#its missing someones absent-minded touch on your skin when you get distracted or entranced in something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wandsandwheezes · 3 years

Text

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH6

one // two // three // four // five

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, masturbation, hate sex, heartbreak, blood

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // thank you to my angst goblin, Lanie @gcdric and my angel Zahra @starlightweasley for helping me get this one out bc otherwise id be STUCK

One new message

The sound of the answer machine rang through Fred’s flat, he was staring out over London and her twinkling lights. His waistcoat was loose, hanging open at his chest - tie discarded the moment he stumbled through the door. He’d pretty much flung the sliding glass door to the balcony open, letting the biter breeze whip through his hair, blowing the once still curtain so that it flew in a way that mimicked the way a superhero’s cape flows.

The night of partying had been a wild but well needed distraction. Fred couldn’t stop the image of your kiss from playing over and over in his head, his fingers ghosted over where the absent feeling of your lips lingered, wishing you were here.

“Freddie…” You breathed down the phone, your words slurred still as the liquor clung to your senses.

“About what happened tonight, I don’t think it was-” His heart began to race at the simple thought, the steamy kiss was crossing his mind once again, He heard you take a moment, a pause for thought and he held his breath with you.

“I just - we need to talk. We- I have something to tell you.” You sighed, he was praying he could just call you back, checking his watch, he knew it was too late. What If he did call, would that be so bad?

“I’m sorry, Fred.” the sound of you putting down the phone echoed in his brain. Sorry. What could you possibly be sorry for? It could possibly be one of the best kisses of his life. He couldn’t deny the electricity that he felt from tip to toe and he knew deep down that you felt it too. So why did he feel a pang of sadness hit his chest, winding him like a dementor was sucking the soul out of his body.

Fred fell asleep that night clutching his pillow as he imagined you in its place. He wasn’t sure what made the tears roll down his cheeks, but shrugged it off as the alcohol getting to him. He was snivelling, contemplating leaving you a text. He needed you to know how he felt, that he was aching for you to be with him. He didn’t want things to just be staged anymore, there was undeniable chemistry there between you, he felt it in the way you looked at him. Surely it would be better if you were his, he could kiss and hold you all he wanted without the need for press or cameras. You could have a beautiful, normal life together. You were one of the last thoughts on his brain as he drifted off, his grip against the plush pillow only growing tighter out of desperation.

Waking to the midday sun shining directly into his eyes wasn’t making the pounding headache rattling around in his skull any better. Fred didn’t remember anything about how or when he got home, only recalling the mellow flow of your voice reverberating around his flat. He managed to drag himself from his bed, searching every unorganised cabinet for the sight of even one lonely ibuprofen, sighing as his head fell to rest on the counter with no luck. He realised the grave mistake he had made when his head started thumping, the room spinning and his sight going hazy. Water, he needed hydration.

Two pints of water later, Fred was still feeling the sour effects of last night’s burning liquor, feeling the burn in his chest with every breath, like all the liquid was ready to come right back up at any moment. He sat himself down at the island counter as he pressed the button to replay the voicemail from last night.

I’m Sorry.

The words wouldn’t leave him, he replayed the voicemail over and over, internalising every single word as it played through the speakers. He sat for hours, sat too long until his feet had gone numb from dangling over the seat. The Great British weather had taken its turn for the worst, a clap of thunder distracting Fred from his thoughts, not knowing how deeply the words were hitting him, until he felt a tear drop against the back of his hand. It was too much for him, realising that he needed to see you, touch you, feel you.

I’m Sorry

His feet dragged him towards your place, he didn’t care that he’d been walking for miles or that the rain was drenching him to his very core. It was desperation that drove him to find you. It was like a sign to him that one lonely red rose grew from a bush he passed, stopping dead in his tracks before turning around to look at it. He plucked it from the bush, holding it up to his nose, breathing in the scent. Rose petals mixed with the cold drizzle and muggy air sent him over the edge. He was walking quicker now so that he could get to you, pace kicking up into a small jog, his shoes slapping against the wet pavement with each step.

One light shone dimly from the confines of your apartment. Fred stood outside, debating how he was going to approach this conversation. He loved you, wanted you to be his and he struggled in that moment to find the appropriate words to express it. You were towel drying your hair, supposedly from the rain as you came into view by the window. You looked like an angel, a pure piece of heaven on earth and his heart beat faster, beginning to move closer to the flat’s entrance. That’s when he spotted another figure coming into view from the window, face covered by the towel as you dried their hair. Whoever it was, had at least a foot on you height wise, their hands snaking around your waist to pull you tight and close to them.

Fred’s heart sunk, like it had fully fallen out of his ass, seeing you in the arms of another man made his stomach churn, his grip on the rose growing tighter as the thorns pierced his skin. He didn’t even feel the pain, just the emptiness in his chest. He watched as you pulled the towel from the figure’s face.

The messy ginger hair, round cheeks and adoring smile were obvious. Fred knew exactly who he was seeing, he was blinking so hard wishing that it was just a terrible nightmare. As George’s lips connected with yours, it was as if it rumbled Zeus himself, a bolt of lightning illuminating the dark sky. It was like watching his whole world come crashing down, watching you chase his brother’s lips desperately, the same way you had done with him last night. He couldn’t help but watch as the kiss deepened, George using his strength to pick you up, watching your legs wrap around his waist, walking out of sight.

It was like watching a glimpse of a life he’d never have, the rose fell to the floor, petals breaking off of the stem. Blood was dripping from his hand to the floor, diluted by the rain as it splashed against the stone. Not a single car drove by your house, not one person was outside but Fred in that moment. Loneliness was the only bitter feeling left, it tasted like hell in his mouth, unable to shake the image of you and George together, only hearing two words in his head over and over like a broken record.

I’m Sorry.

Raindrops danced along Fred’s skin, the soft pitter patter mocking him, everything reminded him of you, even in a moment of heartbreak, the glow of Christmas lights, the thunder or the distant sound of horns beeping at one another, it all reminded him of you in the most ridiculous way. His phone chimed, pulling up the messages he realised that his thoughts had overpowered the importance of the messages.

>> I miss your touch Freddie

>> I can come see you tonight

>> why aren’t you responding Fred?

>> don’t you love me?

‘Maybe this is what I need’ Fred thought, Perhaps he needed the out, the quick fuck to get the aggression out of his system. They say it’s wrong to sleep with your boss, but Cherry wasn’t his boss, she was just the publicist. The publicist you shared. If you could sleep with anyone you wanted, why should he feel guilty about it now? After all, if there was one woman who could help him forget, It would be Cheryl.

<< sorry, doll

<< of course i love you

<< come see me x

>> I won’t be long, i’m so desperate for you, Freddie x

It was wrong for him to say that, especially when he didn’t love cherry. Not one ounce of his body felt a connection deeper than just sex. That's all it was to him with Cherry; mindless, carefree sex. Why he kept going back to her like a lost puppy however, was still up for debate.

Cheryl wasn't an unattractive woman, but she wasn't you. She was taller, accentuated by her constant need to wear heels, not that it mattered much to Fred when he towered above most people he met. She had long blonde hair that was always beach waved and perfectly sun-kissed skin like a Miami model. Fred didn't care too much about superficial looks, but it was undeniable that part of the reason he enjoyed Cherry so much was the way her tits, although obviously fake, would bounce in his face begging to be touched as she sank down onto him or the way her full lips looked as they wrapped around his throbbing cock. Fucking Cheryl from behind was as much fun, he had all the ass he could hold onto before him and a tight cunt that always struggled to take him.

Reaching his home Cherry was already waiting for him. She spun around as soon as his presence behind her was felt, lips attaching to his immediately. The red lipstick she wore while unique to her, was now being transferred to the man's lips as they kissed. He wasn't disappointed to be kissing someone, it was disappointment that it wasn't you. Your kisses were heaven compared to what he was getting now, he found himself picturing you in his arms and that seemed to work.

They wasted no time stripping each other's clothes off, Fred was aching to pound his cock into something, even if it had to be Cherry. When the girl tried to straddle him, he grabbed her hips, throwing her against the mattress, causing a giggle to erupt from her lips. "Hands and knees tonight, Doll."

Being seethed inside Cherry felt amazing. He tried to stretch her out, push as much of himself inside as he could, but she was simply so tight. The pace he set was animalistic, fucking the girl raw against the sheets, he couldn't stand to look at her, closing his eyes and pretending it was the girl he’d been longing for. It wasn't enough, he needed more control. Fred's hand was pushing Cherry's face into the sheets, his thrusts more violent and possessive as he continued fucking her senseless.

Back at your home, George was seethed all the way inside you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. The way you two fit together was like lock and key, a perfect size for each other. "I'm so deep inside of you princess, can you feel me in your belly?" You were nodding, grabbing his hand to press against your abdomen, his thrusts were slow and purposeful, he was trying to make you cum over and over and over again tonight and you were already waiting for number four. "Yes Georgie, right here, it feels so good when you fill me up." he hummed as he felt the tip of his cock hitting where his hand was pressed with every thrust. His precious girl. All for him.

Fred was on the edge, skin slapping as he chased his orgasm, Not caring much for Cherry's desperate moans, no matter how good he was making her feel. He wanted her to shut up, it sounded so fake, but he was ready to release, pulling out to let his cum drip over the curve of her ass. He flopped on the bed next to her, immediately feeling her hand on his cock, stroking gently. "You're so good, Freddie, So big."

She took him into her mouth with ease, it was the only time he could be fully inside of her. His head was back against the mattress as he pictures your soft lips replacing hers. His hand came up to stroke her hair as she continued sucking him off. Try as he might to cum again, he knew it wasn’t your hand on his cock, or your lips. It was another woman, the thought made him sick to his stomach, forcing him to sit bolt upright, pulling himself away from the naked girl on his bed.

“I can’t do this.” he grumbled, grabbing the boxers he had discarded on the floor, pulling them up. Cherry sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling it over her shoulder, “Do you want me to stay Freddie?” she smiled, playing with the ends of hair as she watched him walk into his bathroom across the hall. “I don’t care.” he spoke plainly, the hurt in his chest hitting him once again as he slammed the door behind him.

He could still hear the hums and moans you made against his lips. As he leant against the shut door, his hand reached down to start palming himself, feeling himself grow hard again at the thought of you. He was picturing you sprawled out on his bed, begging for him, using your mouth to get him off - He was getting close again as he imagined slamming his hips into you. Just as he reached his peak again, one thought plagued his mind, you moaning his twins name. His heart broke again as he came, sighing as he realised that he was too late. You weren’t his to have.

/// TO BE CONTINUED /// >>>>>> Chapter Seven

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn @pigwidgexn @mackaywhore @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana @starkidpotty @mollydarling-hphm @amwithers2001 @mrmoonyy

#Fake It Fic #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred and george #fred weasley smut #gred and forge #george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter fic #ginger hair #harry potter smut #Smut

189 notes · View notes

shedreamsofstars · 3 years

Text

our fingers dancing when they meet

five times their hands didn’t touch and one time they did

Kyo’s hand skated along the top of the metal railing as he walked down the school steps. It was late, and despite the balmy weather, the metal was stone cold to the touch. He glanced around him absently, more out of habit than actually looking for anyone, but his heart skipped a beat as he spotted a familiar figure standing below.

Tohru stood with one hand against the railing, her long hair floating breezily in the wind. Her ribbons flitted back and forth as she dug through her bag, searching for something he had no hope of making out from his distance.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

That wasn’t too much of a surprise to him, especially when he considered how she spent most of her days happily oblivious to her surroundings. It was a wonder she had made it through another day unharmed.

His eyes were drawn to her fingers, clinging to the same railing his own hand rested against, and his body stalled at the only natural thought in his mind.

If he kept his hand on the rail as he approached, it would eventually end up alongside hers.

Kyo could almost imagine the warmth of her fingers as they touched his, could almost see her panic as she realised what had happened, could almost feel her pull back with a hundred apologies on her lips.

He considered the idea for a moment.

It would be so easy to play it off as an accident, his hand sliding into hers in a purely distracted state, his fingers curling against hers in involuntary attempt to fight off the cold.

He blinked hard.

He took a deep breath.

He shoved both hands into the pockets of his trousers and carried on walking.

Casually jumping the last few steps, Kyo landed beside Tohru, who true to form, startled at his sudden appearance. “Hey,” he said gently, attempting to offset his brusque entrance.

“Kyo-kun,” she called back happily as she straightened up, her hands fluttering behind her back as she gave up on whatever she was searching for. “Are you ready to go home now?”

Kyo frowned, something strange and warm blooming in his chest. “You were … waiting for me?”

“Of course. Yuki already went on ahead, but I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Tohru’s eyes were bright and brown and so plain to read as she smiled up at him. Kyo’s fingers twitched in his pocket. He twisted them into a fist as something akin to regret simmered at the base of his throat.

“Thanks,” he said, doing his best to ignore it. “You didn’t have to stay y’know.”

Tohru shook her head lightly. “You’re so silly. Of course I did,” she said, her smile widening ever so slightly.

Kyo was quiet a moment, transfixed. Was there anything that smile couldn’t fix, he wondered.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, deliberately knocking against her shoulder as he passed, hands still firmly placed in his pockets. He took a few steps before slowing his pace, waiting for her to catch up to him with that same bright smile on her face.

ii.

“Having bigger hands doesn’t mean you’re stronger,” Yuki grumbled half-heartedly, his face hidden behind a textbook.

“It does too,” Kyo said stubbornly, his hand slamming down onto the table between the two of them. The teacups clattered at the impact as the red-headed boy turned his attention to the only other person in the room. “Right, Tohru?”

Tohru sat on the edge of the table with her homework spread out before her, her pencil stuck mid-air as both boy’s attention fell to her. Her gaze bounced between the two of them, her nerves frazzling by the second at the untamed energy simmering in the air.

Yuki was the first to speak.

He let out a reserved sigh, his mop of grey hair and piercing eyes appearing in full as he lowered the book. “Miss Honda, you don’t have to answer his ridiculous question.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Kyo countered defensively. “My hands are obviously bigger than Tohru’s and I’m clearly stronger than her too. So why don’t you just hold up your hand you damned rat, so I can prove I’m stronger than you too!”

Yuki raised his brows warily, his expression somewhere between serene and disinterested.

“It doesn’t make any difference if my, or even Miss Honda’s, hands are bigger or smaller than yours. We’re both stronger than you where it counts.”

Kyo leaned into the table, flexing his arm muscles as he glared at Yuki. “Oh yeah, and where’s that you stupid rat?”

As much as Tohru would have loved to hear Yuki’s reasoning, Kyo’s response or even just attempt to cool down the argument that was brewing in the air, her mind found itself fixated on one thing and one thing only.

My hands are bigger than Tohru’s

Her brows crinkled into a small frown as she stared at Kyo’s hand spread against the dark grain of the wood table. How could he possibly know that?

From what she remembered, the two of them had pretty similarly sized hands. Sure he had grown taller since they’d first met, but she hadn’t paid any particular attention to his hands.

Perhaps she ought to have, she wondered.

Tohru wanted to test his words against the truth, and for a brief moment the thought of asking him flickered in the back of her mind.

The image of him pressing his palm flat against hers seemed so real that she found herself holding her breath in anticipation. She wondered how his orange eyes would look when they bounced along the tips of their fingers to measure the distance between them.

Curious?

Affectionate?

Tender?

Her head tipped involuntarily to the side, shaking her free of her reverie.

“Huh … what … happened?” she said, stumbling over the words as she finally focused enough to see Kyo and Yuki looking at her with matching looks of concern.

It took her a disoriented moment to realise it was because someone had knocked her gently. It took another for her to realise it was Kyo and that those same orange eyes she had been imagining were now burning right beside her.

“Are you okay Miss Honda?”

She heard Yuki, but his words didn’t really register through the tendrils of her muddled thoughts. All she knew was a warm burnt umber and the feel of fingertips pressed against her own.

Kyo leaned in towards her with a concerned frown. “You were gawking at the table for ages,” he put bluntly, diving for the ground with a growl as Yuki sent a book flying at his face.

“What he means Miss Honda, is that you got lost in your head there for a moment. You must have had some pretty interesting thoughts.”

Tohru blushed wildly, trying to forget the images she’d conjured up in her mind. But one look at Kyo as he sat up with that flame eyed gaze of his had them flickering on the fringes of her vision.

She rushed to her feet, feeling completely hot and bothered. “I’m fine,” she squeaked, attempting to look anywhere but at the two boys who she knew were watching her with worried gazes.

“I …” she started, searching for any excuse to leave. “It’s so late! I need to get started on dinner.” And with that, Tohru made a beeline for the empty kitchen.

It would be a good long while before the rosy hue on her cheeks disappeared, and a good while longer until she could remember her daydream without blushing all over again.

iii.

Kyo stood in the doorway with a glass of water in his hand, craning into the room with an air of curiosity. He had only meant to pass through on his way to grab a drink, but the sight of Tohru doing – whatever the heck that was – gave him pause.

“What are you doing?”

Tohru glanced up at him, the look of concentration on her face melting into a welcoming smile. “Oh, this?” she said, gesturing to the small pink bottle on the table. “I still had some of mum’s nail polish and thought it would be fun to put it on.”

Kyo stepped fully into the room, eyeing up the bottle on the table with open mistrust. “Is that stuff safe?” he asked, the smell of chemicals strong in the air. His hands involuntarily tightened on his glass.

“Of course, silly. And it’s really pretty too, look,” Tohru said as she held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers playfully.

