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adelle-ein · 11 months

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lace's oc2path review

Disclaimer: I am deeply critical of this game and of Octopath 1, and I very much loathe COTC, so there will be a lot of negativity in this post. Don't like don't read!!!111 Also explicit spoilers for everything duh, and game typical content warnings.

Octopath and I have a…complicated relationship. It was my first Switch game. I had fond memories of it, even if it was never my favorite, I found it very hard, I really only cared about Primrose and Cyrus as characters, and I never even got all the secret jobs, let alone beat Galdera. Then the mobile game COTC came along, bringing with it a clusterfuck of horrific misogyny, racism, and frankly terrible grimdark story writing, severely souring my relationship with the franchise. I tried to replay it in 2022 and couldn’t even get to a chapter 2 — the grind was awful, the world was bland, the stories were just insufferably boring at best and misogynistic at worst. The lack of relationships or even acknowledgement between the characters made the whole thing feel stilted. Therion works alone, don’t mind the seven other people walking behind him! Now let’s explain the ways all the stories connect in a diary info dump locked behind a boss rush!

Octopath 1 has staggering design flaws and, as more and more JRPGS come to the Switch, those flaws become strikingly pronounced. Party dynamics are important to me, and without them, most of 1’s cast remained stubbornly boring. The game was hard, but not fun enough for me to want to grind OR learn advanced strats. Every chapter of every story follows the same basic plot beats and the layout of the world is boring and predictable, with even the scenery getting old eventually.

So I had mixed feelings when Octopath 2 was announced, especially when I saw they hadn't changed a single one of the main 8 classes and that the Crossed Paths would only be between four duos of characters. Still, the game went on sale for $40 in mid-April. Split the price with a sibling and here we are.

For starters: The graphics in this game are fantastic. I’m still not in love with HD-2D, mostly because of the lack of expressiveness in the tiny character pixels. Watching them flop over dead in a pile of blood in Triangle Strategy was only ever hilarious, and most emotional scenes fall flat. Strangely, Asano continues insisting on using this style for really drama-heavy, emotional games. Luckily, they’ve made some strides forward with OT2. The bigger human sprites are drastically more dynamic and expressive, move more fluidly than ever before, and have ample opportunity to demonstrate both emotion and personality. Everyone’s unique walk cycles and Bewildering Grace dances really bring character to the game. We can get a clearer look at job outfits and have animations for all kinds of things like dancing and character interactions. And HD-2D, as always, continues to shine in the backgrounds, special effects, and enemy sprites. The game is very pretty, and while I still don’t think HD-2D is the best choice for any character-driven game, the sprites don’t feel nearly as rough and awkward as they do in their predecessors. I hope Team Asano retains this style in future HD-2D installments, especially interpersonal ones.

The world is huge, sprawling, and genuinely FUN to explore this time, with various nooks and crannies to dig into. The day/night cycle and added path actions really add a lot of fun and variety to gameplay. The world not being a perfect circle moving outwards really makes things more exciting and less tedious, and the towns, cities, and dungeons had so much variety. I genuinely had fun on the journey this time, while in 1 i was just dragging myself from town to town. The bonus bosses, latent powers, hidden classes, sidequests, and various new game mechanics all felt like upgrades from the first game to me.

The music is banging, no criticisms here. I’ve gotten the impression before that Revo and Nishiki have been influenced by and learning from each other and I think this really shows it. Super fun, loved that we have more theme variants now. VA work was solid, with some very fun moments but nothing I was super amazed by. That's not a problem, though, it's really all I ask for in a game. Loved the added voice lines, the unique voice lines for certain bosses (I don't wanna fight no doggy-dog…), and how the characters interact with each other in battle as the game proceeds.

I’ll continue with my thoughts on the eight characters/stories one by one and then give some overall opinions on the “main plot” and game itself.

Ochette:

The constant food talk gets old fast. Seriously, every conversation this girl has ends up being about food or similar. I also think her voice acting may have been mixed oddly, sometimes it's quiet and sometimes at too high a volume, she ends up sounding REALLY loud and grating a lot of the time. Overall, she really doesn't feel as fleshed out as every other character, and it's a shame. That being said, she does have some very fun travel banters and brings a fun "kid of the group" energy, it's just…she's twenty goddamn years old.

Story-wise, had a lot of potential but constant food talk and the weird fantasy racism (why do they all speak broken English) were huge drags. I thought the stuff with the unchosen starter was a really good idea, but there just wasn't enough time lent to it, and overall the first and last chapters felt completely disconnected from the middle ones. Oh well.

Castti:

No mercy, only pain. She's just a great character who ended up with so much depth and felt like a twist on the kindly, maternal healer. "Do harm when necessary to save lives" is a great archetype for doctor characters and Castti plays the role fantastically. She has been through so much and still chooses to be gentle when she can, but if she has to she'll bring the axe down. She has a talent for making do. She has so many fantastic scenes and lines and flips the "mom friend" character around on its head. I really love her, she's great, she's up there with Primrose for me forever.

Her story was also my favorite, and her boss the toughest to beat by a comfortable margin (what worked in the end was no strategy just hikari, throne, and their knives). Sure, some beats are always predictable in Octopathland, but chapter 3 was beautifully done, and the use of game mechanics and the interface to play with the effects of Castti's amnesia were really enjoyable. Nothing groundbreaking, but a strong and solid story that felt emotional and meaningful as well as unique and independent from the stuff all three games have done and rehashed. Castti herself is of course a huge part of that, but this is one of the rare Octopath stories that didn't feel like it was being fully carried by the strength of the MC.

Throne:

Throne herself, I adore. She's fun, she's determined, she's witty, she's like Primrose in some ways but firmly different in others. She doesn't want to kill, but it's all she knows. She has some fantastic travel banters. I laughed out loud at her first "Bravo, Temenos." And the little "tada…" when she uses Disguise. She's great, she has endless potential, and boy does she have fun path actions.

Warning for discussion of incest, abuse, and rape in the following paragraph :(

Unfortunately, her story is the classic edgy Octopath misogyny fest. What was with that random sex slave and what the hell happened to her??? We don't care, she only exists to show that Bad Guys Evil and that Throne Can't Be A Hero Because She Is Tainted. Everyone wants to rape Throne and that is made way too clear. Some of those people are her fucking brothers, because why the fuck not. And the ending with the "but was it worth it?" tone was phenomenally stupid. Octopath asking the quintessential question: is it okay to escape slavery even if you have to kill your slavers? What if your slavers love you (even though they keep you in a collar and whip you and offer you up as a rape victim and force you to kill people?) What if your slavers are your parents or siblings? Also not loving any of the Marietta story, anything that involves "she killed our baby" is going to set my hair on end in this day and age and I just did not like the way any of that was portrayed and handled. Even if Claude didn't rape Marietta, it's clear he raped several of the other mothers including a few of the ones we meet, and they're all forcibly separated from their babies and left to die — it's just too much. It's too disgusting. The huge conspiracy itself fell flat due to the general creep factor and tried way too hard to be edgy. Throne cannot be happy within her story for even a second and it's way overdone. I'm sick, absolutely sick, of this type of story and COTC trying to play with "but she loves her abuser" stuff and doing a frankly disgusting and often fetishizing job. Overall, it felt like a COTC plotline, and that is very much a bad thing for me! I'm glad that the postgame sidequest cleared up the Mira plotline and actually had some "breaking the cycle" themes, but the fact that we've just apparently left the residents of Lostseed to suffer and die instead of even attempting to bring them to the Garden or somewhere they can get help is pretty gross.

But again, I adore Throne herself. Get her out of this game. Put her in Animal Crossing or something.

Osvald:

And now we flip around! Talk about pleasant surprises! I was not expecting to like him or his story at all, it felt so Octopath edgy and woman-in-fridges-y. And to an extent, it is, but the game is actually self-aware of this and gently pokes fun at it to a degree that makes it more bearable. Osvald is an Edgy Man and the other travelers can and will be confused by it. That's really fun. Being able to save Elena flips everything about the story on its head in a good way, and The Answer being The Power Of Love is both so funny and so sweet and fitting. Just a genuinely heartfelt and optimistic story in the end despite where it begins, I really liked it despite another dead wife on the pile. The antithesis to Throne's story.

My main complaint is that the story pacing ends up really off due to two out of five chapters being at the very start and about the prison escape. I really think he could have benefited from another chapter between his 3 and 4. I wish the ending was more emotionally satisfying, but it does feel in character and leave on a hopeful note. Would have enjoyed, if not a reunion scene between him and Elena, something more significant about them and their relationship than the tiny nod we got at the end. All that being said, liked both him and his story a lot!

Partitio:

He really is very funny. Those voice lines are a hoot, every Scent of Commerce is just ridiculous, and his determination to stop That Devil Called Poverty by having a polite meeting with the CEO of capitalism and giving him some $$$ is just absurd. As a character, I can’t say I find him as interesting as Castti, Throne, or Osvald, but he’s entertaining if nothing else, and his first chapter pacing is creative. He was my MC and spent tons of time running Arcanist Sidestepper or Latent Power Catapult Inventor, so of course I got pretty attached. Yeehaw let's do it catapult go-go-go

But let’s be real here. Any story about a merchant “helping the poor” by doing more capitalism is going to be kind of a mess. It wasn’t a harmful mess, but it felt like the story was deliberately skirting around making any meaningful commentary. None of this is surprising, but I spent a lot of chapter 4 rolling my eyes. Roque illegally modifying a contract after signature on multiple occasions is just completely brushed aside, and Partitio happily SIGNS a contract with him KNOWING Roque has a habit of violating and editing them. It’s all just very…dumb. Seize the means of production Partitio! Don’t just give The Man eighty billion leaves! Also, Roque apparently KEEPS all that money in the postgame even though he’s allegedly reformed, soooooo (I know he's using it on the railroads but like….Yeah)

But yeah, while it was a silly story, it wasn’t much else. He's a fun guy though. I wonder if octopath 3 will bring us our first edgy merchant MC.

Agnea:

She’s sweet and fun. I don’t really feel like I have a lot to say about her, which isn’t a negative? I enjoy her theme, I love all her dance animations, I think her constantly-slipping accent is pretty funny (I’m genuinely not sure if the premise is that Agnea hides her accent and occasionally slips into it by mistake, or if the VA keeps forgetting that Agnea is supposed to sound Southern and only remembers when Agnea says “oh my stars” or something lol. It’s funny though.) But like I said, I enjoy her, she’s not as grating as some of the other “goodhearted, happy go lucky” characters from 1.

Similarly, while I don’t have much to say about her story, that’s not to say I disliked it. I thought it was sweet. Dolcinea and her gf are some of my favorite NPCs in the game, the final battle kicked my ass in a fun way, and most of all I love how ¾ of Agnea’s bosses are just her going “I want to speak to the manager!!” and it actually working. I liked it a LOT better than tressa’s, which it’s constantly compared to, since it felt like an actual coherent story. She’s a star!

Temenos:

Fandom made me dislike Temenos before I set foot in the Crestlands. In those early days especially, every woman in this game was ignored in favor of an AVALANCHE of fanart of him and crick. People say weird shit about Temenos being a twink, some of which is frankly homophobic and/or creepy. I pretty strongly disliked his predecessor Fandom Favorite Man, Therion. Man had a lot riding against him. All that being said, once I got to know him I liked Temenos just fine! He's a priest who can't remember the Lord's Prayer and calls the scripture boring at every given opportunity. Also enjoys beating the shit out of people for information and can barely be contained by those around him. It's a fun character type.

His story, though, is honestly just blah. I guessed the big murderer about as soon as they appeared on screen, and by the time I finished the story I was pretty confident I knew who was manipulating them too…and I was right. As funny as it is that Temenos can use his "special powers" to just, like, see something lying on the floor, the investigation/mystery is really lacking and dull, which is disappointing. Particularly since his story is the "main" one that reveals the ultimate final boss, and the only one that gets a full follow-up cutscene in the extra chapters — it ended up just being a big pile of text dumping, which is not a fun way to do a mystery/whodunit!

Also Crick is boring.

Hikari:

Hikari is Just Fine. He's sometimes fun, largely unremarkable, just another member of the crowd. The same is pretty much true of his story as well — it's just Fine. Has a pretty hilarious mom-fridging as horses whinny loudly in the background, which I think was iconic. Dunban levels of "bad at making friends" (and while it's not "Therion works alone" levels of stupid by any means, does feel a little awkward that he keeps talking about needing his Allies and True Friends while seven people he camps with are standing right there…) I really just don't have a lot to say about him or his story, which isn't a bad thing! It was fine, he's fine. My only real complaint is that I don't love that his overcoming his Evil Blood was tied to him also having Good Blood on his mother's side — that detail seems irrelevant to everything, and I would have preferred his overcoming the Shadow and taking back his Hidden Power just be framed as him having willpower and a good, kind heart. But I am nitpicking here, since I think that was the intention — just wish blood hadn't been brought into it, y'know? Anyway yeah Hikari's fine.

Together Now:

The Crossed Paths are SO short (other than waiting for that insanely long lute performance to be over) and that's a shame. I wish there were more of them, between more characters, that they were longer…I hope any future Octopath games play with these concepts. Overall, I mean, it's a huge meaty game and it's not that I wanted to be playing it longer, I was satisfied by the length. I just really would have appreciated more character interaction. I'm glad that you can view the travel banters freely and easily from the menus now, and that there are more of them. But I do wish that the characters emoted during them instead of just standing there staring blankly at each other. Huge improvement over one, just not quite there yet!

I will say the Extra Chapters/final boss were also huge improvement over 1's, with actual cutscenes, some character interaction, more consistent foreshadowing, and finally, a boss with no boss rush leadup whose level of challenge is more "difficult but doable" than "haha fuck you." My hopes for this game had been that they would lower the final boss difficulty and make a bigger, harder bonus boss for hardcore players to enjoy, and I'm really happy that they did so! I beat Vide :)

That being said, most of the Extra Chapter reveals were entirely contained in heaps of diary entries again. You guys expect me to remember who Tanzy was or care?? Other than the Arcanette cutscene/battle, things never got that emotional or exciting. A few travel banters tried to fill in the blanks, but there just wasn't enough emotion or stakes put into the scenes. That being said, I enjoyed the Vide battle and it was the perfect difficulty level for me, and I enjoyed the ending and epilogue a lot! It just didn't quite do everything I want from a JRPG ending (which…has been my tune with almost every newly released JRPG I've played in the last couple years :( we need better endings in these things.)

Will also say that the Osterra nods don't really make sense, but I'm personally subscribing to Osterra and Solistia straight up being parallel worlds (I suspect COTC will be confirming this one way or another in the JP version shortly, but like, eh).

Overall, it was a good game, I liked it, it's hands down my favorite Octopath and probably my second favorite Asano game after BD2. Despite my complaints, wishes things had diverged further from the original game, and generally feeling like this series is a bit overrated in JRPG circles, Oct2path is solid, fun, and a big upgrade from its predecessors. Stan Castti

#lace reviews #txt #octopath traveler spoilers #octopath traveler 2 spoilers #octopath 2 spoilers #octopath traveler ii spoilers

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 17

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“We should get champagne or something, to celebrate,” Scully says, her eyes roving over the menu.

After three weeks of rehab, Teena Mulder has finally been able to move home, though she’s under the constant care of an in-home nurse. Knowing that she’s back in her own space, no longer the medical setting that made her miserable, is a huge weight off Mulder’s shoulders. This is why they’re out to dinner, celebrating a hopeful return to what feels like normal.

“Only if you’re driving home,” Mulder replies playfully, “you know what bubbly does to me.”

She gives him a flirtatious smirk. “Yes, I do.”

“Dana?” someone calls out, and they look over to see two women. One is tall and slim with light olive-toned skin and brunette shoulder-length hair. The other is significantly shorter, Latina, with thick hips and an ample bustline, her dark hair cascading down her back.

“Monica, hi,” Scully replies warmly to the tall woman. She turns to the shorter one, “you must be Dahlia.”

“Guilty as charged,” the short woman answers jovially with a heavy Spanish accent.

“This is my boyfriend, Fox Mulder,” Scully continues, gesturing to him, “Mulder, this is Monica, I’ve told you about her.”

Mulder nods in understanding. Scully has often mentioned a woman she regularly has coffee and lunch with who works in VICAP.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Mulder says, offering his hand to Monica.

She takes his hand with a firm grip, then gestures to the short woman, “this is my partner, Dahlia.”

Mulder and Scully both greet Dahlia with handshakes.

“Well, we’ll leave you to your meal, it was nice to run into you,” Monica says.

“Would you like to join us? We haven’t even ordered yet,” Scully offers, giving Mulder a quick glance to confirm that this is okay. He nods almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, we don’t want to impose,” Monica answers.

“Not at all,” Mulder jumps in, correctly picking up that Monica is worried about imposing on him, not Scully, “I’d love to finally get to know this mysterious VICAP woman Scully is always talking about.”

Monica smiles and he moves to the chair beside Scully so she and Dahlia can occupy the other two. They order champagne and appetizers, and he finds the two women to be very pleasant company.

“So, you work in VICAP too, then?” he asks Dahlia, and she gives him a confused look.

“No, I work at a little flower shop in Alexandria,” she answers.

“Oh, sorry, I thought Monica said you were partners.”

Scully shoots him an embarrassed glare, but Dahlia laughs.

“You know, I always tell Monica she should just call me her girlfriend, but she insists on ‘partner,’” she says, looking at Monica affectionately. He can’t help but smile, realizing he’d missed the very obvious fact that they are lovers.

“Girlfriend sounds so juvenile to me,” Monica explains, “partner feels a bit more serious, and permanent.”

“It’s okay, mija,” Dahlia continues, “you can call me your partner, hasta el día en que puedas ser mi esposa.”

Monica beams at her, and while he didn’t understand a word of that, it’s plainly clear that they are very much in love.

Appetizers come and go, flutes of champagne are emptied and refilled and a second bottle is ordered. Scully brings up Monica’s education and her experiences working at the New Orleans field office, and she and Mulder carry on a conversation about the change in VooDoo practices over the course of generations while Scully and Dahlia discover that they have similar taste in literature. Dahlia is telling a story about reading a Spanish translation of Jane Eyre as a teenager and how she still, to this day, has a hard time not calling him “Señor Rochester,” when the waiter brings by the check and Mulder snatches it away just as Dahlia was reaching for it.

“My treat,” Mulder says, pulling out his wallet.

Dahlia gives Monica a look, saying “me gusta este chico,” and Mulder chuckles.

“That I understood,” he quips, and they all laugh.

Back at the apartment, they get ready for bed. Scully is standing at the sink brushing her teeth when Mulder slinks up behind her, slipping his hands onto her hips and dipping his head down to kiss her neck.

“Mmm, there’s that champagne,” she says, the words garbled around her toothbrush.

“It’s not that champagne makes me want you, Scully. I always want you. It just makes me a little more bold,” he explains, trailing his fingers down to the hem of her night shirt and lifting it enough to get a look at her panties.

She swats his hand away. “Let me finish brushing my teeth,” she chastises, and he retreats to the bedroom.

She joins him a few minutes later, slipping under the sheets and draping her bare leg over his. He lifts his arm so she can burrow against his torso, her head on his chest. He rubs his hand across her back, eliciting a contented sigh.

“So, what did you think of Monica?” she asks, her fingertips on his ribcage moving in small circles.

“I really like her, I can see why you two hit it off,” he answers.

“She reminds me a little of you, actually,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his skin. “She has some...out there ideas.”

“Am I not talking enough about cryptids at home, Scully? You had to go find a friend to supplement?” he asks playfully, dipping his fingers into her armpit briefly in a threat to tickle her.

She clamps her arms against her sides and giggles. “We don’t talk much about that, but when I first met her she told me about my aura, so I figured you two would have some things in common.”

“That sounds more like Missy’s purview,” he comments, and then they fall silent for a moment.

“I’m actually really glad we ran into her,” Scully begins, running her hand down his abdomen to rest just beneath his belly button. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up without you having some context.”

“Scully, if you’re about to suggest we have a foursome with Monica and Dahlia, I’m going to owe Frohike five hundred bucks,” he interjects.

She scoffs, “in your dreams, Mulder.”

“I think you mean Melvin.”

“Well, sorry Melvin, but that’s not what I was thinking about.” Her thumb hooks just beneath the elastic of his boxers, his happy trail tickling her skin.

“Okay, sorry, what were you thinking about?”

“What if,” she begins, dragging her finger back and forth under the fabric, “Monica was your partner. On the X files.”

He puts his hand over hers to still the movement, pulling away a bit so she’ll look at him.

“What do you mean, Scully?” He feels a rush of adrenaline, though he’s not yet sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“I mean, she’s open to...unexplainable phenomena. The two of you get along quite well, and she wouldn't try to debunk your work or scoff at your theories. You said they might let you reopen them if you had a partner you could work with, and I think Monica might be that person.”

He considers this for a moment. “Who’s to say she’d even want to, she’s assigned to VICAP-”

“She hates VICAP,” Scully interjects, “it’s a bunch of macho men trying to one-up each other. I know she’d be happy to be reassigned, and to work out of the Hoover building. She and Dahlia live in Palisades; her commute sucks.”

His mind is reeling, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. “I don’t even know where we’d start, Scully. It seems so unlikely.”

“Just ask for a meeting with AD Skinner. If you think it would help for Monica to be a part of that meeting, I know she’d be happy to attend. I’ve told her a bit about The X files and I wouldn’t even bring this up with you unless I was sure she’d be interested. I can talk to her about it on Monday, if you want to give it a shot.”

He looks up at the ceiling, eyebrows stitched in thought. Hope pricks at the corners of his mind, but he knows well enough not to let it take root; he’s been disappointed too many times before. He looks over at Scully, her expression holding all the hope that he won’t allow himself to feel.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks gently.

“Because I want you to be happy,” she says earnestly, pulling her hand from beneath his and bringing it to his cheek, “from the moment I met you, I saw how you light up when you talk about The X Files. If there’s a chance you can investigate them again, I want to pursue it.”

He sighs, a tender smile tugging at his lips. He turns on his side, pushing his palms under her ass and pulling her on top of him as she giggles.

“Okay, talk to Monica,” he says, sliding his hands under her sleep shirt and up her bare back, “I’ll email Skinner on Monday.”

She smiles at him, self-satisfied and victorious.

“Now, about that champagne,” he says, pulling her down for a kiss.

———

She nervously checks her email every two minutes, aggressively clicking the send/receive button. Monica and Mulder were meeting with AD Skinner at 11:00am and it’s now almost 1:00pm and she hasn’t heard anything. That could either be a very good sign, or a very bad one. She has class in ten minutes and needs to head over to the lecture hall to prepare. She refreshes it one more time, and an email pops up.

From: [email protected]

Sent: September 18, 1997 12:51pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: Maybe good news?

He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes, either. He asked us about 800 questions and then said he had to run it by the section chief. My impression is that he wants to make it work, but obviously it’s not totally within his control.

Fingers crossed. Hopefully we’ll know by Friday.

She heaves a big sigh, a cautious smile playing on her lips. She shoots him a quick response and then makes her way to class, praying all the way that the answer will be yes.

———

She’d taken that Friday off, for no reason in particular. Ever since Mulder had effectively moved in with her, she liked to take random weekdays off here and there just to have some time to herself. She’d spent the afternoon reading, re-arranging her spice cupboard, and making space for Mulder to have half her dresser instead of just one drawer. She’s sitting on the floor of the bedroom, surrounded by neatly folded stacks of T-shirts and pajama pants, when she hears the front door open. She checks her watch; it’s only 3:00 pm, too early for Mulder to be home.

“Hello?” she calls out nervously.

The bedroom door swings open and Mulder is there, his chest heaving and a dopey smile on his face.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, “what are you doing home?”

“It was approved,” he says breathlessly, apparently having run from wherever he parked the car.

“What was approved?” she asks, standing.

“The X Files, Scully. They’re reopened, effective Monday, with me and Reyes as the assigned agents,” he says, his smile broadening even further.

Her mouth drops open in disbelief, a surprised smile forming on her lips. She had held out hope, but she was also very aware that the chances were slim. He crosses the room, scooping her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his hips.

“It never would have happened if it wasn’t for you,” he says, adoration in his eyes.

She kisses him, and he turns to lay her on the bed, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it on the floor. Moving quickly, desperately, he tugs at the waistband of her pants, stripping them off along with her panties, and pushes her shirt up to expose her breasts. He begins kissing her neck, down to her chest and belly, pausing intermittently to speak words of affirmation and gratitude until he reaches the apex of her thighs and is quiet.

He laps at her tenderly, humming and sighing as her body catches up and she feels the flush of desire form in her belly. She pushes her fingers into his hair, scraping gently at his scalp in encouragement as he flicks his tongue against her opening and she bucks her hips in response. His thumb swipes gently over her clit as he pushes his tongue inside her, licking at her increasingly slick walls and making her whimper. After a few minutes, he switches to his fingers inside her and his tongue at her clit. Swirling and sucking until she commands him not to stop, he holds steady as she falls apart against his lips, flexing his fingers deep inside to draw it out. Finally she taps on his head, and he crawls back up to plant soft kisses along her jaw.

“Consider us even,” she breathes out, eyes still closed in bliss.

“I think I might like to continue making it up to you,” he says with a nip to her earlobe, and she laughs.

“Okay, if you insist.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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liddolwhynot2000 · 3 years

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Signal

____________________________________

Summary: And Petra had to watch as you cemented your place in the heart of the man she could only dream about.

Pairings: One Sided! Petra/Levi, Levi/Reader

Genre: Angst, one sided love

____________________________________

Soldiers in the Survey Corps had an extremely low life expectancy, so no one ever bothered to make long term plans for themselves. Petra was the same--except a part of her traitorously dreamed of a life that wasn't meant to be.

For she doubted she'd live long enough to see it become her reality.

She imagined that someday, they would end the titans. They would walk outside the walls, breathe in its fresh air and be celebrated as heroes. A far fetched dream, but one she couldn't get out of her head.

After joining the Special operations Squad, she had begun to hope even more. Captain Levi and his stregnth had made her imagine a future for all of them. His calm and composed demeanour, no matter how awful the situation, inspired her to work harder and do better.

But what began to affect her most was the man himself. The way he sometimes smiled a little into his teacup. How cleaning gave him joy. How collecting tea leaves was a hobby he hid from everyone. Little by little, she learned these things about him, and they only made her heart beat faster.

Slowly, her dreams began to involve the Captain. Once titans were gone, she would confess to him. She had never seen him around any other woman, knew for a fact that he wasn't in any relationships, so her mind conjured up a world where he would accept her feelings. He would allow her to give him all her love and attention--and he would fall for her right back.

The two them would get married someday--and maybe even have children. Her father already liked him- having heard more then enough good things about him in her letters home. She could see a nice life with him in her future.

She knew better then to confess right now. Titans were very much alive and kicking outside the walls, but she figured it was only a matter of time they got together. She was the only woman who knew how to make his tea, the one he consulted on what suit to wear and one of the few people who could approach him when he was in a bad mood. He never said anything, but Petra thought her feelings were clear enough. While he never made a move towards her, the fact that he never outright rejected her gave her more then enough hope. So she decided to just wait it out and observe for any signals on his part. To hint that he was ready for more.

The day they set out outside of Wall Maria, and found out that they had in fact gotten rid of all titans, Petra began to dream even more. Her desired reality was so close--just one signal and she would be on her way to the life she wanted.

She waited, hoping for the signal. Maybe Captain looking at her a little too long when she was dressed up, or asking her to stay back more, in order to spend more time together. Days went by, and she saw nothing.

Until one random day.

They had been out in town, having some free time. She had watched Captiam go into a jewellery store, and had felt her hopes rise. Just before leaving, he had asked her

'You- I mean, women like jewelery right? Earrings or some shit?'

Years of remaining composed in front of him had been the only reason she hadn't balantly blushed.

'Yes Captain. Bracelets and rings are nice too.'

He had hmphed and gone off to the jewellery store, coming out of it with a box in his hand. Petra had felt like her heart had leapt out of her chest at the sight of it. Could it be-would he really jump straight to-

Suffice to say, she had trouble sleeping that night.

The next day, she saw that box again--and it's contents. It had only been briefly, but she had seen the small sized golden hoops. Her heart had plummeted at it not being a ring- but it was still expensive jewellery. One that someone only bought for a special occasion.

So, with her heart giddy and nerves aflame, she waited. Petra went out of her way to give him ample opportunities to give it to her--staying up late to help him with paperwork, chatting more then usual while bringing his tea. The signal was almost there. She could see it.

And she did see it.

Except it wasn't for her.

His eyes did glint- with softness and possessiveness--but not for Petra.

He did start spending more time with someone, but not with Petra.

It was you. The newly hired cook for the Garrison Engineers.

How did she know it was you?

She had seen you wearing those earrings. Late at night. While stumbling out of the Captain's office, with your hair and clothes ruffled up.

By all means, you were a nobody. An ant in the grand scheme of things. But, you had ended up being the most important person in the world of Humanity's Strongest Soldier.

And Petra had to watch as you cemented your place in the heart of the man she could only dream about.

She tried to pretend it wasn't happening--but it was. Captain Levi was doing everything she had ever wanted him to, but none of it was for her.

He would smile softly at you when he thought no one was looking. Go into jewellery stores and buy expensive jewellery for you. Even on missions off the island- he would go into stores to buy you gifts. She had seen you wear them. His lunch breaks were almost always with you and if one arrived at the right time- they would see you setting out to work from his room each morning.

She resented it all- a part of her hoping it would all fall apart. That it wouldn't work. But she squashed those thoughts down and carried her broke heart as she worked.

It would work for a few years--even though they had been incredibly painful for her, having to watch the man she was desperately in love with be so close--yet so far.

None of her resentment had affected his life--he had gone on to become a family man. Getting married, having children, buying a house.

She had thought that one day he would signal her, and they would do all those things together. Who would have thought that she had been thinking of walking on a road with someone, who clearly never meant to take her along?

And who would have thought she'd try to join him on that road- walk alongside him- against his will?

Not Petra. Or at least, not the old Petra.

When Premier Zackley called her into his office and made her that ludicrous offer, to marry the Captain. To bear his children, in order to ensure the Ackerman strength would accompany the military in the future, the words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

'Yes. I'll do it.'

Some people had to be okay with others tagging along in their walks, even if they didn't want them to. Her head knew better, but her heart, desperate for the man that had it in its hold, said that maybe the Captain would be too.

She was proven wrong the very next day--because Humanity's Strongest Soldier had quit the military. For you.

____________________________________

A/N: I wrote this randomly because I- have too much time on my hands apparently. I don't actually but I'm lazy and- okay back to the note let's not expose me today.

So, this is set in the 'Falling' Universe. Its a sequel to it. I made it so, you can understand this as a stand alone. But if you want to read this in order then:

(1) Falling

(2) Signal

(3) For you

I wish I knew how to link these 😭😭. If anyone knows how, please DM.

I know I was supposed to write a confession chapter--and I have it drafted. But I need some more time, so here's some angst to hold y'all over!I hope you enjoyed! My asks are open-so request away. Till next time!

