hair were sporadic from the fall. Some pieces of his hair were stuck to his forehead from a thin layer of sweat. It was now that you realized how his chest was rising and falling rather rapidly with quick heavy breaths. It seemed that he'd been on a jog before you came crashing into him, at least it would explain the outfit. "Again, I'm sorry for running into you like a crazy person," you breathed out an anxious breath, "but I have to get going now, I have somewhere to be." You snatched the littered coffee cup from off of the ground and shoved it into the nearest wastebasket as you cleared the scene. You could've sworn that you heard the man calling out to you, but you refused to turn around, leaving him in the same exact spot of the incident. All you wanted to do was get to your dorm, talk to your boyfriend, and change clothes. **************** "Hey babe," you said uneasily as you saw Floch standing outside of your dorm. Floch had his back pressed against the door, his eyes glued to his phone, and his face was expressionless as the blue light fanned over his skin. When he heard your voice, he slowly tucked his phone away into his front pants pocket. Forwarding his attention to you, you opened your arms widely to greet him with a hug, but at the last second, you decided against it due to your damp top. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit," he said with a slight chuckle as he examined your appearance. His words stung a great amount, causing you to bite at the inside of your lip, but you ignored him. "I fell on my way over here, my latte spilled on me in the process," you groaned, remembering the incident that happened not even ten minutes ago. "Do you want to come inside and talk while I change out of this mess?" You asked, heading for the door with your key. "No, I wanted to make this quick actually," he exhaled uneasily. "Okay," you wrapped your arms around your chest, holding onto yourself tightly. Your pulse quickened at the suspense, and the air around you could be cut with a knife while you waited for him to speak. It felt like an eternity had passed until those dreadful words left his lips. "There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to come right off the bat by saying that I think we should break up and see other people." Those dreadful words felt like the ripping of a bandaid, that or a complete slap to the face. The horrible predictions you tried to ignore happened to be true. Oh, how you wished you were wrong. You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, trying to make sure that you heard him correctly. "Wha.. what?" you croaked, your mouth was dry. The silence was deafening, and the ringing sensation buzzed your ears. You watched as Floch's mouth moved, but no words could be heard over the persistent ringing in your ears. Floch gracelessly went for a hug, and even though you wanted to hug him- cling onto him and try to talk things out, he'd already let go of you. The bitter scent of citrus, the smell of him, plagued you and almost brought you to your knees with a wave of emotions following along with it. "I'm sorry," you were finally able to hear him once again. "Floch... can't we just step inside my room and talk things over?" You didn't want to sound like you were begging for him to stay, but you didn't just want to break up as if your relationship meant nothing either. "Are you sure about this?" You and Floch had been dating for not as long as Thomas and Mina were dating, but you two were going to be going on three months whenever the next month arrived. The two of you met on your first day at university, somehow he charmed you in a dorkish-way and the rest was history. And all this time you were thinking that you were in love with him. "(Y/N), it's been fun, but I think we'd just be better off going separate ways," Floch took two steps back as he stared at you, but your eyes weren't on him, but rather at his feet. "Again, I'm sorry for this." The sounds of footsteps grew distant until there was no more sound left, as your eyes stayed nailed to the spot where he once stood. He was gone. For good. You blinked an infrequent amount of times, only being pulled out of your hypnotic state when the sound of people walking down the hall caught your attention. As soon as you looked up to examine the hall, you made contact with some girl who was blatantly staring at you. Ignoring the unknown girl, you turned to your door and fumbled with the lock and key for more than a handful of tries. But eventually, you pushed through the oak door with a breeze you closed it behind you. As soon as you were alone in the dimly lit room is when a wave of emotions overcame you and the tears began rolling uncontrollably.

#attack on titan #aot #aot smut #aut au #jean #jean kirstein #jean kirchstein #jean x reader #jean smut #snk #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #snk x reader #fanfic #aot floch #jean kirschtein x reader

[coconutstars]

Walking Away Part III

Part I  part II

Pairing: Stiles + reader   Summary: After having ignored all his calls, reader finally decides to hear Stiles out. The inspiration for this fic came from Wilson1128

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL AND THANK YOU FOR THE WONDERFUL RESPONSE! I’m literally a living crying emoji right now <3.  I’ve finally finished part 3. This part was supposed to involve smut but I’ve decided to post that separately incase there’s anybody out there that, you know, wants to end this story here. A little angsty, a little fluffy. Each to their own, am I right? So, to clarify, THE SMUTTY MAKE-UP SCENE WILL BE IN A SEPARATE NSFW PART.4. That is, if y’all are even interested in that?? Let me know.

_____________________________________________________

There was no escape. You needed your books and there was no way that was going to happen without Stiles seeing you. Partly because the hallway was practically empty but mainly because he was leaned up against your locker, head ducked down, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. You hadn’t properly looked at him since the night you walked away from him. You’d avoid his gaze in the hallway, advert your eyes whenever he walked into a room and looked in any direction but his during your shared classes.  But you were looking at him now. Really looking and it struck you how vulnerable he seemed. Almost defeated. A part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him. Pull him close, bury your face in the familiar curve of his neck and whisper that everything was okay.

But everything wasn’t okay. And Stiles wasn’t yours to comfort anymore.

Reluctantly you made your way over to your locker. As soon as he saw you, Stiles straightened up.

“Y/N” He sounded shocked, almost like he was surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?” you asked flatly, folding your arms over your chest. For a moment your eyes met, and a wave of emotions started seeping into your system. Hurt, longing, anger, comfort. You quickly fixed your eyes on a random mark on the wall. “I’ve tried to call you” he said in a low but clear tone. You shifted your bag from one shoulder to the other. “I know” “yeah, course...” his voice trailed off as he started drumming his fingers against his pants. That was usually a sign that he was trying to restrain himself from doing something he may end up regretting.

“Yeah, it’s just...” he began, really trying to hold it in but ultimately failing “when someone calls like… a thousand times, they probably have something important to say, you know?” There was so much frustration, despair and anxiousness in his voice you were genuinely taken aback. “Perhaps.” you said after a moment of silence. “but they might not deserve to be heard out”. Your tone was a lot harsher than you’d intended. Stiles looked wounded but nodded his head, it was a fair shot, and he knew it. “All I’m asking for is a chance Y/N.”

You thought for a moment. He’d tried to contact you so many times through texts, calls and notes you’d lost count. Ignoring him was hard. A part of you really missed him and it hurt like hell every time you had to delete a message or ignore yet another call. Perhaps if you talked to him, he would stop. All contact would end, and you could both move on. It’d be good for you. You’d eventually heal and meet someone new. Someone who could love you as much as you loved them. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. In reality you knew getting over Stiles would be impossible. You’d given him a piece of your heart and it would always be his, regardless if he wanted it or not.

Stiles was waiting for you to reply. You let out a sigh, already convinced you were making a huge mistake. “Fine, come over at eight”

Stiles showed up at 7.54. Although, you had a feeling he’d arrived on your street even earlier. Most likely parked somewhere out of sight, tapping the steering wheel restlessly as he waited for the digits on his watch to change.

He was wearing the dark red flannel he knew you loved, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans. “Hey” he said simply as you opened the door. You nodded in response and moved over to let him in before leading him up the stairs and into your room. You were standing across from each other, you with folded arms by the window and Stiles with his hands still stuck in his pockets by the door. 

“What do you want Stiles?”  He took a step forward.  “I want to apologize”. His honey-colored eyes were looking right at you, his gaze so intense you had to shift yours. “Okay” you replied shortly with a shrug, you were trying your best to sound unaffected but, on the inside, you were dying. It had just hit you that this could be the last time the two of you spoke to each other. You needed to wrap this up quickly or you’d start bawling your eyes out in front of him and that was not an option.   “Anything else? If not, I really have some homework to do” You snapped, feeling the familiar ache in your chest.  He took another step closer.  “I know you heard about what happened with Lydia at the party and-” You heart rate skyrocketed. There was no way in hell you were about to listen to him talking about hooking up with Lydia. You’d quite frankly rather stuff your ears with gravel and superglue them shut. “Yupp, Awesome. Good for you.” You interrupted, already on your way to usher him out of your room. “I wish you a both lifetime of happiness, thanks for stopping by” you rambled in distress, grabbing ahold of the handle. He placed his hands on your arms and spun you around. “Y/N shut up!” he said loudly in your face. 

You silenced in sheer surprise. “Nothing happened between Lydia and me! Nothing!” Like a deflated balloon, you let out a breath and looked up at Stiles, the panic now turning into confusion. “She kissed me and for a moment, yeah, I kissed her back-” You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again just as quickly. You weren’t sure what was happening right now. Your state of emotion had shifted way to quickly for your thoughts and mind to adjust. “-But nothing happened” Your brows knitted in confusion. How could he say nothing happened if he clearly just admitted to kissing her back? You wondered if this was some kind of poorly thought up method to soften the blow of being dumped. “That doesn’t make sense” you said with a headshake. “Stiles, you don’t have to have explain. I get it. You want to be with Lydia.” It really killed you to admit the last part. You couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to get the words out. You’d barely been able to think it, so to actually say it? You had a feeling you’d pay for it later though. You’d probably end up under the covers ugly crying until your head hurt and your skin burned from all the salty tears spilling from your eyes. “Can you please just go now?” your voice was barely a whisper.

Stiles ignored your request and shook his head in frustration. “I don’t want her Y/N. I don’t want Lydia.” This time when you looked up at him your eyes were narrowed in skepticism. What was this? What was he trying to do? “I don’t want Lydia because I want you” he clarified. Your mind still refused to understand what was going on. “No, Stiles. You chose her, you chose Lydia” His face twisted in frustration, his hands gesturing to emphasize his words. “Uh. No. You might not remember this, but you left me. I didn’t choose because there was no choice to make!” He practically yelled the last sentence. “you literally just told me I loved Lydia and broke up with me” You broke out into a laugh that lacked even the slightest trace of humor. Your emotional range now consisted solely of annoyed and angry. “So, you’re honestly going to tell me that you didn’t want to reply to that text?” Stiles practically exploded. “No! I didn’t and if you hadn’t been ignoring me for the past 100 years you would’ve known that”  “I’ve been ignoring you” you hissed through clenched teeth. “because you CHOSE LYDIA” 

Stiles shook his head in annoyance and turned around as if to talk to an invisible audience. “Nice, awesome. I see we’re really getting somewhere in this conversation” He took a deep breath before turning back to you. “No” he said, his tone and gestures slow and clear as if he were talking to a child. “I do not want Lydia because I want you. I love you Y/N Y/L/N” This time it was your turn to look away. You were literally screaming inside. This was all you’d wanted to hear since the two of you broke up. A part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until your lips hurt. But a part of you was scared. The pain you’d felt lately was something you never ever wanted to feel again. Despite if he’d meant it or not, Stiles had hurt you. He’d hidden the text from you. He kissed Lydia, and even if he insisted it’d meant nothing it still happened. And it could  happen again You thought about what he just said. I love you. You knew you loved him without a shadow of a doubt, but did he really feel the same? “Are you so sure about that?” you whispered, your anger being replaced with insecurity.

Stiles closed the distance between you, his gaze practically boring into you. Letting out a breath through your nose, you reluctantly lifted your eyes to meet his. His gaze flickered down to your lips before turning back to your eyes. “yeah, I’d say so” His voice was soft and raspy, like honey spiced scotch. You loved his voice. Always had. But there was something special about this particular tone. It was so smooth it automatically sent a warm tingle down your spine. His brow lifted slightly, his face only inches from yours.

“So, are we done fighting?”  

Grabbing a handful of his shirt you pulled him to you, your lips grazing his.

“You tell me Stilinski”

His arms wrapped around your waist, a grin curling his lips before hungrily crashing against yours. 

“Hell yeah” 

Taglist: @maggiecc @lola-bunny-00 @classyunknownlover

#Stiles #stiles stilinski #stiles fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles imagine #stiles x y/n #stiles x you #stiles x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #imagine stiles

[cora-vizsla]

Hypnotic (Taking Over Me) - Epilogue

Here we are. The very very end. Thank you for all of you that have read this and given me motivation to write this story. It’s been one of my favorite to write!

Zara had never once regretted leaving the Jedi order. Living with Obi Wan had been more relaxing than either of them anticipated. They worked together to build the small cabin into more of a home. Other than their one trip to his old home, which was burned to nothing, they didn’t leave their own little paradise.

The only thing that Zara missed was Anakin. Mace had decided that it was best for Zara to stay away from him, so the last thing she heard from her best friend was that he hated her. It wasn’t something that she talked about, but it left her heart in pieces.

There were mornings where Obi Wan would wake up to her sitting alone on the porch. He knew that he couldn’t fix it for her, so he would just join her and sit in silence until she was ready to start their day. She would give him a soft smile and kiss on the cheek, a silent thank you for supporting her in the way she needed.

The day came when Obi Wan finally brought up her friend. He waited until she was done with her normal routine, gently grabbing her wrist before she could stand up.

“Darling, can we talk?”

She sat back down and nodded.

“I try not to bring up the past or push you to speak on things that upset you. I think we need to discuss Anakin.”

She sighed and slumped slightly.

“There isn’t much to talk about.”

“You have not told me what happened, other than leaving the order.”

“Nothing happened. I showed up there and he was taken away.”

“You never had the opportunity to talk about things?”

“The last thing he said to me was he feels nothing but hate for me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I am so terribly sorry. What a terrible way to leave things. No wonder you’re hurting.”

She laughed humorlessly and crossed her arms.

“Says the man who hates an entire order of people.”

“I hardly waste the time on hating them, sweetheart. I may still find my power from the dark side, but I do not hate them. Not forgiving someone is entirely different from hating them.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You are more than forgiven, my love. Do you know where Anakin is now?”

“Last I heard he was on Naboo with Padme. I have no idea if he is still there. I don’t even know if he would see me.”

“Well, coming from someone who spent an exuberant amount of time not feeling any type of closure, I think it may warrant you going there to find out.”

She looked at him warily and shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“I will go with you. We will go visit Naboo. If we find out that Anakin is there, you can decide if you want to see him or not.”

“Are you even allowed anywhere near Republic channels?”

“Of course, I am. Sidious never broadcasted he had an apprentice other than Darth Maul. There has never been a warrant out for my capture nor is there any evidence I did anything wrong. I doubt the Jedi Order would put a warrant out for someone traveling with their friend.”

Zara laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll agree as long as you’re going and as long as I have the choice to see him or not.”

“When have I ever not given you a choice?”

“Ever the chivalrous kidnapper.”

“I do have manners.”

XXX

The two of them landed on Naboo and Zara smiled at how beautiful it was. She had visited before, but it was always on missions and never left the opportunity for her to explore. Obi Wan had called ahead and reserved a cabin near a lake for them, knowing how much Zara loved the water.

Neither of them wore cloaks or even garnered a glance from the locals. Even Obi Wan’s bright yellow eyes didn’t seem to matter there. It put both of them at ease. Zara was unsure of what she would decide if Anakin was still there, but either way it was a beautiful place to visit.

Zara walked into the cabin first, gasping when she realized someone was leaning on the table, their arms crossed over their chest.

“Anakin.”

“Did you think you could land here with a Sith and me not notice?”

Zara froze, wishing she had decided to make a new saber after all. Anakin put his hands up to show he wasn’t going to hurt her before letting them drop to his side.

“I’m not here to fight you, Zara. Either of you. I figured you came here for a reason since I know Mace told you where I was.”

“He did. And I did. Although it wasn’t my idea.”

Obi Wan stepped in behind her, gently shutting the door.

“Figured you would beat us here, Anakin.”

“Veth.”

Zara sighed and ran her hand down her face.

“His name is Obi Wan, Anakin. If you’re going to be in the place where we are currently staying, please be respectful.”

He grunted and watched Obi Wan put things away. Zara took his distracted state to check him for weapons and it surprised her to see he had no saber.

“Order took it. Apparently, I’m not allowed to have one as one of the conditions of my release.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying-“

“It’s fine, Zara.”

“Do, do you want to talk outside for a bit? The dock looks nice.”

“Water is better than lava, right?”

Zara grimaced, making Anakin sigh. Obi Wan gave her a reassuring smile and nod, going back to putting things away as she walked outside. She led the way down to the docks and sat down, crossing her legs so they didn’t touch the water. Anakin waited for a moment before joining her, turned slightly so there was distance between them.

“How much did the order tell you before you left?”

“Not much. Whole thing is a little foggy to be honest. Padme offered to let me see the hologram recording of most of it, but she warned me how upsetting it would be.”

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head and leaned back against one of the posts of the dock.

“I remember Palpatine telling me where you were and that V-Obi Wan was going rogue against his wishes. I.. remember pledging myself to the dark side if it mean I could get you back.”

“Oh, Ani.”

“I just.. I had been looking so long for you. I barely slept. All I had was nightmares of finding you dead, Zar. I finished my missions but every moment other than that was spent looking for you. When I found out that the Jedi knew where you were I just snapped. I went to where you were and saw your broken saber. It was just too much.”

“Didn’t need to burn it to the ground. Was a little dramatic, but I shouldn’t expect much else from you I guess.”

Zara forced a smile and Anakin chuckled.

“I remember landing and seeing you. I’ve never felt so much darkness or rage. I don’t.. I don’t remember what I did. I don’t even remember what I said. It’s been haunting me, Zara. Padme knew where you were with V-Obi Wan but.. she told me that I needed to come to you and that’s when I knew I must have done something absolutely terrible.”

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t remember.”

He moved forward and took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. Zara shut her eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Zara, please. I can see the fear and hurt written all over your face. I can’t even begin to atone for my actions if I don’t know what I did.”

She nodded and pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You showed up and it was all part of Palpatine’s plan. I could have stayed where he sent you, but I knew you wouldn’t listen. You’d just grab me and run no matter what I said. I went to Mustafar with Obi Wan, but I didn’t anticipate it being so dark. It made my stomach churn it was just so fucking dark.”

“He wanted me around that?”

She nodded and shifted slightly, uncomfortable to even face the situation.

“I tried to tell you everything, but you just kept saying you were going to save me. Obi Wan put himself between us because you were erratic. You charged at him and had no consideration that I was right there with no weapon to protect myself. Obi Wan fought you off and begged me to move. When I did, he used the force to push me into the building trying to make more distance. You used the force to throw a bunch of rocks into the doorway to block me from leaving.”

“I.. I did all of that? I don’t- I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I ran down the hallways stopping to see the two of you fighting. You had already hurt him once on his arm. He kept fighting though. You were going to kill him if given even the slightest chance. When I finally got outside it was just in time to catch him falling from higher ground. You had hurt him pretty badly. There was no way he was going to get back on his feet.”

“It should make me happy that I bested him, but nothing about this feels good. What happened then?”

“I ran to him. I knew you wouldn’t understand my connection to him. I’m sure you still don’t. You just weren’t there anymore. Your eyes.. they were changing. You told me to move so you could kill him where he was. It wasn’t the honorable thing though. He couldn’t fight you. He wasn’t even your enemy, and you just wouldn’t listen to me.”

Zara felt tears start to sting her eyes that she wiped away quickly. Anakin moved forward but stopped himself when she flinched.

“We fought then. I used his saber and we fought. I begged you to stop so we could leave and get help. I just wanted you both safe when it was neither of you that started the whole thing. We were all just pawns. Then you almost fell into the lava and I saved you. The only problem was it put you closer to Obi Wan and you weren’t stopping.”

She placed her finger on the scar on her lip, letting him see it. He frowned and shook his head, running his hand across his face.

“I did that.”

She nodded and took a few breaths. It was harder for her to talk about than she thought possible, especially with Anakin.

“Elbow to the face. Obi Wan told me I had to kill you; it was the only way to stop you. I couldn’t though. I couldn’t kill my best friend. He used the force to stop you and right before I made you sleep you told me.. you told me that you had loved me but all you felt at that point was hate.”

“Shit.”

He moved forward more slowly and gently took her hands in his.

“Zar, I’ve always cared very deeply for you. I think back then if given the chance I would have gladly been with you. I mean we both know that. I know that it isn’t, wasn’t, reciprocated. I let Palpatine twist my mind and my memory of us. I never should have treated you like that. I don’t hate you. I am so sorry I hurt you. I am so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“You’re.. you’re okay now?”

He nodded, still holding onto her hands.

“I’m not ever going to be the same. It changed me but I am as close to normal as I’m going to be I think.”

“I can’t quite tell you how happy I am to hear that.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

She shrugged, looking over at the cabin to see Obi Wan leaning against the wall reading. She could tell he was keeping track of their emotions to make sure that she was safe. She smiled at him before looking back at Anakin.

“I am. Not where I thought I would be but I’m happy.”

