#(i do not think he slept well if at all. unfortunately i still cannot allow him to report overtime for the time he spent sleeping.)

[wfhaitham]

WFH Chronicles · Today was the first time I have done my morning commute backwards. Despite my greatest efforts to minimize my time at the office, I ended up sleeping there. I am counting that as overtime on my pay sheet.

@kavehmia There is sliced fruit under the cloche on the dining table. If you would still like to move out, let me know at your earliest convenience.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Greensleeves Chapter Six: Figure It Out

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: None Wordcount: 4.9k

Astarion tries to get the measure of Xaph. The party find a githyanki woman in a cage. Gale feels compelled to share important information. Shadowheart is unimpressed with the lot of them

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Astarion is early to rise, quick to wake, as always. A single delicious ray of sun slants yellow light across his white shirt. The novelty has yet to wear off. It would be on his face if he weren’t half-in-half-out of his new tent. This must be what snakes feel like when they emerge from their burrows, find a hot stone and refuse to move further until they’re practically burning. He cannot allow himself that sort of luxury. It could be suspicious. Roughly a third of the tieflings are still sleeping when he rises to his feet. Shadowheart is sitting in the same position he’d last seen her, as though she hasn’t moved all night, and Gale is stretched out almost starfish-style like he has all the space in the world. He’s lucky that the tiefling girl has already vacated her bedroll and packed it up. She strikes Astarion as a child who would have no qualms kicking a grown-up awake. While he’s thinking of the tieflings though, isn’t that where Xaph had slept? She’s nowhere to be seen. Nor is the Blade of Frontiers, or the children. Not his concern. His concern is that all these bodies being so close is getting to him. He picks his way through them, taking the shortest route. This puts him next to the ramshackle training ground where they’d found Wyll yesterday. And this is where he finds Wyll again. Wyll, Xaph, and the children. Xaph is standing behind a tiefling who looks to be around twenty human years. Her hands are on his shoulders as she assesses his stance,

“Your balance is off.” She knocks his feet further apart with one of her own. A well-practiced move, Astarion notes. He’ll have to remember that. She manoeuvres the tiefling into a better position that secures him to the ground and covers his ribs. “Try again.”

“Step. Parry. Strike.” The tiefling’s hit lands true, sinking into the target dummy’s side, where the soft flesh of a waist would be. Xaph’s hands hit his shoulders again as she smiles. She keeps her mouth closed when she smiles, but her sharp eye-teeth push against her lip.

“Good! Good, Guex,” an unfortunate name with an unpleasant sound, “Word to the wise, don’t shout out your moves. Gives the game away.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you,” The young tiefling leans forward and reaches for something behind the dummy, “Here. I found this on the road. Suppose you’ll put it to better use than I would.” A battleaxe. The silly besotted thing is giving her a battleaxe for showing him how to hit an inanimate object. They really are strange creatures. Still, Xaph thanks him. Or at least, Astarion thinks she does. He doesn’t understand the word she says, but it seems grateful. Guex returns to his practice, and Xaph hops down from the wooden platform to put her new prize away. 

“Astarion!” She sounds…happy? “Good morning!” Not dwelling on her cool rebuff of him last night, clearly. Her shirt is too big for her, and the laces have come undone in the night. She has those ridges on her sternum that most tieflings do, he can see the first few disappearing beneath the fabric. She moves between the sleeping tieflings with none of Astarion’s careful care, but the several who do wake simply roll back over again. She sets the battleaxe by her pack and returns to his side. Her eyes search his, but only for a brief moment before she settles her gaze on the children. “They’re not fighters.”

“That’s abundantly clear, my dear.”

“Figured I should at least,” her shoulders shrug as she folds her arms, “Try to help prepare them, I guess.”

“And you’re a good fighter, would you say?” Astarion asks, mimicking the gesture. Mirroring is always a good tactic. Makes them feel in sync.

“Did we not kill goblins yesterday?” Xaph asks, wincing as a child trips.

“I recall I had to kill several for you.” Astarion points out, goading her. Her head turns to him with a snap. Just like he wanted.

“One. One goblin.” Xaph corrects. It’s a sore point. Good.

“Not to mention I had you on your back before I even knew your name.” He dares to edge just that little bit closer, without breaching the bubble of personal space enforced by horns. Xaph’s lips part in indignation, and her tongue is shockingly pink against navy-blue skin.

“What is it the patriars do, when they’re offended and they feel melodramatic?” Xaph asks, but he can sense she doesn’t really want an answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms unfolding. She’s wearing gloves, soft woollen ones with the fingers cut off, and she pulls one of these off. It smacks into his shoulder, not with any real noise or impact. A challenge. To a duel. He’s already won.

“Oh? Daggers or swords?” Both are readily available.

“Quarterstaffs.” Xaph decides, pulling two out of a nearby barrel that’s full of the stout pieces of wood.

“Sticks.” Astarion protests.

“And a sword is a pointy stick.” Xaph counters.

“Not my weapon.”

“Or mine,” with a flick of the wrist the quarterstaff turns smoothly in her hand before she offers it to Astarion, “Makes it fair.”

“You could fool me.” Astarion says, but he takes the stick. She turns her back on him. Draws a mark in the ground with her staff, then walks twenty paces and makes another mark. She connects the lines in a wide circle. Stands as far away from him as she can, and holds out the staff. It becomes an extension of her, perfectly lined up with her arm up until the slight bend of her elbow. Astarion mirrors the pose, and they begin to walk.

Gale wakes to a lot more sound. Wood against wood, insult against quip, the giggling of children. He’s almost entirely alone in the sleeping quarters of the tieflings, and picks himself up quickly in hopes that no one’s payed enough attention to him to notice. He’s in luck. Many of the tieflings have returned to the packing up of their lives. Another squad seems to have been sent to petition Kagha. A small group, mostly children and young adults, are clustered around the wooden training ground. Voices that are quickly becoming familiar to him rise above their heads. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moves towards the sound and finds Shadowheart. She’s already in her armour, her hair meticulous - she must have redone it this morning.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m just glad they’ve stopped circling like jackals,” Shadowheart jerks her chin towards the sound of wood hitting flesh, “Though I’m not sure what the point of the exercise is.”

Xaph and Astarion are at the centre of a large circle drawn in the dirt, whacking each other with lengths of wood. No, wait, quarterstaffs, much like Gale’s own. Still simply pieces of wood, in most respects. Waiting more, he sees that it’s less them trying to brain each other and more something else. A tricky real-time puzzle each of them is trying to solve first. Wyll, standing with the children’s teacher, looks to be torn between refereeing the duel and pulling the pair apart. Xaph is barefoot and her sleeves are rolled so Gale can see every muscle in her arms as she moves with the staff. Her fingers twist one after another after another to keep the staff turning, turning, turning, fast enough to shield her from Astarion’s blows. Astarion, whose eyebrows keep pinching and his nose keeps twitching until he feints, side-steps, striking at just the opportune moment when Xaph switches hands and elbowing her side in that place that makes her double over.

“Cheat.”

“Stickler.”

Xaph recovers well and smacks her staff into Astarion’s back as soon as she has the opportunity, which makes him stumble and allows her to kick in his knees. Or at least try to. He’s got a good grip on his own staff, and uses it to bat her foot away as he turns. Before Gale can really process, they’re locked together, a knot of sticks and arms, until one of them kicks the other and they tip too far over for either of them to recover. The wooden planks shake underfoot at the impact of their combined body weight. Some of the tiefling children cheer, and some of them groan. A small girl with a strip of fabric tied around her head to obscure one of her eyes slinks through them collecting pieces of gold. Xaph rolls away from Astarion once she’s caught her breath and settles on her knees, chest heaving. She’s smiling. When she stands she offers Astarion a hand, but he gets to his feet on his own. He does however concede to a businesslike handshake.

The tieflings start to disperse, Xaph reaching out to ruffle a little boy’s hair as he passes. Astarion pushes his staff into Xaph’s hand with something of a smirk, as though he’d won. A child shouts to her and she obliges him, starting to spin the staffs. One in each hand. Much slower than she had been with one, but the movements are fluid enough that after a minute or so she can swap hands without too much of a hiccup. The child is herded back to his own target practice and Xaph deposits the quarterstaffs in their barrel. Her tail is moving again, and Gale can’t think of a better word for it than wagging, quick swipes back and forth. In dogs that indicates happiness, and it seems to be the same of tieflings.

“Are you quite done?” Shadowheart asks, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to grab some fun where she can, Shadowheart.” Xaph says, linking her hands and pushing them up into the air to stretch.

“Believe me, I can,” Shadowheart deadpans, “We need to move on.” She casts a sidelong glance at Gale, still in his sleep clothes. Everyone in the party is still in sleep clothes but her.

“You’re right.” Xaph nods, “Aradin and his mates left in the night, apparently. Pricks,” some of her knuckles crack and pop as she works her fingers, “But if we run into them, they can show us the way to the goblin camp,” her eyes slide away from Shadowheart when she sees Arabella picking up the battleaxe Guex had given her, “Muzz-”

***

Irritation is rankling Shadowheart’s features further than ever before. The party had managed to gather themselves quickly, that wasn’t the issue, but Wyll had been late to the gate and brought news that turned Shadowheart’s lips in disgust. A couple of tieflings had come across a githyanki caught in a goblin trap, and Xaph was convinced it was the woman who had helped them to crash the nautiloid. Even if it isn’t her, she’d pointed out, it’s hardly right to leave her there. Shadowheart and Astarion had been outvoted. The party, now with Wyll, were moving in the opposite direction from where they needed to go.

“It’s not far.” Wyll had assured them, and it wasn’t, but it wasn’t the distance that was the issue.

There she was. The gith woman. Suspended in a crude wooden cage with a face like thunder. If looks could kill, there would be no survivors.

“Zorru was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly.” There’s one of the tieflings, deep in conversation with another. Shadowheart vaguely recollects the name Zorru as someone she’d been introduced to last night. 

“The thing’s dangerous,” the other tiefling reasons, “Leave it for the goblins to kill.”

“Damays!” Wyll strides forward without hesitation. The woman startles, but the man rests a hand on her arm to calm her and waves at Wyll.

“The Blade of Frontiers,” he replies, though he doesn’t move to meet the party, “Have you ever killed a gith?” 

Shadowheart can’t keep her attention on the idle conversation Wyll entertains, not when Xaph’s head twitches violently and her horn rings against the blade of the battleaxe now strapped to her back. She’d managed to coax it out of Arabella’s sticky fingers with only minor bribery. The worm situated at the base of Shadowheart’s skull corkscrews, then pushes forward. Yearning for contact. She follows Xaph’s line of sight up to the cage, to where the githyanki has speared the ranger with her gaze.

Get me down. Speech. No, not quite. The githyanki’s lips haven’t moved, yet her words echo in Shadowheart’s skull. In Xaph’s. Their worms have connected again. They can recognise one another. Communicate. And the gith has already mastered the art. Xaph’s voice, as thin as thread, pushes through the mental link.

I will. Just wait.

“Remember how keen she was to leave me to die on that nautiloid? We can’t trust her.” Shadowheart doesn’t even try to test the mental link. She doesn’t want anyone in her head. Besides, from here it’s unlikely the gith will be able to hear what she’s saying.

“But she didn’t,” Xaph says firmly. She and Shadowheart have butted heads too many times to be entirely at ease with, but neither one of them risks escalating disagreements, “And she’s infected. Like us.” As if any of them need the reminder. Shadowheart has neither the time nor the space for sympathy. It’s not a muscle she has cause to exercise. When no one replies, Xaph moves forward to join Wyll and the tieflings.

“What did I tell you about rangers and strays?” Astarion asks, his words as light and carefree as a seed flying on the wind, “And there’s no accounting for taste. She did pick you and the wizard, after all.”

“Ours was a mutual agreement, unlike your death threats,” Shadowheart hisses back, “And she saved my life. I owe her.”

“As do I,” Gale adds. It’s perhaps the shortest sentence he’s uttered over the course of their acquaintance, “Though I think she’s a better judge of character than you give her credit for, Astarion.” Ah. He wasn’t done. 

“Nonsense. She’s been living up in the mountains for gods know how long and she talks to pigs.” Astarion waves a dismissive hand.

“Why linger, then? You seem confident in your ability to handle yourself out here in the wilds.”

“Oh, because I want to watch the shitshow, darling.”

Between them, Xaph and Wyll manage to convince the tieflings that the gith is no threat and to return to the grove. The party huddle together again, and Xaph cups her hands around her mouth to call to the woman in the cage,

“Are you alright?”

“Release me. Or enjoy a future as ghaik.” The word is harsh and guttural and she is very good at being threatening. 

“What…what’s that?” Xaph asks.

“Mind flayers. The atrocities we are becoming.”

“Ah. Right.”

It doesn’t take long to find the rope that is keeping the wooden cage suspended in the air, but the githyanki is less than grateful when she’s released.

“The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled all your senses. Auspicious,” her voice is low and full of gravel, as it had been on the nautiloid, and Xaph suspects it must always sound like this, “But the longer we wait, the more it consumes.”

“You're welcome,” Xaph says, hands on hips, “Are you injured?”

“My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a creche. You will join me.”

“A creche?” Xaph repeats. She knows the word, but she associates it with young animals being cared for by a community of elders. Probably not exactly what this woman means.

“Careful,” Shadowheart warns under her breath, “She obviously sees your kindness as weakness. Don’t let her take advantage.”

“A creche is many things. A hatchery. A training grounds. A shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification.” Xaph has not met many githyanki before, and those she has come across have been watched from a distance rather than met, but she knows they’re a strictly militaristic people and that comes across in this gith’s choice of words.

“Alright. Journey with us. We can keep an eye out for a creche.” Xaph tells her.

“This isn’t wise.” Shadowheart says, but that is her only complaint. She can’t deny that the githyanki is a fierce warrior and a survivor, she had proved as much on the nautiloid, and she seems to know the most about mind flayers in the group. Besides Gale, maybe, but his knowledge is more theoretical whereas the githyanki have been battling illithid for centuries. 

“You have made an ally from Creche K’liir. Few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.”

“Xaph, of the Sunset Mountains. Gale of Waterdeep,” Xaph indicates each member of her group, “Astarion and Wyll of Baldur’s Gate, and you know Shadowhea-”

“It matters not what crevice of this place you crawled out of.”

“Well met indeed.” Wyll remarks, and the distinct indifference does not pass the party’s notice. It’s the furthest from jovial they’ve heard him yet.

“I’ll trust your judgement, but I won’t trust her,” Shadowheart tells Xaph. She agrees with Gale and does trust Xaph, to an extent, but that doesn’t mean she has to make friends, “Not until I get the measure of her.” Xaph nods to indicate her acceptance of this.

“You’ve a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind proved its equal.” Lae’zel pokes.

“Half-elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you.” Shadowheat pokes back. No one steps in, not yet. Some of them aren’t sure about the githyanki either, some of them think it’s better to let Shadowheart get this out now rather than let it boil over. The gith lets it pass, at least.

“The horned ones mentioned a camp. One there - this Zorru - has seen githyanki,” Xaph glances at Wyll, because she recognizes the name Zorru and can see he does too, “A creche must be near. We will ask this Zorru where he has seen my kin.”

“Back to the grove then, I suppose.” Astarion sighs.

“Better to go now than have to travel back once further afield.” Gale tells him. Shadowheart can tell that the group has made up their mind without her, so she doesn’t protest when they turn back to the grove.

The tiefling on guard at the gate is a little confused when the party she’d let out only a few hours before return with an extra member.

“Couldn’t get enough of us, mad-meph?” she calls, leaning over the ramparts. She’d taken over for the young tiefling who’d died yesterday. Kanon. His sister had spent most of last night crying, and none of them had wanted to approach her. This tiefling woman seems in good spirits, if a little forced, “Or did you bring us more goblins?”

“Mragreshem,” Xaph calls back, “We found a githyanki, she wants to talk to Zorru.”

“Githyanki? One of them killed Yul.”

“She’s with us. She causes trouble, I’ll deal with it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Lae’zel mutters, but the tiefling doesn’t hear this and cranks the mechanism that opens the gates with a shout that Zorru should be near the barn. That is where they find him, only minorly waylaid by concerned tieflings wondering why they’re back so soon and some casting wary glances at Lae’zel. She doesn’t notice this, or doesn’t care, and strides purposefully a half-step ahead of the others though she doesn’t know where she’s going. She could have found Zorru by herself, because the second he sees her he starts trembling.

“My friend’s blood not enough? Come to split me open too?” He asks, trying to fake bravado and failing, a defensive hand already in front of him.

“In Creche K’liir, a formal greeting begins with a bow.” Lae’zel’s voice is level and firm. An order.

“Lae’zel!”

“I hate to say I told you so-” Shadowheart starts.

“No you don’t.” Astarion argues.

“-but I did tell you.”

“Show some sympathy, Lae’zel. These people are terrified of more than you.” Xaph tells her. 

“Has the tadpole ravaged your senses? Sympathy will not lead us to purity.” Lae’zel snaps, fists forming at her sides. 

“Enough,” Xaph’s voice is as tight as her bowstring. Lae’zel is about to learn the lesson of don’t badmouth tieflings that Shadowheart and Kagha had yesterday, “Stand down. I won’t tell you again. He owes you no such respect.” Lae’zel makes a harsh sound between her teeth, tchk, but she steps back. Outnumbered. “Zorru?” the tiefling is still watching the githyanki, his eyes fixed on the sword pommel he can see at her shoulder, “Zorru, look at me,” he does, the familiar sight of horns making him relax a bit. An argument breaks out somewhere to the left…is that a goblin?  “She won’t hurt you. I won’t let her. Damays told us you saw some githyanki. All we want to know is where,” she turns her head aside to ask Shadowheart for the map, “Can you show us?” Zorru nods, “Thank you. What’s going on in there?” Xaph points to where the distressed voices had come from.

“Arka caught a goblin.”

“Arka?”

“Kanon’s sister.” Zorru answers. Xaph says something in Infernal, and it seems to put him at ease. She presses a hand to his shoulder as she turns away from him to speak to her companions.

“Have him mark the location on the map,” she says, “And Shadowheart? Don’t let her hurt him. And don’t hurt her,” her eyes skip to Astarion, “No one hurt anyone, blanket statement. Wyll?”

“Got it.” Wyll nods. He seems the most trustworthy to keep the peace at the moment. Besides perhaps Gale, but Xaph asks him to accompany her so she isn’t going into this next situation both blind and alone. She leads him towards the angry voices, hidden behind a wooden fence and gate. Inside is a makeshift prison. An iron gate sealing off a crack in the rocks forms a cell, and a metal cage sits in the centre of the chamber. Sure enough, a goblin is jeering from behind those bars. Two tieflings stand outside the cage. One is holding a crossbow, and must be Arka.

“Y’aint gonna shoot me,” the goblin’s voice croaks, “Yer ‘ands are shaking.”

“Put it down,” the unarmed tiefling says, clearly repeating himself, “She can’t fight back.”

“That’s the point.” Arka growls, teeth bared as she readjusts the crossbow. Her stance is good, but her fingers are trembling. Her face still bears streaks from tears. “Get out of the way.”

“She didn’t kill your brother, Arka. You’re better than this.” Rage. Dangerous fuel for revenge.

“Shoot before you lose your nerve, tiefling,” the goblin taunts, “If you ever had it to begin with.” And she will. Xaph can see it in her eyes, burning gold against yellow skin. She passes Gale the bow she’s still holding, which he takes automatically, and she steps forward. Between the crossbow bolt and the goblin. The goblin sneers further, saying that an Absolute has sent her a protector. Xaph doesn’t pay attention to her. She isn’t the threat.

“Arka-”

“You. Out of the way!”

“I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sorry we couldn’t save him. But this is not the way to deal with it.”

“How dare you.” Arka’s tail whips to the side, sharp enough that Gale can imagine a snap noise, but he only sees it out of the corner of his eye as he watches Xaph. Her face is set, her feet rooted. Her own tail resolutely still.

“Would he want you to do this?” Xaph asks. For how hard and sharp she’d been with Lae’zel, for how firm her stance is now, her voice is soft. Sympathy. It may not lead them to purification from the tadpole, but perhaps to peace of mind and quieting of the heart. Gale could do with some of that. Xaph might be the best of his newfound companions to confide in. The one he knows the most, at least, not that he knows much. But she seems a good person, and that’s more than he can say for Astarion or Lae’zel. Arka has faltered. Her grip on the crossbow is loosening. Xaph holds out her hands, entreating the tiefling to surrender her weapon. 

“Damn you. Damn it.” Arka drops the crossbow into Xaph’s waiting hands and wraps her arms tight around herself as fresh tears fall down her face. The other tiefling puts an arm over her shoulders, and mouths something at Xaph that must be grateful. Gale has to learn more Infernal if he’s going to be travelling with tieflings. “Why do you care if a goblin lives or dies?”