Kyo idly glanced at the pale pink that decorated her fingers. Even he had to admit that it did look pretty.

“Okay, if you say so,” he said gently, turning to leave.

“Oh, actually Kyo-kun,” she called after him, knocking her knee against the table in her hurry. Kyo glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Are you busy right now?”

He swallowed the urge to say whatever would get him out of the situation, a habit he’d been trying to work on kicking. “Not really,” he said, turning back around to face her.

“If it’s not too much bother, could you paint my other hand for me?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with a guarded hope. “I’m not that good at applying it with my left hand.”

“Oh,” Kyo said, a little stunned at her request. Painting Tohru’s nails seemed like it required a steady hand, and he wasn’t exactly known for being … delicate. Still, before he knew what he was doing Kyo was shuffling towards the table.

He placed his cup of water down, biting back a smile as Tohru expertly slid a coaster under it before it could touch the table. He picked up the bottle, twisting the lid off and pulling out the brush.

“Thank you,” Tohru said brightly, placing her right hand on the table and spreading her fingers across its wooden surface.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he warned warily, not fully trusting himself to be able to do a good job. As carefully as he could, he lifted the brush and applied the polish to her bare nails, his hands moving slow and cautious.

Weirdly enough, it really did feel like painting. Kyo wasn’t much for art - though he did like to make things with his hands - but he found that the repetitive motions were strangely soothing as he worked methodically along each nail.

As great care as he took to try and keep the polish from her skin, he took even greater care to keep himself from touching her – a thing every sane part of him screamed to do.

Or, every insane part rather.

It was hard to do with their hands in such close proximity, but Kyo managed it well enough despite his desire to do otherwise. A small while later, he found himself placing the capped bottle back down on the table with a glassy thunk.

He had rushed a little towards the end, nerves starting to get the better of him, but as Tohru lifted her hand to blow against the wet polish she seemed happy enough with the outcome.

“Thank you,” she said softly, examining the plain pink on her nails like it was some famous masterpiece or something of the like. He wanted to grab a hold of that hand, to feel her soft skin against his own calloused palm, all under the guise of examining his work.

“You’re welcome,” he said, standing up quickly and heading for the door before he could change his mind. “See ya.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tohru open her mouth as if to say something, but Kyo kept walking. He was already in the corridor before she could even have a chance to speak and he didn’t stop until he reached his own room.

He pushed thoughts of Tohru from his mind as he dropped onto his futon. It would lead to nothing after all, so he resolved to do nothing about it.

His glass of water stood forgotten on the table beside that bottle of pink polish.

iv.

Tohru’s elbows pressed almost painfully into the counter as she leaned against it, but she barely even noticed. Her gaze was fixed on the window, or more specifically, at the bright sun that she could see rising just beyond it.

The near silent bubble of the rice cooker lulled her into a state of calm in the dusky dawn light, spreading through the kitchen like a warm mist. Her thoughts were peacefully empty as she breathed in deeply.

She spent several minutes that way, gazing out at the slowly waking world illuminated in a beautiful golden glow that would die down as the sun rose fully. She didn’t look away until the sound of soft footsteps shuffling down the stairs drew her gaze.

A ready smile sprang to her lips as she spotted a shock of orange through the doorway. “Good morning, Kyo-kun,” she beamed.

The boy padded into the kitchen, glancing blearily in her direction. “Hey, you,” he said, voice still deep from slumber. The timbre rumbled through her and Tohru found herself suddenly standing up straighter.

Kyo rubbed at his eyes, attempting to chase away the last clutches of sleep. “Uh, Tohru,” he said, glancing around him as if searching for something. “You haven’t seen my phone anywhere, have you? I thought I left it in here last night.”

Tohru squinted in thought, knowing she’d seen it somewhere. “Oh. It’s right …” she said, swivelling around and biting her lip as she reached beside the fruit bowl. “Here,” she finished, holding it up proudly in the palm of her hand.

“Thanks,” Kyo murmured. His eyes lingered on it sitting in her hand, but he made no move to take it off of her. Tohru held it out anyway, wondering what was stopping him before realising that he was watching her a little more closely than normal.

Her heart thudded in her throat as she saw that indecipherable look in his eyes, swallowing nervously as she forced herself to look away. She turned her attention back to the window, realising with a start that the dawn’s golden glow had faded without her realising.

The sky was fully clear and a beautiful violet blue, but instead of seeing the beauty in front of her eyes, all she could do was anticipate the brush of Kyo’s fingertips against her skin, wait for the gentle sparks of his touch to flit across her palm.

But the feeling never came.

She felt the weight disappear from her hand, but when she turned to Kyo she found that he was no longer beside her. He was across the kitchen, standing beside an open fridge. He held a carton of milk in one hand and his phone in the other as he frowned at the boxes of leftovers.

Tohru startled as the rice cooker dinged loudly behind her. “I’m making rice and salmon for breakfast,” she announced hurriedly as Kyo glanced at her over his shoulder. As if the sound wouldn’t have already alerted him. “It’s almost ready,” she added quietly, trying her best to keep her voice casual.

“Okay,” he said, placing the box of leftover fish on the counter for her before turning to leave, the carton of milk still clutched in his hands. “I’ll go wake the others up.”

Tohru sighed at his retreating form as he left the kitchen, her heart heavy with an emotion she couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t regret, at least not entirely, although she was sure it definitely had something to do with the way she felt.

She tried to ignore it, but even as she distractedly plated the food, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what had made Kyo be so careful around her. So careful that he refused to touch her in the slightest.

It wasn’t the curse; she knew that much at least.

But then, what was it about her that repulsed him so much? She bit the inside of her cheek as she took the plates to the table, the thought haunting her for the rest of the day.

Kyo entered Tohru’s room cautiously.

He had permission to be there, obviously – he wouldn’t have dared walk in otherwise – but it still felt weird to be there when she wasn’t. He glanced around to take in the pristine room, tidy and organised just as he knew it would be.

He spotted her zodiac figurines sitting on a shelf across her bed, his lips quirking at the final cat she’d crafted herself to make sure he didn’t feel left out. He walked over to it, marking the small imperfections in her sculpting and appreciating it even more for it.

Turning back around, he reminded himself that he was here for an actual reason. Tohru, Yuki, Momiji and himself had been halfway to the mall when she’d realised she’d forgotten her purse at home.

She’d been working most of the week, and since Hana and Uotani were already waiting for her, he’d offered to come back instead of making her waste more of her time. It had been easy to play it off as needing some time away from Momiji and his antics, but Yuki had given Kyo a look he hadn’t liked in the slightest.

His grey eyes were so light and piercing that they almost seemed to pull some unknown truth to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t been sure what the boy had been searching for, but it definitely made him uncomfortable.

Kyo was glad to be away from him.

Now, where had Tohru said her purse was again? The red headed boy frowned as he tried to remember something that wasn’t the quiet joy on her face when he said he’d go back for her.

In all honesty, his brain had been a little preoccupied with shutting down his own unwanted thoughts of her that he’d barely had any energy left to listen to the rest of her request. He remembered her saying something about the bed, so decided to start there.

He scanned the perfectly smoothed duvet for any signs of her brown purse, but nothing. He did notice a slight dip on the far pillow though and followed it. He found the object of his search on the floor beside it, clearly having slipped off at some point, and lifted it off the ground.

He ran his fingers over the worn leather, wondering how many times Tohru had done the exact same thing. It was a little weird he knew that but, holding something so precious to her, he could almost pretend he was holding her.

He was much too spinelessness to do that of course, the past few weeks of avoiding her as much as he could had been enough to show him that. He’d spent many nights awake during the small hours of the night, staring at the ceiling and wondering if she had noticed his reluctance around her.

She must have he’d deduced eventually – he wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety after all.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to touch her and hold her hand. In fact, he wanted it so much that the thought scared him more than just a little bit. He knew where his life was headed, a captive future laid out for him since birth, and that alone should have stopped his thoughts of her dead in their tracks.

But they only rebelled harder, persistent in their desire to know her.

He released a soft exhalation filled with unbridled wanting as he held her purse a little tighter. This at least he could hold without worry or false expectations. It wasn’t her, but it was the closest he felt he could get.

At least for now.

He kept a gentle grip on the purse the whole way down the steps that led away from Shigure’s house until he reached the mall where the others were waiting for him. He tossed it gently in Tohru’s direction, and though she stumbled and flailed, she managed to catch it with words of gratitude falling from her lips.

Kyo waved them away as he turned to the others, regretting his decision instantly as he caught sight of Yuki, that same look in his gaze that he had thought he’d evaded earlier. “Stop it,” the other boy said plainly. “Your cowardice will hurt her more than anything else ever could.”

The others had already begun to move on, leaving the two of them alone.

“What are you talking about?” Kyo grumbled, faking irritation to hide the fact that he understood Yuki perfectly. And that he was right.

“You’re going to have to decide what you want at some point. Make the right choice for once,” Yuki said cryptically, brushing past Kyo without waiting for a response.

Anger simmered within Kyo, but not for Yuki or even the truths he spoke. No, his anger was wholly for himself and himself alone. He knew he was hurting Tohru, he’d seen as much in her eyes every time he took the pains to avoid her outstretched hands, and yet he kept doing it anyway.

How much longer would he keep playing at this and pretending that he didn’t want to touch her every time she was near? Kyo turned to follow after the others, reluctant to face that question, let alone all the complications that would follow.

He still felt the ghostly feel of her purse on his palm, reminding him that he’d have to decide soon enough. But he already knew what his answer would be.

vi.

It was a rare movie night when Tohru found herself sat on the floor sandwiched between Yuki and Kyo. Momiji lay sprawled out on the floor in front of them, his wide eyes glued to the television screen.

They’d ended up choosing one of the several movies the younger Sohma had brought along with him, the only stipulation being that it wasn’t scary. Nobody wanted a repeat of the haunted house incident, and as it stood, Tohru wasn’t sure her head would ever fully recover from that day.

Despite her initial excitement at spending the evening relaxing with her friends, Tohru found that she had no idea what was happening in the movie. From the moment Yuki had pressed play, or perhaps even before, her mind had been occupied by another thing entirely – namely, Kyo.

He sat right beside her, shoulder almost brushing against hers with one leg pulled up so he could lean back a little. He was glaring at the screen in annoyance, from being forced to watch the movie or because he was confused by it, Tohru couldn’t be sure.

What she was sure of was the fact that his hand was resting on the ground, just inches away from her own. If she moved hers just so she could tangle their fingers.

Even though she knew he probably wouldn’t want her to, Tohru couldn’t help but want to feel that he was there. If he didn’t react, then at least she could just pretend that she was trying to get comfortable and hadn’t noticed – although she wasn’t sure she’d actually be able to convince anyone.

With a soft breath and a burst of courage she wasn’t aware she had she slid her hand a little closer to his.

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she felt more than saw his eyes drift towards her as he noticed the slight movement. She dared a quick side glance only to find that he was frowning at the ground where her hand rested.

She curled her fingers inwards instinctively, wondering if she should pull back when Kyo’s own movement caught her attention.

His hand lifted into the air and covered his mouth in a disinterested yawn and Tohru felt cold disappointment wash over her as she realised her attempts had been futile. The emotion must have unintentionally crossed her face because Kyo’s lips twitched in amusement.

It took her a moment to realise that she was being weird and staring at him and she quickly dragged her gaze down to her hand instead, ready to pull it onto her lap and forget the last few minutes.

But before she could, Kyo’s hand came down on top of hers, warm and firm. She bit back the nervous gasp that threated to spill from her lips as his fingers dragged across her knuckles and came to rest on the ground beside hers.

Her murmured a soft apology.

Tohru only had to take a single look at him to know that the yawn was a ruse. The glint in his eye proved his actions were deliberate. She let a small smile work its way onto her lips as she turned back to the movie that filtered around her in waves of incoherent sounds and flashes.

He was closer to her now, so close that even if she wasn’t looking, she could stretch out her curled fingers and be able to feel his touch again. The fact that he had reached for her first and closed the distance between them once already made her bold and she did just that.

Slowly, so slowly that she wondered if she was actually even moving, Tohru reached out for Kyo until the tips of her fingers brushed against his. Her skin sparked to life at every point she met his skin and she couldn’t help but wonder that if the barest touch did this to her, what would it be like if he touched her fully.

Her heart flickered with warmth as Kyo tapped her fingers with his own. It became harder and harder to pretend that she was trying to watch the movie and she hoped that neither Yuki nor Momiji noticed. She really should have been more concerned that either of the two would notice her fingers tangled with Kyo’s but Tohru couldn’t bring herself to care.

Every living part of her was focused solely on Kyo and the way his fingers danced with her own, creating soothing words in a silent language that she couldn’t yet translate beyond a peaceful stillness.

If he would let her, someday she would do everything in her power to learn it, and him along with it. But for now, she was content with their furtive dance and their secretive smiles so long as it meant he was near.

- x -

started writing this back in august. several mental breakdowns later, bon appetite. title from ‘this side of paradise’ by coyote theory

#kyoru #kyoru fanfiction #fruits basket #fruits basket fanfiction #our fingers dancing when they meet

61 notes · View notes

heartbreak-of-a-marauder · 4 years

Text

Rogue (2)

Title: The Vanishing Girl

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Words: 2020

Note: Thank you to everyone for the immense amount of love for the first part! It blew me away! The taglist is still open, the previous part is linked below:

Part One

y/n = your name ● y/e/c = your eye colour ● y/h/c = your hair colour

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

Age 15

Fireworks explode overhead, igniting the inky black sky in vibrant patterns of blues, pinks, reds, greens, golds and white. You sit transfixed by their beauty. The detonation created a rumble deep within your chest, some fireworks boom so loud you nearly cover your ears while others fizz as they sparkle. The true majesty of Asgard seems to come alive in the brief moments of light, the water beneath reflects each one perfectly, carrying the colour across its gentle ripples. A tincture of gunpowder travels on the slight breeze, tickling your nose.

Your knees begin to ache, complaining that you’ve been knelt on the scarcely padded window seat for too long. The stone of the windowsill is rough beneath your palms as you wiggle from side to side attempting to find a more comfortable position, your eyes never leave the fantastic display. The fireworks would happen twice a year without fail, and for as long as you could remember, you had sat and watched them. You had no idea why they happened but that never stopped you from looking forward to them.

A myriad of green fireworks cut through the night, dimming the stars, making them seem like they were only a backdrop made to enhance the brilliance of colours. They curved in streaks and lines of green, gold and white growing wider with each blast. A final crescendo echoes deafeningly across Asgard as the display reaches its climax, and just as soon as they had illuminated the sky, they fade to blackness leaving a blanket of smoke to descend on the city below.

You rest back on your heels feeling the way your heart hammered in your chest. Asgard comes back into focus through the smoke, lanterns create a soft glow in the night. From your window seat, you can see the main courtyard glowed brighter than the rest, the ringing in your ears takes a few minutes to dissipate, when it does you’re able to hear the music and laughter that drift from there. They were having a celebration of sorts, glancing to the sky again you wonder if that’s why there were fireworks.

The satin of your dress is creased and your legs are stiff and you manoeuvre off the window seat. Closing your eyes you try and focus on the sound of the gathering. You had never been invited to an occasion like that, they sounded like they were having fun.

Your steps are quiet at you shuffle back towards the workbench, the wood of the stool creaks beneath you as you settle back into your seat. An air of melancholy settles around you as you resume your work. Your mothers’ pestle and mortar sit abandoned across from you, no doubt she had gone to gather more ingredients for the remedy she had been working on. You finger the sprigs of dried lavender that lay forgotten beside you, you had no desire to continue to work on your vial of soothing. Despite having moved away from the window, the sounds of revelry still reached you, calling to you, making you less willing to work.

The music seemed to whisper your name, distracting you further. Reopening your recipe book, you flick through the aged pages, perhaps having the instructions in front of you would make you concentrate on something different. It didn’t matter that you had made hundreds of vials of soothing before, nor did it matter that you knew the recipe by heart, it gave your brain something else to do than dream up fantasies of what the party would be like.

Despite having the book in front of you, images of finely crafted dress swishing as their wearers danced continued to preoccupy your mind, so much so you hadn’t noticed your mother return.

You’re brought from your musings by the sound of your mothers’ pestle clattering against the table. Would she let you go if you asked? You chewed your lips as you thought, it didn’t take you long to arrive at the solid conclusion of ‘no’. Why should this occasion have a different outcome to any of the other times you had asked. You thumb absently through the pages, already hearing the responses your mother would give you.

She had given you an almighty row after you had met the prince a few years ago. You scowl at the memory. The punishment had never matched the act. How were you supposed to know one of the princes of Asgard would be wandering the corridors at that very moment? No supper that night and bed at sunset for two weeks definitely made a mountain out of a molehill.

Your frown lessens as you focus on the page you had landed on. ‘Draught of Sleep’. Your eyes dart nervously between your mother and the page as an idea pops into your head. Scanning the ingredients list you realise you had most of them out already. The only thing missing was poppy seed extract, but you knew exactly which cupboard and shelf it was kept on. It was risky and incredibly reckless to even be considering this, but what mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?

Right?

“I’m going to make some tea, would you like some mother?” Already you can feel how sweaty your palms are.

“I’d love some, thank you, dear,” Looking up from her work, she casts you a warm smile. You try to return it in kind but the feeling of guilt welling up inside you dampened it.

