#I was having a bit of a rough day so it was perhaps Unwise to continue watching the terror

[hey-scully-itsme]

me when tragic things happen in the tragedy:

[moonstruckme]

heya!! i was wondering if you could write a poly!marauders x reader where r stopped smoking..? i’m 6 months clean from smoking nicotine and i haven’t told anyone (you’re the first!! lmao) just incase i break from a stressful day and so i don’t disappoint!! could you maybe write that into the drabble or whatever you do..? tysm if you do, and if you don’t then no worries!!

i love you mae and make sure to take care of yourself and keep being you!!!!

thanks for requesting gorgeous, i really hope you're doing well!! proud of you <3

cw: smoking, reader deals with addiction

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 936 words

Remus smells like cigarettes. He’s stopped smoking anywhere near you, but you’re sure if you look out the front door you’ll see the telltale smear of ash smashed into the sidewalk from where he’d stamped one out on the way in. The aroma brings longing and self-loathing, the former more potent than the latter, and you find yourself breathing in the fibers of his sweater for a whiff of it. 

Remus doesn’t catch onto the true motivation for your proximity. He takes it for cuddling, adjusting his hold on his book so he can read with one hand while the other wraps around your shoulders, encouraging you closer to his side. Underneath the heady smell of lingering smoke he smells like himself, like cinnamon and oranges, and you try to focus on that as your better sense fogs over and your fingers start itching for a cig. 

“Aha!” Sirius slaps his last card down on the table. 

James blows out a flabbergasted breath, leaning back on his hands on the floor. They’re playing some kids’ card game Remus learned in primary school and unwisely taught them. At first you’d all gotten into it, but after Sirius nearly took your head off for forgetting the rules and playing with two hands (“Sorry, gorgeous, you know I don’t mean anything I say when I’m trying to win…and I could have won, couldn’t I? No, I’m just saying, it’s about the principle—”) you and Remus had bowed out. James and Sirius have retained their obsession for days, each keeping a scoreboard in their own heads that seems to hold them in favor. 

“Angel?” 

You look up, meeting James’ knowing gaze. “Hm?” 

“He asked if you’re getting hungry for dinner,” Remus clues you in, toying with the ends of your hair. 

“Oh, sorry. Um…” You think hard. One of the more irritating things about quitting smoking is that now your appetite never seems to fully die down. You’re ready for your next meal all day long, and so you actually have to think about whether it makes sense for you to have it. “I had some carrots just after I got home, so I could eat whenever you want to.” 

“Alright…” 

You take another deep inhale, telling yourself it’s because Remus smells nice and losing your grasp on self-control all the while. 

“Are you tired?” Remus asks, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice it before, that extra bit of roughness that his voice takes on after he’s been smoking. You’re so envious you could die. “You seem distracted.” 

“I’m good,” you murmur. Though perhaps it’d be better if you did take a nap or something. You’re beginning to feel twitchy. You take in a breath through your nose like you’ve been practicing, letting it out through your mouth. 

“Ah.” Sirius scoots closer to you, laying his cheek on the couch cushion. “You want to have a piece of your gum, sweet thing?” 

You look at him guiltily. Remus makes a soft sound of realization. 

“You’re picking your nails,” Sirius explains, and you look down to see that you are. “I imagine that means you’re craving one.” 

It’s simultaneously sweet and irksome that none of your boyfriends will even say the word cigarette around you anymore. They’re trying to be considerate, you know, but it feels like they think your self-control is so tenuous that just one word could shatter it. You don’t have the heart to tell them. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, getting the pack of gum out of your pocket. Just the act of unwrapping a stick makes you feel instantly better. “I guess I was thinking I wouldn’t need it anymore.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” James says lightly. “I don’t imagine it’s easy, sweetheart, you shouldn’t feel bad about using something to cope. It’s not like having gum hurts anything.” 

You hum, then turn to Remus sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, do you think you might be able to change?” He looks confused. “Your sweater smells like cigarettes,” you explain. 

James gasps as though scandalized and Remus swears, grabbing the neckline of his sweater and tugging it off. He tosses it into the hall. 

“M’sorry, dove.” He takes your head between his hands, mushing a kiss into your hair. He’s now bare-chested, and you laugh at the dramatics, totally unexpected from him. “I didn’t realize. Is it better now?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

He drops another kiss on your head, remorseful. “Alright, I’ll go grab something else to wear,” he says, starting to stand. Both Sirius and James protest loudly. 

“I think what you’re wearing now looks great,” says James. 

“Yeah,” Sirius seconds, “stay in that.” 

Remus looks down at his shirtless torso, raising an eyebrow at the other boys. You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Really?” he asks. 

“Come on, it’s not like the fucking Pope’s coming over,” Sirius says, looking well below your boyfriend’s eyes with unabashed enthusiasm. “Tell him, gorgeous.” 

Remus turns his gaze on you. You curl in on yourself slightly, shrugging your shoulders. “This is the best distraction I’ve had all day,” you say quietly, and James’ laughter booms off the walls. 

“Fair enough.” Remus rolls his eyes, grinning as he sits back down on the couch beside you. You get comfy like you were against his side, now smelling only him. He drapes his arm across your back, settling a hand on your hip. “The lows I stoop to for you, hm?” 

“If you’re not up to the task,” Sirius says, “just say the word. I’d be happy to take her off your hands.” 

“Fuck off,” Remus says, and tugs you closer.

[techycatartist]

Though the skies were clear, the brisk air made it clear that the end of the season for a large portion of Great Adventure’s attractions was near. Among the rides that would be closed for the remaining month-and-a-half included Superman: Ultimate Flight and Green Lantern. While there was no specific reason as to why these rides had shut their doors so soon, speculation pointed to the soon-to-be non-existence of the Parachute Tower. The two B&Ms were situated right behind it, so it would be unwise to keep that section of the park running as crews came in to meticulously disassemble the aging Intamin flat ride.

But when a coaster’s structure is made of wood, it’s expected that a park would close it early-- and for Toro, this is what he’d come to expect ever since Great Adventure decided to extend their operating schedule via Holiday in The Park.

Perched upon a stone pillar, Toro observed the rhythmic movement of his coaster’s trains; he had been sitting there for a while now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Toro noticed a figure approaching him— though the other Coasterdroid didn’t notice back. Toro decided to make himself known once they were close enough;

“Oye”.

Ka was directed towards his coaster’s entrance portal.

“How unexpected to find you here, Toro”.

“Well, I find it unexpected that they kept our coasters running past Veterans Day”.

“With Superman, Green Lantern, and the entirety of Frontier Adventures closed for the season, perhaps the park needed to keep us open to draw the crowds away from Movietown. Though it seems like my coaster’s done for the day— employees are shuttering the stands in this area”.

“Not surprised. Your coaster was looking a bit sluggish today”.

“Yet, it went without a single rollback— though every cycle looked close to one”.