“What happened to Zara Fross, Jedi Master?”

“Oh, they offered it to me. A seat on the council too. I turned it down.”

“Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.”

She laughed and shrugged, Anakin letting her go, sitting back with an amused smile.

“After everything I just couldn’t stay. I don’t really have any hard feelings against them or anything, but I could never go back.”

“Where are you living now?”

“Scarif. We live by the water in the warm weather. It’s really nice to feel peace after everything. You? You live here?”

“Yeah. I live here with uh.. with Padme.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Actually, we got married a while ago.”

“Married!?”

Zara sat up with a smile and Anakin rubbed the back of his neck as he chuckled.

“She’s great. Not sure when it turned from her trying to help me to us being in love but-“

“Hey, I get it. I know that you’ll never understand Obi Wan. I don’t need you to. There’s a lot to that story though.”

“I’d like the chance to hear it some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Padme wants you to come to dinner. Both of you.”

“No trying to kill him.”

“Padme would kill me if I was rude to a guest. You’re both welcome there. Look, I know that we’re never going to be able to go back to the way things used to be. Neither of us are the same person we were back then. I just, I want to get to know who you are now. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Ani. Just give us the address and we will be there.”

XXX

Zara and Obi Wan settled into the bed after a long evening with Padme and Anakin. It had been icy at first, but Padme was a fantastic politician. She quickly had Obi Wan and Anakin discussing tactics and ideologies. They were both surprised to find out their thought process was similar.

“Thank you for going with me.”

“The pleasure was all mine, darling. How do you feel about Anakin becoming a father?”

“I’m honestly excited for him. I’m excited for them both. Just seeing the way that he is with Padme made me happy. He never would have had that kind of peace with the order. I’m glad he’s getting the life he’s always wanted.”

“That is very true. What about you?”

“Hmm?”

She nestled into his side and looked up at him.

“What kind of life do you want?”

“I think I’m still learning that. My entire life was wrapped around the order. I can say that I hope we never face another hardship in our lives, but I know that isn’t realistic.”

“It’s not. Not all darkness is as charming as mine is.”

She laughed and kissed his chest.

“If you’re asking about kids, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about being a mother nor did I think I would care enough about someone to be with them. I don’t think I need to have children to feel fulfilled in my life.”

“Is that what we are? Together?”

Zara looked at him and narrowed her eyes.

“I’m kidding darling. Of course, we’re together. What about marriage?”

“I’m not opposed to marriage. As long as it’s the right person.”

“The right person, hmm?”

Obi Wan looked down at her and growled when she started giggling. He pounced on top of her and kissed her roughly.

“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I meet them.”

“Please don’t forget that I am dangerous, darling. I would never willingly harm you, but I will hurt anyone who thinks they have any claim to what is mine.”

“Mmm, I kind of like when you get possessive.”

“Oh, you are corrupted indeed.”

She giggled and nodded before he kissed her.

“What would you think of me buying a home here?”

“On Naboo?”

“I figure it’s a beautiful place. There is still water and you’d be able to be closer to Anakin.”

“You’d buy a home for us just so I could be closer to someone who tried to kill you.”

“Darling, I’d buy you the galaxy if that’s what would make you happy.”

“You’re far too good to me.”

“Let me show you just how good I am.”

“Oh, you’ve shown me before, Obi Wan.”

“And I will show you as often as I can until it is our time to become one with the force.”

Tag List:

@mapplestrudel @cannedsoupsucks @musubabii @mascaracoffee @ahsoka-padme

#sith!obi wan #sith!kenobi #sith!Obi wan x OC #Jedi!oc #jedi!zara #fanfic

[98prilla]

I Won’t Say I’m in Love

I had an idea at 2am that Janus sarcastically asks Roman to marry him during arguments, but each time he asks he means it a little more until he realizes he’s completely in love with Roman, until he can’t stand the rejection anymore and runs away because Roman would never believe him if he admitted his feelings, only for Roman to come after him and propose instead. 

This isn’t quite that, though it is in a similar vein. I started with that idea and it evolved into this. That being said, if anyone wants to take the original idea and run with it, feel free, just remember to tag me!

AO3

...

         The first time he asks, he doesn’t mean it in the slightest. They’re in the middle of an argument, him and Logan against Roman and Patton, Virgil staying out of it, either because he didn’t have an opinion or he didn’t want to get involved.

           “Roman, you’re absolutely charming right now. Won’t you marry me already?” He snaps, breath hissing in and out, and everyone freezes at his comment. Roman’s face has gone red, from anger or embarrassment, he can’t tell, but the longer the silence goes on, the more he feels his own shame at his words burning at his throat. “sorry. That was… out of line.” He mumbles, adjusting his capelet.

           “I apologize, also. You are correct, I have not been my most… chivalrous, this afternoon. Perhaps… perhaps we should all take a break, to calm down. Then we can work out a… compromise?” Roman says, face flushing redder at the question in his voice. The moment is broken by Virgil slow clapping from the stairs.

           “Wooow, both of you apologized and Princey suggested a compromise? It’s a miracle!”

           “Yes, thank you, Virgil. Your sarcasm had been duly noted, and disregarded. Now. Don’t come get me when we’re ready to start over.” He comments, popping back to his room before anyone else has time to comment.

…

         The second time, he’s had a bad day. He feels heavy and disjointed, not all there, not all focused. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he just knows he didn’t sleep well and he can’t seem to get comfortable, so he forces himself out of bed and down the stairs, dragging his blanket behind him, before collapsing on the couch. It’s almost 1pm, far later than his usual first appearance in the commons since the whole wedding debacle, since he was accepted, truly, since he was welcomed.

           He doesn’t remember drifting off, but he shoots awake as he feels a hand on his shoulder, letting out a small groan, having flung his arm over his eyes at some point.

           “What on earth could possibly be important enough to disturb me for, Roman?” he asks, wincing at the pounding that has started near his temple.

           “Are you okay?” He snorts at the question, rolling his eyes as he halfheartedly glares at Roman.

           “Just peachy.” He snarks, and Roman backs away, hands in the air. He can feel Roman’s eyes on him as he left the room, and sinks deeper into the couch. He’s surprised when a moment later, Roman returns from the kitchen, sitting down next to him.

           “Alright. Here you go.” He looks down at the table, a bit confused.

           “What… is this?” Roman looks at him, lip quirked up in a half smile.

           “Well that, is a glass of water. And that is something for the headache you’ve got cooking in your noggin. And those are crackers, since you have not eaten anything all day.” He looks slowly up at Roman, eyes narrowed.

           “I am not sick.” Roman’s eyebrow raises.

           “I did not say that. You, however, just did.” He groans, sinking even further into the blanket, so his eyes are just barely visible.

           “I do not get sick.” He mumbles.

           “Of course not, bananaconda. Now take the medicine.” He sighs, but complies, drinking the rest of the water and nibbling at some crackers as well. He barely notices Roman getting up, coming back a moment later with a Gatorade, and dimming the lights. He breathes a sigh of relief as some of the pain dissipates.

           “God, I could marry you right now.” He mumbles, finding the Gatorade is cold, and he lets Roman rest a cold rag on his forehead.  

           “I think the fever’s getting to your head, Jan.” He doesn’t reply, just hums and closes his eyes, trying to squash down the warm, fuzzy feeling starting to grow in his chest.

…      

         The third time he doesn’t say it. He’s in his room, relaxing in his plush desk chair. He’d been doing a color by number, choosing whatever color he wanted for each number instead of going by the recommended color chart.

           He hears a knock on his door, and gets up, confused when he sees no one there. Then he looks down, and sees a small gift basket, wrapped in a red ribbon with a small card printed with Roman’s logo. He rolls his eyes, and brings it inside, smiling as he unpacks it.

           There’s a collection of lotions, each of which smells deep and heady, just the kind of scent he loves. There’s also a few moisturizing oils, for his scales, which he’s a bit grateful for, he can tell his shed is about to start and making his own was a bit of a hassle. He laughs at the small snake plushie, but drapes it across his bed’s headboard anyway, smiling fondly as he leans against the bed for a moment, before his eyes widen and he nearly slaps himself.

           No. no no no, he cannot do this, he cannot do this to himself, he will not be so stupidly naïve.

           He is not in love with Roman.

…

         The rest come in small moments of delight, of happiness, moments where he forgets to deny himself what he cannot have, when he cannot squash the fondness inside of him, when he forgets to push down the silent, useless emotion he refuses to give credence to.

Playing Mario Kart, and he exploits every loophole and shortcut, strategically laying bananas, somehow always avoiding the blue shell when he is in first, slowing down enough someone passes him and gets hit instead, Roman cursing his skill, every time demanding another round, both of them grinning and sweating by the end of their tournament.

…      

Roman gets up early one morning, makes breakfast. When he comes into the kitchen, Roman slides a plate of waffles, covered in homemade whipped cream and chocolate shavings in front of him, along with a coffee filled with the perfect amount of froth, a heart patterned on it. His own nearly stops, breathless.

            “Morning sleepy serpent.” He mumbles something, heart stopping at how beautiful Roman looks, still in his pajamas, hair sleep mussed, but eyes bright, light from the window shining onto him as he turns back to the stove, flipping pancakes, humming, then singing, belting out showtunes. He catches himself almost sighing at how sweet Roman’s voice is, before he snaps out of his trance, just barely getting his emotions under control as Patton comes barreling down the stairs, summoned by Disney and the smell of pancakes.

…

         It’s a late night, they’ve had a movie marathon and the others all turned in hours ago, giving up one by one, Virgil the latest to leave. He is debating the morals of Disney characters, tearing apart the heroes and defending the villains.

           “How was he to know that toys are alive? He was using his creativity, to combine and make new, original, toys! If he hadn’t been traumatized by Woodie and Co, maybe he would have ended up an engineer instead of a garbage man.”

           “Ugh, fine! You have me on that one. It’s technically Pixar, anyway.” Roman mutters, and he laughs. “Since you concede there, I’ll give you Scar.” Roman looks at him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

           “Seriously? I figured you’d defend him to the death.” He shrugs, yawning.

           “Mostly due to the cut song where he tries to… let’s generously call it ‘woo’, Nala, which is why she leaves to find help in the first place. Plus, he never really wanted change or peace, he just framed his alliance with the hyenas in that manner to gain control. Besides, everyone knows it’s better to be loved than feared. If you really want complete control, make every choice seem like their own, make every action seem benign or like a favor. Get what you want by making it seem like what the people want.” Roman is staring at him, agape, and he flushes.

 He winces, because of course he ruined this, they were having a moment, and he ruined it. “… I’ll give you Ursula, if we’re counting cut scenes. She was technically overthrown and banished by Triton, though she did nothing wrong. Her vengeance is a bit extreme, but she at least had good reason for it, and really only wanted what was always supposed to be hers.” Roman answers after a moment, and he nearly sighs in relief, though he gets the feeling they were both talking about more than just Disney villains.

           He’s absolutely mortified, and not at all the least bit pleased when he’s awoken the next morning by Virgil, smiling smugly at him, having fell asleep, head resting on Roman’s chest, Roman’s arm around his shoulder, a blanket pulled up over the two of them. He certainly strives to make sure it never happens again.

…

He's a mess. A miserable, stupid, mess. He can't stop thinking of Roman, can’t stop striving for his smiles, the soft, fond one he receives in moments of quiet, the bright, mischievous one that brings out his dimples, the small, confused one when he didn’t understand why he was pulling away. His laugh, loud and ringing, the nicknames bestowed upon him at every chance, the small, subtle touches that sent his heart racing and his mind into overdrive and he was burning, aching, from want.

 The desire to run his fingers through Roman's hair, to feel his hands around his waist, to kiss him until they were both silly from it, to say every sweet word and guileless truth about how absolutely perfectly stunning Roman is, to defend him and his ideas, to protect him from his own self doubts and negative thinking, to repair every crack he himself had made in Roman's armor, to apologize a thousand times until the side knew he absolutely truly meant every word of flattery he had ever said.

 He hisses at a knock on his door, drawing back into the shadows. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he doesn’t want to see anyone, he just wants to wallow in his misery until this wrenching heartbreak goes away and leaves him alone! It’s no use, wanting something he can’t have. He won’t lie to himself and say otherwise.

 “Kiddo? You okay?” Patton, who can probably feel his emotional distress from miles away.

 “I'm fine.” He forces out, wrangling his voice into some sense of normalcy, wincing at the acrid lie on his tongue. He can feel Patton's hesitation, but the fatherly figure sighs.

 “Alright. But Jan? If you decide that you’re not fine, you know I’m here for you.” Then Patton walks away, and he’s only mildly surprised to feel wetness dripping down his cheeks.

 “I’m fine.” He whispers, curling in on himself, choking on tears. “I’m perfectly fine.”

…

Day three is when it all falls apart. He hasn’t left his room, he hasn’t moved much from his curled up spot on the floor, and it hurts why does it still hurt?

 He thought if he just stayed away, if he put distance between himself and Roman, if… if he detoxed it would go away, these pesky, useless feelings would go away!

 But they haven’t. They’re still pounding away with every beat of his heart, and he’s half convinced it would be better to just rip the stupid thing out than let it make such a fool of him.

 He knows limits. He understands them, he knows how far he can push the others before they start to break, he knows how much to push to make them give, he knows how far he can push before things start well and truly crumbling to ruin, and he knows, better than any of the others, his own limits.

 He knows what he can and cannot have, he knows how to be selfish without taking too much, and he knows this is something he cannot take, something he will never be given. He’s still the serpent, after all, still the liar, still the deceiver, still the snake in the grass, waiting to strike. He’s said I love you a thousand times to Roman, meant it more and more with each iteration, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Not by Roman, whom he had broken so badly not so long ago, accidently, yes, and he had apologized, but still. He’d known how fragile the ego was, how tightly he was clinging to the final thread, and he’d still cut the strand without a second thought. He’s not to be trusted, least of all by himself, even his own heart has turned against him.

 “Janus? Can I come in?” He freezes at that voice, it makes his stomach sink and his pulse race and he feels a strange sense of vertigo.

 “No.” He says, as deadpan as possible, as much emphasis as he can, and he can almost see the frown on Roman’s face.

 “You haven’t been out in three days. Are you sick again?”

 “I’m fine, Roman, go bother someone else!” He spits out, anger creeping into his voice, because Roman is the source of this festering wound, even if he doesn’t know it. If he’s angry, he won’t be sad, angry he can do, angry he can fake as well as anyone.

 “no you’re not. I’m coming in.” He curses, lunging to his feet, but the door is already open before he has even a hope of locking it, and he and Roman stare at each other for a silent moment, before he looks away, biting his tongue. “Jesus, Jan. What happened to you?” He winces, knowing he must look a mess, knowing his hair is tangled and wild from running his hands through it so often, his face is a mess of dried tears and dark bags, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkled and his normally immaculate room is a bit dusty.

 “Nothing. Now go away.” He demands, turning to stalk to his desk. He feels a hand on his shoulder, warmth blooms down his arm, and he inhales sharply, turning and actually slapping Roman as he stumbles back, barely aware of the tears streaming down his eyes, because this is so goddamn hard. “Don’t. Don’t touch me, Roman.” He spits, venom in his voice, eyes sharp and fangs sharper. He hates this, hates playing this part again, but he needs Roman to leave.  

 “ok. I’m sorry, I should have asked.” He chokes on his bitter laughter because damn it, Roman is the perfect gentleman, isn’t he? He’s stepped back, hands raised in the air, the only thing on his face concern, not anger, or fear, or pain at the handprint still red across his cheek. “please, Janus. I know you’re hurting. I just want to know why, I just want to help.” He laughs this time, a wild, harsh sound.

 “That’s cute, Roman, but this isn’t one of your fairy tale quests where you rescue a damsel in distress. This is real life, with real problems, and maybe, for once, you should let it get through your thick skull that this ISN’T ONE YOU CAN FIX!” He screams, letting his words be cold, letting them be cruel, as he crumples to the floor, heaving, gasping in air through the shaking sobs squeezing tight his chest. “you can’t fix me.” He whispers, not caring if Roman hears, because what’s the point? He’s a pathetic, mewling lump, and surely after that display Roman will leave, warned off by his extremeness.

 “Janus.” He flinches at his name, whispered so softly, so gently, almost holding the thing he wishes more than anything his name would contain, coming from Roman’s lips, but that hope is a lie, a deceitful, monstrous lie, just like the rest of him. “why do you think you’re broken?” He doesn’t answer. He won’t answer, he won’t say it aloud, not now, not when Roman will see how much he actually means it. He squeezes his hands into fists, forcing his chin up, forcing himself to glare at Roman.

 “You should leave. Before I answer that question honestly.” He bares his fangs in a snarl, gold covering his pupils, racing throughout the room, lighting it up with a thousand pretty little lies that echo in Roman’s ears, telling him exactly how worthless and useless and pathetic he is, and he hisses for good measure, standing and sauntering over to Roman, leering at him.

 “I’m the dragon guarding the tower, I’m the hydra fighting Hercules, I’m the snake here to lead you astray, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, I stand against everything you’ve ever believed in, little prince. You’d be so easy to dispose of. Then who could stop me, hmmm? No one. I could kill you right where you stand, and no one would ever know a thing, my greatest performance would be replacing you. Or do you forget what I am, Roman, what I well and truly am?” He stands back, fangs sharp as he grins, letting out a dark, sinister laugh, one that reverberates off the walls, and something is breaking inside him, something is cracking and crumbling and he hates himself, hates every moment, but if Roman hates him, too, then he’ll just go.

 “Janus.” Roman says again, so soft, and his grin falters, his mask slips for a moment before he rights it, scowling as Roman steps forwards, undaunted, something strange in his eyes, something soft and worried. “you don’t have to do this.” He stumbles back at Roman’s words, shaking his head.

 “stop.”

 “I know you’re afraid. That’s why you’re doing this, you’re scared, and that’s ok.” He’s shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to push back the tears.

 “Stop.”

 “I know you don’t mean it, Jan. And I won’t run away just because of a few threats. I want to help you, I want to be there, I want you to trust me enough to tell me what is hurting you so terribly… please.” He feels Roman’s hand on his, and he jerks back, hitting the wall, eyes snapping open, breath coming in short gasps, and he wraps his arms around himself, shaking.

 “STOP IT!” He shouts, voice breaking into a million pieces, and the gold vanishes, his façade crumbling, only raw emotion left in his voice. “Stop caring, stop asking to help, stop acting like you’re my friend, stop being kind, stop being so fucking nice to me, stop getting inside my head, stop making me feel happy being near you, stop sending butterflies winging through my stomach, stop making me smile, stop making me laugh, stop being so fucking incredible that I can’t help but love you!” He screams, jabbing his finger into Roman’s chest with every word, tears falling down his face as he finally says it, all the fight draining out of him as he collapses, empty, caught by Roman, who lowers them both gently to the floor.

 He doesn’t have the will to pull away from Roman’s all encompassing embrace. He doesn’t have the strength left to silence the tears, to force Roman out, to go back to being alone.

 Shame curdles in his stomach as he breathes in Roman’s scent, lilacs and sweet summer breezes, as he melts against Roman’s chest, as his hands fist the fabric of Roman’s shirt and he sobs, hopelessly sobs, because this is an empty victory. Once he manages to pull away, he’ll see the pity and disgust on Roman’s face, and this, this will be well and truly over.

 “I’m s-orry. I’m so, s-so s-sorry, I didn’t mean f-for this to happen, I h-hoped it would just go away but they won’t, and I’m s-sorry…” he gasps, shaking, exhaustion cresting over him, and despite himself the ache is being soothed, because Roman is holding him, and then he just feels sick at his own selfish want.

 “Oh, my little mocking jay, why didn’t you just say something?” He laughs at that, throat raw and scratched.

 “because then you’d know. And it would all be over, anyway. You don’t love me, you could never love me, I’m not nearly good enough for you, I’m not good at all, really. I’m not… I’m not what you want, Roman. I can never be what you want me to be. And I just… I just keep hurting you.” He whispers, heart shattering a little more as Roman pulls back, and he closes his eyes, taking a huge breath in, trying to control the crushing, plunging depths of his despair.

 “Janus. Who says you aren’t already exactly what I want?” His breath catches at Roman’s words, at the tenderness they hold, at the painful hope blooming in his chest. He trembles as he feels Roman rest a hand on his scaled cheek, gently stroking the scales with his thumb.

 “don’t lie to me, Roman. Please, I can’t… it already hurts so much, I can’t listen to you lie to me.”