#AOT #Snk #levi attack on titan #attack on titan #Levi x reader #One Sided Love #Angst #Petra/Levi #shingeki no kyojin

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jonsa101 · 3 years

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Helen Sharpe: A Deep Dive Into Her Wants and Needs What it Means For Sharpwin in Season 3

I feel like in more ways than one this week’s episode revealed so much about where Helen is at mentally after the worse of the pandemic but also solidifies where Sharpwin is heading this season. We finally got a first look at Helen and Cassian’s relationship and also learned a little bit more about her family. I’m so glad they incorporated Freema’s Iranian heritage in the show and I can’t wait until we get an introduction to her Ghanian side as well. Helen having a Ghanian mom is literally chef’s kiss and as a fellow Nigerian, I know west african mama’s don’t play so I hope we get to see her on screen. As for Cassian and Helen I loved the fact that he was able to truly support her in her time of need but the chemistry is severely lacking for me. I usually don’t mind seeing HeIen with someone else because it’s usually fun and entertaining and I obviously know who her endgame is. Panthaki and Helen where hot and fun to watch. I just feel like the showrunners hyped Cassian up to be this edgy, “bad boy,” arrogant type who’s supposed to give Max a run for his money but I’m not seeing that at all! The chemistry is just flat y’all. It’s just not giving what they said it was supposed to give...

Anyway, despite the lack of chemistry, Cassian is playing a role that we honestly haven’t seen from Max yet. He’s truly being there for her and doing his part to support her in her time of need. In Max and Helen’s relationship it has always been the other way around with Helen supporting him. He has never truly stepped up to meet or even think about her needs. Not really anyway. Furthermore, in the midst of her vulnerability, Helen revealed that she feels like “she keeps running out of time.” These two aspects of this episode are so important because it tells me two things.

1. Helen is clearly at a breaking point and desperately wants to make her relationship work with Cassian because she feels like she’s “running out of time” in every area of her life.

2. Max has too and unequivocally will meet Helen’s needs in more ways than one this season.

From everything we know so far about Helen this is how I would summarize her. Helen is a beautiful and incredibly talented doctor who cares deeply about her patients and wants to be respected for more than just being a “celebrity doctor.” She was previously engaged and lost her finance suddenly to a brain aneurysm. She desperately wants a child and is considered “geriatric” because she’s over the age of 35 and in the midst of her fertility journey she realizes that she doesn’t want to raise a child on her own. Ultimately she actually wants love and a family. Being vulnerable has never come easy to her in any of her relationships, romantic or otherwise and there are so many things about her life that we still don’t know yet.

So based off what we know, when Helen says she feels like “she keeps running out of time” there’s depth to that statement and we have to assume that when she said that she was referring to EVERY aspect of her life. In a sense she ran out of time with her fiancé Mohammad when he passed unexpectedly and though she isn’t “old” Helen no doubt also feels like she’s running out of time to have a baby and a family of her own. These are two things that Helen wants more than anything else in the world and the fact that it hasn’t happened yet is clearly getting to her. Professionally, I feel like Helen is at a place in her life where she’s content and is learning how to balance putting her patients first while also upholding her press commitments. In her personal life it’s a whole different story and I definitely think Helen is spiraling. The ripple of effects of the pandemic are definitely still affecting her and in a sense Cassian is more like a means to an end to help her feel like her personal life is “on track.” Even Helen herself said that “I don’t want to make excuses anymore about you” to Cassian which clearly indicates that she has her doubts about him and the relationship but she’s going to jump in anyway because she doesn’t want to waste/run out of time!

I know a lot of people think that Sharpwin probably won’t come into fruition until season 4 or season 5 but I could not disagree more. To me, Helen’s fear of things running out of time in her life and or feeling like she’s had missed windows of opportunities is the BIGGEST INDICATOR that Sharpwin is about to come to fruition RAPIDLY! The writing is on the wall! She is not trying to wait for anything or anybody. She’s seen the worst of the pandemic, she knows first hand how life is so fleeting and how quickly things can change and she’s had ample amount of time to reflect on what she wants and needs in her life. She hasn’t truly dealt with her trauma but she is jumping all in for her sanity.

For Max and Helen, this is a make it or break it season for them where they decide if they want to be together or not. The will they won’t they stage has long passed because it no longer make sense in the storyline for either of them to still be confused about what they want especially after the worst of the pandemic. They clearly have feelings for each other and are in love. It was indicated in season 1 and damn near established in season 2. After a year in a pandemic where they saw thousands of people die a day and so many people have had time to reflect on their lives, for them to come out of that still dragging their feet and being indecisive about who they love and what they want is not a realistic storyline. It could have worked if the pandemic never happened but it did and the pandemic changed everything for everyone.

So with that said this brings me to Max. Cassian is here for one purpose and that is to ignite Max into action. Helen last season has practically already put her feelings on the line with her declaration of “Everything I’ve done I’ve done for you” and a year later Max hasn’t done shit about it. For the past two seasons she has been his support system and this season he needs to step up and be hers. This is the season where Max needs to go above and beyond for her like she has done for him countless times in the past. Time is clearly of the essence, especially for Helen and he needs to get his shit together quickly. I personally feel like he’s going to supersede her expectations and then some and his actions to me just scream that he’s preparing for a new chapter. He’s already told her he’s trying to build something better for her and Luna, he’s moved out Georgia’s things and at Helen’s encouragement, brought Luna home. The only thing left that he needs is a partner and clearly Helen is his partner!

Also there’s a level of emotional support that we haven’t seen Max give to Helen and I think we saw this play out as well with Georgia. Max has a tendency to be caught up in his own world a lot of the time and sometimes he’s not really present with the people he cares about. I think this season Max is going to become more self aware of that and actually be there for Helen when she needs him the most.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts what I see for Sharpwin this season! Here’s to hoping these things actually come to past. Let me know what you think is in store for Sharpwin in season 3!

#new amsterdam #helen sharpe #sharpwin #max goodwin #max x helen

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

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predictions for yuumori s2 (as a manga reader)

No matter what happens, this is probably gonna end up aging badly, but i’m hyperfixating and I’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem so I’m going to predict where they’re gonna go with s2 of moriarty the patriot (keep in mind i’m writing this as of episode 2) and what I think would be the ideal scenario, in the likely situation that this is the last season.

So we can tell a lot about what they’re going to cut/include from the opening and ending, and the first two episodes.

Observations/Conclusions:

-moneypenny and most likely von herder are gone, already evidenced by the first 2 episodes, which is :( but understandable bc there’s only so much space and they’re definitely cutting the arcs where they would be important

-so that means no moran backstory because duh, there’s a point in the backstory and i see value in it, moran slaps when he’s not being an ass lmao, but again, time constraints

-no matter what I can’t see them keeping in the like, child hunting thing 2 electric boogaloo, even tho it did further Fred’s and Louis’ characters, since they’ve previously cut out stuff considering them and. You know. That’s how it be.

-You can see they’re including jack the ripper arc (considering, jack is in the opening) and I have faith that they can downsize the arc without butchering it if they do it right. This is good that they’re keeping it in, considering it’s one of the... main arcs not involving milverton that advances the plot.

-Major thing we can tell is that, yeah, Milverton is nowhere to be seen. It seems like this would fuck things up bad since he’s like, the only kind of “main villain” we get here. But honestly? I agree with that. Fuck Milverton. He has no character or motivation and is like my one and only bone to pick with the manga. He’s just there to suck ass and create plot convenience?? I don’t like him and he never needed to be there if he wasn’t at least going to do something interesting. I support the anime cutting him.

-That DOES fuck over their ability to do the white knight arc, since, well, milverton is the cause of all of that. And this is the one thing I really don’t know what they’re going to do with that to connect jack the ripper directly to the final problem. I can’t predict that, but I do think there are ways it can be done that won’t be Awful.

-So considering that, Mary’s arc is definitely axed, which doesn’t bother me that much since by that point i so impatient for gay people and really didn’t care about watson’s fiance even tho she is a lovely lady. For anime effect, she does not need an arc, though I could see them having her show up a few times so watson doesn’t seem too gay either lmao.

-They’re definitely shooting to end with the final problem, considering without it there’s no big culminating event between moriarty and sherlock, which is obviously the big sell. And well. It’s. Um. The final problem.

The season says it’s slated to be 13 episodes, since s1 didn’t have enough time for 12. I honestly think they can manage it all, if they play their cards right.

Outlook:

This whole potential situation does sound familiar, I’ll point out that I just arrived here after the shit show of the promised neverland’s second season. But I don’t think it will get bad like tpn did. Because in Moriarty, they could afford to cut things because there are many stand alone and disposable arcs, whereas tpn really shouldn’t have, since they pretty much all contributed later to Major Main Character Plot Things. And the important points of the arcs that they’ll probably cut can actually be written into existing ones without looking like plot convenience, in my vision of it.

Honestly, I’m pretty optimistic for moriarty, it works better for this kind of adaption than in a lot of other manga that end up getting these most likely two season adaptions. I’d love to get those arcs for the servant’s and other character’s developments of course, but trying to stick that in when there’s really only time to focus on the main characters would suck up time better spent on really getting deep into the main storyline. Even if there are less characters, in a situation like this a streamlined and nuanced story will look elegant, whereas shoving as much content as possible into a few short episodes makes everyone cringe.

The situation does end up looking like the promised neverland, but it has a chance to be significantly less fucked considering,,, well,,, tpn is an insanely low bar, and they will hopefully not make the promised neverland’s same mistakes of Shove Seventeen Plotlines Into One Episode After Realizing Belatedly They Actually Needed Those Parts.

Obviously I don’t know what will happen, and this will be outdated by sunday lmao, but my projection looks something like this for 13 episodes to conclude the show.

Predictions:

(Episodes 1+2: A Scandal in the British Empire)

Episode 3: I’m very anxious for 3 considering this will probably make or break my opinion on the anime. Ideally, this episode would wrap up the scandal arc and go over the whole James Bond thing, it could be pretty baller and fit well into an episode. But though there’s plenty of Irene in the opening, there’s no sight of Bond, so considering anime as a whole is fucking transphobic, they might try to change it, twist around bond’s words or just, gloss over it altogether. If they cut it, they might have time to squeeze in another arc but I don’t think they honestly need to? With what they seem to be keeping in, they’ll have ample time to get to everything, and it would be shorter anyway considering the smaller amount of servants.

Here, we do definitely need to cover Sherlock’s “receiving the name of the lord of crime and deciding to burn it and find it out himself because he’s extra”, no matter the status of irene/bond’s gender. If they do that right and possibly change a few things so it’s more important, this could play into them moving forward his whole discovery of their secrets.

Episodes 4-7: These will most likely cover jack the ripper arc. There’s a lot to go over here, and I’m confident they can cut it down, because tbh Moriarty is pretty long winded for a manga and cutting things is good to an extent. This covers most of the major expansions on William’s ideas and plans, and definitely has the holes to stuff in more of the points made in the arcs that will be cut out. Though I have my reservations, they could plausibly take most points in white knight and integrate them into here.

Episodes 8-10: These are the ones that are going to take the most work and probably be the most changed. They should finish up the ripper arc in 7, give or take a few episodes, and then here, If Sherlock has a little more figured out from episode 3, he can look deeper. I think it’s honestly a good idea for the one to discover the Incriminating Records to be him, as it again gives them more connection. There needs to be some other reason Moriarty’s secrets are in danger of getting leaked to the paper, but I’m sure they can put something together with scotland yard or something, or even like, Mycroft. I see that. But if that happens, then we can spend an episode or so on the merchant of london, aka little liam commits girlboss, which can be woven into the idea of everything Coming Out.

Episodes 11-13: Final problem. I see this going mostly unchanged, up until 55. Truth is they’ll probably end up cutting something but hmm. I don’t know. They should keep the fred stuff in, since they’ll cut his other development. They should keep the squad asking sherlock for help, since they cut the other parts that highlight the crime squad’s care for him. But I think they could montage most of the William Goes French Revolution On You Hoes, even the part where the kids come in front of one of them, if you see what’s going on right. But everything can proceed as in the manga pretty smoothly, I think, it all makes sense if they put it together in 7-10. You know, you got somehow, the worst case happens, and boom, scandal, final problem enacted. Killing spree. William reveals he’s been emo this whole time but it’s too late now. Everyone scrambling to catch up with his damn plans. Gay boy knocking on 221B with a fucking love letter. Shit gets found out. And then... well, yuh.

Disclaimer I still don’t know everything about this, bc I cannot find a translation of 54, only the raw with no context, and I know there’s content after 55 but I can’t find that either. But I’m sure as hell an english major and can understand where things are probably going. I don’t know what’s involved at that point, and if there’s some plan detailed to save him or something. That’s the main thing I don’t know, and if there is one detailed of course that kind of changes everything, but for now I’m going on the assumption that 54 is “sherlock runs to the bridge and yells at liam to stop being a dramatic whore while london burns around them and the murder squad watches anxiously with mysterious intent, until it is chapter 55″. (IF Y’ALL HAVE THE ENGLISH PLEASE HMU) They better not TOUCH anything in 55 or so help me god.

But as to after 55, things are going to be different. Besties, I’m an optimist, but there’s no way they’ll make a season after this. It does appear that they’ve mostly wrapped up, and they’ve gotten through what Big Revals they plan on doing. The shit hinted from the beginning has happened, and there probably won’t be enough to create another, unless the author plans on fucking shit up again, which I don’t approve of. There are a few things still left unsaid, like, Liam’s real name and everything, but if it’s supposed to be important, things that small can 100 percent be written into this.

And as something that’s intending to finish up a story, depending on what manga canon really is (BESTIE I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS) they might change it. There’s two options, a bittersweet/hopeful and a tragic one, but either one will end up open ended, because of my extensive knowledge of 2 season animes with significantly longer mangas. (done badly: tokyo ghoul and tpn, done well: owari no seraph and mob psycho) Either we have it like well, oh damn, everything was destined to be Sad but well you’re with him now you’re probably dead, but you know there’s something hinted at and you don’t know for sure so that’s the catch. So you get a vague and bittersweet but possibly hopeful ending. OR something that takes,,, whatever ends up happening in the manga or whatever the plan is and turning it into an epilogue infodump.

I can see either going well depending on how they handle the messages of the story. But yeah, as far as to my extent of the understanding of the show, that’s how it’ll probably go, and what my opinion of how it should is.

To What Extent Will The Gay:

You know, this is my ideal scenario within these time limits, but you know they could always go The Wrong Direction if the anime team took a look at some of the later chapters and went “holy shit this is a bit too gay” and try to axe some of the sherliam content, which I wouldn’t put past any corporation.

In the case that they do, I see lot of good shit going. They’re clearly trying to do the final problem, so they obviously can’t cut out 55, which is good :). But though 55 is clearly, uh, really fucking homosexual, the most romantic shit goes down in 53, as far as I can tell? (keeping in mind i still haven’t found 54′s english version, if anyone would like to direct me to a translation, that would be LOVELY.) I unfortunately can see them cutting Liam’s letter almost entirely, and that kind of scares me.

You know, even if i’d hate and slander them for it, cutting out james bond would be something i would understand. But messing with sherliam would fuck them over, not just cause that would be awful, but like, because it’s like... kind of the main point.

So I’m not really too worried about them messing with it, mostly because the content itself is holding them at gunpoint, sherliam holds the whole plot structure in place, especially if you’re shooting for final problem. And even in the manga they never, like, actually say they’re in love with each other even tho historically gay lovers would probably call each other “friends” lmao so it’s not like they have to greenlight gay sex or anything lmao it’s just Very Romantic (No Homo)

And apart from that, yuumori has actually been pretty decent to the gays so far?? Damn shawty, they certainly haven’t toned down the gay yet and it’s clearly their main source of fans, and what they’ve decided to emphasize in both openings and a significant portion of the s2 ending. We’re all here for it, and they’re catering to it, so I can at least give you that.

#moriarty the patriot #yukoku no moriarty #rowan's hyperfixation essays #sherliam #Holy Shitte this is long #watch me find 54 and immediately change my stance on all of this #or something idk #watch this whole thing be irrelevant in half a week #HHHHHHHH #if it doesn't go exactly like this i will lose my mind lmao

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coralstudiies · 4 years

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hello everyone! I got an ask from an anon asking for tips on time management so i decided to type this out before school starts heheh…

poor time management and procrastination, unfortunately, plague just about all of us lol. people with a short attention span (like me) and who are pretty much always on their phone (me again) and who hate scheduling are the most susceptible to these.

over the years i struggled with time management(studying the night before the exam 🤙🏼) but! these are some tips that have helped me in scheduling, avoiding procrastination and improving time management.

1. Write it down

as always, we’re starting with BEFORE the actual task. write all tasks, assignments, projects and homework, test dates down somewhere (notebook preferably so that you dont lose it. it doesn’t have to be your bujo and you do not have to start a bujo for this specific reason!!!) and write the deadlines. this is subconscious pressure to do work once you get home. also, since you can see everything, it’s easier to schedule it out later

2. Use travel time

i cannot stress this enough!!!! sorry that it appears in all my tips posts but it truly is very useful. for short commutes, review the content you’ve learnt so that when you start on your homework, you’ve already got the hang of it. ie you dont struggle to understand the chapter and be put off from finishing your work because you hate it. long commutes can be used to complete work itself. i like to place some books and a file under my worksheet while i write (if i have a seat lol) or you can take this time to plan your time in greater detail

3. Actually plan your time

you dont have to fancy it up with like, brush pens and highlighters. just do something on google sheets or excel. divide the day into appropriate blocks of time.

for me, since i use a focus timer (50+10 or 100+20, rare cases i do 120 with a long break after that) i keep my days in 1hr blocks. so i’d block in about 1hour after i reach home to chill, clean up and so on, 2hrs for homework and the remaining time can be divided by hour/2hours to complete my work. you can tweak the timings to work for you but so far this one suits me pretty well.

4. NEVER RUSH YOUR HOMEWORK AND REVISION WHEN PLANNING!!!!

i repeat, never rush. because when you give only, say, one hour to review 3 chapters and you fail to do so within that time limit, you feel demoralised and hence, will not want to work more. this is a very common issue i believe. sometimes i would rush revise and when i couldnt stick to the timelines, i’ll feel so defeated that i’ll probably binge watch youtube to cure my self-pity LOL

give yourself an ample amount of time. Assign one or two hours a day as ‘delay time’ (this was my free time) so that you can catch up on anything that unfortunately, you couldn’t finish. Assign one day of the week to be the ‘delay day’ -- anything that you cant finish the week before, do it now. this means that you can still ‘save’ your plan even if it screwed up somewhere along the way. it works wonders, believe me! i used to have ‘delay hours’ after training where i would (ahem sadly) study from 2330-0030 if i needed to. while i was tired, i always got my work done.

5. Prioritise

this one needs no explanation. i usually choose which task to start on based on a combination of deadline+importance+graded/non-graded. i start early for graded assignments because they count towards my semester’s final grade and i want to hand up the best quality work i can. find a system which works for you! note: start project work and large assignments early.

you can assign simple tasks first to start the ball rolling, and proceed with harder tasks.

alternatively, if you’re at your prime focus, start with the hardest and scale down to the simple.

6. Make good use of holidays + Wake up early

ok i used to game a LOT and go to training a LOT (still happens now lol) during holidays but i wouldnt get any of my holiday work done.

do your holiday homework first. schedule your time well, and maybe stay home and resist the urge to go out for the first 5 days. finish all your work (again, schedule well) with breaks in between.

thereafter, schedule maybe 3-5 hours a day to revise. if you’re going out with friends, i’d suggest you wake up early to study because once you come home you’re usually dead tired HAHA

so how early is early?? during my o levels study break i would wake up at 0330 (yes, for real) but i slept at 2130 every night. so thats 6 hours of sleep wew but AT LEAST i was very productive. think about it this way: waking up early to study at 0330 makes you more productive than studying till 0330. you don’t have to wake up THIS early, but preferably early enough when the sky’s still dark so that you can fit in those extra hours. DO NOT sacrifice sleep. that’s why you can see i’m still sleeping my usual amount, albeit sleeping and waking earlier.

more perks of waking up early: its quiet outside, the air is cool, your mind gets into the ‘get shit done’ mode, and if you absolutely have to use your phone to search something up, your social media probably won’t be pinging. in other words, early mornings are actually a great time to study! remember to eat something though :>

7. Remove all distractions to prevent possible procrastination

YES i know this is the dreaded one. lock your phone somewhere inconvenient and put the key outside your room. or if you don’t lock it make sure your phone is far away from you as possible. please i know how deadly your phone can get so just put it away.

if you find yourself drifting away and looking at something else, remove that.

alternatively, change up your study environment. you don’t have to go to the library or something (you can if you want to). this is as simple as studying in a different part of the house. a new environment helps to ‘prick’ my mind and help me ignore distractions. i dont know if this is scientifically proven but oh well, worth a try.

8. 2-minute rule

this is something i picked up from @studyquill! it’s pretty helpful (although i was skeptical at first). Tell yourself you’re only going to work for 2 minutes, which helps you get into the workflow. chances are you’ll get so into it (ok not in an excited but rather in a determined way) that you don’t feel like stopping.

if you’ve had a long day and after 2 mins you still don’t get any momentum, just stop and take a 15 min break. that means you’re really too tired and there’s no point in forcing yourself to complete your work.

9. Use reminders

set reminders on your phone for the tasks you need to do. for example, if you’ve planned to start work at 1500, set the reminder to ring 5 minutes before so you have time to gather all your stuff and ready yourself to do work. no excuses!!

set reminders for your breaks as well! those are equally important.

10. Reward yourself

if everything you need to do is done, give yourself a pat on the back. have you been extremely productive? great, treat yourself to your favourite drink/snack. honestly i feel like many of our brains function on the ‘reward’ system. if we reward ourselves for a job well done, we’ll be more willing to complete tasks and stay on time in the future (the brain thinks there’s a reward coming)

remember to take care of your mental health as well! this is one good way to ensure you don’t end up mentally exhausted.

Apps to help with time management

1. Tide - focus timer, meditation, beautiful and calming soundtracks (my fav!)

2. Pendo - everything in one tbh, schedule, to-do list, journal etc. (my fav too!)

3. Forest - focus timer $$$ (free alternative: flora)

4. Donut Dog - focus timer

5. Todoist - minimalist to-do list

6. Minimalist - minimalist to-do list

7. Google Calender - your entire schedule

8. Todait - smart study planner

a quick search will bring out many more! note these are all available on iOS but i’m not sure about google play. you don’t need everything to be productive. i rely only on Tide, Pendo and my iPhone calender and reminders. It’s less about having many ‘tools’ and more about how you properly and wisely utilise them to boost your productivity and manage your time.

also i don't think pendo is very well-known?? so this is how its interface looks like for 'Notes':

it's pretty, simple and clean and there are several themes to choose from! i rly like it omg HAHA (not a promo)

alright that's all! hope it helped :>

974 notes · View notes

scaredyships · 3 years

Text

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. II

summary: You attempt to get settled into their new life as best as they can, and are mildly appalled at how bare-bones Mando is living.

word count: 6.5k (I guess I just don’t know how to write short things)

author’s notes: More setting the stage before progressing on to following the plot of the show. Sorgan is next chapter, I promise. But for now it's the two idiots and the tiny green gremlin getting accustomed to one another. ngl, as I got to the last little bit I just wanted to get it DONE, so apologies about any awkward writing there.

I spent so much time looking up food and kitchen-equivalents on Wookieepedia for this chapter.

Part 1 / Part 2 (you are here) // ao3 link

---

It wasn’t clear just how little you had to work with until you started to go about trying to figure out your new place as crewmate on the Razor Crest.

You’d think a full-time bounty hunter, even one that worked solo, would have a little more in storage other than the vast amount of weapons, like an extra bed roll or blankets or something. But no, not this one. He seemed more concerned with having extra firepower than additional living necessities.

You sighed, putting the lid back on the storage crate you'd opened up. You had hoped to find something other than weaponry inside, and while it wasn't exactly weapons, it sure looked like it contained canisters like the ones you saw attached to the mobile carbon-freezing unit he had on board. There were no other places to look.

Standing up straight, you turned to face the length of the hold. If you'd really wanted to, you could have tried to get Mando to let you have the space he normally reserved for housing captive bounty as a space for you to claim. But between you not having the courage, and certainly not wanting to deal with the possibility of a carbonite-frozen bounty being stored there to stare endlessly at you, it was off the table. The hold it was. It was narrow and not exactly intended as a living space, but you could make it work. There was already a dip in the wall where you stood, and with some rearranging of the crates, you could create more of a "wall" to provide some semblance of privacy - and to provide a barrier so you didn't have to deal with seeing the entire refresher unit every time you turned your head.

Unfortunately, that's where your resources ended. The closest thing Mando had to extra bedding was the rough, heavy-duty netting he kept to tie cargo down with. Hardly suitable for what you were needing. You also had no additional change of clothes. You were already starting to feel self-conscious about it, hoping you didn't start to smell funky too quickly. A shower would only go so far when your clothes hadn't been washed.

A trip to some kind of market was needed. It was a good thing Mando was already intending to stop somewhere to refuel.

You flipped open one of the pouches on your belt, pulling out its contents. Several loose credits, and a couple credit chips. Thank Maker you still had those. With your usual living expenses having significantly downsized now that you were out of a home and all the associated bills that came with it, your budget gave you much more to work with. You had more than enough to get you what you might need. You tucked your credits back into your belt.

There was one more thing you needed to check, but didn't know where it was. The pantry. There was no doubt that Mando's current stock was meant for a single adult individual, and not two adults and a small alien child, so it would need to be supplemented anyways. But what did he already have? Had he recently stocked up, or was he nearing the last of his rations?

You made your way over to the ladder that led up to the helm, where Mando was piloting to wherever he was going to stop for fuel. The kid must've heard you coming, because his head suddenly popped over the edge of the hatch to watch you, twittering curiously. You half-heartedly waved at him, hoping he didn't try to come down by himself.

"Hey, Mando!"

The heavy sound of boots hitting the floor reverberated through the ceiling and came closer to the hatch, until the reflective helmet of the bounty hunter stared down at you.

"Where's your pantry hold at?"

He stood still for just a moment, fingers twitching at his side - a nervous tic? - and then reaching for the kid, began to climb down the ladder. You stepped back and allowed him ample space to get down, and for him to set the kid down. The little green child looked around and waited to see what the two of you were up to. Mando trudged towards a panel near the armory just across from the ladder, and pushed a switch.

"Here."

A panel on the wall swished aside and a conservator was revealed, along with a small set of shelves containing tins, ration packs, and an extremely modest set of dish ware that itself looked like it had come from a military ration pack.

It was difficult to stop your eyebrows from raising to the top of your forehead. There was so little here. And what was here, was so incredibly basic that you couldn't imagine trying to live off of it for every single meal. A few packs of basic rations, a dwindling container of mealgrain. You cautiously pulled open the conservator, and it was what you expected. More basic ration packs, a single almost-empty package of some kind of sausage links, and a couple small jars of paste that could be added to water to make a basic soup. You closed the door, and leafed through the shelves' contents. There was an old heating plate in there and a small pot, and maybe enough utensils that you could count them all on one hand. Pulling out a packet of vacuum-sealed veg-meat, watching it glisten sickeningly in the light, you turned and gave the Mandalorian a pointed look as if you were waiting for an explanation.

He was trying so hard not to come off as sheepish. But the hands-on-the-hips stance and his visor turned away from you said otherwise. He'd never had anyone come on board and inspect his pantry hold before, and while he didn't think at the time it would bother him, it was completely different now that you were down on one knee, thinly-veiled disgust on your face at the food options, looking up at him with an intense expression that could surely bore a hole through his armor. Not even the kid staring at the shelves like he had an enormous buffet in front of him softened any of the situation.

"I don't know how you live like this." You lightly tossed the veg-meat back onto the shelf, standing up and righting your clothing. Mando flipped the switch to close the panel back up, the child drooping disappointedly now that everything was shut away. He crossed his arms defensively just as you rested a fist on your hip, looking down at the child and exhaling through your nose.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me, huh, kid."

He tilted his head questioningly at you.

"Your 'work'?" You could hear the edge of offense in his tone.

You turned that piercing gaze back to him for a moment.

"Besides being unable to find something to make myself a bed from, and needing some kind of change of clothes, your pantry is appalling and barely suitable for one adult. Let alone two plus a small child. You told me to help out, so I'm going to help out. When we stop for fuel, I'm going to go find a market." You tapped the pouch on your belt that contained your credits forcefully enough to make the loose pieces jingle, emphasizing that you had your own means of payment.

Mando sighed. He was the one that suggested you stay, so it was nobody's fault but his own that things were unfolding like this. He might as well resign himself to it.

You knew Mando would go for a backwater world of some sort, so you didn't get your hopes up for your options at any markets. Mando let you empty out a rucksack he had sitting in the hold and use it to carry what you might find. He watched as you briskly walked away with determination, as he stood at the ship dock preparing to get the Razor Crest hooked up and refueled. The Child wanted very badly to go with you, but he forbade it and made him stay in his pod, only an arm's length away and hopefully high enough off the ground that he wouldn't try to climb out and toddle off. The small green child pouted in his blankets, staring out in the direction he had last seen you.

Mando was mystified as to why the kid took such a liking to you. Sure, he seemed friendly enough towards anyone he was allowed to interact with (not that there were many, considering his status as a bounty target), but the way he was drawn to you was different. It was almost like he recognized you from somewhere, though you both knew that wasn't possible. In all honesty, he may have been more reluctant to offer you a place on board if the kid hadn't acted the way he did, and just kept his end of helping you after losing your entire livelihood to dropping you off at a nearby planet of your choosing.

It wasn't that he didn't like you, quite the opposite. In the few times he'd gone to you for information for hunting down certain quarry, you were nothing but helpful. You asked just the right questions, made sure he knew about the societies on the planets he was going to be investigating, and also gave him what you had about lesser-known places that would make for good hiding spots. You didn't ever seem afraid of him, like others could be when a fully-armored Mandalorian carrying who knows what kind of firepower came looking for something. You treated him like any other person, maybe one you'd come to consider a friend, based on how with each further visit you'd remember what kind of things he liked to know, or just useful things in general, and tailor your information packets to it. He didn't really need to know things like which fueling stations were more suited for a ship like his and had better overall service, or which markets had more selection on weaponry for restocking purchases, or which food places were better and which to avoid at all costs. But they were there when he'd plug the data stick into his navigation computer. He got the impression you didn't do that for just any client, without an extra charge at least.

You said it yourself, you didn't know much about taking care of kids. Mando didn't, either. But two people trying to figure it out was better than one stumbling around blindly. It helped to have someone the kid liked, too. And even if it didn't directly involve watching out for him, he knew you'd make yourself useful with upkeep of the Razor Crest and any other odd jobs that might need tending to.

The ship refueling took some time, but you still weren't back by the time it was finished. Mando went to the nearest food stand at the dock to buy something for the kid to eat in the meantime - a simple bowl of Mando and the kid went inside, keeping the hold ramp down and simply waiting inside, him using that time to maintain some of his more neglected firearms in the armory. He got lost in the muscle memory of taking apart each weapon, cleaning its individual pieces, and slotting everything back together to move on to the next one.

