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carpenterswife · 7 months ago

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HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

banners in use by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys tv #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 5 months ago

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Yandere Coworker (part 14)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2945 words)

tw: afab reader, infantilization, butchered Spanish,

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 15

You're in Cyprus's car, munching on one of the many treats he bought you from the farmers market. It distracted you from how Cyprus would sensually knead your thigh as he drove.

The car is full of fresh vegetables and fruits that he bought, so he could make tastier meals for you and him. In his styrofoam cooler, rest slabs of butchered meat and numerous ice packs to keep them from spoiling, as the ride home is quite far.

He was talking about an anecdote, in an attempt to prompt you to open up to him. But his tactic has been failing for the past half hour, all you did was nod and eat.

Cyprus pursed his lips as he glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. You have exhausted his conversational topics and he has a whole arsenal of them. You're driving him insane! What does it take for you to talk to him about yourself? He failed to consider that you may not have a lot to say in the first place because he truly believed that you are complex and more than your internet addiction. He wants to know your thoughts, more about your likes and dislikes, your beliefs, family, friends... anything!

Then, he had an idea.

"We're not going home just yet."

You looked at him and asked what he meant by that. He merely smirked and stayed silent.

Cyprus didn't drive back to his apartment or yours like you expected. You knew it was close to his home, since you and he passed by this place to get there.

He pulled up to a dilapidated building, no doubt another apartment complex but older and dingier. The wall paint was chipping off, and windows were shrouded with overgrown trees and moss. Cars were haphazardly parked around the complex without regulation or visible parking lines.

He pulled on his handbrake and switched his engine off. You're still staring out the window, wondering where he took you.

"Baby." You turned around, to have him cup your cheek and gently pull your lower eyelid down with a thumb. You initially struggled against him but relaxed when you realized he meant no harm and wouldn't let go until he got what he wanted. Which was to examine your eyes.

He hummed, staring intensely at you. Making you blush at how attractive he appears to you now, you would be caught dead before admitting that to him. But you didn't have to, he knows what you're thinking and is fully aware of how he presents himself.

Cyprus checked the time on his wristwatch. He finally lets go of you and reaches for his center console, where he has tucked your medicated eyedrops away.

You complained, telling him that you could apply your own antibiotics. He merely clicked his tongue in annoyance and rolled his eyes as he uncapped the bottle. "Look up."

You didn't have to do anything, Cyprus was the one who tilted your head upwards while pulling a lower eyelid down. Sighing, you let him administer the drops in your eyes. It felt humiliating, yet secretly, you felt somewhat comforted to know someone was out there remembering these little details of you. If it wasn't for him, the thought of your medication would have completely slipped your mind.

You blinked hard, letting the liquid sting your eyes momentarily. You could hear the rustling of the pharmacy's paper bag as he kept your medicine away. He had also pulled a sheet out of his tissue box. "Stop that!" Cyprus hissed, pulling your hands away from your face as you instinctually went on to rub your eyes.

You grumbled, letting Cyprus coddle you; gently wiping the excess drops using the tissue and carefully picking the crust out from the corners of your eyes. You remained still for the entirety of this, allowing Cyprus to do whatever he pleases. Luckily, he's acting with the best intentions in mind.

"There, done." He crumpled the sheet of tissue and shoved it into his pocket to dispose of it later. Cyprus then kissed you on the forehead. "Good girl." Whispered praises and chuckling.

You didn't respond, but instead stormed out of his car and slammed the door shut behind you. Cyprus got out shortly after, he took out the styrofoam cooler from his trunk and a couple bags of fresh vegetables before locking his car using his key fob.

"Come on, let's meet tu suegra." He gestured for you to follow him to a dim stairwell, where the only source of lighting was the outdoors. Cyprus started ascending the steps with the bags in hand.

The cogs started turning in your head, you may or may not understand what he just said, but all hints are suggesting that you're now at his mother's place. You also noted how his American accent suddenly changed into a completely different one when saying those two words. However, looking back, he tends to roll his "R"s.

You tailed behind Cyprus, climbing the bare, concrete stairs with suspect hand railings. It's dusty and cobweb-ridden, but at least it's functional.

You and he eventually reached an open-air corridor, grateful for the sunlight shining the path for you.

"Here." He handed you a bag and knocked on the door. It seems like the plaque fell off, you could see the screw holes, but you have no idea what number unit this is. The other doors don't seem kind enough to give you hints either.

You held the bag of vegetables in your arms as you watched Cyprus knock again, trying to get the attention of whoever was residing behind it.

Silence blanketed over him as you were made to wait for any further developments. You opened your mouth to say something, but your ear perked up at the sound of the door unlatching and unlocking. An unpleasant creak of the hinges, and then a surprised gasp reached your ears.

"Mi-" The voice, aged and feminine, stopped midway. You peered over the bag to see a woman in her fifties, her grey roots are showing as it seems she hasn't refreshed her black dye in a while. Like Cyprus, she too, wore glasses and had the same beautiful set of grey eyes. Her eyebrows were thin, charmingly drawn on and her lips were in a deep shade of red, but they were pulled downwards into a frown as she eyed you cautiously. Even taking a few steps back into her room, hiding behind the door.

"Mamá, tranquila." There was a sense of urgency in his voice as if he was trying to prevent a catastrophe from happening. But immediately after, he purred at you. "Ella es muy dulce." He gave you a sweet peck on the crown of your head. Cyprus rested an arm around your waist and brought you closer to his side.

Upon seeing her son's calmness and hearing his assurance, you saw the tension on her shoulders leave. But she's not convinced enough to fully come out of her hiding place. She stared at you unblinkingly, observing what you might do next. At this point, you felt embarrassed, feeling like a filthy, feral stray under her intense gaze.

