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ronans-sepiaphotograph · 3 years

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Sunflower, Vol. 6

(A Jerejean AU)

Part one.

Part two:

Tired eyes are the death of me

Mouthful of toothpaste before I got to know you

I've got your face hung up high in the gallery

I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower

Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody

This wonderful edit is by @91percentpynch which inspired me to start writing this AU. I adore her and Jean Moreau is the love of our life and the light of our existence and the moon of our sky.

The next time Jean stepped foot inside Knox florists was one month later because he couldn't get Jeremy the shop out of his head. There were hazel eyes and cymbidiums, yellow blonde hair and chrysanthemums and Jeremy and his bright smile.

Jean never wanted anything before. Want meant making yourself vulnerable, stripping down your walls. It had only led him to pain and hurt, blood and tears. But there it was again, this overwhelming ache, this annoying brightness that made Jean want.

The shop was empty except for Garfield sniffing a pot of hydrangeas as Jean was about to open the door, Luna bouncing beside him already.

The bell chimed and a second later, Jeremy's head popped up from behind the counter. He still had his stupid smile on his face that made Jean's heart stutter in his chest. And there were leaves and rose petals stuck in his flowy blonde hair. He waved enthusiastically at Jeremy and Jean smiled a small smile.

"hello" "hi" "how are you, Jean Moreau?"

Jeremy's French was so terribly Jean sighed.

"Jeremy your French is terrible" "I know but it makes you smile so it's win"

Jean didn't know whether to fling himself out of this world or to press his lips on Jeremy's.

"perhaps you can teach me. I can pronounce croissant" "oh mon dieu no" "or avant garde" "stop" "or crème brulée" "no Jeremy-"

Jeremy was staring at him, his smile wider than ever which just made Jean wonder whether he did something.

"did I something?" "You're laughing" "I can laugh" "it's the first time you've laughed that I've heard"

They were both blushing. Jean literally sighed and buried his head in his arms on the table. Jeremy laughed and Jean wanted to tattoo his laugh on his heart even if that made no remote sense.

"if it's okay I'm gonna sit here and sketch" "can I see?" "Maybe later?" "Okay"

He did. The studio was closed today as Aaron had gone home to visit his boyfriend and twin brother. And Jean got terribly bored at the studio alone. And he remembered he had Jeremy's card. So, he was back. He had been busy for a month with a lot of commissions so he had been talking to Jeremy via text. It was quite fun as Jeremy was just as bright when he texted.

He pulled out his sketchbook. There were all sorts of things that he'd sketched. Flowers and vines, hands and eyes, animals and birds. He had tattooed a few even. He looked around but his eyes landed only on Jeremy who stuck out like a sore thumb against the sea of plants.

He gave in and started putting Jeremy on paper. The mess of his blonde hair, wavy and long. His large eyes and pointy nose that dipped at the right angle. The curve of his cupid's bow and the freckles on his face, dusted across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

It was slow and delicate, the scratch of graphite against the paper because art came slow and eventual, like rainfall on a sunny day.

Jeremy was not short, just that Jean was taller by a few inches. He was tall and angular and had muscular arms and beautiful hands with nerves jutting out when he flexed his hands. His nails were almost always painted a bright yellow.

Jeremy came alive on Jean's sketchbook and the Jean took out his pencils to fill in the colour. He spent a good minutes trying match the colour of Jeremy's skin until he was fed up and went with the closest shade.

When he looked up, Jeremy was tending to a rather large bouquet of tulips and roses as he chatted with his customer. The hope blooming in Jean's chest wilted he saw Jeremy blush while talking to the woman.

Jean vented out his frustration by aggressively scribbling his pencil until the tip broke with a crack. He didn't even know why he was angry at this, this mess of feelings that had bloomed in his chest.

And why would Jeremy even like him? He was too broken, there were too many sharp yet delicate pieces of him that he himself couldn't keep a count of yet he was trying to piece them together, one by one. Why would Jeremy pick those up and cradle them when he could have someone who'd give him all he wanted. Jean had survived, barely and he didn't know how to live. Live in the way life was supposed to be lived in.

Jeremy noticed him and sat beside him after he handed the woman her bouquet. Jean didn't say anything but continues to colour his sketch as he felt Jeremy's eyes linger on him.

"Jean?" "Yes?" "Is that me?"

Jean didn't say anything but responded by slamming his sketchbook shut and gathering his pencils. Jeremy flinched beside him. He got up, eyes burning as he grabbed Luna's leash and walked to leave. She tilted her head in question but followed him nonetheless.

Be still my unsteady heart, he angrily reminded himself as he prepared to storm out.

Then they were, Jeremy's fingers closed around his wrist that made his heart hammer louder than ever that it was ringing in his own ears.

"don't go please"; the broken edges of Jeremy's whisper that told him to turn around.

"did I do something wrong?" "No" "then?" "It hurts" "what does?" "Everything?" "Okay" "you" "me?" "You hurt me"

The silence began to eat him slowly, creeping up from the ground. When he looked at Jeremy, his eyes had darkened to a stormy hazel and his frown was there, underlying. He loosened his grip on Jean's and stepped backward but Jean caught his hand again.

"I've never felt this way about anyone. But you are making me feel these, these emotions that made hope blooms until your girlfriend came here" "I don't have a girlfriend?" "The lady who came in earlier" "oh, she was my sister. She asked me- whether- whether you were my boyfriend" "oh"

There was Jeremy, blushing again, slowly lacing their fingers together; carefully, elegantly, slowly as if giving Jean time to pull away but their fingers tangled and oh, oh, oh, Jeremy was so warm and Jean was so cold. Because Jeremy was alive and warm and his heartbeat was faint staccato under Jean's fingers and Jean was cold and learning to live and his heart was a thawing piece of frozen flesh.

"well" "I'm sorry" "don't be, please. Would you like to have lunch with me?" "Okay" "do you like tacos?" "I suppose"

Jeremy laughed brightly as Jean let go and sat back down. Jeremy called a place and ordered food and came back to sit beside him.

"can I see the sketch?" "Yes"

Jean pulled out his sketchbook and showed the sketch to Jeremy. Jeremy's fingers were feather light on the paper as they grazed his own features, delicate and beautiful. When Jeremy looked back at him, his eyes were bright and twinkling and full of admiration for Jean.

He looked with such ferocity that for the first time Jean felt seen. He felt vulnerable and fragile and felt like Jeremy would break him the way he wanted to be broken, just to be healed again.

His smile was gentle and persistent, it made Jean's heart flutter again. And he was suddenly leaning closer towards Jeremy, closer and closer until their breaths mingled.

"I fear you'll burn me" "what?" "You're so bright like the sun I feel like you'll incinerate this very second until all that remains is nothing yet, yet I can't help but be drawn to you" "oh"

And Jean watched as Jeremy's fingers inched towards his face, slow so as to give Jean to pull away but Jean didn't, he wouldn't. And Jean's skin was on fire as Jeremy's fingers grazed his cheeks, traced the tattoo of the moon that has risen there and the trail of little stars that began at his cheek and cascade down like a starry waterfall down his neck and onto his back and into nothingness.

Jean's inhaled sharply as Jeremy breathed as he traced his finger delicately across Jean's face as if he was made of glass and too much pressure and Jean would crack.

Jean was toughened like a diamond or a rock and nothing could break him anymore but Jeremy. Jeremy made him feel like he was a delicate little thing, a bud, a blossom blooming on a dewy morning.

Jean moved and Jeremy's face was under his hands as the pupils of Jeremy's eyes widened. He rubbed his calloused thumbs across Jeremy's cheeks and Jeremy closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, they were twinkling like stars.

"Hazel mixed with green" "huh?" "The colour of your eyes when you stand under the sun and the rays hit them perfectly"

Jeremy laughed and Jean leaned forward and looked at Jeremy. There was no hesitation, none at all. Jean let his feelings wash him over, trample him over and he had surrendered in this want. He pressed his lips against Jeremy's and they were soft, and warm against Jean's chapped and cold ones. And Jeremy's hands were gentle in his hair, carding through it.

When they pulled away, the unsteadiness in Jean's heart had calmed down as he looked at Jeremy. There was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks that clashed with his freckles and there was that lopsided smile that was different from his usual ones. Jean thought that this one might be special.

"I have nothing to give to you, Jeremy Knox. Except me" "and I'll try to give you everything you want" "I'm broken and there's too many pieces" "then let me pick them up with you, for you" "I fear you'll break me. I fear you'll break me and help me heal when I'm too shattered" "I'll try to make you feel less broken"

Jeremy didn't assure him that he'll make Jean whole. Jean supposed Jeremy knew that feeling whole was just bullshit. It was false hope and fake words for those who were afraid of the truth.

Jean pulled up his sleeves, to reveal his scars and tattoos and Jeremy was staring wide-eyed at him. Jeremy's fingers hovered around his arms and Jean whispered a quiet yes and Jeremy grazed his fingers against his scars, the flowers and vines tattooed around them and the sunflower on his forearm. Jeremy smiled at him through glassy eyes. Jeremy moved his fingers, slender and long and graceful against Jean's skin, like an artist mixing colours on a pallet, careful and methodical.

"you gave me the sunflower, Jeremy Knox" "I remember" "this one will never wilt" "I'll give you a million sunflowers more if you want"

Jean smiled, it was not as bright as Jeremy's but it'd do and pressed his lips against Jeremy's once more.

It felt a lot like blooming.

#all for the game #aftg #nora sakavic #jean moreau #jeremy knox #aaron minyard #kevin day #artist jean #florist jeremy #kevaaron #jerejean #usc trojans #psu foxes #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #pratt posts

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theladyofdeath · 5 years

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Lovely {ACOTAR, ch 5}

written alongside the lovely and talented @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty . Look for chapter 6 coming soon. :) for previous chapters, click the link: Lovely

The clock chimed noon as Elain pushed open the door of Azriel’s tattoo parlor. He was sitting behind his desk, sketching a piece for a customer as he looked up and met her smile with one of his own.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boyfriend,” Elain beamed, holding up a paper bag from the taco food truck down the street. “I brought you lunch.”

“You’re too kind to me,” he said, sitting up off his stool to meet her lips with a soft kiss.

“Nah,” she breathed, coming around to perch on his knee. “I just noticed I hadn’t seen your truck leave yet, and if Rayna isn’t working I know that you,” she pressed a kiss to his nose, “weren’t going to eat lunch.”

He caught her lips with his and traced the seam with his tongue. She allowed him entrance and after a minute, when his hand glided up bare thigh, skimming under her dress, Elain broke the kiss and giggled. Azriel growled slightly, but began to pull his food out of the bag. Carne Asada tacos, with no cilantro. Exactly how he liked it. As he took a bite, Elain made her way over to the mini fridge in the corner and grabbed two water bottles. He opened his and took a drink. “Did you close the shop?”

She shook her head and pulled her own lunch out of the bag. He pulled her back onto his lap. “My assistant designer can handle it while I have lunch.” She took a bite and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

It had been a week since Azriel has asked Elain to be his girlfriend. A week of surprise visits and coffee dates and the happiest that Elain had ever felt. But they still hadn’t had sex.

It was partially Elain’s fault. He had been ready and willing the night she’d made him dinner, but she made him wait. And now, she was making herself wait and she thought it might cause her to combust.

“What’s this one?” She asked, turning the tablet towards her. She saw intricate lace work, the tiniest details in each eyelet. A bow at the top. And all along the edge...flowers. Tons and tons of flowers.

“It’s for one of the girls who work at Rita’s. She’s one of the bartenders. Mor sent her to me.” He took another swig from his water bottle.

Elain gnawed on her lip. “When you’re done with that one, can you show me your flower pieces you’ve done?”

Without a word, he saved his design, closed the app and opened his archives sketch book. He handed her the pen, allowing her to look to her heart’s content.

“Wow,” she breathed, going through sketch after sketch. “Az, these are beautiful.”

They were flawless, each sketch done with the same amount of love and adoration from the artist. She stopped on a black and white sketch of peonies. The flowers surrounded a pocket watch strung by pearls.

“Have you done this one on anybody?” Elain asked.

Azriel shook his head. “That one is waiting for the perfect person.”

Elain looked up at her boyfriend, brow raised. “Are you dropping a hint?”

Azriel’s small smile told her all she needed to know. But, he gave her a shrug and finished the last half of his taco in one big bite. He washed it down and she handed him back the pen. He opened his sketch again and began shading. He glanced up at her. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She was taking a bite of her quesadilla, covering her mouth as she chewed. She finally shook her head and said, “I don’t think so, why?”

“I’ll have Asher tonight, but I was wondering if you’d want to come over for dinner. My turn to cook for you.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I’ll be by at six, then,” she promised, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“We’ll be waiting,” he smiled, watching her repack her few belongings.

“I’ll see you later,” she said and bent to kiss him. The second their lips touched, he stood to his full height, wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her until she was perched on the edge of his desk. He hooked a hand under her knee and the same hand from before skimmed up her thigh. He pulled back a fraction, his lips still skimming hers. “I can’t wait.”

He sat back down in his chair and watched as she closed her eyes and physically fought to control herself.

When she opened her eyes, he was smirking at her.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice low.

Every piece of her shook from within.

She picked her bags up and turned to go, but he caught her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll see you after work.”

She smiled as he let go and made her way to the door. She looked back at him before she opened it and breathed, “Bye.” With that, she slipped out the door and made her way across the street to her own shop.

As she came back in, Claire was helping a couple finish up an arrangement and she gave Elain a smile and a small wave before returning her attention to the couple.

She made her way into her office but before she could even sit in her chair, her phone was buzzing in her pocket.

“Hello?” she answered, pulling it out of the pocket of her polka-dotted dress.

“Busy tonight?” Lucien asked, sounding out of breath.

Elain blinked. “Yeah, going to Azriel’s. Why?”

“Oh, I see,” he said, in between pants. “You get a boyfriend then your best friend is old news.”

Elain chuckled, but she had to ask, “Please tell me you��re not…in bed with someone right now?”

Lucien laughed. “No, I’m not. I’m at the gym, jogging on the treadmill, but thank you. I see where your mind is at this afternoon.”

He wasn’t wrong, she could still feel Azriel’s hands snaking up her thighs, burning against her skin.

When she didn’t answer, Lucien asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me? Did it happen?” “No,” she replied, quickly. “But...I want it to.”

“You don’t sound like you want it to,” Lucien pushed, gently.

Elain took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she fell back into her desk chair. “I haven’t been with anyone since Greyson, and that was three years ago. It’s a big step, that’s all. And I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” Lucien said, catching his breath. He must have slowed down to a walk. “It’s not like he won’t like you any less if you want to wait. Even if you never get to that point with him, he’s crazy about you.”

Elain nodded and then remembered she was on the phone and had to physically respond. “You’re right, I know that. But I really do want him. There’s just a...pull there. I can’t explain it. I’m drawn to him.”

“Well, be safe,” he said, and it wasn’t judgemental. “Are we still on for brunch Sunday morning?”

“Of course,” she said, turning in her chair to log into her computer. “I’ll talk to you later, I just came back from lunch. Gotta let Claire take hers.”

“Such a good boss,” he teased, but she heard familiar laughter in his voice. “Have fun tonight, Lainy.”

“You too, Luce,” she said, smiling fondly as she hung up the phone.

~~~

The halls were nearly empty after the final bell as Nesta walked toward the performance hall. Cassian had texted her during their final period to meet him there after school, but she didn’t quite make it.

Before she could make it to the hall itself, a strong, calloused hand pulled her into the supply closet, shutting the door behind them.

Cassian grinned in the dim light before pressing his mouth lightly to hers. “Hi.”

“Cass,” she breathed, her hands immediately gripping his shirt as their bodies were pressed together. His lips found her neck and she tightened her grip. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to fuck my girlfriend in the janitor's closet,” he said, lifting her so her legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

No one knew they were a couple. None of their coworkers, their students, and shockingly enough, their families. It’s not that they didn’t trust anyone, they were just enjoying having their own little secret.

Without another word, their lips had found another again. Nesta would never get over this feeling, the feeling of absolute safety and pleasure she got from being in this man’s arms.

After setting her feet on the floor for only a few seconds, her panties were unceremoniously dropped from under her skirt and Cassian undid his pants and was sliding his member against her wetness. He picked her back up, pushing into her in one fluid motion and capturing her lips with his own, stifling a moan that threatened to tear from her. He set a relentless pace, bottles and mops rattling off of the shelves beside Nesta’s body.

She could honestly say that a janitor’s closet was one place she had never had sex, and the thought was almost amusing. But when Nesta opened her eyes to find Cassian watching her with that damned predatory gaze, there was nothing funny about it.

Her lips crashed into his as the grip she had on his shirt tightened.

She felt light, like she was floating on air. Peaceful. Happy. Complete.

He paused and she was about to whine — literally whine — when she heard what he had somehow picked up first: the chatter of voices from outside the door, heading towards the performance hall.

“Shit,” they said, almost in unison, and they laughed lightly, while Cassian put her down and zipped himself back up into his jeans. Nesta began trying to smooth her hair down and brush down her skirt.

“Where’s my thong?” She whispered, frantically looking down in the muddy light from the dusty, hanging bulb.

He held the scrap of blue lace on one finger. “You mean these?” She went to grab them, but he snatched them back and stuck them in his pocket. When she began to protest, he pressed his lips against hers. “Come over tonight and you’ll get them back.”

“Cassian,” she warned, stomping her foot lightly.

“Was that a temper tantrum?” He smirked, brushing a curl back from her face. “Wait about a minute before you leave. I’ll be home at five-thirty.”

He gave her one last bruising kiss on her lips and without another word, he was gone.

She sighed and picked up the bottles they had knocked off. When she determined it had been long enough, she cracked open the door, checked that the coast was clear, and made her way back to her studio.

The only thing she could focus on was how slick she was between her legs as she walked. She had her back to the door and was pulling her purse out of her desk, when she heard a knock at the door.

She turned and quickly sat in her open desk chair as she said, “Dad. Hi. What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be back in town until the end of the month.”

“Wanted to come see my daughter at her dream job,” he smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

You wouldn’t be if you knew what I was doing in the closet ten minutes ago.

“Thanks, dad,” she said, giving him a side hug.

Things had not always been so good between Nesta and her father. Now, he was often out of town on business. He didn’t see his girls as much, which had actually improved Isaac and Nesta’s relationship.

“So, what do you think?” She asked, gesturing to the room around her. “Same as you remember?”

“It is,” he said, “Although I really like what you’ve done with the place.”

Nesta just opened her mouth to reply when Cassian’s voice came floating from beyond the doorway.

“Oh, Nes, could you also-.” He froze when he entered the doorway, catching sight of Nesta’s father.

The words fell out of Nesta’s mouth. “This is Mr. Nazari. He’s a music teacher here.”

Cassian’s surprised expression eased into something far more relaxed as he reached out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” her father smiled.

Nesta began to cough as their hands touched. From where she was standing, she could see the blue lace of her panties peeking out of his back pocket.

She tried to direct her father’s attention towards her, hoping to catch Cassian’s eye as well. “Dad, have you talked to Elain yet? I’m sure she’d be excited to see you back home so early.”

He walked over to the window as he answered and Nesta tried to get Cassian to look at her. “I spoke to her on my way into town. I wanted to surprise you and Feyre.”

Cassian was looking at Nesta like she was insane as she tried to get him to understand that her underwear were sticking out of his back pocket. She was about to walk over to him when her father turned around. “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me, Nesta. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her eyes went wide. “I would, Dad, but I’ve already got dinner plans.”

Cassian had started to awkwardly back out of the room. “Nah, Nes, I’m sure they’d understand. You should have dinner with your father.”

He turned and as he left, Mr. Archeron said, “Son, you got something falling out of your back pocket.” Cassian froze with his hand on the door frame. “I imagine that young lady will be wanting those back.”

He was rubbing the back of his neck as he turned back around, a lazy grin on his mouth. “Yeah...I should go do that. It was...nice meeting you, sir. Miss Archeron.” he dipped his head before hurrying into the hallway.

“Womanizer,” her father mumbled.

Nesta had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “Well, I suppose I can reschedule my plans if it's important to you.”

He shook his head. “No, sweetheart, I’ll just see you this weekend. Go out. Have fun. You’re only young once.” He gave her a quick hug before leaving out the same door Cassian had just a few minutes before.

One more time, Nesta fell into her chair, but this time, she ran her hands down her face and sighed, which bubbled into riotous laughter. She sent Cassian a text letting him know she’d be over at five-thirty.

~~~

Feyre glanced at her phone for the hundredth time, waiting to see if Rhys had left his apartment yet. She had already ordered a pizza and, according to the tracker on her phone, it was coming to her door in thirty minutes or less.

She had looked at herself in the mirror every five minutes. She didn’t want to look like she wasn’t trying hard enough, but she also didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard for a night in.

She was wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie. Her hair was in a long braid, her makeup flawless.

She had changed her slippers twice, only to settle on a polka dotted pair of fuzzy socks.

It was nearly seven when a quick, obnoxious knock sounded on the door.

The pizza guy stood on her front porch. She stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Archeron?” He asked. She nodded and he glanced down at the receipt. “$22.17.”

She quickly handed him three ten-dollar bills and told him to keep the change. As he strode down her porch steps and headed to his car, Feyre’s phone chimed.

Leaving now. Be there in 5. Need me to bring anything?

She smiled as she responded.

Pizza is already here, so all I’m missing are you and the drinks. You got that under control, bartender?

His reply was nearly instantaneous.

Pretty sure I can handle that.

“Look at you, smiling at your phone. Must be Rhys.”

His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, immediately putting her on edge. It was also slurred.

He was right next to her on the porch, somehow getting up the stairs without her notice.

His green eyes were glazed over, his blonde hair a mess. “You used to smile at my texts like that.”

“Why are you here?” She asked. There was no bite, only exhaustion.

He frowned. “I’ve missed you, baby. I want you to come back to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Feyre shook her head. “Leave. Now. Before Rhys gets here and you’re too drunk to defend yourself.”

She could’ve sworn she watched his hackles raise. “I made a mistake, Feyre. Brannagh was-.”

“Exactly what you needed,” she finished for him. “I’m sure she’s always willing to beg and grovel and get on her knees for you.”

“I’m not with her,” he growled. “You’re the one I want to be with.” His words were starting to string together more and more. “I love you.”

“You don’t get to start this shit.” She shoved hard against his chest, surprised to see she could actually move him. Another shove. “Stop it.”

He shook his head, as if trying to clear a fog. Before she could stop him, his hands were on her face, his lips crashing into hers.

She whimpered against him, pushing so hard against his chest that he went stumbling back. He couldn’t catch himself.

Tamlin, tripping over his own feet, fell to the porch boards, eyes fluttering shut as his alcohol consumed him.

He laid there, perfectly still, breathing steadily.

Feyre wiped his scent off her lips, nausea rolling in the pit of her stomach.

He would never change.

Couldn’t change.

Tamlin had taken too much from his father, searching for happiness in all the wrong places.

“Feyre, what are you-?” Rhysand’s sultry drawl was cut short as he saw Tamlin on the ground and the tears beginning to stream down her face. Before the near silent sob was able to fall from her lips, Rhys was there, face in his hands. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, alright? I’m here.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and Feyre gripped his wrists, grounding herself to him.