“Think mine’ll make it to closing? I’ve already lost the “B” train to off-season maintenance, so why shouldn’t everything else throw in the towel?”

“Seeing as it’s approaching us right now, it doesn’t look like the “A” train wants to “throw in the towel”.

Toro continues looking at his coaster— or more specifically, the climb into the break run.

“You’re quite fixated on that spot”.

“I have my reasons, Tigre”.

“Which would be…?”

“None of your business”.

“A” Train climbed into the brake run, ready to exchange its riders.

“…Plaza Del Carnival has closed for the season. We hope you enjoyed your time today at Great Adventure— and remember…Holiday in the Park begins this Thursday! From the 24th until January 1st, Great Adventure will provide wintery thrills…”

Toro walked through the mostly-barren area, passing by colorful LED lights that hung above his head.

At the entrance was Ka, who greeted Toro with a smile.

“Your coaster made it to closing, as I felt it would.“

“So it did— and I should be elated. But I don’t think I can feel anything above “relieved”, Ka”.

“How so?”

“Should I really feel good about my coaster running on a single train? About it crawling through the course?”

Toro hesitated.

“About it being rough?”

He couldn’t leave that unsaid, as much as it hurt.

“Face it, Ka…I ran out of steam”.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Toro. Think about how we celebrated your coaster’s reopening— it warranted a celebration. This season was never going to be perfect— but your coaster persisted”.

“True, and I was grateful for every cycle it completed. Looking back at that first day, all I wanted was to survive. Then, I wanted to survive the next day, and the next, and the next. I kept going day by day, until…I made it here. This is what I was going for, even if I wasn’t thinking about it. But it was for the better, as thinking about my future was…stressful, to say the least”.

“Sometimes, all you need is survival— because one day, you’ll find a way to live”.

“But you can’t run on “survival” forever, right?”

“Yes”.

Toro paused.

“So you need to find that life”.

Toro turned away from Ka, his coaster’s structure now shrouded in darkness.

“I hope I can feel alive sooner than later”.

[zi-i-think]

Practicing

Pairing: Jade West x fem!reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 1800+

Warnings: mention of drugs

Request: no

AN: I know I’m still not done with requests, but I just really wanted to get in a Jade West oneshot. I don’t think Jade is out of character all that much, but I’d love feed back.

          Things sucked. Like. They royally sucked.

         When Beck and Jade broke up for the second time, it felt like a dark, ominous was looming over the group of talented teens. No one needed to be a genius to realize that both Jade and Beck with miserable. Not just because they were no longer together, but the breakup was emotionally draining.

         And despite it all, y/n couldn’t help but feel a little bit hopeful. She and Jade had been friends since middle school when Jade pushed a boy off his seat because he was bullying Y/n. They were pretty different. Actually very different personality-wise. Y/n was what Jade described as a hippie fairy. Which contrasted Jade’s vampire personality completely. 

         But there were just enough similarities to keep them together. Their hatred for the patriarchy. Interests in a feel-good green herb. They both started practicing Wicca together. And they were killer on the mic.

         It was a fine balance. 

         And over the years, Y/n couldn’t help but fall for the girl. Snarling personality and all. 

         She still recalls when Jade and Beck started dated. How at first she just thought she was annoyed at how Jade didn’t spend as much time with her but later realized that she was indeed feeling jealous.

         She knew it was terrible to be glad they’re no longer together, but she couldn’t help it.

         The first thing she saw when she approached her locker was the dark clothed girl waiting for her; standing cooly against the wall of lockers.

         “Morning.” Y/n greeted her with a smile. Jade hummed her greeting in response, waiting for her friend to get her things from the locker. “How you doing?” Jade sent her a glare, knowing that Y/n what trying to get her to talk about the breakup.Y/n mumbled a “nevermind” and closed the locker.

         “Do you have plans later?” Jade grumbled as the two started to walk to Sicowitz’s class.

         “Uh, yeah. I’m finishing up my script for my play.”

         “The one about the girl who turns into a dragon and then the prince who’s supposed to save her kills her on accident.”

         “That’s the one,” Y/n finger-gunner. “I’m trying to figure out how to make the finally really pull at the heartstrings.”

         “Make it gruesome,”

         “I’ll make a note of it.” 

         The class was already about to start by the time they entered and most people were engaged in their own conversations. Y/n saw Jade and Beck make eye contact. The same longing look on their faces. But stubbornness kept either of them from saying anything.

         “Hey, uh do you want to come over? Help me with the play?” Y/n asked, getting Jade’s attention again.

         “Sure. It’s not like I have any plans.” Jade shrugged before taking a seat upfront.

         Y/n smiled and took the seat next to her friend. A nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach grew as she already started to expect her friend’s arrival.

         “Good day, class!” The eccentric teacher barged into the room. “Your a pack or wolves engaged in a dance party!” He announced, prompting the teans to get up from their seats and act out the prompt.

         Knock Knock Knock

         The front door of Y/n’s house sounded. With a furrowed brow and her hair still wet, the girl opened the door revealing Jade with two coffees

         “You’re early,” Y/n stated the obvious.

         “Only cause I got bored. Now you want your coffee or not?” The dark haired girl outstretched her arm to hand her the tall cup.

         Y/n smiled appreciativly, taking the cup and stepping to the side.

         “Alright. So what does your play need?” Jade asked, already getting down to business. She walked straight to the living room and plopped herself on the blanketed couch.

         “Well, uh. It's mainly the last scene. Where the dragon turns back into a maiden and the prince realizes what he's done.” Y/n described, sitting next to Jade and grabbing the laptop from the coffee table.

         “Ah, so it’s angsty.” Jade smiles and leaned closer to Y/n to get a look at the document with the script.

         “Yeah.” Y/n’s voice cracked as she tried to compose herself over her friends close proximity. “So, I was thinking that once he realizes his mistake, he holds her close. I want him to have a monologue. Describing how he'd never get the chance to talk to her, see her, you know typical human relationship things.”

         “Alright so what's the problem?” Jade asked, not seeing why Y/n needed her there. Not that she was mad, she loved being around her. And truthfully, she missed hanging out and not having Beck in the back of her mind.

         “It just feels like it's missing something. You know.” Y/n said with a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Like. There's something that isn't making the plot complete enough for him to have that monologue. He loves her, but it doesn't feel like he does enough.”

         Without warning, Jade took the laptop from her lap.

         “I’ll read it.” she grumbled. “You go dry your hair or something.”

         “Good idea.” Y/n agreed, leaving the couch and beading back to her bathroom.

         “And order a pizza!” She heard Jade shout.

         It didn’t take long for Y/n to dry her hair and put the pizza order in. And by the time she got back into the living room, Jade was finished with reading over the script. Instead, she was now holding her new pair of scissors and examining the blades.

         “Figure anything out?” Y/n asked, getting the girl’s attention.

         “Yeah.” Jade put down the scissors and turned her body to face Y/n as she came in and sat down. “Your characters don’t kiss.”