You gave her an awkward, crooked smile and wave. Unsure if she could understand you if you spoke English. You also had half a mind to act insane, scaring his mother off so she would disprove your forced relationship with him. You assumed that the bag that Cyprus gave you earlier was meant to be for his mother, so you presented it to her. Which made her look amused with her focus darting between her son and you.

"Say 'Buenos Tardes, señora.'" You felt his breath on your ear as he whispered.

You did just that, butchering the pronunciation a bit but it's not too bad. Just enough for his mother to understand and be impressed by. You wonder if her standards for her son's partners are as low as Cyprus's.

"Buenos Tardes, Buenos Tardes. ¿Es eso para mí?" She gestured towards the bag in your extended arms.

"Sí, mama. Es un regalo por tú, Mi vida quería dar una buena primera impresión." He spoke up for you, affectionately stroking your hair as she took the bag off your hands. "Ella no sabía qué regalarte. Entonces sugerí comprar algunas verduras."

"¿Mi vida?" She appeared astonished at the apparent pet name he used for you. "Eso es nuevo. Ella debe ser muy especial para ti."

He laughed and nodded. "Sí, claro." Cyprus put the cooler down and went on to hug his mother as a delayed greeting. It was brief, they let each other go and brought their attention back to you.

Feeling the peer pressure crushing your bones, you mirrored what they did and hesitantly went in for an awkward hug. But it seems like she has warmed up to the idea of you, her arms wrapped around you comfortably.

"Entre, por favor." She stepped aside and opened her door wider. You assume that she's telling you and Cyprus to come in. You were about to step foot into her residence, but your boyfriend grabbed you by the arm before you could get any further.

"Take your shoes off, baby." He instructed as he took his own shoes off. You look at his mother and see that she's barefoot, there is a shoe rack inside that holds a few pairs of shoes and you assume that is where you're meant to put yours. So, you removed your footwear like how Cyprus told you to and it earned a nod of approval from his mother.

He picked your shoes up for you and coaxed you inside. You were about to whine that you could have done that yourself, but it's probably not worth the trouble. The quicker you finish this, the quicker you can leave.

You took a look around at her humble abode. It's not as bad as the outside, quite homely with the oddly luxurious items making their appearance here and there. But it is to be expected, as you remember how Cyprus described his mother as someone who prioritized looking expensive over her children's welfare. You were eyeing the leather massage chair in front of the flatscreen TV, wishing that you owned one.

"Good girl." He praised, kissing you on the temple. Cyprus then went on to put the two pairs of shoes on the rack. His mother is in the process of unloading the styrofoam cooler, bringing the meats to the kitchenette nearby; putting them away in the fridge.

"¿Quieres algo de tomar? ¿Té? ¿Cafe?" She asked, directing her gaze mainly to you.

"Una taza de té por ella, Mama. Ella no podrá dormir esta noche si toma café ahora." He took off his leather jacket and hung it on a coat stand nearby. The woman cocked her eyebrows at how much her son cared for you, it's something new and refreshing. She nodded and prepared three mugs on the counter.

You wish that you could have a say in your choice of drinks.

"¿Y tú, Mijo?" She filled the electric kettle up with tap water.

"No hay necesidad. Compartiré una taza con ella." He ended the line of conversation and turned towards you, cupping the sides of your face in his large, warm hands.

"You're doing so well." He crooned, gently squeezing your cheeks affectionately. "My mom likes you..." Cyprus nuzzled his nose against yours, feeling the cold frame of his glasses brush against your skin. "You make me so fucking happy, princess."

You tried to push him away, telling him that his mother was right there.

"Okay, and?" Your eyes quickly dart in her direction, seeing that she's still busy preparing two cups of tea.

You said that it's embarrassing and probably disrespectful to his mother. No one wants to see their son getting all sappy with someone else!

"She's fine." He brushed you off and pulled you into a hug, swaying you side to side. You felt judged when his mother glanced at you and a smirk, a damn smirk so reminiscent of her son's, began curling at the corners of her lips. So you firmly pushed him away, that did the trick but it was as if you gave him a soft nudge.

She brought the two mugs to the dining table, Cyprus lead you to the chairs and sat down on one of it. However, before you could park yourself onto a chair, Cyprus pulled you into his lap and kept you imprisoned there. His arms tangling around your form tightly, making it impossible to escape his hold without making a scene. So you let out a resigned sigh and sunk into him.

"Cuidado, hace calor." Said his mother as she picked her own cup up, blew on it, and allowed the steam to waft around her face. She used the metal spoon to mix the milk and sugar in the beverage.

"Lo sé, mamá." He picked the other cup up and blew on it. You were wondering if she had forgotten to make you a cup, or if Cyprus told her not to for some reason. It's such a shame, you were looking forward to it-

"Say aah." You were presented with a spoonful of cooled tea. And immediately, your face turned red as a tomato. Really? This level of humiliation in front of his own mother? You opened your mouth to say something unsavory, but Cyprus took the chance to feed you the drink.

It was delicious, no doubt. Enough to shut you up and seek more, but the cup was occupied by Cyprus; he was taking a sip out of it and probably burning his tongue with how hot the tea was.

This whole performance earned some laughter from his mother. You tried your best to hide your face from her, but in the end, Cyprus handed you the entire cup to drink. It's at an appropriate temperature for you to drink.

"Que niña tan Consentido, ¿Te gusta mimarla, Mijo?" You heard clinks coming from her spoon hitting the ceramic walls of her cup as she stirred.