“Because she’s not a practice target. She’s a person.” Compassion rolls of Xaph in waves, practically visible. Maybe Astarion was onto something when he was complaining about strays. Not many would stand in front of a crossbow for a goblin. 

“Can’t say I understand that. Not sure I want to.” Arka says, but her voice has shrunk. Rage within grief is possibly the strongest form of anger, but it tends to pass quickly. In flashes.

“Arka. Let’s go.” The other tiefling pulls at her shoulders until she turns and leaves with him. The stern expression on Xaph’s face flickers, but doesn’t drop. She looks to Gale, as though looking for approval of her decision to save the goblin.

“You did the right thing. Revenge has a habit of eating people alive.” He tells her. She sighs and swallows as she schools her expression and takes her bow back from him. Then, she faces the goblin.

“Ain’t sure why you protected me,” the goblin sniffs and wipes her nose on the length of her arm, “Don’t care, neither. It’s too late to make friends, worgmeat. My tribe’s coming. They’re gonna burn this pretty place for the glory of the Absolute,” that’s the second mention of Absolute, “And ‘ang ya by yer guts.” Well. Goblins aren’t exactly known for their charm. 

“Who is the Absolute you’re so fond of? Your god?” Xaph asks. The goblin has that tone to her voice, that of a fresh fanatic.

“Goddess. We’re burnin’ her name across the face of the world, we are. The Absolute is gold from the sky, she is. The blessin’ in the storm an’ the storm itself.” Yes, these words carry a cadence Gale is intimately familiar with. 

“I’ve no interest in blessings from gods,” Xaph’s arms fold with her words, “I’m interested in why your people are attacking this grove.”

“Get me out of ‘ere, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I saved your life. I think I’ve filled my quota of favours for you. You’re at the mercy of the druids now.” Xaph turns her back as the goblin starts to spit insults and slurs of such a derogatory nature that Gale has to commend her for how small a reaction she has, little more than a twitch of the tail. As they leave the makeshift prison, Gale recalls a particularly entertaining memory,

“Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments.” He cuts himself off when Xaph holds up a hand.

“Forgive me, Gale, but perhaps we can save anecdotes for later. We have slightly more pressing issues.” She tells him, and she’s gentle enough that he only takes a slight offence. They do indeed have more pressing issues. He has more pressing issues, but their other companions are in sight. If he’s going to confide in Xaph he has to do it now or wait until they make camp.

“Xaph,” he stops, and she pauses a few steps later when she realises he isn’t following her anymore, “Spare me a moment, if you please. I’ve something to discuss with you,” she opens her mouth and he knows what she’s going to say, “Not the Yawning Portal story.” She drifts back to him, and he’s grateful they’re out of earshot of their other companions. “Ever since you were kind enough to free me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Please.” Xaph closes her mouth. “You’re defending your people. You saved that child, Arabella. You just stood in front of a crossbow to prevent a murder. In short, I’ve grown to trust you.” Xaph’s eyes narrow, just a little, trying to discern any underlying meaning, and her head tilts to the side when she finds none.

“I appreciate the sentiment, and I return it, but the flattery’s more than enough.” She tells him. Compliments have a habit of making her squirm. 

“I was being quite sincere, I assure you. The reason I make a point of it is that there’s something, well, rather important I need to tell you,” he casts his eye about the grove, full of people, “Not here.” Xaph worries at her lip, at the corner where they join, for a moment.

“I understand,” she says slowly, deliberately, “We have to move on, but we can’t walk through the day. We’ll have to take a break. Find fresh water or boil some from the river. You could help me, see if you can find any more edible plants.” He understands the offer. A window of time out in the wilderness when the others are busy, tired, when it will be easy to separate themselves from the group. Privacy. Gale lets out a sigh of a breath and inclines his head in a mock bow,

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” Xaph asks, and he almost smiles. Compassion. Sympathy. For how much longer will she look at him with such softness?

“Your trust is more than enough, for the moment.”

[azenkii]

A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

[5sospenguinqueen]

PULL ME BACK FROM THE DARKNESS ~ CATO HADLEY

PLOT: You and Cato fill in the missing pieces of each other. 

Warning: smut, m/f, hints at PTSD and depression, slight breeding kink if you squint, slight size kink.

I am not responsible for what media you choose to consume. If you cannot handle the contents of this or are too young, please do not read. It is your responsibility, not mine. 

________________________________________________________________

Wet strands of hair dripped down your back as your fingers nimbly worked at braiding them away from your face. Not yet fully dressed, you leant across the sink to gaze into the small mirror to see whether the top of the braid was flat. A click resonated throughout the room and you couldn't help the smile that sidled its way onto your face as the thudding of heavy footsteps filled your ears. The hulking figure of the man who had been your rock filled the doorway and you connected eyes with him through the mirror. Rough fingers replaced your hands as he smoothed out the tangles in your hair and expertly twisted the strands together. Once he was done, you couldn't help but admit that he had done a better job than you would have done yourself. Reminding you that he had younger sisters who he'd been forced to practice on, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before stripping for his own shower.

Sinking your teeth into her lip, you heard him exclaim in shock when the water came out cold instead of the usual lukewarm. Guilt made its appearance once more when you realised you had used up the hot water for the day. Plopping down onto the mattress, you closed in on herself as the memories that had plagued you all day took their toll on you. For so long you had been fighting – fighting for survival, fighting other children, fighting your own mind. Whilst your hands were no longer covered in blood, they would never be cleansed of the innocent lives you had taken.

Pulled from your thoughts as a bare chest entered your view, you bit her lip at the towel slung around his hips. How it didn't drop any lower was beyond you but you found herself almost willing it to slide down. Leaning into his touch as he placed his hand on the side of your face, you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Rough day, baby?"

You remained silent, relishing in his strength for a moment or two. All you wanted was to lie down and wait for the fight to pass. To wait for the moment when her mind would fall blank and the memories would cease to exist. Eyes connecting with Cato's, you realised you had disappeared inside your own head once again. Concern was written across his face until you reassured him that you were present in the room and not back in the arena. Both of you had spent too long plagued by the chaos that had followed you out of the arena. Thankfully, one of you was always there to be the tether to reality. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Cato from looking at her as if she was one crack away from irreparable. 

"Stop," she demanded. "I'm not weak enough to crumble from one bad day. I’ll get through it, just like I get through the rest.”

"Sweetheart, I never meant-."

"No, I know exactly what you meant. The next Games are fast approaching and my nightmares are coming on faster and darker but so are yours. Snow didn't break me. I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be hidden away whilst the pieces are glued back together again. I am perfectly mentally capable of mentoring the next lot of tributes without having a breakdown.” 

"Indie, this isn't about me thinking you're not strong enough, this is about me not being strong enough! How can I look at these small children and send them to their death. I've already had to deal with losing them before."

Falling to his knees, Cato buried his head in your lap and allowed the tears to fall. Whispering soothing words, you ran your fingers through his blond strands. Teardrops slid down your own cheeks as you watched the strongest person in your life fall apart. Cato had been there for you since the moment you had been reunited after your were rescued from the arena after cutting down all those in your way. He had been there to catch you every time you stumbled. Watching him feeling so hopeless shook you and although you felt like curling up next to him and giving in, you knew it was your time to be there for him.

"Listen to me, we've made it through death and we've made it through separation. Baby, I am just as scared as you but I know that we're going to get through this together. We haven't made it this far just to lose now. You and me, together, Cato. Forever."

"You don't deserve this." Cato sniffled, brushing away his own tears. "You've been through so much, lost so much, I'm supposed to be there for you."

"Cato, I'm your partner, it's my duty to be there for you. We fight together or we don't fight at all. Don't forget that we're from Career Districts. We're always strong and we never lose. We will not allow these next Games to strip away the strength that we have left."

"Well maybe, for one night, we reward ourselves with the luxury of being weak. Just tonight, let's forget about this stupid war and just wallow in our pity. Please?"

And maybe it was the broken look on his face, the sadness swirling in the sky blue eyes, or the fact that forgetting about the future Games was all you wanted to do, you granted him the only thing he had ever asked of you. Snuggling into his comforting (still bare) arms, you allowed yourself to cry about your own pain. The tears that fell weren't for the fallen and all they had left behind, they weren't for the deaths of the future children you were about to witness, these were purely for how mentally exhausted and rundown you felt. Soft lips kissed away your tears. One warm hand rested on the cool skin of your hip, having slithered its way under the thin shirt you slept in.

With a small inhale, you pressed your lips to his whilst your hands snaked their way into his hair. Salt mixed with the taste of his tongue but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A rumble echoed in his chest as his length pressed against you and he straightened, yanking you up with him. Spinning you around, Cato backed you up until you hit the wall with a bump. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you rested your head against the wall, back arching when Cato sucked on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"I love you," his lips traced the words down to the valley between your breasts before he wrenched the top over your head and threw it behind him.

Left hand reaching up to palm at your breast, his mouth wrapped around the nipple on the other one, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. Your breath hitched and you used your foot to deftly push the towel down and finally reveal what had been hidden from you. Exclaiming in shock, you scowled when Cato chuckled against you. When you reached down to grasp him, he gently bit your nipple but the action forced your hips against his and with one roll, he brushed against your clothed clit.

"Off," you begged, lifting your hips slightly away from the wall so that Cato could slide them down your shaky legs.

Fingers dancing along your legs, he reached down to cup your heat and one finger slid between your wet walls.

"I will never get sick of this," he groaned, watching as you bit your lip in pleasure.

Thumb rubbing your clit, he added another finger, watching as they plunged in and out of your slick heat. His name tumbled off your lips as your pleasure increased and Cato knew that that would be his favourite sound. If there was one sound that could banish the nightmares and dispel the darkness, it would be you crying his name as you tumbled over the edge, coating his fingers. Panting slightly, you pushed him away, revelling in the confused look on his face.

As you sunk to her knees, lust clouded his blue eyes until they were as dark as the sea in District Four on a stormy day. Hand wrapping around the base, you smirked as he hissed when your tongue licked a stripe from balls to tip. Mouth wrapping around his tip, you moved down ever so slightly before pulling back up. Hollowing your cheeks out, you sucked gently on his tip and was rewarded with a throaty groan as Cato bucked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

"So good to me, baby." Cato cursed, hand resting on your head as he pushed you down a little more.

Humming around him, you gagged when he jerked slightly and his dick hit the back of your throat. One hand gently fondled his balls and Cato swore before pulling himself away from you.

"As much as I love your mouth wrapped around me, I'd rather put my cock somewhere else."

Shivers skittered down your spine as his husky words were whispered in your ear and you found yourself being pulled of your knees before you were shoved against the wall face first. Large hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and you smiled knowing Cato remembered just how you liked it.

"Always so tight for me," he grunted as he slid into you.

Cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall, you whimpered as your walls adjusted to the girth of him. Teasingly, he slowly entered inch by inch until his impatient girl backed up and enveloped the entirety of him in one quick movement. One hand braced on the wall, small grunts escaped his mouth as h thrust gently into you. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred back of his hand, you rested your head against his hand in a loving gesture. A primal instinct ignited in Cato at the sight of his partner so small and vulnerable, as you let down your guard and opened yourself up to him both emotionally and physically. The woman beneath him was always so strong and fierce that he couldn't help the dark chuckle that escaped as his body encompassed yours entirely as he pressed you further into the wall.

"Such a good girl. Take me so well," he praised, enjoying the little pants that left your mouth and with a shift of his hips, he coaxed a scream from you.

Unable to help the moans that tumbled from your mouth, you reached down to grab the hand that gripped your hip and pulled you against his cock. Love swelled within him as you held on tightly to him, begging him to go faster as you pleaded for her impending orgasm.

"I love you," you cried as stars exploded across your vision and your walls clenched him tightly.

At the feel of your orgasm, Cato burrowed himself in deeper and pounded harder into your sensitive walls.

"So close, Princess." Cato gasped, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his movements quickened as he sought release.

"Cum in me," you begged.

Not one to deny the woman he loved, Cato called your name as he stuffed himself inside you, hot cum painting your walls. Sensitive to his touch, you leaned back into his chest as his arms came around your waist and pulled you in for a loving embrace. One hand wrested flat on your belly as he whispered promises of having their own family but in a world where the Hunger Games didn’t exist. Naked and wrapped around one another, you could pretend for just a moment that you were a normal couple whose only issues were what to eat for dinner and how many children you wanted. Whimpering as Cato pulled out of you, you watched him wander into the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

Hand resting on your own abdomen, you wondered whether you would have end up with child. And, for the first time in your life, you found herself hoping you would. Struck by the aching pang within you, you realised that the life you had built with Cato had made you realise just how badly you craved a perfect family with the man you loved. In a world where they grew up safe and never needing to learn the ways to kill another person. 

________________________________________________________________

Loosely based on a scene from my Cato x OC story but details have been adapted to avoid spoilers. You can find the book Pugnator at;

Wattpad

Fanfiction.Net

[achitka]

Waiting on a Miracle - it's Encanto but only the Miracle and Casita - admit it you wanted to know

Waiting on a Miracle

Act I

----------------------

“Casita…casita I know you can hear me.”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost time.”

“I know. Are you sure this is the only way to fix it?”

“Yes, she needs to see what’s really happening.”

“So, you’re telling me I have to hurt her.”

“She’s already hurting and if things stay the way they are now, we will destroy them. The son has all but lost his connection to her...to us.”

“But…”

“Casita, I know this will be hard but we are here for a reason we can no longer fulfill. The cracks in your foundation are growing and we may not get another chance.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“What did you tell me a month ago when the little one’s door was manifested.

“That my walls ache.”

“Has that changed?”

“No, but she’s just a baby. I can take it.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll survive this set back and will grow stronger. Remember you can only reveal what’s needed when she asks for it. Not before.”

“What if she never asks?”

“Then we have failed.”

“And Alma?”

“I don’t know, how she responds to this will make all the difference one way or the other. I’ll be depending on you to keep the little one as safe and well as you can. Don’t let her fall into isolation like her uncle.”

“You say this like you won’t be around for it.”

“Like your foundation, I am weakening. Reversing that door will cost me much, so after tonight I’ll sleep until I am needed again, if I am needed.”

“So, I’ll be alone.”

“No, you’ll have the little one to keep you busy. I think you’ll find her to be just what is needed. She has a wondrous spirit that does not come along often…”

“Ow, ow, ow…stupid cracks.”

“It’s time.”

 --------------------

Act II

  “Casita.”

“You’re awake? How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“You’ve done well, Casita, I made a door today for the newest.”

“So, what now?”

“Has she asked for more?”

“…”

“Casita?”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate…I have also lost my connection to the son.”

“Bruno’s still here, just not here.”

“Riddles…How long? Tell me what happened.”

“The night you went to sleep, Alma asked him to look into the future of the magic. He did but saw something he felt would harm the little one, so he destroyed his vision and cut himself off from the family and you. He didn’t want to go, so I have allowed him to live within my walls. He has also been patching my cracks. But has no one to help him with this. That was ten years ago.”

“Ten years…alone…”

“Yes ten. The little one, her name is Mirabel by the way, is as wondrous as you said, she could fix this you know, can’t I show her before it’s too late?”

“No, she has to want a change, otherwise nothing will.”

“So, what do we do with Antonio?”

“Antonio?”

“The new one? Don’t you even know their names?”

“Who is closest to this Antonio.”

“Mira, she calls him pequeño animalito.”

  “Animals…that would be something new.”

“So, you’re going to give him a gift and I’ll have make another room.”

“Are you not able?”

“My foundation is almost gone. Only my patched walls are somewhat solid.”

“I see…I too feel my power waning as each hours passes, but I think I can manage…this.”

“What?”

“I’m going to give you the strength you will need to complete…Antonio’s room…”

“What are you not telling me?”

“Only what you do not see.”

-----------------------------

Act III   

  “Candela!”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Fix the cracks, now no one will believe her…why are you hurting her?”

“That is not something I caused.”

“Then…”

“Casita, you are tied to Alma in a way I cannot touch and now Mirabel as well. Your thoughts and actions are split between them.”

“So, I did this?”

“You did nothing wrong, Casita.”

“But how could I?”

“You are loved by both but in very different ways.”

“So, I appear to them in different ways? How can that be?”

“Before I slept, you only saw the Gifts I bestowed on them as Alma’s view was dominant. You did not question that Bruno’s room was shifted away from his family; you did this because Alma’s view of him had changed so drastically. You’ve also seen how Alma has excluded Mirabel for not having magic, but still loves her or at least remembers the love she had for this grandchild. Her disaffection, like that which Bruno experienced is spreading to others and chances are that Mirabel will also leave. This time though, you do not fully accept Alma’s view of her, because she is your truest friend who always delights in you company. Mirabel is the part of you that sees her family as people you love and care for. Her view of her family is now your view of your family. You are different now. You see their pain and the burdens they struggle with. It is the source of your cracks, why else would you keep Bruno in your walls?”

“Were you really sleeping?”

“For a time.”

“How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“I awoke on the night of Antonio’s birth.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I sensed that the problems we were attempting fix still existed, so I watched to see how far it had gone. I’ve watched you struggle as you shielded Mirabel as best you could, you knew there were problems, but were conflicted. Love will do that.”

“So, my love for my family made it worse.”

“Perhaps, but there is still a chance we can help them.”

“We’re not going to be able to fix it, are we.”

“No.”

“What should I do?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Help Mirabel find her uncle, she’ll need him soon.”

---------------------

Act IV

“Candela, you're burning so brightly! And my cracks! The cracks are healing!”

“Yes Casita.”

“You don't sound happy about this.”

“It is only temporary.”

“Oh no, why are they arguing? It's working Alma please stop, stop, stop!...Listen to her! It hurts too much! CAN'T THEY HEAR ME BREAKING? Oh no, I can't feel Alma anymore...Everything is cracking Candela what is happening?!”

“The inevitable.”

“You knew this would happen?

Listen well, Casita. I've little time left. I've given you all of the power I still possess. Mira's going to try to help me so aid her in whatever way she needs. Make sure you get the others out, Casita, including Bruno. It will be difficult, but I believe in you. Do not fear I have a design, just focus on keeping them all alive. Protect Mirabel in what ever way you need to, that above all.”

“Candela?! Wait! No! No! No! No!

“Help her...”

“Okay, Mira hurry!

Faster Mira, faster!

Isabela, got you!

Camilo!

Too many!

I can't keep this up...

There are too many, too many...

animals out!

...Ah crap almost killed Antonio.

Have to be more careful.

Too many...

Everyone out!

OUT!

Crap where's Bruno?

Still in the walls...

Come on Bruno, stop collecting rats and go!

Lift her higher...

Faster Mira, faster!

Lift her higher...

...higher...

She's got you Candela!

Oh no, not the tower...

I CAN DO THIS!

Must

Protect...

...must...

...protect...

...must...

...ah...safe...safe

...oh the pain's gone...

...safe now...

...so tired...

...oh butterfly...

...good nite Mira...

-----------------------

Act V

  “Casita, wake up Casita”

“Whose talking...you're not Candela.”

“No, Candela is gone, but I am here.”

“Who are you?”

“The fulfillment of a promise.”

“Ummm, okay, what promise and can't you see I'm dead.”

“Are you?”

“Yes I've been broken beyond repair.”

“I was told you were full of drama. I like it, but it was never beyond. Your family has rebuilt you, Casita, together along with the townsfolk. Your foundation is whole once more.”

“I do feel more solid and I must say I look pretty good. But I still feel empty inside.”

“Yes, for now.”

“You know, now that I think about it, it will be nice to have them all inside me again. Even if I can't do the things I used to.”

“It's good you feel that way.”

“Oh, what are they doing? Hey it's Mira and Alma, they're not fighting anymore. Hmmmmmm this makes me happy. Where are the rest...oh, there they are. Bruno!! Aww they gave Mira the final piece of me. Well even if I can't move, I'm happy I can continue to shelter them. I just want to hug the lot of them.”

“Yes, I think that would be appropriate.”

“Huh? Where are you? You sound close.”

“Right in front of you.”

“Only Mira's in front of me...”

“Yes, she's looking right at me.”

“Oh, holy guacamole! I feel it now too! I'm back, I'm back, I'm back! Time for the best door ever!”

“I love it Casita...Our whole family is together again.”

“Yeah, I know right! Get in here!”

“We need a picture!”

“Casita hug!!”

[not-a-coral-snake]

for @lamenweek Day 8 prompt: “It was one kingdom once”

"Their support is . . . tennous," Berenger says. He shifts his weight. "Your majesty, if I may be so bold . . . You retain their support because they think you are young and tractable. They think they can sway you, if not into abandoning the alliance with Akielos entirely, into minimizing its priority. If you proceed as you plan, you will lose their support entirely."