 “Does it feel like I’m lying, dearest?” It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Slowly, he opens his eyes, meeting Roman’s worried, soft… loving… gaze. “I love you, Janus. You’re funny, and smart, and I love your sarcasm, your half awake morning bedhead, how you gesture when you’re passionate, how all your emotion lives in your eyes.” Roman murmurs, a small, warm smile on his lips as he moves his hand, stroking back a stray piece of hair. “I love you for so many miniscule reasons it would take me a thousand thousand years to list them all. I would have told you sooner, darling, but I didn’t want to pressure you, not while you were still settling in.”

 “Roman…” he says weakly, he’s so flat out tired, so worn down and hollow and empty that he doesn’t even know what to say, what to feel, except this warming in his chest slowly spreading to the rest of him, making him feel lighter than he had in ages.

 “come here, dearest.” Roman says, and he can’t help but collapse into Roman’s lap, letting the creative side pull him close, pressing his head against Roman’s chest, more tears slipping out as he feels Roman gently stroking his back, cradling his head, murmuring soft assurances and words of gentle warmth, and repeated, wonderful, ‘I love you’s’ that ring true every time, and all he can do is keep clinging to Roman, praying he doesn’t wake up from this dream.

 Then Roman tilts his chin up, his pulse jumping at the touch, then Roman’s lips are on his and he melts at the explosion of warmth and color and light sparking in his mind, and he’s pressing forwards, desperate, and Roman is soft and warm and perfect and it’s everything, it’s everything he’s wanted for so, so long now.

 When they finally break apart, he’s breathless and flushed and the broken emptiness is almost gone, almost fully replaced with hope and love and light, and he laughs as Roman sweeps him off his feet, holding him bridal style as he showers his face in small kisses, each one making him flush redder and redder, until he yawns, despite himself.

 “Oh, I’m sorry, are my affections boring you, pretty little liar?” Roman teases, and he grins, nuzzling against Roman’s chest, letting out a soft breath that seems to untie the last lingering knot in his chest.

 “Obviously. What a trial.” He mumbles, feeling Roman stroking his hair again, realizing his eyes have slipped closed.

 “When did you last sleep, mi amor?” He shrugs, he doesn’t know, honestly, and now that Roman is holding him, it’s the only thing his body wants, it takes everything in him not to just fall asleep now. “alright. Let’s get you to bed then. We can talk more in the morning.”  

 “stay. Please.” He asks, nearly begs, eyes flying wide with sudden fear, suddenly sure that if Roman walks out the door, he’ll wake to find he was dreaming, because there’s no way this is real, no way Roman loves him.

 “of course, little hisser. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my beloved alone and unprotected from any foul nightmares that may come his way.” Roman soothes, sliding into bed with him still in his arms, immediately spooning gently around him, and he shifts closer, closing the little space there was left between them, until their legs are entangled and his forehead is resting in the crook of Roman’s shoulder, and Roman’s arms are around him, and he’s still holding tight to Roman’s shirt, feeling him exhale against his cheek.

 “I love you, lovely. Now get some rest.” And finally, he does.

#roman sanders #sympathetic roman #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sanders sides #minor virgil appearance #minor logan appearance #minor patton appearance #pining #self esteem issues #deceit angst #some angst #some fluff #Happy Ending #rociet #roman x deceit #soft boys

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Chapter Six

Thank you for your patience with this one, folks. Here it is. All 7k words of it... Thank you too for the beautiful anonymous (and otherwise) owls you’ve sent me! I can’t tell you how lovely that’s been!

If this were on AO3 (which it will be when it’s complete), the rating would have gone up to “E - Explicit”, so please make sure you’re the appropriate age to consume it (18+).

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

___

Hermione apparated into an unassuming and rather ugly back street in Whitechapel and took a moment to straighten herself out afterwards. A fine, sheeting mizzle had begun sometime around midday, shrouding the whole of London in a choking, miserable haze, and it hadn’t let up since. It was nothing a subtle impervius charm couldn’t ward off, of course, though it sent Muggles scuttling for shelter or huddling beneath umbrellas in a way that never failed to make her heart twinge just a little for a life that was long behind her.  

Miraculously, her hair behaved itself despite the humidity, and had complied with both will and wand so that it now fell in loose ringlets around her shoulders. It was all held in place with more charm-work than she’d done on herself in a very long time, but even she had to admit that she’d done a pretty decent job of it. Pansy would be proud. She just hoped the dress would do its job too and flatter her in the way Theo and Pansy had both promised it would when she’d bought it.

As her heels clicked along on the uneven pavement, she wished there was a charm to ward of self-consciousness. After years of scruffy jeans and soft, woollen jumpers, the dress seemed rather snug around the areas she’d grown a little shy about, but she drew on the well of experience from her Ministry days, squared her shoulders, and set off towards the address Draco had sent her by owl.  

Rounding the corner, she nearly stumbled in her heels as she drew up suddenly short. Standing with arms folded, shoulder blades pressed heedlessly against the masonry of the building behind him and his whole body tense as a piano string, stood Draco Malfoy, scowling. Whereas she had forgone a bulky cloak in favour of a warming charm, he cut quite the figure in the heavy, black garment, fastened at the throat with a silver clasp that seemed to match his hair.  

As her heels announced her approach, he looked up, looked away, did a double take, and then levered himself off the wall with a slightly slack-jawed expression.  

Theo was right, she smiled to herself. I probably owe him a drink now or something. 

When she came to a halt in front of Malfoy, she couldn't help the way her lips twitched. He looked a little like he’d been slapped. “Evening,” she chirped, and watched his throat work as he swallowed thickly, pupils blown wide in the dark.  

“Granger,” he said. “You… You look…” He floundered, and then to her immense surprise and absolute delight, his cheeks flushed a deep, vivid pink and he looked away.  

“Likewise,” she laughed, ostentatiously eyeing him up and down, though the cloak revealed little. “Though that was pretty much a given.”

“I didn’t mean —” he began, snapping his gaze back to her face with his grey eyes wide. “You just…” Then he laughed and forcibly relaxed his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. “I should have known you’d leave me a babbling idiot again,” he muttered, subtly offering her the crook of his elbow. “It’s like third year all over again.”

“Third year?” she said as she accepted and slid her fingers under his arm. “I punched you in the face in third year.”

“Mmm,” he said. “And I don’t think I ever truly got over it.”

She laughed and he relaxed a little more beneath her touch. “So I’ve never actually heard of this place, but Theo said you have to know the owner just to get a table…?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I hope you don’t think it’s too much, but after everyone was staring at us in the Leaky, I thought it might be nice to go somewhere where people have a bit more… discretion… My mother’s side of the family has been friends with the owner’s for generations.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” she said as he steered her towards a blind arcade of sandy-coloured bricks that flanked a large stretch of the street.  

“It’s concealed with an enchantment like the one at Kings Cross,” he said as they approached the third one in the row. Glancing up and down the street, he stepped halfway into the wall and held his hand out for her to take, as if she were a lady about to alight into a carriage. He clearly saw her burning with interest about the spellwork and added, “Some scholars believe it was the first instance of the charm’s use in London.”

She beamed at him, took his hand, and allowed him to steer her through the wall.  

When they emerged on the other side of the illusion, she found herself in a cosy, dark-tiled entrance hall, illuminated with tiny lumos charms. A waiter in smart, black and white livery appeared almost immediately from the main restaurant beyond, and bowed politely. “Lord Black,” he said and then turned to her and offered a seemingly genuine smile. “Ms. Granger. If you’d like to follow me please. My lord, may I take your cloak?”

Malfoy unclasped it and handed it to the man, but Hermione wasn’t watching that. She was too busy staring at the way he looked in his suit beneath.  

Draco Malfoy had always been a creature of harsh lines and a cool palette, but this time the sight of him actually robbed her of breath. Though his outfit was understatedly simple, the slate-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and a silvery tie had clearly been made bespoke for him, and it fitted him to perfection, emphasising slim hips, long, lean legs, and a breadth to his shoulders that spoke of strength without raw bulk. The only hint of colour to him lay in the residual flush from the cold in his pale cheeks, but his eyes sparkled warmly enough.  

“Shall we?” he murmured, a hint of shy embarrassment to the corners of his mouth that she’d rarely seen in his youth, and she nodded, still mute. She wasn’t sure if he was shy about the waiter’s ‘my lord’ or the way she was gawking at him like a teenage fan at a Weird Sisters concert.  

He ushered her in front of him, and she followed the waiter through the restaurant.  

All the while they walked, she was intensely aware of Draco behind her.  

Naturally, once she’d got past all the initial ‘oh my god is my skirt tucked up into my knickers’ panic, she tried a little experiment and began to sway her hips a little more than usual. Pansy had once told her she had the walk of a ‘dowdy headmistress charging down a corridor towards the sound of troublemakers’. Even if she’d said it in jest, it hadn’t exactly inspired confidence in her ability to sashay sexily through the tables in front of someone she was hoping to impress, but by the time they were settling into her seats, she noted a very slight rise in the colour in Draco’s cheeks again, and chalked it up as a victory regardless.  

“Can I get you some drinks while you wait? I’m sure you’re both aware that the restaurant is chef’s choice though.” He did not offer any kind of drinks menu, however, and Hermione’s already fragile courage sputtered.  

Draco nodded curtly at the waiter, and then looked expectantly at Hermione, who cleared her throat and said, “Look, Draco, I’m already a tad out of my depth here. I think I’ll leave the decision-making to you tonight and save us both the embarrassment…”

His lips parted slightly, as if he were going to speak, but a soft look crossed his face before he inclined his head. “Wine alright?” he asked and she nodded.  

He ordered two glasses of a white he’d never heard of.

Before the waiter left, he enquired about any allergies, and when both replied that they were fortunate enough not to have any, he retreated, and Hermione blew out a soft breath.  

“It’s not too much, is it?” Draco asked, shoulders high and tense again. All the recent colour had drained from him, and he looked faintly nauseous.  

“It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing around at the vaulted room. “And this is a real treat, Draco. I’m really glad you asked me, though I promised your owl I’d have words with you about her manners. Damn near lost a finger to that beak of hers.”

“Apologies,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “She was a gift from my mother after my own owl was lost after the Battle of Hogwarts. She’s been a menace to me and my unfortunate correspondents ever since.”  

Hermione’s eyes widened. The bird was much older than she’d expected, but then again she shouldn’t have been that surprised; the Weasley’s had had Errol seemingly for generations after all before he’d finally snuffed it.  

She hadn’t really taken note of the other patrons of the restaurant on their short journey through the tables to the secluded alcove, but now she glanced around again and saw that the place was full, though there couldn’t have been more than fifteen covers. The other diners were not witches or wizards she recognised, and no one seemed to be paying anyone else the slightest bit of attention, to her relief.  

Relaxing a little, she looked back at Draco who sat with his hands folded neatly atop the dark wood of the table, his silver signet ring glinting softly in the light of the little candle between them. His gaze was intense, and his expression a little awkward. He was as nervous as she was, she realised. Maybe more.  

He pursed his lips briefly and then said, “It’s quite different from a lot of the restaurants in Diagon Alley, largely because of the building’s history, I think.” He stopped, as if worried he was about to bore her and instead blurted quietly, “I’m glad you like it.”

The place had clearly once been an enormous foundry building, but since being repurposed, it had been divided up from one open casting hall into cosy little niches and alcoves of sandstone brick, with large, industrial panes of glass filling the spaces between the dividing arches. It felt private without being claustrophobic; atmospheric but not dingy or oppressive.  

Taking another breath, Hermione smiled at him and admitted, “It’s been so long since I’ve been out for dinner with anyone, Draco. It’s almost embarrassing really. And Theo doesn’t count in this context,” she added with a flash of her eyes.  

“Likewise,” he muttered, carefully pouring her a glass of water from the carafe between them before filling his own.  

Again, she noted his hands. Somehow they were simultaneously the elegant hands of a nobleman and the rough, scarred hands of a man who used them for a living — spotted and flecked with innumerable small scars — and she found herself instantly fascinated by the story they held. The last person she could recall with hands in that condition was Professor Snape.  

She nearly said that Draco at least had good reason for not going on dates with every witch in Britain, being a widower, but she bit it back and said, “Well, that should make things easier for both of us. Tell me though, I’m dying to know why you had to go to France at such short notice. Your letter was too cryptic.”

Draco’s face softened and he sipped his water. “We have estates there still,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “One of the wards was triggered, so I arranged a portkey to check up on it, but it was nothing in the end.”

“Nothing? Come on; it usually takes magic to trip a ward, Malfoy. There has to be some story there…?”

His eyelashes looked like strands of silk in the candlelight, pale and silvery as they framed his grey eyes, and she almost forgot to listen to his story as he flicked his gaze back up to meet hers again.  

“It really isn’t very interesting. One of our tenants has an elderly mother and she is unfortunately not as… compos mentis as she once was. She used to work as a maid for my maternal great-grandmother. It turned out that she had wandered up to the main house in the middle of the night, spoken some long-forgotten spell to gain admission, and had tried to prepare breakfast. Of course, there was nothing in the larder, so she became distressed. Her daughter collected her and sealed the house up again, but the owl didn’t reach me before I left England.”

“I see,” she said. “Another case where modern Muggle communication methods might have come in handy,” she chirped under her breath, and he hummed softly in agreement, though he didn’t seem to understand fully. And then because she was a nose bugger who couldn’t help herself, she asked, “Do you have a lot of properties then? Other than the house in Wiltshire?”

She caught the smile in his eyes and he nodded. “One or two,” he said with bashful modesty. “A number of my father’s holdings and inheritances were confiscated by the Ministry in reparation for war crimes, but my mother was allowed to keep much of what was hers and, by extension, mine.”

“And those are in France?”  

He shook his head, and with regret she watched him becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “There’s a place in Scotland - not far from Hogwarts, actually - and one in the arse-end of nowhere in rural Romania. It’s the Malfoy side that has the connections to France, though that one I just mentioned is the only one left to us now.”

“I see. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pry. I was genuinely curious, that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “You can ask me whatever you like.”

She smiled and said, “I didn’t even get to inherit my parents’ little house in Surrey because of a complication with the will, so it’s all a world away from what I know… Has Scorpius been to these other places?”

“Not really,” he said, “Though mother and I took him to the vineyard in France last summer before school started.”

Hermione tipped her head back, exposing her neck a little, and smiled. “My parents used to take me to France during the summer holidays,” she said dreamily. “Little stone cottages that smelled of lavender, with long, dusty driveways and rooms that stayed chilly no matter temperature outside. Sometimes when it got really hot, those adorable little lizards used to come out and bask in the sun on the wall. My parents were dentists, so we weren’t exactly all that short of money growing up —” nothing like you though, she wanted to add but didn’t “— and they always tried to choose a place with a swimming pool. I used to love to swim.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable, but there was a light in his silver eyes that shone like a full moon. He swallowed thickly and had been on the point of speaking when the waiter returned with their wine and a small amuse-bouche for them.  

He set the tiny plates down and stepped back. “Blini with trout roe caviar and crème fraiche.”  

“Thank you,” Draco and she said as one, and the waiter nodded and left them to it.

Draco raised his glass and Hermione tried not to stare at his long fingers or the way he held it so gracefully by the stem as he lifted it. She felt like she might fumble and drop hers if she tried to emulate that, but she did her best. After all, she’d endured a fair few dinners and functions at the Ministry, so she was hardly about to embarrass herself now, however hard Draco seemed to make it.

“Thank you for…” Draco began, trailing off into uncertainty. His eyes turned glassy and he blinked rapidly a couple of times. “Well, thank you for giving me a shot, Granger. I know I have a lot to make up for still, but thank you for joining me tonight.”

She smiled and playfully chinked her glass against his. As the soft chime of glass on glass dissipated, she said, “Like I told Theo after his little chat, to which I understand you were also subjected —” he nodded wryly but let her continue uninterrupted “— I wouldn’t be here if I believed you were still the same person you were at Hogwarts. There was so much going on back then, and we were all pawns in a larger game to one extent or another. By this point, I’m honestly happy to let the past lie and look forward.”

He exhaled expansively. “I’ll drink to that,” he muttered.

Their food when it arrived was incredible; never too much (or too little, she was pleased to note), or too fancy so as to be basically inedible. They talked lightly while they ate, mostly of the goings on of people they had in common: Theo and Dan, Pansy, and Blaise.  

By the time they were halfway through dessert, Draco said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Why should you be open to any and all questions, but not me?”

“Just because I said that about me, doesn’t mean you have to take the same stance, Granger.”

“True, but this is a date, right?”

He swallowed. “If you’d like it to be.”

“All on me?” she chuckled. “I’ll admit I was rather hoping it was.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said quietly.  

“Well, shouldn’t dates be about getting to know the person better? Ask away, Malfoy. Whatever you’ve got, I can take it.” Within reason, she added privately.

His answering smile was dazzling, and it brought little dimples to his cheeks that she’d not noticed before. It made her heart beat oddly in her chest, and a new heat pulsed between her legs.  

“Good lord, Malfoy,” she hissed, “You’re handsome when you smile like that.”

He pursed his lips and flushed a dark pink right up to his ears.  

“Sorry,” she said, still laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I’d be happy to encourage more smiles like that in the future. What was your question?”

He opened his mouth, cheeks still pink, but his eyes turned serious. “Why did you really quit your job as Minister? You were so young…”

“I peaked too soon,” she shrugged easily enough, though she felt the playful mirth settling down again in a way that had nothing to do with the chocolate dessert lying heavy in her stomach.  

She sat back in her seat and picked up the remnants of her wine, swirling it thoughtfully for a moment.  

“I felt like…” she stopped and changed tack. “At school I felt like all I amounted to was how smart I could be, you know?”  

His brows flickered into a frown, but he didn’t interrupt her.  

“I didn’t have the looks of someone like Fleur or Cho, or… Lavender,” she said, raising her eyebrows inadvertently. “All I really had to validate myself was my latest test score, or how useful I was to Harry, or how much research I could condense into one last-minute panic whenever the latest life-threatening event popped up…” She sighed. “I think that set me up for failure when I left school and discovered it wasn’t all about grades and how many facts you could regurgitate.” After a slight pause, she cocked her head and said, “Nobody likes a smart-arse after all.”

The brief colour in Malfoy’s face had drained to parchment white again as he listened, and he sat perfectly straight in his seat, tense and serious once more.

Nervously, she began to babble a little. “So… I obviously cottoned on to that after I started at the Ministry, and I adapted, and I did pretty well at the DMLE. They kept asking me to be an Auror because of my spellwork, but I freeze up completely under pressure, and I’m a terrible dualist, so that was out of the question. I do much better behind the scenes - always have. But…” she sighed and drank a little more wine as her monologue threatened to run away with her. “To answer your original question, I lost sight of where the line was,” she said.  

“What line?”

She shook her head, loose ringlets shivering with the motion. “The line between work and family, I suppose. I took on more and more work to try and prove my value, and stayed later and later every night at the Ministry. I didn’t even realise I was losing our marriage until it was far, far too late. Ron and I argued an awful lot towards the end, but somehow it was still a shock to me when he asked for a divorce.”  

She tucked a stray ringlet behind her ear, revealing a simple silver earring.  

“It was like I was so wrapped up in all this work — which I could have delegated, but I was still it doing anyway because…” she puffed her cheeks out and shrugged, “…because that’s just what the Minister for Magic does, right?” With a final sigh she finished her wine and said, “So a week after the divorce went through, I was sitting in my office, and I looked at all the memos still zipping around in front of me, and I just thought… ‘this is my life. This is all I am’, and I quit that afternoon.”

“Brave of you,” he murmured.  

“I didn’t feel like it at the time,” she said, grateful beyond words at his reaction. No one, bar perhaps Harry, had reacted that way back then. They’d all thought she was nuts. “I spent a month in a Muggle cottage in the middle of nowhere in Pembrokeshire, and then another five months back here in London doing almost nothing. I was a complete mess. It was around then that Ginny got pregnant with Lily, so I was there for her quite a bit, looking after Albus and James and teaching them. That was fun. I really enjoyed that. I think… I think brought me back down after the chaos of quitting my job like that, you know?”

“Children can do that,” he commented wryly. “You and Weasley never had any though.”

She’d seen the blow coming — set herself up perfectly for it — but it still caught her full in the chest. She swallowed and shook her head, unable to look him in the eye for reasons she hoped to keep secret from him. “We tried, but…” she shrugged. “It wasn’t to be. Not long after that though, I saw the advert for the bookshop, and I’ve never looked back.”  

Draco frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“It was probably for the best anyway. I don’t think I’d have made a good mother back then. I barely made time for myself, let alone for a family.” She cleared her throat and then asked, “Speaking of sprogs, did you find out why Scorpius is in detention?”

He barked a laugh at that and she found herself relaxing again as he let her artlessly change subjects.