"Sí. Muchisimo." Cyprus watched you with adoration as you drank sipped on the beverage.

Eventually, the mother-son duo started chatting in Spanish. You don't know if they're talking about you, or just catching up. You think it's most likely the latter because you've been with Cyprus 24/7 for a few months now. He has not visited his mother once, this is the first time in a while, you assume.

You're not stupid, though. There was a good chunk of the conversation where it's just talking about you, based on the glances she would give you and the mention of your name, and what you assume are Spanish pet names.

Either way, you felt ashamed. You felt inferior and belittled. You wish you could just go home and hide under the covers. But your home isn't even your home anymore, it's Cyprus's.

You decided to look around once more and drink in your surroundings, noting the lack of picture frames or any indication that his mother has children or a husband. There is a distinct detergent smell, nothing like you've ever smelt before and it's lovely. Cyprus washes his clothes with something similar, but the aroma isn't identical.

Cyprus picked the cup up and took a sip for himself. His eyes were trained on your bored face.

"Doll." He caught your attention and his mother's. Cyprus brought a thumb to your lower eyelid and tenderly tugged it down to check on your pink eye.

His mother seemingly asked him about what he was doing, to which Cyprus explained to her your situation. He then brought his attention back to you.

"Do you want to head home?" He asked.

You were about to say yes, but his mother's innocently wide eyes stared at you with a tinge of sadness.

"My mom is really enjoying having you here." He explained what that look potentially meant. "But if you're tired, we're going home. We can visit her another time."

She's enjoying you here? She's barely talking to you! And that language barrier is not making it any easier. You think that his mother is sad that her son is leaving so soon.

You told him that you could head back home by yourself, you know the way back and he should spend more time with his mother while he still can. Cyprus narrowed his eyes at you. "No way in hell am I letting you go alone."

You said you're fine. It's just a few blocks away.

"We're leaving." He lifted you off his lap. "Gracias por el té, mamá." Cyprus rose up to his full height, towering over you and his mother.

"I have extra pillows and blankets if you want to take a nap." You whipped your head towards the woman at lightspeeds, she could speak English fluently all this time?!

You looked back at Cyprus, he was crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for your response. He isn't shocked, annoyed, or amazed at this sudden switch, he's simply indifferent.

You turned back to his mother and asked why she didn't speak English from the beginning.

"I'll tell you if you stay for dinner." She smiled, speaking in a moderately heavy accent. Now you know where Cyprus gets his blackmailing traits from.

You looked back at Cyprus. He merely shrugged.

"Your call, Mi cielo." You asked him what that term meant.

"I'll also tell you that if you stay for dinner." Beamed his mother.

Cyprus smirked and chuckled, but didn't say anything else.

#yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #male yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x reader #tw yandere #yandere concept #yandere x you #oc cyprus #tw infantilization #male yandere x reader #tw afab reader #yandere x female reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #thank you so much for your commission

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nanaminsmoon · 1 year ago

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Your asks are so good 😭 please a part 2 to suburban eren where reader learns her lesson & everyone stops treating eren like a bitch

a/n: free my boy from the bitch allegations mane😞

cw: pnv, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex, sex in public, eren is beating niggas up, n word usage, eren calls reader; 'baby'

wc: 2945+ lazily proofread bc i'm tired lol

”where's armin?”, eren asked to the first person he saw.

rage raced through eren’s veins as his eyes ran all over the dimly lit party. although he had met some of the people there in the past, his anger had tinted his vision a deep red and he could barely place the faces he was seeing. nonetheless, his arms wouldn’t stop pushing past dancing bodies, and his feet wouldn’t stop moving until he was walking through the glass doors at the back of the house. and, through the clouds of smoke surrounding the group of people sat laughing and talking, he’d see a blonde head of hair. enraged emeralds would note that the blonde locks hid lidded eyes, and were reaching to touch the brown hand wiping off a glossy patch on their owner’s cheek. fury had stiffened eren’s limbs but his eyes were still busy as ever, latching onto the movement of armin’s thumb on the exposed skin under your outfit.

eren’s chest rose and fell as he breathed out a futile attempt to calm himself; tranquillity was inhaled, but was exhaled as something that was becoming harder to control with every passing moment he spent looking at you and armin sat together. so eren would relax his balled hands, before putting them in the pockets of his joggers and making his way towards you guys. ymir was the first to notice his arrival and, after she did so, she’d look to you then in the direction of your boyfriend. and your laughter would cease the second your eyes landed on him, hands quickly pushing armin off you. obviously surprised, armin turned to look at what you were looking at, and when he saw eren, his immediate response was a smug grin. the general consensus had not changed; in everyone’s minds, eren couldn’t hurt a fly—even if that fly had been hovering over his girl for months, and had finally landed on her thigh. he’d let it do whatever it wanted to, because he didn’t have the backbone to defend himself. but the general consensus differed from the truth. and, within a few moments, armin would feel the truth lifting him from his seat by his hoodie. light murmurs of distress would erupt from the group, but they’d settle just as quickly. because, again, no one thought this nigga would do shit.

relief canopied the group when eren’s hand moved from armin’s hoodie. but it’d be replaced by disbelief when it formed a fist that would soon meet armin’s jaw. everyone tensed, bodies frozen over by shock. but connie and ony would be the first to move once eren’s fist moved to connect with armin’s face again. they’d try to pull eren from the blonde, but he’d brush them off. even as armin fell backwards onto the seat you two had been sat at, eren just hovered over him—his fists colliding with every part of armin’s face they could reach behind armin’s raised arms. armin couldn’t fight, but he did keep it on him in case he needed to protect himself. and that made you worry for eren, but you weren’t about to get smacked up trying to save your boyfriend. so you’d just keep your distance, even as everyone kept looking to you to rein your man in.