The child chirping and standing up to clutch the edge of his pram signaled your return. Mando looked up from where he was cleaning one of his blasters, probably the fourth or fifth since he started, and there you were, walking up the ramp with the borrowed rucksack stuffed full and a few bundles under your arm. You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and made a beeline for what he could only assume was the spot you'd chosen to be "yours", dumping the bundles unceremoniously onto the floor - except one, which you held almost gingerly - and swinging the rucksack down on top of them with a huff. You plunked down beside the pile, pulling your legs up at an angle and resting your head against the hull, exhaling dramatically.

"Can we get out of here now?"

Mando had to smirk under his helmet at how comically tired you seemed. He couldn't blame you, he felt the same way after he had to deal with purchase-related errands. Standing, he put away the gun he'd been working on and shut away the armory, and issued the command for the ramp to close.

The child clambered out of his pram onto a nearby storage crate, slipping to the ground and toddling over to you and your pile of spoils. You lifted your head to watch what he was doing. Mando watched him, too, to be sure he didn't get into anything he shouldn't. Of everything he could easily try to pick through, the kid of course went straight for the bundle you still held in your lap, reaching out but not quite touching the fabric. It was oddly puffy at the top, and tied around the bottom with some sort of twine.

"Wait, wait. I'll show you, but no touching."

You undid the twine, and in doing so Mando got a glimpse of an earthenware material underneath the fabric. You shook the fabric loose, and swept it off by gripping the corner. There, balanced in the palm of your hand, was a tiny engraved pot. Inside the pot sat an equally-tiny, gnarled tree, capped with sprays of delicately bristling greenery.

You tilted the plant towards the child, wide eyes taking in the sight. A tiny claw reached up, but halted and slowly lowered at the last moment. The corner of your mouth lifted at the kid remembering to behave.

You glanced up at the Mandalorian, who you realized had been watching the interaction the whole time. You looked quickly down at the plant and picked slightly at the gravel in the pot, almost bashfully, like you were mildly ashamed of what you'd bought.

"It's not real, but I can pretend it is." Your voice was quiet. Mando remembered the sizable collection of plants that took up an entire corner of your living quarters he had broken into hardly a day or two ago. He felt a pang of something in his chest, slightly different than the sense of guilt he felt towards your situation. Sympathy, maybe?

The synthetic plant was carefully placed on top of a storage container, far from the edges so it wouldn't fall. Your quiet demeanor suddenly shifted, and a new focus appeared as you stood, grabbing the rucksack by its handle, and made your way over to open up the pantry hold and begin unpacking its contents.

"I mostly picked up things that can be indefinitely stored, so no worries about anything spoiling." You began to pull out your purchases and put them away, careful to make sure the kid didn't scoop anything up. He was too busy being enamored with watching your hand disappear into the rucksack and pull out new item after item, like you were a magician. You said the name of each thing as you put it away on either the shelves or in the conservator: Anoat oats, shroomchips, kukuia nuts, dehydrated nuna egg, jhen honey, Kodari rice, jarred garlic, Corellian buckwheat noodles... and then some vacuum-packed fresh items; redsprouts, cuts of dewback, some kind of flatbread you weren't able to immediately identify but thought looked good, and-

"- I don't know if this is the same as what you had before, but I got more of these, too." You said as you set down a package of sausages.

Truth be told, Mando wasn't at all a picky eater, and had been content with the rations he lived off of. But watching the array of ingredients fill the shelves had him feeling like he hadn't eaten right in a very long time. And he was oddly looking forward to what you might have planned.

You put away the last of the contents, mostly flavor additives, and a clear container of nuctrose crystals for the kid, given he behaved. Shutting the panel to the pantry hold, you stood back up and took the last contents from the rucksack - an odd bound stack of something, and a few styluses. They were placed next to the little tree on the crate. You shook out the rucksack so it was flat, and handed it back to the Mandalorian with a small thanks. He took it from you without a word and hung it on a hook nearby. You went back to your other bundles and began unpacking them, shaking out the bedroll and beginning to situate it.

"Once I'm done with all this, I'm going to make something to eat. Any requests?"

Mando could only shrug vaguely. You looked off to the side, eyes darting as you no doubt mentally ran through your various options now that nothing was off the table.

"Okay, then. I'll try not to make anything too awful."

The kid was at your side the moment you'd mentioned food, and was looking up at you with wide, excited eyes. You looked down at him awkwardly, movements slowing. He stared back, audibly swallowing.

"...he's not going to leave me alone, is he."

The Mandalorian shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the hull, amused expression hidden beneath his helmet. You suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about simply existing in that spot and Mando standing there like he was, watching your every move. He wasn't even doing anything malicious, he was just... looking. Maker, you couldn't do anything other than glance up at him for a half-second before you had to rip your gaze back to what you'd been doing before, hoping he didn't notice. This wasn’t even your standard inability to maintain a shared gaze, this was something else. It was the armor, you told yourself. You'd always thought the Mandalorian style of armor was beautifully crafted, but there was something so different about admiring it from an image and having a flesh-and-blood being inside a suit of it, standing like that just a few feet away, staring you down.

Mando, however, didn't read any of your behavior as being flustered - just uncomfortable that you were being stared at. He could appreciate that, more than you might think. As much as he might find it interesting to watch whatever else you were going to do, he knew it was more important to allow you some space. He righted himself and strode over to the ladder.

"Let the kid help you out."

He said it so matter-of-factly over his shoulder before he began to ascend that there was no doubt it wasn't a request.

You blinked, and looked down at the child. Mando needed to concentrate on piloting. So it fell to you to be on kid-watching duty. The kid blinked back up at you, ears pricked and head tilted. You moved to unwrap the next bundle.

”Alright, kiddo. Let me finish getting all this set up, then we’ll start on dinner.”

The excited squeal as the kid toddled over to the pantry hold panel to wait for you made you chuckle.

If it wasn't the aroma of cooking that got his attention, it was definitely the sound of you urgently scolding the kid with what almost sounded like terror in your voice. Mando quickly set the controls to autopilot and rushed over to the ladder, not even using the rungs to get down to the hold. The sudden sight and sound of an entire Mandalorian slamming to the floor from above startled you so badly you nearly knocked over your little makeshift kitchen area.

His gaze landed on the child, who was staring back at him with unblinking eyes as he smacked his lips like he had just been eating something. Just out of the kid's reach, was a piece of a food wrapper, covered in teeth marks and saliva, pinched between your fingers. You had a makeshift waste bin in the other hand, into which you flung the offending piece of trash. The look on your face was nothing short of disgust.

"Does he... often... try to eat garbage?"

Mando sighed deeply, swearing to himself under his breath. He should have warned you before he just left like he did to go man the controls.

"It's not the worst thing he's tried to eat." The child’s ears flicked, a hint of smugness on his face.

You chuckled nervously, setting the waste bin out of reach of the child. You wiped your hands on a nearby rag, as Mando approached to pick the child up and move him a little bit away.

The set-up you had was fairly impressive, considering what was available. You'd taken the old heating plate out and set it on top of a storage container, and repurposed a larger rations tin intended to be heated up anyways into an extra pan, so you had more to work with besides the old pot. You'd pulled out all the utensils he had and had them laid out on top of a loose scrap of fabric, and a cluster of ingredients on another. The cutting board looked new, you must've bought that earlier. The pot had something boiling in it, and the pan, while it looked empty, had something browning in the bottom that smelled delicious.

"Do you have any knives I can use?" You started to inspect one of the packages of meat you'd purchased earlier. "I need to dice some things."

The question wasn't did he have knives, the question was which ones was he willing to part with for kitchen use?

He paused, wandering over to the armory and peering pensively inside. You leaned over to try and watch what he was doing. The kid in turn watched you, no doubt hoping you might drop what you had so he could scarf it down.

Mando leaned into the armory to pick something out from its depths, and when he returned he displayed several small blades. They weren't all that tiny, but his broad hands made them look even smaller than they should be. You ignored that as best as you could. Your eyes flashed amongst the different blades, and you carefully pointed at two - a butterfly knife, and a small hunting knife. You didn’t dare just reach out and grab them yourself. With great dexterity Mando maneuvered them into one hand and the rest into the other, offering them to you with the blades flat in his hand and the handles presented. You carefully took them and set them beside your other utensils. Wordlessly he went to put the rest of the knives away.

You expected him to return to the cockpit, but he didn't. Instead, he moved to sit in the opening of the hole in the wall that was his bunk. You raised your eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Making sure you don't completely ruin my knives. Or let the kid eat more trash."

You huffed at that. Well, back to work.

The kid had wandered closer again and was intently watching as you prepared the food, cubing the meat, tossing it into the makeshift pan with a satisfying sizzle.

Mando never really cooked much for himself besides prepping a basic bowl of mealgrain with whatever ration packs he had on hand. Sometimes he'd build a fire whenever he was camped out on a planet's surface and roast skewers of food over the fire, he knew how to hunt and gather and field-dress, but nothing extravagant. Watching you work was something else. It was mesmerizing, the way you maneuvered between the "pan" and the pot you'd removed from the heat, adding whatever seasoning or extra ingredients with no hesitation, completely focused on what you were doing.

At some point, you picked a piece of the cooked meat out of the "pan" with a fork, blowing on it a few times before picking a corner off to taste-test it. You looked deep in thought as you mulled over what else it might need. With a shrug it seemed you decided it was alright as it was. You lowered the fork towards the child.

"Here, try."

The speed at which he snatched the morsel off the fork and downed it was incredible, you didn't even think he had time to taste it. The shine in his eyes and his ears perking up told you, however, that he absolutely wanted more. You gave him a pointed look.

"No, no more handouts. It's almost done, anyways."

The kid turned his head to look back at Mando, his face begging him to tell you that he needed more. He shook his head slowly, biting back a chuckle at how the kid pouted.

"Okay, I think it's done."

Somehow, in the time he had taken his eyes off of you to simply tell the kid "no", you had combined the contents of the pot and "pan" and were separating it out into portions - two of the larger bowls, and one of the smaller bowls that may have been a mug for the child. He could see better what it was - looked to be some sort of hearty stir-fry, the rice and meat you'd bought earlier being the most obvious part of the dish. Mando had already forgotten what you'd purchased in the way of vegetables and other seasonings, but the finished product was colorful and looked very appetizing, especially with the way the steam trailed slowly into the air from its surface.

The kid was visibly excited, bouncing on his little feet, and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Mando was looking forward to trying it too. What he wasn't looking forward to, though, was having to explain to you that he couldn't take his helmet off to eat, that he'd have to take his helping and go somewhere else where you couldn't see him. You'd never seen him with his helmet off, even in his own ship, so it only made sense that you'd ask about it eventually. He didn't know how much of the Mandalorian Creed you were familiar with. He expected more than most, considering your former occupation and being fairly savvy to various cultural practices, but he couldn't be sure.

"So, uh.. this might be weird..."

He braced himself internally, anticipating something being said about his helmet.

"Would you mind if I ate, uh... over there?" You jabbed a thumb towards the semi-walled off area you'd set up since he was last down there.

...he wasn't expecting that.

His confused stare probably only came off as a cold one through his helmet.

"It sounds stupid, but I have a hard time eating if I feel like I'm being watched. So that's where I'll be."

He nodded slowly. Well, that wasn't what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a bad thing. It made things a little easier, at least, with him not having to give the Talk just yet.

You took your helping in one hand, used your free hand to maneuver the smaller bowl into the child's grabbing hands, and sheepishly left to your secluded area, ducking down to sit in your newly-arranged space.

The bedroll was laid out, a pile of folded clothes sitting near the foot of it. You'd located some smaller crates, one acting as a makeshift stool, another as a low table, where you sat your bowl down for a moment to get situated. In addition to the larger crates and the dip in the hull acting as a wall, you'd also tacked up a sheet on each "side" of the hull to act as a curtain - not wide enough to completely block off the hall, but enough that there was at least more of a definitive barrier that made you feel enclosed from the rest of it. The tiny synthetic tree sat perched on the low crate-table beside some of the other odds and ends you'd procured at the market. It wasn't much, but you felt less like a temporary stowaway like this.

Once you settled down, you picked your bowl back up and were about to take a bite when a familiar green head poked around the curtain. Once he spotted you, he turned back as if he was looking to Mando for permission, and then he trundled over, his own bowl carefully clutched between his hands.

Try as you might to form words to tell the kid to please go sit with Mando, or anywhere else, every sentence dried up in your throat before you could finish it. It didn't seem like he was listening, anyways, the way he didn't even so much as glance at you while you tried to speak. He was too busy getting himself settled down on the floor, and then lifting the bowl to his face to continue eating, sticky eating sounds filling the air as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. That alone was enough to make you stop trying to tell him to go. It was almost shocking how noisy the kid could be with his food. You watched with something between fascination and the slightest bit of revulsion, slowly taking bites of your own food. He finished faster than you'd anticipated, greedily trying to lick the inside of the bowl to get the last morsels stuck to the sides, his eating utensil forgotten. Considering what you saw Mando's food supply was before you came on board, you didn't blame the kid for downing it like he did.

You, however, couldn't quite finish your meal. You had done your best with what you could, but something about the finished product left something to be desired in your opinion. You always had been critical of your own cooking, and knew what you were going for versus the actual outcome. With a brief glance towards the opening of your space, almost as if you expected Mando to appear, you took the kid's bowl and scraped what remained of your meal into it. He was almost vibrating with excitement when you handed it back to him, and you grimaced slightly as he started to scarf it down. Did his species get the equivalent of heartburn?

“That good, huh?”

He peered at you over the edge of his dish, tiny mouth working. He’d made fast work of it, putting the now-clean bowl on the ground. His bright eyes now lingered on your own bowl, like somehow he might find more food in it even though he just watched you empty its contents moments ago. Your morbid curiosity got the better of you and you held it out for him to take. The kid quickly took it from you, and with no hesitation, began to lick the inside to get the most out of it. You could feel a grimace trying to creep its way onto your face. The kid was cute, no doubt about that, but this was still a little gross to be watching.

A light rap on the side of the hull caught the attention of both of you, and there stood the Mandalorian in the gap between the hull wall and the curtain, empty dish held almost forgotten by his side. The kid greeted his caregiver with a small, yet surprisingly big for his size, burp. You swear you heard a quiet snort from Mando’s direction.

“You’d think he hasn’t eaten in days.” You nodded at the child, who was inspecting the bowl for anything else he may have missed. Mando shrugged lightly.

“He’s always excited for food.” He semi-consciously began turning his own bowl in his hands, still watching the little green one’s antics.

“Well, at least he liked it. It didn’t turn out quite like I wanted it to. Hopefully it was still okay.” While Mando had clearly finished his helping, with what he had apparently been living off of before, it was a fair assumption on your part that he didn’t care much for how things tasted - as long as they were edible. You really did try to go out of your way to make things palatable and not just edible, generally, so when you felt like you slipped up, you also felt the need to apologize.

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.”

Truth be told, whatever you had done, it was one of the better meals Mando had had in a good while. Unfortunately for Mando, words were not at all his strong suit.

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a brief smile. With a groan you got to your feet, stooping to gather the dish-ware and utensils you and the child had used. “These can be washed in the same place I got water from behind the refresher, right--?”

“I’ll do it.” You froze in your tracks when Mando stopped you and took the things from your hands. “I’ll get the other things you used, too.” He motioned vaguely back towards where your kitchen set-up had been.

“You sure? I made the mess, I’d be okay with cleaning it up.”

The prolonged stare from the unreadable visor told you that this was not up for debate.

“...okay, if you insist.” You let yourself sink back to where you’d been sitting. The Mandalorian disappeared from your field of view beyond the curtain, and the sound of him gathering up the rest of the kitchenware and making his way to the washing area made its way to your ears. There was a quick-cleaning rack back there for exactly this kind of thing, and you could hear him loading it.

Never in your life had you expected to picture someone as stoic as this bounty hunter, doing something as domestic as washing dishes. You bit the inside of your lip to suppress snickering to yourself about it. The kid looked questioningly at you, head tilted. That alone was enough for you to crack a smile and snort.

That snort morphed into a yawn, and you realized just how tired you were. It had been a long day, dealing with people at the market, setting up your new “room”, and cooking a meal from scratch. Not to mention, the turmoil of losing your home was still a raw wound. You noticed the heavy feeling beneath your eyes that told you it was well past time for a good rest.

“Well, kid, I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” You nonchalantly began taking your boots off, other items that would undoubtedly be uncomfortable following - your belt, your wrist pieces, some of your outerwear that would get too warm too quickly once you dozed off. The child curiously watched as you placed these things in a small pile by the crate acting as a table.

With a sigh that almost sounded like you were deflating, you laid down on the bedroll and turned onto your side. It wasn’t anything like your old bed. You hadn’t expected it to be, but the difference between your old broken-in bed and this imitation of a cot laid out on a hard, metal floor, really drove home that things were different now, with no going back. You closed your eyes, exhaling softly through your nose, the melancholy settling in now that you were more or less alone with your thoughts.

You felt a light touch on your temple, and opened your eyes to have your field of vision filled with a big pair of dark eyes staring back. The child had wandered closer and had touched his tiny clawed hand to your face, and was looking at you with concern, as if he could sense those emotions that were starting to roll around your head. You gave him a thin-lipped smile, reaching out to pat him on the head.

“I’m okay, kid, just tired.”

He made a small noise that sounded almost sad, and you didn’t miss the slight droop in his ears as he gave you a pat in return. Your smile turned a little more genuine at that.

You closed your eyes again, and quicker than you’d ever managed to before, you drifted off.

Mando took his time putting things away. When it was just himself, and the kid, there was a lot less clean-up involved. With the quality of what you’d made, though, extra clean-up was a reasonable trade-off.

Clattering noises from your corner caught his attention. It didn’t sound like organized rummaging, more like the noise made when a womp rat was going through things looking for food. He sighed. It must be the kid up to something. Why you weren’t stopping him, he didn’t know.

He put extra weight into his footsteps to make sure the kid could hear him coming, and hoped that would be enough to get him to stop. As he pushed the curtain out of the way, he was met with the sight of the child quickly turning to make eye contact - the pouches of your belt clutched in his hands with the rest of the strap tossed over his arm, and what must have once been a more organized pile of your other accessories messily pushed around. And then there was you, laid out on your bedroll, eyes closed as you slept.

Even in sleep you managed to look exhausted, but at peace. Your form was curled in loosely on itself, somewhere between defensive and haphazard, like you had fallen in that position. The crease between your eyebrows had smoothed out and was nearly invisible. You breathed deeply through your nose, almost snoring. You had a hand wedged between your face and pillow, squishing your cheek up and distorting your features.

Mando had seen plenty of people asleep. It was usually a restless sleep, followed by waking in a state of terror when they realized there was a blaster pointed at them and he was there to take them in for a bounty.

Seeing you in a genuine state of relaxation, completely vulnerable, was jarring. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t even let himself get to that point when he rested.

With everything you’d dealt with lately, though, you deserved to have a good, deep sleep. You were safe here on the Razor Crest with him.

The Mandalorian shook himself mentally from watching your sleeping form. It was strange to be staring like he was. He bent down on one knee to untangle the child from your belt and lift him carefully. The little one cooed, looking up at the armored man questioningly.

“Come on, kid. Let’s give them some space.” He stood back up, shifting the child into one arm and leaving as quietly as he could. The little one peeked over Mando’s shoulder at you until you were out of his line of sight, and then swiveled around to watch where he and the bounty hunter were headed.

Very carefully, the child was maneuvered into his sling so Mando could climb up the ladder to the cockpit with both hands. Once on his feet again, the child was deposited into his pram, and Mando took his place in the pilot’s seat.

Now that there was fuel in the tank and supplies on board for everyone, it was time to get back to finding somewhere to hide out.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #gender neutral reader #din djarin #mando #reader insert

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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When We Collide (Part 5)

Emma Swan has always known one thing: trust no one but yourself. Unfortunately she forgot her one rule and now she’s paying for it. One bad decision led her to the monstrous ‘Crocodile’ a mobster in New York who goes by the name Gold. Hope seems lost until she meets another person in this underworld, Killian Jones. Despite the place they find each other, a true love blossoms, and they manage to get away. But what will happen when Emma discovers who Killian really is? Will love prevail? Um, yeah, I’m writing this, so duh – it’s all love all the time. Fic features motorcycles, hot guys in leather cuts, and a bit of action/drama. Will end happily, and despite the first chapter, will be light on angst. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Available on FanFiction Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everybody! First and foremost, just want to thank those of you still on this journey with me. My motivation to write has been so much lower than I thought it would be, but I haven’t lost sight of what I want from this fic and I am happy to finally share a new installment. This chapter brings a last burst of road trip fluff and the build up to a big moment – Emma’s introduction to Killian’s life in the MC. It’s going to be fun to explore these dynamics in the next few chapters, but for now I hope you will enjoy, and I can’t wait to see what you all think. Thanks so much for reading!

In the quiet, tranquil calm of a woodland morning, Killian watched the cabin bedroom fill with sunlight, bringing the softest golden glow to the rustic room where he and Emma had spent the night. Birds chirped to greet the new day’s light, and the gentle breeze among these mountains brushed branches from a nearby oak against the windowpane. The whistle of the wind and the gentle swish of leaves on glass melded together into something deeply familiar, a symphony of sound, the song of sunrise.

Sadly, this song was the last of its kind that Emma and Killian would enjoy on this journey. The final portion of their cross-country trek would come today, and when they arrived back home, a new reality would set in. Things would change drastically, Killian would have to reengage with a life he’d long ago left behind, yet despite the challenges that awaited him, Killian was astounded at the peace he could feel in this moment. Holding Emma as she still lay sleeping, he was filled with contentment, choosing to anchor himself to something that would be forever constant: his love for this incredible woman.

“You’re doing it again,” Emma murmured, stirring from sleep and already entirely aware of him before she’d so much as opened her eyes.

Killian let the sultry sound of her sleep-laced voice wash over him. It sent a similar sensation coursing through him as the soft brush of her fingertips over his chest. Strumming an unknown melody, her hands on his skin lit him up inside, and though he’d just taken her a few hours ago, he was already ready to devour her again. Strewn out like this, in the glow of early morning, Emma was a vision with gold hair and sun kissed skin. She was stunning, and through the grace of God and all good things, she was miraculously his. The thought of that gave him great comfort and his own hold on her tightened ever so slightly. In truth, he was so distracted he nearly forgot to answer her sassy statement, but the smile that appeared at her lips as her green eyes opened for the day demanded that he ask for more.

“Doing what, love?”

“You’re loving me so much that I simply can’t sleep through it.”

Another man would deny such a cheesy proclamation, or deflect from the depth of his feelings, but not Killian. No, his Swan had called him to the floor, and she was right. He was up this morning thinking only of his love for her, and while other thoughts may threaten to encroach on their time together, he had pushed them all aside. She was the best way to stay grounded and centered, and he was selfish, needing to soak up every last drop of their moments together just to keep his peace of mind.

“I’d offer some condolences, Emma, but I think we both know how you feel about my loving you.”

He murmured the words against her skin, taking advantage of her lingering drowsiness to pepper kisses on her lips, her jaw, and then the hollow of her neck. He hummed out a sound of sheer delight when he felt her shiver beneath him, and when she let out that perfect moan of hers, the one that was part gasp and part plea for more, he was lost. All conversation was behind him, and he knew the only thing left was to show her how much he loved her. Luckily for Killian, nothing had ever come so naturally.

The choice he must make this morning was between a fast and hard claiming, or a slow, steady savoring of two souls becoming one. The payoff for either was bound for greatness, but Killian was keenly aware of how everything would soon be different. Once they arrived back with his brothers, the solitude they’d cultivated would be encroached on, and though Killian had his own house, which could provide ample space and privacy, he also had a sneaking suspicion that his brother and fellow club members would be highly invested in him and his woman. After weeks of it being just the two of them, Killian knew he’d have to share Emma’s attentions, and that he too would have to interact with people other than his Swan. It would all be good in the end, but he wanted to make the most of these last truly secluded moments that they had together.

The teasing slowness of his ministrations became a torturous affair not just for Emma, but for him as well. He began by tasting her everywhere, tracing every line and curve of her, with extra attention paid to the places that made her blood sing. He hung on every breath she released, and every charged call of his name that whispered past her lips. When she came apart from his touch alone, his sense of pride surged dramatically, but the most beautiful sight was when she relaxed back into that post-climax moment, gazing at him with love in her eyes and nothing but a soul-deep contentment in her heart. It made a man feel worthy to know he had put that look on his woman’s face, and for Killian it was the closest he would ever feel to absolution. He’d done wrong in this life, made choices that veered well off the path of what was good or moral, but somehow, she still loved him, and Killian was better for that love.

By the time she was ready to be taken, Killian was so riled, his senses were frayed in all directions. Knowing that he was already worked up, Emma decided to push him further, murmuring that she loved him and asking him to make her his. The searing heat of his need for her was constant, but the feeling when he thrust inside and claimed her was the most agonizingly incredible feeling in the world. Nothing should feel this right, or this perfect, but with Emma it always did. Their rhythm was synced to perfection, their love palpable in the air around them, and though Killian did his best to savor every bit of it he could, it always felt like it was over far too soon. All it took was Emma arching her back, crying out in ecstasy, giving over to bliss, and he was right there with her, spent but saved and feeling like despite the uneasiness of this next moment, he and Emma could handle anything.

“Whatever happens today, it won’t change anything,” Emma said, her fingers running through his hair that was growing longer than he normally allowed it. She pushed it out of his face, before looking into his eyes and smiling in a way that melted his heart. “I love you, and I always will.”

“It’s the same for me, love, but rest assured, if you feel even the slightest discomfort, we will move on. We’re bound to nothing but each other.”

“Killian, this is your home -,” she began. He quieted her thought with a kiss before clarifying the truth to her.

“You are my home, Emma. Wherever you wish to be is where we will be, and I will be the happiest man alive just for being by your side.”

Emma readily accepted this promise from him, whispering that she felt the same as they continued to laze for a while more together, enjoying their connection and soaking in this last bit of privacy. Eventually, they had to get up and check out from this retreat, and they moved through the morning with a practiced precision of two people who had done this for weeks. Travelling had become second nature to them both, and the six-hour ride standing between them and his brothers would be easily managed.

For Killian, the journey honestly felt too short, though he made sure to stop and keep a steady pace for Emma’s sake. He knew she had never been to California before, and there was something magical about this place compared with every other. It was easily the most beautiful of the terrain they’d been in for weeks as well, and in Big Sur specifically, there was a natural beauty totally unique to this corner of the world. Giant forests rose impossibly high into the sky, a cross between the woods of the pacific northwest and the jungles of South America. Trees stood so tall the tops could not be seen, and even in patches where fires had blazed in seasons past, life prevailed, with green vegetation growing from ash and soot and dust. When they reached the ocean, Killian felt Emma’s hold on him tighten, an indicator of her excitement, but he still drove quite a few miles down the cliff-lined coastal highway before pulling off to stop.

“Now this is the kind of view I could get used to,” Emma murmured as he helped her off the bike, taking in the secluded patch of beach they’d driven towards where not a soul was nearby. With her hand in his, Killian immediately felt stronger, but the look on Emma’s face prompted a gentle, pleasant aching in his heart. She was happy to be here, in awe of this place, and to Killian that meant everything.

“We’re closing in on our destination now, love. We’ll be back well within the hour if we drive straight through, but there’s something I would very much like to show you, if you’re interested.”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

He led her down the pebbled path to the seaside, torn between watching her reactions and actually navigating their course. The best part of this was that Emma had no idea what was coming. They’d approached from the perfect angle, preserving a truly hidden gem from sight. Only when they rounded the corner would she see it, and as they made their move, he heard her gasp and felt her hand squeeze his tightly.

“Oh my God… I don’t even have words for how beautiful this is.”

Killian completely understood the feeling, though his own sensation of being struck speechless by something truly stunning often came directly from Emma. In this case, the beauty in question was an old, yet faithfully enduring shore house. It was painted white, weathered from storms, but still well-kept and largely preserved against the passage of time. The nearby community saw to it, since the owners of the home had long since gone. This shoreline was all public lands now, but the house remained, a testament to the man who once lived there, a gifted artist, and a natural born storyteller.

The remnants of his decades old art were painted, drawn, and constructed into the very foundation of this home and the mediums of expression were all treasures from the sea. Sea glass especially was plentiful here, drawing dizzying swirls of color along the house, the wood working and more. The glass had been cemented there for decades, but it shone with the same fervor and sparkle as ever. Shells of all shades, some whole and some not, were also used. Iridescent golden hued pieces, hewn from the mix of cold ocean water and warmer kelp garden pools were the stars of the show. They were each a small treasure uniquely found along these rocky coasts, often collected by the sea otters who called this sea shore home. This collection of the rare shells was astounding, and made all the more beautiful by being mixed in with others that were delicate shades of white and ivory and some that were a cooler oyster blue. They hung from wind chimes in the beach trees and off the lanterns, while some darker shells had been ground down to a painted stain that had been used in part to tattoo larger rocks that were too big for the sea to claim. Wherever the eye looked it was drawn to spiraling shapes and stories, never running out of objects to admire.

“How have I never heard of this? And how are we possibly the only ones here?” Emma asked, moving closer and looking at the intricate designs of shells and stones that had been added to the sands and earth more recently. A local commission of artists was in charge of these added displays of beauty, updating them occasionally, but usually waiting for nature to clear the slate. After a big storm where rainwater washed it all away, or higher tides than normal where the sea came just to the house’s front steps, new designs were created and enacted. But it was clear that there had only been sun for some time, and they were fresh on the heels of an exceptionally well-done redesign.

“Very few people know of this place, love. It’s a secret that is guarded by the people of this town so tightly you’ll find no books or blogs or trace of it anywhere. Liam and I are two very rare exceptions, outsiders with the good fortune to know it’s here.”

“How did that happen?” Emma asked, leaning into him and eager for the story from his past.

“My brother and I needed escape when we were here with our father, but we had little means of finding it,” he admitted, bracing himself for talk of that past life, and knowing he should get used to it now that they were nearly home. “The sea was the only thing of comfort for both of us, and we came to it as often as we could. We scoured every last bit of the coast, and I mean every bit. One day we landed here, and happened upon this house as we were searching the coastline for unknown coves. It was easily the best find we ever made. Of course, we nearly scared the life out of the woman who was crafting the shellscape that day, and once she alerted the other town’s people there was a big to do. We were sworn to secrecy and all the like. We never did tell a soul. It remained our secret – one idyllic hideaway from the world we lived in.”

“But now you’ve broken your oath,” Emma said, looking at him curiously, though she was clearly glad for his breach of that old promise.

“Some may believe that.”

“But you don’t?”

“No, love. I believe the promises I have made and will make to you supersede any others. Besides, I am fairly certain that the promise is null when it comes to my wife.”

“Funny, I don’t remember getting married,” Emma said, though her teasing was a front for the rush of emotions she was feeling. “In fact, I don’t even remember you proposing.”