“My dear little mandrake somehow brewed a stink bomb in his dormitory and set it off in the library near some Gryffindors. They’d apparently been mocking Albus for being a Potter in Slytherin. Did the job so well that the Gryffindors smelled of rotten eggs for a week, no matter what they tried to get rid of it.” He seemed quietly proud of Scorpius for that, and she couldn’t really blame him, knowing what a talent Draco himself had had for potions back then.  

Her face did darken at the news of Albus being bullied though, and she made a note to check in on Harry. Then she reeled back through his last sentence, to the part where he’d called Scorpius his ‘dear little mandrake’, and chuckled. “You still call him that then?”

“What, ‘mandrake’?” Malfoy seemed surprised by her question.  

“Mm.”

“If the shoe fits, Granger. I’ve never heard of a child that could scream like Scorpius, so when you dubbed him that, it kind of stuck.”

A huge smile dawned on her face and her stomach swooped somehow.  

“What?” he asked.

“Draco Malfoy is a huge sap,” she said. “Who’d have thought it?”

He rolled his grey eyes but couldn’t keep the answering smile off his face. “Don’t broadcast it, Granger.”

“It’ll be our secret, I promise,” she said.  

Draco’s gaze slid over her shoulder a little while later and he signalled the waiter with a subtle raising of his pale eyebrows.  

When the man appeared, it was not to take payment in coins the way every other wizarding establishment did, but it was with a parchment and quill for him to sign. It struck her as oddly modern for the magical world, akin to a cheque or even a credit card. Transaction complete, the waiter departed, leaving behind a small tray of delicate petit fours.  

“Draco, I don’t think I can eat another thing,” she said, looking wistfully at them.

“I can ask them to box them up for us if you'd prefer?” he said.  

With that done, they rose and headed out. Draco collected his cloak and swirled it around his shoulders, and they stepped through the illusory wall and back into a damp, Muggle London.  

“Draco,” she whispered, standing on the pavement beside him and becoming very aware of just how tall he was now, even with her heels to help.  

His eyes were dark, pupils wide once more, as he regarded her. “Mmm?”

“I don’t want tonight to end,” she whispered. “Isn’t that silly?” She almost sobbed as she thought about going back to her sorry little empty apartment after spending all evening either smiling or laughing or really just… talking.  

“No,” he replied. After a beat of silence, he hissed, “Granger, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and parted her lips as he brought his warm, slightly rough hands to her jawline and held her delicately. He moved as if he were convinced he still wasn’t allowed to touch her at all, but when she smiled up at him, he exhaled roughly and returned it faintly.  

Then he leaned down, angling his head slightly to the left, and brushed his lips against hers so lightly she almost missed it. He still tasted of chocolate and wine, but she chased the retreating gesture hungrily, pressing her lips against his, placing her hands on his hips and drawing their bodies together. She could feel how sharp his hipbones were through the fabric of his trousers and it made her ache inside and out to map his body.  

Draco moaned and his eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her; gently at first, and then, as a fire kindled in him, he became more demanding. His teeth nipped at her lower lip followed by the tantalising brush of his tongue that left her tingling all over. Unquestioningly, she let him deepen their kiss until they were both breathless, and she could feel his growing arousal where she pressed her body against his.  

Panting, Draco finally drew back, still without taking his hands from her face. He stood stooped, his eyes closed, his teeth sunk into his lip. “Granger,” he breathed at last.  

“Are you going back to the Manor?” she asked, feeling slightly giddy.

“No, I have a flat in London. If you… If you wanted to come back with me, you’d… you'd be most welcome.”

“Is it far?”

“We’re probably best apparating from here,” he said, finally lowering his hands, though he didn't step back.  

She could have counted every one of his silver lashes if she’d had the concentration for it. As it was, her core burned, and she was suddenly wetter and more turned on than she could ever remember being.  

“You could side-along if you’d like?” he rasped.  

She frowned, the fog in her mind starting to clear just a fraction. “You don’t have wards up?” When he pursed his lips, the knut dropped and she laughed. “You already adjusted them? That confident were we, Malfoy? I don't know whether to be impressed or insulted…”

His cheeks darkened and he chuckled. “More like… I was being hopelessly optimistic. But I don’t want you to feel pressured, Granger. We can call it a night here if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you for that,” she said quickly, but she took hold of his fingers where they rested by his side, and squeezed his hand. “But we’re not in our twenties, and we don’t have to pretend to wait for the third date or whatever to know what we want. Besides,” she added with a glint in her eyes, “If I have to go any longer than another few seconds without your mouth on me again, I may just explode.”

Pleasantly stunned by her affirmation, Malfoy recovered quickly, and kissed her again. It was not chaste or fleeting this time. “Ready?” he asked when he eventually straightened.  

She nodded, and clung to him as the unpleasant, hook-like apparition spell took hold of both of them and yanked them across London to the centre of Malfoy’s living room.  

He let her catch her breath before robbing her of it once again with kiss after kiss, over and over. Then he moved his attention down her neck until she was gasping, chest heaving, and hot all over. Her small clutch hit the floorboards as her fingers went limp, and he shrugged off his cloak and jacket, dumping the clothes on the nearby white sofa before returning to her.  

She had barely had time to take in the sleek, austere, and rather soulless furnishings of the apartment before he was sucking a bruise at her collarbone and she flung her head back with a broken cry of pleasure.  

“Gods, Granger,” he said between kisses. “I’ve wanted to do that to you all evening.”

“You have?” she laughed as his hands skimmed down her sides to her hips and gripped her tightly.  

He growled something inarticulate and then moved his touch to the zip at the back of her dress. “May I?”

“I’ve thought about you doing that all evening,” she said playfully, eliciting another growl from him before he had turned her and drawn the zip all the way down to the small of her back.  

“Oh Merlin and Morgana,” he purred appreciatively under his breath as he began kissing her where she stood, working his way over her shoulder blade and down to her bra clasp. He raked his teeth over the slightly freckled skin of her back and then delicately drew the shoulders of her dress down so that the fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her upper body exposed in only her bra.  

He moved her to face him again and continued to undress her, staring wide eyed and hungrily at her in a way that made her squirm, heat and wetness pooling between her legs. When he got to her matching underwear, he knelt before her on the floorboards and kissed her lower stomach and hips before sliding his fingertips under the dark lace and caressing the impossibly sensitive skin where her groin met her thigh.  

“Granger, sit back for me?” he asked and she sank, shaky-kneed, onto the sofa behind her. Self-consciousness crashed through her as he continued to stare openly at her and she swallowed.

Clearly sensing something was wrong, he looked up and frowned. “Is… Is this alright?” he asked, hands faltering where his fingertips rested on the inside of her thighs.  

“Yeah,” she said truthfully. “Just… Well…” she inhaled and then let it go with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since anyone’s seen me without my clothes on, Malfoy. And even with yours still on, it’s hard not to feel a bit… you know…”

Malfoy snarled, lip curling. “You’re exquisite, Granger,” he growled. “I’ve been half-hard all fucking evening. Let me show you how bloody gorgeous you are?” he asked, and with that, he spread her legs a little more and drew her underwear to one side.  

He skimmed the pad of his thumb slowly, reverently over her clit and she bucked, abandoning much of her embarrassment as a jolt of pleasure seared through her. “Oh God, Malfoy…” she grunted as he kissed up the insides of her thighs, occasionally closing his teeth over her skin.  

“Can I taste you?” he asked from his vigil on the floor between her knees.  

“Yes… God, yes…”

And with that, he drew her underwear down while she hitched her hips up to help, and his mouth closed over her sex. The sudden, pressing heat of it made her head loll back and her spine arch, but then he brought his tongue to her and laved a long stripe up over her folds and circled her clit and she shuddered.  

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, sounding astonished.  

“Mmm,” she said. “Not the only one who’s been thinking about this all night,” she laughed.

“Fuck…” he hissed to himself as he returned his mouth to her.  

The steady motion of his tongue dipping occasionally inside her before returning to suckle and lick at her clit had her shaking and clutching the sofa in minutes. Nothing that anyone had ever done to her had ever felt this good. Heat built inside her like a stoked furnace and she arched again while Draco held her with both his arms beneath her thighs, drawing himself into her. He was going to bring her to her peak with nothing but his mouth.  

“Draco I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Draco… Oh fuck… Draco!” and with that, she shattered. A convulsing wave of heat and blinding white light ripped through her and she cried out, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes screwed shut as Draco kept his tongue pressed to her pulsing clit and eased her through it.  

When he sat back on his heels, his lips were puffy and shone from her arousal, and he gazed up at her as if she were some kind of goddess. His eyes were blown dark, wide with a kind of reverent lust that she’d never imagined him capable of.  

He looked her up and down and smiled.

“I didn’t even take my shoes off,” she laughed a moment later as the realisation dawned.  

“I know,” he smiled. “That was partly what made me lose it so quickly. You clearly have no idea how fucking incredible you look, Granger.”

She had to smile at that. How could she not smile when he was still kneeling between her legs and the evidence of his own arousal was plain to see.  

“Would you like me to help you out of them?” he asked.  

“Please,” she said.  

His hands held her ankle so delicately that she bucked again, though the movement was muted. He caressed the bones of her ankle and after he had slipped her feet from the shoes, he set them to one side and rose gracefully to his feet. He held out his hand and asked, “Bedroom?”

“Unless you want me to ride you here on your living room couch,” she said and his jaw slackened slightly. “Then yes.”

He led her, naked save for her bra, to a room just off from the sitting room, and while he still had his back to her to focus on casting a soft lumos spell, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Drawn by the sound of it hitting the carpet, he turned. In two steps, he had crossed back to her and in his right hand he took a handful of her hair and tipped her head back, while in his left he cupped the weight of her right breast and moaned against her mouth.  

“Are you trying to get me to spill in my trousers like a teenager, Granger?” he hissed.  

She laughed. “Let’s get you caught up then,” she said, and began to undo the button and zip at his waistband. He stepped out of his trousers and left them crumpled on the floor, and she whispered, “You have the most incredible legs, Draco. I’ve always thought so.”

“You have?” he asked, hands going to begin on his tie and shirt buttons while she ran her fingers around his lower stomach beneath the waistband of his black boxer-briefs.

“Mmm. I know I didn’t like you as a person back then, but even I have to admit you looked incredible out there in your quidditch kit.”

He smirked, clearly pleased, and fumbled a button.  

“Let me?”

His cock twitched noticeably, and he raised his chin a little, hands falling limply at his sides. Before she’d managed even a single button, his fingers had found her hips again and he began tracing idle circles with his thumb over her skin.  

Hermione took her time undressing him, and when she finally peeled back the front of his shirt, she bit her lip at the sight of his torso. Without removing his shirt completely, she brought her fingertips to his pecs and trailed them down, circling one nipple without quite touching the dusky pink bud, and then moved down over the clear ridges of his abs. He was in incredible shape, seemingly without an ounce of fat on him anywhere. She swallowed, throat dry.  

“How are you even real?” she found herself whispering. “Draco, you’re beautiful…”

He flushed from his collarbones, up his neck, all the way to his ears, but didn’t move. His eyes fluttered closed, and as she drew back the fabric of his shirt a little further, she noticed a long, silver scar slashing across his chest like the after-image of a lightning strike. It stretched from his left shoulder, across his chest, down to below his right ribs and, she realised as she followed the line of it with her fingers, he had a second right above the waistband of his boxer-briefs. A third, smaller scar curled around his left hip.  

“Is that where…?”

“Potter,” he hissed through closed teeth. His smile was sad, like he’d long ago forgiven the boy for lashing out with a spell he’d never even heard of.  

It was only as she pulled his shirt slowly off his perfect, marble shoulders, that she remembered his Dark Mark. Instantly her eyes went to his left arm, where all of Voldemort’s followers had borne his brand, and there in fading, dark, smudged ink, sat the leering skull with its coiling snake.  

“Don’t,” he snarled softly, drawing his arm back away from her. “Don’t look at it.”

“Alright,” she said.  

His eyebrows rose, as if he’d expected her to argue and lecture him somehow, but instead, she hooked her finger beneath the waistband of his one remaining piece of clothing, and pulled his underwear carefully down, freeing his cock.  

Pre-come beaded instantly at the flushed head, and he inhaled softly as she smiled and pressed her palm into his hip, steering him back towards the bed.  

In a daze, he let her move him, and he laid his head back on the pillows, hair as white as the cotton beneath, and stared up at her with his eyes dark and lidded. “Granger,” he whispered, and she straddled him slowly. His hands found her hips as she sank down and rocked her wet folds up the length of his hard cock. At the contact, he gasped and jerked his sharp chin up towards the ceiling, heels digging into the mattress behind her. “Oh fuck, Granger…” he said.  

“Mmm?”

“Oh gods. Oh Merlin… fuck…”

“I’ve reduced him to a babbling idiot again,” she giggled, and he laughed too. The sound was open and free and truly delighted, and she leaned down and took his nipples between finger and thumb and tweaked them slowly.  

A deep, guttural groan left his throat and the tendons jutted out in sharp relief against his neck as his whole body went taut. He tried to buck beneath her, but she held him firmly between her thighs and he dug his fingers into the muscle of her legs hard enough that she thought she might bear the marks of it afterwards.  

Draco began to pant as she rolled herself repeatedly along his cock, luxuriating in the gliding contact.  

Then she heard him hiss a contraceptive spell, and she almost laughed. Clearly it was little more than a reflex for him, and she didn’t interrupt him for it, but the surprise of it nearly brought her out of the moment altogether. Next he had brought his hand to his cock and was guiding the head to enter her. She was slick and sensitive from having come already, and he eased into her without resistance.  

She was, however, as he declared in a broken moan, “…so fucking tight…”  

Hermione began to rock again once he was seated inside her to the hilt, but he grabbed her hips and curled his torso in on itself, panting. “Don’t move, Granger. Fuck. Don’t fucking move.”

She smirked. “You’re that close already?”

“Shut up,” he snapped without sting, and then let his shoulders drop back down to the mattress behind him again. “Fuck…” he laughed, almost shyly.  

Then he surprised her again by reaching his hands up to her shoulders and suddenly the world tilted, and she found herself beneath him and lying on her back on the mattress. She parted her legs a little further, allowing him deeper, and he growled again. He looked ethereal as he loomed over her, all pale skin and silver hair, and her core tightened.  

“You’re going to make me come again, Draco,” she whispered as it built inside her anew. This time it was less raw and needful, but no less intense.  

And with that, he began to move. At first, he withdrew until he was almost all the way out, leaving only the tip of his cock inside her, but soon enough he sank back down to the hilt with another glorious groan. Picking up a rhythm that soon had him heaving for breath, he raised one of her legs and hooked her knee over his shoulder, her thigh to his chest. With that new angle, he hit her so deep with every stroke that she saw stars.  

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you Granger?” he rasped. “Gods, I can feel it. I can feel you… you’re so tight. You’re perfect, you’re… Granger…” he grunted and then he was coming. His torso clenched and his head bowed low, and the rush of his release inside her and the way he clung to her shoulders tipped her over the edge and she followed him.  

Malfoy raised himself on shaking arms a long moment later, one hand braced on either side of her head, and looked down at her. His white hair was dishevelled and a sheen of sweat stippled across his forehead, but it was his eyes that held her. Dark and glassy, he stared in open wonder at her, and then he smiled.  

“Granger…” he whispered, and she laughed with elation as she kissed him. 

___

Chapter Seven

Let me know what you think, and help a newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #older dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #let no man steal your thyme

[groovybaybee]

Empty Beach (4.5k)

Three hours. It only took three hours for the tan line on my ring finger to be brought up. Three measly hours I had spent in the country, travelling to the house and unpacking, before his name was mentioned. Despite choosing a later flight in a desperate attempt to spend as little time with my distant relatives as possible, the question was inevitable.

 “No Ethan this year?” my sweet but intrusive grandmother had asked the second grace had been uttered.

 It took less than two seconds for the question to be answered by my mother.

 “They split up, ma,” she said with a passive aggressive smile as she passed me some vegetables.

 “That’s a pity… such a nice young man,” my grandmother pressed, leaning forward in her seat.

 “Very nice,” I muttered under my breath, knowing fully well that my side of the story would never be accepted.

“Anyone else on the scene?” asked my uncle as he bounced a fussy toddler on his knee. “Want to get yourself settled soon, pop out a couple of these sweet things.” He added when I shook my head.

 I watched as the child grabbed wildly at anything in his reach, knocking a bread roll on to the floor. My eyes followed my uncle as he reached down to scoop up the discarded food, quickly blowing at it before settling it back on his plate.

 “Mhm,” I hummed before dropping my gaze to my plate, pushing the food around miserably.

 The rest of the meal followed a similar pattern. Questions were asked. Digs unsubtly disguised as jokes were made at my expense. I offered half-hearted noises of agreement when reminded that my biological clock is ticking, and no man wants an old spinster for a wife.

 Family has a way of making you feel terrible about yourself. They can highlight all your perceived failures and mock them to your face, delighting in their ‘progress’ comparative to yours.

 Ethan used to make these visits more bearable. Having someone accompany me to these yearly holidays helped to calm the fire in my stomach, the urge to argue with my family’s traditional ideals. For a while, I convinced myself Ethan’s presence soothed my wild nature outside these trips as well, encouraging me to be practical and always plan ahead.

 He was sensible and I was sensible when I was around him. So, when he asked me to marry him at this exact villa one year ago, I did the sensible thing and accepted.

 My family were ecstatic, finally marrying me off and watching me become the person they expected me to become. First would be the wedding, then children, then grandchildren. I would be a wife, most likely staying home to raise our children and resenting every moment of allowing myself to be stifled like that.

 Ethan and I made sense in almost every way. We just lacked that… something. Some people describe it as a spark, others a fire. Whatever it is, it never existed between us. We both knew that, so it did not shock me to see the relief in his eyes when I returned his ring.

 No one could understand how we ended a four-year relationship over seemingly nothing, especially not my family members.

 “Have you been trying to work things out with Ethan? I’m sure if you just talked you could resolve whatever you’re going through.” My mother urged as we cleared the table.

 The scoff that left my lips was unintentional but impossible to retain.

 “I’m trying to help fix your mistakes.” She snapped, clattering plates as she piled them forcefully.

 “Not everything I do is a mistake.” I countered softly, exhausted from my flight and from the years of having this conversation.

 “Of course not, but don’t your father and I deserve grandchildren? Have we not earned that after—”

 I refused to let her finish her sentence, quickly announcing that I was going for a walk.

 Blood boiled in my veins as I trudged through cobbled streets. The stomp of my sandals against the ground sounded ridiculous and only infuriated me further as I stormed aimlessly through familiar backstreets until the sound of softly crashing waves called me closer.

 It was after sunset, most of the beach empty save for a few teenagers gathered around a small fire. The anger in me had subsided by the time I reached the sand, gently toeing off my shoes and carrying them with me as I walked the width of the beach.

 Waves brushed my toes as I inhaled and exhaled deeply, grateful for the gentle evening breeze that seemed to soothe the burn inside my throat. I spent a few moments, still, allowing the water to cleanse my soul and pull away the negativity of the night with each receding wave.

 Planting myself in the sand, I stretched out my legs to their full extent, flexing and relaxing my bare feet until the tiny grains felt coarse on my skin.

 I sat for a long while, reminding myself that only I knew what was best for me. Not my family, who I purposely only interacted with a couple of times per year. They barely knew me; they most definitely did not know what I needed.

 The urge to settle down at a young age and start a family as quickly as possible in order to continue the cycle had never appealed to me. Even as a child I craved excitement and adventure; something no amount of familial intervention could knock out of me.

 A late-night trip to the beach like this one would be considered reckless. I could only imagine the passive-aggressive nightmare I would return to. Silent gawks and glares would surround me until I felt claustrophobic.

 My desire for freedom and spontaneity most certainly was the product of a recessive gene, one only shared by my great aunt, Delilah. She stopped attending all family get-togethers when I was still a child. The memory of her pulling me back during a family walk to skip stones with her would stay with me forever.

 “They won’t be around you forever,” she had told me as she bounced a rock four times across the placid lake. “One day you’ll have your own life. You’ll make your own choices and you’ll make them for yourself, won’t you honey?”

 I hadn’t really understood what she meant but I nodded anyway. I idolised her. The fire I recognised in myself, I saw in her. She was the only one who understood me, which is why it hurt all the more when I had to face family gatherings alone.

 It was only when I was an adult that her leaving made sense. Delilah was in her late sixties when she finally came out to her family. That evening, after we returned from the lake, I was sent to bed while my family had a ‘grown-up’ discussion. The next morning, she was gone, and no one would tell me why.

 She sent presents on birthdays and Christmas, postcards from each new place she visited, always reminding me to be true to myself and do what I wanted. Now she was free, she felt alive.