”y/n, get your man”, sasha beckoned for you to get eren just as connie and ony finally succeeded in pulling him off the, now bruised, blonde.

”she ain’t gonna do shit but go sit in the car”, eren brushed himself off. even after everything, everyone still thought you ran shit in your relationship, so they’d all look to you to clap back. and you did.

”i ain’t going nowhere until i know you’re gonna leave him alone”, you crossed your arms, and eren pushed past connie and ony, and started walking towards you. eren would never hurt you, and you knew that. but seeing the anger painted on his face made you take a step back, and he’d notice you moving backwards, and stop a few feet from you.

”y/n, you know how i feel about asking you to do shit twice. i ain't got time for you to play hero, so get your ass in the fucking car.”, he spoke and, although you nervously shifted where you were stood, you didn’t move. so eren’s reddened hand would point to the glass table everyone had been sat around,

“and if you think i won’t bend you over right here and fuck some sense into you in front of all your friends, you know nothin’ about me.”, every eye in the space widened, pupils eager to get a better look at your reaction. looking at your friends’ expectant expressions, a part of you wanted to give them the reaction they wanted. but, looking back at eren, you could see that he wasn’t bluffing. and that realisation was imprinted on your features.

”so you gonna go get in the car, or am i gonna have to drag you there myself?”, eren spoke quietly. and you just nodded before turning to walk away, head bowed as you walked out of the party to sit by yourself in eren’s car.

the cuts and bruises on armin’s face were at the hands of two people; eren’s vengeful ones, and your petty ones that had decided to press ‘post’ on the ig story of you laying in armin’s bed. nothing happened between you, but the image ignited an ireful fire inside of eren. that fire would be fuelled by the lyrics appearing over the picture; ”cause i got another nigga that’s gon do it if he don’t”. and they’d play over and over again, the temperature of eren’s ears increasing with each listen. no one bats an eyelid at someone wiping their feet on a doormat, and that’s why eren knew no one would care about you posting that shit. and a call to check if you had lost your mind, was sent straight to voicemail. and that’s how wrath ended up sat beside him as he sped to your friend’s birthday party.

it was a terrible idea, you knew that. but you needed to let him know that if he didn’t make you nut then another nigga would. the reason you chose armin was because you two were friends. he was aware you were using him, but couldn’t care less because armin had always been vocal about how he liked you, and eren was aware of that fact. that’s why his grip on your wrist was starting to cut off circulation as he pulled you out of the front seat. on his way to the party, eren knew what type of shit you’d be wearing because he looked forward to nights like this; nights where he could use the excuse of protecting you from creeps to be all over you. seeing someone else do that birthed the insanity that controlled his limbs as he bent you over the backseat—your feet still planted on the concrete.

because of how short your skirt was, you could feel the cool evening wind caressing your clothed core as soon as eren bent you over. that’d soon be cancelled out by the warmth of eren’s hands smoothing over your exposed skin. and, contrary to their earlier actions, they’d be very delicate. even as they grabbed at your ass cheek, squeezing it slightly. but their softness would cease when you’d feel a harsh smack land on your plush flesh. the thought of armin’s thumb evoking any type of sensation on your skin angered eren beyond belief. so he would make sure that the only thing you’d be able to remember from tonight would be the feeling of his skin meeting yours.

eren’s hand collided with your ass, and moistened underwear, ten times before you decided that quiet yelps of pain were not doing anything. so you’d lift yourself up, and look back at him.

”eren, we’re outside and people could see us, let’s just go home.”, you shivered out, and air blew out of eren’s nose in a light scoff.

”you decided to make shit public when you started posting shit on ig, y/n. so let’s keep it that way.”, would be eren’s only response, before he’d lean down to pull your underwear aside, a low moan leaving his mouth at the thin fabric sticking to you. the last fluid ounces of kindness in eren’s body would be stamped onto your wet folds in a gentle kiss that’d cause you to shudder. then eren’s fingers would spread you apart, letting the night air play with your clit before he’d be sucking it into his mouth. and, even though the music coming from the party would drown out any noise you made, your hand still instinctively rose to cover your mouth as eren’s tongue languidly moved from your clit to your hole. it’d repeat that pattern, occasionally sucking on your clit again, and an army of shivers would march down your spine at the vibrations caused by his low moans,

”if only you behaved as good as you tasted”, he murmured onto you, and your only response was a thoughtless whimper.

unlike the last time you guys fucked, you cumming was eren’s only priority; if this is how you acted when he denied you of relief, then he’d give you so much that it’d pain you. and that process started when his mouth dragged you to your release by your ankles, your only warning to eren before you drenched his face and shirt being,

”’ren, w-wait, i’m-m cummingg”. your body had forgotten how good eren could make you feel so it didn’t know how to react. volts of electricity rushed through your bloodstream, lifting your hands as they hit at the leather underneath you. and, even after you came on his mouth, eren’s tongue wouldn’t halt.