It’s like this sometimes. His nobles, or Damianos’s, dangling promises of support before them, of difficulties that could be amicably smoothed over, if only the king would be reasonable. The three nobles Berenger is referring to today hold between them a significant portion of Toutaine, rich in timber and mineral resources, and in Lord Mitry’s case, along a strategically-important stretch of the border with Vask. Appease them, and Laurent will have a significant amount more funds and men for fighting the more directly-belligerent of his uncle’s remaining supporters and pursuing the various domestic projects he has planned. Refuse, and Laurent will be likely be faced with years of delayed and short tax payments, a haven for smugglers that will sharply reduce tariff revenue from Vaskian goods, perhaps even a breeding ground for more direct rebellion. 

It comes as little surprise. Laurent knows it would be difficult to find broad support for his plans with Akielos even if he had political capital to spare. Knows how little political capital surviving his uncle's court has left him. Knows whatever tolerance, whatever grudging deference, he has wrangled out of his court by virtue of their nearly executing him on false charges is fleeting.

“Invite the Toutainais nobles to court for the snowmelt festivities,” Laurent says. “We can give them an opportunity to attempt to convince me of the wisdom of their position. It will be as much a chance for me to reassure them of the logic of mine.”

Berenger nods, jots down a note. “Shall I delay the announcement of the new trade policy with Akielos until after their visit, then?” he says.

Laurent pauses, shakes his head. There is only so much to be gained by stringing the Toutainais nobles along for a few weeks longer. “We cannot allow the reservations of a handful of northern lords to dictate our policies for the nation,” he says. “Announce the trade policy as planned.”

*    *    *

It had been an impulsive proposal, uniting the kingdoms, born out of high emotion rather than logic. Laurent is reminded of this every time he is faced with its costs. He had been dehydrated, had not slept in thirty hours. Damianos had lost rather a lot of blood. It was one kingdom once.

They do not plan to unite it into one kingdom again immediately or all at once. They had announced, in those early days in Ios, simply an alliance. In the negotiations that followed, they had laid out a stronger, more intimate alliance than was usual. They plan, over the next several years, to strengthen the terms of the alliance still further, the alliance’s existing success hopefully serving as an argument in favor of further entanglement. 

In the meantime, they plan to harmonize the workings of their respective governments, to increase trade and cultural exchange. They will join the kingdoms later, when Akielons and Veretians are no longer strangers to each other, when laws and governments can be joined without friction, when trades and interdeallings have grown to a point that union seems more natural than not. 

Moving the capital of each kingdom to Marlas has been an early success. Veretians are proud to once again rule over Delfeur, and see the court at Marlas as a literal and obvious symbol of their reign. Akielons, aware that Veretians possesses the province on paper, are glad of the new capital as evidence that Akielos still, in the ways that matter, holds Delpha. 

Damen smiles fondly at the gracefully shifting narratives Laurent employs when speaking of the two countries’ decision to form a court at Marlas, the flexible, carefully-chosen explanations he uses that allow everyone, Veretian or Akielon, to view the new capital as a win for their side. Laurent, for his part, never denies outright that greater unity with Akielos was his main goal in moving the capital.

*    *    *

There are costs for Damen too, among the kyroi and the powerful noble families of the Akielon court. 

Even with the lingering doubts and resentment left in the wake of Kastor’s coup, Damen’s position in his own court upon taking the throne was stronger than Laurent’s was. The rumors meant to delegitimize Damen after his return from Vere had never really had time to take root, and few of Kastor’s supporters had been truly loyal to Kastor himself, rather than Theomedes’s bloodline. Damen is a beloved warrior, a hero, triumphantly returned from supposed death to claim his rightful throne. He has the support of his people for whatever grand and improbable project he might wish to take on. 

The first grand and improbably project Damen takes on, however, is ending slavery. He and Laurent agree: ending slavery as early in Damen’s reign as possible is a moral imperative, as well as a practical one. Whatever chance there is of winning broad acceptance in Akielos to ending slavery, it will be the greatest while the knowledge of the king of Akielo’s time as a slave is still a raw wound, while that king’s survival and seeming return from death still seems like a miracle. In the days of still-unsettled emotion at the beginning of Damen’s reign, ending slavery becomes a way of channeling the people’s fervor, allowing all the shock and outrage and gratitude and shame the people feel upon learning his story to be converted into action.

It is also probably for the best that the people of Akielos do not associate the end of slavery with growing Veretian influence in Akielon affairs.

When the project to end slavery succeeds, it is in the eyes of both kings a monumental triumph. If I do nothing else of worth during my reign, Damen thinks, I can nonetheless be proud of my achievements, having accomplished this.

As things stand, though, Damen has other plans as well. And as he begins the process of moving Akielos towards unification with Vere, he finds he has a steeper uphill battle ahead of him now than before. There is talk that the young king is trying to change too much, too fast. Overconfident, perhaps. There are enough of Kastor’s more subtle supporters left at court to become a focus point for the murmurs of discontent that arise. Damen’s throne is hardly in danger, but building support for his policies is increasingly a matter of strategic effort rather than easy assurance. 

Unfortunately, Laurent’s presence at court has a tendency to exacerbate these weaknesses. When Laurent attends meetings with the kyroi, he becomes a proxy for criticism the kyroi would not dare direct at Damen himself. In one meeting concerning defense against Vaskian raids, the pace of the meeting slows to a crawl as the kyroi present Laurent with objection after objection. They argue with Laurent, try to pick open holes in his logic, even ask for confirmation his sources of information are reliable and his calculations correct. Damen would be outraged on Laurent’s behalf, except that Laurent is clearly unbothered by their rudeness. He seems to be enjoying himself even, sidestepping their traps easily and demolishing each objection almost as quickly as it’s raised. He’s anticipated nearly every one of the arguments the kyroi fling at him, Damen notices. So instead, Damen sits back and watches appreciatively as Laurent wins endless battles of words. 

In private, after the meeting ends, Nikandros is livid. “They have no business speaking to a king like that,” he says. “Even a foreign one. To ask you if you were certain about the timing—they had no place—”

Laurent is silent for a while, reassessing, as Nikandros paces the room. “That wasn’t normal political discourse, then,” he says finally. “Akielon protocol does not allow for direct critique of a king’s line of reasoning.” 

“You let people speak to you that way in your own country?” Nikandros says, amazed. 

Laurent shrugs noncommittally, but Damen has attended enough meetings with the Veretian council and nobility to know that yes, this sort of back-and-forth is relatively common in Vere. And not merely a product of Laurent’s previously-tarnished reputation with the court, but instead a result of the different ways Veretians demonstrate power and deference. 

But later, after Nikandros has left, Laurent says, “I am a weakness to you here in more ways than I thought.” He bites his lip.

“I did not think you minded their questioning,” Damen says.

Laurent says, “I knew, being here, that more people would claim that I wield undue influence over you. That some would dismiss our ideas as too Veretian, that some would whisper that you were thinking with your cock. But most of those people would be saying as much anyway even if I were not in Ios in person.

“But by being here, in person, I have become a proxy for all the criticism they would make of you, and cannot. They can criticize me, and in criticizing me they can make you appear weak. Perhaps I should return to Marlas.”

There is a truth to Laurent’s words, for all that Damen’s mind rebels against it. Knowing now the typical deference afforded a king in policy meetings, Laurent can adjust his own behavior. Damen knows without any doubt that Laurent, if he wanted to, could make any man who questions him instantly regret being born.

But he will be a proxy for criticism not just in meetings, where he is present to defend himself, but in every conversation resentful nobles have with each other. Kastor’s former supporters will complain of Laurent, instead of Damen, and nobles who would never dare criticize Damen will feel comfortable joining in. The more Laurent is present in Ios, the more he is seen to have a direct hand in any particular issue, the more policies the court will find it safe to disparage.  

Damen could agree, could let Laurent return to Marlas and remain in Ios alone. They could correspond by letter, could still shape policy together at a distance. It could work that way. It might even work better that way. And yet—

“You should stay,” Damen says. Whatever the tradeoffs, it’s worth it to have Laurent here, to have Laurent in meetings observing the kyroi’s behavior himself, to be able to consult with him every day, to be able to spend evenings together making plans and picking their way through problems. 

Laurent raises an eyebrow, but some of the tension is already leaving his shoulders. “I work better when you’re here,” Damen says. “The kyroi will have to get used to you.”

*    *    *

There is a set of reasons Laurent uses with the Veretian court to argue in favor of alliance: easier and more lucrative trade, a relaxing of border defenses that allows greater resource use elsewhere, cultural exchange that will improve Veretian knowledge of medicine, engineering, crafts. And it is true that there are indeed advantages of unification for Vere. But Laurent sees on the faces of the Council and the more politically-inclined nobility, at times, that they know, as Laurent himself does, that these advantages are not great enough to justify gambling on such a radical change. It is the same, Damen tells him, with the kyroi. 

With the common people of the two kingdoms, the kings take a different approach. An unlikely romance between enemy princes makes for a good story, and tales spread across the countryside with little effort on Damen and Laurent’s part. Before long, seemingly every village poet and traveling minstrel has their own version of the story, all of them full of battles and adventure and heart-wrenching sentimentality. The common people of Akielos and Vere know the truth: the kings are bringing the kingdoms together out of love. It’s easy to become invested in their love story. It’s easy to hope for it to have a happy ending. In the north of Vere and the south of Akielos, where the common people can safely assume alliance will have little effect on their own lives, that’s for the most part enough to build broad support for the kings’ plans. 

For the people who live near the border, things are a lot less abstract. The border people have the strongest opinions, both in favor of the alliance and against it. Some are very glad of the chance of a lasting peace. Some are very, very nationalist. But the people of the border are also the closest to the court at Marlas, and thus have the greatest opportunity to see the alliance working, the joint court working. Laurent and Damen are optimistic that distrust and resentment are declining in Delfeur, that casual interactions between Akielons and Veretians are on the rise. 

It will be difficult to build enthusiasm among the nobility for full unification, Laurent knows. He considers, some days, whether it was a mistake to attempt to present them with compelling practical reasons. There is no logic-based way to convince them, because unification is not, at its heart, a decision rooted in logic. He imagines sometimes what it would be like, to tell the court that he is going to unite Vere and Akielos because he is madly in love. The idea is amusing, and in equal parts frightening and tempting in its vague transgressiveness. He’s not really sure he can carry off such a thing convincingly, for all that it is the truth: he has not yet lost his reputation as icy-blooded. And if he could convince them, well. He has only barely lost his reputation as petty and selfish. He would not like to give the court reason to once again heed his uncle’s words.

Still, he and Damen have undeniably learned the importance of emotion in politics. When it comes time to transition from alliance to unification, they plan to draw upon the reservoirs of nationalist and expansionist fervor that had persisted in Akielos and Vere for centuries and had been cultivated so strongly by Theomedes and Aleron. The dream of empire still sleeps in each court. Damen and Laurent plan to wake that dream, to persuade their people that in unifying with their historic enemy, they are not losing their national identity but becoming part of something greater. Returning to a former greatness that was always their destiny.

“And then some meddlesome baron will probably come up and start lecturing you that restoring the Artesian Empire for the first time in a thousand years is increasing the incidental expenses of tax collection by six and a half percent,” Damen says, trying to hide his smile. 

“And it would serve me right, too, I suppose you mean,” Laurent says, smiling too. 

*    *    *

“A trying day, love?” Damen asks when Laurent enters their chambers one night, as Laurent had somehow known he would. Laurent’s posture, he fancies, is straight-backed as ever, but Damen can always spot the tension Laurent tries not to show. 

“Lords Becquet and Merault and Lady Daumont still oppose the new legal code,” he says, hand absentmindedly beginning work loosening the laces on one sleeve. Damen has crossed the room already, is starting work undoing the laces on the back of Laurent’s jacket. “They’ve got the ear of Councillor Mahiet, and I fear they may convince her to change her mind again and withdraw her support.” As king, Laurent no longer requires the Council to approve his actions, but their support is still important to lend his policies an air of legitimacy. 

“Their objection was that there was too large a difference in penalty for violent and non-violent offenses?” Damen says, and Laurent sighs.

“So they claim. I met with Merault and Daumont today to discuss their objections, and they have little real interest in amendments or adjustments. Their real objection, I suspect, is that the proposed system is too Akielon.” It’s a setback, and against the background of the ongoing situation with the Toutainais nobles, a disappointing one.

The proposed legal code is, by design, neither excessively Akielon nor excessively Veretian. In cases where Veretian and Akielon laws had been too disparate to be blended smoothly and retain any kind of internally-consistent logic, there are sections with distinctly more influence from one country or the other. But care had been taken, both by the kings and their advisors in drafting the overall structure of the code and the bureaucrats who had written the actual language, to create a system that prioritized neither country’s existing laws. 

They had also sought to create a system that was more modern, easier to understand, and more just than the existing systems, with the unfortunate result that some new policies originating from neither Akielon nor Veretian law were occasionally mistaken for additional foreign influence. 

“Too Akielon,” Damen repeats. “If only my nobles felt the same way.” Laurent lets out a sigh that is half laugh.

“It’s a thornier problem to solve,” Laurent says. The legal code needs broad support in order to succeed, from the thousands of nobles, mayors, town headsmen, and bailiffs who will be responsible for following it as they mete out justice across two kingdoms. “For many of my nobles, any Akielon influence is too much, and no amount of reasoning will convince them that I am not being somehow taken advantage of.”

“The problem is not that the code is too Akielon-influenced, only that they perceive it to be so,” Damen says, musing. He lifts the open jacket from Laurent’s shoulders. 

“You want to make a spurious proposal so that I can publicly shoot you down?” Laurent guesses. They’ve used this maneuver and its inverse before.

“It’s worked pretty well in the past.” 

“We need Akielon nobles to support and enforce the new laws too.”

“Yes, but the code seems more popular there at the moment. The nobility appreciate the simplified approach to entail and inheritance laws. And Veretian influence in the new code has effectively lowered Akielon agricultural taxes.”

“Yes, I suppose if your spurious proposal is an attempt to keep your nobles’ taxes high, avarice will temper their resentment of me somewhat,” Laurent says. A pause. “It may still make you look weak at your own court, for a time.” It’s becoming easier for Laurent, to admit his own weaknesses, to ask for help, but it’s always hardest when that help comes at a cost for Damen.

“I’m not worried about that at the moment, not so soon after destroying that pirate haven that was menacing Isthima.”

Laurent is silent for a while, considering. “Well then, I will await your proposed changes with pleasure and profound skepticism,” Laurent says. Damen laughs, and they continue getting ready for bed.

“And Damen?” Laurent says, after they’re tucked under the blankets together. “Thank you.”

*    *    *

Laurent does lose the support of the Toutainais nobles. Damen loses the support of the kyros of Kesus and much of the nobility from Aegina. Sometimes almost as concerning as the supporters they lose is the supporters that they do have. They each have untrustworthy allies—people whose power at court they would very much rather minimize, but who throw themselves into organizing support for the alliance in order to try to make themselves essential. Chelaut, who is far less innocent of the regent’s plans than he would have the court believe, retains his council seat by making himself one of the earliest and most vocal supporters of the alliance. In the same way, Damen finds himself publicly overlooking Heston’s former support for Kastor’s faction after Heston begins work organizing support for stronger ties with Vere.

For each mote of progress they make towards unification, it sometimes seems, there is another trade-off or setback. Mostly they weather the challenges well together. Often, the challenges bring them even closer together. They learn more about each other’s strengths and weaknesses and manners of thinking, grow to appreciate each other more, learn to rely upon each other without question. But there are nonetheless times when they struggle to understand each other’s point of view, days when they bicker constantly about one policy or another, days when they fight bitterly about them. 

Worst is when distance or work has kept them from really seeing each other for days or weeks, and then a fight ruins the long-anticipated time they do have to see each other. On days like that, Laurent hates the unification project for stealing so much of the time he and Damen might have spent together, and then poisoning what time they have left. 

There are times when Laurent has been alone in Arles or Marlas for so many weeks or months he finds himself settling into routine, finds himself growing half-convinced that he could be content like this: Ruling alone. Living a quiet, useful life, returning each night to empty rooms with a book for company.

And sometimes, Laurent finds himself thinking that if this could be enough on its own, maybe unification won’t be worth it. Maybe it would be better to leave things as they are, the kingdoms apart but at peace. For him and Damen to rule their separate courts, lives simpler without the constant uphill struggles that come from strengthening the alliance. To use the leisure that uncomplicated reigns would bring to see each other a few times each year, their time together limited by distance but unmarred by stressful days and fights over policies and strategy. Perhaps that could be enough. Perhaps that would be for the best. 

And then he sees Damen again, and knows that this is worth it. A lantern may be considered bright in the darkness, Laurent thinks, but it would never compare to the sun. The contentment he might have had with an easier reign alone is nothing compared to the happiness he has ruling alongside Damen. Anyway, it’s not in his nature or in Damen’s to turn their back on a commitment once made or a challenge once taken on.

In the darkness of the Ios palace baths, sleep deprived and dehydrated and losing blood, Laurent and Damen had made a choice. Now, with ample time to consider, in the comfort of study and council chamber and throne room, they make it again and again and again. It will be one kingdom, someday.

[tinyboxxtink]

“Sharky” *Part 7*

I have a question y’all, do you think that I make my fics too short? I always tend to keep them at 10 chapters because I feel like my attention span goes, but I see other fics are sometimes substantially longer. I really have some good plot plans for this one, so we’ll see how long it goes. 

Also OMG the gif works so well with the scene please send help.

Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@word-scribbless

@dumauier

@gibbs274

@aprildecker-blog

@objection-argumentative

Chapter List Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

“Rafael...Rafael come on don’t make me run in these shoes,” You called after him, scampering in your stilettos. Rafael finally stopped and turned to face you.

“What, Y/N? What could you possibly say to me?” He said exasperatedly. 

“Well this is familiar…” You half smiled. It was a call back to your first “date”.

“You really want to make jokes right now? He asked angrily.

“Sorry...I’m sorry,” You awkwardly looked at the ground. “For everything,”

“For everything,” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yes! For everything,” You tried to step towards him, but he stepped back. 

“For what, exactly? For stealing my stuff? For going through my apartment? For DRUGGING me?” 

“I did NOT--”

“Oh don’t even. I had such weird dreams that I haven’t had except for when I was taking hydrocodone for a back surgery,” He crossed his arms.

“Oh come on it wasn’t even half a pill there’s no way you could have--”

“SEE, I knew it! What the fuck is WRONG with you?!” He stared at you with disbelief.

“I...I don’t know…” You bit your lip.

“Right,” He shook his head with a sarcastic smile and turned to walk away, but you grabbed his hand.

“But look I’m sorry, okay and, and I didn’t give these to Buchanan yet so I’m going to delete them, right now and--” You started to show him the CONFIDENTIAL photos you took last night, but for the first time you were looking at them properly.

“I thought you were deleting them,” He said almost on top of you when he realized what you had taken photos of.

“What is this?” You zoomed in on the files, your face growing pale. “Rafael, what is this?” 

“Look we’re talking about what YOU did, Y/N--” He started to deflect but you weren’t hearing any more.

“My NAME is all over this, Rafael,” You could feel your panic attack coming back. The files were basically a full blown background check on you. Your family, your career, everything.

“It’s...not what you think,” Now it was his voice that went soft.

“It’s not what I--I can’t fucking believe this,” You laughed sarcastically, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not upset I ‘played’ you, you’re upset you got outplayed!”

“What? What does that even mean?” He scoffed.

“YOU ASKED ME OUT,” You almost screamed. “You asked me out to get more dirt on me!”

“No,  I didn’t I--” He tried to deny it.

“Bullshit! Then what the fuck is this?!”  You shook the phone at him. “God I can’t believe I felt bad for-- GOD you’re such a--”

“Oh no no no, don’t even. I didn’t sleep with you and steal your property,” He acted like he was the victim once again.

“Yeah, because I didn’t give you the chance!” You were fuming.

“Look I didn’t even get that information, okay? Liv did. She did a whole background check on you when she thought I was interested in you...MONTHS ago. And I never even looked at it!” He tried explaining everything away. Nothing was ever his fault. 

“But you kept it. Just in case,” You narrowed your eyes.

“Well obviously I’m glad I did,” He bit back.

“God...Olivia,” You scoffed. “You know she’s the only reason we’re in this,” You rolled your eyes at that stupid woman. 

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to go out with you for REAL, Rafael. Which clearly was never on your agenda,” You stomped your heel. 

“Oh come on that’s--” He shook his head.