“What happened?” He breathed.

She was breathless as she answered. “He snuck up on me when I was paying for the pizza. Then he begged me to take him back and when I said no, he kissed me.” She gestured to him on the ground. “When I shoved him off of me, he hit the ground and passed out.”

Rhysand pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead before letting her go and kneeling by Tamlin’s head on the ground. He checked a few places on his neck and then lifted his arm by the wrist and let it go.

It landed on the porch with a resounding thud.

“Yep, he’s out.” He looked up at her. “Want me to call the police?”

She could tell that regardless of whatever history they had, he was offering for her, not for his own gain.

She shook her head. “Help me get him inside.”

Rhysand hesitated, but nodded nonetheless. He gathered Tamlin in a not-so gentle manner before dragging him through Feyre’s door and lugging him onto the couch in the living room.

Rhys gagged. “He smells like shit, where the hell has he been?”

Feyre sighed, softly shutting the door behind them. “I don’t know. Don’t want to know.”

Rhysand’s face softened as he met her where she stood on her welcome mat. “Are you okay?”

She nodded again and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Not exactly how I saw our evening starting,” he said quietly, running a finger over the back of her hand.

She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from her. “Me either.” Her eyes widened. “Oh crap, the pizza! I left it on the porch.”

He kissed her again and said, “Pick any movie for us to watch, even a chick flick, and I’ll watch it for you. I had something in mind, but you choose.”

“My couch is kind of occupied,” she said, nibbling on her lip.

“Oh.” Rhys looked at Tamlin passed out on her couch. He glanced back at her.

“We could go up to my room instead?”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “That’s, uh- That- Yeah, that should be fine.”

Feyre raised a brow at his boyish stuttering before grabbing the pizza from the porch and leading him upstairs.

She had cleaned her room, which she hadn’t done in quite some time, just in case he came up. Now, she was grateful that she did.

Rhys looked around as he entered and smiled fondly.

There were unfinished paintings littering her room, lining all of the walls and propped against every piece of furniture. There were tapestries draped from ceiling to floor and string lights were draped on every surface, strung across the draping. It coated the room in a soft glow.

It was exactly how he’d imagined it.

She tossed the pizza onto the covers and crawled onto the bed. Rhys tried not to focus on the way her hips swayed as she moved across to the other side.

He sat down, hesitantly, on the edge.

“You don’t have to do that,” Feyre laughed.

“Do what?” He asked.

“It’s just a bed,” she said, simply, blue eyes softening. “I’m not going to try and seduce you.”

He almost told her that he wished she would, but thought better of it. He swung his legs onto her midnight blue comforter as his body began to relax.

“So,” she began, grabbing the remote and flipping through the different streaming services. “Comedy? Scary movie? A drama? Or a tv show?”

His eyebrows rose as he looked at her. “A tv show? That would require me to come back over to continue watching it. Are you sure you want to start something with that much commitment?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but tossed the remote his way and grabbed a slice of pizza. “Fine then, you choose. You said you had something in mind anyways, didn’t you?”

Rhys caught the remote before it landed on his lap and chuckled.

He flipped through the options, stopping on a murder mystery documentary.

“Really?” Feyre asked, brow raised. “That’s what your choosing for a date night?”

Rhysand grinned. “Scared?”

“No,” she stated. “Unimpressed? A little.”

“You wound me, woman,” he said, kicking his shoes off and reclining back on the bed. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Soon enough, Rhys had scooted over to Feyre’s side of the bed and his arm was thrown around her.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Feyre mumbled, voice sleepy, “but this documentary is terrible.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, and Feyre glanced up, seeing the smirk on his face. “I was just waiting for you to say so, so I could do this.”

His lips were on hers and his hand gripped her thigh.

She laughed against his mouth, her hand instantly reaching up to cup his stubbled cheek. The pizza and the documentary were instantly forgotten as her tongue gently swept along his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling away. She inclined her head downstairs. “About him. He kinda put a damper on our night.”

Rhys rolled them until he was on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. “I’m not going to say that I was planning to be a perfect gentleman tonight, but,” he breathed, kissing down her neck. “I’m not going to take you for the first time while your ex, who I just happen to hate, is passed out on your couch.”

Feyre’s breath hitched. “Tease,” she breathed.

He chuckled, low and deviously. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

But it was the truth that created the throbbing between her thighs.

As if he knew, he pressed his impressive length into her core, grinding into her. She gasped and his eyes snapped up to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dark.

He dropped his forehead to her chest and whispered, “Fuck,” before rolling off of her. Feyre sat up but didn’t say a word. She understood. If they didn’t stop, they were going to do exactly what he’d just swore, consequences and ex-boyfriends be damned.

She wanted him, though. That much was obvious. He was perfectly beautiful, perfectly kind. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at him, much less when he was on top of her, tongue slipping between her lips.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Something primal flashed in his violet eyes as they trailed from her mouth, then back up to her eyes.

They wouldn’t go all the way.

They would save that for another night.

But for tonight, Feyre would take what she could get.

——————

At five-thirty on the dot, Nesta pulled into a parking spot of the apartment complex Cassian had sent her the address to after she told him she’d be coming. She looked up the stairs, to the door marked 221. She glanced down at her outfit, at the leggings and oversized VIA hoodie she wore. He’d told her to dress comfortable, but she was worried she’d gone too far. She quickly pulled the hoodie over her head, dropping it onto the passenger seat, leaving her in nothing but a soft pink camisole. She groaned and grabbed her purse and keys, getting out of the car before she could stop herself.

She hurried up the steps and gave the door two quick knocks.

No answer.

She knocked again, but still, the door went unanswered.

She quickly dialed his number and called him, able to hear his phone ringing faintly from inside.

After the phone went to voicemail, she waited a minute before hesitantly knocking one more time.

The door swung open.

Cassian stood in nothing but a towel, wet hair dripping down his body.

“For cauldron’s sake, woman, I didn’t think you’d actually be here at five-thirty exactly.”

Nesta wasn’t listening though. Nesta was watching one droplet of water that had cascaded down over his chest, fallen into the grooves of his abs, and was now trailing into his towel along the defined V on his hips.

He grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Awfully cocky tonight, are we?”

“Last time I checked you liked my cockiness,” he winked. “Please, come in.”

With a roll of her eyes, she entered. “It smells delicious in here. Did you…actually cook something?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he said, shutting his front door. “I have many talents.”

She set her purse down on the table by the door and turned to face him. She glanced down at his towel again.

“Yeah,” he drawled and the slight blush that rose on his cheeks made him look boyishly charming, despite his nakedness. “I’ll be right back. There’s wine in the fridge.” He softly pressed a kiss to her lips and as he stepped around her, she briefly debated the idea to follow him back to his room.

But she didn’t, thanks to a ridiculous amount of self control.

She helped herself to a glass of wine and sat at his small kitchen table. She felt like that was too formal, so she made her way to the couch.

She wasn’t good at this stuff.

Sex? Yeah, that she was pretty good at. Actually being in a relationship? Eh.

She heard his footsteps coming back down the hall and she quickly crossed her leg over her knee and she kicked his coffee table.

She cried, “Ow! Fuck.”

He came around the corner and was on red alert. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay?”

He was crouched in front of her, his hand resting over hers on her ankle.

She didn’t move. Just looked at him.

She whispered, “You’ve never called me baby.”

He blinked. “Does it bother you?”

No. It didn’t bother her. It actually made her stomach flip and her heart beat faster.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” she said.

He leaned up on his knees and pressed his mouth to hers, slowly, tenderly.

“I can’t cook.”

Nesta pulled back. “What?”

“Azriel is making dinner for your sister tonight. I went to the store with him this afternoon and got all the same ingredients.”

Nesta sputtered a laugh. “So you are just a pretty face, then.”

His grin is what made her mouth find his, once more.

Baby.

She was his baby.

She pulled him on top of her on the couch and dinner was long forgotten, whether it was edible or not.

————

Elain was on the way back to the kitchen from the restroom when she spied the door left open across the hall from Azriel’s bedroom. She didn’t want to intrude, but she couldn’t stop herself from quietly pushing the door open.

The nursery was decorated in blacks and grays, just like the rest of the house, but random flashes of color kept it from being morose.

She smiled, softly, to herself.

Azriel had put so much thought into it. His love for his son was perfectly portrayed in the little nursery.

Elain admired the sketches that were framed on the wall. Azriel had drawn himself, and Asher, and one of them together.

“He doesn’t get to spend much time here, but I want him to think of this as his home.”

Elain jumped from where she’d been trailing her fingers along the railing of the black crib. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled and she could tell it was genuine. He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, dropping a kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“I’ve always wanted a big family,” Elain breathed. “Growing up with two sisters, I always knew, that’s how I wanted it to be. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Azriel was silent for a minute and Elain was about to turn in his arms to face him when his arms tightened around her waist and he said, “I’ve always wanted a big, loving family because I never had one.”

He didn’t sound sad though, just thoughtful.

Elain turned and faced him. “I have no doubt you will have that someday.”

A small smile twisted his lips. “Your kindness is overwhelming, sometimes. Do you ever get mad? Annoyed? Have you ever cursed?”

Elain laughed, forehead falling against his chest. “Oh, yes. I curse all the time. In my mind.”

He laughed then, too, and the rumble in his chest shook her body lightly. “Will you curse for me?”

She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I want to hear you swear. Say a cuss word.” There was a light in his eyes that she wouldn’t have been able to say no to if she tried.

“Fine,” she said, and took a deep breath in. “Hell.”

Azriel threw back his head in laughter. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I said it,” she said, laughing herself.

“You said a place,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “Give me a real one. And use it in a sentence.”

She gnawed on her lip, glancing down at the black ink peeking out of his v-neck shirt. She looked up at him, into his hazel eyes, as she breathed, “I want you to fuck me.”

Azriel leaned back, only slightly, his hazel eyes wide with surprise. “Was that…an example or an actual fact?”

“Both,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her. “Dinner first. Then we’ll see about the rest.”

He walked away, glancing at her over his shoulder through his dark bangs, smiling tauntingly.

Elain didn’t move for a good minute. Her cheeks began to heat, her thoughts running rapidly through her mind.

It wasn’t until Asher began to fuss that she was snapped back into reality.

She made her way back down the stairs and found Azriel holding Asher while he stirred whatever delicious smell was filling the kitchen.

She sat down at the bar across from the stove, watching him, and said, “You never told me you could cook.”

“Sort of a hobby of mine.” He was bouncing Asher on his hip.

She smiled at the sight. “What are you making me?”

“Cajun chicken pasta,” he said. “Homemade sauce.”

Elain rested her chin on her hands. “Homemade, huh?”

He chuckled, bouncing Asher as he turned to face her. “You’re going to be pleasantly surprised. Promise.”

She stood up and walked around the island, reaching out and taking Asher from him. He immediately began to coo and kick. He gripped her hair and pulled. “Ow, okay, ow.” She laughed and she worked his chubby fingers from her hair, letting him cling to her finger. He began to laugh and Elain giggled, looking down at him.

She glanced up and blushed as she found him watching her, a hip leaned against the table.

“What?” She asked, swapping Asher to her other hip.

He reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

Elain felt her cheeks heating as she arched a brow. “Is that so?”

He nodded, smiling at her newfound nervousness.

His comment from the hallway came back to her mind.

Dinner first, then we’ll see about the rest.

Elain cleared her throat, setting Asher in his high chair by the table. She opened her mouth to change the subject, but nothing came.

“Ready to eat?” He asked, grabbing two — surprise, surprise — matte black bowls from the cupboard.

“Starved,” she said, taking a long drink and emptying her wine glass.

“Good,” he glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.

He served them both, refilling Elain’s wine glass and opened a small jar of puréed carrots for Asher. The baby immediately resisted when he tried to put the spoon to his lips and Azriel sighed. “I gave him banana baby food one time and now nothing else is good enough.”

Elain laughed quietly and took a bite of her pasta. She dropped her fork back into the bowl and moaned.

When she opened her eyes, Azriel was staring at her with an intensity she’d never seen.

Elain quickly took another bite. “This is delicious.”

Azriel did nothing, didn’t move. It wasn’t until Asher began banging on his high chair table that Azriel blinked.

“Thank you,” he said, although his voice was quiet.

They ate their meal in silence, though, and as per usual, it was completely comfortable. They randomly caught each other’s eye and before long, Asher has dozed off in his high chair.

Azriel quickly finished off his food and picked Asher up. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna put him down.”

He left, leaving Elain to quickly check her breath. Although delicious, Cajun chicken pasta was not a very good meal to have before…

This was it.

It was the night.

Elain was nervous, but in a good way. A shock of thrill and affection shot through her body.

Waiting for his return felt like hours.

Finally, she heard him coming back down the stairs. She turned and looked at him as he reached the main floor. His hands were in his pockets and he looked up at her through his lashes. “Sorry, he woke back up right after I put him-.”

Elain had stood from her chair, crossed the room and crashed her lips against his, cutting him off. His arm snaked around her waist and his hand dove into her hair.

Azriel was quiet. He was respectful, and kind, and genuine. But as he kissed her, he was everything but the gentleman she had come to know. It wasn’t that he was disrespectful in any way, but he was rough. There was a need radiating through him that Elain mirrored.

Breaking apart from him in any way in that moment felt like the end of the world.

He gripped her under the thighs and lifted her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. There was no need to ask where he should take her, no need to remove his lips from hers.

When they entered his bedroom, her back did not meet plush expanse of the bed as she expected. No, he pressed her up against the wall, his hips pinning her in place as his palms pressed against the wall by her head. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth and Elain gasped lightly.

He immediately pulled back, his eyes bright with desire. His gaze left her face, after snagging on her parted lips, dragging down her neck, to her chest, and then to her spread legs wrapped around him.

A shudder shook Elain’s slim frame.

It wasn’t that this would be her first time. She had made love to men before, and she had enjoyed them plenty, but her heart had never pounded inside of her chest as it was doing at this moment.

Azriel was not like the others.

She cared for him as if she had known him her entire life.

Her desire for him was a feeling that should have been impossible, fictional, but wasn’t.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “I’m perfectly fine with going back downstairs and turning on a movie.”

Elain didn’t reply. Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck and she crashed her lips against his.

As they kissed, she worked her hands down to the hem of his shirt and lifted it. He broke the kiss and pulled it over his head. The sight of him made her mouth water.

The black ink that covered his arms continued onto his body, the swirls and whorls cascading down his chest and even onto his abdomen.

He spun them and carefully laid Elain on the bed, his lips finding her neck as he began to work the button on her jeans.

He continued his handiwork until she was bare before him.

Elain was not fond of being naked in front of a man, but he made her feel like a goddess.

She felt beautiful, invincible, ethereal.

She met his gaze as his skin, every inch of him, was pressed against her own. Azriel moved a strand of brown hair out of Elain’s eyes with steady, scarred fingers.

He pressed one, long kiss against her lips as he lifted her hips, her legs wrapping up around his waist as he pushed his length into her.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips falling open as her body tensed from the contact.

He stilled once he was inside of her, letting her adjust to his size, his lips brushing over her cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. He kissed her lips, letting his hands roam over her body.

Elain stayed still, enjoying the fullness, the feeling of him filling her, until she felt like she was burning from the inside out. Her nails dug into his back as she began to writhe beneath him, aching for friction.

Azriel took the hint and slowly began to slide out of her. The headboard hit the wall as slammed back into her in a hard thrust. Elain cried out, his mouth still pressed against hers, and she clung to him as he set an unrelenting pace.

She suddenly could remember nothing, nothing else but him. She could barely remember who she was as his mouth slid along her jawbone, down to her neck, his tongue dancing along her burning skin.

Her released barreled into her all at once, surprising her, and she threw her head back in utter ecstasy. She had the vague notion of hearing herself calling his name, but could only focus on the feel of his hips rolling into hers.

Azriel was able to hold himself together until Elain begged, “Azriel, please,” and he began to spill himself inside of her with a groan.

After a while of making love and yearning for a life of staying in bed with the man beside her, Elain couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. As she lay awake with her head against his chest, tracing the ink along his tanned skin, Elain Archeron fell in love.

#lovely #tacmc #throne of ashes and beauty #collab #fanfic #acotar #acomaaf #acowar #acofas #elriel #feysand #numbness #fanfiction

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meredith-fabray · 3 years

Text

friday vignette || mer+thea

WHO: Meredith Fabray + Thea Baker WHEN: 12/04 WHAT: Mer shows up at Thea’s classroom to start off their weekend. WARNING: roleplay scene + spanking

@devtheabaker

Meredith Fabray

The past 48 hours had been difficult to say the very least. The teasing and the edging had her mind reeling and the new title for Thea made everything that much more torturous. She had gotten dressed that morning in exactly the outfit Thea had chosen- pleated plaid skirt, white blouse, white thigh highs, a pair of saddle shoes and white cotton panties. Her make up was natural looking and soft blonde wavy curls were kept out of her face by a pale pink headband. The panties currently stuck to her and she felt more needy than she was willing to admit. After the last bell, she hurried over to Thea’s room and dropped down to her knees, waiting patiently as the students shuffled out. She bit gently into her lower lip, knowing that her cheeks were slightly flushed.

thea baker

Thea knew she'd be a liar if she claimed Friday's class had been her best. The week had been long, stressful and at times painful, and her thoughts that day had been largely filled with Mer rather than her lesson plan. Knowing that the blonde would be waiting for her at the end of the day only made the day itself all that much more long and drawn out. Fortunately her last class came to an end and she could step outside the door, grinning broadly at the sight of Meredith. "Good girl," she praised. "Waiting just like I told you. Stand up for me, and let's take a look at your outfit, hmm?"

Meredith Fabray

Her cheeks only darkened at the praise and a smile tugged at pretty pink lips. “Of course I am, Mistress.” It was the first time she’d used that title and it felt so very right. Mer pushed up and onto her feet obediently. Her hands went to smooth out the light blue white and pink plaid skirt and she tucked a stray strand of blonde behind her ear. She loved it when Thea chose her outfit, she loved the knowledge all day that she was pleasing someone simply with the clothes she was wearing.

thea baker

Thea watched with hungry eyes as Meredith showed off the outfit she'd chosen. She looked every bit the perfect schoolgirl, from her headband to the shoes, and there was a brief moment of amazement in her that someone like Mer could want to be so perfect for her. "Good girl. Now, why don't you pull up your skirt for me? I'd like to see just how wet you are." The edges would have left her a mess, Thea knew, and having to show it off publicly would hopefully make it even better. By the time Thea took her later, she wanted Mer to be desperate.

Meredith Fabray

Meredith resigned herself to the fact that she’d be blushing from now until they went to sleep. “Yes, Mistress.” The blonde bit into her lower lip and let her fingers tease the hem of the skirt before pulling it up right there in the hallway to show off her white cotton panties that stuck to her clean shaven sex. She felt like a complete mess right now and she was relieved that Thea seemed to be pleased by the sight of her.

thea baker

It was impossible to keep an impassive expression as Mer lifted her skirt. It was a simple act of Dominance, but one that Thea enjoyed. And she would keep Meredith safe, staying alert for any sign that she was uncomfortable with the game they were playing. "My goodness," she teased, running her fingers along the fabric. "Those are just ruined, aren't they?" One finger delicately traced her lips through the sticky fabric. "That's alright. You won't be wearing them too much longer."

Meredith Fabray

Mer sucked in a sharp breath as those fingers found the wet fabric. Her clit throbbed behind that wet cotton barrier. She trusted Thea to keep her safe, this woman could literally put her through an entire scene right here in the hallway and she’d be reduced to a whimpering mess but she’d feel safe. Those words sent a shiver down her spine. “Yes, Mistress... they’re completely ruined.”

thea baker

"Such a naughty girl," Thea scolded playfully. "Ruining those nice panties thinking of me. I think you need a reminder to behave in school, hmm?" Taking Mer's hand, she pulled her gently into the classroom and shut the door behind them. "Take a marker, please," she gestured. "Lines - I won't be naughty in school." She hadn't planned this part of the scene, but it felt right. "I'm just going to get a yardstick."

Meredith Fabray

The blonde whimpered a little at the scolding and the question that followed. She had the urge to whine and stomp her foot but she refrained. “B-but-“. She couldn’t even finish her thought let alone her sentence as Thea pulled her into the classroom. Her lips parted and her brow creased a little at the request before it was explained. Mer grabbed the marker and uncapped it. She cleared her throat gently, “how many, Mistress?” She began writing the phrase over and over in her perfect penmanship. The blonde bit into her lower lip once more at then mention of the yardstick.

thea baker

There was a familiar electric charge that ran through her at the way Meredith protested. Things had evolved but her partner was willing to play along, and Thea hoped they'd both have fun with it in the end. "Let's say...fifteen. I think that should be enough for you to learn your lesson." Approaching from behind, Thea lifted her skirt and tucked it out of the way to ensure she had access. "Concentrate now." The first slap of the stick across warm skin was muted by fabric, but hard enough to be felt.

Meredith Fabray

Meredith rose a brow. “But I-“ Again, she found herself at a loss for words as her skirt was raised and the other woman was speaking. She was putting the period on the first sentence as she felt the yardstick on her slightly bruised ass. The little blonde yelped and her cheeks went pinker than her headband. She steadied her hand and began the next line.

thea baker

"Good girl. Just like that. Careful with that marker now, I'd hate to see you make a mistake." She brought the yardstick down a couple more times, not too hard but enough that it did the job. Truly she didn't plan on the blows being punishing, the effect was more in the humiliation than the pain.

Meredith Fabray

Each and every hit got a little squeak or yelp out of the blonde. She tried to keep her hand as steady as possible and managed to get to line five before her marker faltered slightly. It still resembled the letter y but the tail was a little longer than intended and slightly more squiggly.December 7, 2020

thea baker

Those little noises only fuelled Thea's need to hear more of them, and she haphazardly scattered the blows as Meredith worked at the board. She looked impossibly cute in her little schoolgirl outfit with her red ass out, and Thea knew they might not even make it to her apartment. "Oh, that's a shame," she shook her head in playful sadness. "But keep going please. We'll deal with the mistakes when you're done."

Meredith Fabray

The small noises that left her with each blow continued. Her eyes widened a little at the woman’s words and her hand stopped mid stroke. “But-Mistress!” She gave a little whine followed by a yelp as she refocused on writing her lines. Every so often her marker would squeak into a tiny error.

thea baker

"Now, now. Complaining is only going to make it worse. You'll just have to take your punishment, and that's that. But don't worry - something tells me if I check those panties of yours that you're enjoying this, aren't you? On display for me while I redden that ass?"

Meredith Fabray

She’d be lying if she denied her attraction to Thea in this moment. She’d be lying if she said this situation and these roles didn’t turn her on. She loved the gap in their age so very much. Mer got a few more lines done- five away from her goal. Her cheeks flushed once more. “Yes, Mistress.” She muttered in response.

thea baker

"That's what I thought," Thea nodded. "But good girl for telling the truth and avoiding any extra spanks. And look at how close you are! Almost done, and then we'll deal with the ones where you made mistakes. But you concentrate very well for someone who's been so naughty in class today."