”’r-ren, sstop”, you reached back. the part of your brain that was still capable of working knew that you wouldn’t be able to reach him, but it still felt the need to alert him of the fact that he was about to make you lose your mind. and your, ever so attentive, boyfriend would acquiesce and remove his mouth from your weeping hole, dampening the skin surrounding it with his lips. however, that relief would be short-lived. soon, eren would be knuckle deep inside you, fingers pumping frantically while his other hand sat flat on your back, trying to keep you still as you moved to get up.

overstimulation would clamp your eyes shut, wringing out a salty trail of remorse. remnants of that trail would merge with the moisture leaving your parted lips, to end up on eren’s car seats. his fingers hadn’t stopped even after you had cum around them, and their ferocity would distract you from eren pulling his dick out of his joggers. you’d only be made aware of it when his tip would briefly peck your entrance before eren would be sheathed inside you. he’d be still for a second because, no matter how many times you guys fucked, he could never get used to how tight you were. but, once he started moving, he would be everything but gentle; his tip would bully your cervix, over and over again until you had to reach your hand around and place it on his stomach. eren would look at it, before his hands would grab it, as well as your other one. tsking at you as he did,

”you might be dumb enough to post whatever that shit was, but i know you’re smart enough to not interrupt me when i’m fucking my pussy.”, he held both of your hands in one of his own, and his other would run up your leg, its final destination being your nape. he’d let it sit there before ducking his head into the car to lean forward and kiss the side of your neck. no matter how loud you got, or many times you whined in that desperate way he loved, even if someone walked past, eren’s hips would keep moving. concerns about your location had been long fucked out of your mind, so your lips moved to form pleas eren had only ever heard in private.

”fuck, ‘ren, d-don’t stop-p”, and he wouldn’t. the circumstances were odd, but eren felt good fucking you properly again. it felt good to make you feel so good you didn’t care who heard you.

”you think armin could fuck you like this?”, eren spoke into the side of your neck. the shaking of your head would force eren’s hand into your hair and it’d pulled at it to lift your head toward him.

”you know how i get about you not talking to me, baby. use that pretty little mouth of yours and tell me how good it feels”,

”it fffeels g-good, ‘rren”, eren would hum in approval and push your head back onto the seats underneath you.

despite the fact that you were literally fucking out of the back of this nigga’s car, you and eren were in a bubble. both of you inured to passerbys, you no longer flinched at the sound of footsteps. it also helped that most of them were muted, and replaced, by the skin on your ass cheeks yelling at the ambush unleashed by eren’s hips. but, there was a pair of footsteps that differed from the others; in their proximity as well as in the way they stopped right by you. in the corner of his eye, eren could see a figure and when he looked, he saw connie just stood there.

”what d’you want?”, eren spat out, his hips not stopping once.

”just wanted to tell her that she left this”, connie held out a lighter, his eyes glued to the navy blue sky. and eren chuckled.

”she's busy right now,”, he'd carefully pull you up by your hair, making sure you didn’t hit your head, ”tell him you're busy, baby”, and his grip on your hair would be almost painful, yet it still felt so good. as unbelievable as it sounds, eren is a reasonable guy, he knew that none of this was necessary. but he needed the ‘bitch boy’ title to be given to someone else so, from that day on, he wouldn’t have other guys thinking they could do what armin did. so if he had to fuck niggas up, and make your back arch in public to make that happen, then so be it.

”r-ren, n-no”, you pleaded, head starting to shake again. people’s opinions of you had changed the second eren shooed you away to his car like a puppy, the last thing you needed was one of your friends to see you getting your shit torn up over his backseat. but eren didn’t give a fuck, so he kissed his teeth, and lifted your head up to face connie. and he'd squeeze at your cheeks, to open your mouth.

”you speak to him or i do it for you, and i ain't got nothing nice to say”, his words travelled to you despite his teeth caging them, and you’d nod obediently.

”i'm-m busyy”, you whined out, and eren hummed before he put your head against the seat again.

”good girl”, he said before he looked back at connie, ”leave it wherever, she’ll get to it”, connie just placed it on the top of the car, and sped out of there. luckily, he left just as eren felt you start to tighten around him again—his cue to keep his pace so he could give you what you had been needing so bad. at this point, eren needed you to nut more than you did. and his wishes would be fulfilled very quickly. courtesy of your pervious orgasms, your volume control had vanished, so you were damn near screaming eren’s name into the leather underneath you as you came around him. you’d deal with the embarrassment another day, the only thing you could focus on at that moment was the way he was fucking into you; relentlessly. even as you soaked the seats, and started scratching at them.

the only time eren would stop would be to move you both inside the car. although he wanted to prove a point, no one saw his pussy but him, meaning that you guys spent the rest of the night steaming up his windows, and ruining his seats. it got to a point where you didn’t know how long you had been in there, and you had lost count of your orgasms after the fifth one, but everything felt so agonisingly good that neither of you wanted to stop. resulting in your combined pleasure making you both delirious. and breeding curiosity in the few people who knocked on the windows to figure out what the fuck you guys were doing in there.

#nanaminsmooninc #aot x black reader #aot x black y/n #eren x black fem!reader #eren x black reader #aot eren #eren smut

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preseriesdean · 3 months ago

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for @spnficrecfest day three 💛

Unraveling by Linden sam/dean, 855 words, rated E, published 2017 No, he’d said, the first time Sammy had tried to kiss him, sixteen and half-drunk and stupidly beautiful, even though he’d wanted so badly to say yes.

wisely & slow by deadlybride / @zmediaoutlet sam/dean, 1109 words, not rated, published 2022 Sam turns fifty.

And if I die, I’ll die, I’ll die alone by BlindSwandive sam/dean, 1756 words, rated T, published 2022, suicide The life we saw for Sam at the end of S15E20 was only what Dean imagined for him. Sam joins him after a much shorter time.

An Absence of Violence by riyku sam/dean, 1872 words, rated M, published 2012 Dean finally comes home. He's in pretty bad shape.

beloved by urchinesque sam&dean, 1905 words, not rated, published 2016, death It might be the gentlest thing that's ever happened to them.