Standing you palm the necessary ingredients off the table, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice. When you reached the tea set, you hastily shove the ingredients you had been carrying into the drawstring tea bag. You sidestep to the cabinet beside you, flicking away the buds of lavender that had stuck to your palm. Your eyes quickly scan the jars that sat unprotected on its shelves, you take a cautionary look over your shoulder at your mother before reaching for the one you needed.

Returning to the tea set, you carefully add 5 drops of the poppy seed extract, counting each straw-coloured droplet as it hit the bottom of your mothers cup. Tendrils of stream curl upwards as you pour generous amounts of hot water into each one, making sure to thoroughly soak the herbs and flowers you had added to your mother’s cup.

‘Here goes nothing’.

It had taken ingesting the entire brew before your mother finally succumbed to sleep. She slept hunched over, her head touching the table. Guilt and excitement began to bubble in your chest as you softly drape a blanket over her shoulders. The drought had worked wonderfully, and you finally got your chance to go to the party. But you did not enjoy deceiving your mother like this.

You give yourself a customary once over check before heading out of your chambers. Unsure of the exact way to go, you follow the sounds of revelry and smells of rich food and perfume.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone around you was having such an amazing time. The conversations and music were so loud around you it made your skin tingle. Laughter rang out from somewhere; you could barely hear it over the roar of chatter. You felt giddy and hot. You had expected polite conversation, wine and those silly little appetisers carried around on trays, but what you had found was beyond what you could think up.

Since arriving you had learned this was, in fact, a party celebrating the 18th birthday of Prince Loki. It was a fitting celebration for his entrance into manhood.

You danced lazily through the corridors of the palace. Your blood was still alive with music and more than one goblet of wine. Already, you were wishing you could stay for longer. You would have a difficult time removing the grin from your face. Twirling on your toes once more, your eyes following the hem of your skirts as they whirl around you.

“Y/n?” Someone asks, making you teeter mid-turn; off-balance.

Wildly you reach out grabbing nothing but air, you were going to fall and create a scene. They knew your name. The thought assaults you as you land in a heap on the floor. The cold of the tiles seeps through your skin and into your veins. There were very few on Asgard who knew you, those who did also knew your mother.

‘She’ll skin me alive’, you think, oblivious to the hand being extended down to you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” The voice asks again, chuckling.

Clenching your jaw, you prepare your meanest gaze to direct at them but stop when you see who stood before you.

Loki.

Everything about him was almost the same. His dark hair had grown, tucked away behind his ears. The timeless beauty of his pale complexion made his eyes appear more vibrant, they twinkled with something more, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You grin to yourself, noticing he still wore his characteristic green though his chest and shoulders were broader now. He definitely wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“I- Yes, I'm… How are you?” You ramble awkwardly, only making him grin more.

“Well, I must admit I’m a little surprised,” His larger hand envelops yours as he tugs you to stand. “You disappear for three years, only for me to find you dancing around the corridors,”

You feel your face begin to flame.

“Where have you been?” He mutters softly, asking himself more than you.

“It’s late, I must be getting home,” Reluctantly you slip your hand from his, taking a few retreating steps.

“Wait!” He frowns at your avoidance, catching up to you in one large stride.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home?” You ask in confusion, pointing behind you.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s my birthday, stay a while!” He gestures with open arms.

“I really must be getting back,” You grimace. “I hope your birthday wish comes true, your highness,” You wave before setting off again, you had stayed longer than intended and were anxious to get back before your mother awoke.

“Obviously it can’t,” Loki calls down the corridor to you, you fight the urge to turn around and ask why. “Because you’re leaving,”

You whirl around to face him, your mouth opening and closing as you floundered. Why were you his wish? He was a prince who could have anything, surely, he was more imaginative than that.

“Because I’m leaving?” You repeat dumbly.

“You’re a mystery y/n. The vanishing girl, no one knows you and yet here you are,” he cocks his head to the side observing you.

“I’ll disappear forever if you do not let me leave,” You offer, hoping to throw Loki off. You suppress a shudder realising that threat might become a reality if you were ever caught. Goodness knows what your mother would have in store for you.

“Then make me a promise… promise me you’ll let me solve this mystery, one day, y/n,”

“Okay, deal,” you thrust forward your fisted hand with your pinky extended. Loki stares at it for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“To easily broken,” he states, shaking his head.

You sigh harshly through your nose. Your hands cover your face, you didn’t have time for this. Clasping them against your chest a small cynical voice tells you that yes, now is a good time to start praying. You feel the cool surface of your Celtic knot pendant brush against your thumbs, looking down, an idea pops into your head.

Gripping the necklace in your hand you pull, releasing the catch. Gathering it in your palm you offer it towards the prince.

“Here, something physical, a tangible promise,”

“One day?” Loki asks, taking the necklace from you.

“One day,” you repeat before slipping away.

As you round the corner you holler a quick ‘happy birthday’. Neither of you knew when that would be, but you doubted it would be soon, for as thrilling as tonight’s little excursion had been, you didn’t feel bold enough to attempt it again.

Yet.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @hellethil @icunee @bloatedandlonly @khadineberry @abrunettefangirlnerd @whothehellsbucky @dark-night-sky-99 @nonsensicalobsessions @batsdothings

80 notes · View notes

op-peccatori · 5 years

Text

True Disaster (NSFW) | MLQC Lucien | Kinktober (October 2nd)

Prompts: October 2nd: Asphyxiation || Orgasm denial/edging || Public

KINKTOBER IS HERE and I’m liviiiiing. @alloveroliver thank you, thank you, thank youuuu for organizing and hosting Kinktober!!

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Lucien/Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, oral (female), orgasm denial, (semi?) public sex, overstimulation, sex toy (vibrator)

a/n: the title is from Tove Lo’s True Disaster. I believe this song applies to how I feel about Lucien perfectly. and I dearly hope I didn’t fuck it up during the editing

For the fifth time today, you’re wondering if this is worth it. It’s getting old.

You can barely concentrate on the pages in front of you, the letters blurring in and out of focus. Your breath is growing heavier, everyone’s voices loud in the background but still beyond your understanding. Your thighs squeeze together, a futile attempt to gain some friction, to ease the agony you’re being put through. Your coworkers have no idea anything is out of the ordinary, they have no idea you’re on the verge of losing your mind. And it’s all thanks to the man smiling angelically down at Anna while she thanks him for appearing on their special episode for Miracle Finder.

Sadistic bastard.

You would say he hasn’t even glanced your way, but you know that’s not true. You can feel him taking note of your reactions. Every drop of sweat that beads on your forehead, the slight tremble in your fingers, every moan you swallow with panic clearly visible in your eyes is observed by him. You can see how much he likes it, it’s clear in the dark glint in his eye. You can almost hear him purring with delight.

Your boyfriend is an evil man. It’s a part of his charm.

You wonder how no one can hear the buzzing in your body. You can feel it down to your toes, but it’s centred below your belly. Sending pulses that threaten to overwhelm you. It’s absent right now, but every once in awhile his eyes would dart to you and decide you haven't been tortured enough.

Just a little more, baby. Can you do it for me?

And so it would increase, pulling you under the surface but never letting you drown. It’s breaking you down inch by inch, a hand around your ankle dragging you into madness. Putting you right where he wants you.

Good girl.

It takes you a few seconds to realize someone was calling your name. You glance up to see another regular on the show, Kim. The singer. Kiki, Willow and Minor have agreed that while he wasn’t quite on Kiro’s level, the singer was very good-looking. His aloof and reserved personality only added to his appeal. You just hope he doesn't notice the twitching.

“Hi, Kim! Sorry, I’ve been...a little out of it, you laugh nervously. “What were you saying?” The man, bless him, just gave you a small smile before repeating himself.

“I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to be a part of the team,” he says, smiling a little wider at your protests. “I’m really glad I got to know everyone here. And you, of course. I’ve been a fan of Miracle Finder since I was a kid.”

And isn't that just so sweet?

You relax and smile back at him warmly, immediately engaging him in conversation about the common factor in your childhoods. He tells you how excited he was when he got a call from you, his usual reserved demeanour set aside. You miss his flushed cheeks and shy gaze completely, too busy telling him about your favourite episodes.

You’re distracted. And like a fool, you let your guard down.

“Um, I was wondering if you’re...seeing anyone,” he asks suddenly. You pause, blinking at the sudden question, a something nervous churning in your stomach.

“Huh?“ He seems oddly encouraged by your response.

“Yes, I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to get a coffee or something soon,” he confesses with a ghost of a laugh. Just as you’re done processing this, your mouth opens and the only sound you manage is something resembling a strangled tone because it’s started up again. Not low, not steady–it’s insistent, working the walls of your core ruthlessly. Your eyes fly to Lucien in panic, but he’s not looking at you. You hold on to the edge of the table, mouth open and eyes wide.

No. No no no.

Kim calls your name, concern in his voice.

“Right, um. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid,” you say and gasp, your smile shaky. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” His face falls but before he can say a word, you squeak something about the bathroom and fling yourself out of the chair, rushing out of the conference room. Your journey to your office is shaky at best, the wave building with each step you take. You fall to your knees with a low cry as the door closes behind you. You can’t touch yourself, because he’ll know. You can only pray that this time, he’ll let you finish.

“Oh God.”

Your hands are clenched in the pale blue carpet, your knuckles white. Your teeth are digging into your lip painfully. Your walls flutter, and you’re so close. It’s been over two hours since you started this game, your confidence in winning it non-existent after being denied for so long.

It was right there. And then it was gone again, snatched away from within reaching distance. You slump and whimper, the disappointment nearly unbearable.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fu-“

“Well, isn’t this a sight?” came a voice you knew were all too familiar with. You look over your shoulder to see Lucien standing in the doorway, an infuriatingly innocent smile on his lips. His eyes are anything but. You take a deep, fortifying breath and fall on your ass, leaning back on your hands, as you pant. There are tears in your eyes.

“I hate you.” He locks the door behind him. His smile slips into a smirk and you couldn’t help but think there was something extremely filthy about it. You want to devour it, lick the curve of it and see if it still stays when you shove it into your sex. It probably would.

“Do you?” He coos, slipping his jacket off and draping it over a chair. He moves smoothly, without a care in the world, as if you aren’t trembling at his feet. He offers you a hand and you take it with a weepy glare, letting him pull you up. Your knees are weak, and you have to lean back against your desk to be able to remain standing up. If he were a less composed man, you just know he’d be laughing evilly. Instead, he watches you, your skin heated and gaze needy.

“So much. You’re trying to kill me,” you say with certainty. He grins at that, a hand on your thighs already, stroking the flesh there teasingly. He kisses your cheek, your neck, humming at the taste. ”And you're succeeding.”

“That’s a very serious accusation, darling,” he says, tone mocking but mostly suggestive. Your belly clenches in response. “What in the world would I do after killing you? How would I go on?”

You scoff, hyperaware of his long fingers hot on your skin. “With ease and the memories of torturing me to keep you warm at night, I’m sure.” You try to adjust your body so he would be closer to where you need him. He pinches the inner part of your thigh in response.

“I would wither away,” he sighs, stepping closer to you. He’s sincere but your frustration has reached its limit. You don’t have the patience for his dirty mind games, not right now. “I like the real thing far too much.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“No?” He brings his other hand to your mouth, tracing your lower lip with a finger. You bite it and the sound that leaves his mouth could only be described as predatory. “But you know I’ll give you anything you want, don’t you? You need only ask for it.” Ask for it. You have troubling asking for it, but you also have trouble with not being allowed to come for this long.

Decisions, decisions.

“Then let me–“ you try to say, but are ultimately unable to finish. Lucien’s mask slips into something eager. “Let me...“

“Let you?” he asks slyly, the pads of his fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. Your head tilts back, watching him as he leans over you with a hand resting on the desk. Your heart races faster at him being so close after what feels like ages.

You remain quiet.

“Let you what?” He asks again, a whisper against your lips. His fingers dance over your clothed entrance, his pupils dilating when he feels just what he’s done to you without even touching you. One dips into your sex slightly and your walls contract. You’ll say anything to get him to give you what you need. “Use your words, babygirl.”

“Let me come,” you implore, mouth curving up when his hand stills, his eyes wide with surprise that you actually said it and gave in. You’re mildly embarrassed but mostly aching for him to touch you. He opens his mouth, probably to tease you a little more, because he’s an asshole – when you both hear someone calling your name. You ignore it, continuing. “Please, Lucien? Let me come. On your fingers, your cock, anythi-”

“____!”

It’s Kim.

‘Seriously?’

It doesn’t seem like he’s about to give up, his voice growing closer instead. The doorknob jiggles. Lucien and you stare at each other, breaths mingling. The look in his eyes is so electric, you chew on your lip nervously. And then he rips your underwear in half, stuffing its remains in his back pocket as you stumble.

“Lucien!” you whisper-scream. Honestly, he can be so jealous and petty. It pisses you off at times, but right now...you decide it’s working in your favour, because he’s pulling the vibrator out to replace it with his fingers, pushing your legs apart impatiently. Very out of character for him. You know it has everything to do with the guy outside, which has you terribly amused. “Maybe I should see what he needs–oh.“ You’re cut off by his fingers pushing their way into you, with Lucien not even bothering to start with one. There’s little resistance, and you might have thought to be self-conscious with how utterly wrecked you are, but you can’t think beyond the prize that’s suddenly within your reach.

Thank you, Kim!

“Oh, please, please please.” You cling to him, terrified of being left dangling from the edge again, your hips grinding into his hand. “I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

Lucien doesn’t say anything, his breath tickling the shell of your ear before his tongue sneaks out to trace it. Your hand comes up to rest on his broad shoulder, before slipping down to the fly of his pants. He’s wearing the black ones. A favourite of yours, mostly because of how they stretch over his backside. You had barely been able to look away every time his back was to you. Paired with his black turtleneck, it was positively sinful. And unhelpful.

You suppress a smile at his obvious bulge as you unzip his pants carefully, your fingers spreading over his briefs greedily as you palm him through them. He groans softly, biting down on your earlobe. Your fingers squeeze around him and you whimper. You can’t help but run a hand over his ass before you pull his briefs down, his cock leaking and stiff in your hands. Your lips quirk up at the feeling of him panting into your hair, and he kisses you urgently, his curling fingers making you moan and pull away.

You spit into your hand and wrap it around him, your palm warm and slick around his shaft. His tongue licks into your mouth again with increasing intensity.

The desk is uncomfortable beneath your back when he presses you into the surface, your stapler digging into your shoulder but it’s forgotten when his dick is slipping through your folds. The burn is satisfying, as is his low groan.

“Oh, you feel so good.” Your walls are clenching around him, your legs pulling him closer.

“You have – no idea how perfect you are.” He watches you arch your back with raw desire in his eyes. You have no thoughts to spare, just a deep hunger for him as he snaps his hips into yours, his fingers gripping your hips possessively. “Come on my cock. You’re – almost there baby, I’ve got you.” His words are a rumble that moves through your body. There’s no patience for softness, no sign of gentleness. He sets a harder pace, angling both your hips and hitting you just right, hand slipping down to your sex to finally throw you headfirst into darkness. The room is still spinning when it fades away, his cock still hard in you.

“I think I blacked out,” you croak, blinking repeatedly. He smiles down at you, a touch of wickedness to the curve of his mouth. He kisses you on the mouth, quick and hard, and then he’s pulling out of you and pulling a chair to take a seat. You have half a second to pray before your knees are pushed apart and his head is buried between your legs, tongue pushing through your slit, ravenous and precise. You can hear someone scream, only the rawness of your throat making you realise it’s you. His tongue is intent in the way he uses it, lapping at you and rubbing your swollen sex. It’s painful, you’re too sensitive but his lips are around your clit. The sounds you hear are obscene and you’re thrown into another orgasm, one you weren’t prepared for.

He doesn’t stop. You’re half gone by the time he stands up, his lips glistening with your own essence before he licks it off and his eyes are brimming with satisfaction.

“Beautiful.”

Your jaw is slack, your entire body seems to have dissolved onto the desk, your legs still trembling. Your hair is sticking to the back of your neck. His eyes don’t leave you as he strokes himself to completion, his seed spattering your abused sex like thick paint as a curse escapes his lips. Your slow smile is content and lazy, and still, he watches you.

There’s silence in the hall outside your office.

#alloverkinktober #mlqc #mlqc lucien #smut #mlqc fanfic #mlqc xu mo #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice

456 notes · View notes

bang-to-the-tan · 4 years

Text

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 2

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischevious Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

Previous Masterlist Next

So maybe you should find a map to the hunting goods store. Or else, find someone to ask about it. Getting lost is one thing, but giving up is entirely out of the question. You can’t just leave the local wildlife to chew through your grandmother’s house. There are old signs posted up at every other road or so that indicate the direction of the local library, and it seems as good a place to start as any.

The town around you is so quiet, so peaceful, you find yourself understanding why granny decided to stay here as you walk. The roads aren’t perfect—some of the side walkways are narrow and made of stone—and some of the buildings look fit to fall apart, but there’s a charm in the air. A kind of comfortableness that you could seriously get used to. Clothes strung up to dry, hanging in the spaces between pastel-colored houses. Gardens overflowing with long grass and sweet flowers waving lazily. Windowsills crawling with ivy. The whole town seems to inhale with the breeze, warming itself in the sunlight.

You’re suddenly struck by familiarity at an intersection on your way to the library and you pause to read the sign, noting the street name. Ah. That’s why you recognize this place. Down this path to the right, through the foliage…it’s where your grandmother was married. For a few seconds, you hesitate, but eventually decide to take a short detour. After all, the library isn’t going anywhere.