 I drew her name in the damp sand with my index finger, mine beneath it, and made a silent promise to keep the fire alive for the both of us.

 What would DeeDee do right now? I had wondered.

 An immediate grin had spread across my face when I heard her voice in my head, telling me: “I don’t know, something stupid like skinny-dipping.”

 I knew that if she were around, she would tell the story of how she skinny-dipped at boarding school with the headmistress’ daughter. I could almost feel the warmth of her laughter as I sat on the sand.

 Envying her liberation, I glanced around the beach to gage the possibility of being nude without being arrested for public indecency.

 The teenagers had left while I was reminiscing, their fire extinguished. The beach appeared empty. No one would see. Even if it was just for a moment, it felt something that I needed to experience.

 Head and heart fixed on the idea, I quickly stripped my body of the pale blue sundress. Taking a swift but deep breath, I pulled down my underwear and tossed them into the pile. A small giggle fell from my lips as my body adjusted to the new temperature. A warm gust of wind blew past me, almost as if encouragingly pushing me towards the water.

 I ran without looking back until my knees splashed water around my body and the ocean became too deep and slowed me down. I stood, waist deep, under the sky. It was a clear night, save for a few light clouds which glided past in the breeze.

 My eyes fell closed as I breathed in the moment, desperate to savour each salty kiss and gentle caress of the water. Everyone had disappeared. Each nag and dig had vanished from memory. This was peace.

 It was peace, until the gentle crashing of waves was interrupted by a sigh.

 Instantly, I crouched in the water, eager for ever the slightest touch of modesty as I turned to locate the source of the sound.

 About ten metres away, waves lapping around his ribs, stood a man with his eyes closed and head thrown back as if bathing in the moonlight.

 In a desperate attempt to go unseen, I squatted low. My chin just above the water, I attempted to side-step away in order to keep an eye on him and prevent any awkwardness.

 I was almost crab-walking away when he finally noticed me, a misplaced footstep caused me to be plunged underneath the lukewarm tide.

 “Whoa, you alright?” I heard him ask when I surfaced, spluttering and spitting so much water that I did not notice him mirror my stance, also crouched.

 “Fine.” I coughed, clearly not fine but thankful that he did not press it.

 The two of us stood in silence as I caught my breath, running my hands over my head to scrape back the tangling mess of hair, already wondering how I would explain this when I returned to my family.

 “Nice night isn’t it?” he asked after the silence started to become thick with tension.

 “Yeah, not bad,” I replied, pausing for a moment to smirk at the ridiculousness of the situation.

 “Know any constellations?” he had asked, turning his head back up to the sky.

 “Not really,” I answered.

 It was at this moment that I was given the chance to appreciate him. His head bobbed just above the water, darkened wet hair plastered itself to his head, some parts curling out in defiance. An angular jaw tilted to the stars, catching their light and softening his features. The stranger glowed and glistened as awe-filled eyes watched the twinkling wonders above us.

 “You?” I questioned.

 “Just the ones everyone knows… Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia…” he commented, and I copied his stance, gazing up to the night sky.

 An overwhelming swell of gratitude washed across me as I stood beneath the glittering expanse. I pictured the stars looking down at us as we did to them, marvelling at their distance. Everything felt so insignificant in the most calming way. It did not matter what my family thought of me, or even the unknown man beside me (once I felt safe that he was not about to murder me and leave my lifeless body to float out with the tide). All that mattered is that in that moment, cuddled by gentle waves and illuminated by starlight, I felt alive.

 “When I was a kid, I thought that night-time was like a knitted blanket and stars were the little gaps you get,” he spoke.

 Not able to help myself, I turned to him with a grin at his admission. It felt like such an impossible confession to make to a stranger that I had to meet his gaze, eyes already trained on me by the time mine found his.

 “Sorry, bit mental to tell a stranger.” He laughed.

 “What’s your name?” I asked, sensing his discomfort from oversharing. “Then we aren’t strangers anymore.”

 I learnt his name was Harry. I told him mine and we discuss childhood beliefs as if we had known each other longer than a few minutes. Mentioning my unshakable faith that lightening was just a huge camera flashing seemed to relax him. There was a sweetness to the look he gave me as I spoke. A gentle stare that paired with an equally easy smile. Lips quirked with each word I uttered, until I soon wore a matching grin.

 Only when I was able to notice the deep-set dimples in his cheeks did I realise we had migrated closer to one another. By the sea or our own volition, we were only a few feet apart. He was breath-taking up close, warm but dark eyes glinted emerald and a light dusting of freckles across his nose were a testament to a day in the sun.

It was then that I began to panic. The realisation that the possibility to slip away without him seeing my nude body was quickly diminishing the more I spoke to him. But I didn’t want to stop.

 “I don’t believe you.” I laughed heartily.

 “It’s true! I can call my mum and she’ll tell you. My sister convinced me whenever I blinked everyone turned into a frog.” He spoke fondly, a warmth spreading across his features as he reminisced.

 “Can I ask you something that’s going to sound a bit mad?” I asked once calm was restored between us. One last-ditch effort to keep some dignity intact.

 “Sure.” Harry had answered with a light, throaty chuckle.

 “Do you think you could wait here for a few minutes and then come meet me on the beach? I’m getting kind of cold, but I think you’re interesting.” I explained the best I could.

 “Okay.” He smiled.

 Almost unbelievably, he continued to follow my instructions when I had him face away from the beach and promise not to look back. He seemed respectful when I made a half-hearted comment about wanting privacy as I towelled off, so I made my way out of the water with confidence that he would not peek. Even if he did, all he would have seen was two cheeks speeding away.

 As quickly as possible, I wiped off as much excess water as I could before pulling on sandy clothing. Almost instantly, a wave of regret passed over me as grains of sand covered a variety of patches of skin. However, when I saw Harry stepping towards me, equally sodden and sandy, the feeling washed away as promptly as it had arrived.

 “So how come you’re out here alone?” I asked curiously as we sat.

 “Doing a bit of solo travelling, kind of figuring out who I am by myself.” He answered. I felt there was more to his story that he was holding back but I did not push. “How about you?”

 “Similar thing kind of... just needed a break.” I explained. I imagine he sensed the same caginess from me as I did him, but, again, we did not dive deeper.

 “What’s the plan for your trip? Where you headed next?” I asked nosily, fascinated by him in all honesty.

 “No real plan.” He told happily.

 Again, he took my breath away. Here was someone with no plans, no aims, no pressures. He was freely living his life. The carefree and spontaneous nature of his attitude threw me off, and I sat staring at him, wondering how I could capture that feeling and keep it with me.

 “What?” he asked with a smirk as I gazed at him admiringly.

 “Nothing, you’re… you’re just not like a lot of people I know.”

 “Shall I take that as a compliment?”

 “Definitely.” I told him with a nod.

 Finally, I managed to prise my gaze from him and look out to the swelling ocean, but I felt his eyes on me still. My face began to heat up as I felt his lingering looks, tracing over my features. Breath caught in my throat as my chest rose and fell heavily.

 “Harry,” I uttered, voice barely above a whisper as I turned to face him.

 “Mm?” he hummed, eyes softly locked on my lips.

 We didn’t say anything else, there was no room for words as our bodies gravitated towards one another until our lips touched. His were salty and a little chapped from the ocean, I imagine mine were too, but they left soft, buttery kisses that left my chest aching for more. From the first moment our lips pressed, I felt addicted to them. Each kiss was another hit, more intoxicating than the last.

 He held me to him. Fingertips grazed the slope of my jaw. Lips sweeter than treacle, we sank together. Soon, our bodies laid as one on the sand, water occasionally lapping at our toes as the tide rolled closer.

 We kept ourselves warm despite the dropping temperature, bodies moving against one another symbiotically. Gradually, hands worked their way under clothing, cold and warm meeting in a blissful collision. A cocktail of excitement and caution filled my stomach. Each matched breath and heavy sigh sent a fizz through my bloodstream, soon drunk on his movements. Desire and trepidation battled throughout my being; a tug of war unevenly stacked against sensibility.

 When a large hand reached my breast, a light gasp tumbled from my lips. His actions stoked a fire within me that even the rising tide could not extinguish. Harry moved slowly, thoughtfully, as his touch spread around me, seeming to savour every single inch. My body arched into his when his lips pulled at the soft flesh of my neck, sucking gently but enough to have my hips rolling involuntarily. Desperately seeking some form of stimulation, they jolted harshly against his. The smirk I felt pressed against my skin only encouraged the burning within me. I was in dire need for something free and a little wild, and there he was.

 “I don’t want to assume anything…” I began, my breathy voice barely above a whisper as his lips travelled down my collarbones and to my chest, “But do you have protection?”

 “In my bag.” He replied with a nod to his large, bulging backpack.

 For a moment, we lay still, his chin on my chest as bright eyes and a matching smile looked up at me. There was a shared sense of relief at the realisation that we both wanted the same thing and wanted the best possible outcome for each other. There was mischief in our eyes, a touch of recklessness, but mainly care.

 Lips returned to my skin, puckering along each peak and valley of my covered torso until his mouth reached the hem of my dress. Lifting his eyes questioningly to meet mine, he waited patiently until I gave a soft nod. Eagerly, hands slip beneath the fabric, gliding up the outside of my thighs to reach my hips. He grabbed at the flesh there, greedily kneading it as kisses worked their way up the inside of my legs.

 “Harry…” I breathed out hopelessly.

 His lips crooked into a smile, but he continued to take his time, seeming to enjoy the way my body fought to lay flat against the sand.

 Special attention was given to each and every part of my body, his lips taking their time in dragging their way upwards until, finally, they met the ache between my thighs. His tongue licked tentatively to begin with, before the sight of my body writhing beneath him instilled a new wave of confidence. Soft licks evolved into wet, open-mouthed kisses. Before too long, his mouth moved keenly in delicate swirls as fingertips dug gently but firmly into my hips. Harry held me in place as I desperately sought more from him. Back arched and toes dug helplessly into the sand, his hair tangled through my fingers.

 His eyes were on me the whole time, confidently working me close to orgasm without even a shred of doubt in his performance. Not that there needed to be, his mouth moved beautifully against me, switching between soft licks, gentle sucking, and passionate lapping. I felt his jaw moving up and down as his face pressed into me, nose and mouth gliding up and down the length of my pussy, sure to leave no area neglected. My eyes met and disconnected with his constantly, battling to watch and remember every detail of being with him while struggling to keep my eyes open at all.

 “Think you can come for me?” he groaned; lips so close they sent vibrations across my flesh.

 I was already a quaking mess from his actions, but his words, his desire to give me pleasure, all became too much. My fingers wound through his hair as he pulled me closer, working faster and sloppier. Messy, wonderful circles swirled around my clit as a hand reached up the length of my body. The top of my dress was pulled down, breasts exposed and sensitive in the night air. Gentle fingertips juxtaposed the passion between my legs as they caressed and rolled the freed flesh.

 Overcome with sensation, my hips shuddered against him. Stomach contracting as my toes buried themselves in the sand and fingers grasped his hair, desperate to cling to the world in any way possible. My body fought this urge, convulsing and shivering as his actions became less intense, tongue moving softer against me as he pulled me through my orgasm.

 Once I had stopped shaking, Harry crawled back up my body to lay beside me. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before propping himself up on his elbow to observe me.

 My breathing levelled out and muscles relaxed before I was able to open my eyes again. When I did, I noticed the way the moonlight reflected on his face, showering him with luminescent majesty. He looked ethereal as he watched over me.

 “All good?” he asked softly, the slightest touch of nervousness present in his voice.

 In response, I nodded my head to his backpack. I watched as an inescapable grin slipped on to his lips before he rolled over to dig through his bag.

 As he searched, my hands began to explore his body. Slowly, they felt the tension of his shoulders, a firm chest, prominent abdominal muscles covered in a layer of soft flesh. The other hand ghosted across the meatiness of his thighs, urgently fighting the desire to dig my fingers in. It continued up to his hipbone, the bottom of his shirt pushed up slightly, revealing tattoos I had not had chance to see yet. I wondered if he would let me count them sometime as he turned back to face me, condom in hand.

 His gaze softened as it fell on me, flickering for a second to my breasts before returning to my face. Our lips reconnected, the same warmth spreading across them and down into my chest and stomach, already hooked on the feeling.

 “You’re sure, right?” I asked him when my hand reached the waistband of his shorts.

 “Positive. You?”

 My answer came in the form of a nod before I slipped a hand through his hair and pulled his lips back to mine.

 Our hands worked clumsily together to unbutton his shorts, soft giggles shared as our fingers tangled. I pulled myself on top of him as he rolled the condom down the length of his cock. His eyes watched me hungrily as I positioned myself above him, gathering the excess fabric of my skirt in my hand before sinking slowly on to him. A gasp left my mouth involuntarily as my body accommodated his size. When the backs of my thighs met the tops of his, I paused, my hips grinding of their own volition. Rocking back and forth caused him to hit the most delicious spots, my muscles clenching around him until he was bucking his hips slightly, starting the cycle anew.

 I rose from my position before returning, just as slowly and deliberately. The moans my movements elicited where otherworldly. The melting of our bodies into one another was intense, seeming to fit and move together as if that was their design. Soon, our hips rolled and met quicker, the sensation unlike anything I had ever felt. After a moment, Harry sat up, one arm around my waist and the other behind him to steady us. Lips clung to my chest, pressing kisses along my sternum before encircling my nipple and sucking softly. My hips began to move up and down at the new sensation, causing Harry to pull his head back, watching with lust-filled eyes as my breasts bounced before his eyes.

 A low growl of a moan escaped Harry’s lips as both arms wrapped around my waist tightly. I was lifted and placed gently on my back on the sand before I could even register what was happening. This new position allowed so much more freedom for him, his hips instantly snapping against mine. Each thrust shook my whole body, sand certainly tangling in my hair. There would be no excusing this when I returned to the villa, but I could not have cared less. All I could think about was the feeling between my legs as Harry grabbed me by the waist and collided our hips over and over. He had pulled his shirt up, holding the bottom between his teeth to prevent it from interfering. His eyes bore into mine, watching with a small smirk as I crumbled into a moaning mess beneath him when he slipped a hand down to rub gentle circles against my clit. Still sensitive from before, the added stimulation had me writhing under him.

 I became increasingly thankful for the sound of the waves, just loud enough to cover the obscenities that spilled from my lips as I was brought to my second orgasm. The sensation of my muscles tightening around him proved too much, as he stilled not soon after, a beautifully gruff rendition of my name tumbling from his lips.

 After a moment of gentle thrusts, he pulled out and returned to his position beside me, grabbing a towel from his bag and laying it across us like a blanket. His arm lifted, calling me closer until my head rest on his chest. We laid for a while, regaining our breaths and waiting for our heartbeats to slow.

 “I think that one is Ursa Major.” Harry spoke softly, his voice a little gravellier than before.

 I looked up to the stars to seek the constellation he pointed out, quickly realised I was not that interested.

 “I don’t really care about stars.” I confessed, looking up at him with a slightly exhausted grin.

 “Me neither,” he replied, bottom lip tugged slightly into his mouth as he smirked at me mischievously. “Just wanted to keep talking to you really.”

 Thankful that the night would cover the heat rising in my cheeks, I told him, “I think I quite enjoy talking to you.”

 “Maybe we should run away together.” He joked, a look of fear flickering through his eyes as he realised how intense that could sound, quickly melted away by my breathy laugh.

 “Where do you want to go first?”

masterlist

#trying to get back into the swing of things #this could be awful #its 3:19am #who knows anymore #anyway #hope you enjoyed #tag time x #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry #harry styles one shot #one shot #smut #harry one shot #harry styles fiction #skinny dipping #harry styles skinny dipping #groovybaybee #writing #my writing #pls leave me feedback #it feeds me x #peace and love always

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH5

<5> Spade's Preoccupation

Around the same time, the Twin Thunder Shark was cruising over somewhere else. It was a dark, moonless night. Spade and Dark Eye were sitting next to each other in the pilot seats. They were on a course for the holding place of a treasure they had sent out advance notice for. Spade glanced outside the window to the side. I'm feeling unsettled...

Ever since he had visited Joker's place, Spade's mind had been clouded over. Not because Joker had refused his generosity. He hadn't expected to manage a decent talk with Joker in the first place. What unsettled Spade was how an advance notice had been delivered to Joker from Noir. He had adjusted the story for Joker at the time, but actually, what Spade received wasn't an advance notice.

Spade recalled the letter from Noir.

 To Phantom Thief Spade,

I've heard your skills are top-notch among phantom thieves. I would like to ask your assistance.

-Phantom Thief Noir

 Of course, he was suspicious of the letter from the moment it arrived. Spade wouldn't be deceived by compliments. Joker came to mind immediately.

Is this one of Joker's pranks? Is he just trying to get a laugh at my expense when he sees me take up this offer without paying any heed...?

Then I'll just have to make the first move myself.

Spade had gone out to visit him with full conviction, but not only was it not Joker's doing, an advance notice had been sent from Noir to Joker as well.

Somehow, he felt as if he had lost. This "Noir" enigma was challenging Joker, and he was attempting to recruit Spade for it. Did he think he would be easier to manage? He considered Joker an enemy, yet wouldn't consider Spade as one.

That's why I lied on the spot...

"Spade-sama."

Hearing his name called suddenly, Spade snapped back.

"Kyo kyo, we'll be arriving shortly..."

"Ah, all right."

Spade overlooked the scenery beneath the front window. A small island floated in the middle of a dark ocean. The circular island was completely built over and looked like a maritime citadel. Rightly so, as this was the "Miral Fort Hotel", a former fortress remodeled into a hotel.

Sitting in the middle of the ocean, its manmade appearance gave it an imposing and out-of-place atmosphere. Yet as it was surrounded on all 360 degrees by water and removed from the bustle of the city, it was popular with rich people who wanted rare quiet. In spite of the exorbitant lodging fee, it was booked years in advance. He had come to steal a jewel from a wealthy woman who was staying there.

"..." Spade took a quick breath. "I need to discipline myself better..." he whispered. A letter that could have been a mere prank had him ruffled. Enough of that, don't even start. I have to focus on my thief work...

Beside him, Dark Eye peered over. "Kyo kyo, Spade-sama? Is something the matter?"

"No, it's nothing. It's about time to go."

"Indeed. Shall I still follow the plan you outlined earlier?"

"Yes, that will do."

"Then let us depart," said Dark Eye, putting on a head-to-toe black suit and a black backpack to blend into the dark of night. Then they carefully adjusted the hand of their wristwatch.

"All right, mission start."

"Understood."

Spade pushed a button and the floor opened up beneath them. Still upright, the pair dropped. Their silhouettes were silently swallowed up by the darkness of night.

In one of the hotel's rooms, a man observed the dark sea. A thin plume of purple smoke rose from the cigar in his mouth. The man shifted his attention to the advance notice in his hand.

 Tonight, I will steal the 'Octopus Turquoise' from the lady staying at the Miral Fort Hotel.

-Phantom Thief Spade

 "..." Without a word, the man lit the advance notice with his cigar and flung it into the ashtray. The advance notice burned silently.

"Ohohohoho, so it seems not even Phantom Thief Spade is able to come to this remote island!" Behind the man, a wealthy-looking lady laughed. Though she spoke elegantly, her words had an obnoxious ring. "It was worth renting out this secluded hotel. Even if he does manage to enter, he'll be caught in short order."

"Yes, exactly so." The man exhaled another puff of smoke out his mouth. The cigar smoke silently rose toward the ceiling of the luxurious room.

They were in the hotel's biggest suite. The spacious living room was in a circular shape and was furnished with a large bed and expensive fittings. Sitting in the middle of it all was the predictably octopus-shaped, shining blue gem, the Octopus Turquoise.

The lady addressed the man. "White Hawk, I'm paying you a considerable sum. Do your job well."

"Understood, madam. I may be your bodyguard at the moment, but I am a professional bounty hunter. There are people out there who will pay a hefty reward if I capture Phantom Thief Spade." The man called White Hawk looked at the lady and smirked. Hawk was a notorious bounty hunter. He was a well-built man, with upright silver hair and a military-esque uniform. He wore a patch over his right eye, and a big scar ran over his left cheek. These were proof that he was a seasoned warrior. Most of all, the powerful teeth clenching the thick cigar alluded to Hawk's fortitude.

"I'm the strongest bounty hunter out there! Ain't that right!"

The tall flunky standing beside Hawk answered with vigor. "Yes! White Hawk-sama is the strongest!"

"I sure am! Hah hah hah!" Hawk guffawed.

"Oho, it's an honor to fight someone who boasts to be the strongest."

"!?"

The voice came from the doorway. Who knows when he had gotten there, but Spade was standing at the entrance to the room.

"You! How did you get there!?"