When I Fall Asleep It Is Your Eyes That Close by britomart_is sam/dean, 1945 words, rated E, published 2009 Post-Season Two. Sam is alive. Dean is happy.

Looking In by @gracerene dean/omc, past sam/dean, 2066 words, rated E, published 2022, outsider pov If Sam died instead of Dean, Dean would be wasting away in a backroom of a bar somewhere.

whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home by fleshflutter dean/cas, implied sam/dean, 2009 words, rated T, published 2009 There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

491 by Askance sam/dean, 2482 words, rated G, published 2016 The Rattlesnake 24-Hour Dine-In isn't in Rattlesnake or Shiprock or anywhere, really. It just sits on the highway, sinking on its far end, an oven in the daytime and a steel box at night, rarely-traveled and barely-loved.

Fallout by riyku sam/dean, 2945 words, rated E, published 2014 Two days ago, Sam screwed his brother. One hour ago, Dean came back.

honorable mention:

A man with his insides out and his outsides off by britomart_is sam/dean, 5.3k words, rated E, published 2016, underage They say there are only two stories in the world: man goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town.

this fic isn't a "short fic", really, not by the limitations i've set myself, but it packs so much into its less than 6k words that i had to add it anyway because i made the rules and i can break them :)

#spnficrecfest #wincest #fanfic #whatever it is #i will make everyone and their mother read that britomart_is time travel fic until the end of this month idc

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boinkingbattlemechs · 2 months ago

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Timber Wolf (Mad Cat)

The Timber Wolf is a fast, heavy OmniMech. A signature design of the Clans' military might, it was arguably the first Clan OmniMech encountered by Inner Sphere forces (as opposed to periphery forces) on The Rock in 3049 by Phelan Kell.

Vaguely resembling a cross between the MAD (Marauder) and CAT (Catapult) series, the Timber Wolf was tagged with the Inner Sphere reporting name Mad Cat on first contact. The targeting computer on Phelan Kell's Wolfhound switched between MAD and CAT when trying to identify it; upon analyzing the data recording from Kell's 'Mech, Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht later officially designated it "Mad Cat".

The Timber Wolf is vastly more powerful than either the 3025-era Marauder or Catapult, and features approximately as much firepower as both of those mechs combined. It uses its speed and firepower to engage an enemy at the range of its choosing. When first encountered by Inner Sphere forces the idea that a heavy 'Mech could move so swiftly while being as heavily armed and armored as the Timber Wolf was inconceivable. With its twelve tons of ferro-fibrous armor and an arsenal that rivaled most assault 'Mechs of the era, it was completely alien to Inner Sphere military planners, commanders, and even the Precentor Martial of ComStar. First introduced in 2945, the Timber Wolf was designed by Clan Wolf as a second generation OmniMech along with the Gargoyle and the Naga to replace the aging Woodsman. While the Gargoyle may have been a very capable, fast assault OmniMech, and the Naga may have been an excellent fire-support OmniMech, Clan Wolf (and indeed every other Clan) instantly realized the value of the Timber Wolf; thus, production rights to the Timber Wolf were jealously (and successfully) defended. Only through trade, gifts and battlefield salvage has the Timber Wolf entered the armies of other Clans. Until the invasion of the Inner Sphere, production of the Timber Wolf has been limited to a single facility on Strana Mechty.

Despite its prominence among the Wolves during the Clan Invasion, Refusal War and Word of Blake Jihad, the Timber Wolf became increasingly rare following the sundering of ties with the Homeworld Clans during the Wars of Reaving and Blakist scouring of Tamar. Being built by hand at W-7 plant on Weingarten as of 3080, with some parts even being individually machined due to missing data, attrition vastly outstripped supply as the Wolves looked toward other designs. When Alaric Ward forged the Wolf Empire, he left the W-7 facilities to Clan Hell's Horses and ordered the Kallon plant on Thermopolis be retooled for Timber Wolf production, restoring its position within the Wolves touman.

The default configuration of the Timber Wolf features a well-blended mix of energy and missile weaponry; primarily extended-range lasers and long range missile racks that give the Timber Wolf considerable firepower at medium and long range. A pair of LRM-20 racks supplemented by two Extended Range Large Lasers make up the bulk of the Timber Wolf's firepower. The Timber Wolf also has an array of lighter, shorter ranged weaponry for use once the 'Mech draws closer to its prey: two ER Medium Lasers and a Medium Pulse Laser. Finally, it has two Machine Guns for point defense against infantry. Even on the modern battlefield the primary configuration of the Timber Wolf is a force to be reckoned with.

#battletech #mechwarrior #battletech smash or pass #mecha #tumblr polls

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sotwk · 5 months ago

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Cinder Girl (Fíli x unnamed OC)

Summary: The Crown Prince of Erebor faces the dilemma of losing his heart to a lovely yet humble palace servant.

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Fluffy, tropey romance and comfort, Durins Live AU, post-BotFA, class division, love confession, Pining Prince Fíli

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

Dedication and Inspiration: Thank you to the Anon who inspired this concept long ago by sending me this message! <3

Also for my friend, @guardianofrivendell, a true Fíli aficionado with an incredible repertoire of fics of our beloved Dwarf Prince. You probably don't remember, but this fic fulfills the "Love Confessions" request you made from my Valentine Event in 2023! Better late than never? Welcome back! <3

Cinder Girl

The Reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor

Third Age 2945

What to do, what to do? The proper thing, of course. The decision should be that simple, and it usually was so for Fíli.

Except now. Except when it came to her.