Let’s change that, he thought to himself knowing he had the ring in his pocket right now, but reason won out in the end, and he remembered his plan. He wanted to get Emma totally settled into their new life first, and to make sure she was ready in all ways. He knew she loved him and that she would be his forever, but it was only right to ensure that he do things properly.

“Soon enough, love. You have my word on that.”

Emma grinned at his affirmation, pulling him down by the collar of his leather jacket and kissing him passionately. When they broke apart, she asked him to promise they’d come back here and he did, and after a bit more time in this private oasis, they headed back to the road, driving towards their destination once more.

The ride along the coast was quick, far quicker than he remembered, and when they pulled off the coastal highway and to the discrete exit leading to the town he’d once grown up in, Killian could sense Emma’s surprise. They didn’t need to share a conversation for him to gauge her apprehension and excitement. She was no doubt wondering if they were really going to be living amongst this dense and beautiful forest. It would be a big change from her life in the cities she’d always known.

Soon enough they made it to the town line, reading the hunter green placard that announced their arrival. Unsure of what he expected, Killian was surprised to see just how much improvement had been made in his time away. Their town had always been quaint, but it could easily be described as ‘down on its luck’ when he was a boy. He knew it was his brother’s hope to not only remove the stain of his father’s shady dealings, but to help revitalize this community in a way that had been lacking for decades. But when Killian departed to seek his revenge on Gold, those ideas were mere figments of a would-be dream.

Liam has truly made good, he thought to himself as they cruised down the main street. Here along the town’s center there were new businesses and old ones that had been repaired and shaped for competing in the world today. Things were still classic and beachy, but the energy around it all gave away two important facts: the first was that this town was being tended to and cared for by its tenants, the second was that it was also being protected, and that anything that may threaten this currently peaceful ecosystem would not be allowed.

In this stretch of the ride, Killian could see some familiar faces in the mix, people from his old life in this town who were going about their day to day none the wiser about his return. There were also quite a few new faces as well, but Killian could spot the tourists right away. Their biggest tell was their fixation on his bike. People who lived in this region regularly would be densensitized, and since Liam had imposed a safety parameter for the town from other gangs, they wouldn’t bat an eye, even at a biker without his cut.

Not far beyond the center of town was the Den, the once large warehouse that had been reconfigured to fit the Land Pirate members and families when need be. When he was here last, the place was little more than a dump, with tell-tale signs of partying strewn about both outside and within. There was also a crappy, rusted gate around the perimeter that did the job of securing the place on some level, but had always been a huge eyesore. Gone was all of that, and in its stead was higher tech, better quality fencing. The Den was now fortified, and Killian could see the precautions put in place that passersby may not realize were installed. He also took note of the probie standing guard at the entrance.

Well this should be interesting, Killian thought as he drove up. He had no idea who this probationary member of the club was. Killian would have to explain who he was and that could get awkward. But before he had the chance the unknown man was speaking.

“Well I’ll be damned. Pres was right. Hook’s come home again.”

“Pres?” Emma whispered and Killian replied quietly.

“That’s Liam’s title here, love.”

“And Hook?”

“My road name.” Emma nodded, taking it all in stride as Killian turned his attention back to the probie. “So, he’s expecting me then?”

“Has been for weeks. You sure took your time getting out here, Hook.”

He looked at the probationary patch on the man’s Land Pirates leather cut and saw the stitched name ‘Mouse.’ Had to be a story behind that name. Didn’t exactly blend with the others who were patched in when Killian was here. “How do you even know who I am?”

“You kidding? You’re a legend, man, and so is she.”

For a minute Killian tensed up, thinking that Mouse was talking about Emma. He was feeling protective, and didn’t like the idea of other men looking her way unless they were going to show the proper respect. Only when Emma let out a laugh did he realize his mistake.

“Oh my God, you mean the bike! That’s classic. Please tell me it has a name.” Emma’s joking was incredibly apparent, and Killian was surprised at how nonplussed she was by their being on unknown turf.

“She,” Mouse stressed and Emma bit back her laugh, but her body still shook with it. “And yeah, bikes get names.”

“Wait don’t tell me. This will be way more fun if I can guess. Hmm, Harley? No that’s kind of obvious. Uh, I mean what do you call a gendered bike? Kind of a tall order… Oh I know, Lady. Kind of on the nose with the whole ‘it’s a she’ thing, but it works, right?”

Killian chuckled at the way Emma was enjoying herself, and he noticed the look of shock on the probie’s face. Clearly he didn’t understand the situation. This was no ordinary woman on the back of his ride giving him shit for having named his bike. This was the most important person in his world, and no one, club member or not, was going to question that.

“Look, kid, my woman and I have been on the road for awhile. We could use the rest, and it’s probably best not to keep my brother waiting anymore.” The overt use of the label for Emma created a total mood shift in Mouse. He had taken the hint.

“Absolutely, Hook. Ma’am.”

The change in tone as he nodded at them and buzzed them through to the compound was pronounced, so much so that Emma mentioned it when they parked and she stepped off the motorcycle.

“Is the somewhat caveman ‘me man, she my woman’ thing baked into this whole MC life?” Emma asked, her brow arched even as a smile teased at her lips. “I’m not complaining, per se. Just curious if I’ll have to announce my belonging to you everywhere I go.”

“Probies are probies for a reason, love, and the reason is they’ve got a whole lot to learn and more than one thing to prove. The men in this club with a patch, my brothers, they know better than to disrespect a woman, Old Lady or not.”

“Ah right, I forgot about that charming title. I don’t know who possibly came up with that one. ‘Old Lady.’ It’s so… unflattering. Had to be a man.”

“In this world, you can blame nearly everything on a man, love,” Killian quipped and Emma grinned at his assessment before continuing to lament the biker term for a man’s significant other.

“I honestly thought I’d have a few years before getting called ‘old lady’ and even then it would be by bratty neighborhood kids, not hot guys in leather who name their motorcycles.” Killian growled at the mention of men being hot and Emma teased him with a nip against his lips that was designed to have him wanting more but was only meant in jest. “But don’t worry, I’ll make up for all of this somehow. I’m gonna find you the perfect partner nickname that undercuts how irresistibly sexy I find you in all your leather. I just need a little time.”

“You can call me any damn thing you want, Emma. As long as you call me yours.”

The words were honest and immediately shifted the sass of Emma’s commentary to something softer. Instinctively, she placed a gentle and loving kiss on his lips before they both turned to the warehouse. Together they walked hand in hand towards the door, and when they entered, Killian held his breath. Would this place look like the nightmare of his youth? The place he’d have fought through anything to get away from? It took only the briefest moment to see those worries were unfounded.

Killian was utterly relieved at how normal the Den looked, and how the relic of old had been completely rehabilitated. The general concept was the same, starting with a vastness in the entrance that made it seem like this place went on forever. The entryway blended into a great room where club members and guests spent a lot of time, and in the back there’d surely be more changes to go along with these ones. Killian knew the kitchen and living quarters, the war room and Liam’s office all would have been revamped if this part of the warehouse was. But this communal space in particular held a lot of painful memories. The ghosts of this place had haunted him for some time, but they were nearly all cast away by the warmth and modern makings of this renovation. It made Killian want to see more, something he never truly believed was possible, but as curious as Killian was, there simply wasn’t time. Soon the renovation was forgotten, and instead he was faced with the all important figure standing there, waiting for him after years of no contact.

“Liam.”

…

Post-Note: So I know I have stopped it right at the start of a hugely important reunion, but I fully intend to make up for it in the next chapter. Introducing the actual MC is going to be such fun for me, but, as with this chapter, it may take some time before I have a next installment out. My muse has been tricky, but I am hoping to get a bigger chunk of my story, ‘Feels Like This’ written by the end of the year so I can hopefully finish it up. Anyway, I would love to hear what you all thought of this chapter, and as always, I really appreciate you all reading and thank you so much for the support! Until next time!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs smut #emma swan #killian jones #cs mc #cs mc fic #ouat mc #the whole storybrooke gang #when we collide #when we collide au #when we collide 5 #motorcycle club au

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 10

Hey y'all. Got this chapter written out pretty quickly because I'm super excited for what comes next. There's one more chapter until we get into arc 2 of the fic. At that point, I'll probably take a break from updates until I finish planing out some stuff (probably about two weeks or so). Thank you as always for your comments and Kudos! Also: let me know if you can’t find my fic in the tags. For some reason I have to delete and repost 3 times before it shows up.

Read also on AO3 or see the Masterpost for more chapters!

The room was filled with the cracking of the fire. After her interaction with Coco, she and Gallant had upped the drama tenfold. Em felt like she was back in high-school -- the wanna’-be Abercrombie and Fitch models and America’s Got Talent stars whispering amongst themselves and snickering. You always knew they were talking about you because they wanted you to know they were talking about you, eying you up and down just to make a point.

So Em wandered to Langdon’s office. She had grown up, but it didn’t make the pair’s antics any less annoying. They had taken up the library as a show of power so the brunette had gone to the only place they couldn’t go.

Curled up on the sofa, Em was writing in a journal. Her knees pulled up to her chest and the radio playing lightly in the background, she could almost pretend she was back home on a rainy day.

Langdon was working across from her at his desk, typing away at a laptop he had smuggled inside. Ever so often, she’d look up at him. His eyes were always focused on the task at hand. Dark brows would furrow as he turned away from the screen to check something he had written down in a notebook.

It amused Em. So, he did have work on a higher level, beyond the interviews and selections.

“What’s your opinion in regards to your fellow residents?” Langdon asked out of the blue. It took a moment for his words to process, but after a moment she finally responded, eyes still focused on her notebook.

“With all the lurking you do I suspect you know my opinions.”

“You hate them,” He noted, still typing away at his laptop, “Yet you help them. Why?”

“I reserve my hate for people that matter,” She corrected, “They annoy me.”

“Yet you help them.”

Em sighed and looked up at him, offering a half-hearted shrug, “I’ve always had a problem saying ‘no,’ and Coco isn’t used to hearing it.”

It wasn’t entirely true. She had said those words to him ample times… Venable as well. It meant she deemed Venable as deserving of her anger, but what about Langdon? What did he mean to her to warrant being able to say that one simple word?

He didn’t push it.

“Gallant isn’t too bad,” she noted, “he just wants to be something to someone.”

“What about the Stevens?”

“Is this another interview?”

“Conversation,” He corrected, briefly looking up from his work, “It isn’t as if we can talk about the weather… and I value your opinion.”

She smiled and placed her notebook to the side.

“Andre…” she mused, looking off to the side as she thought, “He’s a wounded animal. Stu and I clicked and we only knew one another for a week at best, but anyone with eyes could see they cared deeply for the other. Besides Timothy and Emily, they were the people I considered myself close to.”

“And Dinah?”

Em’s answer was quick.

“Would do anything for her son, but after the incident we don’t talk much anymore. Andre needs her and considers everyone else an enemy in some shape or form.”

“The incident?”

Her voice was surprisingly matter-of-fact. There was no sign of distress or shame. She was reading from a history book that resided in her own mind.

“Venable fed us a person,” the brunette explained, “of that, there is no doubt. Timothy still has the finger to prove it. Just a bone, but I know a human finger when I see one.”

“Who was it? They said Stu was contaminated.”

Em read him like a book.

“Why do you ask when you already know the answer?”

Langdon ignored her question, only offering a shrug as he continued to work. “How did that make you feel?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He dropped the subject, grabbing a file from his desk and slowly walking over to her as he read it. So, this was just a conversation. The blond would be much more attentive if it were an interview, more calculating.

Stopping at her shoulder, he sat on the arm of the sofa. Em stiffened as his hand absentmindedly grabbed her own as he continued to read. The file was rather thick — too thick to be a file on one of the residents. Unless he had one that contained the contents of Coco’s twitter page. From what she could see there were no pictures, ruling out that theory entirely.

With a frown he set the file on the back of the chair, pulling her hand into his lap and playing with her fingers as he stared into the fire. They trailed over her palms as if the lines across it were a map to whatever he was searching for. Her neck felt hot, red splotches rising up it and onto her cheeks.

“…and I already know your opinions about the other four,” he mused, more a mutter than a statement, “Evie?”

He sensed the look she gave him without turning his head. “Right.”

“Then again I’m biased,” she noted, pulling her hand away before her palms could start sweating. Langdon seemed to realize what he had been doing and quickly straightened. Standing off to the side, he straightened his jacket and returned to his desk.

The blond’s questions brought up introspection on her own end, insecurities and worries rising to the surface. There was an argument to be made about projection. When she looked at Emily and Timothy, she saw people who were like her, like all the friends she left behind. If the pair survived then somehow Em’s friends survived — the ones who worked hard and deserved so much better.

Langdon was watching her. Blue eyes narrowed in on the absent void in her eyes he had seen in the hallway before.

“You look tired,” he noted, pulling her from her thoughts, “trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Em admitted, returning from her trance and sitting up on the couch before she fell asleep. The room was so warm. “I sleep fine… just wake up heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Like my limbs are made of led,” she explains before waving a dismissive hand, “I just tampered off the last of my medication so it’s probably just withdrawal. Would certainly explain the weird dreams I’ve been having.”

This caught his attention, “What sort of dreams?”

“You really sound like your interviewing me,” she noted.

He smirked, sitting on his desk, “ye of little faith.”

“Now it sounds like an interrogation. We seem to talk about the same things over and over.”

“There’s little to talk about,” he reminded with a chuckle, “remember?”

She merely shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Well?” he prompted, waiting for her to answer his question.

“My mind is what I hold most dear.”

“Some think the mind dies with the body.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I’ve learned threats don’t work on you.”

Em rolled her eyes, much to his amusement, “you can be one of the most annoying people… and I’ve spent the last year with Coco and Gallant.”

“You’re hedging.” Langdon sang, laughing as she held up her hands in defeat. Biting her lip, she tried to stay annoyed. The second she saw his grin, her own began pulling at her lips. He just stared at her. He could have stared at her for hours.

The smile eventually faded as she sighed, relenting to his demands. “I dreamed I was burned alive, but I wasn’t myself… I was someone else. Couldn’t tell you who.”

Langdon stiffened, but only for a moment.

“Do you often have dreams like that?”

“My dreams have always been weird,” She admitted, “side effect of an overactive imagination.”

He nodded and took a seat back in his chair, flipping his laptop back on and waiting for the screen to load. “I imagine confinement in the after-effects of the nuclear apocalypse does little to help.”

Em was quick to change the conversation. Her dreams were something she both took pride in and felt embarrassment from. They inspired her stories, but also made for awkward conversation when anyone asked for the source of said inspiration.

“What are you working on?” The brunette asked.

“Classified,” he replied on instinct, tone telling her something had popped up which required his focus. However, he had made a promise.

“Langdon.”

He looked up and sighed, eyes flickering to her before returning their attention on the task at hand. “My job doesn’t end once the selections are completed. I have to arrange transportation back to the Sanctuary as well as keep tabs on operations on the inside which have taken place in my absence.”

“Sounds like you’re an important person?”

The man smirked at that, “you think they’d let just anyone decide the fate of residents?”

“You know what I think.”

“That I do.”

They lapsed into silence once more. One minute passed… two… twenty. She went back to writing in her notebook and Langdon went back to typing away at his computer.

He would occasionally reference back to files, one hand keeping his place while his other typed. His movements were a soothing white noise that helped her think upon her notes.

Langdon had been right. Em would never fully trust him until she got into the Sanctuary. When that time came, she’d then have to prove her own honesty.

Her morality refused to let her friends die, however. No matter what oath she made. Loopholes… she had to find loopholes. Em couldn’t tell them what she learned or about her deal. Atop all that, she had to give Langdon a wide berth to work.

She didn’t necessarily have to tell them anything. Not if she manipulated them, pushed them in the right direction. It wouldn’t compromise Langdon’s mission. It wasn’t as if she was getting them into the Sanctuary by giving them all the answers. She was just pushing them to find the truth. Timothy and Emily were already on the right path, after all.

Em hoped they found something of weight in the man’s room. Then she could assess the situation properly.

Langdon flipped through his files, trying to find a specific one. Not outwardly marking them was a pain in the ass, but it was a needed secrecy. Something caught his eye and he stopped, flipping back a few pages and looking up at his companion.

“Happy belated birthday,” He said. Em’s nose scrunched in confusion as she looked up from her book. For a moment she seemed to be doing the math in her head. “You were born an exact week before Halloween.”

“When’s Halloween?”

“In two days.”

She hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t as if there was anything to look forward to. If she was being honest, she had forgotten what day it was. The hours seemed to blend together the longer she stayed in the outpost.

“Halloween was the theme of many birthday parties,” she said with a smile, trying not to look too disappointed, “explains a lot, if I’m being honest.”

“Such as?”

“Fascination with the macabre and occultism,” she admitted, “all those… weird things.”

“I don’t find it weird at all,” he reassured, “how old are you now?”

“23.” She said, the pair lapsing into silence before she spoke again, “when is your birthday?”

“March fifth,” he answered.

She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling as she thought before letting out a frustrated sigh. “I was going to try and guess your zodiac. That’s how people flirt, isn’t it?”

“It was also the trademark of the Zodiac killer.”

“Well… shit.”

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he wandered back towards the couch.

“Pisces,” he said, plopping down opposite of her.

“That means you’re… that’s the fish one, right?”

His cheeks hurt, “you’re terrible at this.”

“I don’t exactly have the Sunday paper to reference.”

“Are you trying to tell my future now?”

She rolled her eyes and swatted him with her book. He watched red crawl up her neck and to her cheeks as he continued to chuckle at her antics.

“Okay, fine,” Em relented, “another topic then — what do you miss most about the old world?”

“You’re filled with questions today,” he noted, trying to hide his amusement but unable to rid the smile that took up his entire face.

“I’m tired of having one-sided conversations,” the brunette corrected. She tried to look stern, but failed miserably. “Believe it or not I don’t actually like talking about myself as much as I have.”

Langdon rose an incredulous brow, “oh?”

“Okay,” she admitted, “maybe a little, but who doesn’t?”

He laughed and she smiled. God, it had been so long since he had laughed.

“What do you miss?” the blond countered, chuckling as she sent him a scathing look.

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

Rolling his eyes with as much dramatics as he could muster, he finally gave her an answer.

“There are many things I miss about the old world, but things must be sacrificed for the new one.”

“I’ll hit you. I really will.” She snipped, “that’s not an answer.”

Em knew with one look that he was doing this on purpose. His smile was shit-eating and smug. The game of cat and mouse continuing.

“Yes, it is.”

“For a politician, maybe.” She said, staring at him silently until he gave her the answer she wanted. He had to think long and hard. Langdon hadn’t lied — he missed a great deal of things. But what did he miss the most?

“The freedom,” he decided with a nod of his head before gesturing to the rest of the room, “dress these places up as much as you want, but they’re still cages.”

“And the sanctuary is different?”

“No,” he admits, “but it’s certainly larger.”

“By how much?”

All he gave her was a smirk, “you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Will I?”

He just stared at her and she stared in return. Both of them were trying to read something from the other as if there was some sign that they were telling the truth.

Em didn’t know what to feel. There was a fascination she felt when she looked at him. When she spoke, she felt a familiarity, their conversations were so easy and natural. She would see the twitch of his lips as he read or the way he crossed his legs and it felt like she sat there a hundred times before. Part of her wanted to see it a hundred times more.

Landon’s brows furrowed and sat up a bit.

“You’re crying,” he noted.

Confused, Em placed a hand on her cheek. When she pulled back it was wet. Her brows furrowed as well. Why was she crying?

“Odd,” she muttered, “allergies, possibly.”

“There’s nothing living here.”

“There’s dust,” Em noted, chuckling a bit, “lots of it.”

They weren’t stopping, her eyes watering over and over again. Langdon found himself reaching forward to wipe them away. Why did he have to get so close to her? She’d bump noses with him if she leaned towards him even half an inch.

“I have a few more interviews to conduct,” He noted, pulling away quickly and rising to his feet, “I hope to speak with you soon.”

“Yeah,” she noted, swiping at her eyes and grabbing her notebook, “same time tomorrow?”

He smiled and shook his head, “would I be able to stop you?”

“Probably not.”

Carefully closing the door behind her, Em both ways before making her way back to her room. God, the tears weren’t stopping. It was more annoying than anything. She could hardly see.

Turning the corner, a force slammed into her shoulder. The brunette stumbled back slightly before hands centered her once more.

“Hey,” the familiar voice of Emily chuckled. Then she noticed her tears, “What’s wrong?”

“Allergies,” Em said, scrunching her nose and fanning at her face, “god, they haven’t been this bad in years. I feel like I’m chopping a fucking onion.”

Emily could only laugh, stepping back and pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully she dabbed at her friend's eyes. “Here.”

“Ugh,” Em groaned, gently taking the piece of fabric from her friend’s hand, “maybe it’s a hair. Can you see anything?”

Em turned her head up and did her best to keep her eyes open. Emily shook her head.

“Nothing.”

With a sigh, Em went back to dabbing the tears away and started to move down the hall, “maybe it’s a stray hair. I’ll meet with you and Timothy later, okay? Need to get whatever it is out of my eye.”

Emily could only step back and let her friend pass.

“We’ll be in the library!” She called after Em. The only sign the woman heard her being a thumbs up thrown up above her head before she turned another corner.

There was something going on with that girl. Emily could feel it in her gut. She just didn’t know what.

***

“What did you find?” Emily asked her as soon as she entered the library, barely giving the brunette enough time to take a seat.

Em looked around the room, ensuring the three musketeers were the only people in the room. Timothy leaned on the other side of the table. Emily was pacing behind him as always.

“Nothing,” she said, her heart twisting as she blatantly lied.

Timothy scratched at his head, cheeks puffing out before she let out a long breath. He glanced at Emily who paused her pacing, lips pursed as she held back her disappointment.

“Nothing?” She echoed.

“He’s like a shadow,” Em said, turning sideways in her chair to face them properly, “always lurking somewhere. Was barely in there ten minutes before he showed up.”

Dragging his hands down his face, Timothy punched his brow and flexed his jaw. God, he was not made for this kind of work. He wanted to be an engineer, not a spy.

“We should stop while we’re ahead,” he said, glancing between the two women.

Emily gave him a look somewhere between shock and anger. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

“He could kill us for this,” Timothy hissed, “leave us for the cannibals. Don’t you remember what he said?”

His girlfriend rolled her eyes, “I have ears, Timothy.”

The man shook his head, tapping his knuckles against the table and avoiding her gaze. Em watched their interaction. She wasn’t about to get in the middle of a lover’s spat.

“Is the truth really worth it?”

Emily’s response was immediate, “Always!”

Timothy sighed, “look, why don’t we wait till after the selections to find the truth. That way we don’t die.”

“And be trapped in another cage?"

“He has a point,” Em noted, the ebony-haired woman turning on her heels to face her. Emily felt betrayed, face contorting with anger.

“If you two want to die in your ignorance so be it!” she hissed before storming out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Timothy was staring at the floor, hand going up to scratch at his head and then rub at his neck. It didn’t take a genius to see he was conflicted.

“She’ll cool off,” Em reassured.

“I know.”

“She has a point.”

He turned to look at her in disbelief, “I thought you—”

“You both have points. Good points.”

“But which one is best — being screwed over now or later?”

Em shrugged, “depends.”

“On what?”

She sighed, taking a moment to articulate her thoughts, “I can’t answer that for you… you have to fill in the blanks yourself.”

Timothy could only nod. Such seemed to be the consensus. If only the waters weren’t so murky.

“What did y’all find?” Em finally asked.

“Venable has been making her own rules,” Timothy noted, “… abstinence and all that.”

“And that’s what Langdon’s focused on?”

“He has a laptop,” Timothy explained, “There were lots of emails between himself and the Cooperative. Emily thinks he has a satellite hook-up or something.”

“What kind of emails?”

Timothy shrugged, “general updates. Last outpost had extremely depleted resources, surrogate tests were failing, status updates…”

“… and?” Em pressed, knowing there was more.

“He plans to execute Gallant and Venable,” Timothy said. His eyes flickered as if he were reading the email to her. “there are two promising candidates so far that he’s considering taking to the Sanctuary.”

Em let out a breath of relief. So, Langdon had been listening to her. She nodded for a moment, thoughts spinning.

“Go to Emily,” she said.

“What?”

“Apologize,” she says, rising from her seat and starting towards the door, “you have to work together to find out more.”

Timothy gaped for a second, pushing off the table as he watched her leave.

“What about you?” he finally spoke.

“I’m the distraction, remember?”

The boy could only stand there as the door closed behind her; brows furrowed. God, why did she always have to be so… cryptic? Scratching at the back of his head, Timothy paced back and forth for a moment.

The creaking of the door caught his attention once more. Freezing mid-step, he rose his gaze to stare at the new arrival. Emily was peeking her head in, looking for any sign of Em before walking back inside.

“What did she say?”

Timothy let his hand drop to her side, “That we need to work together.”

“Did you tell her about the emails?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Timothy replied, “but she’s always examined our findings before saying a word… even to us.”

Emily sighed, reaching out for his hands which he carefully placed in her own. She stared at them as her fingers smoothed over his knuckles and traced circles on the back of his hands.

“She’s hiding something,” she said, biting her lips and eyes welling with concern, “Langdon must have done something to her.”

“Or maybe she didn’t find anything,” Timothy reminded, “She’s honest to a fault… a really, really big fault.”

A small smile graced Emily’s lips. It was quickly gone, replaced by an expression of determination. Finally, she looked up at him.

“We need to investigate on our own.”

Timothy opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off, “without Em. He can’t silence all of us.”

***

“Who deserves a shot at salvation?” Langdon’s questioned, voice booming across the room as he strode to his desk with a bounce in his step. Venable stood by the fire, back straight and lips pressed into a thin line. The woman was like a statue. Then again, the Greys had come to call her the ‘iron woman’ for a reason. Even iron rusted.

He eyed his files, hands hovering over the names of Purples. He knew exactly how Venable viewed them, the rage she felt at their presence.

“Let’s start with… Coco St. Pierre Vanderbuilt.”

Settling in his chair, Langdon placed a hand on either side of the desk, keeping his posture open. Body language was a key part of communication. It was processed so subconsciously one didn’t know they were telling a story with their whole bodies. He needed Venable to feel like she was in charge. Give her the power and then yank it out from under her feet.

Venable scoffed before her eyes narrowed on him, “The Vanderbuilt girl is a vacuous abomination of inbreeding. She’d be my last choice to propagate the human race.”

Langdon simply stared at her and she continued on with her rambling. Each insult pulling her spine straighter and straighter, giving her a pathetic illusion of power.

“The hairdresser is a cowardly homosexual. His grandmother is a festering pustule who just will… not… die.” She ranted, eyes alighting with a fire of superiority and a satisfied smirk crawling onto her face. Recognizing her own hubris, she pulled back and tapped her cane quietly. “And the talk show host…”

The woman balked at that one, glancing at her feet as she searched for something to say.

“Well, actually,” she admitted, “I don’t know that much about that one.”

“And Emily?”

When he looked upon Wilhemina Venable he did not see a leader. He didn’t even see a person. All he could see was the woman who had tried to hit Em, the fear in her eyes when the brunette refused to cower. Langdon had no pity for those who abuse their power.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run out of oxygen with all her preaching,” Venable scoffed, “She’s an ungrateful brat that’s never satisfied. A mangy mutt that thinks she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Langdon showed no reaction to her words. His face was an iron mask that, unlike Venable, he knew how to regulate.

“Mutts can still bite.”

The woman chuckled, clearly amused, “all she knows how to do is bark. She lacks the backbone needed to carry out anything of substance.”

Langdon offered a mocking smile that Venable quickly mistook for validation. Her eyes glimmered with the satisfaction of a queen on her throne.

“At this rate, you and I will have the Sanctuary all to ourselves.” He noted. The woman made no move to react or acknowledge his statement.

“Come,” he sighed, rising from his desk once more and rounding it to stand at her side, “There’s no need for us to be adversaries, Ms. Venable.”

The woman seemed to consider his proposition, chin rising ever slightly to look into his eyes. They were so blue it was easy to see why many residents were mesmerized by them. There was an… attraction to the man, a magnetic quality. Perhaps a man she could tolerate. A man Venable could use to get out of this hell hole to rise to a position more suitable to her skills.

Langdon allowed her to stare for a long moment. He stood close to the woman, but not close enough. She would have to make the move… at which point he would land the final blow.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered, tone and words off enough to make Venable falter. Her eyes widened in surprise as she processed his request, but made no move to put distance between herself and Langdon.

“I will not,” she gaped, incredulous and chuckling as if he were telling her a horrible joke.

Langdon’s face remained as it was.

“Part of your cooperation includes a physical examination,” he reminded.

Venable, like Em, knew exactly what a physical examination required. She kept her eyes on the man, refusing to give him any more ground than he had already conquered. “You can read my file.”

The blond’s head quirked to the side as he assessed the woman before him, “Your file won’t show me what I need to see… your shame.”

Venable’s confident smirk disappeared and his own quickly formed. It was as if he was sucking the power from her and fueling himself. Slowly, he began to circle with his hands behind his back, a vulture around a wounded and slowly dying animal.

“I want to see that part of you that humiliates you the most.”

His hand trailed up her arm and over her shoulder where it came to rest by her neck, touch light as a feather. Her hand sank into his like a claw before it could reach the zipper just a breath away from his fingers. He placed another hand on her other shoulder, caging her in place and leaning in so his breath fanned her ear.

“You won’t get a second chance.”

Venable’s breath made her chest rise and fall, panic rising from her belly and into her chest. She stared at the ground, weighing her options before she finally retracted her claws.

Langdon’s hand trailed to her back, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress to reveal a twisted spine, the flesh around it a deep bruised purple.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hands trailing down her spine.

Venable spoke with all the conviction she could muster. She focused her eyes on the wall and willed her tears to return back into her eyes, “no.”

She felt his face come closer to her cheek, voiced hushed as he spoke, “Does it bring you great pain.”

It took Venable a moment to gather the breath to even formulate a response, shoulders shuttering. A single tear fell down her cheek, the shame too much to bear.”

“Yes.”

Slowly, she turned her head towards him. His nose was almost close enough to brush her own and she tilted her head as if she hoped he’d kiss her.

“Is this part of my test?” the red-haired woman asked, eyes staring into his with a vulnerability she hadn’t show in years.

He shook his head, moving slightly towards her, “isn’t everything?”

“So then,” she said, eyes flickering to his lips, “Do I pass?”

Langdon leaned forward, her eyes closing in expectation as his nose brushed her own. His breath and the expectation of his lips made her heart hammer in her chest.

Then it was gone, a wicked smile forming before her eyes on the man. She felt the humiliation before he had even said a word. More tears trailed down her cheeks.

Revenge certainly was sweet.

“No.”

***

Em sat in the salon, Coco on the couch opposite her. The blond was posed, resting her elbow atop the back of the chair and her head upon her dangling hand. It was an Instagram-worthy pose. One Em was supposed to be capturing… instead, she was drawing Langdon from memory. She was merely using Coco as a reference to draw the couch he was leaned back on, legs crossed and eyes on his file.

“Are you almost done?” Coco snipped, “my elbow is cramping.