The road goes from concrete to cobblestone to dirt beneath your feet as you walk forwards, noting the houses becoming fewer and fewer, the trees overhead becoming denser. The light dapples as it dances across your skin, the dead leaves curling over the edges of the path. It smells fresh, sweet, like green vegetation. You turn a corner past a particularly large tree and can just make out the bridge you’d seen in old photographs all your life. But as you get closer, your heart sinks. The weeds by the pond the tree cranes over are overgrown. The path uncared for. Moss devours the railings and eats away at the wood underneath, making it almost impossible to discern what colors it was once painted. You finally come to rest at the mouth of the bridge, looking over the edge, down at the murky water below forlornly. Even your reflection is hard to see. You turn back, straightening, and start faintly when you notice a figure standing there, just out of the reach of the shade from a nearby willow that bends its head to the water, lent a halo from the rays outlining his form. Somehow you must have missed his approach, but looking at him, you’re not sure how.

He’s incredibly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged. A draft of wind sifts through the sunny sections of soft mocha hair that caress his face, almond-shaped eyes pensive as he watches the pond like someone in mourning. He’s entirely bewitching, even as he blinks slowly and turns to look at you. His lips are plump, the color of rose petals and just as delicately shaped. When he smiles bitterly, your heart breaks.

“Sad, isn’t it?” He says. He gestures around you with a hand, resuming his position leaning against the rail. His head shakes once, as if in disbelief, and he sighs. “I think so, too.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You can’t think straight. It’s the first time you’ve ever been struck wordless by someone’s beauty. “I’ve seen old photos of this place. When it was taken care of.”

“There’s no one to take care of it,” he replies quickly. “No one left. It was beautiful once.”

“That’s a shame.”

The man nods.

“Does…” You begin, haltingly. “I mean, there’s gotta be someone who still cares? Back home, we had like a community fund..for…”

He shifts to regard you again, lips curling softly.

“For uh. Community projects.” The words are sticking in your throat, your mind fogging. The intensity of the way he listens to you so closely is unnerving. “Like…revivals and stuff.”

“That would be nice.” He replies. “But nobody comes up here anymore. The locals are afraid of it.”

“Afraid?”

“They think it’s haunted.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s not haunted….is it?”

He stares at you, eyes widening. His lips part, as though to speak, but they smooth into a grin instead, creasing his eyes. Suddenly, he bends and starts to laugh. The sound is infectious, high-pitched and breathless, and you find yourself smiling along.

“Depends on your definition of ‘haunted’, I suppose,” he says finally, giggling. He cocks his head.

“My name is Seokjin.”

“Have you lived here long, Seokjin?”

“Just Jin. Please. I’ve lived here for a long while.” Jin’s gaze goes distant. “A very long while. It hurts my heart to see the place falling apart like this. It’s very important to me.”

Your teeth worry the inside of your lip in the pause that follows, unsure whether you should say what you’re thinking. You can’t spend too much longer here—you still have to make it to the library and then back home before it gets dark.

“I’m new here, and I’m going someplace at the moment,” you explain, inwardly hoping he’s not secretly a murderer. “But my grandmother got married at this pond. She passed away not too long ago and I’m trying to clean her house out for now. It would mean a lot to me to see the pond clean, too--before I leave. If there was anything I could do to help…” You trail off, embarrassed.

The man watches you carefully, a smile pulling at his lips. As gentle as his voice is, as sweet his eyes, his stature doesn’t escape you. He looks strong.

“I-I, uh,” you begin again, the click in your head nearly audible, “I actually need help with the shed.”

“The shed?” he echoes.

“Yeah, there’s like, heavy stuff in it. I don’t think I can move it on my own. You know, you help me, I help you…? If that’s okay. I understand if not.”

Jin straightens.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, eyes alight. “I will help you clean your grandmother’s shed if you’ll help me clean the pond. Our deal will be fulfilled when both tasks are done. Sound good?”

“Sounds good…yeah! Sounds good.” You nod.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

He makes a tsk noise through his teeth, leaning back and curling his hands around the rail in front of him. For a second, you’re afraid you might have bartered with the wrong person, but he looks pleasantly, warmly pleased at your offer.

“Can we start tomorrow?” he asks, voice soft as silk. “Just meet me here?”

“I can do that.” Not like you’ve got somewhere else to go.

“Good. I’m so glad.” The young man in front of you looks like you’ve just added ten years to his lifespan, practically glowing as he grins with perfect teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jin,” you reply. You turn away and make your way back to the main road. While you slowly return to civilization, your thoughts steadily turn inwards and you realize what you’ve just done. Who are you, making deals with strangers in strange towns?? The only excuse you can offer yourself is that he was so incredibly beautiful. And so sad. He seemed nice enough, though. Legitimately interested in cleaning the pond, if nothing else. You chastise yourself the whole way down to the library. Day two in this town and you probably just agreed to be murdered out in the middle of nowhere because you saw a pretty man. Shameful.

It’s impossible to deny that you want to see him again, though. And cleaning the place where she got married would have meant a lot to your grandmother, if she was here still. If she was watching. She won’t let you get murdered. You hope.

As you turn the corner, past the intersection you originally turned down, the library rises from the horizon. It’s more welcoming than threatening even with its grand height, old stonework mixed with newer additions to keep the building stable and crawling with picturesque ivy. Absently, you slide your hand over the chipped mane of the stone lion that protects the entrance as you climb the stairs and step inside. It’s cool here, and designed with a touch that seems to meld modern and antique styles seamlessly. It smells like old books and wood polish—old, but well taken care of. Towards the back, twin staircases spiral, reaching for a circular window that casts an impressive amount of patterned light over the upper level. You have to resist the urge to take photos like some gawking tourist, and instead head for the section marked ‘Local’. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, the tall room silent as the grave. If anything, the quiet only helps you focus on the task at hand, browsing with a gentle hand through tour guides and maps of the surrounding areas.

There’s no staff, no music, nothing but you.

You’re too easily distracted by your thoughts and you end up getting frustrated by the sheer amount of maps. Comparing them against the version you have on your phone, there are always missing streets or roads that lead to nowhere—sections marked on the maps as incredibly important sightseeing destinations that aren’t even on the electronic version. Finally, you peel away from the local section, holding onto the one map you could find that seemed remotely useful, if still missing a few pieces of information. Just to the right of the doors is a wooden desk and ontop of it, a bell. You stride over and strike it, the peal ringing out clearly against the tall ceiling. At this point, you’re just hoping to catch a glimpse of literally any kind of living soul inside this building.

“You’re back.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice that instantly sounds from behind you.

When you turn around, you meet deep brown eyes set into a handsome face whose mild expression is difficult to read. A young man stands only about a foot away from you, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere with the absolute silence of his approach. Did you somehow miss him on your way in…? Hair dyed a lavender color, pushed back from his forehead, thick-framed glasses, comfortable-looking sweater—if there was ever a look that screamed ‘librarian’ any louder, you’d be hard-pressed to find it.

“I’m…what?”

He watches you past his glasses for a moment before his soft lips pull into a wry smile and his shoulders drop. “Sorry. I-I know it’s probably been a while. I…know your, um, your grandmother,” He gestures, awkwardly. “The house on the hill, right?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. That’s her,” you finally manage to reply. Damn it, he’s incredibly handsome, too. Should you hand him your credit card now or should you wait until you lose all of your good sense? “Yeah, um. She…y’know, she passed away, so I’m cleaning her house out.”

He blinks, his face falling.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. That must be…hard for you,” he mumbles, but there’s something new in his expression. Was he close to her…? The ensuing silence between you is mortally uncomfortable.

“I-I’m looking for a map,” you stammer, holding up your hand. “Y’know, a recent one.”

“…You seem to have found one.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at the paper grasped in your fingers. “Anything more specific?”

“I need hunting goods. My phone says there’s a store just on the other side of the house, but when I tried to cut through the woods, I got lost.”

The man nods, slowly, thoughtfully. He looks to you and there’s a second of silence between you as you subtly try to figure out what exact shade of brown his soft eyes are. Flush travels up your cheeks as you’re struck with the realization that he’s waiting for you to elaborate. Humour suddenly flashes across his face, breaking the quiet, and he laughs sharply, leaning forwards.

“Directions for a hunting store?” he reiterates through a chuckle. “Kind of a weird first request. The map you’ve got there is the most recent we have. Just follow the main road through the forest.” He pauses. “What do you need it for, anyways?”

“There’s something chewing holes in my grandmother’s house.”

“Ah,” his eyebrows slide upwards, legitimately shocked. He waits, seemingly unsure if you’re serious, before continuing. “And you’re thinking…animals…?”

“Yeah. I already tried to set out a trap but it broke. Something put rocks in it.”

He hums. His head cocks to the side and he tsks through his teeth, pursing his lips and studying the ground as he crosses his arms. “An animal didn’t put rocks in it. I’m surprised you don’t know better.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you say ‘chewing holes’,” he asks instead of answering, “What exactly do you mean?”

“There’s a hole in the porch. It was filled with candy when I moved in.”

“And you…?”

You frown. “I…” you repeat slowly. “Took the candy out and filled the hole? I mean, not very well, but—“

“Mm. Yeah, that’ll do it. You need to put the sweets back.”

It’s your turn to wait, for him to admit to joking. He only looks to you and blinks slowly, patiently. There’s another heavy pause. As you stare at him, his shoulders rise in a shrug.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You want me to encourage animals boring into the house my dead grandmother lived in?” Your voice escalates as your brows crease, searching his visage for any sign of giving.

“It’s not an animal.”

“Oh my god.” Despair begins sinking in. Your mind swims with the thought of malicious children. “It’s kids. I can’t set traps. Oh, god, what if I accidentally hurt one?...”

He barks another laugh, his eyes scrunching, shoulders shaking.

“What??”

“It’s not children, either,” he says, still giggling.

Your frown only deepens. Is he making fun of you? “I don’t get it. What exactly are you suggesting?”

His laughter subsides into a short chuckle. When his eyes meet yours again, there’s a strange light in them. “You don’t remember much, do you?”

You pull back, somewhat offended. “I was like five the last time I was here?”

He chuckles and pushes his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose with a dramatic air of a teacher getting ready for his least favorite class. “Okay. Alright. From the top, then. Have you heard of faeries?”

“Like fairy tales? Of course I’ve heard of them.”

“Almost. Okay, so most old towns have their own superstitions, right? We have our own kind of faerie. They’re called Keprys. And that’s what you’re dealing with.”

You stare at him incredulously, but he doesn’t look like he’s kidding. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can,” he retorts. “I bet there was something in the house that was really well taken-care of when you got here. Floors swept, cabinets dusted, something like that?”

You think of the dust-covered rooms. “No, not really.”

“Look for it. Whatever it is won’t be done now. Put the candy back, it’ll start up again. Your grandmother had an accord with a Kepry—sweets in exchange for some chore she couldn’t do or didn’t want to do.” He leans against the bookshelf and raises an eyebrow at you. “When you took the candy, you disrupted the agreement. When you put out the trap, you insulted him.”

“Him?”

He ignores you.

“If you leave it alone, or worse, get another trap, it’ll only go downhill from there. He’ll trash the house. If he’s in a good mood.”

Your eyes narrow, your lips pursing. “If this is some kind of local hazing, I’m not into it. I’m not convinced I’m staying, anyways; you’re wasting your time trying to spook me.”

“I swear, I’m being totally legitimate.” He raises his hands, palms facing outwards. “Put the candy back.”

You hesitate, watching him doubtfully. “Okay, smart guy. We’re in a library, so…show me a source. Where’s your books on capris?”

“Kepry.” He clarifies with a slow intonation. “K-e-p-r-y. There’s only one source.”

“If you say it’s you—“

“—But it’s already checked out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“To me.”

“To you??”

The man’s eyes flash and his grin returns.

“Tell you what,” He straightens. “I’ll loan you the book. But only if you bring me something of value.”

“I don’t have anything with me.”

He shrugs, pouting mockingly. Without a proper reply, he turns around and starts walking away.

“Why don’t you just give me the book? Isn’t this a library? You’re the librarian—it’s your job, isn’t it??” You call after him, incredulous at his sudden lack of manners.

“I answered your question and gave you free advice.” He spins smartly on his heel to disappear behind a bookcase across the way from you. “You’re in my debt, granddaughter of the lady on the hill.” His voice seems to echo after you from every direction. Strange, you wouldn’t consider the library as that acoustic-capable, at least not from where he was standing.

You huff, and go to follow him. “What do you mean debt—“ You pull up short as you round the corner.

He’s not there. There’s no sign of him behind the books. No sound of him anywhere.

“Hey!” You call out. No answer. The library has returned to its stifling silence. If he thinks you’re gonna waste a second playing hide and seek with him, he’s dead wrong. You stomp your foot and turn on a dime to leave, grumbling about librarians and faeries. ‘Keprys’. He had to have been kidding. Faeries aren’t real. Briefly, you think about the bird from the forest but easily shake it out of your head. You were panicking, lost in a foreign town and scared. Jet-lagged still, probably.

A car passes by the outside of the library as you exit and you’re actually surprised enough by its presence to stop and watch it go. It’s only about the second or third car you’ve seen since coming here. It’s going so slowly—the cobbles must be making the driver unsteady. You move to step behind it, your attention already drifting elsewhere, back to the house and the predicament of animals/not animals boring holes into it. Maybe you have some cash you can give him for the book on faeries anyways. Just for curiosity’s sake.

You’re almost home as you’re lost in thought trying to mentally count up how much money you have to give the librarian for the book. You can see the house now, up on its little hill, with the sparse cottages and small streets that surround it. It’s only just now starting to get late, and the threatening sunset casts a warm blush over everything, turns the shadows into a comfortable purple.

Across the street, not too far from where you are, your attention is claimed by a tiny dog. It’s a fluffy little thing, looking like a ball of soot with legs, black and brown all over. The fading sunlight catches its fur and lights embers in its outline, like a spotlight. You have to stifle a giggle at how business-like it seems, trotting along with such delicate little paws. It turns to survey its surroundings and you could mark the moment when it spots you, pausing with its fluff of a tail pointed skywards midway through a wag. Suddenly, it breaks into a run towards you. Head thrown back in excitement, yipping all the way. You start, but it means you no harm as it runs straight up to your legs and yaps loudly, dancing around your feet so intensely that its whole body actually leaves the ground for seconds at a time.

“Hello, hello!” You greet, delighted if a little surprised. It presses its head against your hand when you lean to pet it, barking and yipping. You oblige, running your fingers through incredibly soft fur, and its whole body stills. Its watery eyes blink slowly, as if savoring the touch. “Who do you belong to?”

It yips and bounces again, spinning in a tight circle, and you can’t help but laugh at the pure joy in the motion. You pet it a few more times, giggling at how eager it seems for affection. “Nobody ever loves you, huh?” You coo. “Poor baby.” After a while, you straighten, and it immediately starts barking again, rising in volume as you move to walk towards the house.

“I have to go home!” You chastise, reaching to stroke it again, but its pitiful noises only get louder. “I’ll see you later, puppy. I promise.”

It follows you up the hill, whimpering pathetically as you unlock the gate and walk inside. You look over your shoulder at it and it cries.

“Go home,” you encourage. “I’ll see you later.”

It sits down in front of the gate, looking at you with such a forlorn expression your heart breaks. You hope its okay, but it seems healthy enough; shiny eyes and coat, well-groomed. Eventually, it’ll go home, surely.

You turn back to the house, the garden catching your eye as you go. Looks like it needs some watering—maybe a little weeding here and there. Why haven’t you noticed since you’ve been here? Oh well. You guess there’s been other things more pressing in your mind. Like getting lost and meeting beautiful men. And the stray cat, can’t forget that. Oh, yeah. The sticks. Your hand flies up to the bag around your neck, rubbing at the remaining stick with a shocked realization. You forgot to look up what kind of wood it was. Maybe you’ll remember tomorrow? You can always ask the mysterious librarian or the man by the pond. He might know a thing or two about local plants. Better ask nice, forthcoming Jin about something like that instead of stingy, disappearing librarian man.

Oh.

You blink.

You never actually caught his name.

Your nose wrinkles as you frown, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. He’d probably charge you for that, too.

Previous Masterlist Next

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts faerie au #stray cat strut #hope you enjoy!#same as ever--try to guess who you met in this chapt :)

194 notes · View notes

banshee-cheekbones · 6 years

Note

I was listening to Ruelle's new EP and all I could think about it was Standrew first kiss while "Emerge Pt. II" plays Could you write something inspired by this song, pleeeease Also I love your work and your blog, thank you so much ❤️

that song is extremely beautiful! after consulting with @missyousofaar, we both discovered that the song reminded us of romcoms and kissing in the rain and so, this piece of fluff happened.

2.3k, on ao3 here.

drift into the deep

It’s been a strange night.

There hasn’t been anything in particular that has made the night stranger than usual, hasn’t been a specific event that Andrew could point to as the source of the tension churning in his stomach like a supercell. It’s just been a night out with Steven, a night like any of the hundred times they’ve hung out after work and grabbed something to eat. It’s not like they even tried a new place; they went to an old favorite, an Italian place that Adam recommended a few months back, followed by Fosters Freeze for dessert. It’s a routine they’ve followed before, one Andrew is so familiar with that he’s surprised that, when he glances down at the sidewalk, he can’t see his footprints there, embedded in the cement.

And yet, while their routine hasn’t differed, something has.