Meredith Fabray

Everything about this situation had her embarrassingly wet. “ But I was only naughty cause I was thinking about you all day-“. She was cut off by another crack to her sore rear end. Getting through three more without error, she faltered on the fourth and grumbled a little with a whimper.

thea baker

Thea couldn't help her smirk. "That's a good reason, I agree. But you need to be able to control yourself in school all day, not be naughty." She had to hold in a giggle as Meredith messed up another line. "You can do this, there's just two more. Almost there."

Meredith Fabray

mer The blonde gave another whine. “It’s hard!” She knew she sounded like a stubborn teenaged girl and that was sort of the point. It was like she was trying to get her to mess up. Each blow to her rear end came at the worst time per sentence. Thankfully, she only fucked up one more time.

thea baker

tb: "Aww, is it hard?" Thea teased. "That's really too bad, isn't it? I bet you can do it if you really, really try." Her condescending teacher voice was something she'd never use with a real student, but it was helpful in a roleplay situation. "See? Look at that, you made it. Now...would you like to work off your mistakes now, or would you like to find somewhere more private?"

Meredith Fabray

mer The condescending tone just served to turn her on more and it had her giving a little huff and pout. At the question, Meredith bit into her lower lip and considered her options. “Now...” She grumbled.

thea baker

tb: "That's what I was hoping you'd choose," Thea nodded. "I think it'll be better for you to settle up now than later. Bend yourself over my desk, please, hands flat on the desk with your skirt up. I'm thinking two strikes per mistake would be fair."

Meredith Fabray

“But-!” There was never a real argument behind the protests but they felt necessary. All it took was one look from the older woman, the blonde shut her mouth and obediently bent herself over the desk. She flipped up her skirt then laid her hands flat on the cool surface. “But that’s a lot, Mistress.” She whimpered.

thea baker

Meredith's protests were perfectly in her role, and Thea had to avoid a smile at just how well she could play her part. "It is, isn't it? It would have been easier on you if you hadn't made that many mistakes, right? But you won't make them again the next time, I'm sure of it." Her voice changed inflection, just slightly, to catch Meredith's attention. "These will be harder. But you know what words to say if you need them to stop." She wouldn't break the scene for her instructions, but Thea knew it was enough to let Meredith know what she was trying to say.December 8, 2020

Meredith Fabray

"I wouldn't have made that many mistakes if I wasn't being spanked while trying to write!" She squeaked. Meredith was never this mouthy or bratty but she slipped into the role so easily. The blonde noticed the change of inflection. "I know, Mistress." She confirmed. She squirmed a little on the desk, a pout pulling at her lips.

thea baker

Thea raised an eyebrow, coming around the desk to see Mer's face. Reaching down, she grasped her chin firmly between two fingers. "Unless you'd like to see just how red I can turn that ass right here and right now, I would put your attitude in check." She could play along with her own role, and it made her happy to do so. "Good girl," she nodded. Bringing the yardstick back, she brought it down in a hard motion that made the air whistle imperceptibly.

Meredith Fabray

Mer swallowed hard as Thea gripped her chin, it was probably the most attractive move the woman could have made. Her cheeks burned at the words. She mumbled a small apology. “... sorry, Mistress.” The blonde braced herself for impact, a little cry leaving her lips at the first bite of the wooden rod.

thea baker

"Much better," Thea nodded. It was the sort of scene she hadn't done in a long time, but she was very into it and glad to see that Meredith was as well. Bringing the stick down again she gave Mer a moment to breathe. "One mistake done. Very good."

Meredith Fabray

She loved these sorts of scenes, they gave her a chance to be bratty without real world consequences. The second stinging swat drew another yelp from her lips. “How many are there?” She whined.December 9, 2020

thea baker

"Should I stop and count?" Thea rested the stick against Meredith's reddened ass and turned toward the board. "I count five mistakes." There were only four, but Thea wanted to see whether the submissive would try to turn and count them for herself. "So that means eight more to go, hmm? Would you like them all together or a break after each set of two?"

Meredith Fabray

Meredith squeaked and peaked over her shoulder to try and count but she got distracted by Thea chiming back in. She whimpered, “Thats a lot.” She whined, they both knew she’d taken more. “... All together.” She grumbled.

thea baker

"It really is a lot," Thea commiserated in a faux-sympathetic voice. "I guess the next time I ask you to write lines you'll remember this, and you won't make so many mistakes, right? This is how we learn." Nodding, she got herself back in position and began to bring the yardstick down to finish out the final eight blows. Mer was already bruised again, and Thea couldn't help but be a little proud of that.December 10, 2020

Meredith Fabray

Meredith had the urge to be incredibly sassy right now. The way Thea was speaking to her was such a turn on but there was a brat to this character that needed to get herself into more trouble. “But-!” Before she could sass back, that yardstick was drawing another small cry from her instead.

thea baker

"No buts. Except this butt," she brought the stick down again with a smirk. "You're going to take your punishment like a good girl, or I'll just have to start adding more. And while that would be fun for me, I don't think it'd be so good for you. That poor ass of yours would be purple by the time we're done."December 14, 2020

Meredith Fabray

Another little cry left those pretty pink lips. “Nuuu!” She squealed. “I’ll be good, Mistress!” Thea could turn her ass purple later. Having to sit in a car with a purple ass would be no fun. The little blonde whimpered some.

thea baker

"That's what I thought. Take a deep breath now and we're going to finish up." Thea brought down the stick over and over as she counted out the rest of the punishment, finally nodding and setting it aside. "See? You can behave after all. Good girl."

Meredith Fabray

Meredith was quick to obey, taking a deep breath and bracing herself for what was the come. When it was done, her ass burned, she knew she’d be sore in the car but this was nothing compared to the beautiful damage Thea would probably do later. “Thank you, Mistress.”

thea baker

"You're welcome, Meredith. Now, let's fix your skirt - you've been naughty enough today, you don't need to be flashing the whole student body your wet panties on the way out." Thea fixed the skirt and brushed her hand gently over Meredith's bruised ass. "Let's get going."

#Thea #para

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deathbymeow · 4 years

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For You, I’d Die. Chapter: 4. Shots

Adrien walked into the club, nodding at the bouncer at the door. He never had a problem getting into places, everyone new his name. It could be a curse just as much as a blessing sometimes. When everyone knew your name there was no privacy and everyone expected something from you.

She was the first thing he saw as he climbed the stairs towards the VIP lounge. No matter how hard he tried he was always drawn to her. He could find her in a crowed without even trying. It didn’t matter if he was transformed as Chat or if she was in her spotted ladybug suit. She was his compass guiding him home and he would always be hers even if she didn’t know it.

Her black hair was out and fell down her back curling on the ends. Thigh high black boots that should be illegal showed just a hint of her toned legs, until Alya spun her around and Adrien caught an accidental peek at her black lacey panties. If he wasn’t already dead, he would be in a second as Alya let go of Marinette, who spun laughing into his arms.

Marinette looked up at him with some seriously sexy kitten eyes. Yep, dead. He was memorized by the way the flashing light seemed to make the blue of her eyes look like the sparkling sea. A surprised pout formed on her pink lips and she blinked her long lashes a few times before bopping him on the nose giggling.

“Adrien… you made it.” She breathed, smiling up at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Hey, Marinette. You look amazing, like always.” He hugged her back, just a second longer than he would anyone else.

Adrien held her at arm’s length to get the full effect of her outfit. The high waisted black skirt had small pleats, giving it the movement that allowed it to lift. Her long sleave top was made of tight black lace, showing off her perfectly toned body. The lace was see-through enough to show a hint of her lime green bra. If that wasn’t enough to kill him for the second time, what he saw next surely would. Around her neck a little gold bell hung off a satin ribbon. He instantly recognized it as the present he’d given ladybug on her eighteenth.

Adrien lightly flicked it and his sensitive ears heard the soft ding over the loud music. He could see her shiver as his fingers skimmed the soft skin under the bell and he intentionally let his fingers linger against her warm skin. He traced them along her neck and up to her cheek, brushing a wild strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb skimmed over her miraculous and he smiled as a soft blush formed on her cheeks.

“Dance with me Agreste.” She said, sounding breathless. He nodded as she pulled him onto the dance floor.

One thing he was yet to learn, was how to say no to her so without hesitation he took off his leather jacket and threw it on the nearest lounge. Completely forgetting about the little black kwami snuggled in his pocket.

The music faded momentarily, and Nino was introduced by a deep voice. A loud cheer rung out from the packed club and Nino started his set with one of his original songs. When the bass dropped the crowd went wild, but Adrien was only focused on the dancing girl in front of him that was intent on torturing him. She danced against him, throwing her hands in the air and closing her mischievous eyes. The wicked smile on her lips gave him the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing.

Alya grabbed the bartender and yelled, “Get this boy a drink. He’s going to need it when my girls finished with him.” The bartender watched Marinette and Adrien for a moment then smirked and nodded in agreement.

Marinette knew how to move her body and tonight she wasn’t holding back. It wasn’t news to Adrien, but normally it was Luka that got all of her attention. He knew there was something going on between the couple. Marinette had taken two weeks off work much to his father’s disapproval. She’d ignored all of his texts and calls. He was worried about her and wanted to talk but now wasn’t the time.

He was slightly confused by all of her attention, but figured it was best focused on him than some of the other creeps in here that would use her vulnerability to their advantage.

The bartender returned and put their drinks on the table. He gave Adrien the thumbs up and disappeared back into the crowd. Adrien grabbed Marinette’s hand and lead the still dancing beauty to the table.

“I’ve been worried about you.” Adrien half yelled next to her ear so she could hear over the music.

Marinette turned to him and softly smiled. “You shouldn’t be Agreste. I’m fine.” She winked at him and took a sip of his drink.

“Somehow Marinette, I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to push. Just know I’m here if you need me.” He kissed her on the top of the head, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re too cute Agreste and god you smell good.” She mumbles into his shirt. Adrien chuckled; he knew he wasn’t meant to hear that but having the cat miraculous for ten year had its perks. One of them being extremely good hearing.

Alya startled the two when she slapped the table and yelled. “Let’s do shots.” As if on cue a heavily remixed version of Shots started to play.

“Ugh, I hate this song Nino.” Kim whined behind them. “But I’m in for shots Al.”

“You sure that’s a good idea Al?” Adrien asked pointing to an unaware Marinette who was still cuddling him.

Marinette loosened her hold on him and look up at him pouting. “You afraid Agreste?” She playfully stuck her tongue out at him and poked his chest.

“Me? Hmph never.” Adrien gave her one of his model smiles and flagged down the bartender.

Adrien was afraid though. Afraid of losing himself in her blue eyes. Afraid of telling her how he really felt. Afraid of forgetting his morels and trying to kiss her even though she was with Luka.

He hadn’t been in a long-term relationship since Kagami. There had been other girls but no one he really cared about. They always made him feel like they wanted something from him. Whether it was his money or fame he didn’t know or care.

He’d never fully got over his feelings for Ladybug and no matter who he was with it always hung over him like a storm cloud. A constant reminder that she wasn’t his. Ladybug had a boyfriend and was happy, so in turn he was happy for her. That was how love worked right?

There was only one girl that managed to change that.

He’d always been good friends with Marinette, but for some reason she’d always held back with him. He saw how carefree she was with everyone else, but he never got that from her. Until a few years ago when she started to intern for his father’s fashion house.

Marinette was halfway through her fashion degree. Luka had just left to tour with his band and Adrien somehow became her shoulder to cry on. The two spent almost every day together and he found himself falling hard for yet another girl he couldn’t have.

Finally, he got to see the carefree Marinette with all her adorable little quirks. At first it felt strangle familiar and then it started to all fit together. The day she bopped him on the nose then folded her arms confidently over her chest while calling him “silly Agreste” was the final piece to the puzzle.

Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette.

He’d fallen for both of them, at different times and years apart. He felt like the biggest idiot. All this time she’d been right under his nose. Literally, he was at least a foot taller than her.

Torn, he decided not to tell her in fear that he could lose her as a friend if she found out who he was. He would never come between Marinette and Luka. If friendship was all he could ever have with her, then he’d have to be content with that. As long as she was in his life that was all that mattered.

The bartender put a tray of shot glasses all filled with different coloured shots on the table in front of them, bringing Adrien back to reality.

Adrien ran one of his hands through his hair, trying to clear his head. Marinette was dancing provocatively in front of him with Alya.

“Shots it is then.” He said lifting the glass to his lips.

The rest of Adrien’s night was a blur of drinks, blue eyes, more drinks, laughter, even more drinks, dancing and way too much physical interaction with Mari. Not that he was complaining, but he was definitely going to need a cold shower when he got home.

At some point Nino finished his set and joined them. They continued to dance and drink until the music momentarily faded. The DJs voice rung out through the club. “This was a request from one of you, sassy things out there,” he pointed into the dancing crowd, “for the beautiful Marinette Dupain-Cheng in our VIP lounge. It’s safe to say, we can thank her for the slick new tunes from Four-sided Tragedy.” The music started to play again, and the crowd went wild.

A few people turned to look at her as “I’m going under and this time I feel there’s no one to save me. This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy,” played throughout the club.

Adrien felt Marinette tense against him. Her glass dropped out of her hand and shattered around their feet. Alya was instantly by her side, wrapping her arms around a shocked Marinette.

“Oh my god, there’s a remix already. Mari honey, are you Ok? Do you want to go?” Alya asked holding her face.

“What the actual fuck?” Nino yelled, looking around furiously.

“No… Yes… What do I do, Al?” Marinette looked shattered and it killed Adrien.

Adrien clenched his fists; he could feel his temper rising and his impulsive thinking took over. He grabbed his jacket and the girl’s bags, passing the bags to Alya and put his jacket over Marinette’s shoulders.

“Nino get Kim and Ivan to take the girls out the front with you. I just have to do something.”

Before anyone could stop him, he took off down the stairs, taking two at a time. He pushed his way through the crowd to the stage where the smug DJ was playing his set. Going around the back he snuck onto the stage before anyone noticed.

Adrien grabbed the DJ and slammed him against one of the speakers. “Who the fuck requested the song?”

“Whoa… Adrien Agreste?” The DJ smiled raising his hands in surrender.

“Don’t test me. Who was it?” Adrien growled, pressing his arm firmly across the DJs chest.

“I don’t know. Just some girl.” The DJ said smugly.

Adrien let him go and took a step back. “You’re pathetic.” He turned to leave.

“Hey Agreste. So, I guess we have you to thank for the song too. I hear she’s a great fuck.”

Adrien saw red. He turned and before the DJ had time to react Adrien’s fist connected with his nose sending him stumbling into the sound board. Blood started to pour from his nose, but Adrien didn’t care, he went to punch him again, but Nino and a bouncer grabbed him and dragged him off the stage.

“What the fuck Nino. Did you hear what he said. You should’ve let me give him the beating his punk ass deserved.” Adrien yelled still struggling against the hands that were holding him.

“Adrien there’s press here. We have to go. The girls are waiting around the corner but if the press find them…” Nino didn’t have to finish Adrien stopped struggling.

“I’m good. I’m good!” Adrien raised his hands. The bouncer let him go grumbling something under his breath about the youths of today.

Adrien and Nino took off towards the exit pushing their way through the dancing crowd. Even with a busted nose the smartass DJ managed to change the song to Apologize and as they walked out, he heard the lyrics “It’s too late to apologize, I said it’s too late to apologize,” being played over and over.

They found the girls with Ivan and Kim where Nino had left them. Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette. She snuggled against his chest. “You Ok?” He asked suddenly feeling guilty for leaving her.

“Mm hmm. I just wanna get out of here. Can I go back to your place, I don’t want to go home?” She asked looking up at him with those damn eyes.

“Sure.” He answered with out really thinking about it, but it wasn’t like he would’ve said no to her anyway.

“Adrien do you really think that’s a good idea. She should come home with me.” Alya offered.

“Hello I’m still here. Alya you don’t have to babysit me. I’m good. Go have fun with Nino, don’t let me ruin your night.”

“Are you sure Mari? I really don’t mind.” Alya looked at Marinette, clearly worried.

“Hey guys, we don’t have time to for this. The press is heading this way.” Nino said, looking over his shoulder.

“Shit… Shit. Adrien, you better take good care of her, or you’ll have me to answer too.” Alya gave Marinette a kiss and her bag then nudged the two towards to road. “Quick grab that taxi.”

Adrien grabbed Marinette’s hand, he looked down at her and she nodded. “Don’t worry Al. You know I will.” He yelled over his shoulder as the two ran towards the taxi. His sensitive hearing heard her reply as they jumped into the taxi.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about Agreste.”

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fandom #adrien agreste #marionette dupain-cheng #aged up #alya cesaire #Nino lahiffe #flirt #adrien knows

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

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Hope is the Thing With Feathers: 5/5

Finally, I have finished a WIP! Whoop, whoop! I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. This fic stalled for me, and every time I wrote anything for it, I ended up deleting it. Thank you to my co-creator @hollyethecurious for saving this chapter. The idea of them binding their souls together was her idea, as well as Henry’s place in breaking the curse. If not for her, I might still be staring at a blank word doc! Krystal, I hope you enjoy the ending to your fic!

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon finds that both the castle and the man have secrets she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 for her birthday.

Amazing banner created by @hollyethecurious

Rating: M

Trigger warnings: positive portrayal of past Millian

Words: About 5,000 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @thislassishooked @artistic-writer @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @xhookswenchx @shireness-says @gingerchangeling @nikkiemms @revanmeetra87

Chapter Five: Never Stops at All

There were a lot of ways Emma could have handled the bomb that Belle dropped on her in the library. She could have stayed and had a woman to woman chat about feelings. Nope, scratch that, it had never been Emma’s style. She could have gone to the loft for a hope speech and a cup of cocoa from Mary Margaret. Hell, Emma wouldn’t even have had to tell her anything and Mary Margaret would have offered some sort of motherly comfort. But school wasn’t out yet, which meant MM was still at Hopeful Elementary with her third grade class.

People in mature relationships probably would have gone to their significant other and had a meaningful conversation. Emma had been drawn to Killian’s side, that much was true, but the minute he opened the door, every word she had rehearsed in her drive there flew out of her head.

Instead, she had grabbed him and kissed him like her life depended on it. Every time he pulled back and tried to speak, she had silenced him with her lips against his. Killian had willingly gone where she led him, which was straight to his bed.

Again, probably not the best way to deal with her rampant feelings.

Now she lay in his arms, both of them sated and relaxed. Well, he was relaxed anyway, sighing against her hair. Did he know that ending his curse would allow him to move on? Did he even care about leaving her? Emma swallowed against the lump in her throat. The urge to run, to flee welled up inside of her.

Then she remembered his words on the hilltop and at Milah’s grave. She turned in his embrace, running her fingers along his jawline, tracing the scar on his cheek. He smiled tenderly at her.

She licked her lips. “What do you think will happen if we find a way to break your curse?”

Killian shrugged, tugging her closer to trail kisses down the column of her neck. “I’m hoping,” he mumbled against her skin, “to be able to take you and Henry sailing. Maybe even see this Disney World everyone goes on about.”

He chuckled against her collarbone, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. She let out a long, sad breath. So Belle hadn’t told him, either.

“Killian,” she began, but got stuck on his name.

He pulled back from the distraction of her body to gaze into her eyes. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his face lined with concern. “Love, what is it? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

Emma closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his. She then wriggled closer until they were pressed against one another, slipping her arms beneath his and grasping his upper back. She turned her head to press her lips against his shoulder blade. It was easier to get the words out when she wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“All my life, I’ve been running, leaving everyone before they can leave me. Until you.” Emma swallowed down the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Killian . . . I can’t lose you.”

He pulled back to cup her face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere, Emma.”

“Killian, think about it. You’re not supposed to still be alive. If we break the curse . . . “

She trailed off, biting on her lower lip. His face went slack as realization washed over him. Wordlessly, he pulled her close again and just held her, running his fingers through her hair. She clung to him as if she could keep him with her through force of will alone. But she couldn’t be that selfish, could she? If she truly cared about him, she wouldn’t want this kind of existence for him.

“Emma,” he whispered against her hair, “I will gladly stay cursed for the rest of eternity in exchange for spending just one lifetime with you.”

She let him kiss her, let him make love to her again, knowing it was his way of sealing his declaration. Apparently, she was that selfish.

*************************************************************

Gold Manor was ready for the inaugural ghost tour on Halloween night. Tickets were being sold online and at all the local businesses. Granny’s Diner was catering the refreshments that would be served in the garden after the tour. The only thing left to do was prep the actors and rehearse for the actual tour.

Emma knew this. She also knew that Killian had reluctantly agreed to Belle’s insane idea that he play . . . himself. Of course, no one but the three of them knew he was the Killian Jones. To everyone else, it was just a happy coincidence. Jones, after all, was a common last name.

Yet, despite knowing Killian’s role in the ghost tour, she was not in the least bit prepared for the sight that met her three days before Halloween. She froze in the doorway of the manor and almost spilled her coffee.

“How do I look, Swan?” he asked, grasping the lapels of the almost floor length, black leather duster he wore. Emma struggled not to let her jaw drop as she searched for words. Beneath the duster, he wore a red leather vest over a honest-to-God black pirate shirt. It was buttoned even less than his shirts normally were, and his charm necklace resting against his exposed chest complemented the look. Then there were the leather pants - skin tight and leaving little to the imagination.

“Um . . . “ Speak, Emma! But all she could do was blink.

A grin spread slowly across his face, the bastard. He sauntered towards her, his head cocked to the side. He was wearing eyeliner too, which shouldn’t have been hot . . . only it was.

“Dashing, right? Devastatingly handsome?”

His teasing tone shook her out of her stupor, and she laughed as she set her coffee cup down on a nearby table. She ran her hands up his vest and grasped the lapels of his coat in a tight grip.

“It’s a good look on you, pirate.”

Belle cleared her throat, and Emma jumped back, her face flaming. She hadn’t even realized they weren’t alone. Next to Belle stood an auburn haired woman with a measuring tape around her neck. Her hair was pulled back in slim braids at the crown, the rest spilling down her back. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She grinned broadly at Emma’s assessment.

“Mission accomplished then.”

“Emma, this is Aurora. She’s the costume designer at the community theater,” Belle explained.

“Hopeful has community theater?” Emma asked incredulously, stepping out of Killian’s embrace.

“Not much of one,” Aurora chuckled as she put her sewing equipment away, “which is why I commute every day for my nine to five with the Portland Ballet.”

“Well, you are one of the best,” Belle assured her friend with a parting hug.

“Be careful when you take that off, Mr. Jones,” Aurora admonished as she headed out the door.

“I could help you with that,” Emma whispered in his ear, thrilling when it made his neck turn red.

“Emma, I’m glad you’re here,” Belle said, gathering up an armful of books, “there’s something I wanted to talk to both of you about.”

“I um, feel a little silly having a meeting in this get-up,” Killian said, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “I think I’ll head upstairs and change.”

Emma watched him go with intense appreciation, humming under her breath until he was out of sight.

“I heard that,” Belle laughed.

Emma shrugged as she turned to her new friend, not in the least bit embarrassed. “What can I say? He looks good in tight leather.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Belle whispered, her smile turning soft.

Emma bit her lower lip as she looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. It sounded crazy; they hadn’t known each other long. Yet from the moment they had first met, there had been a connection between them. Belle took her long silence as an answer.

“That’s why you got so upset when I explained breaking his curse,” she said softly, “you don’t want to lose him.”