         Y/n month dropped and she bit her bottom lip awkwardly.

         “Well, I was thinking about putting one in, but I thought it would be better if there weren’t one. Think about the symbolism behind it. Without the action, it’s expressing how the two never truly experienced being together.” She explained.

         Jade hummed and nodded as if she were understanding.

         “That’s stupid.” she said. Somehow both calmly and aggressively. Y/n furrowed her brow and tilted her head. Asking without words for Jade to go on. “Y/n the script is good, the storyline is paced well, blah blah blah. But the only thing that isn't good is the way you're presenting that they are in love. You want the audience to be heartbroken for the guy, show them that he loved her.”

         “Okay, so, where do you recommend it goes?” Y/n asked, grabbing the laptop and scrolling through.

         “Obvious. Scene 4, during the confession, I think after she falls from the tree.” Jade said. Y/n quickly went there and read it over, thinking about how to go about it.

         “You don't think it's a little fast?” Y/n asked, twisting her face as unsureness creeped into her mind.

         “Course not. You've already presented their infatuation for each other, and after that scene their relationship is already escalating more quickly. If anything it makes more sense.”

         She was right. Y/n knew it. But she couldn't shake the fact that having this discussion with Jade felt unreal. Perhaps because Y/n was crushing on her, but also because while Jade was very knowledgeable in entertainment, relationships were more of a ‘on the surface’ knowledge.

         Typing quickly the placement of the kiss, Y/n let out a heavy breath.

         “And it’s in.” She announced mainly for herself.

         “Good.” Jade nodded, now smirking at her friend. “You wanna see how it flows with the scene?”

         Y/n kept scrolling down the document to the ending, avoiding looking at the vampiresque girl.

         “Uh, ” She cleared her throat to avoid cracking her voice. “What do you mean?”

         “Well do the scene, me and you. As then you can make the final choice on whether you like it or not.” Jade explained casually.

         “Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

         Despite sounding calm and nonchalant on the outside, Y/n was screaming on the inside. Surely Jade wasn't actually intending on kissing her right? They’d work up to it and then stop, right? No kiss?

         “Cool, I'll be the guy and do you have it all memorized?” Jade started, grabbing the laptop and placing it on her lap.

         “Yep, it's all in my noggin.” Y/n knocked on her head awkwardly, receiving a disapproving look from Jade.

         “I’ll start at the beginning of the confession.” The dark haired girl announced, reading the lines. Then she looked up, right into Y/n’s eyes. “Tell me, Ayleth, do you feel what I feel.”

         “Why, I'm not quite sure what you mean, my prince.” Y/n continued, swallowing her nervousness.

         “When you look into my eyes, do you as well feel that fire? The one raging inside of your heart and coursing through you. Making you think illogically, wanting nothing more than to be consumed completely by you.”

         “One shouldn't think illogically. One must think about their duties, their-”

“That wasn't the question.” Jade acted, her usual roughness and anger dropped as she said her lines. “Do you love me?”

         “I suppose it would be unwise to try to divert the conversation.”

         “Most unwise. Especially to your prince.”

         “Well. Yes. I believe I do.”

         There was silence between the two. This was where the kiss was written. In the quiet, they both seemed to be questioning whether they would actually kiss or not. They both leaned in, slowly but surely. Y/n’s heart sped up and she wondered whether Jade was feeling the same. No, of course not. It's part of the scene. She's just acting, obviously.

         The inches between them soon turned to fractions of an inch. And their lips were so close to meeting.

         Knock knock knock.

         They were interrupted by the door. “Y/n pulled away immediately.

         “Pizza. I’ll get it.” She chuckled nervously and got up.

         “They can wait.” Jade said instead. She grabbed Y/n’s wrist and pulled her back down on the couch.

         Before Y/n knew it, Jade placed a firm kiss on Y/n’s lips. Though shocked, Y/n quickly reciprocated the kiss. Jade placed her hand on Y/n’s cheek, while the other girl’s hand went to Jade’s waist. By now, Y/n’s heartbeat was going a million miles per minute and both girls forgot about the person waiting at the door.

         Until they knocked again.

         “Give us a minute!” Jade shouted angrily before turning back to her, uh friend? Y/n was giggling at her rage over small things like that. Jade noticed not only that her dark blue lipstick had smudged onto Y/n’s face, but that she also had a deep red blush that covered her face almost completely.

         “Should we practice again?” Jade asked instead of bring it up. And when Y/n nodded, she didn’t waste another second to lean in again, kissing her with more depth than the one before.

[irrlicht-writes]

of Rex Lapis and the water's embrace

The rock persisted for centuries. Unaffected by the wind and the weather, it was to remain forever. And yet, recently, the tide had been rising and the water hit against the stone. Stubbornly, the stone would endure the fluid form and persist still. But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace. | "Tell me a story."

Ao3

Please read part 1 here

*

The tea was too hot to drink.

Childe had seemed distressed when they had talked on the pier, and Zhongli was unsure of how he should proceed. He was aware that after he gave away the gnosis to the eighth harbinger, Childe had been upset. He only wasn’t sure why exactly. Zhongli had simply fulfilled his contract. Childe had no reason to be mad.

Regardless, Zhongli had decided to let him calm down a while before he would attempt a conversation again. Childe had a wild temper at the best of times and it was generally unwise to anger him unnecessarily. The boy would go into the wilds of Liyue and kill things to his heart’s content and then they could have a civilised discussion again.

Although, Zhongli had to admit he missed his dates with the harbinger.

It was hard these days to find someone who’d be willing to listen to him ramble in full.

He checked his tea again. It was still too hot.

As he sat waiting, he pulled the Old Stone out again. He missed Azhdaha. Seeing him again had simply reminded him of how much he was missing his old friend – but on the other hand, it had been wonderful to be able to talk to him again, to maybe even ease his pain.

He wondered if Childe would be interested to hear stories about Azhdaha.

They were so alike, in heart. Big and powerful – and yet they possessed a gentle heart inside of them.

Zhongli smiled at his stone.

He hoped that Childe enjoyed his gift. The sword that never made it into the hands it had been destined for – mayhap this had been fate. Maybe Guizhong had never been meant to hold this sword and perhaps Zhongli had been a fool for keeping it all these years. Childe would put it to good use, he was sure of it.

The boy was one of the most formidable warriors he had met in recent years. He hadn’t been what Zhongli had expected in the slightest.

I shall send you my eleventh, my dearest Tartaglia. The vanguard of my forces shall serve your contract well, Rex Lapis.

The vanguard of the Tsaritsa... Zhongli had expected an old man, rich in battles and weary of heart, much like Zhongli himself.

And instead, he had received a bright-eyed, young boy with a blinding smile.

A joke, he had believed.

~*~

“Hi! My name’s Tartaglia, but you can call me Childe! You’re Zhongli, right?”

There was a young boy standing in the Funeral Parlour. His eyes were a dull blue, and his unkempt hair was orange. He grinned brightly and extended his hand in a greeting.