"How? I just waltzed right in from outside."

"You couldn't have... My men were out there..."

"Those were your men? I was trying to not get my hair tangled while fighting and still swatted them down one after another. I would have hoped you could assemble some more formidable footsoldiers," Spade said, glancing at the flunky standing next to Hawk. The tall, unreliable-looking flunky let out an "e-eek!"

Hawk clicked his tongue and glared at Spade. "Tch... well, fine. I'll just capture you myself, right here. You're wanted alive. Count yourself lucky!" he bellowed, before running toward Spade. The tip of his smoldering cigar still poking out of his fist, he threw a punch at Spade. Spade nimbly dodged the blow and leapt back. Taking his small gun out of its holster, he aimed it at Hawk.

"Ice Shot!" Blue-white beams fired from Spade's gun, hitting Hawk's cigar. The cigar's flame was immediately extinguished, and its tip was frozen solid.

"W-What!?"

"Fire's weak to water. To ice, even more so. Everybody knows that."

"Ghh, then how about this!" Hawk said, taking out multiple cigars from his pocket and scattering them over the floor. The cigar tips crackled and sparked. They were bombs!

But Spade wasn't bothered and let loose a fusillade at each and every cigar with his Ice Shot. In moments, all of the bombs were silenced.

"Bah..."

"Your moves won't work on me. There's no better matchup than fire and ice." Spade chuckled. "Well, enough playing around. I'm going after my target now."

"What?"

Spade took a look at his wristwatch and counted down. "3, 2, 1... lights off!"

"WHAT!?"

Right on cue, the lights in the room crackled off. In a moment the whole place had gone completely dark. There was no light coming in from the window, either. After all, outside was the nighttime sea, devoid of even a single light.

"Perfect timing, Dark Eye," murmured Spade. Dark Eye had snuck into the hotel's electrical room and shut off power to all rooms, just as scheduled.

All right, time to take the treasure... Spade relied on his memory to navigate through the darkness, just before he saw a small ember. "...!?" Spade quickly moved himself out of the way, narrowly avoiding the ember.

"Tch!" He heard Hawk click his tongue nearby. Spade swiftly crouched down and stepped away. He heard Hawk's voice come from the darkness. "Phantom Thief Spade... did you think that cigars were the only thing up this bounty hunter's sleeve? My hearing's sharp enough that I can find wherever you are, even in this darkness. So much as twitch and you're done for!"

"......"

He's got me... Spade kept down and silenced his breathing. If he made the slightest sound, Hawk would find him. Still, not moving at all would get him nowhere. Spade slowly reached for his holster.

He'll get to me in a matter of seconds. Can I fire off my Ice Shot before that...? Spade recalled the room's layout with perfect detail. Okay...! He reached for his holster, rapidly now, and grabbed his Ice Shot. There was a slight rattle.

"There you are!" he heard Hawk say in the dark. His fist, with a cigar stuck between its fingers, was flying right toward Spade. Spade fired his Ice Shot, but it went off in the completely wrong direction.

"Ha ha ha! Where do you think you're aiming!?" In the darkness, Hawk's cigar-stuffed fist swung. Its embers were just about to singe Spade's cheek — but before it could connect, Spade vanished and Hawk's punch jabbed through air. "W-What the heck!?"

Hawk immediately pricked up his ears. But he couldn't hear Spade's footsteps. Instead he heard something sliding around the room.

"What's that sound?"

Spade had to be the one making it, but it was too fast. It was like he was circling around the whole room...

Just then, the room's lights crackled back on. Hit by the sudden flood of brightness, Hawk squinted. Within the rays, he saw Spade at the entrance to the room, holding the Octopus Turquoise and smiling.

"Heh heh, as promised, I've taken the treasure."

"M-My Octopus Turquoise!" Behind Hawk, the lady shrieked.

"You fop, how did you...!?" Hawk started, before seeing something glimmer in his peripheral vision. "W-What is this!?"

Hawk looked around and saw a meter-wide line of ice on the walls around the perimeter of the circular room. The line of ice stretched from the doorway where Spade was all the way to the back where the lady was at, making a complete loop.

"It's a line of ice I made with my Ice Shot. I suppose the easiest way to explain is that it's a makeshift skating rink."

"A what?"

Spade lifted up his leg. Now that he could see better, there was a blade like the kind used on ice skates on the bottom of his shoe. "I skated atop the line with these shoes while I was still making it with my Ice Shot. With enough speed, centrifugal force allowed me to skate on the walls to some degree. And of course, I picked up the treasure while I was at it!"

"Ghh...!" Hawk grimaced, biting down on his cigar.

"I'll be taking the treasure, then. Adios!" Spade turned around and jumped out the window in the room. He quickly blew a bubble of Balloon Gum and floated up toward the darkness of night. Behind him, he heard Hawk's voice, yelling "Wait!" at him.

As he steadily ascended toward the Twin Thunder Shark where Dark Eye was waiting, Spade was feeling refreshed, as if a load had been lifted off his chest. The phantom thief business truly is great... It was like all that doubt and second-guessing earlier had never even happened.

That was when...

For a split second, Spade let down his guard. He heard a pop, and a moment later realized that his Balloon Gum had burst. "!?" He looked and saw Hawk on the hotel roof, brandishing a gun. Hawk fixed his sights, taking aim for Spade. Spade's body had started to fall. He was a sitting duck.

Oh shoot...! Spade hurriedly tried to inflate another Balloon Gum, but he got off-balance and the gum fell out of his pocket. "Aaah!"

Looking again, Hawk was aiming directly at Spade. His finger was on the trigger. "You're not getting away, Phantom Thief Spade!"

"Ghh...!" Spade thought it was all over, but just then...

Everything went black, and he felt his body being gently held up.

"Are you all right?" It was a man's voice; one he had never heard before. Whoever it belonged to, he was somehow floating in the air.

"Haah!" The man held up a knife and threw it with force. Hawk's resulting scream echoing from the rooftop was just barely audible. "You're okay now."

Reassured by the voice, Spade's body warmed. When Spade was shocked by something, he became feverish. Then a wiry arm drugged Spade with something. Spade's consciousness slowly floated away.

Spade awoke to a chilly breeze on his cheek.

"Mmm..."

He glanced around and saw that he was in a dark, cold room, with a faint shaft of moonlight beaming in from the window. It seemed to be some kind of decrepit house, but with so little light, he couldn't see the whole room. Spade himself was lying down on a small platform.

"...Spade-kun, how do you do. This is my hideout. So as to keep the location secret, I put you to sleep for a little while," came a voice from the darkness. It was a low, monotone voice... the same one that had saved Spade.

"You're...?"

"My name is Noir. I sent you a letter."

"I see..." So I was saved by Noir. Spade slowly sat up. "Thank you for what you did. I was careless..."

"Hm..." Noir didn't respond. Spade went ahead and asked the question on his mind.

"Why did you send me that letter? What do you want my assistance for?"

"Oh yes... that was a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"I intended to steal a treasure from Joker and, with your help, defeat Silver Heart. However, it appears I overestimated you."

"What? Defeat my master...?" Hearing all this, Spade wasn't even sure where to start.

"You and I have similar circumstances. Thus I believed that you would be willing to help me defeat Silver Heart. Seeing as you are Joker's rival, I thought sure that you would be motivated if I showed you this treasure I stole from Joker."

"You took a treasure from Joker!?" Spade exclaimed. In the dark, a red gemstone caught the light of the moon and gleamed. It was the Crimson Crystal which Joker had stolen from Kaneari. "That's..."

"I won it from Joker in a minute-long match. For me, something such as this is child's play. However, Silver Heart will not be as simple."

"Aha. You have confidence in your skills. You're planning to challenge my master to a match?"

"That's correct. I will never forgive him."

"I don't know what happened between you and Master. But do you really think I would assist with that?" Spade said with a faint smile. Even if he had beaten Joker, he certainly wouldn't help him fight against his master.

"That makes sense... Regardless, I no longer have any need for you."

"Huh...?"

"That theft you just did. You stayed calm and collected through most of it, but at the very end, you let down your guard. That could have been a fatal mistake."

"That was because..." I can't say it was because the letter he sent was bothering me. That's just an excuse.

"My apologies, but I rescind what I said in the letter. I do not need your assistance. I would be better off with Joker, who chose to fight against me."

"Say what..." Spade's eyes flashed with anger as he glared into the dark. "Show yourself! I'll prove to you here and now that I'm not inferior to Joker!"

"Heh heh, I am not in the habit of showing myself to those I deem unworthy..."

"Ghh... Unworthy, you say..."

But Spade knew that he couldn't fight here anyway. His body was still warm, and just getting up made his head feel dizzy.

"Farewell then, Phantom Thief Spade. Return this to Joker for me, if you would," Noir told him, placing the Crimson Crystal on a side table. "It's unlikely that we will meet again. Go ahead and chase behind Joker forever..." he said before apparently walking out. Then in a voice too low for Spade to hear, he spoke to himself. "I'm not like you..." Noir's footsteps faded away into the darkness.

"Wait! Take that back!"

But Noir didn't respond to Spade's shout. Soon enough, he could no longer hear the footsteps.

"Ghh..." Spade balled up a fist and slammed it onto the table. It made a heavy thud, and pain coursed through Spade's hand. He gnashed his teeth, the frustration heating up his body even more. "Phantom Thief... Noir......!" he wrung out.

Then with a great clamor, Dark Eye came in to his rescue exclaiming "Spade-sama!", but their voice didn't reach Spade's ears.

#kaitou joker #light novel

[rhysismydaddy]

The Bodyguard (Elorcan)

MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE SHIP.

I wrote a lot of Elorcan a while ago on my phone and realized I’ve literally been posting Nessian nonstop, so we’ll take a little break. 

I have no idea how many parts this is going to be, but it’s a bit more of a slow burn than my usual fics, so probably 5ish. Not much happens in this part, but it get’s more interesting lol. Let me know if you want to be tagged :)

Part 2 | Part 3

______________________________________________________________

Elide rolled out of bed Monday morning to the sound of a loud, incessant banging on her front door. How someone was managing to put that much aggression and frustration into a simple knock baffled her. 

She swung it open and yelled, “What the hell do you want?”

When she looked up--and up and up and up--to the man standing in front of her, she instantly regretted her choice of tone. 

This was not a man you yelled at. Hell, this was not a man you poked with a very, very long stick. 

The stranger towered above her, making all five feet of her feet insignificant. He had long dark hair pulled back in a bun, tan skin, and eyes that looked almost black. Chiseled cheek bones, a jaw set in a scowl, and head to toe black clothing completed the look. 

Elide didn’t know how to feel about his appearance, actually. 

It was definitely abrasive and intimidating. Or to most it would be. She’d lost her fear of “scary” men a while ago. She knew firsthand the most innocent looking man could be the most sadistic. 

And yet, beneath all the black clothing and deep scowl, the man standing in front of her was also attractive in a dangerous, rough way. 

But what the hell did he want?

“Elide Lochan?” he asked, his voice conveying everything written across his face effortlessly. 

“Um, yes?” How did he know who she was? 

“I’m with The Galathynius Guarship. I’ve been assigned to watch over you.” He seemed satisfied with that explanation, but she sure as hell wasn’t.

“Galathynius? As in Aelin Galathynius?”

If possible, his scowl got deeper. “The one and only. But more specifically, I owe the whipped little bitch who calls himself her husband a favor.”

“Hold on,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Rowan sent you?”

This was beyond weird. Aelin was one of her best friends, but she didn’t spend all that much time around her husband. 

The man in front of her sighed, so much aggression in the one simple sound. “I suspect that he was told to cash in the favor in this specific way by a certain fire-breathing bitch queen, but yes, he was the one who called me.”

“Okay, but why?”

His eyes met hers, and she somehow knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. It didn’t soften the words in the slightest, though. 

“He found you.”

Fuck.

An involuntary shiver ran over her, but she hid it behind a stretch. “How do they know?”

“Rowan said they’ve been watching your uncle for a while, and that he just bought an apartment in the city. He’s also made inquiries into this complex about you, and a black sedan has been spotted canvassing the building you work in.” 

He said it all in that same cold, almost bored tone, and for some reason, that kept the panic at bay. 

Elide straightened her spine and put on her best smile. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t need a bodyguard, though.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “I don’t care.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I owe Whitehorn a favor, and this is what the bastard asked for, so I don’t particularly care if you think you don’t need a bodyguard, although I expect that to be false.” He looked her head to toe as he said that last part, and her blood started to boil. 

She wanted him gone. Now.

Glaring at him, she snatched her phone and dialed Aelin’s number. 

“Hi, Elide. You know it’s like six in the morning, right?”

“Believe me, I’m not happy to be awake at this hour, either. I was woken up by...” she realized she didn’t know the man’s name. “someone pounding on the door. He says he’s my new bodyguard and that you had something to do with it.”

“His name is Lorcan Salvaterre.”

She sighed, continuing to glare at him. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but tell Lorcan Salvaterre to piss off. I’ve been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine.”

“Barely,” Aelin said quietly. 

She paused, ignoring that train of thought, then tried a different tactic. “You know he’s like ten feet tall right?” Lorcan rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to keep a low profile with him following me?”

Aelin laughed softly. “He’s a tall, insufferable bastard, but he’ll keep you safe. At this point, your uncle’s seen where you live and work, so keeping a low profile doesn’t exactly matter.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But-”

“Listen.” There was a little fire in her best friend’s tone now. “I do not plan on repeating what happened two years ago. Ever. So until we figure out how to throw Vernon in a deep, dark hole no one will ever find him in, Lorcan stays. Just ignore him.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered back.

She could practically see Aelin’s smile. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

The line clicked dead, and she threw her phone on her couch in defeat. 

“Your powers of persuasion are truly something magnificent,” Lorcan Salvaterre told her in a mocking tone. “I’m tall? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s 6 AM and I’m tired,” she defended, suddenly annoyed. “But I’m already up, so I guess I’ll just go to work early.”

She shut the door in his face so she wouldn’t have to even think about inviting him in.

Damn.

Damn damn damn!

This was so frustrating. She felt... helpless and desperate and trapped. Everyone in her life was trying to keep her safe, but she found herself wanting to be alone and independent for once in her life. 

And she was afraid. 

After finally escaping her uncle’s country estate and moving to the city, she’d sworn she’d never let him make her feel like this again. 

And yet, just the mention of him being in the same city as her made her tremble with fear. Fear, and more than a little rage.

Elide stepped under the shower spray, closing her eyes. Images from her lifetime of misery flickered through her mind, and unlike usual, she didn’t even bother blocking them out. 

They played like a montage in her head, showing her all the reasons she had to be afraid of her uncle. 

Her parents funeral. The first time Vernon had asked her to come to his office. The hidden bruises. The ruined ankle from the time he’d refused to let her go to the doctor and get the bone set. The scars on her wrists and ankles from her chains. 

The emotional scars from everything else.

She squeezed her eyes closed, shut off the onslaught of memories, and stepped out of the shower. 

As usual, she put on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, even though it was almost summer. Even though she’d made peace with her scars, she didn’t want people to see and gawk. She got a few odd looks for being dressed so heavily, but it kept her more comfortable, so Elide didn’t care. 

She straightened her dark hair, swiped on a little makeup, and grabbed her bag. 

When she opened the door again, Lorcan was still standing there, leaning against the wall across from her. He didn’t even seem to notice her very conservative apparel, but his eyes swept over her face, studying her closely. 

“Ready?”

She nodded, a little nervous by how observant he seemed, but followed as he turned and walked towards the stairs. 

Living on the second floor had a few advantages, but the biggest had to be that she didn’t have to wait for the slow ass elevator that almost never worked. Soon, they were out on the street, walking towards her building. 

Feeling like a million eyes were on her now that she was in public, she tugged on her sleeves and ducked her head. 

“They’re probably staring at me, not you,” Lorcan said with a grimace. 

Oh, there was no “probably” about it. 

Everyone--everyone--was looking at the man strolling next to her. Some with blatant fear on their faces, some just in shock. 

She supposed she couldn’t really blame them. He was large and imposing and looked like he could snap anyone in half who dared to cross him. 

The attention still made her uncomfortable. She preferred to go through life unnoticed, and Lorcan was like a magnet to both men and women’s attention. 

Spotting her favorite coffee shop, she almost cried in relief. She tugged on Lorcan’s arm, and he followed her inside, dark eyes scanning everyone there for signs of a threat. 

Considering this was the most hippie, backwater place in the city, it was a short search. 

“Hey, Elide,” the woman behind the counter said with a smile.

Elide smiled back. “Hey, Asterin.” 

Asterin was one of her best friends in the city. They’d met in the hospital’s mandatory group therapy for people who had suffered certain times of “trauma” and had instantly bonded over their shared hate of one of the nurses. 

“Same as usual?”

She nodded, then turned to Lorcan. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” he responded, eyes hovering on Asterin as if she were a threat.

Granted, her friend was in her usual all black, mostly leather attire and had multiple piercings gracing her beautiful face, but this was Asterin for crying out loud. She was more than a little protective of Elide.

“Who’s the mutt?” the object of his attention asked in a too-friendly voice. 

Elide sighed, unsure how to explain. If Asterin knew her uncle was in town, things were bound to get a little haywire. 

“It’s a long story,” she dodged, sliding a bill across the counter. Her friend looked at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“When’s the last time I charged you?”

Never. 

She stuck it in the tip jar, making Asterin roll her eyes. A moment later, she brought back her vanilla latte and said, “I’ll see you Friday, right?”

For a moment, she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but it came rushing back a second later. Friday. Concert. Asterin’s band. “Yeah, sure.”

She could feel Lorcan’s eyes narrow, but she pulled him out before he could cause a scene. 

“What’s happening Friday?” he asked as soon as they were outside. 

Taking a deep drink of her coffee, she replied, “Asterin’s band is having a concert at MSK.”

He brooded for a minute over this information. “No. A crowded area is not exactly safe for you right now.”

Elide stopped walking, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “No? No?”

He was fucking crazy if he thought she’d do whatever he wanted just because he’d been assigned to follow her around. 

Lorcan repeated the word, and she saw red.

“You are not going to tell me what I can and cannot do, you stupidly large bastard. I’ve spent my entire life with someone who did that for me, and I won’t put up with it for a second longer.” 

He sighed, and that just pissed her off more. 

“If you’re not confident in your skills to guard me in a crowded area, then maybe you shouldn't be here,” she snapped. 

His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m more than confident in myself, Elide. That doesn’t mean it isn’t stupid to put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

She just rolled her eyes and stormed away, well aware his long legs would catch up to her in a second. “I’m going.”

“Fucking hell. You mean we’re going,” he corrected with a gruff. 

She smirked. “At least you won’t have to buy any new clothes. They’re a pretty goth band.”

Elide didn’t need to look to know his scowl deepened, and the thought brought a bright smile to her face as she walked into her office building. 

“Morning, Elide,” the receptionist, Tom, called. She waved back.

Lorcan did not. 

He just followed her down the hallway to the suit labeled Perranth Wellness Center, through the lobby and staff kitchen, and into her office. When she tried to shut the door behind her, his hand shot out above her head and stopped it. “I’m coming in.”

“You most certainly are not.”

He showed her she was, in fact, incorrect in that statement by pushing her out of the way and strolling in. Her office was exactly what it was supposed to be: calm, relaxed, covered in plants, and home to a comfy black sofa, two chairs, and a desk. 

As a therapist, it was all pretty much standard. 

Lorcan dragged one of the chairs into a corner near her bookcase, then sat down. 

“You can’t stay in here! I have appointments today!”

He gave her a strange look. “I assumed as much. I’m fine here.”

Elide pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from strangling him. “I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. You legally cannot be in here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not leaving you in here with a bunch of crazy people.”

“They aren’t crazy! They just talk about their problems.”

The look on his face said that statement proved his point. “I can assure you I won’t care what they say.”

“I am not losing my license because you have some insane idea that my clients are violent!”

Suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her, looking at her as if she were a naive little girl. “Elide. Has it not occurred to you Vernon could send someone as a fake client to get to you?”

No. 

“I’m safe here,” she lied. She wasn’t safe anywhere.

“If you actually believed that, then why do you have a knife strapped under your desk?”

How the hell had he found that? He hadn’t even searched the place!

She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to diffuse this situation. “I’m getting the idea you’re not up for negotiation on this point.” He shook his head like the stubborn asshat he was. “Fine. You can stay as long as you tell people you’re shadowing to become a therapist yourself.”

His dark eyebrows shot up. “I don’t exactly fit the bill for a therapist.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” The dark attire and permanent scowl were sure to raise some brows, but it was the only option. Elide rolled her eyes and tried to calm down. “Try smiling or something.”