All Emma could do was nod her head, her lips pressed together so she wouldn’t cry. Belle simply lowered her head, running a hand over one of the books she had brought.

“I think I may have found a way for the two of you to be together.”

Emma gasped and hurried to stand at Belle’s side. “You have?”

“This spell,” she explained, running her hand over the yellowed pages, “binds two souls together. They literally become one after it is cast. The only catch is that you have to be soulmates or it won’t work.”

Emma swallowed nervously. “It’s worth a shot though, right? I mean, is there any danger if we try and we’re not soulmates?”

“Not the binding, no, but the second part of the plan would be. You see, if Killian shares your soul, he may be able to stay here after the curse breaks.”

“But if we aren’t soulmates, it wouldn’t work?”

“It may not work at all,” Belle admitted, “but it should. In theory.”

“But like I said,” Emma argued, “it’s worth a shot.”

“Emma,” Belle said slowly, “what I mean is, you could both die.”

Emma felt the blood drain from her face as the words sunk in, and she shut her eyes tightly. She thought of Killian, how safe she felt in his arms, how right. She thought about his curse, how he’d lived a long, lonely existence for centuries. She knew, deep in her heart, what she had to do.

She opened her eyes and told Belle firmly, “Like I said, I have to try.”

“No.”

The two women startled at the deep voice coming from the foot of the stairs. They hadn’t noticed Killian descending as they talked.

“Killian!” Emma exclaimed upon seeing him.

“No,” he said again, shaking his head, “I won’t let you.”

Emma rushed across the room to him, taking his hands in hers. “But if there’s a chance to break your curse -”

“I won’t let you, Emma. I won’t risk the life of the woman I love. Neither will I risk leaving Henry an orphan.”

Emma’s heart sank as she slowly released his hands. What kind of mother was she?

“Henry,” she breathed. She hung her head in defeat. Killian was right.

********************************************************************

“Okay, kid, what’ll it be for movie night this week? Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? Thor: Ragnarok? Or Return of the Jedi? The theme of course is conclusions of trilogies . . . “ Emma trailed off as she regarded her son’s pensive expression. “What? You didn’t expect me to throw in Captain America: Civil War did you? Because you know how I feel about that. It’s an Avengers movie, I don’t care what the MCU says.”

She poked Henry in the shoulder, then waved a Twizzler rope in front of his face. “Kid? Earth to Henry?”

“When are you going to tell me the truth?”

Emma’s eyes widened at her son’s angry expression. “The truth about what?”

“About Killian?”

Emma blinked. “Okay, I didn’t know you wanted the details, but . . . well, I love him, and -”

“Ew! I’m not talking about that!”

Emma shook her head. “Then I’m confused.”

“What is he? A ghost? What?”

Emma’s jaw dropped at his questions. “I . . . I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” Henry scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “I’m not stupid. He can’t leave the manor grounds, he talks like it’s the 17th century, and he knows a strange amount of stuff about Hopeful hundreds of years ago. And his name is even Killian Jones?”

“Henry, you can’t be serious -”

“Then there was this today in history class.” Henry shoved his schoolbook on Maine State History into Emma’s lap, and there on the open page was the same drawing of Killian that Belle had in her stack of research on Gold Manor. A box next to the picture told the story of the witch trial of Milah Gold and the legend of pirate captain Killian Jones. According to Henry’s textbook, most scholars believed the existence of the pirate to be a myth.

“What the hell!” Emma muttered, pulling the book closer. “I can’t believe this!”

“What, Mom?”

“This idiot scholar at The University of Maine says that the romantic imagery surrounding the supposed pirate in conjunction with Milah Gold’s possible madness leads one to believe that he was a figment of the woman’s imagination!” Emma shoved the book away in disgust. “Have you ever heard anything so sexist in your life? Assuming Milah made Killian up because she was crazy. Is it so hard to believe that a woman back then would want anything other than marriage to a wealthy man? Did they ever consider that it was her husband who had lost his mind, not her? Of all the pigheaded things -”

“Mom!”

Emma startled at her son’s voice, and sheepishly bit her lip to stop the flow of words. Henry arched his brows at her.

“So he is Killian Jones, the centuries old cursed pirate.”

He leaned back against the couch with a smug expression. Emma couldn’t help smiling and shaking her head.

“Only you would so easily believe it.”

“The evidence is pretty clear, Mom.” He sat up then, bouncing eagerly. “So how do we break his curse?”

“We don’t, unfortunately,” Emma told him sadly, “not without . . . losing him. He’s supposed to be dead by now, kid.”

“But there has to be a way! You said you love him, didn’t you? Can’t true love break curses and stuff?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Henry.”

Her son narrowed his eyes and studied her face, and Emma squirmed beneath his perceptive gaze.

“There is a way!”

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“You just have to believe!”

“Henry,” Emma told him gently, cupping his face, “not if it means leaving you alone.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Whatever it is, it will work, Mom! I’ve never seen you so happy. We both like it here. We have David and Mary Margaret, and we both have friends.”

“And great onion rings,” Emma teased.

Henry laughed, “Yeah, Granny’s is pretty awesome.”

Emma pulled him against her and kissed the top of his head. “You’re right, Hopeful’s been pretty great, and Killian is partly why.”

“Don’t you wish he could be here for movie night?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, “I do.”

“Do you love him for real? Like, a lot?”

“More than any one in the world, besides you, kid.”

“Then it will work, Mom, you just have to believe!”

It was crazy, but something in Henry’s expression steeled her resolve. She picked up the phone and dialed Belle’s number.

“Belle, what do I have to do for this soul binding thing?”

************************************************************************

Emma clutched her purse tightly as she stood on Killian’s porch. Inside she had tucked what Belle said she needed to perform the soul binding. There was just one tiny little detail bothering her.

She was doing it without Killian’s permission.

Emma knew she was playing with fire, knew he might see it as a betrayal. After all, his will being taken from him was the crux of his misery. But ironically, Emma going against his will was the very thing that might give him his agency back. Besides, his concerns were all for and Henry anyway.

This was the twisted logic she had come up with to ease her conscious, at any rate.

She was afraid he would see right through her the minute he opened the door, but he simply greeted her with a beaming smile. He had a kitchen towel tossed over one shoulder, and he eagerly pulled her into the cabin, the delicious smells of whatever he was cooking filling the space. As they talked easily over the meal, Emma’s guilt abated. (The wine they were imbibing helped too.)

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Emma informed him with a sultry smile that Henry was staying the night with David and Mary Margaret. It would be the first time she had stayed with him all night, and he smiled like an eager school boy. That smile, so trusting, so devoted, made the guilt come back, pricking at her resolve. Then he was making love to her in that intense way of his, and the desire to have him with her always, in every sense of the word, made her more sure than ever of what she must do.

Emma waited until Killian’s breaths evened out, then she got up and opened the curtains partway, just enough so that the moonlight fell over his form. He shifted in his sleep, and Emma held her breath. She released it, and tiptoed to retrieve the needle from her purse. She crawled slowly back into bed and tucked herself into Killian’s side.

She took a deep breath before using the needle to prick the tip of her left finger. A dot of dark red blood welled up. Trembling, she took her finger and made the shape of a cross over the left side of Killian’s chest where his heart resided. There was barely enough blood to make the mark; most of it was soaked up by his chest hair. Hopefully, he wouldn’t even notice come morning.

She pressed her hand to the spot, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Anams ceangal a dheanamh.”

To be honest, Emma didn’t expect anything to happen. She had fully anticipated feeling slightly foolish as she wondered if it worked. The last thing she had ever imagined was the pulse of energy surging from Killian’s chest, up her arm, and through her entire body. It sent her tumbling backwards off the bed, and when she scrambled to her knees, Killian was sitting up, breathing hard, eyes wide, his hand to his chest.

“Emma?” he asked in a frantic voice.

“Killian,” she said slowly, “I had to -”

“What did you do?”

She flinched at the higher pitch of his voice. He rose from the bed slowly, looking slightly disoriented as he rubbed at his chest. His demeanor was more frightened than angry, and his voice held a hint of betrayal. She would rather he be angry. The moonlight spilled over his naked body as he came closer to her, and she wasn’t sure if it was the spell or just him, but he looked like some sort of Greek god, both ethereal and strong. When an almost overwhelming desire to make love to him again surged through her, she was positive it was the spell.

His chest heaved as he searched her with a lust-filled gaze. It seemed the spell was affecting him, too. He pressed his eyes shut and asked her again, jaw clenching, “What did you do?”

She stepped into his embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest.

“I think you know.”

His arms came around to hold her tight as if he could fight it no longer.

“I told you not to.”

“I never listen.”

His answer was a searing kiss. They were both left panting when he pulled away, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I feel . . .”

“Something’s different ,isn’t it?” she finished his thought.

“Aye, it is. I love you, Emma.”

For the first time in over ten years, those words didn’t scare her. Instead, a comforting warmth spread through her body.

“I love you too.”

**********************************************************************

They made love again after the spell worked, in a frantic, almost desperate way. They had fallen asleep, still entangled in each other’s arms. Emma feared when morning came, but she woke to a blissful Killian, happy that she was still there in his arms. They flirted and teased one another, laughing and smiling between light, morning-breath kisses. In short, they avoided the elephant in the room in favor of being ridiculously in love.

When Emma met up with Belle at the library later that day as planned, she dropped her purse on the circulation desk with a loud thud. She met the librarian’s gaze with a single-minded fire in her eyes.

“It worked. What’s next?”

*******************************************************************

Emma was a bundle of nervous energy. The Halloween event at the manor was in full swing. The cones and rope and ended up working just fine for parking, as well as the dozen or so volunteers in orange vests directing traffic. People were processed in the main room of the house where Killian and his construction crew had put up a reception desk. Next to it was a display of brochures on other historical spots in Maine. Belle was working the desk with Henry’s help, checking tickets and giving each visitor a time to return for their tour. While they waited, guests mingled in the garden, enjoying the refreshments. Many were in costume. Some fit the theme, dressed as pirates or 17th century maidens, but there were also people dressed as Thor, or vampires, or students from Hogwarts.

The actors leading the tours were doing a fantastic job as well as the “ghosts” chatting with visitors in the various rooms: a man playing Robert Gold at the balcony from which he flung himself to his death, a woman playing Milah sitting at her vanity in her chambers combing her hair, and of course Killian pacing the long hallway. He was honestly having a good time startling people with a dramatic spin of his leather coat, and Emma chuckled every time she heard screams from upstairs. He had felt a little uneasy over the actress playing Milah, but other than that, he was taking the whole crazy thing in stride and even having fun with it.

“It’s been centuries, love,” he had assured her multiple times. He also appreciated that the representation of Milah was more accurate, stating that she was falsely accused of witchcraft with no hint of the ridiculous claim that she was mad.

Yet none of that was the cause of Emma’s nerves. She was three heartbeats from a panic attack because of what she and Belle had planned for after the event. Killian didn’t know a thing about it, but it had to be done tonight, on the anniversary of when his curse was originally cast. Belle had everything they needed squirreled away in the closet beneath the stairs. Emma kept glancing that way, despite her being pulled in a thousand different directions, and every time her heart beat sped up.

“Well, Ms. Swan,” Mayor Regina Mills said, stepping into her line of sight seemingly from out of nowhere, “I must say I was skeptical that you could pull this off, but this just might become a Halloween tradition in Hopeful.”

Emma wet her dry lips and forced a smile. “Thank you, Ms. Mills.”

“And tell that man you hired - a Mr. Jones, was it? - to come see me on Monday. I may have a permanent position for him.”

I hope he can. Emma thought to herself. Outwardly, she simply gave the mayor a nod. “I’ll pass that along.”

*********************************************************************

Emma cursed the ancient floor boards as she wrestled the ancient cauldron into place in the middle of the parlor. She righted herself after tripping over a warped board, ignoring the strain of the muscles in her arms as she heaved the cast iron kettle over the burning wood in the fireplace.

Emma swore as Belle crushed ingredients with a mortar and pestle. There wasn’t much time. It was almost midnight.

Belle handed one ingredient after another to Henry, who rushed to toss it into the bubbling cauldron as Emma stirred. Her hands shook as she heard Killian’s boots stride across the floor above.

“He’s going to kill me,” Emma muttered as she caught her son’s gaze.

The sound of Killian’s boots were closer now, descending the stairs. Not that it mattered if he was angry. They had to try. As if reading her mind, Henry grasped her hand.

“This will work, Mom.”

Belle hurried over, the last ingredient crushed at the bottom of the small mortar. The two women shared a nervous look, then Belle shook the white powder into Emma’s palm. Just as Emma lifted her fist above the potion simmering in the pot, the sound of Killian’s boots stilled and his voice filled the room.

“Emma?”

She stopped abruptly as his eyes took in the room; the fragile yellowed book open on the coffee table, the ingredients scattered across the buffet table, and the mortar and pestle in Belle’s hand.

“Killian,” Emma explained slowly, “we found this spell, and we had to try . . .”

“Emma, no!” Killian cried as she dropped the crushed white swan feathers into the cauldron.

Emma took a deep breath and spoke the incantation: “Swan in woman’s form, injustice to right, the enslaved to free.”

A pulse of bright light suddenly pulsed from the cauldron, knocking all four people in the room off their feet. Emma moaned, grasping her pounding head in her hands. There was a ringing in her ears, and she could barely make out Killian’s face hovering worriedly over her.

Well, we’re not dead.

It was her last thought before she passed out.

Six Months Later . . .

The last remnants of the harsh Maine winter blew on the April breeze. The front porch of the cabin Killian had made his home for centuries was lightly framed with purple from the lilac trees that grew nearby. Emma was leaning against his old tan pickup, admiring the picturesque scene. Her smile grew as Killian and Henry came out of the front door with boxes in their hands.

“These are the last two, love,” Killian told her.

“Really?” she asked in surprise as she took the box from Henry’s hand and set it in the truck.

“Well,” Killian said with a shrug, “possessions aren’t of much value when you have no one to share them with.”

Emma grinned as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re so wise, oh ancient one.”

Henry snorted a laugh as Killian feigned offense. Then Henry was gagging instead when Emma went up on her tiptoes to kiss the pout off Killian’s face.

“I’ll be in the truck,” the boy announced with a wrinkled nose.

“I thought he liked me,” Killian frowned.

“He does,” Emma chuckled, “it’s just - to a kid, grown ups kissing is disgusting.”

“Ah, I see. Unfortunately, now that we are wed and all three of us are sharing a home, he’s going to have to get used to it.”

Emma laughed as Killian placed exaggerated smooches all over her face.

“Speaking of home,” Henry shouted through the back window, “can you stop being gross so we can go ?”

They both laughed, but despite Henry’s request, Emma pressed her cheek to Killian’s collarbone and gazed at the little cabin. Her hand rested against his chest, her wedding ring catching the light of the spring sun.

“I’m glad we broke your curse, but is it wrong if I don’t want to give up this place?”

Killian held her close and kissed the top of her head. “We don’t have to, love. As groundskeeper of Gold Manor, I’ll be converting it into my office, remember.”

Emma smirked up at him. “But it won’t have a bed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I bet it’s not appropriate for my innocent ears!” Henry called out again from the truck.

Killian’s head tilted back, and a joyful and carefree laugh burst out of him. “Okay then, Joneses, lets get home.”

Emma had to admit as they pulled up in front of their new blue Victorian with its wraparound porch and view of the sea, that home was a pretty incredible place. She was glad she was too busy back in the fall to see a realtor.

********************************************************************

“What’s the surprise, love?”

Emma laughed as Killian almost tripped over a tombstone.

“Bloody hell, woman, if you’re going to blindfold me, then you better get me safely to my destination!”

Emma brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry. We’re here though.” She removed the blindfold and gestured to the tombstone in front of them. Killian just stood there, slack-jawed, his eyes blinking.

The tombstone was the same one that had been erected centuries ago. Better for historical integrity, Belle had explained. Yet the marker erected behind it, tall and on top of a pretty black, wrought-iron post, was brand new.

“It’s officially on the historic registry,” Emma told him softly, biting her lower lip. “Do you like it?”

He blinked and cleared his throat before managing to read it aloud.

Milah Gold

Born 1661

Hanged for accusations of witchcraft in 1693

Like many of her day, Milah’s only crime was

defying the societal expectations of women.

Her life and death reminds us that we should

never stop fighting for justice and equal rights.

“Milah would be happy, right?” Emma asked nervously.

“Actually,” Killian replied turning to pull her into his arms, “this marker wouldn’t have mattered to her. She would be happy because you’ve broken me free of that curse and given me a reason to live again.”

He lowered his head to kiss her, and Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. As their kiss intensified, she dug her fingers into the hair at his nape, humming when he pulled away.

“So,” she said, her forehead still pressed to his, “ready to live just one lifetime? Or do you have regrets?”

“Never. One lifetime with you, becoming old and gray together, is all I could have ever dreamed of.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs ghost story #sort of #curses #soulmates #true love #for kmomof4 #on her birthday

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harryswanderlust · 5 years

Text

Locker Room

warnings: smut!! & cursing

requested: nope

I hope you guy enjoy 4k words of gym! shawn!!

A sigh escapes her lips as she fills the water cooler for the third time in the past hour, secretly hoping she won't have to fill it more than the eight times she usually does during her shift. She prefers it over having to pick up the dirty, sweaty towels off the gym floor to throw into the wash, but neither thing is glamorous in her opinion. Her job isn't too bad, she really doesn't have to do much, and Y/n really needs the money. It was either here or the coffee shop on the corner, and she doesn't know a thing about making coffee.

She's been working here for about two weeks, and the worst thing she's had to do is help all the clueless people understand the terms of their membership. She'd rather bang her head against a wall, but most days are relaxing for her when she doesn't have to deal with that. She mostly gets to hide in the background completely unnoticed since everyone seems to know what they're doing and goes about their business like usual.

She gets a nice view sometimes, and one of these days she knows she's going to get caught staring at the cute guys that walk in. She can't help herself, once they take their shirts off she gets a front row seat to their toned abs and back muscles and how could she look away from that? No one really pays much attention to her except to ask for a towel or for her to refill their water bottles though. Every day is basically the same routine, but today's shift was going to be a little different for her.

She makes her way back to the front desk, resting her chin on her fist as she reopens her book to continue reading it. The day has been slow so far, not a lot of people coming in, and it's relatively quiet except for the clinking of weights. She's been waiting, watching the tiny hand tick by on the clock, for her lunch break. While her job may not hard, it's certainly not invigorating and sadly her lunch break is the most exciting part of her day.

When she hears the bell on the door ring, she looks up from her book, letting it close on the counter as she gets ready to give whoever's come in the usual "Hi, welcome to Fusion Gym," greeting, but the words manage to get caught in her throat.

She's unable to do anything but blink, taking in the sight of the stranger that just walked in. She thinks she's dreaming at first as her eyes roam his entire his body, noting the heading that's pushing back chocolate brown curls and shorts that are exposing a pair of thighs that she swears are sinful. Sure she's seen some well fit, attractive looking young guys come in. She works in a gym for goodness sake, but him? He puts all of them to shame.

She jumps out of her chair, smoothing out her shirt and fixing her name tag. She rakes her fingers through hair, trying to make herself look nice or at the very least presentable. She never put much effort into how she looked for her job since she only had to interact with a handful of people and her boss didn't care. But today has made her want to try a bit harder.

He makes his way over to her and is about to say something when Jeremy, the gym's best personal trainer, comes up to him.

"Hey, Shawn. It's been a while since I've seen you, where've you been?" He asks, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into a type of bro hug. He gives a couple pats on the back before releasing him, one hand still on his shoulder.

Shawn.

She kind of liked that name.

The kind of name she'd like to scream.

"Been busy writing that album and stuff. You know how it is," he tells him, shrugging as he pulls his gym bag off his shoulder. She watches as his biceps flexes, and she restrains herself from biting her lip. A few tattoos on his arm catch her attention, and if she didn't have a thing for them before then she sure did now.

Also, writing an album? Did that make him a singer? She's never heard of any singers named Shawn, but being away at college has really managed to take her out of the loop.

"Yeah, I no worries man. You want to make it a leg day?" Jeremy asks him, and Shawn nods in agreement. Y/n doesn't catch the words that are passed between them next because she's too busy daydreaming about the tall, amber eyed boy in front of her with the a smile like sunshine. Thoughts swirling through her mind about how someone so perfect could exist. Which she realizes is impossible because no one is truly perfect, but damn did he sure come close.

It makes her wish she'd starting working at the gym sooner.

She's fully aware that there's work she needs to do, and standing here gawking at people isn't going to help get it done. It's probably time for her to wipe down equipment or clean one of the bathrooms, but that all seems so insignificant to her right now.

"Hello? Excuse me, miss?"

Gasping, she's pulled back to reality. She blinks a few times, silently cursing at herself for appearing like a fool in front of him. He's standing right in front of her, patiently waiting for her to say something.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Hi, can I help you with something today?"

Like maybe taking off your shirt?

"Yeah, could I get a towel please?"

She nods frantically, like somehow she can no longer behave like a normal human being. She walks back to the closet where they keep the towels and has to stand on her tiptoes to get the only available ones on the top shelf.

"Sorry about that," she says sheepishly when she's back behind the front desk, "Here you go."

She hands him the neatly folded towel, their hands touching when he grabs it from her. A slight chill runs through her, and she has to close her eyes for a minute to calm herself. She doesn't know why she's getting so worked up over a guy. An inconceivably hot guy, but still a guy.

"I appreciate it," he thanks her, his face lighting up with a smile and Y/n's knees go weak at the sight. "I've never seen you here before. I'm Shawn."

He offers her his hand to shake and she takes it, her thumb tracing over the bird that is inked onto it. She ponders over it, considering what it might mean before realizing she hasn't said anything back.

"I..I'm new," she sputters, shaking his hand way too eagerly. He lets out a small laugh, one she'd find endearing if it wasn't caused by the dumb mistake she just made. "I mean, I'm Y/n. Obviously new isn't my name. That would be...that would be stupid...obviously..."

Her focus shifts to anywhere but his own, unable to handle how embarrassing she's being right now. She's word vomiting all over herself, and she'd say that it's the reason no one's ever asked her out. She can hardly say anything remotely intelligible around good looking people so it's no wonder why she can't keep anyone around.

"Cute name for an even cuter girl," he says, winking at her, and her heart almost stops beating.

Was that–did he just compliment her? She had to have imagined that right?

"Guess I'll be seeing you around more often," he waves and turns over his shoulder to join Jeremy in the workout room.

She mutters a "guess so" under her breath and jumps giddily where she stands when he's no longer facing her. She wipes her clammy palms against her jeans, trying to get of all the sweat and sits back down in her chair. Opening her book, she tries to get back into it and stop herself from watching Shawn. But it doesn't work once the weights are picked up and the shirt comes off, his entire physique on full display for her.

He could literally choke her with those thighs if he wanted.

After a while, she's still trained on him. Sweat glistens against his chest and forehead, his eyebrows drawn together as he concentrates. For Y/n, this is more entertaining than anything she could see at the movies or on tv. She'd pay to see this everyday, even if the boy never developed any interest in her.

She didn't know it yet, but her luck was about to start changing for her.