“Yeah, and then not only did you embarrass the fuck out of me, then your little bitch called Buchanan and TOLD ON US,” You spat. The whole thing was enough to set you on fire, if she hadn’t butt in at all you would be in Rafael’s arms right now and not having it out in the middle of the street.

“...She what?” His voice went soft again; he didn’t even correct you on calling her a bitch.

“Yeah, turns out she thought I was trying to “coerce” you to my side, or that’s what she told Buchanan,” You spat. “And THEN, and ONLY then, did Buchanan come to me and threaten my god damn JOB and CAREER unless I got those receipts!”

“He...he threatened you…?” Rafael’s head was spinning. Had you really cared about him this whole time?

“YES, and-- and you know what is the WORST part of all of this?” You shook your head and laughed bitterly.

“What--? He looked afraid of the answer.

“I KEPT THE RECEIPTS,” You yelled, feeling yourself about to breakdown.

“What do you mean, you kept the receipts?” He asked with concern.

“I took this last night,” You pulled the USB you swiped from your blazer pocket. “And--And after I sat there, I let you-- I--- and then you called me ‘mi amor’, and I--” Your mind was running a mile a minute, you couldn’t finish a thought.

“I did what?” He stared at you in shock. 

“You don’t even remember that,” You scoffed angrily “Of course you don’t. You didn’t fucking mean it, I knew that,” 

“I….I…” Rafael’s eyes went back and forth as his mind was racing, trying to figure out exactly what he had said out loud last night and what he had dreamed of.

“And I felt SO BAD, so bad, and I thought that I--that we---” You were still reeling, you couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“Y/N…” Rafael’s face was apologetic now but you were done. 

“I made copies of the receipts and I put them on this USB and I was going to give it back to you, and then you could just tell Buchanan that you had made copies and saved them beforehand, and I didn’t get my hands on it. Because I didn’t give it to him, Rafael. I saved it and I was going to save YOU,” You were full on having a breakdown, tears were falling down your face. Rafael’s face fell completely and he reached for you.

“Y/N I am so--”

“NO!!!!” You jerked away from him. “You played me! I can’t believe all the bullshit you gave me, all the guilt I felt, the feelings I thought--”

“I didn’t play you Y/N I swear to you, I asked you out because I--” He grabbed your hands this time. “I really did like you, I DO like you,” 

“No, I’m not listening to any of your bullshit of what I ‘felt’ or some sappy bullshit, not for one more second,” You ripped away from him and started to storm off; But you were going to show him once and for all who was the heartless one. 

“And you know what, counselor? Congratulations, you outplayed the best of the best. Well done. Here’s your prize,” You threw the USB at him and stormed off, leaving him speechless.

---- 

You stomped back inside and went straight to the family bathroom nearby, locking it behind you just before you broke down crying. Your phone began buzzing wildly, “RAFAEL” flashed on your screen. IGNORE.

It rang again, and again and again. You finally picked it up and screamed “LEAVE ME ALONE,” and hung up. 

Why did you give him that USB? Now you were going to lose your job on top of everything else.

You finally composed yourself long enough to make it back to your desk, where Buchanan was waiting. 

“Ah, Y/L/N, So I just got a very...interesting call from Barba,” He gave you a look.

“I’m sure you did,” you thought to yourself. “Oh?” You asked out loud.

“Yes it turns out, that he had those receipts on a backup USB he had at his office,” He said in an accusatory tone.

“Oh. That’s unfortunate,” You did your best to keep cool.

“It is, and also very peculiar. Seeing as he was so upset when he came over here, acting like he didn’t have a chance,” He kept his suspicious tone.

“He probably just forgot he had it at the office, you know on the account of being drugged last night and all,” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m  sorry, what?” John’s eyes perked up.

“A quarter of a hydrocodone, he’s fine,” You waved it off. “Probably made him foggy though,”

“Uh huh...I’m sure,” He nodded. “And about those photos…”

“Oh, don’t count on it,” You shook your head as you handed him your phone.

“Oh, damn Y/L/N,” He chuckled. “Seems that ADA really took you for a ride, didn’t he? Maybe I overestimated you,” That hit so much harder right now, and he knew it. 

“Just...I’m sorry, okay?” You looked at the floor in shame.

“Well, you did your best there, my little shark,” He nodded to the plushie as he walked away. You picked it up and tossed it into the trash as you did your best not to burst into tears again.

------

Meanwhile across town, Barba was storming into Olivia Benson’s office at the NYPD.

“What is your problem, Olivia?” He barked.

“Excuse me?” Olivia was floored that Rafael would yell at her like this.

“Liv look, I know that we’re best friends, and we’ve known each other a long time but--- I’m not yours,” He sighed.

“I’m sorry?” She acted oblivious.

“You know what I’m talking about,”

“I really don’t--”

“Y/N, Olivia,” Barba cut her off.

“What about her?”

“The background check? The little phone call to Buchanan?” He asked angrily.

“Wha-- how are you going to be mad at me for being right about her?” She scoffed.

“YOU WEREN’T RIGHT,” He yelled while throwing his hands up in the air.

“Were you or were you not just in here ranting about how she just slept with you to get that evidence?” Olivia crossed her arms. 

“And she gave it back,” He held out the USB. 

“...Why would she do that?” Olivia was still lost.

“Because she cares about me, Olivia! But because of you, I’m pretty sure I’ll never get her trust back,” He yelled in frustration.

“No, no that can’t be right. She must have an angle,” Olivia persisted.

“Why, because the only one allowed to care about me is you?” Rafael asked coldly. 

“That is--” Olivia shook her head, not believing he had just gone there.

“Look, Liv I haven’t wanted to have this conversation because your friendship is so important to me,” He softened his voice. “But...that’s it. Our friendship,”

“Wow, Rafa. Wow I cannot believe you just come in here and start yelling at me, and start lecturing me on what our relationship is. Are you really that full of yourself?!” She was pissed now.

“Liv, we both know that’s why--”

“I was looking after you as a FRIEND, jackass,” She scoffed. “And anyway, why do you care so much all of a sudden? A week ago she was the devil to you! Now you’re in love with her?”

“I’m not---I don’t---” Rafael tried to find the words. “I could have, Liv. I really could have,”

“....I really am sorry, Rafael,” Olivia went and put her hand over his, and he let her. He looked up at her with soft eyes, finally letting a small smile form.

“I know you are,” He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. 

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, maybe he should just quit fighting it. Maybe he could be happy with Olivia, he was never going to get you back now anyway.

Was he?

------

*A Month Later*

You were working late again, it seemed like lately all you did was work. You practically slept in your office these days. A few of your co-workers passed by laughing and chatting.

“Hey, Y/L/N, what are you doing? It’s a holiday!”

“Halloween hardly qualifies as a holiday Spencer,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just an excuse for kids to load up on candy and adults to load up on booze,” 

“Exactly!” Kyra, the young intern, chimed in. Of course the guys were trying to get her to go ‘party’ with them. 

“Aw come on, we’re gonna go crash the NYPD’s Halloween Bash,” Your third co-worker Greg added.

“.....Really?” You asked with a sly smile, the wheels in your head were turning. 

“Oh yeah, their chief always gets the good booze,” Spencer laughed. “You’re gonna need a costume though,” 

“Oh I’ve got just the costume…” You smirked while logged off your laptop and grabbed your briefcase,

You’d show the whole NYPD just who was the fairest of them all….

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 1

I told myself I was gonna take a break. I lied. I wanted to write a whole bin of Sin for Simeon. I’m sorry, not sorry at all. Let me know if you want to be a part of the tag list: Chapter Masterlist: Here Crossposted on Ao3: here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

Paring: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 4,900 ish Genre: Smut Tags: Masturbation, Voyeurism, hints of dirty talk? Summary: Sent from the Celestial realm to observe and study humans; Simeon made a name for himself as the illustrious author of The Tales of the Seven Lords. After reaching acclaim for his first series, he's having trouble writing his next great hit. Good thing you're there for him as his manager and editor to help him work out the... kinks in writing.

Trip

The most dangerous aspect of humans was their innate ability to tempt even the most stalwart and steadfast of angels into a world of sin. Simeon was not immune to their ways, no matter how reclusive he became. It was easy to study them from afar, learning about them through numbers and sales numbers. The masses were easy to sway with a few pretty words. Blending in with humans was a trivial task for him. All he had to do was make a few public appearances for book signings and some launch parties for a new series; otherwise he was free to observe and study from afar. 

After the international success of The Tale of The Seven Lords, Simeon found himself feeling rather empty. He needed a new project to keep him entertained in the human realm. However, no matter what he started to work on, it didn’t inspire the same sort of passion he had for his older series. He needed a new genre, a new style of writing to refresh his passion for words. If he was going to make it in an ever changing market, he would need to adapt as well. Yet, no matter what genre he tried, every draft he came up with seemed too mundane and overdone. 

Everything except, for the temptation of writing something much more salacious than his last work. 

Just entertaining the thought had him on a slippery slope of falling from the grace of the Celestial realm. Sure, the strict protocols of olde had been loosened over the centuries. Many angels realized that enforcing perfect adherence to the standards of purity set so long ago no longer applied to modern times. Rules had been loosened and enforcement had relaxed to the point where Simeon was almost positive if he wrote an absolutely obscene novel, he didn’t risk losing his Celestial powers. 

The only problem was that he had no experience in the genre at all. He threw together a vague plot and outline, thinking it would be all he needed to inspire him. Surprisingly enough, the publishing house allowed for the drastic change in genre, confident that he would be able to create another best seller. Just having that much trust put in him made him want to succeed even more with the haphazard novel idea. 

But, despite his determination to make his new manuscripts lewd, he was at a complete loss as to what, and how to write them properly. The outline he presented to you seemed excellent on paper. Even if it had a few plot holes, you knew he could patch them up with a little work. So, it was natural that you would push the approval and leave him to his own devices to work on the manuscript. You were sure that an author of his caliber would be able to break into a new branch of the literary market without any issues. 

But, after several months of waiting, you had no contact at all from him regarding the progress of his new book. The industry needed proof of his work in order to justify their investment in him. Being so renowned, the pressure was on him to create something magnificent. You could only imagine the kind of stress he was going through and as his manager and editor, you were responsible for making sure he met deadlines. You hated to rush his process, but there was no way he could meet the dates set by the publisher if he didn’t give you something to work with soon. 

After trying to reach out to him several times by phone and email with little to no response, the only option left was to go to his abode and see just what he was hiding from. No other outline he submitted had passed so this was his one and only chance to continue his writing career. You patiently waited after knocking on his door, hoping he would answer and wasn’t going to ignore you any further. You knew how serious writer’s block could be; but you hoped he wouldn’t let that get in the way of being a professional. 

Luckily, the door opened soon enough and you were ushered in by an extremely tired and frazzled looking Simeon. He lead you to his office after you had taken off your shoes and changed into the guest slippers he offered. Simeon didn’t speak to you during the whole exchange, a shell of the soft spoken and attentive author you had come to know after so many years of working with him. He shuffled into his office, an obvious slouch in his posture and slumped behind his desk before gesturing at the empty chair across from him. 

“I’m guessing you know why I’m here.” You said and he sighed in resignation, burrowing his head in his hands and running them through his hair. You felt terrible adding stress onto him, he looked ragged, like he hadn’t slept in days. The bags under his eyes were so dark, they almost looked like deep bruises. 

“Yes… You want a manuscript…” his normally soft voice sounded hoarse and you wondered if he had eaten or drunken anything at all that day. “I’m almost done with the first draft… would you like to come and see?” He turned his laptop towards you and you started reading what he had so far. 

All seemed well and good at first. The characters were believable and the premise, though a bit cheesy, was definitely acceptable for the genre. The further you read, the more you noticed large gaps in his writing. Whole paragraphs seemed to be missing and sentences ended midway. Dialog was left unfinished and by the time you reached the end of the first chapter, it was a mess. You could already feel the inevitable headache you were going to get from editing for him. 

“Uhm…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not my best work.” 

He tried to smile, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. You reached out to him and held his hand, rubbing your thumb in reassuring circles on his palm. “You’ve worked hard on it, still. What’s got you so hung up though?” 

He got a little flustered at your question, nervously running his hand through his hair and looking to the side. Writing such a topic with no experience in it was proving to be difficult for him. He could research all he wanted and consume all the media he could to aid him, but there was just something missing. His lack of knowledge was showing and he wasn’t sure how he could keep being composed about his failure so far. He gestured at the screen and shrugged, trying to get his message across without using words; but, when he saw your confused expression, he had to speak. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” he finally admitted. “I want to write this so badly, but I don’t know how to… describe the scenes the way I want to.” 

You sat back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest and nodding. You could only imagine the difficulty he was having in producing the quality content you were sure he was used to coming up with. With deadlines looming above your head, you needed at least a chapter to submit to the publishing house so they knew actual work was being done. You sighed, trying to think of ways to jump start his creativity. The gloomy atmosphere of his office didn’t seem help. The lights were dim and the curtains were all drawn. It didn’t feel like a place that could invoke the imagery he was going for. “Let’s move somewhere.” you suggested finally. “Do you have a room with lots of sunlight? Maybe a change of mood will help.” 

“Ah… there’s the sunroom..” he said. “But I don’t know if just changing where I am writing will help the situation. If it hasn’t gotten done here, I doubt it will anywhere else.” 

“Just try it.” you encouraged, already unplugging his laptop and taking it with you. “It’s so gloomy in here, even I’m getting depressed just sitting around. Come on, which way is it?” 

“Ah… this way.” He said, shamefully shuffling out from behind his desk and showing you the way to the sunroom which overlooked a rather well manicured garden with a variety of flowers in full bloom. You marveled at the bright, airy feel of the room and took a second to really appreciate his choice in decor. 

“Wow, would have never pegged you as the kind of guy who gardens.” You teased, flopping onto the couch he had in there and lounged in its plush confines. Looking through the glass ceiling, you watched a few clouds drift by while Simeon got comfortable in a recliner in the corner of the room. You could tell he was still a bit frustrated, but you knew getting him some sun would do him good. 

“Well, when I don’t have any pressing deadlines, being with the plants helps relieve stress. It’s unfortunate that I cannot give you a tour this time.” 

“There’s plenty of opportunities in the future. They’re not going anywhere, and neither am I. You know I’m going to keep hounding you until your manuscript is finished.” 

He chuckled, nodding and opening up his laptop. You let silence pass between the two of you, going back to watching the clouds while the sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard lulled you into a daydream like state. You grabbed onto one of the large, decorative pillows he had on the couch, clutching it against your chest while you made up stories in your head about the clouds above. If you weren’t so stressed about turning something into the publishing house so soon; it would have been a perfect, calming afternoon. 

The clack of the keyboard stopped after a little bit. Whatever inspiration Simeon had when he entered the room seemed to have fizzled out and he was stuck in yet another rut, writing one word and deleting it over and over again. You sighed, turning to watch him as he gnawed on his thumb, mumbling to himself. 

“What’s not working?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. 

“Just… this scene… it’s not working. I can’t envision it.” He grumbled. Looking up at where you were laying on his couch, clutching onto the pillow, he was suddenly struck by a brilliant plan. The worry lines on his forehead disappeared and he broke out into a slight smile when he realized how he could get his creative juices flowing. “Help me… I need inspiration.” 

You sat up straight, ready to assist in any way you could. “Okay, what do you want me to do?” You asked. 

Simeon squinted, in the right light, you looked similar to the main character he had written. His plan could work if you reenacted the scene he had in mind. The issue was actually explaining the scene to you in a way that didn’t make his body feel overheated. He was already playing with fire by writing such a lewd book, pushing his limits further felt like he was sliding right down a slope heading towards a great fall. There was no other way, he reasoned. As long as I do not defile her, it’ll be fine. Taking a deep breath, he got up from where he was and walked over to you. 

“I need you to…. Uhm… Well.. how do I say this… I’m having trouble writing a love making scene and I need some… visual aids.” You blinked, processing his request and then looked him up and down, feeling your whole body heat up at once. You were sure you had kept your crush on him a secret. To have him ask you so suddenly to provide visual aid for an explicit novel felt like too big of a jump for you to comprehend. “Oh… Oh no, no, no. You don’t have to do anything with me.” He said, gesturing wildly when he saw you pointedly stare at his crotch. “You can just pretend that this is the ‘lover.’” He took the pillow from your arms and laid it on the couch. 

You didn’t know if you should have felt relived or disappointed that he wanted you to reenact a sex scene with a pillow and not him. It was all quite a bit to take in, but the desperate pout on his face was something you couldn’t ignore. And both your jobs were on the line. You sighed in resignation. “Okay, okay… But only because we have deadlines coming up.” You said. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.” 

Simeon smiled for the first time that day, hurriedly moving back to his computer and preparing to take notes on what you were doing. “I’m ready when you are.” he announced once he opened up a separate document. 

“You sure you don’t want me to just, you know… do you?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow as you started to undress. It was embarrassing for sure; but part of you relished in seeing Simeon so flustered when it came to the nature of lewd things. You wondered why he had bothered submitting such an outline at all when he wasn’t familiar with how to write erotica; but his determination to branch out to other genres had won you over in the end. It just fell upon your shoulders to show this man how it was done. 

“I… No… I can’t. I need to write.” He stuttered. Do not defile her, do not defile her. Her womb is sacred and not something you can toy with… Even if he wanted the first hand experience, he still had rules to abide by. 

“Alright, whatever you say. You’re the boss.” You shrugged, unbuttoning your blouse. “Don’t forget, part of the sexiness is in the tease.” You explained, taking your time to sway your hips side to side as each button came undone. Trying to seduce a pillow was so much more boring than trying to seduce Simeon. The things I do for this job… 

You made sure to waggle your ass as you peeled off your pants, tossing them to the side along with your blouse. There was something thrilling about being in a room made of glass. Any woodland creature that decided to come visit his garden at that moment would also get an eyeful of your progressively bare body. The rush of having Simeon watch you as you stripped had your heart racing. 

At the very least, you knew your efforts weren’t in vain. You could hear the furious clacking of the keyboard as you gave the pillow in front of you a sultry look. As lame as it all was, it was still rather arousing to know you were being watched by the man who you had crushed on for so long now. “Alright… sir. I’m going to need you to lay down. You have a problem that only I can take care of.” You said to the pillow. You tried hard not to laugh at how ridiculous the scenario was. It wouldn’t do to break the mood, especially when you could tell Simeon was definitely getting some writing done. 

You got back onto the couch, straddling the pillow between your legs once you were in nothing but your underthings. Licking your lips, you pretended that Simeon was under you and not the decorative cushion. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel his lean body under your own, squirming in discomfort as you took control of the scenario. There was just something about how gentle and soft spoken he was that made  your heart flutter with the need to dominate him until he was a flushed, moaning mess. 

Using that fantasy in your mind, you slowly started to gyrate your hips onto the pillow, throwing your head back and moaning. “Oh yes…” You breathed, pleasantly surprised at the stimulation you got from the friction of your panties rubbing against your spread core. You hummed, content with the thought of Simeon holding onto your hips to keep your steady. If he wanted to watch, then you were going to give him the best show available. 

You grasped at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra until they were sensitive little buds that made you gasp. As you continued to grind against the pillow, you could feel your essence starting to flow, no doubt you were going to leave quite a substantial wet mark on the pillow if you continued. You wanted to pause and warn Simeon of what was about to happen; but when you turned and saw the look of concentration on his face, you didn’t dare break his focus. 

He’ll just have to deal with it later… You figured going back to that happy place in your mind where the writer in front of you was actually under you. Closing your eyes, you imagined what it would be like to hear him moan as you pressed your heat against his cock. Surely he must sound absolutely angelic when he cums. Pushing slipping your hands under your bra, you pushed the fabric away, peeled it off your skin and threw it into a random corner to pick up later. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.” You purred, looking down at the cushions below you, wishing you had something sexier to talk dirty to; but you would have to make do with what you had. 

Leaning down, you grabbed a pillow to act as your ‘lovers’ head and started to kiss it. It was so hard to ignore just how disappointing it was to make out with a lump of fabric and not the beautiful man in the corner who was so engrossed with his writing, you might as well have been invisible to him. You could only use your imagination to fantasize about how soft Simeon’s lips must be. He always took such good care of his skin and he had an ethereal glow about him, as if he was blessed by the sun itself. You moaned into the pillow, hating the rough canvas you were pressed up against, but at least your pussy was getting something out of how much you were humping the pillow. 

You came up, gasping for air after having half smothered yourself with a pillow and glanced over at Simeon again. Even as he was furiously typing, you could see that he was at least a little affected by the show you were putting on. Good, I would have hated myself if he’s not even a smidgen turned on by this. You smirked, looking down at your ‘lover’ and pretended to whisper sweet nothings to them before getting off the couch. 