To her credit, she had drawn Coco. She just hadn’t told the woman she had finished.

“Do you want it done right?” Em asked. There was no hard in torturing the woman just a little longer. For once the salon was quiet. Coco was deep in thought about something, a rare occurence.

“My family was supposed to be here,” Coco said, breaking the brief respite with her quiet words, “My dad purchased the tickets.

Em glanced up at her before her eyes returned to her drawing. She was unsure of what Coco wanted from her. “So you've said.”

Green eyes flickered back to the blonde as she shifted uncomfortably. Halting in her ministrations, Em watched her for a moment. It was like a sudden ripple in the water, something either falling below or coming towards the surface.

Coco’s eyes flickered to the fire. She remembered being a tiny tot having lavish bonfires with her family in flannel shirts that cost more than a small New York apartment. Her little brother would be such a menace, chasing her around with dirt-covered hands or a worm dangling off a stick. She’d scream but always found herself laughing when he’d toss it at her. He always had the worst aim. Their father had to bribe the high-school baseball team into letting the boy play.

The woman turned in her seat, Em closing her sketchbook to give Coco her attention. The blonde sunk in her seat. Her lips twisted and eyes focusing on the empty spot in front of her, furrowed brows darkening her expression.

Finally, she looked to Em, scooting towards her and crossing her legs on the couch. “You’re one of those… smart people, right? Do you think they suffered?”

“I—” Em was blindsided by the question, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

Coco was quick to press the subject, “They were in Hong Kong — right by the first blast.”

The woman’s eyes were so desperate Em couldn’t even formulate a thought. What was she supposed to say? What was the truth? Was it better to tell her a lie or the harsh reality?

“Coco, I—”

“Did they?”

Jaw tensing, Em took in her eyes welling with unshed tears and her hands which tightly gripped at her arm. This wasn’t something the woman wanted, but something she needed. They were all facing death and with it their own guilt and regrets.

“They would have been… incinerated in a matter of seconds,” she found herself saying. Em's voice was slow and even in an attempt to keep it from trembling. Her hands reached to squeeze Coco’s as if her touch was a soothing balm to the wounds they were reopening. “If they did feel any pain it would have been like a paper cut— sharp and then… nothing.”

Coco nodded, chest rising and falling as she tried to keep panic from rising. Trembling lips formed an uneven smile as she looked up at Em. The action shocked the brunette. It was a part of Coco she had never seen, a part of Coco she empathized with.

“Thank you,” Coco whispered, squeezing the other woman’s hands. Em was too shocked to move. She was still processing the situation, her own words and the meaning behind them, the weight they held.

Coco fanned at her eyes, tilting her head back.

“Oh,” she whined, “I can’t cry… I only brought enough eyeliner to last me a year. Mallory!”

She was gone before Em could even realize. The brunette’s brows were furrowed as she stared at the floor, confused and… sad — so, so sad. The kind of sadness that hit you like a punch to the gut, strong enough to make you double over.

Her own breath became labored as the voices once again welled in her head. They screamed and begged for life, just one more moment to apologize for their wrongs… to make right arguments that turned into their last words. A million hands gripped on to her, dragging her into the black and gaping void. She could feel their fingers digging into her skin, bruises rising to the surface.

Em jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it and pulling her out of the river Styx. She wiped her face of tears and turned to the man she hadn’t even heard approaching.

Langdon was blatantly concerned, kneeling beside her and holding her hands. It centered her somewhat, kept her from drowning.

“Why do you cry?” He asked, voice quiet and gentle.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she stood, Langdon mirroring her actions. Green eyes looked everywhere but at him and her hands slipped from his grip. “Excuse me.”

His hand shot out; grip strong enough to stop her from turning away. It loosened, and he let his hand drop to his side as he willed her to look at him.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yet I feel guilty all the same.”

Langdon shook his head and took a step towards her, hand hovering over her back as his body curled around her front. “You couldn’t have saved them.”

Em’s hands curled into fists at her side. She remembered her brother, her nieces, her nephews — all too young to die. Taking a step away from him, she finally spoke. “I could have made sure they didn’t die alone.”

Langdon loosened his grip, allowed her to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave her as she left the room, palms swiping at her cheeks as she made her way down the hall.

That was the difference between them — Venable and Em. The former played at caring but used it as a weapon. The red-haired woman was a Puritan preacher, rising the heat on who she perceived as sinners. She didn’t really care about what she preached. It only served to keep those around her in line.

Em, however… Em cared. She cared even when she didn’t want to, when she wanted to be annoyed. Satan did not hate the humans just because they were mortal, flawed. Lucifer was once an angel, after all. An angel dedicated to justice against the sinners.

***

The salon was a place none of them could stay away from for long. It was like the living room of your house, a place you always wandered to when you didn’t know what to do.

Em didn’t like looking weak. She had already cried in front of Langdon more times than she had cried in front of her own mother. Perhaps it meant she was comfortable with him. The thought of anyone seeing her with snot running out of her nose and eyes puffy and red was still humiliating.

Much to her surprise, Gallant was in the salon. His eyes were dead as he stared into the distance, his usual shades missing to reveal the face of a man who had lost everything.

She had heard about what happened, the torture brought to him by his own grandmother’s hands. Coco wasn’t exactly good at keeping things quiet.

“I don’t want to talk,” Gallant grumbled, sensing her presence.

“I didn’t come to talk.”

Gallant turned to look at her over the back of the couch. He had expected Coco. Somehow this was even worse. The hairdresser wanted to hate her, but he knew it was Langdon he was really angry at.

“Here to gloat?” he asked, slumping back into his seat and picking up a glass which had fallen to the side. He picked it up, closed one eye to stare at the bottom, and then downed the rest of the water.

“You aren’t the best man in the world, but you certainly aren’t the worst,” Em said as she took a seat opposite him. She left a cushion length between him and herself. “But there’s no sin in that.”

Gallant glowered at her and scoffed, “great pep-talk. You and Dinah should be co-hosts.”

Em watched as he stared at his glass once more and frowned, letting his hand drop to his side once more. Gallant may be pouting like a child, but it wasn’t without reason.

“Do you want some water?” she asked and he numbly nodded his head. She rose from her seat and brought over the pitcher, sitting closer to him to take the glass from his hands. The man was nearly catatonic like a sad drunk. With a sigh, she placed the pitcher on the coffee table and the glass back in his hands.

“You’re not disgusting Gallant,” She assured, squeezing his hands around the glass, “a bit arrogant, perhaps, but not disgusting.”

After a moment she pulled away. “And it’s okay to mourn what could have been.”

The man stayed silent, sparing a few fleeting glances in her direction. He reminded her of a lost puppy. A petulant one — the kind that would tear up your shoes and your house until you came home. Somehow, they were endearing despite the annoyance they brought.

Gallant sat still for a moment before leaning on her shoulder. Tears began to flow freely from his eyes and he curled into her like a lost child. Slowly, her arms curled around him and she held him to her chest.

“Welcome to the shitty family club,” She jested once he had finally calmed himself down. The man shook his head and chuckled through tears, using the corner of his dress shirt to clear away his tears and snot.

“You tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” he said, a smile forming on Em despite her previous feelings towards the man. She half expected him to run off as Coco had, use her for the therapy and then go back to his day.

“Twenty questions?” he asked, grabbing the pitcher and pouring himself and Em a glass. He held it out expectantly and she slowly took it from his hands.

“With no drinks?”

“Don’t remind me.”

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon

17 notes · View notes

hookedonapirate · 4 years

Text

Set My Soul on Fire

Summary: What happens when the high school principal’s son falls in love with the pastor’s daughter?

Hiding a relationship is hard, especially since Killian’s girlfriend is seventeen and not allowed to date until she’s thirty, it’s even harder to hide her pregnant belly. Can Killian save his relationship with Emma when her parents find out? Some miracles are worth fighting for no matter what. Especially when there’s a little hope involved and a whole lot of love.

Teen Pregnancy AU

Notes: Check out the lovely banner @itsfabianadocarmo made for me here. Thank you so much!

Okay, we are back, finally. I hope everyone is staying safe and well during these times, and I hope this chapter is able to take your mind away from it for a bit. I do have to warn you though, it's not full of unicorns and rainbows, so please grab some tissues before you start reading. Even I was bawling my eyes while writing this and I knew this chapter was coming for several months! Trust me, you're going to hate me by the end of it and feel the urge to throw things, and I won't blame you one bit. I do hope to redeem myself in the coming chapters though, so please bear with me.

Thank you so so much @ultraluckycatnd for looking it over and thank you, everyone, for reading!

Rated: Mature

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 l Ch 5 l Ch 6 l Ch 7 l Ch 8

Also available: AO3 l FF.N

Chapter 9

“I have to use the bathroom. Can I get you anything, baby?”

Emma smiles sweetly at her boyfriend and shakes her head. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, love.” He leans over and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

“Kay.”

As Killian stands up, she sets down her pen and digs into her bag in search of a pen that works. The ink ran out when she was trying to finish writing out the last equation, and Mr. Meade always encourages them to use pens on their math homework because he says erasing makes math all about the right answer, and he’d rather it be about the learning process. Before Killian started tutoring her, she’d always used a pencil, but now she’s confident enough in her work to use a pen.

She looks up as Killian is heading for the door. “Actually, do you have an extra pen? Mine ran out of ink.”

“Sure, love,” he says, turning around, his hand lingering on the doorknob. “There’s one in my bag. And since we’re almost done with your Trig, if you want to get out my Chemistry notes from my bag too, we can start on that afterward.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“You’re welcome.” He rushes over and kisses her again, this time on the lips. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” She gazes at him with a sappy grin on her face and rests her hand on her baby bump. “We both love you.”

Killian chuckles and bends over to drop a kiss to her belly. He strokes her belly, speaking in a low murmur. “Daddy loves you too, little love.”

Emma's heart flutters, a giggle escaping her throat. She loves when Killian talks to their baby and kisses her baby bump, especially since she's only in her first trimester. This means there will be many more gentle kisses and sweet nothings spoken to her pregnant belly.

After he leaves the bedroom, Emma goes to the bed and unzips his backpack. She's so lucky to have him helping her with her homework. Her grades have improved significantly since she came to Storybrooke, since he started tutoring her. She needs to maintain a 3.0 GPA to go to Storybrooke University, so she can’t let her grades slip. Her future with Killian and their little bean depends on it.

Emma pulls out his notebook labeled Chemistry. She unzips one of his front pockets and reaches into it, feeling around for a pen. When she finds one, she grabs it and pulls it out, accidentally taking something else with it. An envelope falls to his Star Wars comforter, and Emma picks it up to replace it in his backpack. But when her eyes catch the eagle emblazoned on the envelope, she pauses and takes a second look at it. It’s a letter addressed to Killian from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University.

Her heart tightens at the prospect of what the envelope may contain. She should just put the envelope back and not read it. She starts to replace it in the bag, but she knows if she doesn’t look inside, the curiosity and guilt will consume her. Emma may not be the brightest, but she’s not oblivious to the possibility that he's capable of getting accepted into the best schools in the country. So it's very likely she's only holding him back by being pregnant with his child.

Emma’s curiosity gets the best of her and she opens the unsealed envelope. Killian had already seen the contents and yet he had never mentioned the university to her or that he even applied there.

She pulls out the crisp page and begins reading.

Welcome to Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University!

It’s an acceptance letter.

Killian got accepted into the largest accredited university specializing in aviation and aerospace, and the ample opportunities that come along with it. Her heart swells with pride as she scans the letter, a smile lighting up her face. He had told her he didn’t care where he got his education, but passing up an opportunity like this could be a huge mistake. The possibilities for Killian would be endless and he would have a degree he could be proud of instead of a degree from some small town no one who lives further than a fifty-mile radius has even heard of. Emma’s face pales and her smile dims when she looks at the sender’s address and realizes the university is in Daytona Beach, Florida. He couldn’t get much further away from her than Daytona Beach unless he went to school on the West Coast.

Emma skims through the letter and searches for the date he has to reply by and finds it toward the bottom. May 1st. She tucks the letter into the envelope and sticks it into his bag where when she finds a few more letters. They’re all from schools with the best aviation programs in the country, and every one of them would require him to leave the state to attend. They would all take him away from her and the baby. They would take him away from their plan.

Her heart physically hurts, tears springing to her eyes as she reaches for the promise necklace Killian gave her and fingers the pendant. She knows she could never get into one of those colleges. It’s already too late in the game. She barely has the grades to get into Storybrooke as it is. And she doesn't want to move that far from home and deprive both their child and their parents of the chance to be close and spend time together. Killian would have to choose either one of those colleges or her and the baby. He wouldn’t be able to have both.

Emma releases the pendant, letting it dangle from the chain and replaces all the contents in his bag before zipping up all the pockets she had opened. She grabs the pen and notebook, taking them over to the desk and reclaims her seat, trying to fight back tears. She tries not to think about the acceptance letters, but she knows the guilt of making him settle for Storybrooke University will eat her alive.

Killian returns with two Cherry Cokes, flashing a warm grin.

Emma looks away before he can see the despair written all over her face, and she blinks away her unshed tears as she returns to the equation she was working on when her pen had run out.

He cracks open one of the cans and hands it to her. “Here you go, love. In case you get thirsty,” he says sweetly, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

Emma accepts the soda with a small smile and thanks him before taking a sip. She wants to mention the letters, but if she does, she knows Killian will say he’s not going to any of those colleges. He’ll say he doesn’t want to be separated from Emma or the baby. He made a promise to her, and if there’s one thing she’s learned about Killian, it’s that he always keeps his promises.

~*~

“Are you ready, love?”

Emma nods and offers a small smile, even though she’s nowhere near ready. She’s a nervous wreck. Why? Because today, she and Killian plan on telling her father she’s pregnant. After informing Killian her mother figured it out already, it relieved him to know how well she took the news and that she‘s allowing Emma and Killian to tell David. They also plan on telling her father they’re raising the baby together. But ever since Emma discovered that letter from Embry-Riddle a few days ago, she’s not even sure how she feels about dragging Killian to Storybrooke University with her. She knows he can do so much better than this place, and she’d feel too guilty if he chose another path because of her. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Are you?”

Killian places his hand on her baby bump through her thick winter jacket, delicately stroking her stomach in soothing circles, and smiles as he kisses her temple. “Aye. Just pray for me, love, will you? I wish to live long enough to hold our baby in my arms.”

Emma laughs, despite the nerves eating away at her insides. His touch has a calming effect on her and eases her more than anything in the world ever could. The laughter dies quickly in her throat, though. The possibility of her father overreacting is very possible. She just hopes her worst fears won’t come true. She hopes her father won’t try to hurt him. Her father has never been a violent person, he’s always been the exact opposite—loving and caring and composed—but then again, no one’s ever knocked up his daughter before… until now.

Killian had told his father she was pregnant, and Mr. Jones was angry at first because he had warned Killian not to go after the pastor’s daughter, that there would be consequences from the pastor. Thankfully, he calmed down and had an open discussion about it with his son. Killian told his father he was helping Emma raise the baby, and pride had replaced his disappointment. He only wanted Killian to do the right thing by Emma, and they were able to talk through it.

Emma’s hoping her father will react in a similar fashion—disappointed, but able to talk through it.

Killian kisses her lips for a few seconds before resting his forehead against hers, his hand still caressing her stomach. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together, okay?”

“Okay,” Emma whispers and swallows the large lump in her throat. She feels nauseous, but not because of her pregnancy.

As Killian gets out of her car and goes to his truck, jumping into the driver’s seat, her heart is aching at the thought of ruining his future. He waves and smiles at her through their windows as he fires up the engine. She waves and smiles back, hoping he can’t see the devastation and conflict she feels at the moment. She pulls out of the school parking lot and heads home, stewing in her thoughts, being tormented by how slowly the moments pass until that inevitable moment when both of their lives may change.

~*~

Less than a year later...

Emma pulls out of the Riverbend Apartments parking lot and makes her way through heavy traffic. She glances at the clock for the hundredth time before returning her eyes to the road ahead. She’s running late again for her first class of the day, but luckily it’s a big, dimly lit lecture hall, so the professor rarely acknowledges or even notices when students arrive late. Even so, she hates being late for class. Luckily today, the traffic is flowing smoothly, and Emma’s able to make it to her destination quickly.

After killing the engine, she gets out and shoves the car keys in her pocket before tugging her grey beanie more snugly over her ears as the chilly wind hits her face. She reaches the backseat door and hauls it open.

A smile lights up her face when she sees her daughter blinking open her beautiful, sea-blue eyes above the pale pink blanket with grey polka dots draped over the bottom half of the car seat to keep her warm.

“We’re here, kiddo,” Emma coos as she brushes a thumb over her daughter’s cheek.

Hope stirs a bit, lifting her mitten covered hands to each side of her face as she lets out a little yawn, a bubble forming at her mouth. By the looks of her sweet, angelic face, you could never tell she made a big fuss and gave her mommy a hard time this morning when Emma was getting Hope in her cute little outfit, comprising a sleeper onesie, a white, long-sleeved shirt, pink pants with elephants printed on them and a matching cap on her head.

It feels like only yesterday when she brought her sweet baby girl home from the hospital. Emma’s heart was bursting with love when she first gazed upon Hope. It still does when she looks at her, and it hurts like hell whenever she has to drop her off and leave her before heading to class.

Hope is her world, and she thanks God every day for the precious gift she’s been given.

~*~

Present...

When she reaches her house, her heart is hammering in her chest as Killian pulls up behind her car. The entire drive here had been torture. She takes a long, heavy breath and gets out of the car.

As they make their way up the walk, holding hands, she places her other hand on her belly, as though trying to reassure her baby that everything will be alright. Killian senses the uneasiness she feels and offers her an encouraging smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She puts on a small smile of her own, and they walk up the porch steps as he whispers in her ear, “Everything will be okay, love.”

And here she’s supposed to be the optimistic one because she knows everything that happens is God’s will. Or so her father has preached about all her life.

Her heart is pounding mercilessly as she opens the door and they step inside, releasing each other’s hand. The kitchen is buzzing with pleasant chatter, so she leads her boyfriend there without even bothering to remove her coat, only unzips it so she can breathe properly as she prepares to ruin her father’s day. She just wants to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

It’s just her parents here; her mother had suggested to Leo that he go over to his friend’s house for a couple of hours before dinner, so of course he didn’t argue with her about that.

Her father is the first to see them, and his friendly demeanor fades, his eyes shooting daggers at Killian as he rises from his chair. “What’s he doing here?”

Mary Margaret places a hand on her husband’s arm, looking up at him from her chair with pleading eyes. “Sit down, honey, Emma and Killian have to tell you something.”

“Tell me what?” he demands, eyeing his wife in confusion.

“Just sit and let them speak.”

David gulps as he glances between his daughter and Killian. “If you’re telling me you’re dating, I already told you I forbid it.”

Emma’s praying her voice doesn’t give out on her or that she doesn’t chicken out when she speaks. “That’s not what we’re about to tell you, Daddy.” It’s not the most important thing at least.

The walk from the kitchen door to the table only takes a few seconds, but it feels like the longest trek she’s ever made, maybe because she can hear her erratic heart pounding in her ear, or because her father’s death glare pinned on her boyfriend sucks the air completely from her lungs.

David is sitting at the head of the table, so Emma claims the seat next to him and Killian sits on the other side of her. He can't seem to keep his knee from bobbing up and down, nor can he stop scratching behind his ear, so Emma reaches for him, threading her fingers through his underneath the table and rests their joined hands on his knee. His leg stops shaking, and he gives her a frail smile.

David reclines back, folding his arms as he glares at Killian. “Well, whatever it is, I’m telling your father about this. I specifically told you to stay away from my—”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, cutting him off. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. She had meant to ease into it, but she thought she’d save Killian from having to hear her father’s unnecessary lectures.

As David’s eyes widen with pure shock, his face draining of all color, as he takes time to process what his daughter has just told him, she glances at Killian and squeezes his hand, giving him the signal (and the courage) to speak.

Killian looks at David dead in the eye and clears his throat. “I’m the father.”

Emma’s expecting her dad to rise from his chair. She’s expecting anger to consume him, and maybe that will come eventually, but at the moment there’s silence.

Loud, deafening silence.

She can almost hear crickets chirping, as though she had just told an awful joke. She doesn't know if she should speak again or she should wait for the news to take hold of him. So she waits with bated breath while wearing the weight of his certain disappointment and possible anger. Then there’s the indescribable and overwhelming feeling of shame that washes over her in waves. She's ashamed of lying to him. Ashamed she went behind his back. But she’d feared he would never be okay with her dating Killian. She’s also ashamed because now her father knows Emma had broken her promise when she had accepted her purity ring. She went against her father’s wishes and had sex out of wedlock. She went against God. She had committed a sin. But so did her father, eighteen years ago.

“I know you said I couldn’t date, but when Killian and I met, we couldn’t deny our feelings for each other,” Emma explains. “And when you made him promise not to see me anymore, we tried to stop it.”

That might be a slight alteration of the truth. They hadn’t tried very hard.

“I love your daughter, Mr. Nolan,” Killian professes to her father, even though David has yet to breathe a word. He looks at Emma again and places his other hand over their joined ones. “We didn't mean for this to happen, but I promise you I will take care of them.” His eyes are still locked on hers as he raises her hand and plants a gentle kiss on her knuckles. His gentle lips soothe her soul more than she can even begin to comprehend, and she graces him with a soft smile.

Emma’s father is still speechless, just staring off into space, and Mary Margaret is eyeing him in concern.

“David, say something.”

Finally, his eyes slowly travel to his wife. “You knew about this?”

“I figured it out a week ago on my own, but I wanted Emma and Killian to tell you themselves.”

“You knew they were seeing each other behind my back?” he asks her, but his voice is surprisingly calm, lacking any trace of anger. If he’s enraged, he’s doing a damn good job at hiding it.

“Only after I figured out Emma was pregnant.”

“And you said nothing to me about it?” he asks her in a stoic tone.

“David, that's not important right now,” she says softly and places a hand on his arm. “What's done is done.”

Her father’s shoulders sag as he joins his hands on the table, hanging his head. Emma can’t tell if he’s inwardly praying or just contemplating what to say.

They sit there in silence again, but the silence is so tense and overwhelming, she swears she can hear her blood pumping.

Finally, her father raises his head and looks at her with tears in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I am so disappointed. I am.”

Now it was her turn to hang her head.

“You've made poor choices, which now have consequences,” he continues. “It won't be easy and there will be struggles and a hard path ahead of you. But I love you. I want you to know that. No matter what decisions you make, you will always be my daughter.” Emma swears she can see the slightest smile tugging at his lips. “And now I have been given more to love.”

Wait, what?! Her mouth is agape. Before she can respond, her father gets up from his chair, and he looks like he’ll burst into tears. She rises from her chair and turns to face him. He reaches for her, wrapping her up in his arms, and simply holds her.

It’s exactly what she needed and nothing she expected.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, trying to fight off her tears as he cradles the back of her head and drops a kiss through her hair. Emma’s heart bursts and the dams break, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body shaking as she cries, “I am so sorry I broke your rules, Dad. I am so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you.”

What she encounters is something she’d been taught by him all her life, but never fully grasped… until now.

Grace.

She wasn't expecting this at all, but she is very grateful.

When they break the hug, Emma sniffles and wipes her tears. Mary Margaret is beaming with tears in her eyes, and she gets up and returns with some tissues, handing one to Emma and David.

Killian stands, and Emma can tell he’s less nervous as he offers a smile of relief. His gaze meets her father’s as he speaks sincerely. “I’m also sorry I lied to you—”

“Get out.”

Emma’s eyes snap to her father’s, shock washing over her once again. “But, Dad—”

“Not you, sweetie.” David stares at Killian with a steely expression. “I asked you to stay away from my daughter and you stood right in front of me and lied to my face.”

Guilt flashes in Killian’s eyes as he hangs his head. “I know… and I’m sorry....”

“Saying your sorry doesn’t change anything. I said, get out of my house.”

Emma eyes her father in disbelief. What happened to the grace he had just shown? “He is the father of my child! You can’t keep us apart anymore.”

“Emma, as long as you live under my roof, I want him out of my house and out of your life.” David tries to walk away, but his wife grabs his arm trying to stop him.

“David, Killian is accepting his duties as a soon to be father. He’s not running away from this. Why would you deny him that?”

David spins around and looks her in the eye. ��Because they’re too young. They’re barely children themselves. In fact, I think it’s better if you and I adopted Emma’s baby so we can give Emma her best chance.”

“Um, what?!” Now Emma is furious. She’s beyond furious. She raises her hand to her belly through her thick sweater. “This is my child.” She looks at Killian and takes his hand in her free one. “Our child. And we’re keeping the baby.”

“Emma…” David looks at her with pleading eyes. “I’m only looking out for your future here.”

Something sweeps over Emma that she’s never quite experienced before… not like this, and it’s something she’s witnessed with her own mother, something she's seen on Animal Planet when the mother bear is protecting her cubs. Before that pregnancy test showed positive a month ago, Emma had never realized how much a pregnancy forces a woman to grow up, whether they’re a teen or a fully grown adult. And all of those protective, motherly emotions hit her like a freight train, and she expresses them twofold. “My future includes Killian and this baby—as my child!” she clarifies vehemently. “So if you’re not on board with that, then that’s fine! I won’t be living under your roof anymore. We’re leaving!” She tugs on Killian’s hand, pulling him through the kitchen door.

“Emma, please, don’t go,” her mother begs, her words choked between sobs.

Her mother’s heart-wrenching pleas almost break her.

Willing herself to ignore them, Emma continues through the front door and makes her way down the porch steps, hauling her boyfriend with her. The image of her mother’s gutted expression makes her want to turn around and go back, but she fights the urge. Her long, loose hair whips around in the cold, frigid winds as they head to his truck. Tears sting her eyes as the chill in the air makes her shiver all the way to her bones, and she pulls down the sleeve of her jacket to cover the hand that’s not clutching tightly around Killian’s left one.

“Wait, Emma…” Killian tugs on her hand when they reach the walkway, forcing her to stop and turn around. “Do you really want to leave your parents?” he asks, his expression and tone racked with guilt. “I don’t want to be the reason you shut them out of our lives, baby. I mean, I don’t want you to shut them out at all. They’re your parents.”

Emma loves how he says our lives, but somehow his statement sends a shock wave of realization through her. He’s right; she doesn’t want to shut her parents out. Despite her father’s behavior toward Killian, she still loves him and wants him to be a part of her child’s life. Utterly confused and conflicted, Emma sobs uncontrollably, and Killian pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “No, I don’t wanna leave them.”

Her parents rush outside, pausing on the porch when they see Emma and Killian on the lawn. Emma sniffles and lifts her head, wiping her tears as she looks at her mother through a watery gaze. The fear and devastation is evident in her mother’s pale features as tears run down her cheeks. David wraps his arms around his wife and holds her, both of them wrecked and broken as they pray and wait and gaze at their daughter with desperate, pleading eyes.

Emma gulps and glances between them and Killian as she places her hand on her belly. She could go with him and leave her parents behind. Her brother. But she can’t bear the thought of never seeing her parents or Leo again. She loves her family and can’t stomach the idea of her baby growing up without knowing them. She can’t stomach the idea of being away from them. She also can’t stomach the idea of preventing Killian from living his life. He wants to be a pilot, and he can literally go to any college in the country. And she would forever regret it if she kept him from living his dream.

Emma turns around, taking his hands in hers, her fingers trembling. “Killian, I saw the letters.”

“What letters, love?” he asks softly, furrowing his brows.

Emma forces a doleful smile through her tears. “You got accepted to Embry-Riddle. I found the letter a few days ago in your bag when I was looking for a pen.”

“But Emma, I can explain. My father wanted me to apply for many colleges to keep my options open.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “It doesn’t matter though, I want to be with you and the baby, wherever that may be.”

Emma shakes her head, as though the movement would stop her pulse from throbbing in her ear. “I want you to go to Embry-Riddle. You’ve earned this.”

His smile fades, his eyes wide, flashing with fear. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

The plea in his features hits her hard, but she pushes through it, as much it hurts. She’d never forgive herself if he compromised his dreams to be with her. “I can’t let you settle for less than what you deserve. Your dream is to be a pilot, and how are you going to be a father if you’re gone all the time? That’s not a life I want for my child, or for you.”

His eyes glisten with tears as he releases one of her hands to caress the apple of her cheek, his fingers trembling. “But, Emma, baby, I can make it work.” His words are completely shattered. “I can pick something else. I don’t have to be a pilot.”

She gulps down everything she feels for Killian and forces the words out, even though it kills her to say them. “You said the only reason you would ever leave is if I asked you to… so I’m asking you… I’m begging you...” Emma swallows the large lump in her throat, her bottom lip quivering. She’s on the verge of bursting into tears again. “Please leave, Killian. I don’t want to be with you anymore,” she lies flat-out. She doesn’t know if it’s believable enough, but she’s gotten good at lying over the past few months. Lying to her parents. Lying about being with him. Disguising her feelings for him. So she figures she should be a pro at it by now.

Judging by how white his face turns, how his hand goes limp as it falls from her cheek, how his expression completely knocks the wind out of her like someone sucker-punched her in the stomach, her claim must’ve been convincing enough. Now she just has to do the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, other than telling him she doesn’t want him anymore. She yanks the necklace from her neck and takes his hand, turns it over and deposits the silver chain and pendant in his palm, closing his fingers tightly around the contents. When she looks up, Killian is opening his fist and staring at the necklace. He lifts his head as tears stream down his cheeks. He looks like he’s just been stabbed in the heart.

The ache clamps around her own heart so tightly, she thinks if she takes a full breath, her heart will just explode into a million pieces. This boy—this man… he is the only person in the world who sees her right down to her bones. And has accepted her completely. None of the self-discipline or things she’s learned in church or from her father had mattered when she was around him. She threw all of it out the window for him. And she’ll never once regret it. NEVER. She’ll never regret giving in to her primal, lustful desires for him, she’ll never regret kissing him or making love with him or becoming pregnant with his child. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispers, her words completely cracked and barely audible as she places her hand on her belly. “I have to do what’s best for my baby.”

As wrecked and heartbroken as he looks, he nods and wipes at his tears. “As you wish, Emma.”

She hates that he's keeping his promise, she hates that he’s kept all of his promises, because if he hadn’t, then she never would’ve allowed her heart to give in. And if she didn’t love him completely, then this would be so much easier. But she's also glad he's not making this any harder than it already is. She hates herself for pushing him away, though. She regrets her decision as much as she's trying to keep his dreams intact. She regrets it even more when he does something she doesn't expect. He falls to his knees and places his hands on her belly. Emma peers down at him through a watery gaze as he leans in, whispering sweet nothings to their child. She can't believe this will be the last time he'll be whispering sweet nothings to her belly. The thought draws a tear from her eye that's blown into the snow by a sharp gust of wind.