･ﾟ✧･ﾟ ✧ ･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ✧

The low hum of music from the speakers above flows through the gym, a yawn seeping past her lips as she rests her chin further against her fist. She blinks several times, tiredness taking over her body. She's been fighting off sleep for the past three or four hours, trying to stay awake for the night shift she's been stuck on. It was the only time she was available to work this week, having to have mornings and afternoons free for her college midterms. And if she wasn't already occupied enough with all that, it sure didn't help that Shawn has been on her mind the entire time.

It would have been wise to take the whole week, but her desire to see him again was greater than her need to pass her tests. He's started coming in every day since they met, or on nights like tonight if that's when Y/n's working. She didn't know what to think of it really, or of herself for that matter. It wasn't like he was anyone special, if you take away that fact that he's a talented artist and is a walking dream, yet she's developed a crush on him in such a short amount of time. She even took her hair out of a ponytail for him, letting it fall loosely around her face and over her shoulders. She would've brushed it, but she didn't want it to seem like she was trying too hard.

Not that it mattered because Shawn definitely noticed her. He noticed her from the moment he laid eyes on her, even if she was about to fall out of her chair. It was adorable, and what's more adorable is the amount of times he's caught her staring at him while he's in the middle of working out. He'd be lying if he said he didn't love the way he's able to put on a show for her. It's an immediate confidence booster for him when she gets flustered, turning back to the towels she folding or book she's only half reading. And when she's busy and needed elsewhere, he's watching her too.

Slowly, they've both been noticing that the only attention they want is each other's. There have been plenty of girls in the gym that have taken their shot at flirting with Shawn–there being one in particular that Y/n remembers named Olivia. She works at the gym alongside her, and she had to watch the pathetic scene unfold in front of her while refraining herself from killing the girl. Everything from shoulder touching, hair twirling, and all the way to fake laughing. She thought she was going to be sick, but luckily Shawn wasn't paying any mind to her. He's used to the affection, but now he only wants Y/n's.

She releases a grunt when her head slips from her hand, hitting her forehead on the counter. Her fingers tend to the pain, rubbing tenderly to help ease it before she decides to clean the equipment in order to keep herself from nearly falling asleep again. If there's anything she's learned from this night, it's that four cups of coffee fails to do the trick.

Right now there's two things she'd love: either a nap or to be underneath Shawn while he's doing push ups in the workout room with Jeremy...or for other reasons. The way his muscles are flexing is making her hot, and the a/c in this place is always cranked up on full blast.

"How many is that?" Shawn asks, grunting as he pushes himself up from the mat. A bead of sweat slides down the side of his head, his damp curls sticking to his neck.

"That's thirty," Jeremy answers, smacking on a piece of gum. His gaze wanders the room, stopping when he sees Y/n wiping down a weight bench. "Hey, Y/n. I'm going to go fill up my water. Make sure he doesn't stop while I'm gone, would ya?"

He doesn't wait for a response, already making his way towards the water cooler. She glances at Shawn who relaxes before he stands up. The air is thick around them as he moves to stand in front of her, bringing his hand up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. Skin tingles where he touches her, feeling electric as it runs down her spine.

She'd love for him to touch her all over.

She'd love to get to touch him all over. And his shirt's already off, making him half naked...

"You're not really going to make me do any more are you? I think I deserve a break don't you?" He asks, quirking a brow and cocking his head.

She draws in a weary breath, unsure of what to say as she grabs his hand and pulls it away from where it hovers above her cheek. She holds onto it, looking at where their hands meet and letting a second pass before she snaps herself out of whatever trance she's in.

"I...I guess?" She says questioningly.

He shakes his head. "You know what? What if you helped me instead?"

Her brows knit together, confusion gracing her features. "What do you mean?"

There's no one around except for the two of them and one or two other employees, most people having called it a night ages ago. The room is calm and quiet with it only being the two of you. That's why Shawn doesn't have a problem pulling her down gently to the mat, climbing above her and positioning himself to do more push-ups. Fear ignites behind her eyes as her back presses against it, their chests all but touching. He grasps her chin, getting her to look at him.

"For every push-up I do right I'll kiss you," he explains, and he has no idea where any of this came from but he's glad it did. He has wanted to ask her out over the past week. He's wanted to ask her out from the minute he saw her behind the front desk, but he's chickened out every time he's considered going for it.

"Wait what?"

She's hoping Jeremy doesn't come back anytime soon, not finding this situation to be one she'd enjoy explaining her way out of.

"Think of it as a reward," he persuades her, pushing himself down so his lips ghost right over her ear, "For both of us."

His locks dangle over his lashes, tickling along the side of her neck. She resists the urge twirl a curl of it around her finger. She's wondered what it feels like. Probably

"But how will I know if you do one right?" She whispers.

"I guess that's up to me to decide," he breathes, already bending down to start. His warm breath fans across her face, his nose lightly brushing hers. Her body is suddenly begging for him to kiss her, anticipating him pressing his warm lips to hers. Her head swirls and eyes flutter shut.

He's about to steal one from her. Claim the reward that's well earned for both of them, but she puts a stop to it.

"You know, I like your songs," she blurts out, dissipating the moment. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, angry that she just ruined things as the heat was turning up. Her words come out so rushed she's hoping he didn't understand a thing she said–she's not even sure she understood what she said.

"What?"

"I like your songs," she repeats, more clearly this time. "I looked you up on Spotify the other night and I think your songs are...are cool."

'I looked you up on Spotify?' 'I think your songs are cool?'. Seriously? She listened to all three of his albums and that's what she has to say about it? That's the best she could come up with? It's better than telling him she spent over two hours listening to his music instead of studying for her classes, but still.

"Oh, thanks," he says, and there he goes again with that lovable laugh that has no business making her like him so much. "Do you have a favorite?"

She shrugs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I guess I really enjoyed that one song...Nervous I think it was...?"

A deep shade of crimson blossoms over Shawn's cheeks, and he coughs before shaking it off. His embarrassment begins to falter, and she notices a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Is it because I make you nervous, princess?"

She freezes, her pulse racing.

Princess?

That was new. She's never been called that before, but she liked hearing it come from that mouth of his. Now she wants to know what else it can do. Kiss her lips? Or maybe the ones a little further south?

She's so lost in her mind that she's totally surprised when he finally decides to go for it. Next thing she knows his lips are on hers, moving gently. It's fervent, it's insiste. Each one deeper than the last every time he pulls away and comes back. He relaxes, his body melting into hers as she winds her arms around him. They're flush against each other now with no room to consider the possibility of someone walking in on them now.

One hand tangles in her hair, the other pinches her hip causing her to squirm and her mouth to part. Her heart beats faster and faster, body spinning as she savors the saccharin taste of honey. They're making out for the entire world to see–they're lying in front of a wall of windows–but that's the last thing either of them care about. The world has fallen around them, and the only thing left are the helpless moans they're pulling out of each other.

She tugs teasingly at his bottom lip, hissing when he grinds his hips against her own. A hand slips under her shirt, splaying over her stomach, but before he can move it any further something halts his actions.

A bottle drops to the floor, the sound of it ringing through the room alongside a string of curses. Shawn swiftly rolls off of her, the two of them sitting up as Jeremy approaches. Realizing their messy appearance, he peers unsurely at them.

He clears his throat. "Ahem, I think we should call it a night," he says, fixated on the way they're so close to one another, "It's getting late, yeah?"

Shawn nods, already halfway stood up. "Yeah, I'm gonna hit the showers."

They exchange goodbyes while Y/n drowns in a sea disbelief. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself making out with a pop star on a grime infested floor. Granted she didn't initiate it, but she made no effort to stop the situation either.

Jeremy's long gone and she chooses to follow Shawn's lead by standing up as well, but when she does she trips. He's quick to catch her as she stumbles into his chest, and he gestures towards the lockers rooms. There's a split second of misunderstanding before she picks up that he wants her to join him, which sends her into a minor panic.

Is he really going to try and hook up with her in a locker room?

Is she really finding herself okay with that?

Could he at least buy her dinner first?

Within no time they're in there and he's all over her again. Dropping his bag and towel, gripping her waist and attaching himself to her neck once more. It's no surprise he's strong, and it's no surprise that a wave of excitement rushes through her when he roughly pushes her back into the side of the lockers. He skims the hem of her shirt, working to pull it off of her.

Her pants are next, and then his own shorts. She's desperate for him when she feels his hard on poking the side of her thigh, mere inches away from leaning into the place she wants him most. Whines fill the air as they leave red and purple marks along skin. Shawn dips down, his mouth roaming her chest while his arm snakes around to work on the clasp of her bra.

He groans, taking in the beautiful sight of her. "I like this view," he says, "I could get used to this."

She can't believe how she's gotten here. Naked and sandwiched between Shawn and the cold metal of a row of lockers. She can't believe it when his mouth leaves her collarbone and attacks her nipple, his fingers fumbling around with the other. She can't believe the way she's shuddering when he carefully drops down to his knees. He leaves sloppy kisses on her on his way down, making her want to crumble.

There's a tingling feeling where she's aching for him when he levels with her center. She's wet. Beyond wet, and he's barely done anything to her yet. He's positioned himself between her thighs, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into them, and she wants to come undone at the sight of it alone.

Her body lurches forward when his nose nudges her clit. She becomes a whimpering mess when his fingers dance along her thighs and make their way up to her heat. They slide through her wet folds, circling her entrance before slipping one in. His tongue is on her next, eliciting a scream from her as it swirls her clit.

Groans leave him as he sucks on her bundle of nerves, causing vibrations that make her tremble. Her legs shake, and she's already beginning to drip all over his chin.

"Fuck," she whines, loving the way he's stretching her more and more with each pump.

He pulls away, muttering a "you taste so fucking good," beneath his breath, eyes glossed over with lust, before burying himself in her again. He's relentless, pushing deep inside her all the way to his knuckles and picking up his pace to bring her closer and closer to the edge. Her back arches into him, and she moans at the way he's touching every place inside her. Licking, lapping, sucking–every movement, everything more magical than the last.

He continues to mercilessly eat her out, floating from how her pussy tastes. Soft cries can be heard as she's on the brink of release. She's in awe at how goddamn amazing he is at this. There's no way he hasn't done this before, but she doesn't care because she didn't know someone could make her feel this good. Her head leans back on the lockers, her eyes hooded as she watches herself spill all over his chin.

"Such a pretty princess when you're about to cum for me," he mumbles, moving faster to finish her off. And the way he says 'for him' does things to her. She's not just cumming, she's coming for him. And he's making her.

Her hands slam to the lockers to keep her steady.

"Right there. Please right there," she begs as he brings her to her hilt. Her orgasm starts to wash over her, unraveling right in front of him. He marvels in it, refusing to slow down or let up as she succumbs to pure bliss.

He licks every drop of her, cleaning her up as she writhes. He's never been so satisfied from making a girl cum with only his mouth. He's never been more confident in his abilities, and he'll be the first to admit he wants to do it again. He plants one last kiss to her clit, listening to the way she giggles as he stands back up.

He presses another one to her lips to allow for her to taste her sweet self on him. "How was that?"

"You," she breathes, "were amazing."

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#shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes preference

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mariequitecontrarie · 6 years

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If Tomorrow Never Comes

Summary: From outside Granny’s, Rumplestiltskin sees the moment Belle drinks the tea that accelerates her pregnancy, and he charges into the diner to rescue his family. Notes: Fix-it for OUAT 6x09 Changelings. Guys, this is the “canonesque” Rumbelle birth we deserved. Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling: hands, warmth, gentle. I haven’t written in a while, so thanks to @galactic-pirates and @magnoliatattoo for helping me dip my toes back in the water.

On AO3

Rumplestiltskin pushes out of the shop, desperate for fresh air. The door rattles on its hinges as he stumbles across the sidewalk, the visitor bell banging angrily against the weather-beaten wood. Blinding sunlight burns his bloodshot eyes and the crisp, clean breeze is a welcome shock to his lungs after the oppressive, stale air of the shop.

He had prowled around the store like a stray dog after he left Belle at the library, listless and unproductive. It’s strange; working inside the shop for hours never troubled him before. The store is normally his sanctuary, the one place in this world where he can disappear to gather his thoughts and make plans. But this afternoon, the thick cloak of dust and the sharp crackle of magic in the air offers little comfort.

He is, as Belle had noted on the deck of the Jolly Roger two weeks ago, sick of the sight of himself.

There’s a decided chill in the early autumn breeze, and he rubs his hands together to warm them. With no destination in mind, he begins a slow, aimless walk down Main Street, the slight rustling of golden leaves his only companions on the empty sidewalk.

The quiet streets are another indication of how isolated his life has become. No one comes to the shop to browse or make deals anymore, not since he’s been associating with the Evil Queen. But Regina’s doppelganger is little more than a means to an end, and he’s already grown bored with her petty schemes and pouty seductions. He cares only about his unborn son, or so he keeps telling himself.

The endless cycle of his thoughts brings him back to Belle.

Their confrontation in the library earlier today left him exhausted. He’d stalked her, intent on dosing her with magic to accelerate her pregnancy so he could claim his son. Anything to keep his child from hating him the way Baelfire had learned to. Now his vast collection of mistakes has pushed his wife away again, perhaps for the final time.

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck while the soles of his shoes scrape heavily along the sidewalk, grief washing over him in nauseating waves that bring the taste of iron to his tongue.

Once, Belle saw him as a man she loved and believed in; now she sees only a monster.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek and steps over the curb and into the street. The smell of her fear in the elevator made him sick. Fear. It’s as pervasive a poison as he has ever known. Hatred is so much easier to endure.

Don’t give up, Rumple. I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you to try. Huddled against the back wall of the elevator, Belle had lit a spark of hope in his dark, shriveled heart. While he clutched that vial of magic like a lifeline, she offered him a choice, a chance to make things right. Only Belle would offer precious gift of another chance even in her most desperate hour. He’d accepted, seizing the undeserved chance, then returning the vial back to the shop and hiding it away.

Maybe if he tried harder to explain he could have made Belle understand why he needs to keep control, needs to keep this child safe after allowing Baelfire to slip away. He shakes his head at himself. The time for excuses is long since passed.

Shoulders sagging, he continues to plod down Main Street, stopping in front of the diner. The tables are mostly vacant, but through the window, a familiar flutter of pink fabric catches his attention. He steps closer and peers through the tattered, graying blinds.

Belle. She’s perched on a stool at the counter, nursing a cup of tea. The chance to study her is too much to resist and he moves nearer still, stepping beneath the ivy-covered trellis and into the shadow of a boxed pine tree. She reminds him of a wounded bird, her cream sweater drawn around her shoulders like battered wings that have forgotten how to flap. She takes a tiny sip of tea, and he wonders when she last ate. She should be gaining weight with the pregnancy, but she’s thin—almost gaunt—and deathly pale. All the joyful expectation of motherhood has drained from her face.

Morning sickness is partly to blame for her wanness, he knows, but he imagines the strife between them is more the problem. He’s vain enough to hope she still misses him, even after all he has done. He imagines her all alone, her stomach pitching in the bowels of Hook’s ship, with no one to hold her hair back or to bring her crackers when her belly gurgles and cramps. Had she listened to the verses of poetry he’d recorded for her and their baby, or did she fling the tape out of a porthole where it would sink to the bottom of the sea? His gut twists in misery and he turns away from the window.

Venturing down Main Street had been a terrible idea.

He contemplates turning around and heading back to the shop when a shout ricochets through the thin walls of the restaurant.

Belle is standing in the middle of the diner, her teacup in pieces on the floor. In disbelief, Rumplestiltskin watches her belly begin to expand, rounding with their child. It’s fast, too fast, and another cry of pain and surprise pierces the silent street. Belle wraps her arms around her growing waist, confused, small, and utterly terrified.

The tea. Someone dosed the tea. Regina? Zelena? No. Deep down, he knows it’s the Evil Queen. She’d gone into his shop, stolen the magic, and broken her promise not to harm Belle or the baby. He steels himself for a fight. He’s pathetic excuse for a knight in shining armor, but Belle is vulnerable and the Evil Queen doesn’t have a shred of mercy in her soul.

Gritting his teeth, he charges up the steps and through the diner door.

The pirate and Ms. Swan are hovering over Belle, but they draw back when he approaches. It’s as if they never expected him to come this close and don’t know what to do now that he has. Ignoring their challenging stares, he grasps Belle’s quaking shoulders, his own hands shaking with uncontrollable fear. He doesn’t care what they think. All he sees and cares about is Belle.

“Rumple!” Belle gasps, her eyes dark with pain and accusation. “What’s happening? How could…” She cuts herself off with a gasp, the words swelling into another urgent, desperate cry.

He’d been standing right outside when it happened, and the realization of what she must be thinking strikes him like an iron to the head. His grip on her shoulders slackens and he draws his hands gently down her arms to cup her elbows. “Belle, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I know how things must seem, but it wasn’t me. Gods, please believe me.”

The pirate crowds in again, a black eyebrow disappearing into his hairline. “You alright, love?” he asks Belle.

She shakes her head and splays her hands over her belly, her breath coming in harsh pants. The golden shackle he placed on her wrist catches the light filtering through the blinds and his stomach pitches.

No wonder she doesn’t believe him. His past actions haven’t exactly inspired trust.

Rumplestiltskin stumbles back. He wants to tell Hook to mind his own business, but Belle has gone to the pirate for assistance before and she’s the sole occupant of his bloody ship. The fact that it’s Hook rubs salt in wounds both old and fresh but this is Belle’s decision—he won’t rob her of any more choices. Her chin wobbles with indecision, sadness and pain mingling with hope in her expressive face.

Holding her frightened gaze, he holds his hands up in supplication, his palms upturned and empty. With a twitch of his fingers and a puff of smoke, the golden mistake around her arm disappears. He was so frightened of losing another son that he’d created a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I would never hurt you, Belle. Never!” ‘At least not intentionally,’ he chides himself because to his deep shame he knows he has hurt her. “Please, let me help you. Let me help our son.”

Her blue eyes blaze like flint striking rock while she weighs his words and his heart hammers against his ribs, every staccato beat willing her to accept the truth.

Please, Belle. I did not dose you with that magic.

All at once the space between them is gone, and his arms are full of his wife. She sags against him, her soft lips brushing his collar and he is surrounded by the fragrance of crushed rose petals. The swell of her now-enormous belly presses against his stomach and their son delivers a kick to his gut so strong it steals his breath. The wonder of holding Belle with their unborn child between them is indescribable, and a hot tear traces a line down his cheek.

Belle turns to Hook and Miss Swan who are still standing there, gaping like it’s the bloody circus. “I’ll be fine,” she tells them. “My husband is here.”

Husband. So much enmity between them, yet her trust gives him a confidence that no power in all the realms has ever offered. Ignoring the open-mouthed shock of Granny’s patrons, he sweeps Belle up into his arms and carries her out the door.

He cuts across the street toward the alleyway where his car is parked, and she buries her face against his neck with a sob. If the way she’s pinching his shoulders is any indication, her labor pain has quickly spiraled into unbearable. Her cries remind him of the agony he felt when he hobbled his foot so he could go home to meet Baelfire, and it occurs to him this moment isn’t so different.

Sometimes, whether the battlefield is on literal ground or raging within the soul, a man has to walk away from the war to protect his family.

Even carrying Belle, the return walk to the shop is twice as fast as the one he made to Granny’s. Adrenaline makes his steps quick and purposeful, and within five minutes he’s ducking her head into the passenger seat of the Cadillac and speeding in the direction of Storybrooke General. From her short, harsh breaths and her iron grip on his hand, he knows there isn’t much time before their son makes his grand entrance into the world.

While he drives, one hand holding on to Belle while he steers the car with the other, it dawns on him: never once did it occur to him to use magic.

Another contraction seizes her and she tightens her hold on Rumple’s hand, squeezing until his knuckles pop and sweat rolls down her temples. The pain is excruciating. Gods, it feels like she’s being ripped in two!

She can’t believe she’s sitting in a hospital bed preparing to deliver their son. The baby wasn’t supposed to come for another six months, but why is she surprised? Here in Storybrooke, strange has always been the norm. Even so, she hasn’t taken a single lesson on breathing, done a baby boot camp, or even bought a crib. All she has to welcome their child is a chocolate brown teddy bear and a tiny, baby blanket the color of daffodils which once belonged to her. But thanks to all her babysitting for Snow and David, she’s an expert at changing diapers.

“That was a big one,” she confesses, releasing Rumple’s hand when the pain ebbs again.

“I could tell.” His smile is tender but strained when he leans closer to wipe her sweaty forehead with a cold cloth. She inhales, tucking his familiar scent around her like a blanket. The sweet, cloying odor of magic is blessedly absent; there’s only his crisp, clean aftershave that smells of the ocean on a winter’s day.

The calm, patient Rumplestiltskin at her side is nothing like the one who cornered her in the elevator this morning. It’s as if by accepting his help, a switch has been flipped, establishing an instant if tenuous truce between them. They won’t be able to put themselves back together all at once, but joining forces for the sake of their son is a welcome beginning.

It must seem like madness to others, her consuming love for this man.

She may be in labor, but she’s not blind. Leaving the diner with him today had stunned everyone in the restaurant into silence. When they arrived at the hospital together, the nurses had done double-takes. Gossip travels like lightning in Storybrooke, and by now everyone in town has heard about the trouble between them.

After the warnings and visions from Morpheus, after she’d gone to Emma for counsel and protection, after the golden cuff he fastened on her wrist to keep her under his thumb, after the library elevator this morning, logic dictates that her husband should be the last person she turns to for help.

But with Rumplestiltskin, things are always more than they appear.

Oh, he’s always excelled at hiding behind a mask and he’s certainly fooled her more than once, but there was nothing contrived or calculated about his panic at Granny’s. No matter how hard he tries to conceal his emotions or how much he toys with words, he somehow betrays his tenderness to her. She isn’t sure if it was something in his eyes, the set of his jaw, or his voice...one look at his stricken face and all her doubts were swept away.

Besides, she’s done more than her share of bricklaying to build this wall between them. Unaware of her jumbled thoughts, Rumple pats her cheek with the cloth and grips her hand, preparing her to brace for the next contraction. She hangs onto him with a grateful smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

“Another contraction is coming,” Mother Superior announces, watching the monitor from the foot of the bed. “Belle, dear, it really would have been better if you had come to the convent to have the baby.”

Belle rolls her eyes—if anyone knows another bloody contraction is coming, she does. She sits up to prepare for another onslaught of pain. She appreciates Blue’s kindness, but her advice and presence are both misplaced. A tick of annoyance flashes in Rumple’s jaw and he glares at Blue, his hands flexing into tight knots where they rest on her shoulders. Belle sends him a pleading look. She cannot handle a Reul Ghorm versus Dark One confrontation right now.

“Little late to be changing locations,” a voice cuts in.

Belle breathes an audible sigh of relief. For once, Doctor Whale’s interruption is welcome.

He edges Blue out of the way, pulling up the sheet examine Belle. “This baby is coming now,” Whale says. “Time to push, Belle.”

The dreaded contractions shift almost on command, shooting up her back and tightening her belly until they’re piling up one on top of the other and she can’t draw a clean breath through the agony. Can this be right? The What to Expect book warned that giving birth is painful, but all the baby books in the realms couldn’t have prepared her. Nothing about this experience feels natural. She wants her books (no, not that one!) and her bed and her tea.