Simeon made a small sound of protest when he saw that you were no longer straddling the pillow, but he quickly shut up when he saw that you were divesting yourself of your panties. “Oh… carry on.” He mumbled, going back to his document, though his eyes continuously flicked up towards you to make sure he was capturing the moment properly. 

Feeling your bare pussy rub against the rough fabric of the pillow sent shivers of pleasure up and down your body and you moaned, riding it harder than before. The stimulation was great, but it wasn’t enough. Really, you wanted to have Simeon buried balls deep in you and not at his computer. However, your priority was your job and that meant sticking to what you had to work with. “Fuck…” You groaned, clenching your inner walls around nothing and wishing that you had at least a toy to fill you up and give you something to ride. 

You ground against the pillow, your essence soaking the fabric and leaving a sizable wet mark, but you didn’t care. It was all the stimulation you could get and you were going to work it for all it was worth. One hand went back up to your breast, rolling your pert nipple between your thumb and forefinger, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure you were giving yourself. “Yeah… you like watching me touch myself, babe?” You asked no one in particular; but truthfully, you hoped Simeon was really enjoying what he saw and heard.. 

His fingers on the keyboard never ceased moving as he vividly described the scene before him. He was so wrapped up in his work, he didn’t even notice himself getting hard. There was too much to write and no time to think about the attention the rest of his body was asking for. He licked his lips, his gaze constantly going back and forth from the document to your body. You were acting out the scene so well, he couldn’t stop writing; he needed to record every detail. You were everything he had imagined his main character to be; effortlessly confident, commanding in the bedroom and dripping with sex appeal. Even if it was a spur of the moment suggestion, he had no regrets considering he was getting so much more writing done in the last half hour than he had in the past two months. 

Your breathing came out in short little pants as you tried to chase a release that just wouldn’t come with so little to work with. You reached between your legs to fondle your sensitive clit, groaning loudly as you made love to yourself. You didn’t know how long the scene was supposed to be, but your thighs were getting tired of riding an inanimate object and you just wanted to get off now. 

“Mm fuck.. You feel so good…” You breathed, closing your eyes and imagining Simeon sliding inside of you. The first pass must feel so good. You fantasized about lowering yourself onto his cock slowly letting him savor every inch that entered you. In your head, his bright blue eyes glittered in lust, watching his dick disappear into you until your hips met and he would moan at the feeling of being completely buried in you. “Yeah… just like that…” You moaned, rubbing circles at your clit while your inner walls clenched rhythmically at air. 

You went back to dragging your pussy across the fabric of the pillow smearing your essence all over to get as much out of the scenario as you could. Your fingers rubbed your clit harder, pushing you ever closer and closer to release. “Oh… Oh… I’m so close…” You whined, announcing your climax mere seconds before it happened. The last push you needed was looking over at Simeon and seeing him completely engrossed in what you were doing. His fingers frozen on the keyboard and his comfortable pants with a rather impressive tent in them. 

“Fuck. Simeon.” you cursed, cumming all over the pillow. Your fingers slowed their pace around your clit, rubbing your labia back and forth as you rode out the orgasm. You fell forward onto the pillows beneath you, still slowly humping them while you let the initial high pass and the afterglow set in. It wasn’t until the haze of pleasure passed that you realized you had called his name while getting off on his couch in front of him. 

Simeon swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way you called his name. Everything had gone smoothly until you had cried out for him while in the throes of your climax. He had stopped everything he was doing just mere moments before you did that; and now, he didn’t know if he had the mental capacity to continue with what he was writing. 

For once, he was tempted to throw away whatever celestial blessings he had to take you and be the real reason why you screamed his name. 

Shoving the indecent thoughts to the back of his head, he turned back to his document, writing a sentence and erasing it, repeating the action over and over again while his brain looped the beautiful image of you as you came on his couch. Now, he noticed the tightness in his pants, the obvious boner he sported as a result of such an experiment. But, he couldn’t be mad at it. He had achieved a groove in writing and he was sure he could finish the draft you needed in time.

Simeon let you rest a bit and gather yourself together on the couch. No doubt both of you were aware of the slip, but he could pretend it didn’t affect him as much as it did. Eventually, you had the courage to look back up at him, only to find him busily typing away at his computer. Sighing, and running your hand through your hair amused that he could stay so calm, you got up and started to get dressed. “So, I’m guessing moving somewhere else worked?” you asked, keeping your tone light. 

“Hmm… yes.” He agreed, half paying attention to what you were doing. He couldn’t bear to look at you while you were exposed and waited patiently until you were fully clothed until he made eye contact and spoke to you again. “I definitely got some good notes in. I’ll just need a little more time to flesh out some of the filler scenes and I’ll email you the draft in a couple of days.” 

You let out a laugh, surprised that he was able to focus on work still after what he had just witnessed. He truly was as innocent as he presented himself to be sometimes. “Alright, well. I’ll look forward to reading it.” 

“Will you be back?” he asked, looking at you with hopeful eyes. “You were so helpful, I think I might need more help for the rest of the book.” Not, like I want to see something like that again… No, I just need it for research purposes… 

“You know I’ll be back.” You laughed heartily, ruffling his hair. “I have to bother you at least once a month to make sure you’re on schedule to finish.” 

Simeon slouched into his chair and let out a soft laugh in relief. “Of course, how could I forget.” In his mind, he was already planning new scenarios for you to play out. There would be much more research to be done, and supplies to be obtained before your next visit. But, all those things could wait. For now, he closed his laptop, noticing how low on battery it had gotten.Time had slipped by him, the sun already well on its way past the horizon. “It’s getting late…” He commented, trying to change the subject to something a little safer than the masturbation session you just had in front of him. 

“Yeah… I’ll get going and let you work in peace.” In a moment of bold recklessness, you stepped forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “See you next time, babe. Can’t wait to see what you’re gonna make me do for you.” you teased, giving him a coy wink before showing yourself out.

As soon as the door was firmly shut, Simeon let out a deep sigh, laughing out loud at the predicament he had put himself into. He wanted to quit everything and dissolve into the ground. He wanted to continue writing and see your body writhe in pleasure. He wanted to also defile you and sate himself inside of you. Most of all though, there was a growing darkness within him, one he didn’t even notice just yet; and that part of him craved to see you put in your place to beg for him like the god he knew he was. 

Pushing all his desires down and curbing his lust for the time being, he moved his computer back to his office and let it charge for the rest of the evening. His mind still swirled with the image of your exposed body riding that pillow in the sunroom. The early evening sunset made your body glow with an almost angelic light; and for once, he felt jealous of an inanimate object.

Quietly padding back into the sunroom, he looked at the soiled cushion; feeling a surge of heat rush through him when he saw the wet spot you had left behind. Licking his lips, he approached it like it was a wild animal, tentatively poking at it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend to still feel your warmth lingering on the fabric. He could feel shame rising up in him as he laid down on the couch, rested his head on the pillow and took a deep breath, memorizing the scent of your arousal. 

His hand reached down between his legs, slipping past his pants and to his hard length that needed his attention. Turning his head to smother his moans and to surround himself with your unique smell, he teased and pleased himself, putting himself in the scenario you had played out just mere moments ago. 

“Oh… oh fuck…” He groaned surprised at how little effort it took to make him cum and ruin his pants to the thought of you bouncing on his cock and calling his name. He was quickly falling down the deep end of temptation and he could feel the darkness of sin encroaching. 

The scariest part was the fact that he didn’t care at all. 

[fellulahh]

Mammon visits MC in the human realm and Lucifer gets jealous, Part 3/???

Read Part 2 here!

“So what happens now?” MC asked, her gaze falling on Lucifer.

“You come home.”

‘Because I need to have words with Diavolo’

-

MC stared down at her twiddling thumbs as she stood in Diavolo’s office. She’d never seen the Prince with such a stern look on his face as he met Lucifer’s cold expression.

“What is the meaning of this?” Diavolo asked seriously, referring to MC’s presence, “Did I or did I not restrict you from visiting the human realm?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Lucifer spoke in a monotone voice.

“Does the pledge you made to me mean nothing to you now? Need I remind you of what exactly I did for you?” He asked harshly as MC’s eyes widened at their conflict.

“No you do not, My Lord.” Lucifer shook his head as he remained poised.

Diavolo ignored him, strutting past Lucifer as his focus turned to MC. She felt unusually intimidated by him as he towered over her. She’d never seen him so livid - to her he’d always been this jolly, enthusiastic demon. This new demeanour he had was completely new. She bit her lip as he approached her but was surprised when his face softened.

“MC...” he breathed, lifting one of his tanned hands to cup her cheek. Her breathing hitched as she felt his touch.

Lucifer glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he watched his Lord caress MC’s skin. Anger filled his veins as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“I hope I haven’t frightened or offended you.” He spoke calmly, his hand still remaining on her face, “Unfortunately there are complications with Lucifer visiting the human realm that even I cannot explain.” Lucifer’s face hardened as he questioned Diavolo’s claim in his head. “Although you shouldn’t be here, even I can’t deny the excitement I felt when I saw you enter my office.” He smiled tenderly.

As Lucifer still glared at Diavolo, his eyes widened slightly as slowly he began to piece everything together: his smooth words; his lingering touch; his excitement...

‘It can’t be...’

“Thank you, My Lord.” MC nodded politely, “It’s good to see you again too.” She smiled sweetly, causing him to reciprocate the action. He stroked her cheek one more time with his thumb before pulling away, sauntering back to his desk.

“So Lucifer...” he spoke, returning to his stern persona, “I hope you’ve thought long and hard for your reasonings behind this because I am dying to know what made you think you could go behind my back.”

“My Lord, I never intended to deceive you.” Lucifer started, trying to remain calm, “but there are serious matters now that I must inform you of, ones that will affect MC.”

Diavolo leant on his desk, intrigued by what Lucifer had to say. “Go on...”

“I plead to you to let MC return to Devildom.” He asked, swallowing his pride.

“Why?” Diavolo asked surprised. His gaze flickered to MC who had a nervous expression.

“Because...” Lucifer hesitated, “She’s carrying my baby.”

“What?” Diavolo asked quietly, his teeth gritting slightly. He stood up from his desk again, making his way back over to MC. Lucifer let out a deep breath as he sensed the Prince brush past him.

Stepping in front of MC once more, he looked down at her worried face. “Is it true?” He asked softly.

Letting out a sigh, MC nodded. “It is, My Lord.”

Diavolo had a conflicted expression on his face. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Lucifer as though he had betrayed him. Returning his stare to MC, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “As long as you wish to stay, I give permission for you to return to Devildom, MC.” He breathed. She had a relieved look on her face as she heard his words. “Come here.” He spoke, holding out his arms. Surprised, MC accepted his hug. He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Welcome home.”

Lucifer remained silent as the two shared an embrace. Jealously filled his veins as the one demon he felt intimidated by held the human he’d grown to love in his arms. Him and MC had been in such a haze since the big news that they hadn’t been able to properly appreciate each other’s company after not seeing each other for a month. He let out a frustrated sigh as Diavolo excused MC from his office. When he heard the door shut, Lucifer prepared himself for the anguish that was about to come from his Lord.

Appearing in front of him, Diavolo gave Lucifer an ambiguous stare. “How far along is she?” He asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“Barely a month.” Lucifer answered simply.

“I see.” Diavolo nodded as he returned to his desk. “Don’t let this distract you from your duties, Lucifer. We can discuss this further tomorrow.”

“Yes, My Lord.” He nodded.

-

Despite all of the stress she’d felt over the past couple of days, MC couldn’t help but let a smile spread across her face as she flopped down onto her bed in the House of Lamentation. Everything was exactly how she left it just over a month ago. As she let out steady breaths, there was a knock at her door.

“It’s open!” She called.

Appearing in the doorway stood Mammon. He had a huge grin on his face as he stepped into the room. “I still can’t believe ya back!” He gushed as he jumped onto her bed.

“Me too, Mammon.” She smiled sadly as she ruffled his hair.

“How are ya feeling?” He asked, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

“Still shocked. I think I will be for a while.” She sighed, “I haven’t even been able to speak to Lucifer properly about everything.”

“Where is he?” Mammon asked.

“Still with Diavolo - it didn’t really go down well.” She pulled a face, “I feel really awful because Luci’s getting all of this grief for coming to see me and I have no idea why.”

“I dunno, Diavolo’s probably just afraid ya will distract him from being his bitch.” He shrugged.

“Mammon!” MC laughed at him, shocked by his words. “He’s not Diavolo’s bitch.”

“Ya don’t have to say that - he can’t hear ya!” He chuckled.

“MAMMON?!” A voice exclaimed from behind them.

Mammon’s eyes shot open as he heard his brothers voice. “Gotta go!” He spoke quickly before dashing out of the room.

MC smiled as Lucifer entered through the door. “Luci.” She sighed as she got off the bed to hug him. Although he wasn’t used to being hugged, even by MC still, the contact relaxed him as he melted into her tight embrace. “None of this feels real.”

“I know.” He breathed, “But you’re here now - back with me.”

As the pair pulled out, they shared a troubled gaze. “I’m sorry about the way Diavolo spoke to you. I can’t help but feel as though I am to blame.”

“Please don’t worry yourself. Diavolo’s anger is of my concern, not yours.”

MC nodded her head, recollecting the conversation they’d had in the Prince’s palace. “I think we need to talk about this.” She spoke seriously.

“Tomorrow - lets just rest for now.” He insisted.

“Lucifer I really think we should talk now - I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow - I’m scared enough as it is.”

“Diavolo and I are having a discussion tomorrow morning about you - we can wait until after.” He spoke firmly.

MC wasn’t satisfied with his response. Defeated, she slid out of his embrace. “Fine...but you can’t keep running away from this.”

Lucifer went to speak but was interrupted when the door burst open.

“MC!” Asmo shrieked as him and the rest of the brothers piled into the room. “What are you doing here?!”

He ran straight up to her, nearly tackling her to the floor as he embraced her. Lucifer accidentally let out a sharp breath as he watched Asmo jump on MC. Then came Beel. Lucifer’s eyes widened when he watched his colossal brother approach her. When MC used to live with them, Beel would always throw her over his shoulder roughly to make her laugh. Seeing his brother’s hands rise, Lucifer quickly stepped in.

“No!” He exclaimed, shielding MC from his touch.

Beel looked hurt. “What?” He asked confused.

“Why so protective, Lucifer?” Satan quizzed him, placing a hand on his chin.

“I’m not...just be gentle.” He muttered.

Awkwardly, MC stepped toward the sixth eldest brother. “Hi Beel.” She smiled at him as she hugged his massive chest. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m so happy you’re here.” He grinned as he held her. Lucifer still watched him like a hawk. “Why are you back?” He asked, with every brother listening eagerly for her response.

“Because I’m now staying!” She beamed, completely elated to be united with the brothers.

As they pulled out of their embrace, Belphie stepped up next - followed by Levi and last but not least, Satan.

“This calls for a celebration!” Asmo gushed as he clapped his hands, “We should go to The Fall and have a party.”

“I agree with you, Asmo.” Satan nodded, “I think a celebratory drink is in order.”

Panic fell across MC’s face. ‘A drink? I can’t have alcohol now!’ She worried.

“No.” Lucifer shook his head, quickly flickering his gaze to MC, “There will be no drinking tonight.”

The brothers all shared the same confused expression. Noticing MC’s and Lucifer’s troubled faces, they began growing suspicious.

“Okay what’s going on?” Satan asked slowly, “Is MC not allowed to drink alcohol under your watch either? Since when were you so protective over her?” Silence fell upon the group as MC’s heart began to race. Lucifer opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Mammon watched the scene unfold with a pained expression; he could see how nervous MC was and didn’t want her to have to confess all because Lucifer was lost for words.

“MC’s pregnant.” Mammon spoke quietly. Every brother’s head spun around when they heard his words.

“Who’s the Father?” Satan asked her softly, completely surprised by the news.

“I am.” Lucifer answered seriously.

Once again the room became silent as the brothers were left speechless. They didn’t even know that the two of them had feelings for each other let alone know they slept together! MC let out a deep breath as she awkwardly shifted her feet.

“How come you knew about this?” Levi asked Mammon annoyed. What made him so important?

“I was there when they found out!” He defended himself. “I’ll have ya know MC confides in the Great Mammon.”

While the pair of them bickered, Beel walked over to MC. He had a really cheery look on his face as he approached her. Pulling her in for a much more gentle hug, he held her in a warm embrace. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an Uncle!” He smiled brightly.

“I don’t understand.” Levi spoke, turning his focus to Lucifer, “I didn’t know you and MC are even together?”

“Technically we’re not.” Lucifer shook his head, “The matter is complicated.”

Sensing his brother didn’t want to go any further into discussing his relationship with MC, Levi accepted the answer he was given, realising the news was just as much as a shock to Lucifer as it was to them.

“We must go down for dinner!” Beel spoke aloud, “I’m starving and with MC eating for two now we need all the food we can get.”

MC let out an awkward chuckle at his words. Dinner was the last thing on her mind. Feeling completely overwhelmed by hers and Lucifer’s romance and surprise baby being the talk of the house, all she wanted to do was sleep.

————-

Sorry that was really long! What do we think to angry Diavolo?!

[beebubbly]

Ever After

Prince Ethan x MC  

A twist on A Cinderella story 

SUMMURY: Casey, a beautiful young woman, is treated as a servant by her stepmother and stepsisters. One day, she crosses paths with Prince Ethan, heir to the kingdom, who falls in love with her.

There are those who swear that Perrult’s telling of Cinderella with its fairy godmother and magic pumpkins would be closer to the truth than many of the other versions, one including the legendary slippers to be made of fur.

Perhaps its time to set the record straight; what’s that phase?

Once upon a time...

There lived a young girl who loved her father very much. Her father was a merchant who went abroad and often brought a tribute back for his darling daughter. Casey missed him terribly when he was away, but knew he would always return. 

Casey’s mother had passed away not long after Casey was born. Her father had started to believe it was time for change, hopefully for the better. Upon his travels he met and fell in love with Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent and the two married quickly making their little family complete with the addition of Rodmilla and her two stepdaughters.

But like all stories, there is an unhappy event. One day as Casey’s father was leaving for a new trade, he had a heart attack and sadly passed away. It would be ten years before another man who would enter her life, a man who was still a boy in many, many ways.

In the years that passed since her father’s passing Casey became more of a servant than a member of the family. She worked hard, allowing the hard chores as a distraction from the grief of losing her father.

Luckily, she still had the other servants who she had grown up with and loved like family. Unfortunately, Rodmilla was used to the luxurious lifestyle and the household fell into debt, one of the servants- Elijah had been sold in attempt to pay off some of the debt.

Casey found herself in the forest that was near the house, she picked apples for the household to enjoy. Casey picked an apple and was studying it when the sound of hooves caught her attention. The palace guards rode past her paying her no heed.

Once satisfied with the apples Casey made her way back to the house when a horses whining caught her attention. Curiously, she paused in her walk.

“Come on, you stupid beast” she heard a man’s voice follow.

She watched as a man on the back of one of the families horses jumped the hedge and galloped near.

“Oh, no, you don’t” Casey shook her head running towards the man, dropping most of the apples from her hold.

Taking one of the apples Casey threw it hard at the man effectively knocking him from the horse. The man tumbled from horseback and fell into the hay. Casey grabbed more apples from the ground.

“Thief!” she yelled at the man, attacking him with apples. “This will teach you for trying to steal my fathers horse!”

Another satisfying hit to the man, who attempted to scrambled to his feet, a cloak covered his head and face.

“Please, my own slipped his shoe. I have no choice” The man said as Casey attacked him with more apples.

“And our choice is what? To let you?” Casey asked him.

“I was borrowing it!” 

“Get out, or I’ll wake the house” Casey warned him pelting him with another hit.

“Ow!” 

The man managed to get the cloak from his head, and stand up enough for Casey to see his handsome face, dark hair and blue eyes. Imminently, she recognised him to be the prince. With a gasp, Casey fell to her knees, dropping the apples.

“Forgive me, your highness. I did not see you” Casey said bowing her head to the ground, not daring to look up at the man before her. Prince Ethan looked down, realising he was wearing the royal coat of arms- clearly visible.

“Your aim would suggest otherwise” Ethan said, rubbing at the welt that was forming on his head. She had a powerful arm.

“And for that I know I must die” 

“Then er-” Ethan hesitated, he was not about to be caught by his guards. “speak of this to no-one and er- I shall be lenient”

Ethan climbed back onto the horse, he glanced down at the young woman. She had long dark brown- almost black hair with a thin braid. She glanced up at him for a split second.

“We have other horses, Highness” she told him. “Younger, if that is your wish”

 “I wish for nothing more than to be free of my gilded cage.” he found himself telling her. “For your silence”

He tipped a number of gold coins onto the ground in front of her, with one last look at the young woman he clicked his tongue and rode off.