“Her Majesty said I’d find you here. Are you hungry? Let’s go get some food!”

There was no waste in this young boy. He reached forward and grabbed the stunned Zhongli, pulling him outside into the sun.

“Haha, it’s so hot here in Liyue! It’s going to be hard to get used to that... maybe they have thinner uniforms here. Ah, I shall just get used to it, I guess.”

Hold on.

This was Tartaglia? This young boy was supposed to be the vanguard of the Tsaritsa? No. This must be a joke.

Perhaps... perhaps this boy was the assistant of the harbinger, yes? If the real Tartaglia might not wish to deal with the outside world due to weariness or simply because he wished to remain hidden, then Zhongli could understand.

Yes. Yes, this sounded very plausible. He must have hired this boy to be his public face, to allow him to work in the background undeterred.

He did not like being deceived but he would insist on meeting the real harbinger soon. In the meantime, he shall entertain this young boy.

“How can I serve you?”

Zhongli hadn’t even noticed that they sat down at Wanmin Restaurant.

“Hi! I’m fresh off the boat and I would like some nice Liyuean food. I’m not picky; just give me what’s good! What about you, Zhongli? I didn’t stun you into silence, did I?”

Zhongli blinked. “Ah... no, you did not, I apologise for my lack of manners. Miss Xiangling, I would like a bamboo shot soup and my ah, associate would take the Crystal Shrimp.”

The boy grinned at him.

“Well, I’ll trust you, then!”

Xiangling smiled and wandered off. Now, Zhongli wasn’t sure what to say. This boy truly had come in like a hurricane.

“Sorry for dragging you away like that, but I’ve only just arrived and the bank already wants to drown me in paperwork. I know we were supposed to meet tomorrow, but I just had to get away, you know?”

“The bank? You mean the Northland Bank?”

“Yeah! I’m supposed to supervise it a bit while I’m here. Apparently, the debt collectors have gotten a bit too soft around these parts, so I’m meant to rough them up again. I wasn’t told about the paperwork though, so that’s a bummer.”

A harbinger would not talk like this, correct? This boy couldn’t have seen more than twenty summers.

“You have knowledge about collecting debts?”

“Yeah, I guess. Before I became a harbinger, I’ve been a debt collector for a while. Not very long though, because I kept killing the clients. And, y’know, dead guys don’t pay their debts after all. But I’m a harbinger now, so who cares!”

Tartaglia laughed and Zhongli blinked.

This boy could not be the Tsaritsa’s vanguard in a hundred years.

“Wha – what are those?!”

The boy’s hand was cramping around the chopsticks.

“Those are chopsticks. You use them to eat your foot... no, don’t stab the shrimp.”

“Well, then how... how do you use them?! This is impossible!”

Zhongli chuckled. “They are an important part of Liyuean cuisine, Childe. Please learn how to use them.”

“How do you guys not starve to death?! What’s wrong with forks?!”

~*~

“Yaahoo, your tea is cold, old man.”

Hu Tao’s voice tore Zhongli out of his thoughts. He looked at the Funeral Parlour Director for a second before he confirmed her words. Indeed, his tea has gotten cold. He sighed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist to make you sigh like that?”

Zhongli frowned. “I do not –“, but then he decided to just not indulge her.

“Are there any clients?”

Hu Tao pouted.

“No, there are no customers. It’s so boring. Nobody dies anymore these days. Hey, where’s your Fatui boyfriend? He always brought in good business.”

“I have not seen Childe in a few days. Last I saw him he did not seem to be in the mood for providing business, Director.”

In fact, Childe had seemed very depressed, so unlike the boy he had gotten to know.

Hu Tao started to whine. “Boooring. Go to him and make him kill some people, I’m so booreed.”

Zhongli closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In, and out. In, and out. Just this easy. This child was going to drive him insane. Childe was not a dead-body-factory.

Although, admittedly, he had provided a lot of bodies for Hu Tao during his stay here.

The two of them even got along. Hu Tao had convinced Childe to partake in several pranks and in almost all of them, Zhongli had been the butt-end of the joke.

“If there is nothing to do, I shall take a walk.”

“Go drag your boyfriend’s ass back here! And bring some dead people! I need a booming business!”

Zhongli decided to ignore her as he pocketed the Old Stone and left the Parlour.

Maybe he should check on Childe. At least, he could inquire whether or not the boy liked his new weapon.

The guard at the door barely recognised Zhongli, as he was busy writing a letter.

As usual, the bank was relatively quiet. The local manager, Andrei, and Mister Qi were talking to each other, presumably about the latter taking on a loan. They did not interest him however. Zhongli headed straight to the bank’s teller, Ekaterina. She’s always been his go-to whenever he had been looking for Childe.

“Good day, Miss Ekaterina. I was wondering –“

“Master Childe is not with you?”

Zhongli frowned. “I – no, he is not. Is something wrong?”

Despite the mask, Zhongli could tell how worried she was.

“Master Childe has left early the last evening and when he did not return, I thought he might be with you – please tell me I haven’t lost a Harbinger. Oh, I can’t even imagine what they’ll do to me. Tell me he’s fine. I don’t care if it’s a lie, just tell me he’s making a bad joke and is harassing Vlad outside the door.”

Childe was missing?

“Are you sure he is not just out for a few days?”

She shook her head. “No, he always tells me for how long he’ll be gone, and we have a matter for him to attend to tomorrow morning. In fact, I only know he has left is because I saw him leave. I checked his office for any sort of note but there was nothing which leads me to believe he intended to be back by now. Oh Seven, what if something’s happened to him? The Tsaritsa will lynch me.”

Childe was strong. Nothing could’ve happened to him, right?

“I will find him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the bank.

~*~

The young fake harbinger was a friendly sort. Despite Zhongli’s irritation of not meeting the real harbinger, he could not complain about the company of the fake Tartaglia.

“Xiansheng, do you really need to buy these rocks...?”

“They are of a quality made, Childe, you shouldn’t let an opportunity like this pass you by.”

The boy behind him groaned but paid the merchant. Zhongli took the pair of Jade and pocketed them. Some would wonder where he’d put all of these wonders, and he would never tell.

“Shall we eat, then?”

The boy looked up and blinked at the sun.

“Yeah but we gotta hurry. I have a training session right after lunch and it’s hard enough to keep these rat-tags together at the best of circumstances.”

The harbinger Tartaglia, the boy meant. Often, Zhongli had been tempted to sneak after the boy, trying to catch a glimpse of his real contact. But he, perhaps most of all, knew how difficult it could be to maintain their secret identity.

“Is it hard to train new recruits?”

Childe shrugged. “No, not really. It’s more about what they expect, you know? I’m not the boot camp. I’m not evaluating them, they’re already in. They just have no idea how to properly hold their weapon the right way around. I swear, I have held so many rifles in my life that you’d think I’d be replacing my bow. And you know the worst? The Hydro Gunners keep coming to me like I know what they’re doing. Just shoot your bubbles, man! I’ve never had a tank like that before.”