Then she remembers Rumple is here. Yes. He can take her home now, this minute, and they can forget all about having a baby and pretend the last three months were a long, twisted nightmare. “Rumple,” she wails, seizing his lapels and dragging him toward her. “I can’t! I can’t do this!”

One hand covers hers where she’s clawing at his suit coat, while the other strokes her sticky, sweaty hair away from her face. “Yes, you can, Belle.”

“No!” She grabs for his shoulders again, shaking her head. How can he be so calm? The pain is unbearable and she’s never been so tired. “I want to go home,” she wheedles. “Can’t you take me home?”

He cradles her face between his hands, his thumbs stroking down her neck in gentle sweeps. “Look at me. Look right here, sweetheart.” She focuses on her husband, drawn in by the gentle pitch of his voice and the golden flecks in his whiskey-colored eyes. “You are the most incredible woman, the bravest person, I have ever known. You can do anything. You can do this. You will do this, and then we—I mean you—will go home.”

Exasperated, she sticks out her tongue, vaguely aware she’s being childish and petulant, but in too much pain to care. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here,” he assures her, kissing her damp cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Doctor Whale orders her to push, and she grips Rumple’s hand and bears down. Through the haze of pain and over the sound of her own screams, she somehow registers his voice in her ear telling her over and over, “My darling, my life, I love you.”

I love you.

Belle is magnificent, more courageous during this whole ordeal than he could have imagined. When their son appears, slippery, warm, and impossibly small, Rumplestiltskin can’t help but grin when he howls his first gasping cry.

Nurses swarm the birthing chamber, eager to examine the baby and check on Belle. There’s no purpose for him at her bedside any longer and before he knows it, he’s standing outside the door again and feeling like a stranger. He drifts through the hospital corridors for an unknown amount of time, finally slumping down on an out-of-the-way staircase in the back corner of the building.

He longs to see Belle and hold his son, but the fear of being rejected looms large and strong. The panic has passed, her labor is over. And after he almost destroyed their family and any hope of a happy future, he can’t imagine her welcoming him into their son’s life when she returns to her senses.

Besides, he has work to do. The Evil Queen needs to be dealt with for dosing Belle’s tea. Dammit, he should have destroyed the vial instead of hiding it away. Torn between vengeance and staying put, he prepares to teleport, resolved to defend his family. Protecting them is the least he can do.

“Gold.”

Shit. He lowers his hands and scowls at David Nolan. “I’m not dealing today.”

The princeling has the audacity to look offended. “You think I stalked all over this hospital looking for you because I want something?”

He’s reminded of the day he bribed David to deliver the tape filled with poems to the Jolly Roger. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, feeling peevish and stubborn.

“I’m just the messenger again.” Nolan holds up his hands. “Belle’s asking for you.”

All the anger drains from him, fury pushed out by worry. “Oh gods, something’s wrong! Is it Belle? Our son?”

“Relax, Gold. Everyone’s doing fine. Mary Margaret is sitting with Belle. She’s supposed to be resting but she won’t stop asking questions. And every other one is ‘Have you seen Rumple?’” His smile is wry. “Belle needs you.”

David is still babbling, but Rumplestiltskin is already halfway down the hallway on the way back to his family. Belle needs you. Three words have never meant more.

Even though he’s been summoned, he hovers in the doorway, twisting his wedding ring on his finger. Belle is rocking their tiny son in her arms, cooing softly while the babe blinks up at his mother’s face with wide, trusting eyes. He barely notices when Mary Margaret slips out the door, murmuring something about going for a cup of coffee. He studies Belle’s profile, radiant in a crush of autumn light, and sees a remarkable peace.

A portrait of true love.

“Rumple!” She’s caught him spying, and her faintly scolding tone snaps him out of his trance. “Where did you go? You promised not to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Belle. I thought you meant during…while...” He makes a helpless gesture. Will she never understand? No matter how hard he tries, he’s no good at being a father or a husband.

“Come.” Her smile is wide and welcoming, and she lifts the baby in his direction. “Hold your son.”

He drags a chair next to the bed and gathers his son against his heart. Love, gratitude, and fear rush over him in unbridled waves while he inspects every inch of skin to make sure the accelerating potion hasn’t harmed the baby in any way.

Belle giggles when he draws back his tiny pixie ears to look behind them. “Ten fingers, ten toes,” she informs him. “I counted them all. Twice.”

They sit together for a long time in a silence he finds deeply comforting. He can’t recall sitting this way with her since their idyllic days at the Dark Castle, when he would spin at the wheel and she would lounge on her velvet settee, reading by the light of a crackling fire. The baby sleeps in his arms, cooing sighs punctuated by the occasional sucking moue. Both hands clutch one of his fingers with surprising strength and he simply stares, marveling at the life he and Belle have created. He’d forgotten this part—how someone so little and helpless could also be so strong.

As shadows creep along the walls, signaling the end of this long, strange, miraculous day, he breaks the silence. “Belle, in the diner. How did you know...”

“It wasn’t you who dosed my tea?” She finishes the thought for him, gnawing her lower lip the way she does whenever she’s trying to solve a riddle. “Because I know you, Rumple. Better than you know yourself sometimes, I think. In the elevator, when I asked you to stop, you did.”

Not trusting himself to speak, he nods, feeling as stiff as a wooden puppet. He’d stood on the precipice of complete destruction and been yanked back from the brink by the one person who has always loved him—scars, sins, and all.

“At the diner, it was the look on your face. Terror. I knew you hadn’t done it because you looked as frightened as I felt.” She leans over the baby to cup his face and he rests his cheek in her hand, trusting her touch, allowing himself to be held. “I knew you could never bring yourself to hurt me.”

Her lips tremble with exhaustion and emotion, but her eyes are clear and untroubled. It’s as though she’s truly seeing him again—the real Rumplestiltskin. For the first time since they learned of the pregnancy in the Underworld, he feels as though he has stepped out into the sun.

“I would like to offer you a deal,” he ventures, shifting the baby back into her arms.

She raises an eyebrow at his formal tone and waits for him to continue.

But hesitation still hangs between them, and it’s best not to ask for too much. If she will only give him one thing, he’ll leave them alone for now. He doesn’t know how long he can bear to stay away, to make good on this desperate bargain. Despite his best intentions, his promises always wind up broken.

“All I want is...I just want to know our son’s name.”

“That’s the deal?” Her lip curls at the corner and she seems almost amused. “I can’t tell you… not yet.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat, wondering what he can offer her that she might consider accepting. Clearly, he hadn’t thought this bargain through. “What would you like in exchange?” he asks tightly.

“Oh, Rumple.” She makes a muffled sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob. “I can’t tell you his name because I don’t know. He’s our son. Don’t you think his name is something we should discuss and decide on together?”

The tension in his gut begins to unwind and he relaxes, realizing that she’s trying her best to include him, to press forward with honesty and let the past flutter away. Love floods his heart, making his chest ache. His brave, darling, wonderful wife.

He dares a flippant smile. “You must have a name or two in mind. A scholar like you. Perhaps a hero you’ve read about in the pages of a favorite book?” Although he hasn’t earned the right, he can’t help teasing her a bit in return, enlivened by the fragile peace forming between them. Whether the peace will last remains to be seen, but he will cherish every shining moment without regret.

“What about Rumplestiltskin? For a name?”

He waits for the punchline then snorts when she reclines against her pillows, grinning as though this is the best suggestion ever. “Belle! Be serious. That’s not a name for a baby.”

She lifts her chin. “Why not? It’s your name and he’s your son. I know your father made you feel as though your name was a curse, but maybe this would help you see your name in a more positive light?”

“We’re practically begging for Dark One Junior jokes.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if Whale had given her too many drugs post-labor. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Belle, and please don’t take offense at this, but I think the ordeal of giving birth has suspended your better judgment.”

“You’re probably right.” She hums in thought. “How about Gideon?”

“Aha! From Her Handsome Hero.” He nods his approval. “Gideon.” He tests the flavor of their son’s name on his tongue and finds it pleasing. “I like it.”

“Then it’s settled.” She beams down at the baby. “Gideon. And for a middle name, perhaps Baelfire? We’ll regale our son with stories of heroes from books and real life.”

“Perfect,” he croaks, sounding like the bullfrogs that splash in the pond behind the cabin. “You were amazing today, Belle,” he says. “So brave.”

“Me? I felt like I was falling apart,” she says, shaking her head. But her face lights up at his praise, and he vows to encourage her more often. “You were the brave one, Rumple. Coming to my rescue in the diner, getting me to the hospital. You didn’t even snap at Blue when she poked her nose in.”

“Afterward, I turned her into a snail in the corridor,” he says dryly.

They both laugh as a nurse bustles into the room, clipboard in hand. “You the father?” she asks him.

He flinches as he nods, expecting derision, even to be thrown out of the room. But her plump hands thrust a clipboard and a pen in his face. “Congratulations! Fill these out, please.”

Forms. Documents requesting names, dates, address. He glances at Belle, who is concentrating on helping Gideon to latch on to feed. The awkward intimacy of the moment makes his face suffuse with heat, so he focuses on the paperwork, filling out every blank space except Mother’s Address until he hears contented suckling noises.

“Could you, ah...what address should I give?” he asks quietly, pen poised in the air.

Belle looks up at him through lowered lashes, love and expectation radiant in her face. She covers his hand with her palm. “I was hoping...maybe...45 Shady Maple Lane?”

She wants to go home. He drops the pen on the floor.

Does he really dare hope? Bringing Belle and their son back under his roof is a dream long since shattered. Still, he knows better than to get ahead of himself; the Victorian is a huge, rambling place, and co-parenting in the same house isn’t the same as living as husband and wife and being a family. Even so, he can’t suppress the fresh round of tears pricking his eyes.

“Belle, nothing would make me happier, but are-are you sure?” He eyes her carefully, as though she will snatch the words back at any moment. Perhaps she’s not yet strong enough to be making these decisions.

“I’m sure,” she says with a brilliant smile. “If you’ll have us.”

“Of course I’ll have you, sweetheart. Both of you.” Overjoyed, he lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, bathed golden in the fading evening light, then nuzzles the top of Gideon’s downy head.

Apologies, declarations, and decisions can wait. His family—his everything—is coming home.

Today, the promise of tomorrow is all Rumplestiltskin needs.

###

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fix it #rumbelle angst #angst with a happy ending #gold family #ouat 6x09 fix it #ouat 6x09 changelings #if tomorrow never comes #mqc writes

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worryinglyinnocent · 6 years

Text

Fic: The Darkness Within (41/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: M

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [Sixteen] [Seventeen] [Eighteen] [Nineteen] [Twenty] [Twenty-One] [Twenty-Two] [Twenty-Three] [Twenty-Four] [Twenty-Five] [Twenty-Six] [Twenty-Seven] [Twenty-Eight] [Twenty-Nine] [Thirty] [Thirty-One] [Thirty-Two] [Thirty-Three] [Thirty-Four] [Thirty-Five] [Thirty-Six] [Thirty-Seven] [Thirty-Eight] [Thirty-Nine] [Forty] [AO3]

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Forty-One

Joseph was unaccountably nervous as he stood on Belle’s doorstep, waiting for her to answer his timid knock. Although it had not been said out loud, it was clear to both him and Gold that Gold was now aware of his feelings for Belle, and although it had made things slightly awkward, the fact that they had decided by mutual and silent consent not to talk about it did make life a little easier.

This was the first time that he would be seeing Belle after coming to that realisation with Gold, and it would be the last time that he would see her for a couple of weeks whilst he was back in Scotland hunting down the final part of the blade.

The door opened and Belle poked her head around it. She was looking tired, her hair limp around a face free from make-up but still beautiful nonetheless. The dark circles under her eyes seemed to be a permanent feature now, giving her the haunted look of one who had seen too much, and Joseph hoped that soon, they would be a thing of the past.

Despite her obvious fatigue, her face broke into a smile when she saw Joseph and she took a step back, opening the door wide to let him into her apartment.

“Hi there, come on in. How did your magical mystery tour go yesterday, were you successful?”

Joseph nodded. “We were. In fact that’s why I’m here, after a fashion.”

Belle led him through into the living room area and indicated for him to take a seat anywhere. “Do you need something from me?”

“No, I was actually coming to say goodbye.”

Belle looked up sharply. “What? Where are you going? Why are you going?”

There was something in her voice when she spoke, a hint of desperation, begging him to stay.

“I need to go back home,” Joseph said. “I feel like we’re very close to a breakthrough now and I need to go and consult all my books and some contacts back in Scotland.” He smiled. “We’re on the right track, Belle. I’m sure that we’re close to finishing this thing once and for all, which is why I need to go back, even though I’ve only just got here.”

Belle nodded. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “It’s just a shame, as it feels like I’m only just getting to know you.” She gave a sharp bark of laughter. “And I was hoping that I might be able to get a bit more sleep with you watching over me.”

Joseph felt a pull of something in his stomach. He wouldn’t say that he had enjoyed watching over Belle per se; a lot of strange things had been going on during those couple of nights and obviously, he couldn’t deny what had ended up happening when they had shared the bed in New York.

“I feel safe with you here,” Belle continued. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t feel safe with Gold, I do, but there’s always that nagging in the back of my mind that the entity is still there and it still wants to get back to Gold and that it might hurt him. I don’t have that same fear with you. I feel like I can trust myself more around you than I can around Gold and…” She tailed off; although it was clear that there was a lot more that she wanted to say, something was telling her that this wasn’t the right time or place. She stared down at the floor, tracing patterns on her knees with her fingertips and pointedly avoiding Joseph’s eyes.

“Belle?” Joseph ventured. He knew that he probably ought to leave well alone, but he had been Belle’s confidant for so long, even before he had come over to America, and it felt wrong not to offer himself in that capacity again.

“I don’t know whether me feeling this way about you is just a reaction to everything that’s going on right now,” Belle said, her shoulders sagging. She still didn’t look up. “I feel like I can’t trust my own feelings right now. This thing that I have with Gold is real, I’m sure of it. I’m certain that this isn’t anything to do with the entity and Gold said as much, that the entity had denied any responsibility in my feelings towards him. Even so, I still feel like I’m second-guessing myself and not really letting myself get properly involved in this relationship for fear of the fall-out. I mean, look what happened the first time we made love. I know that once this Thing’s out of me, there’s hope of me getting back to a normal life and a normal love life, but still...”

There was a long pause then, with much still hanging unsaid in the air between them.

“I’m sure that it will,” Joseph assured her. “Once the entity has been banished – which I am certain it can be – there will be nothing standing between you and Gold.”

“But will there?” Belle finally looked up at him, running a hand through her hair as she tried to gain some clarity in front of her eyes both literally and figuratively. “Because then there’s the fact that I’m getting so close to you, and I have been for a while now, since before Gold and I became properly established. You’ve been there supporting me from across the pond for a long time now, and now you’re here and I’m getting to know you, and getting to like you even more than I did, and you know, we ended up completely tangled up in New York when we were sharing the bed and I really didn’t mind that.” She stopped, and a little smile appeared at the corner of her mouth for a second. “Actually I quite liked it.”

Joseph gave a slow nod. “I did too,” he admitted. “But I would never want to come between you and Gold.”

“I know, and that’s what makes it so difficult because I know that the two of you are friends and I would never want to jeopardise that because apparently my heart can’t make its mind up. With Gold I worry that I’m drawn to him because of the entity, with you I worry that I’m drawn to you because you’re safe, and I know that there’s less chance of me hurting you, however inadvertently. Like I said, I just don’t know whether to trust my feelings or whether I’m getting mixed signals. I like you both, a lot, in different ways but equally genuinely - at least I hope so and that isn’t the entity talking. I just don’t want things to end up complicated between the three of us, and now you’re leaving and it feels like I’ve left it too late to say all these things, but at the same time I haven’t really been able to process them all myself until recently. Until New York, really, when we were all in that bed together and a part of me was thinking ‘you know, I think I could get used to this’.” She threw her hands up in defeat and stood up.

“This is ridiculous," she said. “You came to say goodbye and you probably have a plane to catch and…”

“Belle…” Joseph stood up too, gently taking her shoulders. She was so small, and so defeated, and he just wanted to hold her and tell her that it was going to be all right even though he knew how slim the chances of that were. “Belle, I like you. A lot. And please believe me when I say that I have no idea what I’m doing right now because several years of celibate priesthood doesn’t really leave a lot of room for relationship advice. Right now I’m just on the right side of being an alcoholic mess and it’s you and wanting to help you and be there for you that I have to thank for not being an alcoholic mess at the moment. Things are complicated and I think all three of us know that.”

“You think Gold knows how I feel about you?”

“I’m pretty sure that he knows how I feel about you,” Joseph said. “I don’t know about you.”

“Oh dear.” Belle crumpled back onto the sofa and Joseph sat down beside her. “I just seem to be making everything more complicated. And now you’re going away and we can’t really process any of it.”

“I’m not going away forever,” Joseph said. “You’re making it sound like we’re never going to see each other again. If we’re going to get rid of this thing then you’ll need to come over to Scotland too. I’m just going on ahead to make sure that everything’s ready and get some things done that need to be done.” He didn’t go into too much detail about getting the blade re-forged; after finding the missing piece with Ella, he had decided that it would probably be best to play his cards close to his chest since the blade was now in his sole possession and would remain so until it was time to perform whatever ritual was required to banish the entity.

Belle gave a snort of laughter. “Can you imagine me on a long-haul flight?”

“You must have had to take one to get here from Australia,” Joseph pointed out.

“Yes. I was so wired on caffeine pills to stay awake that I thought the flight attendants were going to kick me out. Luckily I had my dad with me to keep me from jumping out of the plane and attempting to fly along next to it. I was really very, very high.”

Joseph had to laugh at the image of Belle buzzing with caffeine for the entirety of the long flight.

“Well, this time you’ll have Gold with you to keep you from exiting the plane unexpectedly.”

Belle nodded and gave a long sigh. “How are we going to do this, Joseph? What happens now? I know I should be focussing on the task at hand and the entity and getting it out of me as I know that things will be different once it’s banished, but at the same time, I can’t help wanting to plan ahead. I’ve never been able to do that before; I’ve never had any successful relationships thanks to this Thing and I really don’t want anything to be ruined, whether I intend it or not. I don’t want to have to wait to find out what my feelings really are; I’m so tired of not trusting myself. Deep down I’m sure that this is all genuine but that cynical part of me keeps saying that not everything’s as it seems and it’s all going to come crashing down around my ears.”

“I think that no matter what the circumstances might be, there’s probably some truth in all of it,” Joseph said. He was feeling completely out of his depth, but he knew that with Belle and Gold in the states that they were in and with their relationship in such a delicate place after the scare with the entity, he had to be the strong and sensible one, a role that he was really not used to taking on. “Yes, the entity led you here to Gold, and yes, you have confided in me a lot, but I think that there is an element of something beneath it all that makes you feel the way you do. And I know that my and Gold’s feelings towards you are genuine as well. It’s a complicated situation, and Belle, I have even less idea what I’m doing in it than you are. This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this about anyone and I have no real experience of trying to navigate these feelings. I wish that I could give you some advice but I can’t, because I don’t know how to go about it all myself, let alone advise someone else on how to go about it all.”

It was probably the longest speech about his feelings he had ever given, and although it left him drained, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders with the confession of it all. There was a lot of dialogue surrounding the notion of confession within Catholicism, but to Joseph it had always been a spiritual experience, the lessening of a load on his mind. He might not be in a church speaking to a priest right now, but this confession of his feelings to Belle, and the feelings of hopelessness that went with them, still felt like a release, a benediction of sorts.

Belle gave a sad little smile. “I think we must all be as bad as each other.”

“I don’t want to come between you and Gold,” Joseph said firmly.

“I know. I don’t want to come between you and Gold either. I guess that this is something that the three of us are all going to have to sit down and talk about, but we’re not going to get the chance to do that any time soon.”

“We will get there,” Joseph said. “We’re so close. I can’t promise you that it’s all going to go swimmingly and that we’ll all live happily ever after. I can’t give you false hope. But I know that we’re nearly there.”

“And then it will be the moment of reckoning.” Belle sighed, leaning against Joseph. “I just want it all to be over. I want this horrible darkness gone from my life, so that I can really have a life again.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes so bright and blue and searching, and then sat up a little straighter, brushing her lips tenderly against his cheek, and then just as lightly against his own mouth.

“Just in case,” she whispered. “Just in case everything goes to hell and nothing gets resolved.”

Joseph returned the chaste peck. Just in case. If that was the extent of his relationship with Belle, then he would be satisfied with that.

#rumbelle fic #macelle fic #rumbelle #macelle #Belle French #Joseph Macavoy #Fic: The Darkness Within

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coca-colonial · 6 years

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The Office ~ Ben

The next room to draft for restoration was jammed shut and Benjamin had to drop his book and force it. It took several tries before the lock and rust gave way to creak open. Inside was an office, actually a familiar sight as he remembered petty arguments taking place in and around that area.

Nothing had been touched. Not a single paper moved. Layers of dust inches thick in some places had covered everything but the closer the former dragon looked, the more he realized that he could place the exact moment the door had been sealed. A dispatch had come, the report had included prisoners and executions, and somehow it had changed his own prisoner’s attitude.

Benjamin’s brow furrowed and he made for the desk. Carefully the dust was swept away and he dug through the papers, they creaked and threatened to disintegrate with each touch but there it was. Hidden under a book, hastily tucked away before he’d had a chance to see it the first time. Now it was half yellowed, still pliant where it’d been covered and finally revealed.

Some of the names were familiar. None he could tell that would cause such a reaction. With a puff of dust he sat down in the dried out leather chair and continued digging pouring over the old names and reports until a shadow fell across the door. “Remember this?” He looked up, “I still don’t understand it.”

Time could slip away so easily these days - he had completely forgotten about the specific room. Not the events that had gone down within, oh no, those would never be within the realm of things he was allowed to forget; it was the mere existence of it, that the same office room he had once been made to read reports over and over, proof after proof given to convince him of the cruelties he was allowing and abating by refusing to fight against Britain.

As soon as the war was over, he never bothered to clean or straighten that room. It was closed. Sealed. Never intended to be touched again, a capsule to what was now nothing but memories. Even if a major factor in those events had been significantly altered, he really couldn’t say if he had known what had changed he would have done a damn thing different.

He’d lost track of Benjamin. They were supposed to be taking measures of the hall and figuring how much of the inner structure of the house would need to be completely replaced. It was almost surprising how a nearly three centuries old house still standing was in remarkably good shape compared to what could have been given its neglect. He had to swallow hard once he realised what room it was Ben had encountered and had to steel himself for a good while before he managed to make his approach towards the door.

Apprehension was visible on his face. The dusty air had his nose crinkling and he squinted through the dim light - the curtain had been drawn back all those years ago, so luckily the sun hadn’t managed to play its own part in damaging the contents. Not one paper had moved since he had made the decision to turn coat in what felt like a completely different life at this point. He was so much younger then, mentally, physically.

“Clear as a bell.” He breathed, his focus more on scanning the wall, the ceiling, literally anything but on the desk which contained that note. “You’ve... Never figured it out, then? Why I finally agreed?”

Eventually he had moved around to stand beside Benjamin, one hand placed on his shoulder, the other on the edge of the desk and still his gaze drifting anywhere but the paper. “Growing close to a mortal, when you’re one of our kind, it’s dangerous. Growing sentimental about them is just so. The first few decades, even first century, its not easy.” He swallowed hard before moving down to finally look at the paper and trace his hand along the named, pausing as he reached Theodore Groves.