“I have to go now, but just know that…” he pauses when his voice cracks, “I’ll always love you... no matter what. Take care of your mum for me, okay?” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to her stomach, and she feels the wetness from his tears as they soak her sweater. “Goodbye, little love.” His voice is strained, and she can tell he’s trying not to break down completely in her front yard. He stands up and lifts her hand, dropping a gentle kiss to her knuckles, his soft lips warming her soul, despite the ice running through her veins. “Goodbye, Emma,” he says, never breaking eye contact with her. “I’ll never stop loving you. Never.”

She'll never stop loving him either, but she can't tell him that. She can't fill him with false hope that there’s a possibility of them getting back together in the future. “Bye, Killian,” she whispers, barely able to produce the words from her throat as another tear rolls down her cheek.

He releases her hand and turns around, his shoulders sagged as he heads to his truck.

Correction. Watching him walk away is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

She can no longer breathe; as many breaths as she tries to take, the surrounding air is too thin, and she feels like she’s suffocating. Drowning in the middle of the ocean and she can’t keep her head above water.

As she watches him get in his truck, watches him pull out of the driveway, it takes everything within her to not run after him, either that or break down and cry. But as soon as the truck is out of sight, she no longer cares about maintaining her semblance of strength.

Emma takes a raspy, painful breath and lets the powerful torrents pull her under, lets the ocean consume her completely. She sobs like she’s never sobbed before. The painful clamp around her heart just closed shut, making her heart combust, and it hurts so fucking badly, unlike any other pain she’s ever experienced before, she’s worried her baby can feel her pain. She almost falls to the ground in a blubbering mess of tears, but two pairs of arms are holding her up and drawing her in. Her parents hold her in their arms, letting her cry to her heart's content as she tells them she let him go. She let the only boy she’s ever loved walk away so he could live his best life.

“Everything will be okay, sweetie,” David whispers softly and drops a kiss to the crown of her head, squeezing her tight.

Any resentment she feels for her father still lingers in her gut, but she would never forgive herself if her baby had to grow up without knowing Emma’s parents.

~*~

Less than a year later...

Emma unstraps Hope from the baby seat, and carefully picks her up, holding her three-month-old securely in her arms with the blanket wrapped around her little body and presses a delicate kiss to her little cheek. She goes around to the other side and grabs Hope’s diaper bag containing everything her baby will need while Emma is at school, before making her way up the familiar walkway. The walkway where she’d broken Killian’s heart (and her own). A bitter, unforgiving wind slices through the air and swallows her, making her shiver. But of course, it could be the memory that makes her shiver. Or both.

She pulls the blanket higher over the back of Hope’s head and holds her closer as she ascends the porch steps. Before she reaches the front door, it’s already being opened as her father steps outside.

He’s donning a big, happy grin on his face and relieves Emma of the bag, strapping it over his shoulder. “There are my two lovely princesses.”

Emma smiles as they head inside the house. Once they reach the foyer, she transfers her baby to David’s arms without the blanket and removes Hope's mittens and hat, revealing the wispy blonde hair on top of her head.

“Sorry we’re running late again. You know how fussy Hope gets when I’m getting her ready for the day.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he chuckles as he lifts his granddaughter into the air and swoops her down, kissing her cheek, making Hope giggle. Emma’s heart always melts when she hears the gleeful chime of her baby’s laugh. It warms her soul. There is no better sound in the world. His eyes are glued to Hope's face as she curls her little hand around his finger. “ She’s always a perfect little angel for grandma and grandpa.”

As though on cue, her mother steps into the foyer, her face lighting up when she sees her granddaughter. “There she is!” Mary Margaret takes Hope’s little hand and kisses both of her cheeks. Her eyes are full of love when she looks from her granddaughter to her daughter and scoops Emma up into a big hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you both so much.”

“You just saw me yesterday,” Emma laughs, wrapping her arms around her mother. Though, she can certainly understand missing her bubbly baby girl every second of the day whenever she’s not in her presence.

“True, but your father and I always miss you when you’re gone, right sweetie?” she asks her husband, breaking the hug.

“Of course we do,” David replies, looking at Emma. “You’re our baby girl. You’ll always be our baby girl.” He transfers Hope into his wife’s arms and pulls his arm around Emma’s shoulders, kissing her temple. “We don’t even know what we would do without you.”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to think about that,” Mary Margaret murmurs as she gently rocks Hope in her arms.

Emma smiles weakly, her eyes welling with tears when she thinks back to that dreadful day almost a year ago, that day she’d almost left her parents and shut them out completely from her and her daughter’s lives. She’s so grateful she had made the right decision and stayed with them. She’s so glad she didn’t leave.

She’s so glad Hope has her grandma and grandpa Nolan.

Tagging some people who have either shown interest or asked to be tagged.

@teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @itsfabianadocarmo @followbatb @natzombeez @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @jamif @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @carpedzem @ashley-knightingale @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @its-about-bloody-time-cs @maquita @mariakov81 @bugheadswanjones @searchingwardrobes @andiirivera @melly326 @squidvisious @snow-into-ash @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @biefaless @superchocovian @willow154

Let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs ff au #lieutenant duckling #baby hope #set my soul on fire #my fic

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squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 2

AO3

It's pouring outside, and expectations are met with varying success.

There are new faces in the lighthouse.

Martin, big as he was, didn’t get much mileage out of umbrellas, especially when the rain decided that falling straight down would be too convenient. There was just too much of him to cover, and as he walked his way up the cliff side that morning, umbrella in hand, he considered just turning back and leaving the day’s work for Saturday. It wouldn’t be so terrible, skipping a day. With no one to check in on him, he had every right to finish things up later.

He thought of his home on the rocky beach and kept moving upward. Already soaked through, there wasn’t much point turning back, now was there? And he had already made it through the worst of the muddy path anyway. He would just hang his jacket up somewhere in the kitchen when he got to the lighthouse, maybe his shoes too while he was at it.

The walk was loud with the rain and splashing footsteps of the usually morning passerby. The weather gave Martin ample reason to keep his head down, and if it hadn’t been for a loud crack of thunder making him jump and peek up at the sky, he wouldn’t have looked up at all. The lighthouse was stark white against the storm clouds, and in the small lot tucked to the right side of the building, were several unfamiliar cars and one very nice familiar one.

Martin groaned. “Peter.” He mentally patted himself on the back for not giving into his lazier impulses. Of course Peter changed his plans with no notice. He was so rich that the concept of people having time for anything other than his use probably never occurred to him. Hopefully this time it wasn’t another weird congregation of his fellow old rich men from the next town over. The last time Peter had had to postpone a boating trip for business, it had left him in a foul mood for weeks, and Martin was the one to deal with it.

The other cars in the lot didn’t read as particularly nice, but Martin didn’t know much about cars and couldn’t judge on a clear day, nevermind one like this. He considered using the back entrance, but he was already tired and wet and ready to make himself from tea. Up the dark stone steps, he found the main door unlocked and quietly let himself inside, hoping that Peter and whoever his guests were had already-

“Martin! A bit late, aren’t we?” Peter’s voice rang out through the building, making Martin wince. Martin closed his umbrella and looked across the main room to see Peter and three distinctly not-old-men staring at him. They looked somewhere around his age, though at his ripe age of twenty-nine, it was hard to tell between early twenty-somethings and those pushing forty. “Hope this doesn’t mean I have to figure out a clock-in system. You know how bad I am with such things.” Peter was smiling in a way that told Martin instantly just how pissed he was to be dealing with whatever this was. Great.

“Oh, um. Yes, the rain made the walk up a bit- sorry. Um, what’s going on?” Martin stumbled through with his usual grace, wanting to shrink down and die with the way the four of them were staring. “You were-”

“Supposed to be on the boat this morning, yes,” Peter said through his teeth.

One of the strangers, the tallest and by far the best-looking with perfectly styled hair despite the rain, raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with the short woman with dark, curly hair pulled back into a half ponytail. Next to her was the shortest of the three, a man with dark skin and even darker, shaggy hair that was just turning gray at the roots, who looked at Martin for a moment before apparently deciding that there was nothing of interest there and impatiently turning back to Peter.

“Some quick introductions and then I’ll be on my way,” said Peter, moving around the three newcomers to walk towards Martin and the door. “One of my beneficiaries, Mr. Bouchard, has requested at very little notice to have some of his own come here for a week or two for research purposes. Incidentally, I will be out for that exact time, starting in a few minutes! Your work documents will be delivered as usual. Just let them do their work, stay in your space, and it’ll be over before you know it.” Before Martin could utter a sound, Peter brushed past him and said, quietly, “Stuffy academic types, the lot of them. Very judgmental I’ve heard.” And then he was out the door. Martin watched him leave and then turned back awkwardly.

“Um. Hi?” Martin waved stupidly, feeling the horrible burn of their gazes. The good-looking one smiled brightly and brought up a hand in friendly recognition.

“Y’know, he said he’d do introductions, but last time I checked my name wasn’t ‘work documents’,” he said, coming forward and putting a hand out, which Martin shook in a daze. The woman behind him snorted. “My name’s Tim Stoker. Behind me is Sasha James, hereby dubbed ‘research purposes’, and our head leader man, Jonathan Sims.” Tim put up a hand in a secretive manner. “A big longer title, ‘It’ll be over before you know it’, but it fits all the same.” He winked, and Martin laughed despite himself. Jonathan rolled his eyes and walked over to the folding table to sift through his work bag. Martin saw this and wanted to kick himself.

“I’m Martin Blackwood, Peter’s assistant. You’re all researchers then? What-” and at that moment, Martin sneezed. “Oh, gosh, excuse me. I’d better at least stop dripping all over the place.” Martin sheepishly walked past Jonathan to the kitchen, shedding his damp coat to hang in the corner. He could feel the wetness in his shoes and socks and for a moment resented his unexpected company but shook the thought away. Taking stock of the cupboard in his mind, Martin popped his head back into the main room.

“I’m making tea if anybody would like some,” he offered. Tim and Sasha were receptive and followed him back to the kitchen, taking off their own coats to hang next to his own and sitting down at the uncomfortably small table.

“Is this thing made for people to sit at?” Tim asked, his long legs bumping against Sasha’s.

“One person, maybe? God, it’s like a university desk.” Sasha replied, purposefully bumping her knee into his to make him move and laughing when we gave an exaggerated noise of pain. Martin smiled a little to himself as he placed the kettle on the stove. Sasha leaned onto her elbows and looked up at him. “So, Martin. Does anyone else work here?” He frowned, keeping his face away from them.

“Oh, um, no. Just me,” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Peter keeps a pretty small staff and they work in other buildings, so. Yeah. Just me.” Martin could feel the awkward pause coming and continued, turning to lean next to the stove top. “So, researchers! Can’t think of why you’d come to a big old lighthouse. Is this some sort of, I dunno, architecture thing? Testing saltwater? Coming to find a sea monster?”

“Actually, not a terrible guess!” Tim tilted his chair back and linked his fingers behind his head. “Probably not a sea monster, though it would be pretty cool.”

“We’re researchers looking into the supernatural,” Sasha interjected in a more serious tone. “The three of us were sent out here to take some statements and do some investigating into local occurrences. Usually it would just be one of us, but Elias, the Mr. Bouchard Peter mentioned, wanted us all on the ground for this one.”

“It’s ridiculous.” Martin jumped at the sound. Jonathan stood in the doorway, keeping his displeased look trained on the paper in his hands. Tim glanced at Martin in a way that seemed to say here we go. “Just one of us would be good enough to take some statements and be on our way. It’s just a waste of resources.” It was Sasha’s turn to roll her eyes. The way Tim and Sasha seemed to include Martin in this small moment of exasperation made him feel equal parts warm and ashamed at taking humor at Jonathan’s expense.

Sasha replied, “Look Jon, the fact that we were all sent out means there’s probably something really interesting about this place.” Jonathan snorted, finally looking up at her.

“Sure, because Elias has never wasted our time.” He looked back down, content with leaning against the doorway. “We’ll talk to some locals, get some childhood campfire stories, and leave knowing a little bit more about local culture and not much else.” There was a lull in the conversation as Jonathan seemed to check out, satisfied with his point.

“What do you think, Martin?” Tim asked eventually.

“What?”

“Any weird things in this town? Spooky hauntings? Creatures of the deep?” Tim asked further. Before Martin could answer, the kettle began to squeal and he began his tea preparations.

“Oh, nothing that I know of, no. It’s a quiet place.” The sea folk here are definitely quiet, he thought, which he knew was unfair to think. His mother didn’t talk much, certainly, but it’s no reason to be mean. “Oh, Jonathan-”

“Just Jon.”

“Oh, um, okay. Jon, did you want any? Tea, I mean?” Jon looked up at him for a moment and then down again.

“Yes, I suppose so. Whatever is fine.” And then he turned and left the room.

“Oookay.” Martin sifted through the decent amount of tea he had collected over the last few months. He asked for Tim and Sasha’s preferences and did his best to follow them. “Anyway, yeah, I’m not super involved in what goes on in town, to be honest. I live down the cliff side by the shore, so local stuff kind of goes over my head,” Martin said, laughing a bit before biting his tongue. What an awful joke. He carried over the mugs of tea.

“Darn, and here I’d hoped you’d be able to make our jobs a bit easier for Jon’s sake. But hey, we’ll let you know if there’s evil lurking around the corner.” Tim sipped at his tea and seemed satisfied. Sasha did the same.

“If you think of anything, let us know. We got a bit of direction, but it’s not much. We’ll take just about anything,” Sasha said. Martin picked up Jon’s mug.

“Hmm. Well, I guess there’s this one weird thing? It’s probably nothing, but, y’know, it could be helpful.” Sasha and Tim looked at him expectantly, and the tips of his ears grew hot. “It’s just, you guys drove in right? Well, if you start from further away and head toward this building on foot, it doesn’t look right.”

“How do you mean?” Sasha asked, her brows knitting together. Martin struggled for a moment to find the words.

“Like. Like the perspective, I guess? It gets bigger but it feels like it’s going too fast, to the point where I can’t look at it when I come to work. Could just be a weird vertigo thing I have going on, but it would be easy enough to check when it’s not, y’know, pouring outside.” Martin looked at Sasha; she didn’t look entirely impressed, and Martin looked away. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I’m gonna-” and as he walked through the doorway, Jon appeared with a much larger stack of documents only for Martin to stumble into him and splash tea all over the papers. Jon jumped back and dropped them, freezing for a moment before looking up with such indignation that he couldn’t speak.

“Oh god, I’m-” Martin began, his face burning hot enough that it should’ve fogged his glasses. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming back and-” And then he shut his horrible mouth at the sight of Jon’s withering glare.

“Yes, well. It’s as Mr. Lukas said.” He bent down to pick up the soiled papers. “‘It’ll be over before you know it.’” Martin looked back at Tim and Sasha who gave him twin pained expressions.

No words left, Martin grabbed a towel to clean up the mess he’d made. He would do as Peter said, then. Let them do their work, stay in his own space, and, as a bonus step, keep out of Jonathan Sims’ way until things went back to the way they were.

The three researchers worked together at the folding table, grumbling at the lack of space, though Tim at least stopped complaining when he saw Martin’s tiny tray of a desk tucked away into the corner.

Martin got through his work, though the extra sounds echoed so much louder than when it was just him, and his pace was slowed a bit as he struggled not to eavesdrop. Still, he finished early as he had intended and began his trek up the spiral stairs to complete the list.

“Oh, are you heading up to the top? I’ve never been in a lighthouse before,” Tim said, stretching out of his cramped position at the table. “Mind if I tag along to stretch my legs?”

Martin thought for a moment and said, “I guess that should be fine? Though it’s not gonna look like much right now.”

“I’ll take it.” Tim stood and looked at his coworkers. “You coming, Sash’? Jon?”

Sasha stretched as well and got up, elbowing Jon lightly and pointing her chin towards the stairs. “C’mon, let’s take a break.” Jon stared for a bit before sighing.

“Fine.”

Martin led the way up, conscious the whole way of how slow he walked in comparison to the others. The walk itself was quiet only for the echoes of their footsteps bouncing around the cylindrical structure and the rain battering from outside. Martin kept his eyes on his feet, making sure to use the handrail. Tim, who started the climb up in the middle of the stairs, soon found himself clinging to the rail as well.

“I definitely believe you about the whole vertigo thing. I can feel it just walking up this place, and I don’t even have a thing about heights,” Tim said, doing his best to keep his tone upbeat.

“Yeah, I’d say you get used to it, but I still haven’t after months of this.” Martin let them lapse back into total silence, and when they reached the top, the researchers breathed a sigh of relief. Martin walked to his work station while they looked out the large panes of glass. Jon sniffed.

“Well, Tim, I hope it was worth it to see more fog.” He stepped away from the glass, tapping his foot impatiently. “We might as well start back down.”

“Oh, calm down,”” Sasha said. “We’ll let Martin finish. Besides, we need a break from all the walking.” Sasha walked past the window panes and then squinted as if in thought. “It was still raining, wasn’t it? When we started up here?”

“Must’ve stopped at some point,” Tim said, looking up in the direction of the sky.

“Yeah, but, there’s no droplets.”

“What?”

“On the glass. There should be rain droplets, right? There isn’t a large enough overhang to block the rain from hitting them.” Jon stopped tapping his foot and came to stand by them. The three looked out into the fog and then back at Martin, who was too busy with his tasks to pay attention to their conversation.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, jostling him from his concentration.

“Wh-yeah?” Sorry, I’m almost done-”

“That thing that happens when you walk here. Could you show us?”

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #timothy stoker #sasha james #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #peter lukas #technically a #Selkie au

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

Spare the Rod, Spoil the Mary

Surprise! Here’s that meatier chapter I promised. 😉

(Part 1; Part 2; Interlude 0; Part 4; Part 5)

*hard spanking*

Mary hasn’t done anything wrong. You just want to play.

As usual, his schedule is a living thing, subject to the whims of Mickey and Mary’s feelings toward his financial solvency.

Which means: he’s late. Which gives you a perfect excuse.

You lay out your wares—from a trip to the dollar store a few days before—on your coffee table: a heart shaped wooden spoon, a wooden hairbrush, and a belt. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation, barely concentrating on the show you’ve got on the TV.

When you finally hear the key on the door, you adopt an air of nonchalance.

Mary comes in, toeing off his boots with a tired Hey.

“You’re late,” you spit, not looking at him. “Hands and knees on the floor behind me.”

There’s only a slight pause before you hear him rustling to obey you. When you’re sure he’s in position behind the couch, you say, “You’re to stay like that until I’m good and ready for you. Maybe you’ll learn how it feels to have to wait on somebody.”

You finish the episode you’re watching, then you start another. Mary, like a good boy, doesn’t make a peep. You’re tempted to make him wait longer, but you’re antsy to get there. You turn off the TV.

“Come here,” you demand. “And don’t even think about doing it on 2 feet.”

There’re the telltale sounds of Mary shifting and then crawling across the floor until you can see him round the corner of the couch. He keeps his head down even as he maneuvers around your furniture. You shift over to where he is so that you can run your fingers through his stiff hair.

“Such a good boy. You follow direction so well.”

It’s slight, but you feel him lean into your touch.

“Because of that, I’m going to let you choose.” You slip your hand down so you can tilt his face to the coffee table where your tools are laid out. “Nothing is going to get you out of your punishment for being late, but I will let you pick what I punish you with.”

Mary considers for a while—enough that you’re afraid you’ve overstepped and are about to call an end—but finally he says, “The hairbrush, ma’am.”

A thrill rushes through you, and you stroke his cheek.

“Thank you for choosing. Do you want your spanking here or the bedroom?”

“The bedroom, ma’am.”

“All right,” You pick up the hairbrush and tap at his lips. “Open.”

Mary opens his mouth and you put the handle of the brush in it.

“You will take this to the bedroom and wait for me. You are to keep this in your mouth and kneel at the edge of the bed. Got it?”

Mary grunts around the handle and gives a quick bob of his head. Then he’s off crawling to your bedroom. You hate for him to leave, but you love to watch him go—his jeans nicely accentuating the curve of his ass as he moves. You set a timer on your phone for 10min, only moving to join Mary once it’s gone off. He’s followed your orders to a T, kneeling at the foot of your bed with the brush still in his mouth.

“Very good,” you coo as you stroke his face before retrieving the brush. You situate yourself on the bed. “Jeans off, then over my lap.”

Mary scrambles to get out of his jeans as you eye the bulge in his boxer briefs. Once he’s free of his pants, he drapes himself over your lap so that his torso is resting on the bed. You rub the cheeks of his ass through the cloth of his underwear.

“How ‘bout a little warm up, hmm? Ten on each?”

Your question is rhetorical, so you get to work right away, giving him firm, alternating smacks on each cheek. Except for the jolt of each spank, Mary doesn’t move at all—nor does he make a noise. Once you’re done, you give each cheek a rub and a squeeze before pulling down his boxers. His ass is flushed a nice pink, and you smooth your hand over it.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you need me to stop?”

“Nickelback, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

“It’ll be 16 total—8 on each side.”

At the first strike—in the meat of his ass—you hear Mary punch out a breath. At the fifth—on his crease—he grunts. By 11 he’s squirming. At 16 he’s whimpering, but it’s when you stop that he cries out.

“More, please, ma’am.”

You hesitate.

“More?”

“Oh yes, please. Make me feel it, please.”

You rub at his bottom.

“Your punishment was 16. Anything extra is a reward—for taking it so well.”

“PLEASE.”

“Ok, we’ll make it an even 30.”

You get to work again, alternate between each side, cheek then crease. At 20 he’s tense and panting, so you stop to tell him to relax. You wait for his breathing to even out and the tension to drain away before you start up again. When you reach 24 he screams, out, “Oh fuck, oh yes!” even as his legs kick.

“Stay still,” you chastise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he gasps.

You rub over his cheeks. “Now. Do you want me to draw out these last 6, or do you want them hard and fast?”

“Oh god,” whines Mary as he rubs his face into your comforter. “Hard and fast, please, ma’am. Don’t stop.”

“But if you need me to stop?”

“PLEASE.”

You give him a light crack on his thigh and he flinches.

“If you don’t answer me, you’re not going to get 6 more.”

“Nickleback!”

“There now; that wasn’t so hard.” Mary whines. “Ok, here we go.”

You dole out the last hits hard and fast as promised, while Mary keens and squirms. You mean to rub out the sting and then gather him up, but he hastily scrambles onto the bed, rolling over onto his back. His dick is hard and flushed, tip shiny with precum.

“Oh please, Suey, please. Just like this, please?”

The spanking hasn’t left you unaffected—you’re definitely wet—and the sight of Mary trembling and begging (his makeup smudged and smeared) has your mouth watering.

“Only because you beg so nicely,” you say as you lean down over him and suck him into your mouth. You can tell he wasn’t expecting your mouth because he thrusts up into it—nearly gagging you—as he lets out an Oh fuck. You press his hips down firmly, and he lets out a hiss, as you bob on him.

“Oh god, harder. Press harder.”

You shift so you can press your weight down onto where you’re holding his hips.

“Oh jesus fuck,” says Mary as he tenses.

You feel his cock harden, so you take a deep breath and swallow him whole. His cry chokes off in his throat as he arches off the bed, and then he’s screaming as you feel his dick kick and throb against your tongue. Once he relaxes down into the bed, you pop off and stroke him slowly with your hand. Mary’s chest is heaving and he has an arm over his eyes.

When his breath slows, he whines and pushes your hand away before turning onto his side. You go to wrap him in your arms, but before you can pull him into you, he whimpers and squirms away.

His ass. Right.

“Sorry, buddy,” you say as you shift over to the other side of him. Mary wastes no time glomming onto you and burying his head into your neck. His hands rove under your shirt and into your sleep pants, gripping and grasping hard at your ample flesh. It’s almost painful, but you allow it as you stroke through his product-stiff hair and murmur praise into it.

He finally settles, and you realize it’s because he’s nodded off. You carefully extract yourself, making sure to rest him on his stomach before folding your blanket over him. It’s only a quick trip to your kitchen area—you already set out the chocolates & ibuprofen from his coffin, so all you need to do is grab the ice wrap out of the freezer and the prepared glass of Pedialyte out of the fridge. It’s a balancing act, but you manage to bring all the items into the bedroom. Mary’s still out cold, so you arrange the glorious bounty on your night table.

Well, if he’s still asleep, no reason you can’t take care of business …. You cast around until you see your vibrator poking out from under a pile of clothes. Shit. You hope it still has juice.

Once it’s in your hands, you find—to your great relief—that there’s still power left. Your eyes flick over to Mary, but he’s still drooling into your comforter. The goal here is to be quick, so you perch on your clothes chair and press the head hard into your crotch. Despite your earlier arousal and the almost direct stimulation, you’re struggling to get there. The hairbrush is at the end of the bed, and you snatch it up. It gives you a thrill just to hold it, and you smack it lightly against your thigh imagining that it’s Mary’s ass. You do that a few more times, eyes closed as you bring up spanking Mary in your mind’s eye, and it’s enough to ramp you up and tip you over the edge.

You let out an involuntary grunt as you cum, and you let the vibrations take you through the aftershocks, your body twitching. Once you’re finished, you let out a contented sigh and switch off your vibrator. When you open your eyes, Mary is staring at you.

You flush. “Oh hey, buddy.”

His eyes flick to the hairbrush in your hand.

“That’s mine.”

You look down at it. “Of course,” you say as you offer it to Mary. An arm emerges from the burrito and he yanks the brush from your hand and back into the fold. You get up and place the toy on top of the clothes you smushed.

“I have some things for you, buddy. Do you think you can sit up?”

Mary goes to sit up, then hisses, and flops back down.

“Ok, we’re going to take care of that.”

You offer him the ibuprofen, but when he just stares at it, you direct him to stick out his tongue. You place the pills on it, then you carefully tip the liquid into Mary’s mouth. It’s a sloppy business—a third of the drink ends up down Mary’s shirt—but you get enough in for him to swallow the pills and slake his thirst.

After some maneuvering, you get Mary on his stomach with just his ass exposed enough to lay the towel-covered ice wrap over his cheeks. He grunts, but otherwise doesn’t react. You climb onto the bed, arranging Mary so that his head is in your lap and you can hand feed him the chocolates. As he sucks on them, you lean back into the wall and massage his scalp.

You don’t even realize you’ve dozed off until you come to because Mary is kissing your hand.

“Oh. Sorry,” you say, yawning.

His head cranes to look up at you. “It’s fine. But can we move? You kinda smell like sex and it’s distracting.”

You roll your eyes, but begin to move out from under him.

“There’s Chinese if you want to eat.”

Mary makes a rumbling noise. “I could eat you. You kinda deprived me of reciprocating.”

“I’m not a meal, Mary.”

He gives you a wolfish smile. “Aren’t you?”

“Mary.”

“A light snack then?” he says as he crawls over the bed after you and presses his face back into your crotch.

“Mary!” you shriek as he nips at your pajama pants and growls.

“I’m having my dessert first,” he rumbles as he begins to yank down your pants.

You truly don’t need him to do anything, but then his warm tongues makes contact with your folds and he hums an Mmm into you and

Thought leaves you as Mary’s tongue parts your lips and wiggles in to find your clit. He laps and licks at you, and you just melt into the bed. When he presses a finger into you, you moan loudly, and Mary begins to lap faster as his finger thrusts in and out of you. There’s no teasing, just a concentrated assault on your sensitive spots, and it’s not too long before you’re chanting out Oh oh oh as you feel your orgasm approaching. Mary curls his finger to press at your G-spot, and it’s enough to tip you over.

A low Uhn punches out of you as your orgasm hovers and you tense at the pooling build. Mary quickens his tongue, and your climax breaks, you moaning out in time to the waves pulsing through you. Once all the tension bleeds out of you, Mary withdrawals his finger—wiping it on the inside of your thigh—then he’s climbing over you, his cock clumsily poking into your cunt. You spread your legs further open as Mary reaches down to guide himself into you.

“So fucking wet,” he groans as he begins to pump into you. He leans down and curls over you, sucking at your neck and shoulder. “Your body is so fucking welcoming. Do you want my cock that much?”

“Oh fuck, Mary,” you moan. “Your hard fucking cock. Fuck me so good. Always want it filling me up.” You clench around him, and he growls, biting your clavicle hard.

“You better. You better fucking want it. Because I’m not going to stop fucking you. Not when your sweet cunt is so goddamned warm and tight.”

You turn your head and bite his earlobe. “You better remember how nice my cunt is. How,” you squeeze your walls around his cock, “tight for you.”

“Oh shit.”

Before Mary has the chance to do anything, you give a sharp slap to his ass. He cries out, seizing up, and then he thrusts hard and deep into you. He’s all but collapsed on you as he gives a few more abortive twitches into your hole. You can feel his hot breath as he pants into your skin, and—despite his softening cock—Mary doesn’t move off you.

You pet at him a little before saying, “Mare” as you wiggle under him.

He makes a disgruntled noise into your neck, but he carefully extracts himself from you so he doesn’t also roll onto his ass. He maneuvers off the bed and stands on wobbly legs. The hairbrush clatters after him, and he retrieves it from the floor.

“I think I probably do need to eat actual food.”

“Hey,” you say as you also roll off the bed, “do you really like the taste of me that much?”

He shrugs. “You taste like ‘girl’. Sweeter, I guess, when you’re all hot for me. It’s just—you taste like sex with you. I dunno. When you smell like that, I already know what you’re going to feel like around my cock. I guess it’s Pavlovian.” He grins. “And I’m just a dog hungry for it.”

You scrunch your face at him. “Ok, ok. It’s time to actually feed you. C’mon, rover.” You hold out your hand for the brush. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” he says, clutching it to him.

You drop your hand. “I was just going to put it in your drawer.”

He gives you a dubious look, then slowly hands it out to you.

“Don’t fucking use it again. It’s mine.”

You nod solemnly. “Of course, Mary. It’s only for you.”

After putting the hairbrush in his drawer, you head to the bathroom to pee and clean up a bit. When you emerge, Mary’s eating some lo mein out of a takeout container in your kitchen area in his t-shirt and boxers. You grab another container (it turns out to be the General Tso's), and shuffle to the couch.

Mary doesn’t move to join you.

“Are you just going to stand in the kitchen?”

“Yep,” he says.

“Why—”

He gives you a hard look.

“—oh.” A smile tugs at your lips, and you curl them into your mouth to hide it.

“Yeah. Don’t look so goddamned pleased with yourself.”

You throw up your hands. “You’re the one who wanted me to keep going!”

“You still don’t have to be fucking smug about it.”

You mime locking your lips.

“Oh, and: you’re an asshole,” he says jabbing his chopsticks in your direction. “Slapping my ass when I was fucking you.”

You shrug, lips still tucked in, but the smile reaches your eyes. You thought it was pretty inspired.

The two of you eat in silence. Mary practically houses the lo mein before he finally comes over to the couch to steal bites of chicken from you, chopsticks clicking.

“Mare, stop,” you wine as you try to dodge him.

“You’re hogging all the good shit,” he says as his chopsticks try to dart into the holes in your defense.

“You just ate that whole thing of lo mein!” You try and twist away.

He clambers onto the couch, kneeling. “Whatever. You know General Tso's is worth more than noodles. Gimme.”

“Fuck off. You made your choice.”

You accidentally elbow him when he dives in like a seagull, and he falls backwards—hissing as his bottom makes contact with the couch.