“You hold a hydro vision, though.”

“Yeah, but do I look like a healer to you? I heal my enemies from their pain by ending their misery. But somehow they expect me to know how theirstuff works. Just hit stuff until it works, it’s not that difficult.”

They arrived at Wanmin Restaurant and Chef Mao came to their table. Apparently, Xiangling was out today, gathering ingredients.

“We’ll take the Chicken Tofu Pudding and the Cured Pork Dry Hotpot, please.”

Childe smiled at him. “We should take a walk sometime.”

“Childe, we take walks all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, but I meant outside! Outside the Harbour. I haven’t really been, you know? There’s so much for me to do in the city that I haven’t really gotten a chance to see the landscape. And I figured, since you know everything about Liyue, you’d be a perfect tour guide!”

That was true. Childe had been for about two weeks and he had seldom left the Bank without Zhongli’s company. A young boy like Childe would grow restless in a city like this, especially considering how he’d grown up in a small village surrounded by trees. So he nodded.

“If your training session does not take too long, we may take stroll tonight.”

The training session did indeed not take long and Zhongli presumed that Childe had simply left early since the real harbinger was going to lead the training anyway.

Brash as ever, Childe stormed the Parlour and leaned over the counter, staring expectedly at Zhongli. He was not deterred though and kept going through his papers.

“Yaahoo, who are you?!”

Oh no. He forgot about Director Hu. He would –

“Hi, I’m Childe! Are you the leader here?”

“Before you stands mighty Hu Tao, 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour! Are you the guy who keeps stealing my consultant?”

Childe laughed. “Indeed I am! In fact, I’m here to steal him away again.”

“Hmmm, you have the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen. You’ll be a customer soon, yeah? If you sign up now, I can give you a coupon.”

Childe waved his hand. “Thanks, but I’m not going to die here. If I do, it’ll be in the cold embrace of my home. But I’ll take coupons!”

Hu Tao grinned and shoved them into Childe’s hands. “Effective only if used within three weeks!”

“Well, I’ll be sure to drop some bodies, then.”

Zhongli stood up quickly before this could escalate any further.

“Childe, let us leave lest it gets too late.”

“Oh, right! Bye, Hu Tao! It was nice meeting you!”

Zhongli practically dragged him out of the Parlour before Hu Tao could respond.

“I had no idea the Director was that young!”

“She has taken over at a very young age, indeed. At some times, I think she does not respect the dead enough, but she is surprisingly loyal to the traditions.”

As Zhongli was dragging him away, Childe looked over his shoulder, seemingly deep in thoughts.

“Anyway, where are we going?”

“It’s a place called Yaoguang Shoal. You will like it.”

“Looks peaceful,” Childe commented and Zhongli nodded.

“There is little here for the Treasure Hoarders to find here. This place is not known for its hidden treasures.”

Childe crossed his arms and looked over to the shore.

“My siblings would love to run across here, I bet.”

“Oh?”

Childe grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to do that back home, you know? They could even run bare-foot here. You know what...”

The boy turned over and got rid of his shoes, wiggling his toes into the sand. He grabbed Zhongli’s hand and pulled them both down onto the ground.

“Let’s watch the sunset, yeah?”

Zhongli complied. There was, after all, no reason not to.

“What are these called?”

Childe had picked up a conch and held it up to Zhongli’s face.

“They are called Starconches. They say if you hold it to your hear, you can hear the longing call of the sea.”

The boy held the starconch up into the sky, looking at it. “I’ve never seen a seashell with a star on it.”

He proceeded to hold it next to his ear, looking at his toes that were still buried in the sand. He seemed to be listening intently. Then, he laughed.

“Oh, what a siren call indeed. It’s like a call from the very deepest depth, from within all the endless void and darkness at the bottom of the world. So enticing, but I’m not going to drown.” A moment of pause. Then: “No use in hiding back there!”

In a flash, Childe was standing upright, a spear made out of hydro in his hands. Zhongli had barely enough time to turn around to see the Treasure Hoarders before Childe ran over to them.

With each of his attacks, Childe’s weapon shifted fluidly between the spear and what seemed to be two daggers. The red scarf on his back was glimmering with pure hydro energy as Childe spun around himself to knock the Treasure Hoarders out.

The boy turned around, shouldering his spear and grinning at Zhongli. “Do you think that there are any Ruin Guards about?”

~*~

Childe was not on the Guili Plains. After hearing the harbinger had gone there just days prior, Zhongli believed he might’ve returned but there were no hydro traces of his friend.

Why are there no Glaze Lilies on Guili Plains?

Zhongli looked at the desolate plains. He still remembered a time in which the Lilies would bloom plenty. In his ears, he could still hear Guizhong’s song to them. He has never been able to sing it, no matter how hard he tried. But right now, she didn’t matter.

Zhongli turned around again to head to Yaoguang Shoal, hoping to find Childe there. Alas, he was disappointed.

Where else could the young harbinger be?

Maybe... the sword. He closed his eyes. He might be able to find the sword. He’s carried it for so long, there were still so many traces of himself left behind. But he couldn’t concentrate. There were too many thoughts in his head. What if the harbinger was dead? No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t die this easily.

Zhongli opened his eyes again and looked down. There was a starconch lying in the sand. He bent down to pick it up. A conch, carried up to the shore from the depths... Childe liked them. They were a lot like him, he had said. Zhongli had never been sure he understood. Geographically, Snezhnaya was not lower than Liyue. But there had always been something about Childe, something that hadn’t seemed quite right. His eyes, of course, but there had also been the general feeling of... of something beyond this world. Like the boy had been claimed by something else, but Zhongli had never been able to put his finger on it – not that it had ever mattered this far.

Why couldn’t this shell lead him to Childe?

Not wanting to crush it, he threw it back into the ocean. The water rippled for a moment, then the surface stilled once again.

The rock persisted for centuries. Unaffected by the wind and the weather, it was to remain forever. And yet, recently, the tide had been rising and the water hit against the stone. Stubbornly, the stone would endure the fluid form and persist still.

But in the battle of adaptability and endurance, adaptability would always win; and the water tore the rock down. The stone would crumble; and the pillar would be no more. The rocks fell deep, deeper than they ever had before and the water caught them gently in their embrace.

Embraced by the deepest depths, the stone would remain forever more, gently floating away, having overseen the world for long enough.

And if the rock would ever tire, the tide would gently carry the stone to the shore.

Zhongli turned, and left the shore behind. The water was gently lapping at the sand, washing the starconch back ashore. The star in the middle of it shimmered in a gentle blue.

*

Everything inside him called him to Nantianmen. He was not sure why, but he was not one to ignore a feeling like that when he had deliberately been looking for it. There were a lot of monsters and Treasure Hoarders in the area, so that might be why Childe had been heading there. It was worth a try.