At first, Andrew thinks that maybe the reason he feels off is because of the impending storm, because of the purple thunderclouds piling high above the glimmering ocean. He thinks that it’s the static building in the air that makes every touch between them, every brush of Steven’s fingertips against his own as they share their drinks back and forth, every nudge of his shoulder against Andrew’s as they walk, every bump of their knees as they sit on a concrete ledge outside of Fosters, feel like a flame striking him. Each of those touches linger for long minutes afterwards, like they’re lodged underneath his skin, simmering like a coal glowing red in the bottom of a campfire.

But even after the storm hits in earnest, after the sky splits open and unleashes an utter downpour, Andrew’s skin doesn’t stop burning.

And that’s enough to make his mind turn to other possibilities, possibilities that he sometimes turns over late at night, when he’s too wound up to sleep, possibilities that he spends much of his waking time trying not to think about, because they distract him from work and fill him with a giddy, suffocating kind of hope.

The storm breaks while they’re still six blocks from Steven’s apartment. Neither of them have umbrellas, and even though it takes no longer than thirty seconds for them to find an alcove to shelter in, a recessed entryway of a bookstore that’s closed for the night, that’s enough time for them to get absolutely soaked. Andrew’s jeans are plastered to his legs, and he can feel water squelching in his shoes whenever he moves his feet. Droplets of rain course down the back of his neck and under his collar, and when he shoves his hair away from his forehead, his palms come back slick with more water.

If he was alone, he would probably allow himself a moment of self-pity, a moment to complain about the sudden turn of events, before he settled in to wait out the storm. As is, because Steven is standing opposite him, only a few feet away, smiling as he pushes his own floppy hair away from his face, Andrew doesn’t make it to that stage.

“We really should have brought umbrellas,” Steven says with a laugh, wringing out the sleeve of his jacket. Rivulets of water run down his long fingers and plummet to the ground.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring a raincoat,” Andrew replies. “Or is your jacket collection too cool for something that practical?”

“I know that’s just jealousy talking, Andrew. If you want me to take you shopping for some cool stuff of your own, you just have to ask.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Alright. Sure.”

Steven’s grin grows brighter. After squeezing out his other sleeve, he settles back against the wall and tilts his head to the side, face pointed towards the street. The rain is still coming down in buckets, loudly drumming against the sidewalk and street, interrupted only by a taxi creeping by, water sloshing underneath its wheels. There’s something almost peaceful about the way the world seems to have momentarily paused aside from the rain, something that makes the fact that Andrew is soaked to the bone easier to deal with. If he were alone, he’s sure that, after the self-pity stage, he’d actually be able to really enjoy the scene.

As is, even though they aren’t touching anymore, even though Steven is separated from him by a few feet, Andrew still feels like he’s on fire. That damn feeling of hope, the one he’s tried valiantly to bury for years, is filling every hollow point of his chest, wrapping its spindly fingers around his heart and constricting. Every place that Steven has touched him today, his knees and fingertips and wrists, feel like they’re all burning at once; the rain hasn’t done anything to extinguish the blaze. The silence between them feels like something significant, like the eye of the storm or the moment in a horror film where the music goes silent in preparation for the jump scare. It feels like this moment has been building up not just for the last few hours, but the last few years.

It feels like Andrew needs to do something about it.

He takes a single step, swallows heavily in preparation to say Steven’s name, but before it can slip from his lips, Steven pushes away from the wall and wipes his brick-dust covered palms on the wet black denim clinging to his narrow thighs.

“Looks like it’s starting to ease up,” he says quietly, clearing his throat. Sure enough, he’s right - the downpour has lessened to a drizzle, and based on the sliver of bright blue Andrew can see at the edge of the sky, even that will be over soon.

While he is glad that the storm is over, the hope in his chest deflates like the last balloon at a child’s birthday party. He’s never been much of a believer in fate, in destiny or preordained choices, but suddenly, it feels like he missed an opportunity, one that he might not have again for years, if ever.

“Yeah,” he answers, trying to keep his disappointment with himself out of his voice. “Looks like it.” He can’t help but take a few moments to glance back at Steven. His jeans are stuck to his legs from hip to ankle, he’s pushed his damp hair into a series of unruly spikes, and there’s still rain clinging to the sides of his neck and the hollow of his throat. While Andrew has no doubt that he looks like a drowned rat, Steven looks like something out of a Renaissance painting, almost ludicrously beautiful.

For a moment, he’s almost glad that he didn’t make his move, because he suddenly doesn’t feel like he’s good enough to even look at Steven, let alone touch or kiss him.

“Wanna head back?” he asks, returning his gaze to the sky as he asks, where the late afternoon sun is about to burst free from behind a lingering gray cloud. Steven’s footsteps are muted against the wet concrete as he steps out into the last of the drizzle and glances back over his shoulder at Andrew.

“Sure. Little bit more rain won’t kill us.”

As they walk back, Andrew tries to keep a respectable distance between them, tries to prevent new touches from burning his skin, but it doesn’t work. Part of the problem is that Steven seems to gravitate to him; every time Andrew takes a step away, Steven takes one closer. The other part of the problem is that, despite what Andrew’s brain tells him is the smart thing to do, his body disobeys, instinctively goes searching for those touches, presses in closer so that the entire length of his arm is brushing against Steven’s.

He just can’t bring himself to stop.

The blocks rapidly disappear underneath their feet and, in what feels like the mere blink of an eye, they’ve made it to the steps leading up to Steven’s apartment building, the concrete and railing slick with the recently departed rain. They stop at the base of the stairs, so close that when Steven swings his hand slightly, his fingertips brush against the inside of Andrew’s wrist.

It’s a gentle touch, but it feels like a live wire pressing into Andrew’s damp skin.

“Tonight was really nice,” Steven says quietly. It’s not a sentence that should throw Andrew off, but it’s definitely not part of their normal routine. Normally, they part with a last comment about the food or a simple see you tomorrow.

This is new. This is strange.

“Yeah,” Andrew answers once he’s gotten his wits about him again. “I had a great time.” Absently, he realizes that he can sense Steven’s fingers hovering near the inside of his wrist, and part of him wants to close that space, initiate something, just to see where it goes.

Before he can commit to a course of action, Steven smiles at him and steps away.

“See you in the morning,” he says over his shoulder as he starts up the stairs. Andrew manages to say something back, some kind of acknowledgment, but the specifics of what actually leaves his mouth remains a mystery, mainly because he’s too busy watching Steven head up the stairs. If he was to try and justify it to someone, he would say that it’s because the stairs are steep and wet, that he’s just making sure Steven gets in okay.

But that would just be an excuse.

The truth is that he just can’t bring himself to move yet.

Steven stops by the entrance and pulls his keys out - Andrew can see them glimmering in his hand, catching the light from the bulb installed in the alcove surrounding the door. Andrew tells himself that he’ll start walking once those keys actually go in the lock, once Steven actually steps inside. He’ll go down to the end of the block, order an Uber (if the rain didn’t destroy his phone), go home, and try to convince himself that nothing about this night was any different from the others that they’ve spent together.

But Steven doesn’t unlock the door.

He remains still for a few moments, back to Andrew, head slightly bowed, the pale nape of his neck exposed. With each consecutive second that he doesn’t move, Andrew feels more rooted to the spot, as if the sidewalk has swallowed his feet whole.

Eventually, Steven turns back around, shoves his keys back into his pockets, and retraces his journey down the stairs, faster this time, fast enough that Andrew is actually concerned that he might slip and fall. When his hand slides along the railing, water sprays along either edge. Each of his footsteps seems as loud as cannon fire.

Andrew’s heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t speak.

So when Steven reaches the bottom step and asks, “Can I?” while still moving towards Andrew, all Andrew can do is nod.

Barely a second later, Steven crashes into his front hard enough to knock him back a step and kisses him.

Somehow, the hope in Andrew’s chest is simultaneously replaced with crackling fireworks and a wave of relief.

Steven’s palms come up to curl around his cheeks, and his long fingers push up into Andrew’s wet hair, shaping it in a way that he’s sure he’ll laugh at later, when he looks in the mirror. For the time being, instead of thinking about that, he drops his hands to Steven’s waist, fists his fingers into the sodden fabric of his jacket, and returns the kiss with everything he has, tilts his head to the side and kisses Steven back until there’s spots flashing behind his closed eyelids. Steven’s mouth tastes like rainwater and a hint of vanilla from dessert, and while Andrew tries to wait an appropriate amount of time, he finds himself chasing after the taste sooner than later, finds himself running his tongue along the soft curve of Steven’s bottom lip before he slips it into Steven’s mouth. Steven whimpers and presses up against him so firmly that Andrew really wishes he had something at his back, a wall or maybe the side of a car, something to keep him standing upright.

Steven backs away first, flushed pink and panting. When his ink-black eyelashes flutter open, he looks almost awestruck, even a bit confused, the way he gets sometimes when he’s tried something expensive and bizarre and he’s trying to figure out how to accurately describe it for the camera.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to do that,” he says, fingers still tight in Andrew’s hair. Andrew slides his hands under Steven’s jacket, so that his hands are settled on where the slightly less sodden fabric of Steven’s shirt is clinging to the slight curve of his waist.

“Me neither,” he replies before he leans back in for another kiss, one that’s slower and less frantic, more controlled and no less amazing than the first had been.

By the time Steven makes it back up the stairs, Andrew’s lost count of how many times they fell back together, how many times they murmured that they had to stop, that they had to get going. Once again, he lingers at the bottom of the stairs while Steven heads inside, and only once Steven is out of view does he start moving. His damp clothes are uncomfortably stuck to his limbs, but he barely notices. He’s more distracted on how his mouth is slightly sore from pressing against Steven’s, how his bottom lip is aching from Steven’s teeth tugging on it a little too hard.

As he rounds the corner and pulls his phone out to get an Uber, a grin spreads across his face.

It really has been a strange night but it’s also, safe to say, been one of the best he’s experienced in a long, long time.

He can’t wait to see what the morning brings.

#standrew #mine #mine: fic #Anonymous #long post #me writing even more first kiss fluff: it's more likely than you'd think #i can't be stopped #anyways here's this!#i hope you enjoy nonny!

43 notes · View notes

loki-fanfiction · 6 years

Text

The Lonely King

CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: Sigyn goes to Jötunheim looking for someone important who has recently gone missing from her soon to be kingdom, Vanaheim. Instead, all she finds is grief, and the Jotun crown prince.

Word count: 2125

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief

Part 1 / Part 2

Loki could hear faint voices outside of the corridor, fading in and out of earshot every once in a while. She was vaguely aware of her own breathing which rung around the room, like a bell toll in her head. Everything was somewhat blurry and her entire body ached. Whatever that prince had done had taken its toll on her, making her mind feel weighted as if it were lead, rather than simply a brain. Perhaps it was some sort of a sleeping spell which inhibited her from thinking properly. She tried to stretch, letting her arms extend above her head and arched her back, letting herself groan a bit. The comforting weight on her chest, both familiar and not, made her smile a bit. So she still had her magic. good.

She sat up against one of the walls, sinking comfortably into the cold stone which encompassed the entire room, save for a glass wall which sealed her comfortably into her little nook. She couldn’t see a conceivable entrance or exit and so she set about wondering how they got her in?

She stood and groaned, her entire body aching in protest, before padding quietly towards the glass which allowed minimal light in. As she looked out upon the rows and rows of cells, she saw them almost completely empty, save for one man towards the end of the cell block. He leered at her, his eyes fixating on her half naked state, enjoying the view. Loki growled and glared, making him flinch back slightly.

She looked in front of her at the glass wall holding her back, trying her hardest to strain to listen for some sort of electric buzz or humming which would indicate that she would get hurt by touching it, and yet nothing. Loki smirked slightly and walked towards the glass, letting her skin steam and feeling the comforting frost spread slowly along the floor. Of course the King hadn’t foreseen having an ice giant in her dungeon. Damn this would be too easy.

And yet, rather than begin climbing up the glass, the frost simply stopped at the foot of the front of her cell, as if hesitant. Loki growled slightly and tried to concentrate on the glass, imagining every single molecule freezing and the wall shattering, and yet nothing seemed to happen whatsoever. The glass stood defiant and frustratingly so.

Loki groaned and turned away, padding back to the end of her cell, hoping that perhaps the lack of light which had previously served as a distraction, would simply allow her to focus more, enough to break one of the walls or perhaps the seeming impenetrable glass.

When she turned back and the glass was still there, she screamed in frustration and went up to the cursed material, battering her fists against it loudly.

“Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!”

She was frustrated, completely out of here element. Sure there were moments where her ice magic hadn’t worked on certain things, but usually those things were a beast on a hunting field she could easily shoot down with a bow and an arrow, but this? This was some sort of enchanted glass which was taunting her at every opportunity it could possibly muster.

She huffed and turned further back into her cage, not wanting the other prisoner leering at her in her state of half dress. This change, and the way she was dressed was normal in Jötunheim, but she wasn’t there anymore, she was in a strange place with strange people.

Loki slid down the wall and sighed, brushing the hair which had gone onto her horns right off, and out of her face. So she was trapped, in a dungeon not on her world, whilst Laufey was dead and Loki had been presumed to be in the same state. Of course they would think she was dead, when did anyone like the King have pity?

So everything would fall to her sibling, young as he was, and she would be left In a dungeon alone. She sighed and shifted, trying to get comfortable in some way on the stiff wall behind her.

Maybe someone would come along and look for her? She remembered when her brother, stupid as he was, had gotten trapped in Asgard against Laufey’s wishes, and still they had gone to save him. But that was her brother. And her father was dead. Waiting surely wouldn’t do anything.

Slowly, ice began to encapsulate the room as Loki got further and further into the recesses of her own mind. What would her funeral look like? The one without a body. Would they cry? Would they mourn? What would her brother do alone? He had always been the immature one, unable to handle the slightest of responsibilities let alone the responsibility of an entire kingdom!

The cold that was encapsulating her cell was a comfort. Like a slice of home. It felt more like her room, with its vast white ceilings of frosted stone and her icy bed, rather than a cell on an alien planet.

She didn’t want to think about her father. That was dangerously overemotional territory that she would be straying into. It wasn’t something to be dwelled on. Even if she did think about it, she knew she wouldn’t be overly upset.

Laufey was somewhat distant in his parenting. Coupled with the fact that Loki had been a ‘runt,’ whereas his second born was a fully formed Jötun had made him somewhat bitter. Sure, Loki was fierce and skilled, sure Loki could turn someone to dust with a simple look and a quick spell, and sure, Loki talked to the people and made sure they were comfortable with her, but Loki was a small. A runt. Even if Loki had held the entirety of Jötunheim in one hand, and fought with the other, Laufey would have found her disappointing. Why? Probably for not for growing a 3rd arm.

Parents were complicated.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that Loki didn’t hear the clicking of heels walking cautiously towards her cell, until she saw a blob of colour in her periphery. She turned her head to be greeted by a pair of striking blue eyes which were staring Loki down. She was tall, for a Vanir, around about the same size as Loki. Her hair seemed to have been hastily styled and there was a wet patch around her shoulder, as if someone had poured half a glass of water over that one specific area.

Loki stood very slowly, stalking over to the glass like a caged animal, with every intention to outstare whomever had decided to bother her. She didn’t want to have to talk with the woman in front of her. In fact she didn’t particularly feel like talking to anyone if she was honest.

“I was sent to check if you were still alive.” The girl said, scanning Loki as if she were something awful that the girl’s shoe had ended up in.

Loki didn’t reply, and simply stared at her blankly. Yes, she could understand Vanir, and yes she could have easily replied in the girl’s language, but for sheer stubbornness, Loki decided that the conversation, should it unfortunately happen, was to happen in Jötun or not at all.

The girl just sighed and rolled her eyes, before turning and starting to walk away. Loki had almost believed that she was leaving, before he saw her stop for a moment, considering something.

“If you understand me,” She said, her words echoing around the empty dungeon, “Then understand that you should be every bit as afraid as your father was when her hand was facing you.”

Loki didn’t reply, and simply watched her walk away.

She would never admit to it until the day she died, but in that moment Loki shivered. And it wasn’t from the cold.

Sigyn wasn’t even sure when she had fallen asleep. It was an odd feeling, to suddenly wake up and realise that at some point you had just nodded off, and still not be able to identify the rough time that sleep had overtaken you. So when she woke up, Sigyn felt an odd inability to place the date or time in that moment. She also felt, for some reason, an unexplained pain in her throat and an unbelievable amount of guilt settling so nastily in the pit of her stomach. There was something preventing her from breathing properly. Of course, she thought, my mother’s dead.

She couldn’t find it in her to cry. The shock of the revelation had already left her and her knee jerk response of tears had evaporated as she had sobbed. Now, she just felt numb. As if someone had put a blanket over her emotions to hide and mute them. They were there, she knew that, but she couldn’t quite see or hear them properly. The lump was still there in her throat, she still had a faint stutter in her breathing from crying and her cheeks were still puffy and red, but that was the only hint that she had felt any emotion.

Sigyn was grateful that it wasn’t the Kings suite that she was led to. Laying in her mother’s bed, where she had done so many times as a child, would have been too much to bear in that moment. Not because of the room, but because of who would be absent from it.

Instead, she slipped off of her own bed, her feet gently landing on the wooden floor. She gently padded over to her fireplace and placed two wooden blocks into the stone grated divot in her wall. True, it was spring, but the nights were still far too cold to simply rely on a blanket for warmth.

She simply gestured at the blocks, and they were set alight with an alarmingly green tinged fire, which eventually settled into the typical blue fire which came from burning Tyanha tree wood. She grabbed one of her many blankets sat on the end of her bed, before dragging it back to the chairs surrounding the fireplace, before settling down and tucking herself in, allowing her to be lost in her own thoughts. Staring at the fire was the only thing she was truly capable at that moment.