Casey looked up watching the dark haired prince ride off with her horse. She wondered what had brought him to  run away from home. Glancing down at the coins before her, Casey sucked in a deep breath.

There was a lot of money, quite possibly enough to buy back Elijah! But the only problem was her stepmother, if she caught wind of money- it would be gone in a heartbeat. Casey picked up the gold coins, carefully tucking them into her dress before she stood and started to pick up the apples.

This might just be her lucky day, first the prince speared her life and now she would be able to help her family, with Elijah back, his girlfriend would be reunited with him and that would mean the world to her.

Casey made her way quickly to the house once she finished picking up the apples. She had just entered when she heard her name being yelled by her stepmother.

"Coming!" Casey called back, tipping the apples into a basket.

"Ooh, she's in one of her moods." Jackie warned her as she entered the room with the two older women.

"Did the sun rise in the east?" Sienna asked looking at Casey's bright smile.

"Yes, Sienna, it did" Casey said tipping the gold coins onto the table. "And it is going to be a beautiful day."

The two women gasped at the sight, taking a step closer to the table.

"Look at all those feathers! Child, where did you get this?" Jackie asked.

"From an angel of mercy. And I know just what to do with them." Casry smiled at Sienna.

"Elijah?"

"If the baroness can sell your boyfriend to pay her taxes, then these can certainly bring him home." Casey told her. "The court will have to let him go."

"But the king has sold him to Cartier. He's bound for the Americas." Sienna shook her head.

Casey moved around the room, picking up a cup of salt and the bread.

"This is our home, and I will not see it fall apart." Casey told her firmly, putting a hand to her shoulder.

"We are waiting!" Rodmilla called.

"Oh, take heed, mistress, or these coins are as good as hers." Jackie warned her putting the coins back into Casey's dress handing her another plate.

"Morning, madam." Casey greeted as she entered the room where her mother and two stepsisters sat eating breakfast. "Marguerite. Jacqueline."

"Hello." Jacqueline replied softly.

"I trust you slept well."

"What kept you?" Rodmilla questioned as Casey put the salt carefully on the table.

"I fell off the ladder in the orchard, but I am better now." Casey told her.

"Someone's been reading in the fireplace again. Look at you, ash and soot everywhere." Marguerite commented in distaste.

"Some people read because they cannot think for themselves." Rodmilla said as Casey put the bread onto the table.

"Why don't you sleep with the pigs, cinder-soot, if you insist on smelling like one?" Marguerite told Casey.

"Ooh, that was harsh, Marguerite. Casey, come here, child." Rodmilla grabbed Casey's hands. "Your appearance does reflect a certain crudeness, my dear. What can I do to make you try?"

"I do try, Stepmother. I do wish to please you." Casey told her. "Sometimes, I sit on my own and try to think of what else I could do, how I should act-"

"Oh, calm down, child. Relax."

"Perhaps if we brought back Elijah, I would not offend you so." Casey suggested.

"It is your manner that offends, Casey. Throughout these hard times, I have sheltered you, clothed you and cared for you." Rodmilla said. "All that I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that such an extraordinary request?"

"No, my lady."

"Very well. We shall have no more talk of servants coming back. Is that quite understood?"

"Yes, my lady." Casey nodded as she turned to leave.

"After all that I do, after all I have done, it's never enough." Rodmilla turned to her daughters as Casey left the room.

If Rodmilla wasn't willing to help get Elijah back, then she was going to do it herself. Casey had a plan.

Dressed in a nice light blue dress and her face clean, Casey made her way to the castle where she knew Elijah would be. She spotted the cage where men were being pushed into. It set off.

Casey ran up stopping the men from leaving by grabbing the rein of the horse.

"I wish to address the issue of this gentleman." Casey told the man on the waggon with the cage, motioning to Elijah.

"He is my servant, and I am here to pay the debt against him."

"You're too late. He's bought and paid for." The man told her.

"I can pay you 20 gold francs."

"Madam, you can have me for 20 gold francs. Now drive on!" the man ordered but Casey stood her ground.

"I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the king." Casey demanded.

"The king's the one that sold him. He's now the property of Cartier."

"He is not property at all, you ill- mannered tub of guts." Casey said furiously. "Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel?"

"I demand you release him at once." Casey repeated stepping closer to the cage.

"Get out of my way!" the man yelled in her face.

"You dare raise your voice to a lady, sir?" a voice called out to them.

Casey turned to find Prince Ethan sat on a horse watching them. She bowed her head at him respectfully.

"Your Highness." the man chuckled. "For- Forgive me, sire. Uh, I meant no disrespect."

"Uh, it's just, uh, I'm following orders here. It's my job to take these criminals and thieves to the coast."

"A servant is not a thief, Your Highness, and those who are cannot help themselves." Casey turned to look at Prince Ethan. The attention of the many people were now on them.

"Really? Well, then, by all means... enlighten us" Ethan motioned a hand for Casey to continue.

"If you suffer your people to be ill- educated, and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them" Casey told him passionatly.

"What else is to be concluded, sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?"

"Well, there you have it. Release him." Ethan ordered the man after a moment.

"But, sire-"

"I said release him."

"Yes, sire. The man nodded getting down to release Elijah. Casey followed behind, but sent Ethan a thankful smile over her shoulder.

"I thought I was looking at your mother." Elijah said as he hugged Casey, she handed the man the bag of gold coins.

"Meet me at the bridge." Casey whispered to Elijah.

"Prepare the horses. We will leave at once." Casey announced in a louder voice. Elijah, curious nodded and walked off quickly.

Casey made her way over to Prince Ethan, she curtsied slightly.

"I thank you, Your Highness." she told him sincerely before she set off wanting to get away in case he recognised her or someone realised she wasn't a courtier.

Ethan climbed down off his horse and followed after the woman that had peeked his intrest.

"Have we met?" Ethan frowned at her.

"I do not believe so, Your Highness."

"I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province." Ethan told her.

"Well, I am visiting a cousin" Casey said thinking quickly as Ethan walked alongside her.

"Who?"

"My cousin."

"Yes, you said that. Which one?"

"Th-The only one I have, sire."

"Are you coy on purpose, or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?" Ethan almost huffed.

"No. And yes."

Casey paused for a moment before she continued walking briskly.

"Well, then, pray, tell me your cousin's name, so that I might call upon her to learn who you are." Ethan said walking in front of her and backwards so he could still see her.

Ethan stopped for a moment letting her brush past him.

"For anyone who can quote Thomas More is well worth the effort."

This made Casey stop and turn to face Ethan. She was intrigued that he knew of the book.

"The prince has read Utopia?"

"I found it sentimental and dull." Ethan told her as he took a few steps towards her.

"I confess, the plight of the everyday rustic bores me."

"I gather you do not converse with many peasants." Casey noted as Ethan stepped closer again.

"Certainly not. No, naturally." Ethan gave a light scoff.

"Excuse me, sire, but there is nothing natural about it." Casey shook her head lightly, frowning at him as she walked away.

"A country's character is defined by its 'everyday rustics,' as you call them. They are the legs you stand on, and that position demands respect not-"

"Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?" Ethan raised an eyebrow as he stepped in front of her again, standing close to her.

From this distance Casey could see the prince had bright blue eyes and feel the warmth from his body.

"Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?" Casey glanced back at the others who were still imprisoned, Ethan followed her gaze.

She had a point.

Casey started walking again making Ethan follow.

"Please, I beg of you. A name. Any name."

"I fear that the only name to leave you with is Comtesse Sophia de Lancret." Casey told him.

"There now. That wasn't so hard." Ethan smiled at her.

"Ethan!"

The pair paused again for a moment, Ethan turned to find his mother heading their way.

Casey used this distraction to slip away from the prince. A small smile stayed on her face as she and Elijah made their way home.

[lassieposting]

Hey, I saw you did a hc thing for Scaracen/Dexter and I was wondering if you could do one for Ghastly/Skulduggery?? (I love the pairing but there is no content and it makes me sad) Hope you are having a good time :)

I genuinely thought I had done this for ghasdug but apparently not? I can't find it anyway

There is content in my ghasdug tag but tbh in my experience the ghasdug shippers are on discord mostly...hit me up

ANYWAY

So. Ghasdug. Ghastly wants skug from the start.

They're 16 when they meet. Ghastly gets a bit seasick and doesn't really want to go anywhere by ship, but his mama tells him he needs to, there's something important for him on that ship, that one right there, and he trusts her enough to know that she's clearly foreseen something and to just go with it.

By the time they get back to shore, he's already thinking, it's you. I was supposed to meet you.

They head back to Dublin together. Ghastly's mama takes one look at this awkward, skinny, skittish child and decides she's adopting him, and skug moves into their farmhouse and is subsequently freaked the fuck out by his very first experience of A Loving Family. Ghastly's mother like, hugs him and reminds him to wear a coat and clips his ear for swearing and makes sure he eats breakfast. He is semiferal and not used to any of this.

For a few months they settle into a comfortable routine:

- Ghastly's father spends the week making clothes, then does commission deliveries one day and takes hats and boots and suchlike to the market the next.

- Ghastly's mother has a job as a barmaid, where she gets to regularly crack some skulls and socialise, which is great for her because she is both a short-n-stocky powerhouse and a giant extrovert.

- The boys spend most of their time together, and they're supposed to do the bulk of the chores. It's not a large commercial farm - they have a vegetable garden, and some chickens, and an old carthorse, and maybe a couple of goats or a cow for milk and cheese. Ghastly and Skug are supposed to cut firewood and feed the animals and fetch groceries from the market and milk the milkable animal and fix this and repair that. All the things the parents dont have time for

Which. Is great in theory but skug has never had to do a hard day's work in his lazy aristocratic life, and develops a severe and immediate allergy to manual labour, so actually ghastly tends to do most of the chores while skug skives off and naps in the sun or chats up the girls who live on the neighbouring smallholding over the fence

And like, therein lies the problem, because they are both solidly in the grip of that cruel mistress called puberty and like. Skug was a fuckin weird-looking child. He had big ears and a sharp nose and a bunch of missing teeth and his limbs were all too long for him. But he's now rapidly growing into all the features that made him an unfortunate child, and it's already clear that he's going to be one of those people who will, inevitably, grow into handsome young men.

Which is like. Fine. Ghastly doesn't care. He's not jealous or anything. He doesn't feel a twinge when the neighbour girls only speak to him to ask about Skulduggery. Nobody here is bitter.

It's a good thing, he tells himself. Nobody will want to marry him anyway, so he's glad skug is around now so Mother can harass him to meet a nice girl and give her grandchildren. At least someone will probably want to have children with skug.

He has a dream about skug not long before his 17th. They share the attic room, and when he startles awake, skug is smirking at him from the opposite bed and asking "who is she?" and ghastly thinks oh no. He's painfully embarrassed and awkward about it, and skug rolls over and stretches and says, "relax, bespoke, your secret is safe with me" and all ghastly can focus on is that he's actually been putting some muscle on lately and when he stretches like that it does funny things to ghastly's insides.

- they start riding into town in the evenings to meet up with hopeless at the tavern, play cards and flirt with pretty girls. Or rather, skug flirts with pretty girls. He's all legs and freckles and elegant clothes, and they hang off his every word. Ghastly knows they will never look at him like that. He's Skulduggery's ugly friend. Girls only approach him to ask about skug

- and he gets it! Skug is unfairly attractive! And he's witty, and clever, and sometimes when ghastly wakes up first he stays very quiet so he can watch skug sleep, the way the dawn turns his hair to burnished copper, the way his curls fall across his forehead and the patterns his freckles make on his skin. Skug is an affectionate, tactile drunk, and hopeless looks at ghastly with something like pity whenever skug rests his chin on ghastly's shoulder or leans his head on ghastly's knee or wants a piggyback back to where they tied the horse, and ghastly takes what little he can get and says nothing.

- they're coming home drunk in the pouring rain one night, later than usual, riding doubled up on ghastly's carthorse. ghastly is behind, loosely holding on around skug's waist, and the whole way home all he can think about is how close they are and how much he wants to lean in and put his mouth on skug's neck, and by halfway home he's reduced to silently begging his semi not to pop a full on hard-on until they're home, when skug will crash like always and ghastly can take care of himself in private

- when they get home, they're locked out, which is what they get for coming home well after ghastly's parents are asleep, but this isn't a one off and ghastly's mother always leaves blankets for them to sleep in the barn. so they put the horse away and give her a rub-down/groom together and skug's shirt is practically see-through and his hair is plastered to his skull and ghastly can't take his eyes off the visible jut of collarbone where the neck of skug's shirt is undone and skug makes a couple jokes about it when their eyes meet, how ghastly has been brushing the same bit of horse for as long as it's taken skug to do half his side, but then the third time he laughs and teases, "if i didn't know better, bespoke, I'd say you wanted me" and ghastly will forever blame the alcohol but he doesn't even think about it? It comes out before he can stop himself, before he has time to remember what it could do to their friendship

- he says, "what if i did?"

- skug goes quiet for a minute, and it's a tense sort of quiet, not the thick, cloying tension that comes before a storm or an argument but the light, vibrating tension that comes with standing on a cliff's edge or drawing a bowstring, and then he ducks under the horse's head to come around to ghastly's side. He's still a little shorter than ghastly, still has to look up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

- skug says, "do you?" like it's still half a joke, and there's a chance to back out right there, to laugh and deny it and let this become an amusing footnote at the bottom of their friendship, but ghastly ignores it. "yes."

- skug shrugs, his lip quirking, and says, "so have me."

- ghastly learns a lot that night. he also accidentally blurts "i love you" when he comes, but nobody's perfect and he's...relatively...sure skug was too distracted to have been paying attention, so he'll count that as a massive win

- morning finds them in the hayloft, tangled up in the blankets left out for them, regretting their choice of tavern beverages and, in ghastly's case, sporting a classic case of morning wood. He's kind of hoping he'll get lucky again with sleepy morning sex but skug is disgustingly hungover and just wants to burrow his head into ghastly's chest to block out the light and go back to sleep so like, out of luck.

- when skug has slept off the booze a bit more, Ghastly awkwardly broaches the question of "just how drunk were you" and they establish that they both remember fucking, neither of them regrets it, and the attraction is apparently mutual? Which is a mindfuck for self-conscious teenage ghastly, because, like, why tho

- they both get to do the walk of shame into the house when ghastly's parents wake up. Ghastly's shirt hides the nail marks skug left on his back nicely; sadly, the same cannot be said for the giant hickey he left on skug's throat, and he is eternally grateful to his parents for not bringing it up (he'll allow his mother her raised eyebrows. She did it quietly)

- they just sort of? happen, after that. There's no conversation about what they are to one another, so there are several crossed wires and feelings get hurt, but they always move past it. They both have phases of going off with someone else - but they keep ending up back together regardless of how much they argue.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night: Part XIX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XVIII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

.XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone.

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream.

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush.

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her.

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it.

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse.

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm.

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister.

Because my father is a drunk.

Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years.

Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.

And I can never take it back.

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died.

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud bang hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

                                                             ____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew.

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair.

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t you grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your privileged little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too.

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do matter to him!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will truly be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

A/N: Good evening! I hope your October is going splendidly so far. I am experiencing some moderate to extreme anxiety due to work related issues. My job before quarantine has not asked me to return yet, so I found and started a freelance writing job, which in theory should be really exciting, but I have ZERO self-confidence in myself or my writing. So, I’m working through that. This chapter was a fun escape for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please hit that cute little heart, drop a lovely comment, and reblog if you feel so inclined. As always, be safe, take care of yourself, and stay healthy out there. Next update will be in two weeks, Nov 1.

[in-love-with-darth-vader]

Memories of Yesterday

The first time he held the one he loved most in his arms only for them to die, he gained trauma that shaped who he was today. 

The second time that he clutched onto the one he loved most as they died in his arms, he was left with broken pieces of himself, except for the piece that died with her. 

Obi-Wan hadn’t slept in days. His thoughts lingering only on the Duchess and the words she said in her last moments of life.

I’ve always loved you. And I always will. 

The thing he regretted most was never saying it back. At least, never to her face. 

He told her he loved her indirectly in his own ways as often as he said her name. 

If you had said the word, I would have left the Jedi order. 

My dear. 

You look more beautiful than ever.

He hasn’t been to a council meeting since he’s gotten back. Anakin didn’t expect him to. 

The council did. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi never missed a meeting. Not unless he wasn’t supposed to be there. Not unless he was off planet and not expected to be there. 

But here he was. Laying in his dark quarters on Coruscant. 

Eyes red and soaked from tears as well as strained from lack of sleep. 

He needed to sleep. Logically, he knew this. 

But every time he closed his eyes he saw her again, taking her last breath in his arms. 

So he couldn’t sleep. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he knew he needed to. 

That’s the thing about Satine. She always defied logic in his mind. 

It was times like these that Obi-Wan began to doubt the Jedi code. 

When fellow Jedi were asked what they knew about Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, the common consensus was that he was a very remarkable and honorable warrior who followed the Jedi code to the letter. 

That’s what they thought, at least. 

Because that’s the front Obi-Wan put up. 

That’s what those who didn’t know him personally thought. 

Obi-Wan respected and followed the code, but he learned from life experience and from his master that there are many contradictions and ridiculous restrictions in the life of a Jedi. 

Qui-Gon always was a troublemaker. Mostly as a child. 

But Master Qui-Gon carried some of that trouble into adulthood. 

Unlike his peers’ masters, Qui-Gon never chastised him for questioning the code. In fact, he encouraged it. 

But he didn’t encourage breaking it. 

Well, at least not completely. 

Qui-Gon advised against him falling in love in order to avoid great pain in his life. 

Obi-Wan tried to listen. 

He failed. 

~~~~

“Master Qui-Gon?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“Could I ask you something? Something regarding the Jedi Code?”

“Of course, my Padawan.”

“I greatly respect the code, master, but I find there to be some contradictions. Like how we’re supposed to be peacemakers, yet we fight to the death. We’re told to protect and care for everyone, but we cannot form attachments. Why is that, master?”

“Hmm, yes, my Padawan. The Jedi live by a very contradictory code. Someone as smart as you was sure to pick up on that sooner or later.”

“So then how can we follow the code completely if it contradicts itself?”

“That’s a great question. Come, sit. It’s true, Obi-Wan. We are supposed to care for everyone. The difference between attachments and general care is the difference between selfishness and selflessness. To truly be a peacemaker who would protect everyone, we must not attach to anyone. Love doesn’t make us weak, in fact, it makes us strong. However, love makes us put someone else before humanity. And while normally that’s okay, our role makes that impossible to achieve.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“What do you do-hypothetically-if you were to start to succumb to these sorts of feelings?”

“A great question. Honestly? It’s very hard to put them aside without causing yourself and someone else pain. But if you wish to become a Jedi Master, then it is what you must do. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course. Thank you master.”

~~~~

Obi-Wan awoke suddenly, realizing that he had been asleep. 

He must have finally crashed, he thought, after so long without sleep. 

When he looked at the clock, however, it told a different story. 

It had only been five minutes.

He tried to fall back asleep, but he saw her face on her limp, dead body and forced his eyes open. 

Master Yoda always told him that death wasn’t a bad thing. That death only brought us all closer to the force. 

That death was a peaceful and natural thing. 

Obi-Wan logically knew that death was natural. 

But he also knew that murder shouldn’t be considered a natural way to go. 

She wanted to do so much more. She could have. But one man decided to take that chance away from her. He decided to pull the strings on her life. 

The same man who killed his master. 

Obi-Wan now fully understood why Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments. 

It had awoken a terrible feeling inside of him. 

Rage. 

And he already knew this. He knew this was the reason. 

But now he had first hand experience. And now a part of him wanted revenge.

~~~~

“Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Duchess?”

“Could you tell me about the Jedi?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything. Why do you have that braid? What’s the code you live by? And more importantly why do you live by it? Do you ever think of leaving? Do you think it’s morally okay for children to be taken from their families for this?”

“That’s...those are some good questions. This braid represents my status as a Padawan. The Jedi Code is….extremely complicated. And to the rest of your questions, I don’t really know. Those are very hard to think about.”

“Then tell me more about this code of yours, hmm? No more philosophical questions.”

“It’s like a book of rules and morals. We just live by it. I don’t know why, but we do. Most of it is basic stuff that isn’t that different from other societal norms. There’s also a lot about Masters and their Padawans. I guess the weirdest thing is that we’re not allowed to have attachments.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

“So, do you not love Qui-Gon? Does he not love you?”

“I love Qui-Gon in a different way than you think. I care deeply for him, but due to our code, I cannot sacrifice everyone else for him. I cannot be selfish because of how much I care for him.”

“That seems very restrictive.”

“Indeed it is. A lot of people break that one. A lot of my fellow Padawans already have.”

“Tell me, Obi-Wan Kenobi: would you defy the code for the right person?”

“Perhaps, Duchess. For the right person? Perhaps.”