The Old Stone in his pocket gave a slight hum, but Zhongli did not have the mind to listen to it.

Nantianmen was eerily quiet. Normally, one could hear the Hillichurls running around, but now there was just dead silence. Something had happened here and Zhongli had the uneasy feeling that Childe might be at the middle of it.

Ever the eye of the storm.

“Not a step closer!”

The voice rung out across the field. It was distorted but Zhongli recognised the voice. It was Childe. He started running.

There was a mass of Ruin Guards and Hunters in front of Azhdaha’s tree. And there was something else. Something twice the size of a human floating in the air, with a cape made out of stars. Zhongli did not recognise the body, but it was Childe’s voice. And judging by the pile of destroyed Ruin Guards, he had been here a while. There were still so many...

“Childe”, he shouted as he ran over.

The boy... turned his head.

“Xianshen –“

He didn’t get to finish as a Ruin Hunter had been charging up his drill to promptly launch forward to attack him with it. Due to Zhongli’s interference, Childe was not able to evade the attack and got thrown back at the tree behind him. Zhongli saw the boy glow and shrink in size before he fell down to the ground, not to move again. He barely saw the jade sword fall next to him.

No.

Childe always got up immediately after being struck down.

Zhongli could only stare for four painfully long seconds before he decided to take revenge. He didn’t know what brought the Ruin Guards here or how Childe was able to transform the way he did or why any of this was happening at all – all he knew was that he wouldn’t let a friend die in vain once again.

Morax was far from dead; and these enemies would know.

Gently carried by the waves, the rock saw more of the world than the pillar ever could have. The tide was careful to not jostle it too much and to carry it great distances before slowing down, allowing the stone to rest.

Countless fish and sea-creatures would come up to the rock but the sea gently carried it away. The rock was thankful and it appreciated the small whales coming with them.

“I am tired,” the rock would say to the waves. “I have overseen it all for too long. But how will they fare without my pillar?”

The water did not answer, but it changed course. It carried the rock back to the start, so that the stone could see: nothing had changed. The pillar was forever gone, and in time, it would be forgotten. Rock would forever endure, until it would ebb away with the tide.

“Take me away,” the stone requested, “show me your beginning. And when you end, I shall end with you. Until that day, let your tide carry me until I erode away.”

As the Ruin Hunters lay dead to his feet, Rex Lapis took a heavy breath. Without a second thought, he spun around and ran up to the boy that was still lying on the ground. He was breathing, right? But there was blood.

“Childe,” he whispered as he gathered his friend into his arms and brushed a strand of hair aside. This couldn’t be like Guizhong all over again, he wouldn’t be able to take it. The boy groaned and shifted a bit.

“Xiansheng...?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

The boy blinked and slowly his eyes focused on Rex Lapis.

“Oh wow... I didn’t know you had horns.”

Morax didn’t understand, but it also didn’t matter. “Please. Are you in pain? What do I do?”

Childe laughed a bit. “It’s... don’t worry, yeah? It’s nothing a little herbs and bandages can’t fix, right? I’m more exhausted than I am hurt.”

“You are bleeding.”

“Oh believe me, I know. It’s okay though. Still, I... I should probably bandage it, right? I don’t wanna pass out.”

Morax sprang into action. “Don’t worry, baobei, I will take care of it.”

Childe blinked at him hazily as he removed his jacket and started wrapping it around the boy’s torso.

“...that looks kinda ineffective.”

“This is all I have. I will take you to the Harbour immediately.”

Gently, Rex Lapis gathered the boy in his arms to begin the trek back to the Harbour. Childe’s grip on the sword handle was steady.

“They were attacking the tree,” he said after a few minutes of walking. Morax could tell he was about to fall asleep.

“You were protecting it?”

“No, I came here because I heard about the Ruin Guards. But then I saw them attacking the tree and I... I didn’t want to, but I had to. It’s where... it’s where you sealed Azhdaha, right?”

Rex Lapis just nodded.

“I thought I could take them all on, but they just kept coming. Your sword did good damage but I needed something bigger.”

“Which is why you... transformed.”

“Yes,” was all Childe replied.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Childe pressed his forehead against Morax’ neck.

“I wanna see the shore.”

“Childe, you’re hurt. Baobei, I need to take you to the Pharmacy.”

“Please.”

So Rex Lapis turned and walked to Yaoguang Shoal.

“Tell me a story,” the young boy asked.

“Please, baobei, let me take you to the Harbour,” Rex Lapis pleaded.

“You can. Just one story. Just tell me one story to fall asleep to. I won’t die. The tide’s not gone yet. I won’t go anywhere just yet, alright? Just one story, alright? Please.”

“Once, a long time ago, Rex Lapis encountered a young boy. The boy would never walk beside the god, but the god would always follow. The god was as steady as stone, but the boy was like the tides, ever-changing, ever-evolving and forever coming back.

Rex Lapis would oversee his country for eternity, and always he would watch the waves, wondering just when they would erode him. Perhaps, the god thought, perhaps erosion would not be the worst if it meant flowing like the tides.

After all, the boy would gift him a starconch, telling stories of a far-too-distant shore.”

In his arms, Childe had fallen asleep. The water was gently lapping at their feet and a starconch was washed ashore. Rex Lapis picked it up and put it gently into Childe’s arms. Carefully, he picked the young boy up and made the long walk back to Liyue Harbour.

Behind him, there was a singular rock carried by the waves.

As Zhongli and Childe disappeared from view, so did the rock vanish as if it had never been there.

[valdomarx]

Geralt thinks he might be losing his mind.

He’s distracted, and short-tempered, even more so than usual. Every time he looks at Jaskier his heart rate rockets and his palms start sweating.

He can’t stop noticing Jaskier, everything he does, the way he stands, the way he moves, the way he nibbles his bottom lip when he’s thinking. He can’t focus, and if he can’t get this under control he’s going to get one or both of them killed.

His first thought is magic. Some kind of spell, maybe. But his medallion is still against his chest, and when he surreptitiously stops by a herbalist’s shop in a nearby town, the woman there finds no trace of a spell or curse on him.

Perhaps, he thinks, the problem is Jaskier. He’s wondered why Jaskier doesn’t seem to age, and how he has the energy to traipse across the continent after him. Perhaps Jaskier is hiding a secret. Perhaps he’s not as human as he seems.

Jaskier could be a siren. That would explain how he can enchant a crowd with a simple song, as Geralt has seen him do a hundred times, and how he could have enchanted Geralt as well. But when Geralt hands him his silver sword, ostensibly to hold while he cleans out their packs, Jaskier’s skin doesn’t smoke or burn. Instead, he turns the sword over in his hands, inspecting the sleek blade and the tightly bound leather of the grip. He runs a thumb over the edge to check its sharpness and nicks himself, clumsy as ever. Before Geralt can berate him, he brings his thumb up to his mouth, and then Geralt is distracted all over again by the way Jaskier sucks the digit between his plump lips, and that’s just not fair.