He looked as if she’d suggested he run naked through the city in the dead of winter, but before he could argue, a knock on the door sounded. “Dr. Lochan? Your eight o’clock is here.”

She shoved Lorcan to the chair in the corner, and he plopped down with a sigh. 

“Send him in!”

This would be interesting. 

Twenty minutes later, Elide corrected her statement from interesting to big fat mistake. 

Her client, Wayne Jefferies, kept looking towards the corner Lorcan was situated in, eyes wide. As someone who had a strong fear of practically everything that moved, this situation was less than ideal. 

He tilted his ear toward something she couldn’t see, then whispered, “He’s here to kill me.”

Wayne was also a raging schizophrenic. 

“No one is here to kill you, Wayne. Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Once he did, she turned around and shot a glare over her shoulder at the hulking brute. Stop it, she mouthed. 

His brow scrunched. Stop what? 

Scaring him! 

Before he could mouth something back, Wayne’s eyes shot open. “They’re saying I should kill him first.”

Oh, good gracious. 

“Feel free to try,” Lorcan said in a low voice. 

Wayne jumped to his feet, thrusting an accusatory finger towards the corner. “See! He’s after me!”

“If I was after you, you’d be dead,” her very helpful protector reasoned. 

Wayne paused, then opened his mouth to shout something else. Before he could, Elide said gently, “Sit down, Wayne. No one here is going to hurt you. I promise. Shut the voices out and imagine a wall being built around your mind, keeping you safe.”

Her client was silent, so she turned around and glared at Lorcan. He just rolled his eyes, then leaned back and closed them.

This was going to be a long day. 

~

After three other appointments, which had gone a little smoother actually, Elide was exhausted. Hearing about other people’s problems both helped rationalize hers and drained her. 

She walked to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Lorcan following behind dutifully. 

“Dr. Lochan! Got a package for you,” Tom said, handing her a thin package. 

Before Lorcan could snatch it up, she grabbed a knife and cut it open, revealing what was inside. 

Yet another mistake. 

A handwritten note in beautiful, recognizable calligraphy, read: I’ll see you soon.

It was a promise, threat, and taunt all in one. How like Vernon.

Knowing he would never send just a little threat, she ignored the dread unfurling in her stomach and flipped the card over.

And stared down at a black and white picture of herself, asleep in bed. 

The covers were thrown back, exposing her bare legs, and her shirt had ridden up while she slept. She looked young and innocent. Vulnerable. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that it had been taken from directly in front of the bed. Inside her room. 

The angle of the camera made that obvious. It also revealed that the person who’d taken the picture had done so with painstaking care, getting just the right angle to make it look as if a lover had taken it. 

Bile rose in her throat as she stared at it, trying desperately to figure out how they’d gotten inside her apartment. 

And why hadn’t they just taken her then and there?

Lorcan snatched the note and picture out of her hands, jaw locking tightly. He studied the photo, the note, everything. “I’ll search the apartment when we get back. They can’t get to you with me there.”

His confidence was unwavering and let her relax a little. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

But somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t. This was just the beginning for Vernon. 

He’d always enjoyed the thrill of making her as terrified as possible before finally unleashing whatever sick desire he had planned out. The waiting was half the fun for him. 

And he’d just let her know he could get to her whenever, wherever. No matter who was around. 

It was a strong opening move, she had to admit. The obviously-desired fear was there, pushing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. 

But there was something else, something new. Something that had only developed in the year she’d been free. 

It was rage, sure. But it was a cold, calculated rage that only came with one thing. 

Revenge. 

______________________________________________________________

ooOOooh dramatic ending for the win. 

Part 2

@ladywitchling @perseusannabeth @studyliketate @cursebreaker29 @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

#elorcan #elorcan fanfiction #lorcan #lord lorcan lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide #elide lochan #elide x lorcan #lorcan lochan #tog #tog fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass series #throne of glass fanfiction #acotar

[flowercrown-bard]

I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 5/ 5

for @ban-aard  <3

read on AO3

previous   / Bonus chapter

The first notes of the song filled the air and still Jaskier didn’t move. Geralt’s stomach dropped. He should have never agreed to partake in that ridiculous game. He should never have let Jaskier drag him up there.

Even as he thought this, he knew he was being unfair. He hadn’t let Jaskier drag him anywhere. Geralt had been more than willing – eager really – to do whatever Jaskier wanted if it meant seeing his eyes light up the way they had.

And more yet: Though it was so obvious that Jaskier wasn’t comfortable with the idea of dancing with him, Geralt couldn’t find it in him to regret what they had had on the stage just moments before, when Jaskier’s touch had come so surely and with so little hesitation as if it belonged on Geralt’s skin.

Even as Jaskier’s heart had sped up when Geralt had come to stand before him and a small smile of relief spread across his face, Geralt had known it was only a fleeting moment, forever to be treasured in his memory only, but at the very least Jaskier hadn’t been able to see the way Geralt’s mask had slipped into something not even a poet could rationalise away as only an act when Jaskier had reached out. The way Jaskier’s fingers had mapped his face and the way his lips that been so soft against Geralt’s hand would be forever etched into Geralt’s mind. He almost wished it had taken Jaskier even longer to recognise him if it meant he would have gotten to feel those touches on him for a few moments more.

Jaskier’s grip on his hand became the tiniest bit tighter.

“I assume I’m going to lead?” Jaskier said, sounding strained. “I’ll try to go slow. I know you don’t really like to – I don’t even know if you know how to dance.”

“I do,” Geralt said too quickly. “But I only know how to lead.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up and he cracked a smirk though he gladly let Geralt guide him into position, Jaskier’s hand resting warmly on Geralt’s shoulder and the other fitting so perfectly into Geralt’s hand.

“What, are you telling me you spend your winters dancing in Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt took the first step back and Jaskier followed, just like he had always followed him across the continent, always happy to go where Geralt led him to.

The way Jaskier looked at him tightened an iron band around his chest until it became hard to breathe. He looked awed, as if Geralt had given Jaskier an unexpected gift. It was too much. If Geralt looked at that expression for much longer he would drown and in his need to gasp for air, words would tumble out of his mouth and drag him under even deeper with no hope for rescue.

“Yen taught me.” Geralt said it to keep himself from giving shape to anything he would. He hadn’t been prepared for the way his heart would clench when Jaskier’s expression fell and his eyes darted away. “She said it might come in handy if I ever –“

The hurried words broke off. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t confess how Yennefer had insisted that Jaskier should be wooed with dance, no matter how often Geralt had resisted and told her that he would never ask Jaskier to dance – that Jaskier would never accept such an offer, not if it came from Geralt. And yet, Geralt’s protest had died away and he had found himself dreaming, wishing, hoping.

“If you ever what?” Jaskier’s posture was far too rigid to match the forcibly light-hearted tone.

“Nothing. Forget it.” Geralt sent Jaskier out in a twirl, hoping it would buy him time to come up with a better reply. “Either way, now I’m glad she taught me.”

He brought Jaskier close to him again, closer perhaps than before. Jaskier didn’t reply, but he melted into Geralt’s arms, followed the slightest hint at what Geralt was prompting him to do, even though Geralt’s movements were awkward and clumsy and clashing so horribly with Jaskier’s elegance and easy grace. Still, as Jaskier twirled around Geralt and came back time and time again, his smile became brighter and a laugh bubbled up in him that was matched by a low rumble in Geralt’s chest.

The longer the song carried on, the more couples joined them on the dance floor and started moving to the music, but they could have just as well disappeared into thin air, for Geralt could see none but the man in his arms.

The twinkle in Jaskier’s eyes was enough to startle Geralt out of the strange trance he had fallen into while feeling Jaskier respond in that way to being in his arms. Lost in Jaskier’s gaze, Geralt tripped over his own feet, tugged a bit harsher than intended on Jaskier’s hand and without warning, Jaskier came crashing into him.

Geralt caught him without missing a beat. His hands rested low on Jaskier’s back and one of Jaskier’s hands laid on Geralt’s chest right above his heart. Their faces were so unbearably close, too far apart still.

It was wishful thinking that Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to his lips. His hand didn’t truly tighten in the fabric of his doublet. He didn’t truly pull him closer. Did he?

Geralt’s mouth went dry and his eyes darted between Jaskier’s, searching for something he was foolish enough to hope for, now that they were standing like this, like lovers, barely swaying anymore and believing they were the only people in the world.

How could he not hope? How could he not dream when some of that perfectly combed hair had come loose and fallen into Jaskier’s eyes? When his stiff posture had fallen away as he let himself enjoy the dance. When his smile held barely a hint of tension and his face was flushed. He looked like he belonged, not in this town that doubted his words and talent, not amongst those people who would scorn and scoff at what Jaskier so vehemently believed in, but right here in Geralt’s arms.

“You are beautiful.”

Even while the words left Geralt’s lips, a dagger plunged into his heart. He had said it too quietly, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

Not nearly loud enough to believably pretend he only said it for their act.

Geralt prayed that his slip up would somehow escape Jaskier’s notice, that maybe he could pretend to never have said it. If Jaskier ignored what he had said, he would not pull back and that would be enough.

But Jaskier’s eyes widened and his mouth opened just the tiniest bit, just enough for the smallest gasp to leave him.

Geralt’s heart gave a jolt and he wanted, he wanted … he was leaning forward, the last remnants of their dance slowing to a halt and Geralt’s hand pulled Jaskier closer ever so slightly. Not thinking but feeling more than he ever thought possible, he tilted his head and leaned in.

Just before his lips could touch Jaskier’s he stopped, giving Jaskier the change to close the gap between them. For the briefest, most wonderful moment he was certain Jaskier was leaning in too.

But the kiss never came, instead Jaskier went still in Geralt’s arms and the truth Geralt had so cruelly forgotten crashed back into him.

Jaskier didn’t want this. Going to a festival together, holding his hand and dancing was one thing. But Jaskier could not have made it clearer that he didn’t want what Geralt had wanted so desperately to do. A kiss was taking it too far.

Geralt had known this. Of course he had. There was a reason as to why they had not gone beyond holding hands for their pretence. There was no hope that Jaskier would want anything like that with him. Geralt had been stupid enough to forget that none of it was real, no matter how much he wished the soft looks and gentle touches weren’t all just a lie on Jaskier’s part.

Abruptly, Geralt pulled back and turned his face to the side. He couldn’t bear to look Jaskier in the eyes right now, he couldn’t see the discomfort because of what Geralt had almost done or the relief of him not going through with it.

Maybe if he had seen Jaskier’s face, it would have been easier when Jaskier spoke up again.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and it tore Geralt’s heart apart.

Sharply his head snapped back. “No, Jaskier.” His voice broke. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

If anything, Geralt should be the one to apologise. Jaskier was in this situation because his songs were defending witchers and how was Geralt repaying him? By almost forcing a kiss onto him in a situation where Jaskier wouldn’t be able to speak up or shove him away if he didn’t want to risk other people’s ire at unravelling the nature of their false relationship.

But Jaskier’s eyes widened and the hand still holding Geralt’s twitched.

“But I am. Sorry, that is.” Jaskier interrupted himself by swallowing thickly. “For what I said before.” When Geralt only furrowed his brow, Jaskier let out a trembling sigh. “When I said that I loved you.”

His words were quiet enough that no one would hear him over the sound of the music still playing, still it was loud like roaring thunder in Geralt’s head.

When Geralt tensed, Jaskier gave him a joyless half-smile. “Yeah. Exactly. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean… you don’t have to do things you’re uncomfortable with just because I took this thing too far. It was stupid of me, just – just forget it ever happened.”

Unable to form words Geralt only nodded, though he knew he would never be able to forget the precious words spoken with such conviction that for a moment Geralt had almost let himself believe they had been true.

If it had just been those words, the knowledge that they hadn’t meant anything, it would have been fine. But now, hearing Jaskier denounce them so openly, calling them stupid, saying they had taken it too far made it so much worse. As if the words had just slipped out, not because they came naturally to him, but because they weren’t important. Meaningless enough that they should be forgotten by the one who had them burned into his memory.

But if this is what Jaskier wanted, if he regretted saying it so much, then Geralt would not speak of those words again, would try not to think of them while he was with Jaskier.

Geralt gave Jaskier a smile that he hoped didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Don’t worry, Jaskier. We both know this doesn’t mean anything. After today we will go back to the way we have always been.”

The promise spoken as a comfort cut into Geralt, even as he smiled to reassure Jaskier; even as he knew that those were hollow words. Geralt wouldn’t be able to go back. Not after having gotten a taste of what it felt like to have Jaskier touch him so gently, look at him so softly and speak his name as if it was the only word worth saying.

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything.” Jaskier’s shoulders sagged and he returned Geralt’s smile all the more brightly. “I’m glad we’ll be able to go back to normal. That this won’t stand between us.”

It was said with so much relief that he wouldn’t need to repeat the words that it gave a sharp twist to Geralt’s heart. Still he knew it was better this way. As much as he wanted Jaskier to say it again, he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Jaskier didn’t mean it and that he knew was a dream that would never come true.

--

Once they left the dancing couples behind and went to the edge of the town square where it was quieter and less bustling, it was easier to look at Jaskier again. Here no eyes were on them, no nosy ears straining to listen in. They didn’t need to prove anything anymore. They had done what they had set out to do, certainly. If they wanted to they could leave the festivities and retire to their room. There was no need to continue with their act for any longer.

They stayed. Even as the last couples decided to dance no longer since their feet began to hurt. Even as evening fell and the town square was illuminated by lanterns and fairy lights instead of the sun.

Jaskier’s eyes reflected the lights, making them look like stars on the night sky and Geralt found himself unable to looking away. He could finally understand what poets meant when they said their beloveds were pained with starlight.

Though he must notice Geralt’s blatant adoration, Jaskier’s hand didn’t leave Geralt’s and Geralt let himself smile at Jaskier and look at him as openly and with as much admiration as he wanted to. He only had a few more hours left – minutes, if Jaskier decided he has had enough – and the ticking clock made Geralt desperate to take as much as he could get. Maybe the memory would be enough to warm him when Jaskier left him once more for Oxenfurt or some court where his songs would be celebrated and he would find a new lover who would be allowed to look at him the way Geralt did now.

“They won’t doubt your songs now.” Geralt didn’t know why he said it, why he felt the sudden need to fill the silence that had never bothered him before. He just knew that he wanted Jaskier to be happy. If it wasn’t with Geralt on his arm, then maybe knowing that his music would be celebrated would make this evening pleasant for him.

Jaskier let out a soft sigh. “There’s always at least one person who doesn’t understand what I’m singing about.”

It was a familiar enough jab that Geralt knew it was him that Jaskier was talking about. Too often had Jaskier complained playfully and with over the top theatrics about Geralt’s inability to see what his songs meant. There was something in the way he had said it now, resigned and maybe even with a hint of bitterness, that made Geralt squirm.

“Not everyone is a scholar. I might not understand the metaphors and all that but even I can recognise a good song.”

“Oh? My songs are good now?” Jaskier nudged Geralt playfully with his shoulder, but his tone hadn’t changed.

“Always were.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s smile wavered and he quietly said, “Now you are taking the act a bit too far. That is something you can’t possibly mean.”

Silence settled over them again and Geralt wrecked his brain, desperate to find something to make right what he had somehow broken without realising or meaning to.

“I would like to hear you play.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “What, right now?” He squinted. “Geralt, I really appreciate how dedicated you are to do all this,” he gestured widely over to the people who were still enjoying the festival, “but you’ve already done so much you wouldn’t have done otherwise. I won’t make you listen to me sing too.”

“I want to.” Geralt swallowed thickly. “I never get to see you perform in full.”

“You’ve heard me compose my songs.”

“But it’s different. You’re different when you play for someone else.” Geralt felt his throat grow tight, but he forced himself to continue. It was likely he had already broken too much with how he behaved today. What more harm could this cause? “Happier. You smile more openly. And I never get to see it. There’s always someone approaching me for a contract midway, or I just come back from one when you’re about to finish the set or I can’t stay because of the potions. I just – just this once?”

Jaskier gave him a long unreadable look, before nodding slowly.

They went back to the crowd, back to the prying eyes. When Jaskier’s hand pulled away from his, Geralt tightened his hold unwilling to let go just yet, before releasing his hand.

He watched Jaskier’s every step as he went up to speak to one of the musicians and borrow her lute before going up the stage once more.

“My husband asked me for a song and who am I to deny him?” he announced with a broad smile and winked in Geralt’s direction. Softer, he added, “This song is for you, Geralt my love.”

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat. There was that word again, right after his name, as if his name was worth mentioning first. That word that meant more to him than it was allowed to. He couldn’t keep that word, never had it in the first place and yet that knowledge didn’t stop his heart from yearning to hear Jaskier say it again.

Geralt stared transfixed as Jaskier took a deep breath and began to sing a song softer than any other, more precious and fragile than he remembered it sounding when Jaskier had composed it.

“Each night and day I dream,

I try

To tell you - can’t you hear?

With song and smile I scream

my truth

And yet you hear a lie.”

Geralt had heard snippets of it before when Jaskier had performed, but then it had been less tentative and more certain. This time Jaskier didn’t wink, didn’t make a big show off prancing around. He just stood up there on the stage, eyes never leaving Geralt and with nothing to show but himself and his song, as if saying ‘This is me. This is all I am and all I have to give. My song. My heart. My love.’

It seemed almost simple. Geralt might not know the meaning of metaphors and scalar transpositions, but he knew Jaskier. He knew what he was showing now was anything but simple.

He was looking so vulnerable, so pleading and it was – it almost felt as if he could…

“Oh Dear heart, can’t you see?

For me it’s you, it’s none but you

I wish for you it could be me.

Oh tell me, love, it could be true.”

Jaskier’s voice broke and for a moment Geralt was sure he understood. Truly and not just because his own hopeful heart begged it to be so.

There were whispers once more. Geralt didn’t want to listen to them, didn’t want to hear anything but Jaskier and the impossible promises he made.

But this was what Geralt had always missed. Not only the way Jaskier looked, but also the way others looked at him. The way lovers sighed and leaned into each other as they too came so close to understanding, or maybe they understood better than Geralt ever could.

An overwhelming sense of pride for Jaskier washed over Geralt. Not one person dared doubt his words now. Not one person would raise their voice and claim that his songs were lies, not when he was begging for the truth to be heard.

“How strange,” one woman whispered. “How strange and wonderful that the bard won’t leave his witcher.”

It was. It was more than Geralt ever could have hoped for.

“I always thought a witcher’s life was lonely. Cold and dangerous.”

“Yes,” another hushed whisper agreed. “A horrible life, really. Well. It’s good to know this one witcher has someone to make it a little better.”

With each whisper the soaring thing in Geralt’s chest became heavier until it plummeted. The words weren’t spoken with malice. They were almost exactly what Geralt had thought to himself time and time again.

He was incredibly grateful for Jaskier. He truly was making the Path not only more bearable, but also brighter, filled with laughter, something to look forward to instead of dread when the end of winter neared.

But Geralt? What was he doing? What was he giving Jaskier in return? The best pieces of meat when he should have so much more. The blanket with the least holes in it when he should be sleeping in the softest bed. Words that never left Geralt’s throat when Jaskier deserved to be surrounded by praise and admiring crowds that he needed to thrive.

Keeping Jaskier was selfish. Even believing for a second that Jaskier could love him the way he craved was nothing but self-absorbed when Geralt had done nothing to deserve Jaskier’s heart. Hundreds of people had felt Jaskier’s burning eyes on them while he sang a love song and fallen for it – for Jaskier - only to watch him leave come the morning. Even if Geralt had him, even if only for a night or the duration of a song, he would be left wanting and he would try to keep Jaskier.

A songbird could never love a cage.

Geralt had been selfish for years trying to stay with Jaskier and so he continued to be now as he tore his eyes away from Jaskier and fled the festival, fled the illusion that he had mistaken for reality, fled Jaskier’s smile and his yearning song and his eyes that would never look at him again in the way he wanted them to.

He was selfish turning his back on Jaskier without goodbye in the middle of a performance that Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t interrupt to come after him and ask why he left, why he couldn’t continue to travel with him.

How could Geralt have explained it anyway? What excuse could he give other than that his heart was not as hardened as it was meant to be and that one day he would shatter Jaskier if he didn’t shatter himself now.

He had tried getting Jaskier to make the sensible decision to leave Geralt before when Geralt hadn’t been strong enough to make it himself. He had told him time and time again how dangerous the Path was and still Jaskier had stayed by his side. Jaskier had disregarded the threat for his own safety in order to tend to Geralt’s wounds, unknowing that each gentle touch was turning his heart from stone into oh so breakable glass.