“That man. He was my closest friend. He helped me through many of the things that I had no father nor brother nor mentor to see me through. My first battle, my first duel - first lost duel, at that - Theodore was an extremely good, kind man. My commanding officer, a man I gladly would have shed lifeblood for a dozen times over. And yet, he was mortal.”

@cavalrylad

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starboyholland · 7 years

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Flower Child

Requested: nope

Rating: PG-13 for mild swearing?? Possibly?? Probably not???

Summary: You’re an up and coming tattoo artist and you couldn’t be more shocked when Harry Styles shows up one night and asks if you do walk-ins.

It was so quiet in the shop, so quiet in fact, that you’d managed to clean the entire place from top to bottom, make all the bills in your register face the same way, and count out all the change in the box. You’d dusted and mopped and now, you were sitting behind the front counter with one earbud in and your knees curled up to your chest, scrolling on your phone, head leaning against the counter in the interior of the counter. You were so used to hearing the bell on the door ring that it barely even registered with you when you heard somebody walk in, their shoes colliding with the hardwood floors with every step they took, the bell on the door jingling lightly.

You heard the footsteps stop and for some reason, it hadn’t registered with you that all these noises meant that you needed to stand up and see who had come in. You figured it was Kaye, a fellow tattoo artist friend who worked with you, but when you heard somebody clear their throat, and speak with a questioning tone, you could tell instantly the voice definitely did not belong to your coworker. “‘Ello?” Your head shot up and you stood up suddenly, your eyes meeting a boy with brown hair and fair skin, he had light eyes and boots on. You knew who it was and between taking your earbuds out in an attempt to cover up that you were almost sleeping on the job a second ago, and trying not to freak out at the fact that Harry Styles had come into your shop, it was getting a bit hard to breathe. “Hi, sorry, didn’t even hear you come in,” you said, stuffing your phone into your pocket and trying to look attentive but not overly so, leaning slightly on the counter. “It’s alright,” Harry had a smile teasing on his lips and you let out a laugh at the sheer awkwardness at the situation, you’d just popped up like a jack-in-the-box at a celebrity.

"So, what can I do for you?“ You were now breathing just fine, well, as fine as you could with one of your celebrity crushes right in front of you in a fairly professional setting. “Do you take walk-ins? I totally understand if you don’t, I’ve heard how busy this place gets,” Harry spoke and your eyebrows raised for a second. You nodded along as he talked. “Yeah, this place gets crazy sometimes, and also yes, walk-ins are fine, especially in dead time like this,” you said with a smile, you were sure your cheeks were slightly flushed still. Harry nodded, pulling a paper from his back pocket, a small card fell from inside the paper and Harry put the small card back into his pocket, before it was put away it caught your eyes as you knew that it was a copy of your business card.

He unfolded the larger paper with nimble fingers and smoothed the creases out a bit before sliding it to you across the counter. You stared at the image, it was a simple flower, it looked hand drawn and had some rough lines around the edges. The petals had wavy lines and while it looked like a sketch, it was pretty in a simple way. “Do you think you could fit this in?” Hardy asked, “again, I completely understand if you can’t, I’d hate to bother you.” The smile pulled at the sides of his mouth again and he spoke again, “I mean you did seem really busy before I came in.” Your eyes closed for a second as you quietly laughed along with him. “I think I may have just enough time to fit you in,” you joked back and Harry’s smile became larger, more genuine.

"So, you want this?“ You motioned to the tattoo for confirmation. He nodded, "do you like it? I’ve been working on something lately and I’d like to have these flowers involved and I just drew it a few weeks ago, probably should have had a pro do it,” he released a nervous laugh, his ring covered fingers moving up to the back of his neck. “I like it, flower child,” you teased. “Do you want all these lines on the edges?” You now motioned to the multiple stray lines around the outside of the darker borders of the drawings. It looked like these marks had been erased at least partially but you wanted to make sure that the extra marks weren’t a stylistic choice.

"No, no, I did it while I was in a car, my hands shook, I should’ve redone it or something before I showed you,“ the nervous laugh returned and you lifted your head to meet his eyes with a gentle smile. "Really, I think it’s good! Should I transfer it onto some new paper and you can nitpick at it until it’s perfect without the extra lines?” You questioned and Harry nodded, his hands falling back to his sides. “That’d be great, if you don’t mind?” You nodded. “Why don’t you follow me back where I have better lighting and we can work on it?” He nodded eagerly and followed you back to your office. It was a small room with no chair for clients, only a desk for you to work at with a chair on the opposite side for times like this. You pulled out a light table and flipped it on, pulling out a light pencil and tracing paper. Harry sat down in the chair and patiently watched you trace his design onto fresh paper, his design coming back to life under your careful fingers.

Your lips were pulled slightly back and together into your mouth, tilting your head in concentration. Harry noticed you periodically tucking hair behind your ears as you quietly worked at tracing the lines carefully. You turned off the table and removed the original drawing from under the fresh one with clean lines. You had kept the simplistic floaty, flowy quality of his original lines but sharpened some of the edges so it was more clearly defined. “Okay, what do you want to be different?” You said, sliding the picture towards him. You rest your arms lightly on the warm tracing table and waited silently for his critique. He waited longer than you anticipated to offer suggestion, you’d worried he’d turn out to be some spoiled, asshole pop star but so far he had been better than you imagined, quiet, polite, charming.

Harry still said nothing and you spoke again with a light tone. “Hey, don’t be afraid to speak up, okay? This is going to be on your body forever, flower child, and it’d be a hell of a pain in the ass to get it off, maybe literally, depending on where you want it,” you joked to him, hoping the joke wouldn’t be taken as too childish or crude. You couldn’t help but like the way his lips turned up at your nickname for him. He chuckled. “You’re right, would you mind adding a few more petals- or maybe just spreading them out? I guess I couldn’t see how big the finished product was with all the scratch marks on the edges,” Harry looked relieved that you had asked him.

"No problem, you brought the drawing back to the light table, turned off now that you didn’t need the light to trace anything. “Okay, how about now,” You once again brought the drawing closer to Harry, who examined it carefully with his eyes. “This is just like I imagined it, almost scarily accurate,” he chuckled before adding a sincere, “it’s perfect, thank you, love,” You nodded happily.

“Okay, so is this the final product you want to get tattooed on?” He took a final glance before nodding. He felt like there should be a way to thank you for drawing the perfect image but he didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the pretty- and very talented artist. “Alright, where do you want it placed?” You inquired, standing up and walking to Harry’s side of the desk. “Where do you think?” His eyebrows raised at you and he smiled to communicate he wanted your genuine opinion.

Your eyebrows raised as well, “shouldn’t you choose, I mean it’s going to be on your body for a pretty long time,” you teased, holding up the drawn on paper for him to hold in his own hands. “I don’t want people to see it right away,” he confessed, your eyebrows furrowed.

“It is that bad?” You asked, partially kidding but also wondering why he wouldn’t want the tattoo to be apparently visible. “No, no it’s absolutely perfect, I just,” He paused and you waited patiently for him to continue, leaning on your desk partially so your legs were positioned near his, facing him. He looked up at you from his spot in the chair after a moment of quiet to continue. “I just, everyone knows everything about me, y'know, I just want this to be for me, for a while, I know I can’t hide it forever but maybe just for a bit,” he smiled sincerely and you nodded in understanding.

You knew how famous he was and you knew that even though you couldn’t relate to his issue you could at least understand his motive for making this tattoo a bit more private than the others.

"Maybe here? I mean it would be covered up by a shirt most of the time, and your arm will be on top of it most of the time,“ you suggested, motioning to an area on the side of his body, on top of his top few ribs. "I’d like that,” he replied earnestly, handing the drawing back to you and moved his arm so you could place he design down over his clothes to better visualize it. “I mean, it might be a bit tender, ‘cause your ribs are right there,” you pushed slightly on his side and he nodded along, arm moved to the side to allow you easier access.

“But I think it’ll be alright, the design isn’t massive or anything, and ’s not your first one,” you said easily, smiling while your eyes flitted over the art that covered his body. He smiled and nodded along. “There’s no raised scarring around here, is there? That could throw a wrench in things, flower child,” you questioned, Harry shook his head.

“Not tha’ I know 'f, at least,” the two of you shared a smile and you took the paper away from his side. “Sounds like a plan then, flower child,” You beckoned Harry to follow you with a tilt of your head and he followed you closely through the shop to the other side of the space. You opened the door to your favorite room to work in and allowed Harry to enter in before you.

He proceeded and you followed, directing him to the chair where all of your clients had sat. You grabbed a clipboard from a table on the other side of the small room and a rolling chair for you to sit on. You faved Harry and pushed some hair behind your ear before explaining that you had to read off health requirements to every client, even though with his level of experience getting tattoos he probably already knew the drill.

Harry nodded quietly and sat back on the chair a bit as you began to read. He liked your voice, so much so that he almost forgot to pay attention to what you were actually saying. His attention had shifted slightly to the tattoo he’d noticed behind your ear, he couldn’t tell what the shape was due to his distance and position, and he tried not to let his curiosity drown out the questions you were posing for his own safety. “So, you don’t have eczema or heart disease, raised scarring on the desired area or impetigo, right?” Harry nodded quickly and watched you nod in response slightly, pulling a pen from behind your ear and making a mark on the page.

Now that your tattoo was once again completely concealed to him, he focused now on the rest of your body, trying to find another tattoo on you. He hadn’t thought about it before, but you had an astounding lack of tattoos for somebody with a license to tattoo people professionally. “And you have no allergies to medical soap, adhesive plasters or disinfectant?”

Harry again shook his head and watched her check another box on her paper. “Good, and you don’t have, to your best knowledge, hemorrhaging, fainting, epilepsy or any blood-borne viruses?”

The pattern continued, and you smiled slightly before looking up with a slight grin at your new client. “And, I have to ask, you’re not pregnant or breastfeeding, are you?” The two of you shared a slight laugh as Harry assured you that neither were the case. “At least not right now,” he added, and you nodded with an expression that conveyed you knew he was joking. “Good, that would have really thrown a wrench in things, would’ve hated to 'ave to send you out,” you teased. He feigned wiping away sweat from his forehead with his hand in relief.

“Alright, you sit tight in here for just a bit while I turn this into a stencil, yeah? I’ll be right back,”

Harry smiled at you and nodded as you ascended from the chair and left your clipboard on the seat. He stood up and began to explore the room, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned towards framed photographs and awards, all with you or your name in them. Every frame on the wall had another frame painted behind it, he could tell that every frame was hand-drawn, all of them in slightly different shades that all somehow complimented the yellow background.

Every frame was different, and Harry wanted to know what made you paint some of the frames with strict lines and other that faded out into yellow.

You were talented. He knew that you were serious about your craft, even though he’d come in to you almost asleep behind the front desk. You were pretty, he’d noticed that the minuet you stood up from behind your desk with a look of slight embarrassment on your face.

A friend had given him your card when he mentioned he was thinking about getting tatted again. He’d been told you were an outstanding artist and from the amount of awards that lined the walls, he’d have to agree that was probably true. He’d never felt so at home in a tattoo parlor before, and he couldn’t tell if it was the overall set-up of the place, of if it was just you putting him at ease.

Not that he was usually nervous about getting a tattoo, with all the experience he had under his belt already. You’d definitely calmed any remaining nerves he may have had about the procedure though. The walls of the room were a light color, unlike those of most of the tattoo parlors he’d been in before.

The room felt light and clean and safe and Harry couldn’t help but like the idea of you doing this intentionally for all of your clients. He knew he was thinking far too much into everything, he couldn’t help it though. When his friend had recommended you as an artist, he’d also mentioned what a fine person you were, and that you and Harry would hit it off.

Harry couldn’t lie to himself and say that curiosity about you hadn’t drawn him into your shop. He passed a picture up in the wall of you and a large group of friends all smiling and laughing.

He smiled as he picked your face out of every picture, like some kind of a game where the prize was seeing your face. He nearly jumped when you reentered the room, he felt as thought he’d been caught snooping, even though he knew you probably didn’t mind him looking as you’d put the pictures up so publicly.

“Hopefully there’s nothing too embarrassing up there,” you laughed and joined Harry at the wall where you’d put so much time into making each photo and painted frame have something unique about them.

“No, not at all, just admiring everything, did you paint all these?” Harry motioned to a frame behind a photograph and looked at you for confirmation. “Yeah, I started trying to scrapbook all those but it got to be so boring so I just started putting all my pictures in frames and painting these behind them to make them more personal, I guess,” you once again pushed hair behind your ear and harry could see the shape behind your ear.

“Is that your only tattoo?” He questioned, hoping he wasn’t prying too much considering he had only known you for less than an hour. “No, I’ve got another one too,” you replied coyly. Harry nodded, not sure if he was allowed to ask where or what the other one was.

“It’s a tramp stamp, says 'daddy’s girl’,” you followed, watching Harry’s expression morph as he processed the information before you assured him you were only joking. He let out a long laugh along with you at the idea and you moved to sit down in your rolling chair after picking up your clipboard and putting it on your desk.

Harry sat down in his spot and you looked at him expectantly. “Alright, well I’m just gonna shave a bit over the area so we can place the stencil and everything is completely smooth, so if you wouldn’t mind lifting up your shirt at least halfway?”

You’d explained this a billion times to countless clients before, but for some reason asking Harry Styles to take off his shirt seemed somehow different to you. Nevertheless, he nodded quickly and easily removed his shirt, sitting up in the chair to take it off. You couldn’t help but watch as Harry’s muscles flexed slightly. Harry pretended he didn’t notice because if he didn’t, he knew he’d only want to impress you more somehow.

“Right, well this is gonna be quite simple, just gonna run this over the area a few times to make sure that it’s completely smooth, I promise I won’t cut you, and that the razor is completely clean,” you had done this a million times so you couldn’t pin point why your heart was racing seemingly faster than normal.

“I trust ye, don’t worry,” Harry said with a grin, moving his arm to the side to slow you easy access to his skin. You rubbed the area over with a wet wipe and ran the razor gently over the skin of his side, using your other hand to steady your actions. Harry breathed as little as possible, trying to still any movements that would make this process anything less than easy for you.

“Right then, not too bad so far, yeah?” You raised your eyebrows at your client, moving towards your desk and throwing the towelette and purple disposable razor into your garbage can. “Everything’s peachy, thanks, love,” You were glad your back was turned as he spoke these words so he wouldn’t see your slightly surprised reaction. You knew your face conveyed your delight at his words.

“Good, you ready to place the stencil?” You inquired. Harry hummed an “mm-hmm” to express confirmation. You placed the stencil onto his side, making sure you get it exactly where he wanted it before directing him to a body length mirror on your wall to make sure everything was in order. “I love it, ’s'perfect, thank you, YN,” You nodded, pulling over a chair without wheels to the space beside the chair reserved for clients, moving the rolling chair to your desk.

“Well, then, if you’re ready then we can get started,” you smiled with raised eyebrows. Harry made his way with long strides to the chair and situated himself in it.

You moved the armrest closest to you up, allowing you to tattoo the space beneath his arm with increased ease. “’M ready, love,” You prepared your tools and made sure a final time everything was sterile and in order. When you confirmed with yourself that everything was as it should be, you gave the final instructions to your client so the process could begin. Harry lifted his arm so you could tattoo beneath it, but left it lowered enough so that the skin wasn’t pulled unnaturally.

Because of the tiring position, you took frequent breaks in your work to allow Harry to rest his arm, lowering it just enough to feel relief from his previous position but not low enough to make contact with the reddening area on his side. He was used to the pain of getting tatted, and you moved quickly and efficiently so he really didn’t mind sitting through the process. He stayed quiet for the most part, unless you asked him a question you asked most of your clients to distract them from the procedure.

You learned that he was working ok a project and he wanted flowers sort of like this to be on the cover, and that’s why he was getting the tattoo, you learned that he’d been holding onto your card for a while, and had Beene siting for a time he could avtually come in and get something done with you.

You’d known your name was getting around as a good artist, but you’d had no idea that your name had been passed around in the social circles Harry seemed to frequent. Tracing along the stencil with careful precision, you sighed in relief when you wiped away a few spots of blood that had sprung to the surface of Harry’s side to be greeted by a completed image.

“Well, Harry, looks like we’re all finished here, congrats man, it looks damn good, if I do say so m'self,” you smiled and Harry felt a wave of excitement rush through him at the prospect of seeing the newest addition of art to his body. You carefully cleaned the area with a gentle touch, allowing harry to see it in the mirror for a few minuets before bandaging it up and handing him a sheet of recommendations on post-tattoo upkeep and care.

“Now, don’t let it get too dry, yeah? I’m sure you know the drill but take care of y'self, alright?” Harry nodded and slipped his shirt back on, trying not to visibly wince at the pain that came from moving his side that had recently been worked on. “I will, love, thank you again, ’s'not e'ry day ye walk into a tattoo and meet one of the most talented artists out there,”

You grinned at the compliment. Harry had been resisting the urge to flirt with you all night, but after spending more time with you his inhibitions were beginning to lessen slightly. Usually he wasn’t like this, usually he made sure to eep his emotions under more layers so he appeared calculated and put together. After being so vulnerable with you, and allowing you to permanently mark his body, he let his typical set of guidelines fly out of his mind.

“How much d’ I owe ye?” Harry and you walked from the room into the main area of the shop where the two of you had first met not so long ago. You went back to your spot behind the counter and Harry stood in front of you, peering at you from the other side of the counter that surrounded you.

“Oh, don’t worry 'bout it, really, this was fun, Harry,” He frowned, pulling out his wallet. He opened it and began to dig around with his fingers, producing two bills that covered multiple times the cost of the tattoo he’d gotten. You shook your head and held your palms up to express your refusal. “No, really, Harry, your tattoo wouldn’t cost nearly this much anyway, really, it’s alright,” Harry’s head tilted and the two of your eyes remained locked in a standoff.

“Well I’ve gotta repay ye somehow,” he paused. His cautious, careful side kicking himself for letting the words he spoke next tumble from his tongue. “What time d’ ye get off? Is it soon?” Your eyebrows raised and you checked the time by looking at the clock behind Harry on the wall. “Yeah, actually my shift was over like, 20 minuets ago,” you admitted.

Your statement made harry express exaggerated shock, his mouth opening wide like his eyes and head tilting forward. “Why didn’t ye say anythin’? I’d’ve come back for your next shift, y’ didn’t 'ave to stay late on my account, now I’ve really gotta repay ye,” You shook your head, swatting your hand at his words. “Really, Harry, it’s alright, I don’t mind,”

“At least let me get you a meal, for all your work, or a coffee, or a tea, I suppose it’s a bit late for coffee, unless it doesn’t keep you up,” Harry had tried to avoid this, the nervous sputtering that he always worked so hard to avoid. It was because he respected you so much, and because you were fascinating to him, not to mention gorgeous and talented and funny, the least tatted tattoo artist he’d ever encountered.

You subtly pinched your leg in a way you knew he wouldn’t be able to detect. It was difficult to imagine that this situation was real, you’d never thought it possible for someone so well known to walk into your shop and take an interest in you, especially an interest that went beyond your ability to tattoo.

“Sure, I’d like that,” you reply after what seems like hours to Harry. You couldn’t force yourself to turn down a chance like this. Harry couldn’t think of a time he’d been so elated before. He was just pleased you had look past his rambling and flirting enough to take him up on his offer.

“Well, love, unless you’re e'pectin’ another customer at this hour, would ye like to go get that coffee now?” He wanted to go right now.

Your breath hitched slightly. For some reason you’d assumed Harry would say that he’d see you around some time by chance in the future and you two could go out then.

You were surprised in his willingness to spend the rest of his night with you, but you certainly didn’t mind. “Let me clock out and we can be off, alright?”

That was all it took, the minuet you turned around Harry did the biggest fist pump of his life and tried to restrain himself from rocking back and forth on his heels out of excitement.

“Now, I hope you’re not planning on doing anything crazy, you’ve gotta get home soon and rest up so your new tat can heal, alright?”

Harry nodded. I’ll stay awake however long you want. He thought to himself. And that was it. You collected your things as closed down the shop for the evening, Harry watching you with fascination. The two of you walked down to the nearest coffee shop that was open 24 hours and maybe the two of you hit it off.

Maybe you ended up staying in the shop for hours talking and laughing and completely wrapped up in each other’s company and maybe, just maybe, that night you ended up cuddled together in the bed of his hotel room.

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roxannarambles · 6 years

Text

Dumb ‘ship ramblings/cut fanfic scene under the link

In one of my original conceptions of my fic I imagined Heath & Legault becoming close friends much sooner in the story and Heath slowly developing a massive dorky crush on Legault

and eventually he ends up having very . . . very detailed, interesting dreams about him :3 which fluster and upset him to no end.

and one of the nights he wakes up from an especially vivid dream and decides to go have a cold shower ahahaha

so he goes to the mens shower tent (I mean, they had those in awakening, not mentioned in blazing blade I guess but ah well) and gets into one of the lil stalls like . . . you know, like they have in MASH? (they’re just wood boards up to waist-level or so to provide a minimal level of privacy) and turns the water on and is like “urggh . . . .”

[in the stall next to him, someone pops up]

legault: hi!

Heath: AAAHH!

XD But anyway, along that original outline, I had already written a full chapter that I eventually ended up reworking & using for later on instead

Thought I’d post the original here for the freaking heck of it though. ‘Cause . . . I still sometimes think about that alternate route I guess. Maybe in a future fic I’ll do something else with those strands of ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It was lovely chatting with you. I hope people continue to shower you in riches."

"Hah! This is the most business I've had all month! Come back any time you like."

Legault smiled,

"Not sure when I'll be out this way again, but I'll keep it in mind."

The bells hanging off the door jangled merrily as Legault exited the small shop. The air smelled crisp and fresh, the sun just starting to slip below the horizon. A young man was walking down the small village street lighting the street lamps, and a few other late shoppers were milling about, but it was largely empty and quiet. The quaint little mountain village was one of the last in the chain Eliwood's army had been passing through, and it was a welcome bit of peace before the next part of their journey.

Legault stepped out onto the street, trying his best to juggle all the goods he had in tow. The crew had needed to restock on a number of supplies and he gladly volunteered for the duty. The simple truth was, in between the sudden spats of battling, travel with Eliwood's group could be terribly dull at times. Buying supplies was at least something to do. The other source of Legault's entertainment as of late, pestering Heath during his nightwatch, was unfortunately not available this evening. Eliwood's company was camped just outside of the village, being far too numorous to occupy the tiny village inns, and the Lords had not seen any reason to put up a watch for tonight. The village was tucked away in a very sheltered location in the mountains, and rarely saw troublemakers of any sort.

Legault hummed to himself as he strolled down the village street, wondering if everyone else had already returned to camp. He knew a few others had gone out to either fool about or ask the locals about the best path out of the mountains. Considering how long it had taken him to gather up supplies, he imagined everyone had left by now. As he passed by the pub, he peered through the window, but nothing of particular interest seemed to be going on inside; just a few denizens nursing their ales. He carried on walking, past a row of mossy-roofed storefronts.