Maybe Jaskier is an incubus. That would make sense, given his fondness for the ladies and his obvious good looks. But if he’s been filing down his horns all this time, he’s done an awfully good job of it. Geralt finds an excuse to run a hand through Jaskier’s hair, and he doesn’t feel any bumps beneath his fingers. But Jaskier does lean into his touch, smiling softly, and Geralt’s heart flutters in a most unhelpful way.

.

Just because Geralt is dealing with an unwelcome onslaught of feelings, that doesn’t mean he has to make it Jaskier’s problem. He does his best to maintain the usual tone of their interactions: gruff and to the point. Businesslike. Practical.

He thinks he’s doing rather well at that. At least until they stop at a tavern and Jaskier performs for the locals, catching the eye of a pretty girl.

Geralt waits for Jaskier to head to the bar and he does, perhaps, talk a little louder than is strictly necessary about the horrible monsters which stalk anyone close to a witcher. And he does, perhaps, feel a mean twist of satisfaction when the pretty girl’s face pales and she runs from the tavern.

He feels a little bit guilty when Jaskier returns to find her gone, but Jaskier looks tired anyway and readily takes him up on the suggestion that they retire for the night, so he can’t have been that disappointed after all.

But when Geralt returns from washing and walks into their room he stops dead, feet frozen on the threshold. Because Jaskier is there, lounging on the bed. And he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts and nothing else. The black shirt hangs off his frame in a manner that’s somehow more obscene than if he’d just been naked.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Geralt manages to growl, and his voice only cracks a little bit.

“My clothes all need washing.” Jaskier shrugs, and the collar of the shirt slides down to reveal more of the smooth planes of his shoulder and the dark hair dusting his chest. Geralt can’t stop staring. “I borrowed this from your pack. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Geralt concentrates on getting his legs to work and takes a few steps toward the bed. Up close, it’s even worse. Jaskier smells like Geralt. No, he smells like he’s Geralt’s.

His bard in his shirt in his bed.

Something primal and possessive thrums through him, and he can’t tear his eyes away from how the black fabric highlights the pale skin of Jaskier’s throat, the way the hem of the shirt floats around the meat of his thighs. Blood pounds in his ears.

“Are you coming to bed then?” Jaskier asks, an impish smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Bed. Right. For sleeping. That’s what they’re supposed to be doing.

Stiffly, keeping his eyes firmly averted, he manages to climb into bed and resist the urge to tear the shirt off Jaskier and do.... something unwise. He curses his luck that the bed is so small, with barely enough room to keep a decent amount of space between them.

He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. As long as he doesn’t turn his head and look at Jaskier, everything will be fine.

Jaskier fusses and rearranges himself several times, energetic as ever, but Geralt steadfastly ignores him and soon enough he’s rolled over onto his side, back to Geralt, and fallen asleep.

Geralt allows his eyes to flick over Jaskier’s sleeping form then, and it still strikes him as astonishing that anyone could feel safe and trusting enough to sleep next to a witcher. But there Jaskier is, content to the point of naivety, vulnerable and fearless.

In sleep, Jaskier’s face softens and he looks even younger than usual, his typically animated features relaxed into something graceful and delicate. He sleeps soundly, unconcerned by the voices from the bar downstairs or the rustle of the nearby trees in the wind.

Geralt is fidgety and on edge, every sound blaring into his consciousness. He’s exquisitely aware of the feel of the rough cotton sheet beneath him, the warmth pouring off Jaskier, the gentle rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest, the comparatively furious rhythm of Jaskier’s heartbeat.

It takes him many, many hours, but eventually he sleeps.

.

Geralt wakes the next morning warm and comfortable, with a low thrum of pleasure spreading throughout his body. Something feels good, really good, and as he rolls his hips the pleasure spikes, heady and potent, waves of satisfaction running through him like the ocean lapping at a sandy beach.

He nuzzles into something soft and familiar, a soothing, spicy scent washing over him, a distant thrill of mounting gratification building inside him. Whatever this is, he's greedy for more of it.

It takes a few minutes until he wakes up fully and realises that he’s shifted in the night: His face is nestled into Jaskier’s hair, his arm is around Jaskier’s waist, his leg is thrown over Jaskier’s hip, and his dick is rock hard and  grinding up against Jaskier’s arse.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He stills, trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to extract himself from this situation without making it any more embarrassing than it already is. He’s planning his exit strategy, trying to untangle their limbs, trying to keep his breath low and steady so as not to betray his roiling emotions, and then Jaskier’s hand curls around his and squeezes.

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier says, voice thick with sleep, face still buried in the pillow.

And that’s. Gods. That’s exactly what he wants to hear, on one level, and some kind of tantalising torment on another. Because Jaskier surely can’t mean that, he can’t seriously want some lust-addled witcher rutting up against him. Who would want that?

Jaskier continues to defy his expectations, though, and rucks up his shirt to his waist to expose his bare ass, and Geralt can’t stop the little gasp that escapes his throat at that.

“C’mon,” Jaskier says, voice still thick but undeniably awake now, and Geralt is weak because before he can get a hold of himself he’s shoving his own shorts down and rubbing up against the soft swell of Jaskier’s ass, warm and smooth and deliriously good.

His cock slides between Jaskier’s thighs and Jaskier squeezes, and he’s dizzy with it for a minute, the heat and the scent of Jaskier and the strong grip of muscles around his cock. He fucks between Jaskier’s legs with abandon, and judging by the way Jaskier reaches down and furiously jerks himself off he’s enjoying it plenty too.

If Geralt cranes his neck he can just see the tip of his cock sliding between Jaskier’s legs, periodically bumping up against his balls or rubbing against Jaskier’s hand where he’s working himself.

He grabs onto Jaskier’s hips and holds on tight, tight enough that he’s going to leave bruises if he’s not careful, and then he’s picturing Jaskier walking around for days with impressions on his skin in the exact shape of Geralt’s spread fingers, marked and owned. That’s really all it takes to push him over the edge, and the next thing he knows he’s coming all over Jaskier’s ass and thighs with a low moan.

He nestles closer, making an utter mess of both of them but he doesn’t care, he just wants to feel Jaskier in his arms and smell that maddening scent that’s been hovering around him for days. They’re so close that he can feel Jaskier’s approaching orgasm, feel the way his muscles clench and his toes curl, and feel the moment he lets go and comes with a breathy sound over his hand and the bed and Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt winces. He’s going to have to burn that shirt, because it’s now covered in both of their seed and he’ll never be able to look at it again without thinking of this morning and this moment, and that’s not the kind of reminder he needs.

They lie there for a time, bodies intertwined, just breathing together. Soon Geralt knows he’ll have to push himself up and clean himself off and go back to pretending that this... whatever it is between them... is enough for him, that he’s happy, that he‘s getting what he wants.