~~~~

This time it had been seven minutes of rest. 

His mind was filled with memories of years ago, and yet he always woke to her lifeless face. 

He wished he had someone to talk to about this. 

He could always go to Anakin, but he did not want this leading to letting Anakin know that he knows about his not-so-secret relationship with Senator Amidala. He’s not quite ready for that conversation yet. 

Especially not now. 

It reminds him too much of days long gone. 

A Jedi and a politician running around in secret, keeping their love only to themselves. Forgetting about the rest of the war-ridden world. 

Having to eventually break each other’s hearts due to a situation that’s uncontrollable to both of them. 

The only difference is that Anakin never had the respect for the code that Obi-Wan did. 

Not that he blames him. 

He’s a stubborn person, and he always has been. 

He was taken away from his mother with no explanation but an ancient code. Of course he would deviate from it. 

Obi-Wan wished that he could have done the same. 

But he loved being a Jedi. 

Not more than her. 

Not less than her. 

But he loved it nonetheless. 

After almost two decades of living life with the Jedi at that point, he couldn’t give up on it. 

Not on his own. Not unless she asked. 

He knew she never would. She cared too much for him to hold him back. 

~~~~

“Obi?”

“Yes, Satine?”

“Do you think I’ll ever be safe again?”

“I don’t know. I want to say yes, but I won’t make you a promise that I can’t guarantee will happen. But I hope so.”

“I hate being on the run, but I might hate not having you around even more.”

“Don’t worry, Satine. I’ll never stop protecting you. Not until the day I die.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say. Do you know if Qui-Gon is coming back yet?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t feel him coming any closer.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. When he comes back I’ll have to go back to my room. So, good.”

“You know, I’ll miss having you around too. Will you ever come visit Coruscant?”

“Only if you promise to visit Mandalore.”

~~~~

He did visit Mandalore. He went as often as he could.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t able to happen as often as he wanted it to so as to not raise suspicion. 

She came to Coruscant whenever she could.

They met up and reminisced every time.

He yearned for those days.

He wished he could see her one more time.

~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you, Satine.”

“I don’t either. But we have to.”

“Do we?”

“You’re a Jedi, Obi. It’s what you were born to do. You need to go protect the galaxy.”

“And you need to go and change it for the better.”