The young dwarf lord tugged on the beaded braid of his mustache and leaned forward in the cushioned bench on which he sat. He made a motion to stand, only to plop back down again with a frustrated grunt. He had been dithering that way for the last ten minutes, at least.

And he had spent twice as long sitting there, only half ashamed of allowing himself to enjoy the sight that surprised him when he returned to his chambers following a day-long council meeting.

I am just looking, is all, Fíli reminded himself, desperate to excuse his poor manners. He knew the right thing to do would be to gently wake her, assure her that she was in no trouble, and allow her to discreetly exit the room she should never have been caught in.

Surely this was a sign. A gift from Mahal himself, to force his stubborn, weak arse into action. Yet there he was again, he who was hailed as the Lion of Erebor, one of the bravest warriors in the kingdom, just sitting there stupidly, staring as he always did, because he could never find neither strength nor courage to do anything else in the presence of this dwarrowdam that stole the very breath from his lungs.

Even as she lay there on the lush fur rug by the fireplace, in a cozy warmth that likely had lulled her to sleep, her presence paralyzed him. She was that very rare gem, found only once in a generation, exquisite in itself without need for cutting or polishing, or settings of gold, or other fine stones to accompany it.

"Beyond beautiful," Fíli thought, and his chest filled with both longing and wonderment of how utterly she had ensnared him with so little effort, with such little awareness of the effect she caused.

She had dazzled Fíli the moment she cast her first smile and first spoke his name, and from then on the prince was blind to all others. When she laughed, Fíli finally understood why his brother Kíli constantly acted the fool just to earn that sweet sound from his own lady’s lips.

And so Fíli neglected to mention the titles that accompanied his name, and as a result he was able to enjoy hours of conversations with the newcomer from the Blue Mountains, basking in her uninhibited laughter and open stories and playful touches.

But the ruse would not last even a month. When she finally discovered that the new “friend” who had welcomed her to Erebor was actually King Thorin’s heir, next-in-line to the throne of Durin, an invisible wall rose between them. She never laughed in the same way around him again. She remained friendly and kind, yes, but every action toward him was suddenly restrained by prim courtesy. Their once animated conversations were dampened by measured, cautious responses. Even her beautiful smile was dimmed by a strange sadness, as though the knowledge of his royal identity disappointed her.

"Please, you don't have to…" he said, when he once tried to stop her from bowing to him as they passed each other in the hall.

"It is only proper, my lord," she murmured, keeping her lovely eyes lowered to her feet, only doubling Fíli's frustrations. "I bid you a good day, Prince Fíli."

And she hurried away with her cleaning pail in tow, before Fíli could offer to help, before he could muster up the nerve to invite her to dinner, which was why he had come down to the servants’ hall in the first place. All he had succeeded in doing was send the tongues of the palace domestic staff wagging.

Eventually Fíli's despair grew heavy enough that he sought Balin's counsel, daring not to broach the topic with the one person who could completely relieve him of his fear: that no future was possible between the Heir of Durin and a dwarf not only from a different clan, but without rank or advantages.

Balin remained silent while Fíli laid out his entire predicament--during the prince’s impassioned speech, and a long while after. Too long, so much that the thoughtful calm Fíli usually admired in his sagacious old cousin only set his teeth on edge.

“I must say this is troubling news to hear indeed,” Balin finally spoke, tugging thoughtfully at his beard.

“Troubling?!” Fíli exclaimed. “How could you already deem it as such when you have not yet met her? What matters her lack of status when she is the sweetest and gentlest soul to ever bless me with her company?! That is, until she decided she could no longer tolerate my presence,” he amended glumly.

“Calm yourself, boy.” Balin chuckled between sips of his ale. “You have only ever raved this passionately about very few things before, and never about a bonnie lass. For a moment I thought I might actually be speaking to Kíli.”

“That isn't close to either the comfort or counsel I was hoping for, Balin.”

“Harrumph. That is because I have neither of those things for you, lad! What you need is to be slapped back into your senses!” Balin shook a stout finger at the dwarf-prince. “Have you so little knowledge or faith in your Uncle that you could not bring this matter straight to him?”

Fíli drew back, eyebrows lifted in bewilderment. “I thought he would scoff at the frivolity of it, before declaring my desire for her as unsuitable.”

“Because the girl is common?” Balin snorted when Fíli nodded. “It would wound Thorin so deeply to hear this, that I shall not even bother repeating your words to him.” He reached across the dinner table to grip Fíli’s arm. “Your Uncle risked his life, risked everything to take back this Mountain for you, my boy. To give you the future that he felt you deserved. Do you think that future is all about gold?”

Balin smiled and slapped Fíli gently on his slack-jawed face. “It is about choice, and freedom. The freedom to chase whatever dreams you wish. Go and speak to Thorin. It appears there is much he needs to clarify about his expectations of you as the realm’s prince and his heir.”

Fíli had genuinely intended to heed Balin’s advice to discuss things with his uncle. But after failing to quickly gain an audience with the chronically busy king, he let his nerves conquer him yet again, as he put off pursuing that conversation. And so day after day passed with him stuck in the plight of his own making… leading at last to that evening, when the source of his agony literally lay right before him inside his own chambers, demanding to be dealt with.

The more time passed with him just sitting and staring at the sleeping chambermaid, the longer each minute seemed to stretch, and the more ridiculous Fili felt in his inertness.

Just when his frustration came to its peak, and he felt unable to tolerate himself any longer, the prince rose quietly and stepped towards the figure on the fur rug.

A pounding knock barely gave him any warning before his chamber door swung wide open and Kili barreled inside. “Did you not say you were starving, brother? What is taking you so--??”