“Aww, Mare,” you say as you bite back a giggle.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles as he shifts to redistribute his weight.

You pat your lap. “Here. C’mon, lay down.”

Mary grumbles some more, but he wiggles around so he’s on his stomach, head in your lap.

“Let me just see …”

You gingerly pull the seat of his boxers down. His ass looks fine (yeah it does). It’s red and blotchy, but there’s no purpling. You smooth your hand around each cheek.

“When you’re done feeling smug about your handiwork, how ‘bout some chicken?”

You yank your hand away.

“I wasn’t …” (You were.)

He opens his mouth and points into it.

“Chicken.”

After pulling his boxers back up, you feed Mary some bites of chicken. He lets out a happy sigh.

“Now who’s smug?”

“Die mad,” he grouses.

You feed him a few more bites before finishing the rest yourself.

“Was that ok, though?” you ask as you lick your fingers.

“No, I could’ve eaten the whole thing.”

“The spanking, Mare.”

“Oh.” He seems to consider. “Um, it feels weird to say ‘yes,’ but: yeah.” He twists his head to look up at you. “I mean, maybe not all the time. It stings like a motherfucker—but … yeah.”

“Ok, good.”

“Did you like it?”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is it weird to say ‘yes’?”

Mary meets your eyes with a serious gaze.

“Absolutely,” he says, nodding.

Your heart drops, but then Mary bursts out laughing. You make a mean lemon face at him and flick his ear.

“Ow, fuck,” he cries out, but it’s in between chuckles.

“You’re a dick. I’m sorry I gave you my chicken.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth. “I mean, I could give it back …”

“Next time I’m going to make you sit on your sore rump,” you grump.

What you don’t expect is for Mary to gulp and his eyes to dilate.

Oh. Oh ho ho.

You give him a vulpine smile.

“Next time I’m going to make you sit on your sore rump.”

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girls #my writing

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star-spangled-eyes · 4 years

Text

Forbidden: Part 2: Someone You Loved

This alternate universe fan fiction uses characters created and owned by Pixelberry Studios. Character names, descriptions and likenesses are owned by Pixelberry Studios. Some content in the first part are direct words from TRR Book 3, Chapter 16. The MC, Bragnae Bennett, and story is created and owned by this author.

Book: The Royal Romance (Alternate Universe)

Alternate Universe Theme: The Queen of Cordonia as an adulteress

Pairing: King Liam x MC / Drake Walker x MC (Bragnae Bennett – *pronounced Brawn-yah)

Warnings for this series: NSFW, Adult content, suggestive and strong language, heavy angst, drama of course, very steamy sex scenes in each part -- IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ THIS SERIES. Also, if you do not like reading smut, especially mine, please do not read this series.

Series Description: Forbidden is an extremely steamy story that takes place in Cordonia picking up the night of Bragnae’s bachelorette party in Las Vegas. She accepted King Liam’s proposal, despite also being in love with Drake. But when Liam gives Bragnae permission to have one last fling before they’re hitched, she chooses Drake.

Even though Bragnae tells him their dalliance is for one night only, Drake can’t seem to let it go. Once they return to Cordonia and the King marries his betrothed, Drake convinces Bragnae to embrace the forbidden pleasure of being with him in addition to filling her role as queen – consequences be damned.

Master List

A/N: I definitely don’t condone cheating in a relationship, but I have to say this is more a love story, than a lust. And it is delicious! I’m just having fun with this fic (but don’t worry… drama will still ensue), and I hope you are too!

Warnings for this chapter: NSFW, Adult content, sex, angst, suggestive and strong language, (I’m amping up the sexual language in this series!)

Word Count for this chapter: 9408 – Sorry, not sorry. It all needed to be said.

Setting for this chapter: Bragnae and Liam have some fun on their honeymoon, and Drake copes with his decisions.

Permatags: @burnsoslow @cora-nova @dcbbw @thorfosterlove @emceesynonymroll @edgiestwinter @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @msjr0119 @notoriouscs @drakewalker04 @pedudley @desiree---1986 @choices-lurker @kingliam2019 @loveellamae @drakexnadira @flutistbyday2020 @indiana-jr��

Series Tags: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @silverofdreams @texaskitten30 @mskaneko @jemrmax2love @nomadics-stuff @queenjilian @yukinagato2012 @ravenpuff02 @forthebrokenheartedthings-blog @moneyfordiamonds

Part 2: Someone You Loved

The first few days of their honeymoon went by in a blur. Leave it to the King of Cordonia to own his own private island. With only a few staff around to cook their meals and tidy up the villa, Bragnae and Liam were virtually alone. It was a refreshing change after the whirlwind that was her life once she stepped off the plane in Cordonia for the first time.

Getting a moment alone with Liam was more difficult than she would have liked, but she understood. First, she’d been competing for his hand with five other women. So, he had to be fair to share his time with them all. Next, he was engaged when he didn’t want to be, and Bragnae was branded as a harlot, so having Liam seen with her would have looked bad on him.

Once they were engaged, they had the freedom to be with each other more, but with Liam’s duties as King, Cordonia always comes first. Bragnae accepted that. She knew what to expect with him, but it didn’t make her want him any less. If anything, the moments they could be alone together were that much sweeter.

The honeymoon was a particularly special treat because it was truly just about them. In the days they spent on the island, their pleasure was of the utmost importance. A true honeymoon. They’d eat, have sex, sleep, wake up, have sex again, eat some more, and the cycle just repeated itself. Far from being an exhausting routine, they enjoyed every minute.

After they intimately explored every square inch of the villa, Liam took Bragnae out to discover the island leading to many impromptu erotic moments. In a quiet oasis towards the center of the island, Liam bent her over a downed tree, making her come hard twice while the wild birds scattered from her ear-piercing screams. They had also found a beautiful waterfall to make love under, letting the power of the water invoke many sensual and heightened orgasms.

As if Liam had placed it there himself, a large, smooth bolder sat in the shallows of the ocean, which was the perfect place to enjoy the silvery glow of the moon bouncing off the water while Liam pounded into her. The crashing waves lapping against their lower halves only enhanced the experience. With miles separating them from the nearest person, especially after the staff left the island for the night, Liam encouraged her not to hold back with her pleasured cries, and he made sure she didn’t.

Aside from the frequent, mind-blowing sex, Bragnae and Liam had grown even closer than they ever had before. There was actually time for them to talk about their interests, relax without any major distractions, and just be with each other. It was all she could ever hope for – the perfect honeymoon with her new husband, the King.

Bragnae finished getting ready for bed with a quick spritz of perfume. She looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the black and red negligee that hugged her curves. She knew it wouldn’t stay on long, and being naked made more sense, but the King liked a challenge.

Flipping off the bathroom light, she strolled back into the bedroom to see Liam sitting up in bed with a laptop resting on his thighs. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the screen. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she hoped he was bare even under the sheets. She’d soon find out.

Bragnae got on the bed, and crawled seductively towards him, catching his attention. “How’s the kingdom, Your Majesty?” Her tone was flirty and playful in hopes to get his mind on her instead.

He smiled at her. “It’s running smoothly, although it looks like we’ll be a bit busy when we return.”

“Why do you say that?” She straddled his knees, and leaned over his computer letting her ample cleavage tease him. His eyes immediately shifted to her chest with an appreciative look.

His gaze returned to her eyes. “Well, for starters, we have to have your coronation. Since you married the king, you automatically fill the role as queen, but Cordonian tradition states that there must be a coronation for you to be officially considered a ruler of the country. It has to happen within a month of us getting married.”

“That sounds nice. I’m looking forward to it. What else?”

Liam sighed. “As soon as we get back, I have to go to Lythikos.” He ran a hand through his silky, blonde hair. “Olivia needs some help with something in her duchy. She’s being vague as to the details, but needs my assistance.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Normally, I’d say yes. But I want you to get settled in at the palace, and start getting to know your role as queen. There will be a lot for you to adjust to, I’m afraid.”

“What’s a queen without her king?” Her lips transformed into a sultry smirk.

“You make a valid point, but I won’t be gone too long. One night, maybe.” Her smirk faltered at the thought of not being with him. “Trust me, I don’t want to leave you either. We can make up for it now, and when I come back.”

Bragnae nodded assertively. “Fair enough. And speaking of now, what do you say we put the country’s needs aside, and focus on ours instead?” She slowly pushed the laptop closed, and put it on the bedside table, making it a point to hover over him in a sexy feline sort of way.

Liam grinned, using a finger to pull down her top for a better view. “I don’t even know why you’re wearing this. I’m just going to take it off of you anyway.”

She inched herself closer, still on all fours. “Maybe I wanted you to work for it.” Leaning forward, she slowly and barely brushed her lips against his before sitting back again.

“I will always make an effort to work for it when it comes to you.” Just then, Liam sat forward grabbing her by the waist, and pulled her on top of him like it was nothing.

“You’re so strong, Liam,” she said biting her lip. Flattening her hands onto his well-defined chest, she admired his physique. “You have such a sexy, toned body. I can’t get enough of it.”

“A king should be strong to defend his kingdom… and his queen.” Liam pushed the satin fabric above her hips before running the back of his hand across her pelvis.

Bragnae tingled at her core. No matter how many times they’d slept together, his touch always inspired such a reaction. Not to mention staring at the blonde Adonis sitting beneath her already made her wet and ready for him.

“Well, on behalf of the citizens of Cordonia, we want to thank you for every chiseled muscle on your body for the betterment of our country.” Her finger outlined his pectorals, dropping down to trace each of his defined abs as she spoke. Her hand slipped further down beneath the sheet to gently grip his already hardened cock.

A low groan rumbled in his throat. “That particular muscle is not for Cordonia. It’s only reserved for you.”

“Yes, but the citizens are rooting for me to have a very pleasurable honeymoon, and this,” she paused to peel back the sheets to expose his monumental erection, “plays a vital role in that.” Bragnae slowly stroked him, mesmerized by his mouth-watering dick.

She briefly wondered if all Cordonian men were as well-endowed as he was. A recent memory breached her mind of the other massive cock she encountered and who it belonged to, but she quickly pushed it away.

Liam smiled, shifting a bit under her touch. “The people are already rallying around you, huh? It makes sense. They, like me, want you to be completely satisfied.” He rolled her on her back, so she was underneath him. “Over and over and over again.”

His mouth crashed against hers, kissing her with everything he had. That was Liam – full of passion, devotion and eagerness to please her. She moaned as his hands moved down her body. He gripped her hips, and tugged her down the bed a bit before lifting her negligee up. Instead of removing it completely, he made it so the fabric both covered her eyes and restrained her arms. She was bound by her own outfit with her body bare and entirely at Liam’s mercy.

She squirmed a bit just to play along. Seeing nothing but darkness made her other senses spike, especially when Liam caressed her breasts, loving each one of her taut nipples with his tongue and a gentle tug of his teeth. Bragnae gasped, her breathing increased.

“God, Liam that feels so good.” A surge of heat rushed to her core as he loved her body.

After assuming he’d move south next, Liam surprised her by capturing her lips once more. “You ready to scream, my Queen?” He bit her lower lip, slowly dragging away from her before his mouth worked its way down her body.

Bragnae moaned deliciously. “You know that I am.” If there was an award given for ‘most skilled at oral sex’, King Liam would win it every time, hands down. He not only was exceptional at it, but he liked doing it as well – almost to the point of obsession. It was thrilling and unbearably hot. A man with such a skill should be afforded as many opportunities as he wanted to perform, and Bragnae would happily and shamelessly enable his pleasurable addiction anytime.

It didn’t matter what position he had her in – because it did vary, she would reach her climax hard and fast, and would soon be putty in his arms. Worthless to the world for at least two minutes, sometimes longer. He was that good. Thinking about it in more depth, it made sense that he excelled in this particular area.

Liam was charismatic, a well-spoken man, and he addressed the public on an almost daily basis. His tongue assisted him in speaking five different languages, negotiating with diplomats and other foreign leaders, and her most favorite, talking dirty to her. It was no wonder that when he flicked his tongue at just the right speed and pressure that she’d fall apart around him.

To add to the suspense of it all, he would always include an extra move that pleasantly surprised her whether that be using his hands to assist his skilled mouth, humming into her, or even biting. Yes – biting. Where she thought it might be too much for her sensitive skin, the way Liam did it made her toes curl. Whatever combination he decided to use never failed to elicit the same response in her – glass-shattering screams, soaked sheets, calling to God… it was all amazing.

Liam spread her legs wide, placing tender kisses on her inner thigh. Bragnae gasped as she felt him blow lightly on her hot, aching center. He chuckled at her reaction.

“I could stare at you like this all day. Spread eagle, your hot, wet pussy in my face, your beautiful breasts moving up and down along with your ragged breathing. You’re. A fucking. Work. Of art.” Liam punctuated each word with a lap of his tongue, making Bragnae writhe with anticipation.

As much as he enjoyed the act itself, it seemed he relished teasing her beforehand as well. She didn’t mind it because she knew what was coming – aside from herself, that was a given – and it was worth any wait she had to endure.

She smiled, exhaling a giggle that turned into a moan. “I wouldn’t mind this all day, but I’m pretty sure the country would need your attention sooner or later.”

“Such a pity.” Bragnae could feel his hot breath before his expert tongue grazed the soft skin between her southern lips. He always knew the right place to start.

Bragnae dreamily sank into the incredible and hastened strokes of his tongue, which he would use in all the cardinal directions as well as the occasional swirl. Her hips would have rolled with him if he hadn’t held her firmly in place.

Just as she felt the warmth start to build, Liam hummed as he licked, making her entire core vibrate. She pressed her head back against the mattress, tensing her body as the flood gates were about to open. His name left her lips in a breathy whisper as he helped to unleash the blissful fury she had expected.

Her body convulsed as her still restricted hands grasped at the pillows above her head. Liam kept up with his mission until her long screams subsided. An overwhelming sensation of pleasure, love and comfort filled her – almost as if she had floated out of her body and was left hovering on cloud nine.

She tasted herself on his lips as he kissed her, and removed the negligee so that it no longer held her captive. Her eyes fluttered open looking at her husband who wore a big, accomplished grin on his face.

“I love when you scream like that. Makes me so hard.” Liam winked at her before hopping off the bed.

Still in a euphoric state, Bragnae barely noticed as Liam tugged her towards the edge of the bed. He picked up one of her legs letting the other rest on the mattress, and stroked himself as he looked at her. Her gaze met his – those blue eyes dark as an ocean with desire.

“I’m going to be useless to you for another minute or so.” Still panting, she barely managed to speak.

He lined the tip of his engorged member to her, teasing her dripping wet entrance. “Hmmm, not completely useless. All you need to do is relax and moan like the goddess that you are.” He pushed himself inside her with ease prompting a throaty moan of agreement from Bragnae.

Leaning over, pumping slowly in and out of her, he smiled. “That’s it. How do you like my dick, Bragnae?”

All she could do was whimper from the wonderful feeling of him stretching her out.

“Tell me you like it,” he demanded in a low, hoarse voice. He increased his pace a little.

“I love it. I love when your big, hard dick is inside me.” What wasn’t to love about that?

“Such a dirty mouth you have,” he said chuckling before bending down to kiss her again. “And I love your tight, wet pussy.”

She smiled. “I remembered to do my Kegel exercises for you too, big boy.” As if to emphasize her point, she used her internal muscles to contract her walls around his cock, giving him a unique, sexy hug.

He smirked down at her. “I do appreciate that.”

“Harder, Liam.” He answered with a powerful thrust that she felt in her throat.

“How’s that?” He did it again. She hissed a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

“Good. Now, faster.”

He kept his eyes on hers as a determined look spread across his face. His abs flexed with each thrust he made into her, pounding at rapid speed. Her leg pressed against his chest as he held onto it with both hands, squeezing her thigh.

The position of her leg and the slight curve of his dick made for the perfect position for him to rub in just the right spot. She felt the hot pressure in her pelvis swiftly change to the promise of more.

“Liam, I’m close. Oh, my God. I’m so close.”

He moved his thumb over her clitoris, lightly rubbing as he kept up his pace. “Go on. Soak my dick, baby.”

The added stimulation sent her over the edge. Gripping the bed sheets with both hands, she squeezed her eyes shut, and became consumed with all that encompassed her sensual release. Seconds later, Liam set free his own climax draining himself into her.

Still nestled safely inside her, he leaned down again to kiss her. “I love you, Bragnae.”

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Empty bottles that once contained alcohol and used glasses littered Drake’s otherwise tidy room. He laid in his bed, fully clothed, as rays from the sun shined on his face. This was the way he’d fallen asleep every night for the past week – drinking until he was good and drunk, and then passing out on his bed with the lights on. He felt a pounding headache throb at his temples that hadn’t seemed to go away since the night of wedding no matter how much whiskey he drank.

Of course, he knew the alcohol wasn’t making things better, but he didn’t care. He needed two things: to be comforted, and to forget. Since he didn’t have the woman he wanted to warm him with her touch, the whiskey sufficed. And because that particular woman was on her honeymoon, likely getting fucked in every position imaginable – and if he knew his friend, he wasn’t far off, he needed to get her out of his mind.

He had grown to realize that even after nearly drowning himself with all that he consumed in alcohol, it hadn’t been as reliable as he’d hoped. Still, through the mind-altering haze, he found himself thinking about Bragnae. There wasn’t an inch of her body he didn’t see in his mind, not a single detail of their dalliance that he didn’t obsess over.

Hoping to find some solace amidst the pain, he even tried to use the thoughts of her to inspire a release of his own built up sexual tension and strife, but knowing he couldn’t be with her took the thrill of the fantasy out of the equation. Frustrated, horny, sad, pissed off – this is what his life was now. He was already a bitter person, but somehow in the last week, he was able to dig down to a whole other level of disturbed.

He wanted nothing from life but Bragnae. Being with her made him happy, in ways he didn’t even know he could be. She challenged him, laughed at his sarcastic jokes, and went out of her way to make sure he was having a good time. They had bonded to the point of friends, which he didn’t expect at first.

But with his desire for her coupled with her reciprocating need for him, they had entered a new plane of existence between platonic friendship and romantic relationship, which was confusing as fuck. And because of his incessant need to put others before him, he missed his chance to be with her for good. He hadn’t even told her how much he loved her, and had loved her since the beginning.

A knock at the door startled him. It sounded as if a bomb had just gone off, making him cringe. There was a pause before another repetition of knocking came. He drew in a deep breath, heaving himself off the bed to stop the head-splitting noise.

On his way, he stumbled a bit, still feeling the effects of last night’s binge. He opened the door to see the small, but fierce Hana Lee looking up at him in surprise. Why the hell is she surprised to see me? This is my goddamn room.

“Drake, you look awful.” Her mouth had gaped open as her eyes raked over his disheveled appearance. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so his dark stubble became more than that. His wrinkled clothes hadn’t been changed in a day, and his longer hair hadn’t seen a comb in twice that amount of time. Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked that she had that reaction.

“Thanks. It reflects my mood. What do you want?” His voice was low and grumbly. When she pulled back, appearing to have been offended, he retraced his words. “I’m sorry. I have a headache. What can I do for you?” His eyelids felt heavy, probably from the lack of decent sleep he’d gotten, but also from the anguish that plagued him. He hoped she didn’t notice too much.

Hana placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I just came to tell you that Liam and Bragnae come back to the palace today. And I thought it’d be nice for us to be there to greet them when they arrive.” As soon as the happy couple was married, Hana stepped in as Bragnae’s Senior Lady-In-Waiting, and she took her role very seriously. “It looks like you could use some time to… freshen up. How about I grab you some coffee, and then you can do what you need to do?”

Hana also grew to be one of Drake’s few friends. She was sweet, caring, talented as hell, and could knock a guy’s block off if she wanted to – even if her confidence told her she couldn’t. Standing at just over five feet tall, he towered over her small frame at his own six and a half feet. She was half-Chinese, half-Cordonian – gorgeous. She’d make any man happy, any man that wasn’t already infatuated with someone else like he was.

He looked into her compassionate, brown eyes that pleaded with him to comply. He hadn’t wanted to leave his room today, except maybe to find something to eat, but he couldn’t say no. Plus, they were coming home today. It wouldn’t look good if Liam’s best friend wasn’t around to welcome him back.

“Sure, Hana. That’d be great. Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll meet you in the dining hall. And I take my coffee black.”

She nodded. “I’ll order some food for you as well. Twenty-minutes, Drake,” she said, pointing at him with a stern look.

He chuckled at her sudden assertiveness. “I promise. Thanks, Hana.”

“You’re welcome, my friend.” He closed the door as soon as she walked off.

Leaning against it, he sighed. Now, he had to do the impossible: prepare himself to face the woman he loved as she hung on the arm of another man. All the while, he had to look presentable as if her marriage to his best friend had not transformed his life, now wrought with despair.

An hour or so later, Drake had showered, shaved, and eaten a bigger breakfast than usual. Having a strict diet of whiskey over the past week would surely make a person ravenous. The coffee was strong, just how he liked it, and it gave him the energy he needed to brave the rest of the day. Maxwell and Bertrand had even come in from Ramsford to greet the King and Queen.

Hana had caught them all up with the day’s festivities. They’d have a dinner with the royal couple celebrating their return. Drake grumbled inward – all the royals did was throw parties, it didn’t matter the occasion. He tried to mask his bitterness, but felt like he was failing. His intention wasn’t to snub his best friend and his new wife, but the situation dictated a different response. He felt like an asshole.

His headache had gone away with the coffee and stomach full of food, so after everything was said at breakfast, he excused himself to go back to his room. He had a little over an hour before he was needed in the Grand Hall, so he took some time to clean up his room. The trashcan filled up quickly with the embarrassing amount of empty whiskey bottles. He made his bed, and picked up his floor.

Checking the clock, the cleaning had only taken thirty minutes of his time. He sighed, sitting on his bed, feeling antsy. Normally, when he hadn’t resorted to poisoning his liver with endless whiskey, he would go to the gym to exert his tension, stress or just for the fun of it.

He couldn’t do that now, there wasn’t enough time, and he’d have to shower again. He decided he’d go later. Late night work outs were nice to clear his head before bed, and he’d most likely need it after being forced to be in the same room as Bragnae.

He leaned back, thumbing through his phone. First through social media, then over to a game that could let him escape reality for a bit. His fingers twitched before moving to the other app. What he really wanted to do was look at the few saved pictures of Bragnae he had on his phone.

Some of them were some they took together over the engagement tour, when Liam was still betrothed to Madeleine, and the others were some he’d swiped from her social media. She had modeled in a photoshoot for a friend in New York once, and the second Drake discovered those photos, he was a goner. He’d incorporate them into the background of his phone had it been acceptable, but of course it wasn’t. Still the guy on the outside looking in, he had to hide his desire for her.

Luckily, the game had done its job, and it was time to head to the Grand Hall. Drake slipped his phone into his pocket, and left his room.

When he reached the meeting area, Hana, Maxwell and Bertrand were already in place along with many other servants and guards. Select members of the press too.

“You’re just in time. Their plane landed twenty minutes ago, so they should arrive any minute,” Hana told him. She looked happy, as she should, for their friends’ return. He wished he could be that happy.

Drake acknowledged her, and proceeded to cross his arms over his chest. After a few seconds, he realized the way he stood made him appear unapproachable, so he shook out his arms, and let them rest at his sides. He fidgeted a bit more, feeling uncomfortable.

Loud applause and cheering spread through the room as Liam and Bragnae strolled through the double doors. Camera flashes went off and the crowd swarmed them. Drake and the rest stood in the back allowing the media a chance for their questions and pictures before the palace guards would shoo them off.

After a few minutes, the crowd began to dissipate, and he could now see his friend, the King. Liam wore a polo and shorts, his aviator sunglasses hung on the V-neck of his shirt. He looked relaxed, care free. Why wouldn’t he? He just got to spend the week doing nothing accept his wife. Drake clenched his jaw at the thought.

Finally, the persistent media goons left, allowing Drake full access to look at the new queen. He dreaded this moment just as much as he craved it. No matter how much pain sat in his heart, not seeing Bragnae was worse than seeing her. He missed her – he wasn’t afraid to admit that. She had been such a big part of his life over the past several months, and being away from her for a week was excruciatingly difficult – obviously.

He drew in a sharp breath as he saw her face. She smiled brightly at those around her. Her skin looked tanner than usual, and her long, black hair was tousled in a breezy sort of way. She wore a strappy sundress that extended to the floor, and a long gold necklace, drawing his eye to her impeccable breasts. God, that dress looked great on her.

Drake felt stirrings of arousal hit him suddenly. He wanted to deny them, but they were relentless the more he looked at her. The high slit in her dress gave him all kinds of naughty ideas, and soon he was daydreaming about the things he’d love to do to her. He wasn’t even concerned with anyone else in the room. All that mattered was her.

Liam stepped up to Drake first before greeting the rest. “Hey, buddy. Things been well while we’ve been gone?” He pulled Drake into a bro-hug.

He cleared his throat. “As well as can be expected.” What can anyone expect of a man with a broken and lust-filled heart except that things were all they could be? Unchanging and depressing as fuck.

Liam clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to hear. Looking forward to catching up with you soon.” He quickly moved on to Hana and Maxwell sharing similar greetings.

Drake knew Bragnae was close just by the smell of her sweet perfume. Her scent was intoxicating, both graceful and seductive. It suited her. He watched her traipse over to him with a bright smile. It awakened his heart to see her looking at him like that.

“Your Majesty,” he said with a slight bow and straight face.

Bragnae lifted an eyebrow at him. “Come on, Drake. You don’t have to do that. ‘Bennett’ is just fine.”

“That’s no longer your name.” His responses seemed callous. He didn’t exactly plan on them coming out that way, but it did reflect his mood.

She scoffed. “Fine, Drake. Call me whatever you want.” As she turned to walk away, Drake grabbed her hand. He couldn’t let her leave like that. He had to make it right.

Bragnae snapped her head in the direction of their joined hands before glaring up at him. “What are you—,”

“I’m sorry, Bennett. How was your honeymoon?” He hoped she’d tell him it was terrible, and that she thought of him the whole time, but he knew that wouldn’t happen.

She visibly relaxed, but didn’t pull her hand away. “It was nice. Thank you. How’ve you been?”

“Well enough.” He looked into her amber eyes. She stared right back. He noticed her breathing had quickened, and knew it was a result of holding her hand from the way her gaze dropped to it. She swallowed, trying to hide being flustered, but Drake could see it. He saw everything.

He still affected her with a single touch, even after being a rude asshole to her. He, too, felt the electric current running through his veins stemming from their joined hands. He knew she was experiencing the same thing. Seeing her react that way gave him hope. A hope for what? What would he do with it? He didn’t know just yet, but he had a feeling he’d soon figure it out.

Bragnae cleared her throat and shook off her entranced expression as she gently pulled her hand out of his. “That’s good, Drake. I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, keeping his heated gaze on her. She took a step toward Hana, but looked back at him once more. The end of his mouth curled up into a smirk. Bragnae quickly averted her eyes and focused on Hana instead offering her a warm greeting.

After a week away with her husband, a single touch from Drake still muddled her composure. He decided he would test the waters further telling her what he wanted, and maybe she’d want that too. The night should prove interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was good to be back at the palace, even though she already missed her alone time with Liam. After greeting the welcome committee, they went back to their suite to shower and get ready for the dinner with their friends. Liam, as insatiable as he was, caught her before any other clothes could shield her body, and made love to her in their king-sized royal bed. Good to be back, indeed.

Bragnae slipped on a pink, chiffon dress that stopped at her knee, and stepped into a pair of peep-toe heels before her husband escorted her to the Dining Hall.

Everyone was already waiting for them when they walked in the room and took a seat. Liam at the head of the table, and Bragnae to his left. Out of courtesy for their position, their friends waited for them to sit before taking their own seats. Hana sat next to Bragnae, while Drake, Maxwell and Bertrand filled in across from her.

Her eyes flicked over to Drake as he settled in. He was looking particularly handsome today. She didn’t know what it was, but still she tried to ignore that. So, she turned to look at Maxwell, and thought about how nice he looked, and even Bertrand.

Maxwell, the hilarious party-guy she had come to love, was extremely good looking. He styled his hair, in what she considered was purposefully carefree, but he always looked good. He smelled delightful and warm, as a man should, dressed nice, and was toned and fit. Despite all of that, Bragnae had grown to love Maxwell as a brother-figure than anything else, which was probably best as she already had two men, specifically at this table, that she had romantic feelings for.

Bertrand was handsome in his own way. As Maxwell’s older brother, he was the Duke of Ramsford. He had been the indignant man that always gave her a hard time during the Social Season when she wanted to act like her ‘carefree American self’ – his words. Over time, however, he had become something more to her, like an older brother or even father-figure. Raised as an orphan, she was grateful to have him and any of her friends to consider part of her close-knit circle, part of her family.

Drinks had been served, and the servants presented them all with their meals. Everyone started to chat, especially Maxwell with his seemingly endless, but adorable questions about the island they just spent a week on, already making plans for them all to go back.

As she continued to listen and eat her meal, she felt like she was being watched. After taking a bite of the savory pot roast, she looked at Maxwell again before shifting her eyes to Drake. It was him. He was looking at her. But when their gazes met, he didn’t look away. In fact, he made it a point to deepen his stare.

Bragnae had to avert her eyes as a shiver shot down her spine. That was the second time that day one of his looks affected her that way. She took another bite. Maybe he was done staring. Of course, she’d need to check. Looking back in his direction, he had a glass of his favorite libation in his hand, and before he took a drink, his eyes flashed over to her again.

She could feel her heart race. Drake, with his dark eyes, could slay any woman with a single look. Well, so could her husband. But there was something to his smoldering and always brooding expression that made her tingly. She wondered why he was so attentive with her today. Before the wedding, it felt like he did all in his power to avoid her eyes, perhaps so she wouldn’t see the hurt inside him.

But now? He was eyeing her like a predator stalking its prey. Not that she ever felt threated by Drake, but his looks now definitely were intimidating. Mostly because she didn’t know what they meant.

Liam put his hand over hers on the table. Startled, she jumped slightly at his touch.

“Are you okay, Bragnae? Your face is a little red,” Kindly, he lowered his voice to a whisper not to draw the attention of the others, but they all still honed in on her.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and needing a moment to sort out the mixed emotions running through her head, she stood. “I’m fine. Thank you,” she told him with a soft touch to his arm. “I’m a little warm. I think I’ll go splash some water on my face.”

The men at the table stood, chivalrous as they were, as she left the room. Once she was out of their sight, she headed to the nearest powder room. Closing the door behind her, she walked up to the sink, leaning on the counter as she took a few deep breaths.

She raised her head to see herself in the mirror. She was a bit red in the face. Damn Drake. No matter how hard she tried, he would always get a rise out of her. She shook her head, partly in disgust at herself as well as frustration. How could she move on from him if she saw him every day? He lived at the palace, same as her.

It would have been fine, and easier to deal with had he not started to intentionally capture her attention with his sexy, determined eyes. She put a hand to her chest feeling her heart beat faster than normal. Even her breathing was ragged. That wasn’t good. It was too soon to be around him again. How would she get around this?