Geralt knew that later if he had one regret, it would be leaving Jaskier without telling him, telling him he was not coming back, telling him that he wanted nothing more than to stay, telling him that Jaskier was the most important part of his life but that he was willing to leave so Jaskier could be happy and safe.

Still, Geralt kept going until the sounds of the festival died away and he couldn’t hear Jaskier’s song anymore and further still.

If he heard even a hint of that song, his mind would drift again into forbidden territory and if he stopped running in order to think about confessing the sin of loving Jaskier to him, he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist turning back and doing so.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he did. Once Jaskier knew the truth of why Geralt couldn’t stay with him, of how Geralt yearned to have him in a way he never could have, he would reel back in disgust and say he never wanted to speak to Geralt again. Geralt’s heart would finally break fully and become what a witcher’s heart was always meant to be.

It would have been easier to go on with a hardened heart and fairer for Jaskier to know why he was being left.

But Geralt was selfish and so he didn’t look back.

--

Jaskier’s fingers danced over the strings, coaxing the music from the instrument in a way that seemed harder than ever, though it set something in his chest loose and made him feel light as a feather. It felt exhilarating to pour his heart out into song and have Geralt actually listen for once.

Jaskier could have soared if it weren’t for Geralt’s eyes grounding him in the here and now. He could have stayed like this forever, could have told Geralt all he wanted him to know. He almost believed his wish had finally come true and Geralt understood.

But even the most resilient dandelions wither eventually and people have to face the facts that no more wishes will be granted.

Geralt turned away harshly and instead of soaring, Jaskier plummeted back onto the earth as this dreamlike illusion was shattered.

His fingers didn’t falter as he watched Geralt push his way through the crowd and away from Jaskier. A hollow wound gaped in his chest. He had been too open, had allowed himself to show the truth and had been stupid enough to think Geralt wouldn’t run when he saw it.

Geralt faded from view and Jaskier was still playing. Why was he still playing? There was a painful irony in singing about his devotion and hope for something he could never have, for his love to see the truth, while the person he sang for had finally seen past the lie and was leaving. Was it truly devotion if he just let him go without at least attempting to make things right between them? Was it love when he continued to sing about what his beloved despised so much? Jaskier’s fingers faltered on a chord.

What the hell was he still doing here?

The song cut off abruptly when Jaskier’s fingers stilled altogether and his voice dried up mid-sentence.

There were murmurs and confused shouts around him he was sure, but he ignored them all. He put the lute down carelessly and chased after Geralt as he always had, praying that this wouldn’t be the time Geralt finally decided he had had enough and forbid Jaskier from following him any longer.

As soon as he left the town square and the decorative lanterns that had lit up the festival he was plunged in darkness. His lungs were burning as he ran through streets and alleyways, always searching for a hint of where Geralt could be.

Witchers were quiet when they hunted and it seemed they were so too when they were the ones being chased. There was no hint of where Geralt was, no visible sign of him, no sound.

But Jaskier knew Geralt blind and deaf. He would always find him.

“Geralt!” Calling for him with a broken and trembling voice was unfair, he knew, but in his defence, the distress in his voice was as real as could be and no matter how frustrated or angry Geralt was, not once has he not come to Jaskier’s aid when he called out for him in fear.

Only mere moments after Jaskier’s shout broke off, Geralt appeared at the far end of the alley. Jaskier couldn’t see his face in the dark, but his silhouette spoke of tension as if Geralt was bracing himself for a fight. His golden eyes reflected the sparse light and raked over Jaskier.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, though he stopped his approach when he must have realised that Jaskier wasn’t in imminent danger.  

“You left.” Jaskier too halted his steps, though his body screamed at him to breach the distance between them, to grab Geralt’s hand and never let him go.

“Go back, Jaskier.” If possible Geralt’s posture stiffened even more. “Enjoy the festival. When you get back to the room I will be out of your hair.”

“What?” No, he couldn’t mean what Jaskier thought he meant. He couldn’t!

“I’m leaving. For good. I never should have allowed myself to – to take you as a travel companion.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurted out and couldn’t stop himself from taking one step towards Geralt. “Is it because of what I said before? I already told you I wouldn’t say it again.” His voice became frantic. “Or was it because of the song? Was it too much? I will stop. I promise I will stop. I will sing about your hunts and nothing more.” It was all he could promise. He knew it wasn’t enough; he knew he should take all his confessions back and tell Geralt the declaration of his feelings had held no meaning, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny them, now that he had spoken them. “I won’t speak about those kinds of feelings ever again. Just please don’t leave me!”

Jaskier wished he could read Geralt’s face, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the look of rejection that surely was there.

Geralt stared at him for a long time in silence before he turned away. Jaskier’s stomach sank. This was as much of an answer as he would get. At least he didn’t have to hear Geralt use his precious sparse words to break his heart.

“I’m not leaving because of the song,” Geralt finally said with a tight voice. It was impossible to tell if he forced the words out or if they tumbled out while he was unable to stop himself.

“Then why?” Jaskier’s desperation was impossible to miss and Geralt would be able to sense the tears that pricked at Jaskier’s eyes, but Jaskier didn’t care. “I will be better. I promise. Just tell me, please. What did I do wrong?” Don’t tell me that loving you is my mistake. Not that. That is the one thing I can’t regret, can’t amend.

“Nothing.” Geralt’s shoulders sagged and he still refused to look at Jaskier. “It’s nothing you could change.”

“What can’t I change?” Whatever it was, Jaskier would try.

The silence between them was raw and heavy until Geralt finally turned back to Jaskier.

“That witchers are unlovable.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped him. He took another step forward and almost expected Geralt to flinch away. He didn’t. He just stood there unmoving with his eyes following Jaskier’s every move as if he was waiting and ready to accept whatever penalty Jaskier inflicted on him.

“That’s not true.”

“It has to be.” Geralt’s voice cracked as if Jaskier’s words were throwing him off a cliff he had desperately clung to. “Because if it isn’t – if witchers can be loved – that means it is just me. Just me who you won’t fall in love with.”

Jaskier flinched back, stunned. Geralt couldn’t have possibly just said what he thought. If that was what had Geralt running away that meant that Jaskier’s hope wasn’t foolish, that he could have what he had thought out of reach.

“Geralt…” There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings he wanted to put into words, but that name was the only word that could come close to holding all of them. “Geralt, I –“

“Don’t.” Geralt’s voice was harsh and cut through the lightness and warmth bubbling up in Jaskier’s chest like a knife. Geralt’s tone was hard and ungiving, like the walls that Jaskier had spent decades carefully tearing down were up again. “Don’t apologise for not being able to feel for me what I have always known I couldn’t have and don’t tell me I’ll get over it. I won’t. I tried for years and it’s impossible. It’s too late for me.”

“As it is for me,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt’s head dropped as if invisible strings holding him up had been cut as all fight left him.

“I know.” The defeat in his tone sent a sharp pang through Jaskier’s chest. “I know it’s too late to make it better now. I just wanted to leave before you’d have to find out. I never wanted to burden you with knowing.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jaskier came closer still, carefully and slowly as if approaching a frightened animal. Each step made his heart beat faster until finally he could reach out and brush his fingers across Geralt’s cheek. Geralt’s eyes closed and he leaned into the touch as if it would be the last time. “It is too late for me to get over it. Over being in love with you.” A breathless laugh escaped him. “Though I never exactly tried to fight it in the first place.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. They were wide and disbelieving, searching Jaskier’s face for something he was all too willing to let him find this time.

“Jask.” His voice was full of wonder. “You mean all this time… I always thought you didn’t… I thought you couldn’t feel as I do.”

Jaskier let his hand trail down Geralt’s neck over his arm until he found his hand. He lifted it to press it gently against his own chest, hoping the rapid rhythm of his heart could do what his words couldn’t and convince Geralt of the truth.

“I am not like you. I can’t repress my feeling and I don’t want to. I love differently. Hard and fast and over too quickly.” He swallowed thickly. “Except for when it’s you. It didn’t end. There was not a single beautiful moment that made me fall in love with you and there wasn’t one ugly instance that made me fall out of love. Every second I spent with you I fell deeper until it became impossible for me to ever not love you anymore.”

There was so much more Jaskier wanted to say, but all words got lost in his throat when Geralt surged forward, stopping just before their lips could touch.

He was close enough that their breaths were mingling.

There was hesitation in his eyes, an apprehensive uncertainty, but stronger yet was that fondness that set Jaskier’s chest ablaze.

“May I?” Geralt said it so quietly, nearly as if he was still scared of what the answer may be, but he was brave enough to say it nonetheless.

Instead of replying, Jaskier closed the gap. It took nothing more than a tilt of his head and the slightest push forward but it felt like an unbearable distance.

Jaskier sighed when their lips finally met. It wasn’t a grand kiss, barely worth mentioning. It was little more than a brushing of lips, sweet and fragile and more than Jaskier had ever allowed himself to dream of.

It was over too quickly when Geralt carefully drew back again, only enough to be able to form words.

“Jask.”

Jaskier didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward again, chasing another kiss that Geralt seemed all too happy giving him, before pulling away once more.

“I need to tell you –“

Another kiss, this time broken by the smile that played around Jaskier’s lips and the soft laugh that escaped Geralt’s.

When Geralt leaned back this time, he rested their foreheads together, bringing his hands up to caress Jaskier’s face.

“Damn it,” he said with a hoarse chuckle, sounding strangely breathless. “Can you stop kissing me for one moment so I can say it back?”

“Hmm, tempting,” Jaskier said with a grin. “But I spent far too much time not kissing you to resist now that I know I’m allowed to.”

Geralt’s breath shuddered and his thumb brushed across Jaskier’s lips with aching gentleness.

“And I wasted too much time not telling you how I felt.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to claim Geralt’s lips again and again, he wanted more than anything to hear Geralt say the words he had dreamed of for longer than he could remember.

“I love you, Jaskier.”

He had known what Geralt would say and still he couldn’t help but let out a small gasp.

When Jaskier didn’t move, Geralt let out a nervous chuckle. “What, are you not going to kiss me again?”

Jaskier shook his head the tiniest bit, just enough that Geralt could feel the movement without breaking the contact of their foreheads.

“Not yet,” Jaskier said and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to get distracted.”

“Distracted from what?”

“From this. This moment, you saying it. I want to remember it forever, how your voice sounded so beautifully breathless, how you are holding me, how it’s just the two of us and how this moment belongs to none but us. I want to keep it. I never want to forget even the smallest detail about this.”

“Then you’ll need to remember a lot of moments from now on,” Geralt repeated again. “I will never stop saying it. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Later, when the sounds of the festival would die down and the streets would be filled with the townsfolk going back to their homes, Jaskier would take Geralt’s hand, unwilling to break contact for even a moment and lead him back to the inn. Maybe he would play the song for him again, a private performance just for his love, the first one Geralt would ever hear in full, the first one where Jaskier would be happy as never before. Maybe Geralt would tell him the truth about what had made him fall in love with Jaskier, he would share the secret that would be only theirs to know. Maybe they would kiss and fall asleep in each other’s arms or maybe Jaskier would do his best to coax Geralt into dancing with him again in the privacy of their own small room, just because they could and Geralt would grumble but he’d oblige and do so with a smile. Maybe later they would laugh as the full extent of their stupidity sank in. Maybe Jaskier would write a song about it. Or maybe it would be just their story and they would be the only ones knowing all of it.

There was so much they could and would do later on, not only this night but for the rest of their lives. They had time.

For now, they just stood where no one could see them, where there wasn’t an ounce of pretend between them and held each other, knowing for the first time that they loved and were loved in return.

#thanks ban-aard for the insight on the dancing thing #fake dating #I scream a truth you hear a lie #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #witcher #witcher fanfic #fic #my writing #multichapter

[j-hawthorn]

A Pleasant Day Off

(Cheeky little VetVimes. Mildly hot and heavy! It’s also posted over on AO3 here!)

---

There was something about dried cranberries that really rubbed Sam Vimes the wrong way. Why take a perfectly average berry, and make it a smaller, sadder version of itself? The ones in the bowl in front of him were sour.

Peeling an orange, Vimes leaned back in his chair, and rubbed sleep from his eyes with his sleeve. It was a surprisingly quiet day. He had woken at around mid-morning to Sybil kissing him awake. After a delightful forty minutes of enjoying his large, soft wife, (mostly between those glorious thighs of hers), he had been pushed out of bed and went to shave.

Technically this was his day off. But Sam couldn't help feel like it was more of a house arrest. He was under strict instructions not to leave the grounds. It was drilled into him before she left, that if Sybil caught the slightest whiff of his leaving, he would be in for a world of disappointed looks and extremely pointed sighs. He couldn't bear the thought.

Wiping orange juice from his chin, Sam yawned, crossing his legs at the ankles. The sun had made its way through the murk of the city. It was, he thought, a good day to have a smoke in the garden.

Nipping through the kitchens, Vimes nabbed himself a freshly baked bread roll that he slathered in butter and jam, grinning to himself at the simple pleasure.

The years of food scarcity he (and pretty much everyone else he knew) had endured never really left him, and instead meant that he still relished the simple joys of a good piece of warm bread. You could always trust warm bread. He was glad he'd kept that part of himself. The one that knew to take what he could get and hold on. It came from a harder life. Now in theory he could snap his fingers and have anything he wanted, yet Vimes clung to the memories of what it was like. He needed to remember. He owed it to his past self. And to those who it was their every day.

Vimes found a bench at the base of a large tree. He sat with his back against the trunk, legs stretched out, arms folded and chin resting on his chest. In the warm he almost nodded off. Vimes fell into that half waking doze, where he could still hear everything around him, but was pleasantly fuzzy.

To his left a twig very pointedly snapped. He huffed, not moving, 'So, what brings you here, then?'

There was a soft laugh, and the light swish of robes. Vimes felt someone sit beside him. 'Perhaps,' said the visitor. 'I have come to visit the Duke on his day off, or to bring him some documents worthy of his attention.'

Sam cracked an eye open, 'You got something?'

Havelock Vetinari smirked, 'Goodness me, no. I wouldn't dare go against Lady Sybil like that.'

Vimes huffed, closing his eye and shifting into an even more slouched position, 'So, a social visit then.'

'Is that so odd?'

'Depends on who you ask, I suppose.'

Their shoulders brushed, 'As you're the only one here, commander, it's obvious I'm asking you.'

Sam was quiet for a moment. He sat up, fishing his cigar case and lighter from his pockets. 'I haven't seen you for a while,' he said finally. He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees and sent a puff of smoke up into the breeze. 'Outside of work, that is.'

Birds chirped overhead. There was a soft sigh beside him, followed by the light tapping of a single fingernail on a cane. 'And that is...regrettable.'

Vimes chuckled, shaking his head. He stood, hands on his hips and leaned back, joints cracking. 'Come on,' he said, gently nudging Havelock's foot with his own. 'I'll pop the kettle on -' he paused to scratch his chin, 'Actually, I think Sybil got some of those little cakes you're so fond of stashed away somewhere.'

'Capital.'

The men sat in the drawing room, a pot of tea steaming between them. Sam puffed on his cigar; arm folded beneath his head. Fingertips brushed his lips. He cocked a brow, letting Havelock steal the cigar from him. His tall companion stretched his legs out, and slouched, sending his own cloud of smoke into the room.

One hand resting on his stomach, Havelock turned, and caught Sam’s eye. Vimes gave a half smile, turning his attention to the long fingers that held his cigar. Vetinari’s sleeve had slipped down, exposing his pale wrist. Sam swallowed, reaching over to lightly touch the back of his hand, pulling it towards himself.

‘Really, Vimes, if you wanted your cigar back, you could simply have said so -’ Sam pressed his lips to the underside of that wrist and Havelock stopped speaking. He took the cigar from him, stubbing it out in his empty teacup, not once releasing his hold of Vetinari’s hand. He shifted closer, their knees bumping.

'You always are a surprise, Sam,' Havelock whispered. Vimes looked up to catch his eye and smiled at the pleasing pinkness that rose on his cheeks. Vetinari moved. Settling on Sam's lap, an arm snaked around his shoulders, he pressed himself close, forehead resting against Sam's.

He wouldn't say it out loud, but Sam had missed him. Missed this. He let one hand trail down Havelock's spine, the other resting on his hip. He kissed his neck, eliciting a stifled moan from him. Thin fingers bunched the fabric on his shoulders. Sam tightened his arm around the small of Havelock's back, his other hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Teeth grazed his thumb, and Sam grunted in approval.

'How's your leg?' Vimes asked, nipping playfully at Vetinari's earlobe.

'...Not great,' Came the quiet reply.

Sam sighed, resting his chin on his shoulder. He clapped Havelock on the back, 'Rightio then, come on.' With as much care as he could muster, Sam scooped him into his arms, carrying him out of the room.

Havelock frowned, 'Oh, honestly, do you really think this is necessary?'

'Yup!'

Vimes carried him easily upstairs, ignoring his huffs and grumbles. He nudged open the bedroom door, kicking it shut behind them. Carefully, He placed Havelock on the bed and sat beside him, working on the laces of his shoes. He eased them off, tossing them to the floor.

'Right, what's something that'll help? Sybil's got some ointments for...Well, everything, in the bathroom -'

'Sam-'

'I think there's a hot water bottle in there too, actually -'

'Shut up and get over here.'

Vimes, for once, did as he was told. He lay down beside Havelock, chin resting on folded arms. Vetinari rolled onto his side, palm on Sam's cheek. His touch was warm, and Vimes found himself turning his head to press a kiss to his palm.

'I didn't come here for you to fuss,' Havelock said. 'I came here to see you -'

'Yeah, I gathered that-'

'I missed you.'

Brows notched, Vimes leaned in, kissing him softly. 'Yeah,' He muttered against his lips. 'I uh...Yeah,' he sighed, looking into Vetinari's eyes. His companion smiled softly and stroked his cheek before carefully pulling Vimes on top of himself. The commander chuckled, and while he was mindful of his bad leg, he didn't hesitate to grab Havelock's other thigh.

Vetinari dragged his nails up under Sam's shirt, making him shiver. Sam shifted to straddle his hips, keeping his weight on his knees. He pulled his shirt off, and Vetinari ran his calculating fingers over the planes of his chest.

'That's new,' He tutted, finger tips tracing a fresh scar along Sam's ribs.

Vimes just shrugged his shoulder. He fumbled with the tiny buttons on Havelock's top, frowning. The bastard simply smiled, watching Sam struggle and was no bloody help at all.

Sam huffed, 'Seriously, what is with all this?'

'Do you have a problem with my fashion choices?' Vetinari chuckled, running a hand through Sam's hair.

'I do when you're bloody done up tighter than a ducks ars-'

A hand clamped over his mouth, 'I'm going to stop you right there, Sir Samuel. None of that, now.'

Sam smirked under his hand, and nipped at his skin. Vetinari rolled his eyes, nimbly undoing his own buttons in a matter of seconds. Vimes watched as his layers were removed. He leaned in, kissing along Havelock's now exposed chest.

Hands combed through his hair and soon the pair were lost in one another. They both shed the rest of their clothing. Strong, sword calloused hands roamed while delicate, long fingers pressed and pulled. Moans were muffled by hard kisses, open mouthed and urging.

By the time they eventually eased themselves apart, Sam's back was covered with scratches and Havelock's neck and shoulders were red with bites. Vimes panted, his entire body fizzing as he gently guided his lover to lay among the plethora of pillows. He pulled the heavy quilt over them both, pulling Havelock close. He settled against him, chin on his shoulder, Havelock's hand in his hair.

Vimes yawned, eyes half closed. He chuckled softly to himself, nuzzling into both Havelock and the pillows. He sunk into the bedding with a small smile.

A kiss was pressed to the top of his head. 'What are you giggling about?' Vetinari asked.

Sam snorted, blinking up at him, 'So, two questions. One: When did you and Sybil concoct this little plan? And two: Has it gone how you hoped?'

'...Last week. And the plan isn't over yet,' Vetinari chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Sam, chin on top of his head. 'I lost track of time while you were doing that thing with your tongue, but, at some point, Sybil is joining us.'

'...But she went shopping.'

'Yes, and I believe it was to Mr. Scrope's... Establishment.'

'...Oh...'

Havelock chuckled, kissing the top of his head again, 'I hear he has a new line of leather pieces that are quite delicate, yet durable.'

Sam sunk further under the blankets; his forehead now pressed against Havelock's chest. 'Well then...' He muttered, cheeks burning red at the thought of his wife, and leather, and whatever interesting little trinkets and toys she'd no doubt bring home to experiment with.

He smiled, hugging Havelock, eyes closing. This really was going to be a damn fine day off.

#Crafty sybil pulling strings #getting her lads together #My writing #discworld #vetvimes #havelock vetinari #Sam Vimes #fanfiction #also on ao3 #discworld fanfiction