She didn’t want to do anything in particular in that moment. Sure, her mind was racing, and every single possibility of what could have happened to her mother was passing through her mind, but she couldn’t find any motivation to even tear her eyes from the fireplace.

She heard Amora creep in, slowly opening and shutting the door and padding over to the only occupied chair. She felt the gentle touch on her shoulder, and still she found herself completely engrossed in the dancing flames which flared every so slightly.

In books, grief was something that was a simple notch in the story. It came in a firestorm of tears and left after a day. The characters occasionally felt a small bout of melancholy, but apart from that, they tended to simply stop crying and move on.

But grief was so much worse, and Sigyn knew it.

Grief, from what she remembered when her Ama died, was something which was both all consuming and completely uninvolved. You would go about your business with it weighing on your mind, and you chest, ever so slightly. Then one word could make it all come crashing down. A damn of emotions could easily break and leave you with sobs wracking your body and tears blurring your eyes. It was something which could make you feel equally elated and devastated in the best and worst of occasions. It was something which made you so irrational and so unlike yourself, and yet when you followed its calling, you found yourself learning more and more about the person who you were.

But for now, grief, and everything else, had seemed to abandon her.

“The Jötun’s awake.” Said Amora gently, rubbing a thumb reassuringly over Sigyn’s shoulder.

Sigyn just nodded in response, still feeling nothing.

“What should we do with her?”

Sigyn just shrugged, her eyes never leaving the fire. At the moment she didn’t care. Politics, prisoners and propriety could wait until the morning, where Amora would knock anew on her door and lead her to the King’s Suite, but right now, Sigyn was comfortable waiting in her childhood bedroom. There was nothing left of her Mother or Ama, save for the warmth of the fire, the blanket and memories, but for now that would do.

A few levels down, Loki was staring at the frost which had coated each surface, save for the glass in her cell, in the same blank way.

10 notes · View notes

corwynnasmith · 6 years

Text

Deleted Scene - Chapter 14

A second owl fluttered in the open window and alit on Percy’s shoulder, holding out a leg with expensive parchment tied to it in a neat, rolled scroll. From the noise echoing down from near corridors, Percy knew classes had ended for the day. He needed to go meet up with Audrey like everything was fine, even if he had probably missed dinner from the slant of the sun, so he left the room, reading the missive on the way towards the Hufflepuff common room entrance. He’d never gone in, but, being a prefect, of course he knew where and how to gain entry.

/Saturday afternoons would be convenient. 3PM. Library entrance./ There was a scratched out /Yours/ that was replaced with simply, /Draco Lucien Malfoy./

Probably Malfoy hadn’t sent many letters beyond those to his family, and maybe his friends over his first summer home from Hogwarts. It was the sort of kid thing he expected from Ginny or Ron when they were trying to impress someone, and for a moment, it made him smile. He tried to keep that cheer as a shield against the worry and lack of resolution of the day.

After all, he still didn’t know the who or why of the compulsion. Plus, he’d been kicked out of Transfiguration. Then he’d made Professor Snape more likely to keep a close eye on him. All in all, he’d take his wins where he could get them.

Audrey was exiting the barrel marking the Hufflepuff den when he arrived, and she seemed pleasantly surprised to see him, “I guess you realized we hadn’t set up a place to meet, too.”

“Precisely,” he lied. His mind had just connected Audrey to Hufflepuff to go like a child figuring out their first constellations.

“Well, do you want to come in to the common room or find a study nook?” She had a bag over her shoulder with knitting needles sticking out the top of it, and Percy shook himself under her expectant look.

He cleared his throat, “Study nook, if you don’t mind.” Percy didn’t particularly want an audience as he struggled through knitting, of all things. It took a deft hand and dexterity to use a wand, and being seen stumbling through something that emphasized similar dexterity would be beyond embarrassing. Plus, he didn’t want to deal with a crowd just now while he was trying to rationalize his mental state away. “I’m not as skilled as I’d have to be if I wanted to maintain any sort of dignity,” Percy explained, a little heat flushing up through his neck at the confession. She’d know soon enough, anyway, so there was no use trying to hide it from her.

Audrey patted his shoulder bracingly, “Well, you’ve got until Christmas to get this done, right?” Sensing Percy’s unease at the idea, Audrey shook the shoulder a little and moved off down the hall, “And I’ll be helping! Do you doubt me?”

“No, of course not,” Percy replied reluctantly, easily catching up and keeping pace. She was a fellow prefect and he knew she was good at knitting. He wouldn’t expect her to abandon him or let him down when it came to a project that tied so deeply to family, either.

“So buck up,” Audrey replied, flashing white teeth in a smile that lit up her patrician features, “We ride into battle together, brother.” Her fierce grin did put him in the mind of a warrior woman, and it drew a laugh from him to imagine what sort of battle one would wage against inanimate yarn.

“I bow to your greater experience, o veteran warrior,” Percy put action to words with a sweeping bow. Audrey swatted at his arm, intentionally missing, and shook her head.

“Come on, this spot’s my favorite; you can see the merfolk’s village from there.”

And just like that, his good mood gained tarnish. Well, at least it wouldn’t be likely that any of the merfolk would actually come over and peer in the window while they were working nearby.

“You’re not worried they’ll remember your slight against them?” Audrey teased at the strain to Percy’s smile, getting a huff in return before she sat on a curved stone bench, cushioned with thin blue pillows, beneath a half circle of stone wall. “Sit down,” she said, pointing at the bench beside her. A little confused, Percy obeyed, and it was as if he could suddenly see through the slats in a tilted window as the entire wall above the bench seemed to open up for a view that had to be magically enhanced. There was no way they were far enough under the lake to be practically yards from the merfolk’s statues and columns.

“Is it like the enchantments in the Great Hall?” Percy queried, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. Unlike the Great Hall’s ceiling, this was within reach.

“It’s a true window,” Audrey informed him with an eagerly conspiratorial tone, taking out her knitting needles, “You’ve heard of it, right?”

“We’re sitting under a warding miracle,” Percy said flatly as he returned the sweaters he’d taken from his pocket to normal size, and Audrey nodded, more excited now that he seemed to comprehend what it was. A malicious mischief entered Percy’s eyes as a grin slid across his lips, “Bill never said anything about this. That means he spent seven years at Hogwarts and never knew this was here.” A true window was to a wards master as the Fidelius was to a Charms master. It required an innate knowledge of the essence, or ‘soul’ in the old tests, of the two places in order to create a… well, a true window. It cut through the intervening places without leaving a trace, though it only let through light and magic. Sound, too, but only in legends.

“The cursebreaking brother?” Audrey’s smile broke into a laugh, “You’ll have to describe it to him – and invite him to visit, of course, or it’d just be cruel.” She met his mischief with her own, “Maybe in a separate letter, though.”

“A few days later,” Percy added matter-of-factly, knowing he could swing a visitor’s pass for his brother. It wasn’t like Bill had been schooled in a foreign country and he was pureblood, so there weren’t any secrecy concerns with the Statute.

It’d just be a bit of paperwork Percy would have to copy out of the second addendum to the official rulebook.

While he was distracted, Audrey had been taking in the sweaters with a weather eye. “So, who’s this?” Audrey held up a half-finished maroon sweater to herself, “Smaller than me; Ron or Ginny, yeah?”

“Ron,” Percy confirmed, “He hates maroon.”

“And thus, this is his sweater,” she looked up at him and smiled, “I like your mother’s way of thinking. He’d probably look adorable in it, anyway. Where’s the skein for this?” The way she’d so casually referenced Molly took him aback for a moment, but a burst of warmth surprised him when his initial response faded. She’d referred to his mother with the present tense, and it wasn’t out of ignorance. The allusion itself had been quick, warm, and painless. Percy didn’t mind that. Not at all.

“Here,” Percy tossed her the appropriate yarn, and took up Ginny’s, which was a sunny yellow this year. They worked in a silence that came from being mutually lost in thought. In no time, his row was crooked, and Audrey was putting Ron’s sweater aside to work out where Percy had gone wrong.

“You’ve got to just keep the pattern, Percy,” she was saying as she pulled apart the last five minutes of work, “I know it can be mind-numbing, but if you keep it up long enough, eventually you won’t have to pay so much attention to it.”

“I’m aware,” Percy replied dryly, smiling at her to soften any edges that might have snuck into his tone. She made a face at him, and passed back the yellow monstrosity.

“I do love the colors your mother chose,” Audrey commented, diving back into Ron’s with smooth, deft movements, and Percy tried to pay more attention to keeping the damn pattern.

“She has an eye for the color you like the least,” Percy admitted, a little absently, mind more on the knitting than on the words, “She’s always going on about how she chose them based on how they would complement the skin, but we’re all the same shade, so I’m not sure who she thinks she’s fooling.”

“Are you going to use the same colors next year?” When Percy’s needles fell silent, Audrey looked up, a bit stricken, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –“

“No, it’s something I should think about,” Percy picked up the pace again. Besides, it was better than thinking about what was happening in his own head. Hopefully his correspondance with Great Aunt Muriel would clear up more of the situation that she, perhaps, hadn’t wanted to explain in front of Professor Snape. He shook his head, as if to dislodge the thoughts, “I don’t know. Would you?”

“She must have put a lot of thought into it,” Audrey said carefully, keeping her eyes on her work, “I’d probably try to follow the same theme, if it were me.”

Same theme, not necessarily exactly the same colors. Except Ron, of course; Percy didn’t think Ron would ever grow out of hating maroon. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d take that as a brush off.”

“Good thing you know better,” Percy sniffed and Audrey smiled again, tentatively.

“To blatantly change the subject, have I told you what my first years did the other day?” Her eyes lit up when Percy shook his head, and she went on about her plainly monstrous first years. There was something wrong when they were that… harmonious. And nice. The chatter was soothing, though, and Audrey seemed content to carry the bulk of the conversation, letting Percy make a point here or there as he thought of them. His tongue was still sore, anyway.

“…there’s a more humane way to get the effects of Ashwinder egg, I’m sure of it,” she was saying a little archly, though it was an undirected irritation, when she checked a watch on her wrist and made a face, breaking off the tail end of her thoughts on the current state of potions ingredient gathering and its effects on magical creatures. Percy had tried to play devil’s advocate, but it was clearly a topic of study for her, because she rapidly outstripped him. “You can escape me for now; patrol.” The face of her watch said just that, actually, and she looked at her needles in Ron’s sweater for a long moment before turning her gaze on Percy, “I don’t really want this to unravel and if we keep tying them off in different places, it’ll make any casting inconsistent.”

He… hadn’t know that. “I’m not sure they need to have anything cast on them.”

“Oh,” pushing a ringlet of brown curl behind her ear, Audrey said nervously, “So, you don’t recognize this pattern?”

“Audrey, we’ll be late for patrol if you don’t spit it out,” Percy said bluntly, shrinking the other sweaters, but for the one still in her hands.

“This is a protective knit; it’s hedge magic,” she held up a hand placatingly before Percy could speak, “but maybe your mother just didn’t know it was hedge. It doesn’t mean she was a squib, or something, anyway. Plenty of respectable witches and wizards practice hedge magic on the side.” Did everyone practice hedge magic? Or was it a secret society that only opened up when you joined it? Then again, Audrey was part of a family that produced no small amount of squibs. The Stricklands were purebloods nearly as prolific as the Weasleys in terms of offspring – but much less lucky in magical inclination.

“She- I know she practiced hedge magic,” Percy admitted, clearing his throat, “I just didn’t- she taught me mostly about the cleaning side of it.” And the offensive side of it. Oddly.

“Oh, good,” Audrey sighed in relief, loosening her near-hug on the sweater she’d been holding to her chest, almost protectively, “Can I keep this with me then? I wasn’t lying when I said I needed a project, and I’d rather not weaken the cast.”

Percy reminded himself that she was a fellow prefect who had volunteered her time to help him out. She wasn’t going to ruin it through carelessness. And they were going to be late. “Alright, okay, but we need to go.” He’d be meeting up with Gemma, and Audrey with Fawley Hilliard, the male Ravenclaw prefect of their year.

Audrey grinned at him, “Fawley never shows up on time. And if he does, you know he’ll be standing there with his nose in a book until I show up, so I’ll drop this off safe in my dorm first.” That rubbed his sensibilities the wrong way, but, well, technically she was prioritizing Percy’s family over scholastic duty, and he couldn’t bring himself to muster up a lecture. They exchanged farewells and went their separate ways.

#percytakethewheel #percyweasley #deleted scene #percy #weasley #audrey #Kitty Smith #Percy Take The Wheel #knitting

21 notes · View notes

wolfeyeslonelynights · 6 years

Text

The Labyrinth AU Snippet

Even after the reaching the castle, Liam found that he was still in a maze. Inside the crumbling building he found that the walls would shift, creating openings or closing ones. He turned a corner just to find that the wall only rotated in a slow circle; giving the illusion of moving around.

Finally though, he reached the ballroom. Not bothering to check to see if his suit jacket was straight or if the weird neck handkerchief thingy that Mason had expertly tightened and folded into some apparent ‘attractive’ shape that fall apart. Since it felt like he was slowly being choked he figure it was fine still.

It filled him with a fierce satisfaction to kick open the huge wooden door, stepping in with a cold glance around the room. It was vast, shaped like an abandon cathedral from the ancient days. Pillars were everywhere; covered with flowers and vines. It seemed as if thousand of lit candles were somehow floating through the air, creating atmosphere with their soft yellow lights and the thickening cloud of smoke against the ceiling.

Strange eery music filled the rest of the space; seeming to cling to the all the other goblins and variously masked dancers as they paused to watch his entrance. After all, he was the guest of honor. And no one made the Goblin King wait.

Ignoring all the pions who were beginning to resume their prim and tailored dance routines, Liam searched and search for the stormy eyes that had been haunting him since he called out for that wish.

“Looking for someone Little Wolf?”

Spinning around he kept his surprise mostly in check as Theo stood at ease behind him. Unable to stop himself, Liam’s eyes trailed to take in the all black outfit, except for the small glass ball that was the goblin was easily rolling and twisting over his fingers.

“Like what you see?”

The soft purr had him lifting his lip in a snarl, eyes whipping up to glare at the amused smirk.

“I beat your labyrinth, now give him back to me.”

Theo was already tutting a negative, the ball magically gone as a new song rang piercing through the air.

“Ah, ah, poor manners to speak business at a party.” Dark eyes stared at him as the raspy voice lowered “I’ve waited so long for you.”

Then Liam found himself whirled away into the dancers. One strong arm tight around his waist and back while the other gripped his hand out in the air, formal waltz style. He wanted to snarl and fight, the anger boiling under his skin. Instead he was being twirled around amongst a group of monsters wearing friendly faces.

At least the face inches from his wasn’t fake; the arrogant lips and glittering eyes attested to that.

“What do you mean?” There was a brief moment when the dance brought them flush together; breathing each other’s air before pulled away for another twirl.

Theo’s thumb was caressing the inside of Liam’s wrist as he pulled them closer still, murmuring the words into his ear.

“Do you not remember? You promised.”

Confused and distracted by the slide of skin on skin and warm air tickling the inside of his ear Liam shook his head to clear the daze.

“Remember what promise?”

The lips that had been tracing the shell of his ear snarled before Theo was shoving him away. Liam stumbled to a stop as everything around them froze. The taste of magic and fury filled the air; suffocating all the candles under he had to shift enough to see the figure stalking away from him.

Unable to resist Liam quickly ran after the Goblin King, letting himself be led down corridors and through rooms until they stepped out on a balcony. Theo was all shadows, standing still as the night as he faced outwards. Liam tentatively walked up until he was next to him, looking out over the railing.

As far as his wolf eye’s could see, the ground below was endless passages of the labyrinth. His breathe left him in a soft whoosh as he stared at all the dead ends and dangers.

“I can’t believe I made it.”

A strong hand grabbed his upper arm painfully as Theo turned him enough so that he could hiss almost silently at him, eyes darting around as if making sure nothing else was nearby.

“And why the fuck do you think you made it?” When Liam didn’t rely Theo hissed through his teeth again while his free hand came up to run harshly through his hair. It was such a familiar gesture that Liam felt a pang somewhere in the middle of his chest. As if -

“I’ve been here before, with you.”

A statement, a question, either way he watched as Theo froze. Eyes that had once been a gray blue were now dark shiny eyes of a man who had to been forced to become a wretched king of goblins. The thought jogged another memory and he absently brought his hand up to trace the small scar under Theo’s left eye.

“A bargain forgotten under the mountain. A promise of stars and sky.”

There it was. A memory flashing through his mind’s eye of two small boys - one happy and healthy chasing one who was covered in bruises and neglect. A tromp through the woods, stumbling upon a hole, voices sickly sweet and full of warmth promising a better life. A promise to find each other under a darkening sky.

Theo pulled him closer lips baring a faint glimmer of fang.

“Forgotten but clawed his way up and became a king. Now I move the stars for no one.”

Except, Liam saw, that the eyes that were so angry when they first saw him were now darting towards his lips more often then his eyes. That a surprisingly pink tongue darted out to wet- as if watching Liam’s mouth made him all more aware of his own.

He had forgotten Theo. It had been childhood, early years, of senseless fun and ignorance. Looking back at the hazy picture the abuse Theo received from his family was clear but at the time Liam had only wanted to play with his friend.