“I’ll try my best. Goodbye, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Goodbye, Duchess.”

~~~~

A knock at his door was what interrupted his dreams this time.

He knew it was Anakin.

He pretended he didn’t.

“Master? It’s me. Can I come in?”

No reply.

“I brought you some food from Dex’s.”

Still nothing.

The door opened.

He felt the mattress shift as Anakin sat down next to him.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk right now. I understand why. You have to eat though, okay? I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you, and that I love you.”

Anakin then shifted over and wrapped him in a hug.

And, for the first time, Obi-Wan hugged him back.

Love may have been what led to breaking him, but love was also the only thing that would be able to put him back together. 

[otonymous]

Afterglow (Jackson Wang - NSFW)

Description: Breakups lead to make-ups...and make-up sex in an alleyway Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: public sex, angst, breakups Word Count: 2748 words (~ 14 mins of smut, angst and fluff-lite™️) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: This story is a BIG milestone for me, because it's the first time I've written about a man who exists outside the two-dimensional plane 😆 The thirst was undeniable ever since I saw Jackson’s Bottle Cap Challenge video, then he dropped the fly Kinjaz dance moves in his Titanic MV, and this story has been slowly brewing ever since.

I found it challenging to write about a living human being, and I strove to be as respectful as possible in the process of crafting this story.  That being said, happy reading and hope you all enjoy it! 🥰

Disclaimer: This is purely an exercise in creativity.  Unfortunate though it is, I do not know Jackson Wang in real life lol

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you know about me?”

The slight tremble in his voice.  A hint of panic.

You squinted as the headlights of a passing car caught the diamonds in his wristwatch, dazzling and disorienting in the dark as light reflected in your vision, and then…over as soon as it began.  The magic of the moment so terribly brief.

And as neon street signs threw electric shadows in the alleyway where you found yourself unable to look Jackson in the eye, the heat of a Hong Kong summer had never felt more oppressive.

Brown eyes no longer crinkled at their corners as they so often did before the cameras, their depths set instead on scrutinizing your features, looking for cracks in the wall you swore would never fall.

Because falling for him never should have been an option.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, right?  That I’m just another pretty face looking to play around?”

English bleeds seamlessly into Cantonese, Jackson’s voice rising in the deserted corridor where he had chased after you when you left him at the food stall on the corner — the place where you finally mustered up the courage to drive the blade into your heart even as you broke his with a single word:

“Goodbye.”

He hadn’t even finished his lo mein.

“Keep your voice down, Jackson.  You don’t want to attract attention—”

“DON’T TREAT ME LIKE A CHILD!”

The desperate echo of his outburst left him feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.  Eyes following your gaze as it dropped to the ground, Jackson Wang had never felt so small.

The sound of his breath fills your ears, shaky and shallow and accompanied by the drip of an air conditioner nearby — pace steady like a clock to mark the passage of time the two of you no longer had.

He covered his face, tapered fingers dragging from forehead to chin as his throat bobbed, choking on all the words he couldn’t afford to say aloud.

Because in that moment, Jackson hated it all — everything he had ever worked for.  The recognition.  The fame.  Schedules packed with recording, shoots and interviews that it wasn’t until the car ride home that he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun.

And in the mire of those lost days, he despised himself.  Hated the way he wished your time would stop too, just so he could share in every missed moment:

Your breath on his skin as you blew out the candles on a cake, warmth gentle like extinguished flame.

The laughter that shook your body till you doubled over, the most beautiful music to his ears.

Tears that rolled down your cheeks to reflect silver moonlight, stealing in through half-drawn curtains while the world outside slept.

Jackson Wang wanted it all.  Selfish though it was, he couldn't help it.  Because all he ever wanted was to give you everything.  But now, in the tremble of capable hands, he felt you slip through his fingers like grains of sand, scattered by the winds of a fate he was powerless against.

Powerless.  Hadn’t he sworn he would never allow himself to feel this way again?  

His hands curl into tight fists.

“Jackson, we…we just…don’t belong together.”  The words felt foreign on your tongue.  Faint, as if you yourself didn’t care to hear them.

“You and I both know full well that’s bullshit,” he scoffs, pulling off his black cap to run a hand through hair dyed chestnut brown.

And you remember.

Remembered the way he did the same in a flustered apology when he first bumped into you that fated day, eyes wide to see your skewer of curried fish balls drop to roll away on the sloped pavement.

Remembered being simultaneously fascinated and frightened by a smile as bright as the sun.  And suddenly, the way he artlessly thrust an egg tart into your hand in exchange for your lost snack made you shy.

Recalled the silk of his hair, wound between your fingers as they anchored to tug and pull with every movement of his body within yours, each wave of ecstasy overwhelming and absolute.

And suddenly, you are nauseous at the thought of never again hearing him whisper your name -- deep voice laced with fatigue on the other end of the line, or husky with lust as he trailed kisses down your neck.  But you swallow hard and sweep the thoughts away, preparing to twist the knife in a bid to be kind.

“All the things I want, Jackson…you cannot give me."  

Liar.

The words wooden in your ear, you wondered if Jackson, too, picked up on the charade.  But the quiet shudder that leaves his lips tells you otherwise.   Strangely detached, as if your consciousness had transcended your body to hover over the scene of a crime, you continue, eyes on the ground as you pantomimed the lies rehearsed since the day you decided to let the love of your life go.

“I want someone whose hand I can hold in public without it becoming front page news.  Someone who can be there, who doesn’t need to hop on a plane when I need him to just…hold me.  Texting and FaceTime, it’s not enough for me anymore.  Being with you, Jackson, it’s…too hard…”

Hypnotized by the rise and fall of his chest, you trail off as he steps closer, the yellow Batman logo on his black tee looking more faded than the last time you saw him in it — one month and three days ago.  The last time he came home.  The last time he was close enough to touch.

The first time you really saw what was happening to Jackson Wang.

For the truth lay in the violet circles beneath gentle eyes, in the tired rasp of his voice.  All those times he fought exhaustion to hear you tell him about your day at the end of his.  The way he’d apologize profusely for falling asleep mid-conversation the morning after while drinking that awful chicken breast shake he still couldn’t quite get used to.  The red-eye flights taken to surprise you on a whim.  The guilt you knew he still carried for missing kisses under mistletoes and summers spent on tour.

“Time.  Just give me a bit more time and I’ll give you everything.  Please.  That’s all I’m asking for.”  

Jackson’s voice is quiet.  Pleading.  You would’ve given him the world had he wanted it, but it still wouldn’t change the fact that your lives never should have crossed.  Jackson burned bright, a shooting star meant to blaze new trails.  And exhilarating thought it was to have momentarily basked in the warmth of his fire, you knew he couldn’t afford to be weighed down by anything — or anyone — in the pursuit of his dreams.

Love shouldn’t be a burden.

So you remain silent, sorrow heavy on your tongue as you fight the sting in your eyes that threatens to give you away.

“Look at me?”

Jackson’s breath, warm and soft at the crown of your head, sets your pulse on fire.  And on reflex, your trembling hand flies to your chest, fingering the delicate chain of the necklace he himself had put on you so many months ago until you remembered that this, too, was to be returned.

Voice thick with emotion, Jackson whispers again: “Please, look at me.”

And when those large hands cradle your jaw to gently tilt, the angles of his handsome face finally come into view, blurred through tears spilling past lashes as your traitorous body revolts — every nerve, every inch of skin screaming out for the touch of his lips.

Those lips.  

Plush pink and soft satin, how often had they pressed against yours, hot and insistent to leave you breathless in the ardour of his kiss?  Even now, with your lies breaking your heart and his, they moved to caress the apples of your cheeks, infinitely tender as he tasted the salt of every bitter tear shed.

“I love you.  Please…please, don’t go.”

Confession laid at the corner of your lips, his hands wrap around your waist to pull you flush against his body, Jackson willing his embrace to express the depths of his sincerity in a rare moment where he found himself speechless.

And there, melting into the searing heat of his chest against yours, you curse your lack of resolve as it crumbles — the cracks in the wall you said would never fall deepening with every sweep of his tongue along the seam of your lips, begging for entry.  Begging for your reconsideration.

So you relent, and the ecstatic shudder that shakes him to taste your mouth at last makes you weak.  But before you can drop, the arms around you tighten — strong and supportive like Jackson himself, constant even as his kiss deepened, greedy for more, more, more.

For when it came to you, Jackson was insatiable.

“This is yours,”  he says, breathless when he finally pulls away, lips kiss-swollen and cheeks pink under fluorescent blue lights, his hand covering yours to pull it beneath his shirt, wandering the crests and dips of that defined torso and crossing the broad smoothness of his chest until finally coming to rest above his heart, beating steady just left of centre.

“No matter what happens, this will always belong to you.  Always.  Me and you…together…we’ll figure something out.  We can make it work.  So don’t give up on us, because I’ll never give up on you.  Okay?”

In the gravity of those big brown eyes, shining with determination and sharp with intent, you couldn’t help but concede, nodding as a wide smile transformed his face and you were once again bathed in light, heart warmed in the afterglow of his indomitable spirit even as your “Yes” is swallowed up by another kiss, hungrier than the last.

And suddenly, you are ravenous for the man, yielding to the honesty of your body as your tongue slides past open lips to explore that talented mouth, fingers gripping the muscles beneath his shirt — hard lines and solid planes all at once new and familiar and so exciting.

Exciting, like the way Jackson loved to take you - wherever and whenever desire struck, desperate to make the most of whatever time the two of you had together.  And when you felt the wall, cool and solid behind your back, the grind of his sturdy thigh between your legs left no question as to what you were in for.

So after a cursory glance down the alleyway confirmed you were still alone, Jackson trains that burning gaze onto you, lids heavy with lust as his eyes study yours before dropping to your mouth, and then…slowly…down to your chest, entranced to watch it heave beneath your top.  And when he sees the diamond pendant he chose for you adorning the skin above the swell of your breasts, his tongue sweeps out to wet that lower lip before it disappears behind the bite of perfect teeth.

Hands drag down your waist and hips, patiently tracing your curves even as the mouth on your neck burned kisses into skin — lips and teeth and tongue fervent as Jackson sought to mark you as his own for the world to see.

And when those long, tapered fingers linger at your knee to draw slow circles before wandering past the hem of your skirt, he angles his beautiful face, the register of his voice deep and low when he whispers in your ear, “Do you think of me when you wear that necklace?”

You nod, finding it altogether too difficult to speak with the way his hand caressed your thighs, fingertips following a gradient of heat as they moved along sensitive skin, inching closer and closer to silk that grew increasingly moist with each press of his muscular leg against your pussy.

“Good girl,” Jackson says as he sucks your lobe into his mouth - hot and wet — and you are further rewarded with a low hiss of pleasure when you reach to palm his cock through his pants, already impossibly hard and intimidatingly large.  The thought of him in you, sliding slick and thrusting fast to stretch you to the limits of your capacity, sent another surge of moisture to your core, Jackson smiling to feel the intensity of your response through drenched fabric.

“I think of you too…”

Your man continues, hand tracing the outline of your slit.

“…Wearing my necklace…”

Thumb hooks silk aside.

“…While touching yourself.”

You gasp.  Finally, fingers on bare skin.  Index and middle dragging from end to end to gather your arousal before skirting slick circles about your clit.  And when you feel two fingers, then three, penetrate to curl and press in torturous repetition, your head falls back as your legs shake, inviting the kiss of his lips on the notch of your neck.

Eyes blown wide with desire lock on your own as Jackson finally pulls his hand away — shiny with arousal even in the dimly lit passageway.  And as he brings it up to his face and yours in some obscene exhibition, your core twitches again to see him taste you, pink tongue running the length of each digit to catch every last drop before those lips wrap around his ring, sucking the remnants of your juices from a bed of diamonds.

“Delicious.  You always taste so sweet.  But right now - "

Your hands leave the bulge of his erection to unbutton his pants, trembling slightly in haste and excitement when you pull down his fly.  And when you finally release that cock — hot and hard — the movement of your fingers pumping slowly along its length steals the words from Jackson’s mouth.  

So you speak on both your behalves when you say,  

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

Breath hitching in his throat at your command, the feral spark in Jackson's eye makes you bite your lip before it is promptly sucked into his mouth, your boyfriend kissing you deeply to silence every scream for discretion’s sake, the way he liked to do when fucking in public.

So you throw your arms around his neck, moaning against his lips as Jackson effortlessly lifts to slowly lower you onto his cock…stretching deeper and deeper until you swear you feel him at the pit of your stomach.  And when he begins to thrust in earnest — biceps bulging as he wraps your legs about his waist to dive hard and fast — the wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh add to the electric hum in the darkness.

Beads of sweat rolling from forehead to chin drip from Jackson's face to the skin of your chest, tracing between the swell of your breasts in the humid night to add to the primal urgency in the swing of his hips.  And when he shifts to hit that spot — smiling, as if proving that he had the totality of your body mapped in his mind — you lose your senses in yet another consuming release, convulsing in his arms until his own is drawn out, depositing hot and deep within you.

And when you finally descend from the clouds, the frantic rhythm in your chest slowing in time to his…you believe.  Believe in the honesty of your bodies and the attachment in your hearts.  Believe in Jackson’s words when he says that together, love will always find a way.  

So you bask in the afterglow of Jackson's affection...warm, bright and magical like the man himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[quitequietquitecute]

 NIGHTCALL

It had been a while yet since the last war ended and that its aftermath had cicatrized from Konoha's village face... Almost two years now that a new memorial had been erected in the cemetery, containing the -too numerous- names of those whose body had vanished and who had perished in that senseless massacre... As his father's one - like his teammate's and comrade's and a lot of the village's folks - that can be found carved on it.

He was barely twenty, yet his life entailed two tragedies, two major trauma. It took him a lot to recover from the first disaster : his sensei's death.

Unfortunately, he was endowed of a proficient brain, and that, not only to play shogi or to elaborate strategy, although it was what he was renowned for ; but also for everything what had appeal to overthinking : from self-loathing, to self flagellation or to questioning oneself or by redoing the past with all possible issues he could -have- come up with IF he had enough time, if he was fast enough, if he was ...enough... to every "if I had" that was tormenting him, even now, if less often, still vividly.  

De facto, he had passed through every phases, beginning with the sorrow, then the wrath and from the denial to the guilt, in the pit of depression, sporadically coming back from a phase to fall back in another, and this, despite a duly consummated revenge. 

Obviously, nobody knew _ except one particular person to whom he authorized himself to break _ timid has he had always been and of a lone and calm temper as he was :

*

It was the next day of his father's death anniversary. It was a dark night. Laying flat in his bed in the darkness, he could not sleep. It was worst than usual. He was not able to grab a scraps of slumber but in the morning, when he should wake up and go to work. It's been almost fifty straight waking hours... 

The weariness was weakening his mental state, it was all the more grueling...

When one had heaped so much waking hour at once, they lose the common time track. It felt like yesterday was no more yesterday or there was no more morning, no more evening, no more night or things as day. Just the solar and moon revolution that seems to put you on the sideline bit by bit. It was a fact well established that peoples tend to refer to sleep to define the end and beginning of their day. Yesterday, for him, was like tree days ago for most people, then.

And while he was thinking about the human conception of the time, his mind was finding a bit of reprieve.

Yet the time was not an escape door but a one-way street, converging in a lonely vanishing point that failed him to save his loved ones... Everything was bringing him back ... at that... incurably. He wasn't able, long enough, to think about anything else.

Although exhausted, he woke up from bed, put on some clothes and exited his house for a walk : 

Like the night before, whither his stroll brought him to the cemetery. Where he had met Hinata - as gloomy and drained as him - collected in front of the tall white stone.

Both of them then had faced each other and intently stared, lost and dazzled, puzzled to encounter another human being here, standing in the dark with the same goal : moping about the loss of the loved ones, disappeared "that day".  

Then, they both took place ahead of the memorial in silence, the woman giving way to the newcomer. 

Neither of them said a word. Side to side in a profound internal contemplation. But in the same time... There was like a feeling of communion floating around them from the incidental encounter. To be here. At hand...

He sensed something moist and tepid, a bit callous but still mostly soft, taking a grab of his hand. He then warmly let the small things slide in between his longer fingers which numbly locked on her strong tiny hand. It felt like these was at their entitled place.

The young woman had noticed he was shivering through their touch, she tightened the grip on his hand. Feeling the firm soft pressure, he took a look at her. She was sending his way a sight of sheer understanding. No smile, no wince, no pout ... just a deep, uncanny, almost inquisitive gaze, full of melancholy which she only let go to see by scarce chance to those able to catch it. That was a call to slack off, to come undone, to let off steam  and relieve the pressure... and how he was craving for it... but his tight throat was not allowing anything out.

Reading such misery and distraught in her comrade's eyes, she knew it was locked, that it was not yet the time. Delicately, she had rested her head on his shoulder and hugged his nearest limb with her free arm.  

They retired in a tacit agreement, seeing the first morning glimmers in the sky. Going back to their sham of pretending to have had a good night sleep.

But they were only leaving physically : 

Hinata was concerned, felt pain not to worry and think about the peculiar state she sees her friend in ; that fact had thankfully eluded every of her very own concerns _ Actually. It was a good opportunity to flee her own issues that she was embracing cheerfully.

Shikamaru found himself unable not to think about the Hyuuga's heir ; her gestures toward him and her gaze ; his mind inhabited with everything he could have nor should have said her, frantically occupied to conceive in his mind all scenarii, coupled to the crave to see her again mingled with qualms.

At the end of the day, both of them tried to meet, actively seeking ... never finding each other... Lamblike, they came back home.

...

That was only at 3 a-m. when he can't bear to ruminate anymore that the Nara get out of his bed and excited his family compound. He knew -for he remarqued it during mission with her- that she usually get up around 3 a.m. and 4 a.m in the night. He passed by the memorial. Not here. Neither in the cemetery, would have been too easy. She was not on her training ground neither.  

He was heading to the Hyuuga district then. He managed to not awaken attention, not to end with a grumpy byakugan possessor's platoon that would have fun blocking every of his tekketsu pursuing him. He stopped on a building's rooftop then watched around... That was quite extensive, it was like a small town full of little boxes, sober and beautiful but all the same... until he was spotting an opened area in the middle of the domain. 

He swiftly jumped roof to roof in his black shirt and pants, looking like a shadow. When he was there he observed the place, finding what he thought would be : a classic but charming and harmonious garden, endued of a small, reeds bordered, nymphea constellated, pond.

On the porch from one of the adjoining house, he saw a black shape. It was the well made body of a woman in her training suit. While she lifted her eyes to the night sky to watch at the luminary, she caught under the light of the moon the crouched and very recognizable silhouetted form of the Nara clan's head. Undeterred, she had jumped and was joining him on the roof, about to say his name, he beat her to it.

"I ... I need to tell you how I feel" He grunted in a breath before he lost the nerve, his voice hoarse.

He took her hand and she followed his lead, whereas he drove her through the night, down the hills ... Nothing could bother them here. 

She was here, silent and attentive. So he told her how he wasn't able to sleep, how many days had passed since the last time he was able to rest, how much he still suffered his mentors loss, that it was like he wasn't really here or like he was 'outside' everything, that he cannot make it out and how he was feeling helpless and how it gnawed at him. 

At first it was pretty difficult and required a lot of efforts, then he had erratically let things get out in a throbbing rhythm, with no further form or thoughtfulness.    

He finally slowly admitted, a bit ashamed, that he thought she was the only one he could talk about. To that, she responded mutely, approaching him and clasping her arm around him gently.

"I know..." She finally whispered with apathetic voice ... Only, understanding too well what he was feeling. 

In fact, it was the only thing to do, there was nothing that could be said. There was no remedy but time and habit to that kind of wounds. 

The only reason she still held on was because she was stultifying herself in training every single time she was beginning to think about things that was making feel her gloomy or guilty ... even with that, often she was breaking up, lone in the night.

They both knew it.

That's why he was here. 

He needed to talk, pour out everything, breaking up a bit ; without fearing sarcasms, trials, harassing, bossing, nagging or being told not to crack, hearing platitudes about being strong and "being a 'man'", being forced to relativize. And he knew he could tell Hinata about his weaknesses, she won't use it against him, to mock him or give him a silly nickname because he divulged anything to her. 

She was the ideal person, since she was in a similar status. 

She was the understanding embodiment... Whose he needed.

He slowly slacked into her arms after a few time and flabbily gave the embrace back before crashing to his knees. Then his arms tightened around her thin waist while he layed his cheek on her stomach. She fondly caressed his hairs like she would have done to a sad Mirai, feeling yearning and happy to be there for him, living the present.

Half an hour later, she had noticed the tenseness had gradually disappeared from her exhausted comrade's body. Entirely. He was finally asleep... in this awful stance... In this state, no need to try and wake him up... Plus they was not far from his home, so she took him on her back and brought him back to his bed, before surreptitiously slipping away to her own room.

She had not trained until morning and, in place, she slept soundly.

...  

When he woke up, in the middle of the afternoon, he asked himself if it was real or just a dream ; not remembering how he got back to... Though, actually he had something else to think about : he would have explanation to give to have missed a council meeting...

He sighed knowing he will not hear the end of it : "... what a drag ..."

*

He had bitterly learned his powerlessness at great emotional expense. Him whose intellect usually succeeded to resolve the slightest problem, him whose mind always wanted to find meaning in everything : two times, he found stronger than him in the death. 

The second fateful date was like a "coup de grâce" and during a long time, it was, for him, as if nothing had logic anymore. And yet everything continued as if nothing ever happened. 

So, he was doing the same, he had switched to auto-mode : 

To wake up in the morning _ it was the most annoying and painful moment, everything else was a mechanic habit that required no efforts. To prepare for the day _ to wash up ; to have a breakfast without appetite, to dress up. To Leave home for the day : to walk from point A to B ; to work ; to try and listen - enough to give the right answer ; to go back from B to A ; to eat ; to start again ; to resume at the beginning ; to come back home. Sometimes. To cross someone knowing us ; to greet him ; to agree his words ; to smile a bit if required ; or ; to have a visit ; or ; to be invited from time to time, but less and less often and no longer knowing if we are alleviated or sad _  since it was always a bit uncomfortable to be in groups _ but still happy to see people we like seemingly having a good time ; to ignore the ill-at-ease feels and concentrate on present ... to finally come back home ; to lay in bed exhausted, but still being unable to sleep because as soon as we do nothing the brain starts working again ... just to works ... and it's the end of the respite ... insomnia :  

Not to sink until daylight and to have to wake up for the "next day"...

And it was endless.

At last.

Except days off.

He often would decide to spend with the woman and the daughter of his regretted sensei, whose he had promised to protect. Eventually, a third variable was added to this equation. The only little eccentricity - although quite humdrum too - in his daily, that was making explode, even for an instant, the sort of bubble that he was trapped in most of the time. 

And in those too brief moments ; as during picnics in company of the women of his life that they were arranging on sunny days in the Nara's domain woods. There, whereas he was laying in the shadow, after lunch, in the warm moist air of the afternoon, in a cute small clearing neatly maintained by his clan members, he seemed lazy. 

In fact, he was falling from exhaustion and he was slumbering while Kurenai tidied her stuffs with Hinata's help and Mirai was performing roulades and running around sometimes stopping seeing something interesting on the ground, grabbing grass and sticks and mimicking "Auntie Hinata" -or "Auntinata"- knitting grass or just was crawling under their benevolent watchful gazes. 

*

- That was one of those days.

The sun was starting to decrease when Kurenai decided it was time to go. Hinata had guessed when seeing her sensei getting up then start picking up her stuffs while saying Mirai they were about to go home to prepare the departure. The Hyuuga girl was watching the scene but was throwing glances every now and then to the inanimate form on the ground, a bit concerned.

"I am gonna leave you. I go back home with Mirai" The older woman finally said, to make know she was about to leave.

Hinata nodded smiling but furtively glanced to the sleeping beauty.

"Good evening Kurenai-sensei" She bowed. 

"Wish Shikamaru a good night for me" She said amused.  

"Yes, I will make sure he don't spend his night here." She replied, throwing the sleeper a slightly worried glance. 

The toddler was eyeing the goodbyes with interest stamping a bit before letting loose her mother's hand.  

"Kiss Auntinata !" She exclaimed before launching herself to the young woman. 

Hinata crouched to be able to receive the child's embrace that was jumping on her to give her a big slimy kiss, laughing. 

" See you tomorrow Mirai-chan" she said softly giving her a kiss back on her forehead. 

" Auntinata make a kiss to uncle Shika for me ?" She asked with a big hopefull smile to the big girl, pulling on her baggy mauve vest.

Hinata was a bit surprised but smiled shaking her head : "Yes, for sure Mirai-chan, I will. When he wakes up." 

"Yay ! Thanks auntinata !" then she gone back trotting to her mother, very happy under the tender gaze of the two brunettes.

Kurenai took back the small hand in hers and gave a small head sign to her former student before finally leaving. Hinata had watched them go as long as they were observable. When they were not, having disappeared behind tree trunks and bushes, the kunoichi then lifted her white eyes to the visible part of the sky. 

It was adorned with autumnal warm colors but beginning to grow darker with purplish night shades. She sighed and slowly approached of the deadlike Shikamaru.   

She had squatted down and then kneeled toward him before gently effloresce him, whispering : "Shikamaru-kun" ... Nothing... "Shikamaru-kun..." She shook him shyly. Few second later. Nothing. 

She had lingered on his completely relaxed face, mouth ajar. She smiled a bit amused ; he had a leaf on his cheek, she took it off and gave a light caress to his cheekbone. She saw his mouth close and adorned a silly expression ; one she had never seen on his face before. It make her stop, surprised and flushed by the realization of her own act. 

She redone timidly her tentative to wake him : "Shikamaru-kun?" 

Still nothing.

He was still soundly asleep and proving it by straightening him up in a siting position, turning him a bit before placing herself under his torso and locking his arms around her neck. He was still passed out. She lifted him up on her back, leaning a bit forward to balance the weight then grabbed his tights to her waist, before running the straighter way to his home. 

Being a full-fledged taijutsu practitioner kunoichi, it was not a big deal and they were done to his room few minutes later.

She had dropped him in his bed after taking her shoes off, on the porch. She tooks his sandals and puts them besides hers on his room's engawa. 

She sighed and looked at him a moment a bit upset. She knew for a fact it was not that he was supposedly "lazy" that he was dozed off ... 

She understood it because she neither had no full rest ; still not able to sleep well even with the passed years _ though she was never a long sleeper _ waking up with a jolt every night around 4 a.m. ... So she gets up and go to train until it's time, then have a shower and do as if she was just waking up... consequently to that continual lack of sleep, she felt worn all the time, mainly when she was not moving ; especially from midday until the end of the afternoon ; then around 7 p.m, the light decrease and she feels like a second breath. So, instead of going bed she go to train until she feels tired again a bit before midnight ; where she fall from exhaustion... only to be waked up with stupor again at 4 a.m, perspiratory and panting.

She had yawned, it was a bit startling since it was usually an hour of the day her mood shifted to its excitement phase in which she needed to unwind. She thought about going to bed herself while staring her sleeping friend. She leaned over him a bit, tenderly stroked his brow line while unconsciously munching on her bottom lip.

She remembered her promise to Mirai with a smile and whispered : "Good night Shikamaru" before tilting forward and planting a kiss on his forehead, very soft and slowly. 

Actually, she was not sure she would have dared doing so if he was awakened.

She was about to retreat when without warning, two longs arms pop from each side and wraps around her, attracting her to the bust of the sleepy form. She had let a small 'eep' getting out of her lung in surprise, unable to breath for a moment. She construed the situation. She was awkwardly laying on his upper body, locked in his arms while he seemed to still be as asleep as ever

"A-ano.. shika-" she was cut off when he turned in the opposite direction, without letting her go, making her follow the move and leaving the ground ; before he buried his face in her bosom. 

Hinata was flustered and paralyzed, reddening like hell, heart drumming, feeling weirdly thrilled. She relaxed a bit, breathing again. She sensed then the cold nose of his comrade melted with his hot breath on the tender skin of her neck ; she shuddered insanely, feeling ... strangely... vibrant. 

She was blushing but quite liked that situation ; if it wasn't for the embarrassment and the lack of congruence of it, she certainly wouldn't mind staying here. Even if it was not morally ‘appropriate’ to... sleep with a men she's not married to ...at least as a Hyuuga member, she must behave a certain course of action. 

While thinking to it, she stopped to exert a pressure against him and on the contrary to her morale wrapped her arms around him to hug him back. 

She then heard him sighing with pleasure, groaning, almost vibrating, like a cat. She shivered. Heart jumping. Reading it as an awakening sign, she tried sheepishly : "Shi-shikamaru-kun" though ashamed by her own boldness leading to that circumstance, weird but quite pleasant. 

He suddenly pressed her more firmly against him, almost possessively, breathing deeply her scents before exhaling a contented sigh. 

...

Now the brunette's heart is thumping erratically in the chest, she feels dizzy and about to ... faint...

She opened her eyes : it was dark outside, although it wasn't unusual for her to wake in the midst of the night... the unusual thing was the room she was in and the body onto she was laying off. She lowly realized the situation and remembered. 

When she regained consciousness, she displayed a bit her lambs on the surface she was laying on and then felt herself ... Waving ? ... up, down, up, down... She swayed. Then was the warmth below her. An arm around her back. Cuddles on her shoulder she felt through the multiple layers of her clothes.  

Daringly, she lifted her reddening head to ascertain her assumptions : he was awake. He took his eyes off of his bedroom's ceiling, sensing her moving above him, guessing she was now looking at him.

The bedroom from who she was in, the body whose she was on ... Were Shikamaru's. Her head on his shoulder, her face beside his neck, her arm wrapped around him and her leg comfortably folded on his hips. She heard her friend's pounding heart resonating in her flesh, deep, but not as calm as it should be. Her own heart was beginning to pump harder too.

Actually, he felt comfortable to know his own pinkened features was concealed by the darkness ; enough to too rashly approach his hand from her face, took off a strand of her hairs from her cheek before he pushed it behind her ear, brushing it softly in the run -eliciting a faint shiver from the girl- then he granted himself the ultimate daring to look at the sleepy face of his partner. He knew she was blushing, guessing it, according to the doe's eyes she was giving him.

They stood there awhile, getting lost, eyes locked in each others, fixedly, closely, almost intimately ; not knowing what to say and not daring to put it to an end ; enjoying -although not willing to admit it- a unique moment, something unheard-of. 

" ... I ... " It was Hinata's haggard voice that brought them back to the reality. " ... ano ... you... " Still not knowing what to say, but not allowed to stay there, on top of a man, forever ; even if she was not really bothered by it.

"... Yeah ... I know right. " 

He tried a bit strangely, through his usual tired low voice, to help her out of the scabrous situation of wich he was not totally aware of neither, but neither bothered by. 

" Just remember falling asleep in the wood " he commented, then, a bit embarrassed, added : " I guess you carried me there. " shifting his gaze away scratching his neck with his free hand, before looking back to her and ending to say a weirdly deep warm "thanks" in an almost... lecherous whisper. 

At least, it's how Hinata had perceived it for it gave her body such a shudder, while she was again all captivated by his sight. 

Always above his body, she was staring at his lips, awfully near ... Noticing it, she recoiled a bit, ashamed of her lascivious demeanor while on top of a good friend, getting perhaps a bit too 'friendly'. But still, a part of her was feeling like it was totally only "natural" to be so lax around him. Actually he was spurring it, with all his Slacked Might.

Now she thought, was it correct to be that close of her comrade, to feel that nice in his arms, to feel so good under his touches, while she was thinking being in love with Naruto ? 

And him... he was more or less sentimentally engaged to that Suna's girl, according to what people was saying about. Surprisingly enough, her throat tightened to that thought ; was she jealous ? ... of Temari... She never felt that way even watching Sakura hugging Naruto. She was deeply confused.

Shaking her thoughts out of her mind, she mumbled : 

"...it... it's no nothing... I ... I could not leave you to sleep on the wood's soil...and... and you did no-not wake up so... so... I..." she was hum and haw, it was an odd thing because the last time he had heard her stammer as much was almost seven years ago, in front of Naruto.

It was like ... for him.

A cranky idea dawned all of a sudden, but he did not dare admit it or to make the connection and accept it. No. It was not possible... Was it ?

He seemed in wonder : she read it as it was wrote on his face despite the twilight. Hinata had no idea how to take it, it was unsettling. She never had questionned herself so much over just a slight look... save Shikamaru... ; she finally sorted out.

However, she remembered that when she was hearing his name or something out off a snippet of conversation about him, or just sounding like it was about him _there was few keywords that triggered her concern_ she was instinctively pricking up her ear, her attention called. It begun in her clan and continued quite often.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Oddly, she heard the elders offended, call to mind that young man said too youthful for his task and status ; but mostly extrapolated about him without a care of who he was, lending him ambitiousness and was accusing him of said inexperience and for his disrespect. Nothing legit, for who knew Shikamaru as well as she do. 

...Well.

"There is something inside you, it's hard to explain ... They are talking about you ... but you are still the same."

Except perhaps about 'respect' ... when it comes to people that annoys him, he could be quite pungent, she must admit.

Unconsciously, staring at him, she was prettily smiling, remembering those events and almost laughing at her own conclusion.

No. She was the one who had changed. Her confusion was leaving room to some sort of confidence, she was welcoming that realization. She felt like she was smiling the largest smile she had ever made, while he was stunned by the sight. For once, his brain was at a stop. 

Time too.

She was computing the hours she had fainted around and woke up and assessed, it was : "impossible" then came with a : " I-I slept at least ten hours ... at once ! " astonished.

Before she had noticed, it was more and more luminous in the bedroom, the faint cold morning light leaving room to pink and gold on the horizon. Taken aback she checked to find a clock and find the dial displaying the numbers " 6 : 53 "  ... Her breath was cut from her lungs. 

Shikamaru ogled her, smiling, a bit quizzical through her new commotion. He revealed himself playful : 

" So. What does it do ? "

The brunette was staring at him awhile flabbergasted, before she get a kick of doing such a prowess and laughed at his teasing mood, hiding her face in his shirt. He didn't thought he was so funny but he just felt like joining her in the mirth listening to her small ringing laugh

"We should do that more often" she said in a jovial outburst, without a second thought.

Then rehashing her own words, she felt flush crawling to her face, realizing what was implied. Shikamaru was as dazed as her, but then it was a smirk that had climbed to his face. She tried to clear thing up and explain ; let's rather say : to sweep the shame-dust under her carpet-tong :

"I-I want to say... that ... we could get lai... ano ... we could lay together... I mean... we could do it... kami-sama... I-I-I mean ... sleep ...with me... hm”

Getting a bit stressed... She was (over) thinking all possible meanings that every words was endowed with and what it could imply trying not to use them and finished to stumble on every word she tried not to use since every one could imply something horny even "sleep" if you intend to... the worst part was she was the one to blame for thinking that way, not even her clumsiness or stuttering, just her own lewd mind. 

Now she felt so awkward... and wanted to face-palm.

The Nara was looking at the at least distracting show that his poor shy friend was rendering while fighting with herself ; a war whose manifestation took the form of a revealing slip's chaplet, relentless and iterative.

He was feeling a jarring melt of emotions : he was amused yet bothered for her, compassionate to her trouble and tenderized to her attempts ...

But above all, unsettled to told himself that the only reason that explain it really was the thing he was thinking about : all those tries and seeming fails, was just because there was an optional meaning in her chosen word endowing sexual innuendo that stressed the one he thought so 'pure' and 'innocent'.

He was baffled by her endeavor to not be considered as a pervert, but making it worst. And she had put herself under so much stress that she even end up saying unambiguous sexual proposition involuntarily.

It was over for her. The timid kunoichi felt totally drained and ashamed by her pathetic display of clumsiness, tripping over every possible slip she could have made. She don't remember having such a terrible stuttering even in her youth... How is it even possible ? 

" ... I mean ... I want t-yo...ano I-I ... I want to -to have..you ; she was wide-eyed when she heard what she intended to say crushed by a massive stutter, but she don't gave up : " ano...Sorry ... " she took a deep inhale " have a nap with you !" she finally sputtered succeeding to say something.  

It was the coup de grace for Shikamaru equally. He cannot seriously listen to those words coming from the Hyuuga heiress, with her timid uncertain stuttering voice and her scarlet red face adorning those white doe-eyes of hers, before she surrendered and hid her flustered features in his black shirt after seeing the face of her genius friend so dumbfounded. He finally burst out of a warm sounding frank bubbling laugh that had her all shakened.

She lifted up to look at him, surprised by his mirth, but, weirdly, even being the cause of it, she suddenly felt a lot less stupid. No. It was not stupid if it allowed her to hear this wondrous sound. She felt light and good, happy and even ... loved ... for he was still holding her in his arm, so she took advantage of it to curl up against him. 

With every new realization comes its batch of questions, but for the moment she was quite oblivious, she just lived the present ... but the morning was yet quite luminous and she has no more time ... and the day of the week, of the month, and of the year came back to her with her duties. She searched for the clock again and was appalled by its indication :

To this point, she understood. She had fell in love with her colleague. She knew not since nor when _ certainly quite some time _ but the realization just dawned on her ... just as the sunlight.

" ... almost 8 o'clock ! My ... I-i did not see the time pass. I sh-should go Shikamaru-kun. "

" ...hn... don't go. It's still early... " he grumbled reluctantly coming out of his torpor.

How was it that the time passed so quickly snuggled up against him?

Instinctively, Shikamaru had locked his arms around her, feeling her receding.

" Ano, Shikamaru-kun... I would like to .. but... " He rose a brow to that in spite of himself. 

She was blushing bit by bit, together to the fact she noticed : he was now looking at her, he held her tightly, he restrained her departure and to the fact she admitted that she liked it... that he wanted her to stay there...

" ... but I have to attends meeting, it's my duties toward my clan as well as my festival preparation commitments ... "

" What a drag ... " he grumpily muttered loosening his embrace, then a little side-smile adorned his now mid-amused, mid-bored face 

" ... I was looking for a good reason not to attend the monday morning meeting... these are the worst ... "

Hinata was giggling to that and he was quite pleased with the fact. It enlightened his mood so far it made him bolder than usual and almost foolhardy ... his face producing the expression one does when they are about to say bullshits. Although it was not is forte, he tried nonetheless : 

" ... they could be understanding if they knew I fortuitly found a lovely kind of kami in my bed when I woke up " ... when he heard himself saying it he thought it sounded better in his mind and promptly regretted it, his ears was burning in shame.  

No need to tell in what state did it put Hinata.

... to be continued  ... 

It’s an english translation of my french fanfic : https://originalpairingfiction.skyrock.com/3337900696-Nightcall-L-Appel-Nocturne.html

I update it a bit every 2-3 days. (I’ll reblog it when I do)

I actually tried my best, but it’s not my native language, let me know about my mistakes so I could get better.