Legault was in the midst of ruminating on the shoe repair shop he was passing, considering how worn his boots had become, when some low voices caught his ear. He slowed and looked about, trying to pinpoint the source. There was something decidedly . . . threatening about the voices, and it made his skin prickle. Cautiously, he traced the sounds to the lip of a wide alleyway sandwiched between a row of stores and a little church of St. Elime. As he carefully peeked around the corner, what he saw made his blood run cold.

There were wyvern riders-- three of them-- all in shining-bright armor, flowing capes, carrying ornate silver lances. They sat upon pitch-black wyverns, larger and more vicious-looking than he was used to seeing. The trio had their lances drawn and trained upon a man who was backed up against the alley wall. It was Heath.

Legault ducked back to the edge of the wall and shoved aside the bundle of goods he'd been carrying, and then peered down the alley again. Heath was not injured, and was standing with a defiant look upon his face, but his weapon was noticably absent. After a moment Legault spotted it against the wall, to the left of one of the fat wyverns, well beyond reach. The three wyvern knights easily blocked Heath's exit completely. Legault's heart sank as it became perfectly clear this was the moment they'd often spent discussing-- Heath's tormentors catching up to him when he least expected. And now they had him literally backed into a corner.

The thief spun and looked about frantically, searching for someone, anyone else about-- what the fuck was he supposed to do? It was as silent and solitary as the grave out here, with no hope of assistance. These were goddamn wyvern lords. Three of them. He stood there, with nothing more than his pitiful little dagger. He couldn't take on three wyvern lords like this. The element of surprise meant nothing when you would be swatted away like a fly.

"Try to understand," one of the wyvern riders was saying in a low, dangerous tone,

"It's not that we wouldn't enjoy gutting you right here. But we have our orders to take you alive if possible. The General really had his heart set on a public execution."

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Heath spat.

"So you'd rather die in some alley, alone, like the coward you are?"

Legault felt the dump of adrenaline in his system start to make his hands shake and his entire body quiver. He scanned the alley wildly, searching for a solution-- there had to be something. The sides were all bricked off solidly, no gaps or niches, no slipping through. The wall Heath was backed against was too high for him to climb. Legault's eye settled upon the top of the wall. Too high to climb, but if Legault circled around from the other side of the alley and stepped up from the shop ledges, he could drop down? But what use was that? At most, he'd last a few seconds before being shredded. If only he'd bought a mine or something today--

Legault turned and yanked at the bundle of vulneries and other random items from the shop. The wyvern lords continued to threaten Heath as Legault's hand fell upon a couple of torches Eliwood had asked him to buy. He had no flint, but his eye whipped up to the lit street lamps. There was no time to wonder if it would work.

The next part was a bit of a blur for Legault. He honestly was not even aware of moving around the corner to reach the alley from the opposite side and getting up the wall, but it must have happened, because the next thing he knew, he was perched above everyone, seeing the wyvern lords from above, watching their eyes lift up curiously, almost as if in slow-motion. He remembered the way he held the torch aloft in one hand as he leapt, sliding down the wall with his other hand, the rough brick digging and tearing at his fingers. He did not recall feeling his feet touching the ground, but he did recall the sound of his boots slamming down, the noise echoing in the tiny space. He knew he took the torch in both hands, and he leapt forth, charging with a scream, spinning and whipping the flames wildly to and fro, rushing headlong into the trio of wyverns.

The scene was twisted chaos, the massive hulking beasts screaming and rearing up, wings, tails, and lances flailing wildly. Legault spun the torch right at the dragon's faces, driving it right into their eyes and snouts, dazzling their vision and making them shriek and leap, bucking their riders about. Over the screaming he could hear Heath shout something, although he had no idea what. As Legault saw an opening appear among the panicing wyverns, he shouted back to Heath as loud as he could:

"I'VE GOT THIS! RUN!"

Heath dashed forward, but he yanked his wayward lance off the ground and sprang back up, yelling,

"LIKE HELL!"

Lances clashed together and armor scraped against the alley wall, as Legault cursed under his breath and doggedly kept after the wyverns, not wanting them to regain their composure and footing. It was starting to become a problem, though-- and he was standing in the midst of three extremely angry, frightened monsters that were eventually going to tear his head off, no matter how artful his dodging. Barely avoiding the low sweep of a massive tail, Legault cried out as a brilliant shooting pain ran through him, a silver lance embedding deep into his shoulder. The wyvern lord wrenched the lance out savagely and thrust again, the blade destined for Legault's heart, but Heath's sideswipe battered it aside with frightful velocity. A horrid metal scrape cut the air as another of the lords drove their lance into Heath's back, and Legault watched as the jaws of death seemed to close around them, the wyvern riders closing in from all sides. He blinked hazily at the torch he'd dropped on the floor.

With his good arm he snatched the torch back up and threw it spinning into the face of the man gouging into Heath's side. The lord twisted about wildly, battering into his brother, and Legault felt his arm being yanked. White-hot pain filled all his perception, dragged along by his injured limb, and then he collided with the alley wall. He felt an arm wrap around him and haul him along, and it took far too long for him to realize Heath was dragging them out of there.

Somehow, they made it to the mouth of the alley. Legault's head was swimming, but his survival instinct cut through and he rasped,

"Not this way, go over there!"

"But camp is that way!"

"Trust me! We're not making it back to camp like this!"

Heath complied and they spun about, hobbling frantically along the street. The trip was agonizing, a walk that took a minute feeling like centuries now. Against all odds, they lumbered past the row of shops and came upon a familiar sight.

"In there!"

Heath didn't question Legault's choice and instead pushed the both of them through the door, bells crashing and clanging as they barged in. The shop owner looked up at them, jaw hanging agape.

"Came back a bit sooner than I expected," Legault said with a pained smile. The shopkeeper spluttered,

"What happened?!"

"I'll be sure to regale you with the details later. Could you hide us for now?"

The woman glanced around, a moment of hesitation in her eye, but then she nodded and gestured,

"Over here, just-- get behind the counter, there's nowhere else!"

The two came forward gratefully and dropped down, diving behind the small counter space behind her. It was only a minute or so before the door jangled open again.

Heavy boots stepped in and the door slammed shut.

"Good evening," the shopkeeper said, large smile glued to her face, but she'd gone a bit pale. The boots stepped forward, and a cold voice replied,

"Good evening. I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me."

"Sure," she said, her tone full of forced cheer.

The cold voice drew closer as the man came right up to them.

"My friends and I are pursuing some very dangerous men. They've just passed by through here. We know they cannot have gone far."

"O-oh. That's-- that's not good."

"Have you seen anyone tonight?"

"Well, uh. I. . . I had a few customers earlier today?"

"It is a tall man with spiked green hair and armor that bears a symbol like my own. He is with a caped man with lavander hair."

The shop keeper swallowed, but answered,

"Don't think I've seen anyone like that, sorry."

Legault could feel the tension in the air, although he could see nothing from his position on the floor but the nervous shopkeeper. After a beat, the voice asked,

"Are you certain?"

The shopkeeper nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

The voice came coolly,

"I see. I want to be clear: they are both very dangerous. One is to stand trial for high treason and slaughtering innocents. The other is his accomplice. They will kill without hesitation."

Legault heard a creak as the man leaned against the counter.

"I wouldn't want you to come to harm if you failed to mention anything."

The shop owner stared, like a jackrabbit caught in a trap, apparently locked in the wyvern lord's gaze. Legault bit his lip, silently watching and praying.

The shopkeeper forced the smile back onto her face.

"Thank you for checking on me," she said,

"That's very kind of you. I hope you'll have the time to check on my neighbors as well. Do you think you'll be able to keep our village safe?"

The cold voice answered flatly,

"As long as we have cooperation, yes."

"That's a relief. I'm sure everyone will be happy to help. You see, everyone here, we look out for each other."

"Is that so?"

She nodded, then narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah. We can't stand to see anyone down on their luck. If we were to come across anyone like that . . . we'd do what we could to help them."

The little shop was very quiet for a few moments, and then;

"Be sure to inform us if you notice anything unusual later."

"Of course. I hope you find those horrible men."

The door slammed shut with enough force that the bells went crashing off entirely. The shopkeeper looked intently for a few moments out the window, then gave the all-clear. Heath unfolded from the tiny space and Legault grimaced as he helped him climb to his feet.

"My dear, that was-- ahh! ooh. easy-- that was masterfully done. Thank you--"

"--look, I don't know your story, but you two better beat feet. They're headed off towards the cottages, but that won't occupy them long."

Legault nodded at her and they shuffled over to the door, Heath telling her before stepping out,

"You have our deepest gratitude."

"Just get out of here! You're bleeding on the floor."

The journey back to camp was exhausting, but it seemed they were able to succesfully give their pursuers the slip. Village roads gave way to a dusty trail that cut across a fallow field and over a small creek, then wound through some trees before reaching the edge of camp. Heath had to half-drag Legault along, but they made a decent pace. It was only when they began entering camp that Legault realized his vision was starting to go black at the edges.

"Um, I have a problem."

Heath tugged Legault along, saying,

"We're there, come on, we've made it back!"

Legault felt his legs buckle and then everything was spinning. He was vaguely aware of Heath grabbing at him and shouting:

"Legault! Don't you dare! Get up!"

"Sorry," Legault mumbled, as his vision was swallowed up in blackness.

When he later woke, it was only through a disorienting fog upon his mind. Everything was too bright when he first opened his eyes, and he mumbled, squinting them shut again. He tried to move, shifting a little, but a little spark of pain stopped him from going far.

"Hey," a sudden voice said, drawing nearer,

"Hey, you awake?"

He winced as somebody prodded at him.

"Can you hear me? You should be doing way better now."

Cautiously, Legault opened his eyes, recognizing the pig-tailed girl staring down at him as Serra, one of the clerics.

"Oh, joy," he said, voice thick with sarcasm.

"I know, isn't it? That's what many people say when they see me. How you feeling?"

Legault regarded the cot he was laid across a moment and the dreary canvas ceiling of the medical tent.

"My head feels like it's full of cotton. How long-- aah!"

He stopped in his attempt at sitting up, slipping back into the pillow.

"Oh, don't do that. You're not ready yet, you need one more healing session. You lost a lot of blood. Like, a lot."

"I did?"

"Don't you remember?"

Legault mumbled,

"I may recall something about running around and doing something really stupid."

"Yeah, that's what the knight who brought you in here said. Wow, he was super rude, too. He kept yelling at me. Oh, that reminds me."

She vanished from sight, towards the other side of the tent, hollering,

"Hey! Wyvern guy! Your friend's awake!"

After a few moments, a lanky figure appeared over Legault, crossing his arms and smiling a little.

"You moron."

"Good to see you too."

"You should be dead right now."

"Yes, but so should you."

Heath gestured widely,

"What happened to being stealthy?"

Legault chuckled, which hurt a little.

"Even I can't sneak up on three mounted wyvern lords. What would I do, throw rocks at them?"

"So you charged directly at them with a torch instead?"

Legault smiled sheepishly.

"Well, maybe you're rubbing off on me."

Heath shook his head,

"No, even I'm not that brash."

"Hey, it wasn't that crazy. I remembered you telling me wyverns feared fire."

"But that doesn't-- gods, Legault, you're made of sterner steel than I'd thought."

Legault laughed,

"Ow. I think you were right the first time, I am kind of a moron."

Heath gazed at him a moment. Quieter, he asked,

"Why did you do it?"

The thief gave a loopy smile and replied,

"Must be this thing called 'love', you know?"

"Legault--"

"All right, all right, sorry. Look, it's no big deal, right? That's what friends do for friends fleeing from relentless headhunters."

The knight studied him with intense pale eyes. His voice came almost gently as he said,

"I would have--"

"--are you two done? I need to get back to work here!"

Heath turned and scowled at Serra. Legault glared daggers at her.

"Don't give me those looks! You both need second healing sessions and I have another person to take care of, too. That's on top of the supplies I have to pack tonight! I'm a very busy girl!"

Legault heaved a sigh. He glanced to Heath.

"I guess visiting hours are over. I'll see you when I'm a little more vertically-inclined, hm?"

Heath nodded at him.

"Hopefully the additional exposure to the cleric will not be too damaging to your health."

It took Serra several moments, but then she becried,

"HEY! What's that supposed to mean?!"

Legault supressed his smirk as Serra shooed the knight away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#mystuff #tbh I have over 50 pages of bits of cut or modified content #and notes and outlines and alternative scenes #fire emblem #legault/heath #fe7 #fanfic

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tjstephsworld · 4 years

Text

Why won't you notice me? (Katsuki Bakugou)(Part 2)

Fingers tightened around the fabric of her white blouse, just over her racing heart, desperate with want. Pink lower lip was drawn between teeth and bitten ever so gently, the desire to taste rising. The butterflies in her stomach multiplied with every second, making her drown further in liaison with the rhythm of her racing heart.

Releasing her lip, a wistful sigh escaped her slightly parted mouth as she leaned just a little more to the side to get a bit more visual of him. Her nails dug deeper into her shirt. The more she stared at him, the more her heart beat even faster.

How could one person be so... unrealistically handsome yet so... unreachable...?

Even with his back turned to her, at that point, seeing Katsuki was more than enough for her.

The boy was leaning back against a pillar with his earphones on. Part of his forehead was his hidden beneath his shock of ash-blonde hair but she could tell from the side that he had his neutral expression on as he scrolled up and down his phone while occasionally typing on it.

He was waiting for the train, as he usually did every morning when he headed to school. Several people were milling around him and with music most likely blasting through his earphones, he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings.

Or to notice the girl who was low-key hyperventilating over him while hiding behind a corner five meters away.

After unceremoniously kissing her in the abandoned building two and a half months back, (Y/n) was, for lack of a better word, horrified. After fleeing from Katsuki, she ran all the way home, locked herself in her room and didn't emerge until the next morning.

All efforts by her family and friends to coax her into telling them what was wrong and why she looked like she was traumatized were all in vain. She still couldn't come to terms with what he had done as opposed to how she should have felt due to his snub. And to make it worse, no matter what she did, she just couldn't forget about the kiss. About the feeling of his lips on hers, his sturdy body against hers, how he had her trapped under him and his-his...

Whipping around, she slammed her back against the wall and buried her face into her hands. She mentally screeched. Just what the heck had he done to her?? And what did she do to deserve it??

All of them unanswered questions.

She clearly understood that it was just a kiss. It meant nothing to her. It meant nothing to him! She also came to understand that it was a way to throw her off and that should've made her forget about him easier.

So why? Why hadn't she yet?

Blushing, she uncovered her face and turned back to risk a peek at him again. She grabbed the edge of the wall she had hidden behind and dug her nails into the brick.

She had tried so much to avoid him. During the time she was hell-bent on beating him, she had mastered every route he took, every spot he liked visiting and every place she was most likely to bump into him. And with that knowledge proving advantageous, she made it her goal to avoid him at any cost. And avoid him she did for those two months.

Until two weeks back when it happened.

Having have gotten used to her new route to and from school, which was longer but scenic, she used it like any other day as she went home.

So she was just walking on the path, earphones in, music on full blast while partially hoping that no car would come out of nowhere and end her miserable life when she saw him. Walking towards her direction from God knows where. After two months of having not seen him, the sight of him literally knocked the breath out of her and caused her to halt in her tracks.

Alarmed beyond reason, she only had two seconds to find a place to hide before he saw her and just when she thought she was done for, she happened to see a store whose door had the 'OPEN' sign hanging from inside. And without waiting for an invitation, she immediately ran into it and banged the door behind her, mentally cursing when the bell above the door loudly jingled. Turning around to look scrutinize the store she ran into, it didn't take long for her to realize that the store was actually a tattoo parlor. It wasn't the worst hiding place, if you ignored the questionable looks she got from the tatted-up receptionist.

Sending the confused lady a sheepish smile, she flattened herself against the wall adjacent to the door and waited. She had no reason whatsoever to run and hide from him but all she knew was that she had to run and hide from him.

Leaning her head back against the wall, she briefly closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Opening them, she turned her head to the side and focused on the spying through parlor's clear door to see when he'd pass so that she'd wait him out.

Damn, she had so many questions. Because for one, Katsuki never took that route since neither the direction to his school, house or the supermarket used that path. In fact, not many people liked that path due to some reason or the other. As scenic as it was, it was also lonely and quiet, ideally the reason why she chose it because the chances of running into Katsuki were one in a million.

So then, why the frick was it the one???

When Katsuki's spiky hair appeared in her line of vision as he passed the parlor, she gasped and moved away from the door. Her hands went up to grab the straps of her schoolbag as she kept her eyes glued on his retreating figure. Suddenly, like an ocean's tidal wave, all the memories from the abandoned building flooded back into her panicking brain and she drew her lower lip between her teeth. Images of him pinning her down and kissing her danced in front of her very eyes, mocking her, teasing her, reminding her of what shouldn't have happened between them.

Her expression dulled. If only things were the same back then...

Her fingers tightened around the leather fabric of her straps when she felt the familiar throb in her heart that she had desperately tried to ignore and counter for two months.

It didn't take long for her to lose sight of him, meaning he must've rounded up the corner next to the shop. Exhaling, her shoulders slumped in pure relief and she looked down at her shoes. She had no reason to run and hide from him but she had a reason to run and hide from him, she reminded herself.

She sighed and ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

She had no reason to run and hide from him but she had a reason to run and hide from him...Her heart was the reason.

***

Three weeks later***

"Hey, (Y/n)!"

Said girl averted her vacant gaze from outside the class window towards the person who had called her. The other girl was waving at her from where she stood before gesturing towards the door.

"Let's go for lunch!" she offered with a grin, which (Y/n) returned with a flat look instead.

"I'm not hungry."

Her friend's smile was instantly replaced with a frown and she let out a low disappointed whine.

(Y/n) offered no apologies nor waited for her response as she turned back to staring outside the window and rested her cheek on her palm. From her distant thoughts, she heard another girl coxing her friend to hurry up and head to the cafeteria, which she did without looking back, therefore leaving the girl all alone in the class.

(Y/n)'s eyes, despite being glued outside, stared at nothing as her mind had already zoned out. Her brain felt so heavy and was swirling with so many different thoughts which she couldn't keep up with. In contrast to what she was thinking, she just couldn't beat the nagging feeling of emptiness and lacking in her chest. Even then when she had been left alone, she felt more empty and lonely than she'd feel when the class was full. Like the world was moving on without her while she was stuck trying to attain the missing piece of her.

Her friends, who she would've readily told anything a few months back, felt further away from her than ever. As a result of her pulling away from them due to her issues, they had also distanced themselves from her, writing it off as her not wanting to hang out with her anymore. Apart from the occasional one or two friends who still tried to invite her to hang out with them, she had no one to talk to or rely on.

And it's not like she didn't want to tell them. She did. She wanted to pour it all out, heck, she wanted to scream it out to the whole world. It's just that...none of them would understand. In fact, they'd further widen the gaping berth between them.

Damn, she needed her fix. Straightening up with an inaudible exhale, (Y/n) dug her hand into the pocket of her school jacket and retrieved her phone. Quickly unlocking it, she tapped on the gallery icon. Her eyes roamed all over the screen and she began scrolling up.

The corner of her lips twitched as she stared at the rows upon rows of pictures she had secretly taken of Katsuki. Stopping at her most favorite one, she tapped on it and it appeared on her screen, enlarged and on full display. Gently smiling, she raised her hand and gently traced the screen with her fingertips. Emotion swarm in her (e/c) eyes as they took in every single detail of him in the picture. The photo didn't completely manage to fill up the void inside but it offered a feeling of closure, like she had something that belonged to her. It made her feel like Katsuki was hers, and only hers.

Oh, how she wished she could touch the real thing through the phone. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so empty after claiming him as hers.

Suddenly snapping out of her morbid thoughts, she blinked out of her daze and withdrew her fingers from the screen. Frowning, she quit the application and placed her phone on her desk.

She glowered at the phone with shame and disappointment written all over her face. Inwardly sighing, she folded her hands which were itching for her phone on her lap. She had tried to stop. She really has. Besides...

None of them would understand her new hobby.

***

Two and a half weeks later***

(Y/n) casually looked around the pristine neighborhood. It was quiet, no one in sight prowling the streets or any unusual sound rising up, save for the occasional cricket chirp as most of the inhabitants were asleep. As they should be at two in the morning. Only one or two houses had their lights still on but that wasn't of concern to her at that moment.

She looked heavenward and slightly shivered. It was a cold night, approaching winter. it was a good thing she was dressed warmly to counter the cold. However, her heavy jacket didn't stop the cool breeze that nipped at her ears as it blew through her hair, causing loose hairs that had escaped from her bun to float around her face.

A bit irritated by the hairs that tickled her face, (Y/n) tucked them behind her ear before turning away from the view of the starry night to look back into the room. She pursed her lips.

There he was again, so close yet so far away from her.

Having had chosen to keep his curtains open for the night, Katsuki lay asleep on his bed. With his covers kicked away from his body, the boy lay sprawled on the large bed like a starfish, completely unaware to the audience floating outside his window with help from her wind Quirk.

(Y/n) shifted her legs to cross them into a comfortable sitting position. She did not worry about being caught by him as she had clear confirmation that he was asleep from the way his sturdy chest rose with every peaceful breath he took. Plus, if in the unlucky scenario he did wake up, she could easily and quickly be carried away by her wind from the premises.

She had it all planned out.

The corner of her lips quirked up and she slightly tilted her head as her eyes fell on the covers nearly falling off the bed.

He should really learn how to cover himself up. She mentally chuckled. He might catch a cold.

She really wanted to pull his covers up but breaking into his room would be an even bigger violation than what she was already doing.

Her eyes widened at that realization before she let out a silent, mirthless chuckle and looked down at her lap. Just how far had she fallen to a point that she had begun officially stalking him? Was it when she began following him or when she began taking countless pictures of him? Or was it the first time when she grabbed one of his singlets from their cloth line after his mother had done his laundry?

Sure she stalked him from time to time before the whole abandoned building mess, but that was for strategy purposes and ambush. But now...even getting a glimpse of him through some crack on a window was enough to keep her going for the day.

(Y/n) bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her head up to look back into his room. The constant ache lingered on in her chest and she leaned her head on the glass surface.

Yet despite it all, she regretted nothing.

He knew. She knew he knew. Years of studying him made her sure she knew that much.

Regardless of that fact, he never turned his head towards her, never shouted at her to stop following him, never threatened to kill her for taking pictures of him, and never confronted her for stealing five of his singlets. Not once did he spare a single glance back to catch her in the act of stalking.

And it hurt her. So much. Even before all that, he still didn't regard her as anything of importance. It was her fate to live like his shadow for the rest of his life, she guessed, always following, always attached to him yet will never be able to become one with him.

The (h/c) haired girl breathed out a puff of hot air, slightly misting up a patch of the glass window. She stared at the fogged up part for a moment before raising a finger. Gently, while she drew out a heart shape, her eyes glanced back into Katsuki's room. Somehow, without her detection, he had turned in his sleep and had his back facing her with his covers pulled up to his neck.

Paying no mind to that, she sadly smiled and placed her palm over the heart drawing. She really wanted to be in there with him. He must've gotten cold. She would've gladly warmed him up if he just looked at her. Just once...

"Oh, Katsuki..." her hand slowly slid down the cool window surface, distorting the heart shape as her voice came out broken like her fragile heart. "Why won't you notice me?"

***

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