But that day in the woods was even hazier; the memory seemingly distorted. There had been a promise, but because Theo wanted to go. He wanted to get out and the promise of better was too much for his small human heart. Liam had tried to get him to stay. Had told him that he could live with his family but even back then Theo had been just as stubborn.

As if freeing one thing had opened the flood gates; Liam remembered the innocent kiss he had given young Theo’s lips. Had hugged the boy tight and promised him that one day…one day they would own the star and sky. That they would need no one but each other.

Reeling at the emotion and suddenness of it all, Liam stared horrified up at Theo.

“Is this magic?”

Eyes rolling while hands pushed him away Theo leaned back against the balcony as he coldly stared at him.

“Of course it’s magic, you moron, how else were you to remember? A bargain was made and the price had to be paid.”

Liam screamed inside his clamped mouth.

“If I have to hear one more obscured mention of bargains and prices I will tear this fucking place down.”

Bad thing to threaten the Goblin King, but Theo simply threw his head back and laughed loud and long. The sound a unnatural mixture of human warmth and the grating of otherness that Liam noticed was a constant fixture in this world. As if anything trapped here long enough began to take on its qualities.

Theo had been here a long, long time.

With the renewed memories settling back into their rightful place, Liam took in the teen in front of him with a fresh pair of eyes. As if feeling the intensity behind the gaze, Theo dropped his head abruptly and met Liam’s. An almost fond grin on his face.

“In order to stay down here, I had made a bargain. In dealing with magic and generally disagreeable creatures like Goblins, a bargain requires a price to be paid.” The grin was gone now, a rough long finger reaching up to trace one of Liam’s eyebrows with a feather touch. It clicked.

“I was the price.”

Theo’s eye were now caught between their human hue and the goblin darkness, almost sparkling with eery light in the gathering shadows around them. Liam wasn’t sure if the Goblin King was calling the darkness to him or if the lessening light was a natural occurrence in this world. Either way, it painted a tempting picture in front of him.

He didn’t move a muscle when Theo stepped closer gain, the hand now sliding across his burning cheek until it cupped his face, whispering like it was a prayer.

“The bargain was for safety. The price was you. Something just as precious if not more is generally how monsters like to run their bargains and curses.”

Feeling something in his chest ache and shutter, Liam brought a hand up to gently wrap around the wrist next to his face.

“Why wait so long?”

Theo tilted down until their foreheads were touching, “Bargain made it so I could not seek what I paid…and I was busy surviving.”

Liam felt his breath catch as pain rippled through with guilt. He had forgotten his best friend, had forgotten everything, and had been living mostly happy. All the while Theo had been down here in hell trying to survive; and all he had wanted to do was escape from another hell.

Using his free hand now he clutched at the back of Theo’s neck, pressing them together painfully tight, lips almost brushing as he gasped.

“I’m so sorry. Theo, I am so, so sorry. I’ll make this right.”

There was a moment, a pause in the world as a small sob pushed past Theo’s lips before Liam covered them with his own.

In all the years between, of kissing girls and boys, of feeling little and thinking that was all, Liam now understood. As the King of Goblins melted away into a teenage boy that had been waiting for almost a decade; with hands cupping Liam’s face as he tilted his head for a deeper angle. It was all clear. All those previous kisses and touches had been dulled because his body, his soul, already knew what was missing. It was here in front of him, a mixture of monster and human, of magic and madness, in the heat rolling through his veins with every tiny eager sound.

Gasping embarrassingly loud, Liam pulled back enough to mutter against wet lips.

“I’m going to move the whole damn universe if I have to.”

Theo gave a slight gasp that might have been a chuckle if Liam given him the chance, which he didn’t. Instead he leaned back in for another desperate kiss. Forging with his mouth and hands a new bargain. A new promise.

He was going to get them all out.

#thiam #thiam fanfic #thiam au #Theo would be a great goblin king #Thiam dabble drabble #snippet #I have been up for over 15 hours #I am tired #my not edited excuse

51 notes · View notes

stephicness · 6 years

Text

The Void :: Ravus Nox Fleuret x Ignis Scientia

Day Two of @fleurentia-week Prompt :: Sex Worker AU, Hedonism

I’M A FEW HOURS LATE ON DAY TWO. FFFFFFFFFF-

But okay... So, like, I took a little bit of inspiration from all the prompts as I was writing this, because this was a pretty intense writing as I progressed through it. It started off with a simple idea, but it kinda got a bit more intense as I was writing it. And not in the naughty way how I wanted to! Instead, it got into a bit more of an exploration of companionship and the influence people can have on others.

And then here we are! With one of the first fics I’ve written in an insanely long time. It kind of has this vagueness as I was writing it, but it was ultimately a fun writing to work on. Why is it called the void? Well, read on and then you’ll see maybe! Hope you enjoy the read! I’ll also have this posted on AO3 too! :D

Word Count: 3425 Character(s): Ravus Nox Fleuret/Ignis Scientia, Implied Promptio (Blink and you’ll miss it!) Warnings: Prostitution, Injuries, References to Suicide

Perhaps it was a mistake all it itself to have called the number. A mistake to have requested the man who had solicited his services to him before. A mistake that he waited so eagerly in the dimly lit hotel room for the man to arrive. And yet, why was it that he still allowed himself to make such a mistake? He could only sit there, fingers gently tapping on the table by the window as he stared out with an absent-minded gaze.

Should he call him back and cancel such plans? It wasn’t too late to do that, right? He reached over and grabbed his phone. His thumb remained curled for a moment over the arrows of the phone until he hovered over the call button. A simple call and it would be over. He wouldn’t have to follow through with any of this. He would be mistake free for once in his life.

He should have pressed the button, but his hesitation made him a moment too late. Knuckles rapped against the door, just loud enough to alert the lonely man, but refrain from disrupting the solemn air around him. His hand flexed and snapped the silver phone shut, the device being tossed aside before he rose to his feet and approached the door. It wouldn’t be too late to abandon his intentions, he thought. Simply remain quiet as the ghost of himself, waiting for impatience to settle on the opposite side of the door until they finally departed. It was all he had to do. It would all be over in mere moments, if he did so.

His hand rested over the door handle, gripping tighter as if to cease the tremors in his fingertips. It was a simple meeting, so why was he so shaken? His eyebrows furrowed with a breath weighing on him, like rocks in his lungs. And only upon its release that he had finally been able to tear open the door.

Green eyes turned themselves to look upwards when the door opened, a gaze that caused the oxygen to cease in the man’s lungs for a split second as he was hypnotized by the spectacle-sporting stranger. A gaze that looked far more innocent than his intentions truly were. Hair the color of coffee mixed with milk was pushed back with messy little strands hanging in front of his face. And though disheveled, it only added a sense of sensuality with his appearance as the rest of his outfit was primed and pressed with precision and style. The man couldn’t help but lose himself in the emerald pools that locked onto his own weary gaze.

A smile so soft seemed to melt away whatever cold thoughts of abandonment that he had before. Gloved fingers had reached up, brushing over the contours of the man’s neck. His eyes observed the perfect stranger, curiosity focused on their lips as they guided them to brush over his cheek. The warmth was enough to provoke an involuntary shiver down his spine as his grip threatened to break the door handle from the initial shock. It had been far too long, it seemed.

“You must be Ignis.”

“And you must be Ravus. Might I come inside?”

The man turned to look at the stranger when the whisper trailed from his ear and green eyes met the somber heterochromatic eyes once more. Such an expression was lethal, but one that he found himself unable to refuse when he stepped aside and gestured for Ignis to enter the room. He eyed the surroundings as if hoping it wouldn’t backfire against him before he turned inside and allowed the door to shut behind himself.

Ravus watched when Ignis observed the room, digits painting over the marble and wood furniture. He was an elegant piece of architecture all in its own -- for no piece of artwork could stand in the stranger’s grace. His voice was just as beautiful when he spoke melodies with his words.

“I assume that you were told of my talents prior to me coming here?” A sultry glance directed itself over his shoulder at Ravus. “Hopefully one of them will be able to satisfy your needs tonight.”

“Perhaps…” Ravus cleared his throat of the grating feeling before he advanced towards the other man with tempered steps. “Unless my request will be far too much for you. You are more than welcome to depart the moment it becomes distasteful to you.”

“So long as the price is right, I’m sure.” Ignis turned towards Ravus to return the advance until the two stood inches from each other. “A hundred-thousand gil per hour, unfortunately. But the price should say measures about just what skills I possess.”

“You do not need to inflate your ego anymore than you need to. Your stature says it all.”

Ignis couldn’t help but chuckle in response. A man who enjoyed modesty. Fair enough, he supposed. Ignis reached up once more to caress the other man’s neck with his hands, thumbs painting themselves over the brooding man’s sharp jawline. A coy smirk played over his thin lips as his hands slid themselves down over his broad shoulders. “Whatever it is you wish to do, I’d be happy to abide and give you exactly what you desire.”

His words seemed to trail off when his hands wandered lower down Ravus’s arms. The empty sleeve was more of a surprise than Ignis was expecting. And when he retracted his hand from the coat sleeve, a chuckle came from Ravus as Ignis’s eyes surveyed the broken smile. “What I desire is not something you can give, unfortunately. Ease, perhaps, but not remedy.”

He noticed how the brown-haired man kept his attention on the missing limb there -- perhaps too entranced by how someone could function without something important there. The older man shook his head, taking Ignis’s chin underneath his index finger to tilt his gaze upwards from the empty place there. “I will say this once more: if you do not wish to proceed, then you do not have to. I will pay you what is owed, and you may resume your life as you see fit. I won’t be upset or bothered, I assure you.”

“No, it’s alright.” The stranger allowed himself to wrap his arms around Ravus’s neck, slow as if hoping not to break him more than he already was. From the first moment he laid eyes on the older man, he knew something was odd about him. It reminded Ignis of something that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. “I’ll adjust. Because in the end, tonight is about you. How does that sound?”

Ravus’s gaze hung for a moment as he felt lips pressing against his jaw and necks. Hand rested itself at his side with little motivation to embrace him in return. But the touch itself was enough to ease the tension, if not just a little. He was guided back by Ignis, shuffling in rhythm to the lips against his skin and the steps like partners on the dance floor. It wasn’t until he found himself guided back onto the bed that he noticed the other man’s intentions. A panther stalking is prey, Ignis crawled over Ravus. Hands rested by the silver-haired man’s face while knees secured themselves around his hips. A man trapped by the beauty above him as a sly smile captured Ravus’s attention.

Ignis leaned down until lips ghosted over Ravus’s and words grazed his flesh. “With such a sorrowful expression, you deserve to feel bliss and melt it all away.”

The silver-haired man was silent at his words. The silence itself caused for some alarm and curiosity as Ignis pulled away to look down at him. The expression on the other man’s face wasn’t one of displeasure as Ignis had anticipated. Instead, it was as if Ravus was daydreaming, unfocused and dazed in the reality that he was shackled to. It was like Ravus was staring through him. Was there something wrong? Ignis didn’t get the chance to adjust himself before he felt slender fingers splay over his cheek, icy and cold -- the embodiment of death.

That’s what Ravus reminded Ignis of.

A corpse devoid of what life once existed. What happiness and emotion it had possessed before. Never had he seen a man with such a broken heart.

And the heartbreak was contagious, the contortion in his chest physically painful. Ignis’s gaze softened as he whispered with a mournful tone. “What has caused such a broken expression on such a handsome man?”

“More than you can understand, I’m afraid. And I hope that you never have to feel this emptiness in your life either.” He brushed his knuckles across the stranger’s cheek. Indeed… It was a mistake that he had called the man here for his own selfish needs. With the intent to distract himself from the thought of his despair, he only found guilt. It was not Ignis’s burden to bear. He was not the cure to his misery. But even so, Ravus found himself craving something from Ignis. Not sex or passion, but something far more tempting than that.

“I feel as if my intentions have changed,” Ravus murmured. Ignis tilted his head inquisitively before he sat onto his lap. When Ravus sat upright, he investigated the emerald gaze once again. The hesitation from before only turned to eagerness as his arm wrapped itself around Ignis. A secured but gentle hold with Ravus burying his face into the other man’s shoulder. He didn’t utter another word. He didn’t need to when he felt Ignis embrace him with a tighter hold. Shoulders eased themselves from the returning gesture and allowed his eyes to drift shut. “Just… Bear with me and allow this for a moment.”

It was usually Ignis’s job to create a temporary illusion of companionship for others. He brought out their deepest desires and provoked lust from them to where all they craved was the need to appease it all. They craved love, sex, and sin. And yet, when meeting this strange and lonely man, it wasn’t lust that Ravus sought. It was peace from the turmoil that wrought over Ravus’s being. A solace and cure for the despair that twisted him into such a depressing figure. There were many lonely people out there, but Ignis was never faced with someone as broken as the silver-haired man.

He had thought that perhaps sex would be the cure to his sadness, but alas, it was far from it. Instead, Ignis allowed himself to be embraced by Ravus. He even so much adjusted himself onto the bed further, guiding Ravus to his side and pulling him against his chest. The simple sound of a beating heart, the tender touch that painted over his back – they were gestures that released the tension in Ravus’s shoulders as Ignis pressed his lips to his forehead.

“Take all the time that you need.”

---

“So…? How did it go?”

Ignis couldn’t help but eye his coworker over the top of his coffee cup. Of all the times to ask him these sorts of questions, he asked when he was about to indulge on his morning coffee. It was always a rule of his: never interrupt his morning coffee. And yet his brutish, tattoo-stained co-worker always managed to violate this rule and ask him as soon as he was about to take a sip of his Ebony. How dare he. If he wanted an answer, he would have to wait. And Ignis made this very clear as he shot his hand out and placed a gloved finger over the other barista’s lips. Green eyes locked onto the amber gaze as he took a very long and very loud sip of his coffee.

And with a smack of his lips when he lowered his cup, he was finally able to answer. “It went well.”

“That’s it?” The tattooed man moved Ignis’s hand out of his face as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his apron as he cocked his head. “Thought you had a big client yesterday. That CEO guy or something?”

“I did, yes. And didn’t you have that one freckled boy as your client yesterday? I’m surprised he managed to muster up the gil to afford you, Gladio.”

Gladiolus scoffed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, he seemed desperate and cute. Gave him a discount in exchange for taking a few pictures of my good side. You know, for ‘business.’”

“Your ego strikes once again, it seems.” Ignis glanced aside as he took another sip of his coffee. Gladiolus was most likely expecting some sort of elaborate tale of spoils from the night before, but spoils wouldn’t be something to describe it as.

The night was solemn – not full of the excitement that Gladiolus was hoping for. The silver-haired man did not demand sex, nor did he force Ignis to do anything he didn’t wish to do. True to his promise, he paid Ignis regardless of what had happened that night: five-hundred thousand gil left on the bedside by the eve’s end. A relatively easy payment for the two merely spent a quiet evening together doing such mundane activities – lying in bed as Ignis and the other man embraced, suggesting for room service to bring them a sweet dessert when the silence became too unbearable. The most risqué activity they did was take a bath together, which Ignis prompted to propose the sex that he was hired for. But alas, Ignis could not bring himself to seduce him. Seeing those blue eyes so full of melancholy felt as if the demons were staring into Ignis’s soul, pulling him into the feeling until Ignis desired nothing more than for the torment to vanish.

Ignis couldn’t help but recall the man’s words as he closed his eyes in thought. He too hoped that the man wouldn’t have to feel such emptiness in his life, but it seemed like he was too late to wish for such.

“You gonna tell me what happened last night, Iggy? It’s not like you have a ‘never kiss and tell’ policy anyways.”

“Really? When we’re supposed to be working right now?”

“Nobody’s looking for coffee right now, so we don’t need to be their baristas yet.”

Ignis chuckled and shook his head. He made a good point, he supposed. It was rather slow today at the coffee shop. He eventually opened his eyes towards the ground, a sigh pushing from his nostrils as he set his coffee cup aside. He took a beat before he rested against the counter on his arms. “Have you ever met someone that you knew was broken?”

Gladiolus arched an eyebrow. “Like, a broken limb or something? Yeah, I guess. If you count Noct breaking his tailbone that one time.”

“I don’t mean that,” Ignis replied. “By broken, I mean that when you investigate their eyes, you can see their sorrow, their pain. As if the only thing keeping them together was any sort of sign that they still exist. Some way, somehow.” He looked back up to Gladiolus. “A person so broken that you can see the void in them staring back at you?”

“That’s… An intense way to describe someone. Must have gotten a weird guy last night.” Gladiolus turned serious as he faced Ignis, palm flat on the counter as a stern expression spread over his scarred face. “Did he do anything bad to you last night? If we gotta tell Cor about this, then- “

“No, Gladio. He didn’t do anything that I didn’t want to do. In fact, we didn’t even have sex.”

Gladiolus gawked. “Seriously? He paid you to not bang his brains out? Easiest gil of your life then.”

“Yes… I suppose it was.” He watched as Gladiolus turned away to tidy up the counters again. It would have been the easiest gil Ignis had ever earned… Had he taken the money, that is. The night continued. As the older man was lulled to rest, Ignis couldn’t bring himself to take the money before he left. It taunted him, yes, but Ignis refrained. Something about taking the money didn’t feel right. He was hired for sex, so failing to have sex meant that the money wasn’t his to take. Right?