Kili stopped short, his wide-eyed stare darting between Fili and the lady that had stumbled to her feet, disheveled and disoriented. It was impossible to tell who looked more mortified by his arrival.

“Have I… am I interrupting something?”

“I am so very sorry, milords!” the maiden blurted out. “I didn't mean to, I---I am so--!” Her ashen face suddenly colored by the violence of her embarrassment, she grabbed her cleaning pail from the hearth. The contents rattled inside the metal bucket, so badly did her hands shake as she gave a hasty curtsy to the royal princes.

“N-no, no wait, please… h-hold on for just a moment--” Fili began, when his tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of his mouth, but it was too late. She rushed across the room and straight out the open door without ever lifting her gaze off the ground.

“Brother, I am sorry, I didn't know--”

Fili brushed aside the apology and scrambled past Kili to fly out into the hallway. Panic had broken through his earlier paralysis and suddenly he could not move fast enough, his body acting beyond the constraints of his judgment.

He called after her; the sound of her name and his footsteps chased her down the empty corridor. But to Fili's dismay she did not stop or even slow down, and just as she was about to turn a corner and descend the stairs leading from the palace wing, a desperate shout escaped containment, partially strangled in the tightness of his throat, but still too loud to be ignored.

“I love you, all right?! I love you!!”

The frantic clatter of the metal pail ceased, and all Fili could hear against the ensuing silence was the roar of his pulse beneath his ears. In several strides, he closed the distance to come before the maiden. She stayed rooted to the spot and motionless, apart from the heaving of her bosom as she chased her breath.

“This was not how I wanted you to find out.” The calm in his own voice surprised Fili, as did the confidence that drove his words. “But I also do not wish to take it back. Hiding from the truth has gained me nothing but pain.”

“I appreciate your candor, milord, and I regret your pain.” She continued to address him, but her eyes remained firmly lowered towards her hands, white-knuckled in their grip around the pail handle. “But what am I to do with these fine words you offer? How can a peasant be worthy to receive the affections of a prince?”

“Worthy?” Fíli repeated in distaste. “What causes you to believe that you must be worthy to--?”

“You are the future King of Erebor.” She spoke loudly over him, as though she had not heard him at all, or was determined not to. “The blood of Durin the Deathless runs in you! I am just a nobody from a Broadbeam village in the Blue Mountains--”

“I was born in such a village, same as my father!” Fíli cut her off with matching fervor. “And you are certainly not ‘just a nobody’ to me.”

Something in his words finally reached her, for at last she raised her bowed head ever so slightly, just enough for her gaze to meet his, and the tears that shimmered in her eyes wiped away the last of his hesitation.

“We are not different, ghivashel. Not in any way that matters.”

Her smile that bloomed at that word, one that proclaimed her more precious than any treasure in Erebor, revived a light in him that had gone out in the long weeks of her absence.

When Fíli reached out to relieve her of the cleaning pail, she did not resist. Grasping her wrist, he rested her open hand upon his. He swept his thumb back and forth all across her palm, over the red scrapes and dirt-streaked calluses that made her all the more beautiful and admirable in his eyes.

“Not long ago, I spent each waking day with my face smeared in soot, my arms and hands burnt from the blaze of forge fires, aching to the bone after hours of back-breaking labor.”

He pushed up his tunic sleeve to show her: the patches of discolored skin from old burns, the countless scars that littered the entire length of his arm, almost to his elbow.

“But I would always go to bed happy, and proud of my honest living, of the smith that I was.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “The smith that I am. Whatever titles and additional duties I may now carry as a consequence of my inheritance, I am still that same soot-covered dwarf.”

He sealed her hand between his two and lightly kissed the fingertips that peeked out from the cage of his palms.

“All I ask is for a chance to show you that,” he said softly. “With the hope that you might come to love what you see in me. For I have already, absolutely, fallen in love with everything I see in you.”

Her silence filled the entire length of the passageway, all the way up to the high ceilings. Under the crushing weight of its persistence, Fíli’s hope started to falter. But as the fear of his failure to convince her started to creep in, his grip all the more tightened around her hand. He couldn't let go. He did not know how he could ever let her go.

“From the first day we met,” she finally spoke. “I already loved everything I saw in you…Fíli of the Blue Mountains.” She tipped her chin up and squared her shoulders, face set with resolution alongside her gentle smile. “I think that love can bring me the courage I need to let the other side of you, Prince Fíli of Erebor, into my heart as well.”

Fíli’s entire being swelled with such relief and unbridled joy he thought he might catch flame. His arms found themselves around her waist, drawing her close to his desire to demonstrate the feelings he had restrained for too long.

Alas, a sudden and deafening crash rang through the hall to cut off Fíli’s eager quest. “Sorry, sorry!” yelped a guilty voice in the shadows.

Fíli groaned, then chuckled, and settled for another chase kiss upon his lady’s hand.

“Would you care to have dinner with my brother and I?” he asked her, nodding in the direction of the ruckus as Kíli struggled to straighten up the decorative suit of armor he had knocked over. “An unrepentant snoop he may be, but I can assure you he is otherwise harmless and actually quite pleasant company.”

“It sounds like a wonderful start to getting to know the rest of you,” she said, eyes bright from their shared laughter, free of even a speck of her earlier doubts. “Because I very much would like to know everything, Fíli. To discover and delight in every wonderful bit of you.”

“And you shall have that,” Fíli vowed, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek, over an ashy mark of the fireplace cinders that had brought her back to him. “You already do have me, but I shall also endeavor to give the whole world to make you happy.”

“You are already the whole world,” she declared, and rose on her toes to do what he could not, sealing their confessions with a sound kiss.

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