Bragnae sat down on a cushioned tuffet she pulled out from under the counter, and gave herself another minute to regain her composure. Then, there was a knock at the door. She sighed. This was how life would be as the queen. She’d never truly be able to escape for a moment alone without someone coming to check on her.

Stubbornly, she let the person knock again before she called out. “I’ll be right there.” She stood, pushing the seat back in its place, and looked herself over once more. Taking another deep breath, she opened the door to see Drake staring down at her.

Her heart rate skyrocketed again. “Drake, what are you doing?”

Without an invitation, he gently pushed his way into the small powder room, closing the door behind him. “Shhh, Bennett. I’m sorry but I’ve got to talk to you.”

He’s got to talk to me? No way. I’m doing the talking. “Why do you keep looking at me at the table like you are?”

The room felt bigger before he was in it. Now, standing over her, crowding her a bit, the room was shrinking. She backed up against the counter, and he continued to step forward. Summoning all her strength, she tried her best to appear confident instead of the reality of her about to melt on the floor in a lustful puddle of herself because of his presence.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He paused to study her for a moment. “I missed you… and I’ve been an idiot. I should have told you this sooner. You’re everything to me. You’re my last thought before I fall asleep, and on my mind immediately when I wake up. I love the way your smile lights up your entire face, I love that you laugh at all my stupid jokes, and I love that you push me to be better — you make me want to be a better man than I was.”

Drake took a small step forward. “I care about you so much, and… I want to be with you. It hurts,” his hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt over his heart, “it physically hurts that I’m not the one you call yours.” He visibly swallowed. “I love you, Benn— Bragnae.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her eyes frantically searched his for an ounce of humor or sarcasm, but there was none. He was sincere. He was pouring his heart out to her, telling her everything she wanted him to say before, and he chose now to do it. What a nerve. Suddenly she felt hurt and irate.

“How dare you say this to me now? You’ve had plenty of chances to tell me how you feel, and you wait until the day I get back from my honeymoon?” Her voice had raised a bit on that last word. “What is wrong with you, Drake?”

He dropped his hands to his sides again, and straightened his posture. “Plenty. And don’t think I don’t know it. But I’m not going to apologize for telling you this now.”

Surprised by his confidence, she gave him a questioning look. “What am I supposed to do with that? In case you forgot, you can’t be with me. I’m married now. You were there. You saw it.”

Drake stepped even closer to her. Their bodies mere inches apart. “Yeah, I saw it. Do you want to know what else I saw that day – on your face in particular? Longing, desire, maybe some regret – and that was just a few minutes after you said ‘I do’. Today, five minutes after you return from your honeymoon, I saw it all again. But this time there was more. I know you care about me, Bennett, dare I even say that you love me.”

He shifted his weight, looking down in attempt to gather his courage again. “I wouldn’t be telling you this – I wouldn’t be trying to ruin your marriage if I didn’t think you felt the same about me.”

I do, but I can’t allow you to think that. Not when my heart is still in this fragile state. “Well, I don’t.”

“Bullshit.” He narrowed his eyes at her. He had the gall to call her out, and at a time like this?

Unwilling to let him compromise her emotions further, she started for the door. She got it open a crack before Drake’s hand slammed it shut. She turned around to face him. His arm extended against the door, not allowing her to leave.

“What are you doing, Drake?” Anger and shock filled her voice.

His stature exuded confidence, but his face and words showed his vulnerability. “I know why you’re running away, but I can’t let you leave until I get all of this out. It’s… it’s okay if you don’t want to be with me. I know you said what happened in Vegas was a one-time thing. And at the time, I was so desperate to touch you again that I didn’t give a shit about the consequences. And now, it’s haunting me.”

Her expression and voice softened. “I was afraid of that.”

Drake looked deep into her eyes. “The day you got married, I sat in the parking lot trying to figure out whose life I was going to ruin: Liam’s, yours, or mine. I considered leaving Cordonia for good, but I knew that would hurt you. And to be honest, I didn’t think I could survive without seeing you regularly. So, I chose Liam because I just had to have you for myself.”

Bragnae listened intently. He was opening up to her, and she wasn’t going to interrupt.

“I walked into that church, spotted your door, and made my way to you. Before I could get there, Liam stepped out of his room, and told me it was time to go. And it was at that point I realized that Liam deserved to be happy too, and I couldn’t ruin his life by taking you away from him. So, I ruined mine instead.”

She so badly wanted to reach out to touch him, but something held her back.

“Bennett, you will never understand the level of pain and regret I have for letting you slip between my fingers. I know I hurt you. I know I didn’t speak up when I needed to. I know that I have no leg to stand on, but I couldn’t go another day without telling you how I felt.” Drake ran his hand softly down her arm. “I’d give anything to turn back the clocks, and tell you all of this before Liam proposed, but I can’t.”

“No, you can’t.” A lump of emotion welled in her throat. “Please don’t bring this up again. It hurts too much.” She turned away from him, hoping to avoid seeing the agony on his face. After a moment, Drake dropped his hand from the door, and she left the room.

Later that evening, Bragnae lay awake in bed next to her peacefully snoozing husband. She couldn’t sleep. Even when she and Liam had sex a few hours ago, she was distracted. Drake’s words had imprinted her mind, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what he said, and how he said it.

She hadn’t seen that kind of passion in Drake, when he was speaking, in… ever. The barrier of his friendship and duty to Liam always shielded whatever emotion he’d hoped to convey.

It was half past midnight. Liam had to leave early in the morning for Lythikos, so she didn’t want to disturb him with her restlessness. She decided she’d get up, and walk around the palace to help clear her thoughts. She threw on a camisole before slipping on a pair of pajama shorts. On her way out of the bedroom, she put on a jacket, zipping it up halfway.

Bragnae shoved her hands in her jacket pockets as she roamed the hallways of the palace thinking about Drake. As much as she wanted to hear those words from him, and as wonderful as they were to hear, she was more upset than infatuated. Why did he have to wait so long to tell her?

He had mentioned he wanted to break up their wedding, but changed his mind at the last second. Thinking about her wedding day, she tried to imagine what she would have done had he found her before Liam interrupted his plan. Would she have run off with him, or would she have denied him? Knowing her heart, and how desperately she wanted to be with him, there was no question.

But what about Liam? He wasn’t just this unbelievably attractive guy who was also a king. He was kind, tender, and loving. Even though it had only been about a week, she enjoyed being married to him. Granted, they were on their honeymoon the entire time, but still. He meant the world to her.

So, Drake corralled her in the bathroom to tell her all the things he should have said before, and expected her to jump right into his arms? She shook her head at the thought. Although, she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want to. It was Drake, after all.

Looking ahead of her, Bragnae saw a bright light coming from a room. As she approached, she recognized it as the palace’s gym. The room had a wall of windows looking into the spacious area. She had only seen the gym in passing, never visited it for its intended purpose.

She looked at the vast array of equipment, cardio machines, weights, other contraptions geared towards different muscles in the body. A brief thought came to mind for her to go in there and work out – try to release the stress and pressure she now felt inside her. But before she could make any plans, she spotted someone.

It was Drake. He wore a black, razorback tank top, and a pair of red athletic shorts. She watched him pick up a set of free weights, forty-five pounds in each hand, as he pulled them up and away from the sides of his torso, putting his impressive wingspan on display. His back was turned to her, so he hadn’t noticed her gawking. Thank God.

The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled with each repetition. His back glistened from the sweat of his hard work. Bragnae’s heart fluttered in her chest at the sight of him. The strength he possessed made her insides ache. Seeing him now reminded her of the few times his strong hands held her, picked her up, and touched her. She wanted more, but it wasn’t right. Not now. Not ever.

And suddenly she was mad again. Mad that she couldn’t have him. Mad that he waited so long to tell her. Mad that he conflicted her already unstable emotions when he confessed his feelings. Before she could think better of it, she opened the door and stepped inside the gym.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake set the weights back down, and squirted water into his mouth before wiping his face with a towel. The melodic tunes of American Classic Rock blared in his ears, helping to motivate his work out. He shook his arms out as he rested in between sets. He’d move up to the fifty pounders next.

As he turned back to the weights, he was startled to see Bragnae walk into his view. Why is she here? For only a moment, he froze up, not sure what to do, but then logic set in. He slowly removed his ear buds, one at a time, and gently tossed the cord over his shoulder.

He continued to stare at her, not wanting to speak first. Not after what happened earlier. Plus, it gave him time to catch his breath, both from the work out and his surprise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Drake felt guilty. He knew why. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Well, you should be.” Her tone had taken an unexpected direction, and now the softness of her amber eyes burned with ferocity. It had been a very different reaction from what he witnessed from her earlier.

She’s mad at me? He scoffed. “What? Look, Bennett, I know it was a dick move to surprise you with this information, but I do not regret it. I needed to tell you. No matter your response, you had to know.”

“Drake, I was happy!” Her elevated voice stunned him, but he stood resolute as she continued. “After we made love in Vegas, you kept pushing me away. I knew then it was never going to happen with us. I made peace with that. So, I pushed the thought of you out of my mind, and focused on the other man that I love.”

He heard her emphasis, and his heart swelled at the thought of her loving him – actually loving him. The concept was unfathomable.

“I love him, Drake. I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ to him if I didn’t.” And just like that, her words cut him deep. Now he had to put up his walls again, so he didn’t get hurt anymore.

“So, what? Did you just come in here to rub that in my face? If you did, you can leave. I’ve already been tormented enough seeing you two together.” He turned away towards the weights, hoping she’d take the hint to go before his heart shattered into a million pieces.

“And whose fault is that?!” She screamed at him.

Drake rounded on her, snapping his attention back to her livid face. Even with her as mad as she was, he still wanted to kiss her. “Mine! I fucking said that earlier!” He fumed, staring down at her. With almost a foot of height over her, she had to tilt her head back just to look at him.

“I need you to hear me right now.” Her voice leveled out again. “I’m in love with you, Drake Walker. And if you would have acted on what you wanted instead of trying not to hurt your best friend, I’d be with you right now. I was prepared to hurt Liam’s feelings because you were worth it.”

She was right. Everything she just said, as hard as it was to hear, was true. He hated himself.

Bragnae lowered her gaze, shaking her head. “And now it’s too late.” She looked back up at him, her eyes glossy. “I’m married to a wonderful man who tells me he loves me every day. I’m the Queen of Cordonia. I just can’t erase that. No matter how much I might want to.”

They looked at each other for another moment, letting the words sink in. This can’t be how it ends. She obviously had feelings for him, and desired him still. If his lack of action before was what kept him from being with her, then he wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

As Bragnae started to walk away, Drake grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. She protested at first, feeling rigid in his arms, but after another second, she melted against him. Her hands ran across his swollen biceps as she pressed her full lips into him.

She felt amazing in his arms, and even better was her kiss. He could feel the love pouring out of her, and the little moan she released told him she was enjoying the moment as much as he was.

Suddenly, he felt the pressure of her hands pushing against him, and the protests returned. He let go of her as she took a few steps back. Both of them breathing heavily, staring at each other. He waited for her to say something or rush out the door, but she didn’t. She just kept looking at him with hunger in her eyes. And he really wanted to finish that kiss.

He took a step forward, so did she, and soon their lips were locked again in a heated kiss. Their bodies pressed together so tightly, it’d take a crowbar to pry them apart.

Drake wanted her. That much he knew. And he also knew he’d do whatever it took to have her. Against his own desires, he tore himself way from her, gripping both of her arms as he looked into her eyes. He needed her full attention.

“You can still be the queen, and be with me if that’s what you want. If I can’t have you completely to myself, I’ll share you with the king. If that’s what it takes to be with you, then so be it. I need you, Bragnae. I can’t live without you.”

Her eyes fixed on his as she contemplated his suggestion. Even he was surprised by it, but he was past the point of caring. His morals were shot the second he agreed to have the fling with her in Vegas, regardless of Liam’s approval. And now, he was offering himself to her as someone she could fuck on the side of her marriage.

“I’ve got to go,” she finally said, taking another moment to look at him before she gently pushed herself out of his grasp.

Drake watched her leave the gym, as guilt and pain reentered his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Bragnae stood on her toes to kiss Liam by the front entrance. He would be traveling to Lythikos, and wouldn’t return until tomorrow. Whether that was a good or bad thing, she didn’t yet know. With Liam away, she could have time to sort through her thoughts, to find out what she truly wanted. But with him gone, she was afraid that would present a convenient opportunity to explore Drake’s proposal.

“I won’t be gone long, my love. Just an overnighter, and I’ll be back in your arms tomorrow.” He smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“I’ll miss you.” She pulled him in for another kiss.

His hand slid down to her curvy tush, giving it a hearty squeeze. “I’ll miss you, too. I’ll call you when I land.” Liam gave another kiss. “Goodbye, my queen. Have fun today.”

She smiled at him as Liam walked out the double doors to his limousine. Heaving a sigh, she turned around to head back to her room. As she walked out of the foyer, she saw Drake standing with his shoulder leaned up against the wall, looking at her. She stopped in her tracks.

Even though he stood several feet away from her, she could see the longing in his expression. She felt it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stared at her not moving a muscle. Everything had been laid out on the table. Now, they knew how each of them felt about each other, and Drake had told her he was okay with being the other man. Still not completely proud of his proposition, he was more than willing to move forward despite it. She was worth the risk and everything else involved.

Bragnae reached around her neck and unclasped her pearl necklace, balling it in her left hand. Curious about her peculiar behavior, he watched as she ascended the stairs, dragging the pearls over the polished banister keeping her eyes down and in his direction. His gaze followed her as she reached the top of the stairs, and turned right down a hallway. Before she walked out of sight, she looked right at him, and that’s when he knew.

Drake waited a minute. He pulled out his phone, and pretended to engage with it in case anyone was watching before casually walking up the red carpet-lined stairs. He nonchalantly looked down both hallways before following Bragnae’s trail. With many closed rooms before him, they all looked alike, but only one had a set of glossy pearls hanging from the doorknob.

#trr #trr choices #trr choices fanfic #trr liam #trr drake #the royal romance #the royal romance drake #the royal romance liam #the royal romance fanfic #drake x mc #liam x mc #king liam #drake x bragnae #liam x bragnae #drake walker #bragnae bennett #TRR Forbidden Fanfic #Queen of cordonia #very steamy fanfic

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let-me-write · 4 years

Text

The Truth Untold

Find chapter 1 here

Chapter 2: Cirenworth hall

" Hey Min-Min, you're doing a good job !! Keep going !! "

Kit Herondale encouraged his little sister Mina who was chasing Church around their living room with determination. The grouchy cat was trying to evade her advances but to no avail as Mina managed to keep catching his tail.

He was beyond content observing his sister, who was, in fact, the only one who could get away with annoying Church. The immortal feline was affectionate of Mina but couldn't keep up with the toddler's curiosity at times, while nevertheless tolerating her. He would have gladly sat there, soaking in his sister's cute antics and the cat's predicament. But he had an important task for today, something he had been planning for months.

He must start now if he were to get it done before Jem and Tessa returned. He had been practising for this day with the help of his friend Amy, at her family's bakery.

Kit rounded up the ingredients and started mixing them on the kitchen counter. He was not confident because he had gotten it right only once in the past. Regardless, he kept going and placed the set batter into the oven for baking.

He was working on the frosting when Mina came into the kitchen exclaiming " Kittie!! There you are!! What are you doin'? " She hugged his legs tightly and looked up at him.

She had grown from an unassuming baby to this inquisitive toddler right in front of him. It all felt surreal to him even now. He had never imagined that he would have a loving family, much less a baby sister that adored him. Now, she was pulling his pants, awaiting his reply.

He bent down to pick her up and place her on the counter. He told her, " I'm baking a cake for Jem's birthday today "

She piped in " For Bapa? "

Kit nodded and continued " Yes, for Bapa. Do you wanna try the frosting, Min-Min? " He held out the spatula and she took some indulgently in her little fingers and tasted.

Her small face lit up with a satisfied grin as she declared " Gē Ge, you're the best !! ". Kit's heart skipped a beat, as it always did whenever she used the Chinese term for brother when addressing him.

He was pulled from his musing as the oven started beeping. He pulled out the now baked carrot cake.

Yes, Carrot cake, the only cake agreed upon by the senior members of Cirenworth hall.

Tessa hated chocolates - he had shuddered, thinking ' How Blasphemous !!! ', when he had learned about it - and, well, Jem didn't care much for desserts.

Kit moved on to slathering the cream cheese frosting he prepared on his cake and spread it uniformly as Amy had taught him.

Amy had become his only friend at Devon and her being a mundane had helped him reconnect with the contemporary pop culture of the mundane world. They had a good rapport and hung out at least once a week, whenever Kit felt like he had enough training for the week.

The frosting was done and now he was ready to pipe down ' Happy Birthday ' onto it but then he decided ' Why not make it a gift from Mina too? ' Thus, he addressed the wish to ' Bapa '.

By now, Mina was restless and wanted to help too. So, he guided her hand and together, they made a heart on the cake. She looked satisfied and squealed with delight " Bapa will love it !! "

Kit, on his way to secure the cake, assured her " Of course he will Min-Min !! Your hand's made it magical!! "

Now that the hard job was done, he set the table for the cake and anticipated the return of Jem and Tessa. They had gone to the farmer's market nearby, at least that's what Tessa had told him. She had assured him that she would keep Jem away from their home, providing ample time for Kit to prepare the cake.

Of course, Tessa was in on it with Kit, as they often were together in plans that involved surprising and/or anything to do with embarrassing Jem. They were a formidable team when it came to teasing the former silent brother, who was as clueless about modern society as he was oblivious to someone flirting with him.

In the last three years, Kit had succeeded to an extent in introducing him to all the mainstream movies. In fact, it had become a weekend ritual for the family; watching a new movie together, all curled up in their living room.

And those nights would all end with Mina fast asleep in Kit's arms while he explained all the contemporary references in the movie to the rest of the family. He was still not sure Jem understood them fully.

On such occasions, Kit would feel everything around him was a pipe dream that would disappear any moment now. There was no way he had a little sister and parental figures who cared for him as if he was their own.

Kit had wondered at such times...

Aren't they to me what a valuable shelter would be to a nomad and if that shelter was also a palace full of love and miracles? Isn't that not a mirage in the desert for a lost soul like him?

He would then look again at Mina's trusting smile and observe Jem and Tessa's unwavering affection for him. And he would assure himself that of course, this was all undoubtedly real and most importantly were what made him happy at present.

Yes, he was happy, there was no denial in that.

He was as happy now as he could be since his father's death and the events that had followed.

He was grateful for this family that he could call his, for once.

After all, he owed that to Jem and Tessa for their efforts to make him feel included.

Now, Cirenworth held the majority of his pleasant memories as this was the place where he had first met his Min-Min.

Kit had never been more sure of anything than his bond with his little sister. She had come into his life unexpectedly and had become an irreplaceable part with her unconditional fondness for him. He was not sure if he was worthy of it but it warmed his heart now, as he looked at his sister trying to tie a bow on Church's tail.

She was assuring the cat in a calm voice " Don't worry !! This is only for today as it is Bapa's birthday " Church seemed to understand her and gave in to her vanity scheme. She tied a bright red bow to the base of the cat's tail with utmost care.

As she was done, she announced enthusiastically " See, you're the prettiest cat in the whole of Devon now " The feline meowed in response, startling Kit, as he had never seen the perennially grumpy cat do such a normal thing since he had known him.

Kit came to his senses as his cellphone chimed. This was his cue to set up the cake and light the candles. He brought the cake out of the fridge and onto the table and lit the candle.

Mina was hovering near the table when he bent down to pick her up in his arms. He could hear voices now outside the door.

The lights were off in the living room and the narrow rays of the setting sun hit the room as the door opened.

As soon as Jem opened the door, Mina started singing " Happy Birthday Bapa ..." in her lovely voice.

Kit too exclaimed " Happy 154th Jem !! " while switching on the lights.

Jem looked awestruck on witnessing Kit and Mina in front of the cake. He smiled when his gaze fell on Church, seated next to the cake with his prominent bow on display.

Tessa came to stand next to him with a proud grin on her face.

Mina gestured to be let down and ran to hug her father. Jem lowered himself and received her kisses and beamed when she wished him " A very happy birthday Bapa !! "

He picked her up while replying " Thank you my little melon " and moved towards the table.

Kit gestured at the carrot cake on the table and said " Hope you like the cake !! Happy Birthday Old Man !! "

Jem ignored the jibe and looked pleasantly surprised at Kit's creation and enveloped him into a hug along with Mina in his arms. " You never cease to amaze me Christopher " he said as he let Kit go with an adoring pat on his head. Kit couldn't help but feel warm towards the former silent brother.

For someone who had a minimal touch with human emotions for more than a century, Jem was an expert in evoking the right ones in others.

Tessa, who had been clicking a picture of the family embrace on her phone, complained of being left out. She came towards Kit and hugged him lovingly. He had never been hugged in such a way before he had met Tessa, at least not any that he had remembered.

It has always been a surprise for him, how warm and protective the gesture was... he had thought this is what a mother's hug must feel like.

Tessa let go of him and whispered " You did a good job my boy !! " and ruffled his hair affectionately... well she tried to...she could reach only the curls on his forehead. He had grown a lot since he had come here and had finally outgrown Jem last summer.

He replied with mock disappointment, " So, I have failed my Herondale ancestors again !! "

" Not a great job but merely a good job... I hope you change your mind once you taste the cake, for my poor heart's sake "

Tessa shook her head while chuckling and handed the knife on the table to Jem " Here you go love, Let's honour our boy's hardwork with no further delay "

Jem proceeded to blow out the candle on the cake but not before looking at the portrait of his parabatai on the wall.

As he cut the cake, Mina belted out the Happy Birthday song perfectly as Kit had taught her, leading to him joining in too.

Jem picked a small piece of the cake and fed it to his daughter, who gobbled it with satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Kit cut another piece from the cake and tried to feed it awkwardly to Jem who looked at him with a content expression. His eyes widened as he ate the cake. He then proclaimed, " I can't believe that I've been blessed today with such a delectable cake. Here Tessa, have some " He fed some to Tessa who looked admiringly at Kit as she chewed on the carrot cake.

Kit was sure they weren't kidding - as one would know if they knew these two - but he was apprehensive as he tried a piece himself. He gasped out loud at the surprising burst of good flavour in his mouth.

Had he found his calling finally ? All this time training to be a shadowhunter and he could have been a baker !!

Tessa looked at him fondly and turned to Jem and said " Of course, it is tasty. Our Kit does everything with no shortage of love and sincerity. Why would this be different? "

She added, " Why don't we take this celebration outside ? The table's already laid out with the food we have bought "

Kit's family then proceeded towards their greenhouse, inside which laid an ornate wooden table, a reminiscent of the era Tessa and Jem had belonged to. He had learnt that this table used to belong to the Herondales when Tessa had been one herself. Will and Tessa would have dined with their children in this table more than a century ago.

Numerous candles adorned the table, burning brightly and casting the reflections of the trees surrounding the table upon the surrounding walls. Through the roof, Kit noticed that the moon was hiding behind the clouds and that the sky had turned darker.

Mina was chattering excitedly to her Bapa about how she had helped Kit with the cake decoration and how her Gē Ge had encouraged her to decorate Church too.

Kit perked up at that ' Now that was TMI; his involvement in this endeavour '. Jem was a calm person, not easy to upset but Kit suspected even he might not be forgiving of any unfair treatment of his precious cat.

So, Kit tried to divert the topic by pointing at the display on the table " Look at the table Min-Min !! Bapa and Mama have brought your favorite orange chicken. Let's split up the contents shall we? "

There were authentic Chinese foods as well as take-outs on the table. They knew Kit used to enjoy such food back in L.A. and have always bought it for him, whenever possible.

Of course, Tessa would never hesitate to open a portal to L.A., to allow him to re-experience the city he grew up in. The only problem was that Kit didn't want to return there himself, too many memories attached to the place, some more painful than the others.

Now, the sole connection he had with the city was the take-out Jem and Tessa bought for him from time to time. Mina had also taken to his favorite food, choosing to eat them along with him.

They took their places on the table, with Mina next to him. She preferred to be fed by Kit, as her little fingers have not been accustomed to chopsticks yet.

Her parents sat across from them with copious amounts of Xiaolongbao - soup dumplings from Jem's birth place, Shanghai - in front of them.

Kit opened up a box of orange chicken and fed the first piece to Mina. She gobbled it up readily.

Since he had come here, he has come to learn that both Jem and Tessa placed his needs before all else. He had thought then that such priority would not exist once their child was born. He had been wrong. They were never discriminative in their affection and care for him. It was evident from the way they seemed to understand that he was hurt in the past and were careful about bringing up the Blackthorns.

Kit had never expected to experience this kind of comfort and feeling of belongingness. In fact, when he moved in with the Carstairs, he was convinced that he would not be allowed to stay if he couldn't reflect Will Herondale in his actions or behaviors. But of course, he had been wrong in that case too.

Now, he concentrated on finishing up the delicious chicken along with his sister and moved on to the dumplings.

The dinner was a silent affair, after which they all huddled together for their night time ritual of listening to Jem play his violin.

Kit had never before been a big fan of classical music or even literature for that matter; both had changed since he had started residing here. He found Jem's music not only beautiful but oddly comforting in the way it brought vivid and pleasant images to his mind.

There was a sense of safety that came over Kit now as he listened with his eyes closed. Mina's warm little fingers were hanging on to his own as she sat on her mother's lap beside him.

They were all sitting under the newly bloomed autumn cherry tree in a corner of their green house. Jem was standing under the tree while playing his violin. This was a fairly familiar site for the residents except that the pink petals falling around him made Jem look like a Shoujo anime protagonist. He definitely looked the part, with his unusual hair: a silver streak in an otherwise black head.

Kit immediately turned to whisper the same to Tessa, who proceeded to giggle not so discreetly. Of course, she understood anime references now, he had spent his time educating both Tessa and Jem on the finer aspects of contemporary media. He had succeeded spectacularly with Tessa - as she had with making him enjoy reading - to the point of her often engaging in passionate discussions with him.

He added to Tessa " What do you think Lily would call him if she witnessed this ? " By then, Jem had finished his piece and was looking at them curiously.

" Definitely Jemmy Blossom " he quipped. She nodded with a conspiratorial grin " Absolutely and she would add ' which I would love to blend in my Sakura tea ' "

Jem sighed hearing that and Kit observed that he had a slight blush in his cheeks. Both Kit and Tessa have been getting better in teasing the shy, 19th century man, with the help of few pointers from Lily Chen herself, the loyal Brother Zachariah enthusiast.

Jem ignored the comment and asked Tessa if she had any requests. She nodded and asked " Will you play ours, Jem ? " He smiled before starting to play again.

A gorgeous melody started, describing a place filled with joy and contentment and interspersed with equal parts melancholy and longing. It portrayed a love story among three souls that were intertwined forever and a bond that transcended time.

Kit had heard this piece numerous times before and knew of its significance. The impact it had on him now was different though. It evoked memories in him, the very ones he tried hard to suppress every day and a longing for a person dearest to him, whom he doubted he would ever meet again.

He felt particularly emotional today, his longing for his former companion from the Los Angeles Institute intensifying, as if someone had tugged the thread that bound him to Ty.

That seemed absurd...

There was nothing between them now nor was it then, not at least from Ty's side.

He was still feeling miserable with his thoughts when Jem finished. So, he decided to stay out for sometime while the others went inside the house.

Mina mumbled " Good night " to him before laying back her head sleepily on her mother's shoulder. Tessa just smiled at him understandingly while Jem gave him a hug before they left for inside.

Kit ventured into the dark, walking with a purpose, towards the garden surrounding their house. It was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. He had spent hours training in these grounds with Jem. He even knew every rock in the foot path; what with him falling on them several times during running or fighting.

He was heading now towards the wooden swing in the east corner of the property. Jem had told him that the Carstairs who lived here in the past had installed it for their children. It was a beautiful bench swing that faced the neighbouring fields.

Kit loved spending his time here, typically at nights when he could star gaze in the clear, rural sky. No one would disturb him here and it had truly become his own spot. He came here whenever he felt overwhelmed and to ruminate on his thoughts.

Tonight, he was thinking about Ty, as usual, missing him.

He felt guilty... he didn't have any right to miss Ty considering he was the one who had left him.

He looked up at the stars- ' Stars ' was one of Ty's comfort words- and smiled. Wonder if he had any new words now?

Kit had learned to control his thoughts regarding Ty to a great extent in his time here - not without difficulty - restricting them to only the times he spent here on this bench.

This was broken when he had met Julian and Emma, when they had visited here during their travel year. It was difficult for Kit to look at Julian without finding a resemblance to Ty.

Emma had hugged him as soon as she saw him and sought assurance of his well being. They both were warm and friendly during their stay.

Thankfully, they hadn't prod him much about his reason for leaving. Maybe, they had just attributed it to the safety concerns over his faerie heritage.

They didn't mention much about Ty either, except that he was at the Scholomance and often sent them letters and postcards.

Well, except when Emma had encountered him alone in the hallway once and said " You know... Ty would love to hear from you " before she was interrupted by Julian calling her.

He hadn't been able to reply " I am not so sure of that ".

Then, there was that time Livvy had come here and he had learnt about the threat to Ty and had given up his mother's heron pendant for his protection.

He wished that he could learn more about Ty's life but he wasn't sure if he would like to hear about it over being present for it. The thought unnerved him.

In his early days at Cirenworth, he was heartbroken and had dreaded his memories of Ty. Now, he still felt a dull pain in his chest when thinking of him but this was mostly due to a sense of yearning rather than regret and pain.

Gradually, his longing for Ty's companionship came to dominate over his guilt and remorse but that didn't mean he didn't feel them anymore. It was just that as time went, he had learnt to pay attention to the good memories over the painful ones, albeit his frequent lapses.

Jem and Tessa's anecdotes about their past had helped a little. Their recollections were always tinted with a wistful but pleasant lens, even their painful memories.

He wanted to reassess his own memories... But even thinking about disentangling his past, left him feeling as if he was running a marathon and hanging onto a cliff's edge at the same time.

He took a deep breath and tried to locate the Orion's belt in the sky to calm himself.

As he focused his eyes upwards, a sudden bright source approached him from his left. He gasped out loud before realizing that it was a fire message.

' Could it be Jace? '

He liked to keep up with Kit as often as he could.

He waited for the blazing message to land on his hand.

Once it settled, he opened up the folded white paper carefully. He saw that it was addressed to him but not to Kit, to Christopher.

The only person that addressed him that way was Jace.

He sighed while muttering " Of course, who else would send me a message? "

But then he noticed that the handwriting was off.

He examined closely at the " Dear Christopher " and realized with a jolt that this was a familiar handwriting, one that he had witnessed in meticulously taken notes : a neatly written, cursive array of words with peculiarly curved 'r's that he could have recognized anywhere.

A distinct one, that belonged to none other than the boy he had spent the most time with at the Los Angeles Institute.... this was a message from Tiberius Blackthorn.

#the truth untold #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #kit herondale #Ty Blackthorn #Ty x kit #kit x ty #chapter 2 #tuservaar

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