Ignis released another sigh before he pushed himself up from his place. Just in time to hear the shop’s bell ring, Ignis had to shake himself from his thoughts. In the end, it was just another day for his job. Life would move on, and the sorrowful man would move along with his life as well. They were just two strangers, searching for a way to defeat the darkness in their hearts. He just hoped that Ravus was able to beat such a darkness…

He readied his breath to recite his greeting to the customer, and yet his words locked in his throat as he marveled at the man before the counter. A familiar stature dawning a white and violet suit with familiar heterochromatic eyes peering back with the same surprise that Ignis had. The silence settled between the two, only the faint chiming of ceramics echoing around them as Gladiolus worked nearby. It wasn’t until the customer cleared his throat, bowing his head for a moment before recollecting himself enough to muster the courage to break the silence.

“I suppose Izunia was right. Coffee brewing was one of your many talents, it seems…”

Not exactly what Ignis was expecting as a greeting, but he honestly found it humbling enough to provoke a quite laugh from the barista. “Well, I do try to market myself as accurately as possible.”

“So it seems…”

The silence returned once again.

“I… Was not expecting to see you here, in all honesty.” Ravus glanced towards Gladiolus for a split second before dropping the volume of his voice for Ignis to hear. “I believe you forgot your compensation for last night’s endeavors.”

Ignis’s gaze faltered and wandered to the counter. “I don’t forget anything, actually. Since I didn’t have sex with you last night, I wouldn’t have been able to accept your gil regardless. My services are selective, after all, and you asked for things that I normally don’t charge for.”

“I see,” Ravus mused. He trailed off in his tone with the hushed atmosphere following. Ravus took a moment to ponder his thoughts before he looked to Ignis once again. “Allow me to thank you then.”

“For what?”

“For not allowing the void to consume me once and for all.” Ignis froze at Ravus’s words, green eyes meeting the blue gaze. He noticed just how soft his eyes were. And though just as weary as the night before, there was something different in the way that the man looked at his perfect stranger. “With the recent events occurring all at once, I found it… Unbearable. I had hoped that my last night would allow me the chance to numb the pain, so I would not have to feel it in the end. But meeting you… It showed me that perhaps there was still light out there willing illuminate a path from the darkness I found myself consumed in. It gave me the will to wake up another day – for knowing there was a soul as considerate and as patient as you meant that I still had a task to fulfill.”

Ignis could feel his chest tighten at Ravus’s words. Even when trying to be optimistic, the other man’s words were dismal. Consumed by darkness. Finding it ‘unbearable,’ and wanting to ‘numb the pain…’ What was Ravus’s true intention for hiring Ignis last night? Ignis seemed to slowly understand what Ravus was saying in his cryptic, poetic words. Last night would have been Ravus’s last day on Earth, had it not been for Ignis. He had no idea of Ravus’s mysterious behavior, but it seemed to make sense when Ignis had observed Ravus last night. It wasn’t just a broken man that Ignis had seen – it was a man who lost his will to live.

And were it not for Ignis remaining there to pick up the pieces, perhaps Ravus would not be standing there before him.

Perhaps Ignis would not have been able to gaze into the soft blue eyes as they filled with light.

Perhaps Ignis would not have been able to see the gentle smile that played over Ravus’s lips.

“Thank you, Ignis. Thank you for being my light in this void.”

19 notes · View notes

dancerwrites · 7 years

Text

A Deep Breath and Steady Hands - Chapter 3

Summary: When his family is killed by visitors to Whitestone and Julius is the only one to escape their clutches, he loses his faith and seeks justice on his own power. But fate seems to have a different idea, when he ends up in the path of a certain group of mercenaries and he finds something he’s been missing. Rating: Teen and up Words to date: 7135

[read from the beginning on AO3] {read from the beginning on tumblr}

Up on Saturday instead of Friday because I've had a really crazy week despite it seeming, at the beginning of the week, like it was going to be normal. Tips for life: Don't sign up for three things in a row, and don't forget to get good sleep.

Still, the week is finished, and I did hardcore editing on this chapter (#proudofmyself), and so I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you think. <3

Chapter Summary: Julius gets swept up into some interesting company. I've come too far (to see the end now) Chapter title from "Nothing Left to Say/Rocks", by Imagine Dragons, which has become my theme song for Julius in the past few weeks.

Chapter 3: I’ve Come Too Far

It was later that evening, when they’d received their evening meal and each turned away to eat, that Julius’ mind turned back to his predicament. Stonefell had been gone thirteen days by Juilius’ count – just over the time it would take for him to get to Whitestone and back with a horse or carriage – so where was he?

There was also the question of whether he had gone to inform the Briarwoods of Julius’ attempted assassination or not. Julius had assumed so, and while it was true that he hadn’t seen the man in years and didn’t know what Stonefell’s exact connection with the couple was, by the man’s own words he was still privy to some part of their current agenda. And while Julius had no idea what utility Whitstone posed to the Briarwoods other than the export of the city’s namesake rock, Stonefell had mentioned “plans” in the present tense, which was concerning.

Julius didn’t want to think about what the Briarwoods could still be doing to Whitestone, to his home, to the people…

He pulled up a mental image of the town square, where the Sun Tree rose over the smooth cobblestones, and imagined a steady rainstorm falling over the town, the sky black and the people conspicuously absent. In his mind’s eye, the castle on the hill that overlooked the ground had fallen, only moss-covered grey stones in its place.

Shuddering at the thought, Julius turned his mind back to the present, back to Stonefell. A real, concrete question that would hopefully be answered soon enough.

On one hand, the man might have decided it was easier to leave Julius to rot in a cell in Jorenn Village than deal with the hassle of getting the Briarwoods involved. On the other hand, he might have had business to attend to in the town (or even in other cities) before returning to Whitestone, in which case it could take anywhere from a couple weeks to over a month for Julius to know what was in store for him.

And even then, Julius reminded himself, Stonefell could take even longer to return, wanting to keep Julius on edge. Stonefell had never been the smartest, but he knew how to get under someone’s skin, and Julius was already feeling the need to spar, to run, to do something, pulling at him. Julius might never have been as anxious as Percy, nor as concerned about what others thought as Cassandra, but preparation for leadership of Whitestone had alerted him to the fickleness of people’s minds and attitudes.

He’d never needed to worry about what others would do when he was younger and the stakes were no higher than “I’m going to tell Mother”. Now, however, with such a sensitive matter, so close to home, he couldn’t help the anxiety that rose up at the thought of his future.

His whole family had been helpless, slaughtered by the Briarwoods and their associates. Even if his family name carried little weight now, he wanted to avenge the deaths of those who had been killed with no chance to fight back.

A dark, budding anger pulsed in Julius’ chest, and he felt a short spike of nausea as it made itself known, remembering the vision of black smoke that had come to him nearly two years prior, whispering that it would make it possible for Julius to get the retribution he desired.

Julius put little stock in the gods and even less in formless entities that appeared in his dreams – he had made it this far in his life through his own work, and he’d make it farther still, assuming he wasn’t locked in a dank cell for the rest of his days. But that didn’t mean that a small part of him wasn’t worried about the shadow’s meaning or intent.

He wasn’t stupid – he knew that there were entities stronger than himself out there. Devils and demons roamed different planes of existence, and the gods held their own sort of sway, even if they never took a vested interest in what happened on the material plane. There were even mortals who had ascended to god-like power through their own or others’ means.

Julius knew that something strange had occurred two years before, be it a dream, apparition, or hallucination. But until it came back as more than a memory, a whisper of vengeance recalled at moments of stress or fear, Julius decided not to give it thought.

As Julius set aside his empty plate and drained the rest of the water he’d been given, he realized Keyleth had gone very quiet. He’d grown used to her seemingly endless comments over the course of the day and for her to not speak through their whole meal was concerning.

Looking up, he saw she had barely touched the food on her plate – a bite was taken out of the biscuit, and a bit of the cheese had been broken off, but the roasted chicken leg was still there, undisturbed. Lifting his eyes to her face he noted that she was staring off into the flame of one of the torches, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Just as he was considering whether to ask her about it or not – having younger siblings and a lover had given him rudimentary skills to deal with emotions – Keyleth murmured something that didn’t carry quite all the way across the damp prison.

“What was that?” Julius asked, rising from where he’d been sitting on his cot and approaching her.

Keyleth was quiet for a long moment, long enough for Julius to wonder if she’d heard him, but then she spoke up.

“I said, ‘I wonder if they’re even going to come’,” Keyleth murmured, wiping her eyes with the back of either hand.

She pulled her legs into her chest and held them tight. “I mean, I’m only one of seven, and Scanlan and Tiberius can do plenty of magic, and Pike is better at healing than I am. I just- they don’t need my help, so why would they come looking? We were going to head out early this afternoon after staying the night, but now it’s evening and Agnes hasn’t said anything about seeing them yet-“

“Hey, it’s alright,” Julius interrupted as her voice sped up, bordering on hysterical. “Jorenn Village might be small, but there’s plenty of places they could be looking. You said you’ve never been to jail before?”

She looked up at the question, blinking hard.

“No.”

“Well, there you have it. This might be the last place they look,” Julius pointed out. The two of them had talked more about themselves than the group Keyleth was travelling with, but he doubted they’d leave her behind, based on how fondly she spoke of them all. If they did, then they were assholes, and Julius would be more than happy to teach them each a lesson. “Give them until tomorrow, then you can worry.”

Keyleth chuckled, and Julius counted that as a win.

“Ye of little faith,” said an unfamiliar amused voice, coming out of nowhere. Julius jumped, turning toward the entrance to the cell block, and saw a hooded figure step out of the shadows.

“Vax!” Keyleth exclaimed.

“The one and only,” Vax said, throwing back the jet-black hood of his cloak with a smirk.

Revealed was a half-elven man, roughly Keyleth’s age, with long black hair falling over his shoulders, a small portion of it pulled away from his face and secured at the back of the head.

“What happened to Agnes and the other guards?” Keyleth asked as Vax swept over to her cell, hardly making a sound on the stone floor.

“Knocked out, for now,” Vax said, fiddling with the lock for only a moment before it sprung open. Julius was both impressed at the talent and mildly disappointed. Keyleth had been a strong point of light in his life – the first in a while.

A small, selfish part of him wished she could stay locked away, if only to make his final days a bit better, but he immediately tamped that down. He focused, instead, on Keyleth’s overjoyed smile as she dropped the blankets and ran out the door of her cell, throwing her arms around Vax.

Julius winced at the enthusiasm of her greeting, but Vax, to his credit, only stiffened slightly as he braced himself, then awkwardly patted Keyleth on the shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said, gently pulling her arms off his shoulders. “The others are waiting outside. If we want to be gone before the alarm sounds, we need to move.”

“But-“

Keyleth turned to look back at Julius, and he tried not to put too much hope in the glance she shot him. Vax seemed to be in a hurry, his eyes already fixed on their exit, his attention tuned to pick out any sound of the guards should they begin to stir.

“What is it, Keyleth?” he asked, distracted. “Yes, we got all your things, no we don’t need to stop at the inn. We’ll probably travel for a few hours tonight, then pick up as early as we can tomorrow morning.”

“I was wondering…” Keyleth trailed off, pulling back from Vax and moving toward Julius’ cell. She took a deep breath and continued. “I was wondering if we could bring Julius with us.”

“Who’s Julius?” Vax asked, glancing back over his shoulder. “Wait, him?”

Julius wasn’t sure whether or not he should feel offended by the scathing tone of voice, but tried not to show it. He was, of course, in a prison cell, he hadn’t bathed in several weeks, and he had the beginnings of a scruffy beard growing in.

“He was nice to me!”

“Everybody’s nice to you, Keyleth,” Vax said with a sigh.

“But he doesn’t deserve to be here!”

Vax gave her an ‘Oh really’ look at that – one that Julius knew well from years of being the oldest brother with six younger siblings. Julius didn’t blame him in the slightest, either. If Oliver or Ludwig had come to him and asked for a prisoner from the dungeons to be released because they’d “made a friend”, he wouldn’t have entertained the idea for a moment.

There was also the fact that Julius knew, by law, that he certainly did deserve to be locked away. While he had a reason for what he did, that didn’t mean attempting to kill a man wasn’t meriting of some punishment.

“Keyleth,” he began, at the same time as Vax, who shot Julius a look that had him shutting his mouth.

“Keyleth,” Vax repeated, in a tone of voice that was trying (and failing) to not sound condescending, “He’s been locked up by the authorities. Do you even know what for?”

“Disturbing the peace,” Keyleth said without hesitation, just as Julius opened his mouth to say “Attempted Murder”.

He closed his mouth once again.

Vax rolled his eyes. “And what did he do to disturb the peace? Did you talk about that?”

“He tried to kill a man and failed,” she said, also without hesitation.

Julius saw the moment that Vax realized just what she’d said, and Julius wanted to drop his face into his hands at her unabashed statement. She meant well, but…

“Keyleth-“

“The man had hurt his family, Vax,” Keyleth argued. “We just killed a cult leader and his steed so we could help our friend!”

“That’s different-“

“And we actually succeeded!” Keyleth continued, her voice rising to a slightly higher pitch. “Whereas Julius failed.”

“Thanks, Keyleth,” Julius muttered, though he felt like he couldn’t exactly be angry with her for trying to get him rescued.

Vax’s lips pressed into a narrow frown, and he looked over to Julius, who was still standing just behind the bars to his cell. Julius did his best to look unassuming, but stood tall under the half-elf’s hard stare, waiting for judgement.

“I suppose we can let him out,” Vax conceded, removing his lock picks from inside his cloak. “But I can’t promise he’ll be coming with us.”

“But Vax-“

“We’re only two out of seven, Keyleth. That’s not our decision.”

“Okay,” Keyleth replied sullenly, rolling her eyes.

Julius couldn’t figure out just what had changed in Vax’s opinion of him, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Vax unlocked Julius’ cell with the same speed and finesse he had Keyleth’s, and Julius pushed open the door, remembering the last time he’d been released from imprisonment. He was grateful that Vax’s facial features and grave manner distinguished him from Cassandra, though the two of them wielded lock picks with the same intensity.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to Vax as he approached him. “But will the guards be waking soon?”

“They should be,” Vax confirmed, still keeping a careful eye on Julius, even as he turned. “Come on, Keyleth, let’s go.”

The two of them started down the hall, and Julius kept close behind them. His fingers twitched, wanting his sword, but he didn’t want to startle them by calling Aetherius to his hand without good reason.

They came to the front room, where the guards had obviously been knocked out at their posts, and Julius turned, going for the room he reasoned had his personal effects stored inside.

“What are you doing?” Vax hissed at him with a sharp glare. “We need to go!”

“I’m only grabbing my things.”

Julius ducked into the room and glanced around, noticing a box helpfully labelled “Prisoners’ Possessions”. Inside he found his bag and coin pouch (which, miraculously, seemed to be undisturbed), and beneath them, Aetherius, his scimitar, safely nestled in his sheath. He strapped them to his person, then looked around and spied his thick coat and travelling cloak hanging from the same hook on the wall. He slid them on and headed out.

“About time,” Vax muttered as Julius exited the room. Julius refrained from rolling his eyes and headed to the prison’s door, where Keyleth was standing, looking anxious.

Based on Keyleth’s many and varied stories, Julius had known that the rest of Keyleth’s companions were a motley bunch, but that didn’t prepare him for the sight that entertained him on the edge of town, just off the main road.

He’d seen gnomes while travelling with his father for various diplomatic events, but never had he seen a goliath, nor a dragonborn, both of whom had to have at least a head on him. Compared to the gnomes- hells, compared to himself they were practically giants, and yet one of the gnomes – armored, with white-blonde hair – was playing noughts and crosses with the goliath in a small patch of dirt.

The other gnome, who wore an obscenely bright purple tunic, was twiddling his fingers over a shawm as if practicing notes for a song, and he looked up as they approached.

“About time!” he said, hopping up from the ground. “But who’s this?”

The other four looked up, eyes drawn to Julius as if he had a target painted on him. He noted a female half-elf, who could only be Vax’s sister, already had her right hand on the arrows in her quiver, her bow subtly readied in her left. She glanced to her brother, who tilted his head slightly and gave her a look that was difficult for Julius to identify. She frowned at him, but relaxed slightly, and Julius swallowed hard, remembering Oliver and Whitney doing the same thing far too often.

“Ah, Princess!” exclaimed the dragonborn in a loud, accented voice. Julius looked at him, confused, but the red draconic figure was looking past him, toward Keyleth. “I have been holding onto your staff as we awaited your safe return, and I am happy to see you safely free at last! Ah, here- here you go.”

The dragonborn hurried over to them, nearly tripping over the long hem of his robes as he held out a long staff of gnarled wood as if it were an offering to the half-elf.

“Um, thanks, Tiberius,” Keyleth said, a genuine smile on her face. “But I have told you not to call me Princess.”

“Of course, Keyleth,” Tiberius said, bowing his head to her. “Though-“

“Sorry to interrupt, Tiberius,” Vax interjected, “but we really should be heading out, since the guards should be waking up soon and-“

He was cut off by the ringing of the town bell, the loud tolls echoing through the village streets.

“And doing that,” he finished hurriedly. “Anyway. Julius, this is everyone; everyone, this is Julius. He’ll be running with us for a little while, so let’s go.”

Vax ran between the rest of them and straight into the forest, quickly followed by his sister. The goliath scooped up the two gnomes and took off after them, his speed making up for his lack of stealth.

“Poppycock,” Tiberius grumbled, seeming flustered, but he simplycast a spell that allowed him to soar up over the trees and away. Keyleth pulled Julius forward by the hand as they sprinted into the trees, disappearing into the dense forest just as the last peals of the bells died away.

8 notes · View notes