His heart aches at the thought of slipping back into their routine of bickering or casual friendship, interspersed with moments of unspoken lust. Not that he doesn’t want that, he certainly does, but he longs for something more. He doesn’t know how to name it, but he knows what he wants is too much for someone like him to ask for.

Still, for now, he lets himself inhale Jaskier’s scent and feel Jaskier’s solid weight in his arms, and he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of what life might look like if this were something he could actually have.

[omgrachwrites]

Too Different - Frank Castle

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Summary: When a familiar face stumbles into the lobby of your apartment building, you take it upon yourself to tend to him. Reigniting feelings you haven’t felt in a while.

Warnings: mentions of blood, fluff, ooc Frank (probably)

Words: 2329

Disclaimer: Frank will probably be occ and this gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: This is the sequel to Park Avenue Princess, but you can read this one on its own, I’m thinking of making a series of one shots about Frank! I just started watching The Punisher and I was thrown off by how nice Frank is to Sarah and Karen! This is set before the events of The Punisher! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think! I love you all xxx

You heaved out a heavy sigh as you stepped out of the cab with a box of donuts in hand; another day of working a job that you hated was over. Fixing a smile on your face, you walked into the lobby of your apartment building that was always pleasant and bright. It smelled of sweet flowers and you smiled as you spotted the vase of white lilies on the front desk.

Henry, your kindly old doorman smiled at you warmly as you walked up to him and lifted the lid to the box of donuts, offering him one, “Miss Y/N, you spoil me,” he chuckled as he took a glazed donut for himself and a chocolate one for his wife, as usual, “how was your day?”

You shrugged as you grimaced, “the same as usual.”

Henry sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder, “don’t waste your time doing a job that you hate, kid.”

Before you could tell him that it was expected of you, a loud thudding sound against the floor startled you. With wide eyes you whirled around to see a man all dressed in black slumped against the golden marble floor. Without thinking twice, you ran up to the man, gasping when you noticed a thick patch of red in his side, blossoming by the second. He’d been shot and in serious need of help.

You looked at his face and realised with a jolt that it was the same man that had kindly helped you into a cab, on the night when you had practically run away from Matt. You never thought you’d see him again; you didn’t even want to see him again. You cupped his handsome face, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingers.

“Hey, you need help, let me call someone.”

With a groan, he opened his eyes and shook his head, “no, no hospital. I must be dead because you’re definitely an angel,” he laughed but seconds later, it turned into a wince, “I’ll be fine,” he tried to get up, groaning in pain as he lay back down on the floor.

An amused smile spread against your lips as he felt well enough to flirt with you, “well, if you don’t want a hospital then you have to at least let me help you, you’re losing a lot of blood,” without waiting for a reply you looked at Henry, “can you help me?”

Henry nodded, eyeing you warily as he helped you haul the stranger to the elevator, “are you sure about this, Y/N?”

You nodded, this stranger had helped you when you were upset, it was only a little thing but you had appreciated it. It seemed unwise but you wanted to help him.

A muscle clenched in Henry’s jaw, “he tries anything, then you call me. Promise me.”

You huffed out a laugh, “I promise, thank you, Henry,” you smiled as the doors closed and the elevator took you up to your penthouse.

You managed to drag the tall man into your apartment and laid him down on your brand new sofa, wincing as you realised that he was going to bleed all over it. You made sure that he wasn’t going to die from loss of blood before running into the kitchen to grab the supplies that you needed to remove a bullet and close the wound.

“You a doctor or somethin’, lady?” he hissed through his teeth as you gently lifted his shirt and poured the whiskey over his wound, trying to ignore the sight of his rock hard abs. You lifted an eyebrow as you pressed the lip of the bottle to his mouth. He gratefully gulped down the strong amber liquid, nodding at you in thanks.

“I used to be a med student,” you smiled sadly, watching his eyebrows knit together in confusion, “but don’t worry, I still remember how to successfully close a wound and get a bullet out,” you laughed but to your ears it sounded forced and hollow.

The man was silent as you tended to him but you could feel his dark eyes burning into you. When you glanced up, you were thrown off by how gentle and soft his eyes were, he was a man who liked like he could snap you like a twig but he regarded you with so much kindness that it almost brought you to tears.

“I remember you,” he whispered, “you were so upset, were you okay? Did anybody hurt you?”

You bit your lip as you dug into his wound with tweezers and managed to pull out the bullet after a few minutes of rooting round. He hardly even winced, “you’ve got a high pain threshold,” you smiled, changing the subject.

The handsome stranger laughed, it was a deep rich sound that made warmth spread throughout your body, “it’s not the first time that I’ve been shot.”

You paused your movements as fear ripped through your body like a white hot knife. What sort of man had you brought into your home? You should have judged him by the way he looked.

He must have seen the look on your face because he smiled, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, “I was a Marine, in Afghanistan. I promise that I’m not going to hurt you, miss…” he trailed off and raised an eyebrow at you questioningly.

“Y/N, my name is, Y/N.”

“I’m Frank,” he gave you a cheeky grin that made you flush as you got to work on closing his wound.

It was quick work, Frank was silent and he didn’t complain but he turned down the aspirin that you offered him. You were strangely worried about him, though he was clearly a man that could take care of himself, “you should stay here, you’ll be safe. Whoever shot you will be looking for you. The sofa is comfier than the spare bed, I’ll get you some blankets,” you offered him a small smile.

Frank swallowed as he looked away from you, you could tell that he wanted to argue so you were surprised when he gave you a curt nod, “thank you, Y/N.”

You smiled at him as you stood up, “you’re welcome, Frank.”

You had a restless night of sleep but you were in a good mood when you woke up. Whether it was the beautiful weather that sparkled through your bedroom window or the handsome man that was sleeping in your living room, you weren’t quite sure. Your happiness popped like a bubble when you walked into your living room and saw that there was no sleeping man on your couch.

He’d folded up the blanket ever so neatly and when you padded over, you noticed that he’d left a note on top of the blanket. It only had two words, scrawled in messy handwriting, “thank you.”

You tried to ignore the bitter sting of disappointment as you went about your day but it was no use. That gorgeous injured ex-Marine would soon become a distant memory, perhaps it was for the best, you were obviously from two very different worlds. Your family would never approve. You tried to get on with your day and forget about him but it was easier said than done. Frank had made a big impact.

A couple of nights later, you were answering a couple of work emails and cooking your grandmother’s famous pasta dish, when there came a knock on your door. You frowned as you stared at it, normally your friends would call you to let you know that they were coming over. When you opened the door, your heart leapt in your chest as you saw who was standing on the other side.

Frank was holding a bouquet of daisies; he looked gorgeous dressed in a leather jacket and a white shirt that stretched taut across his muscles. His smile faltered ever so slightly as his eyes trailed down your body. You wondered if he was silently judging you for the designer labels you were wearing. You were happy to see him.

“Frank! What are you doing here?” at your question you could have sworn that he blushed and chuckled as he averted his eyes.

“I um, I wanted to properly thank you,” he gestured at the flowers, “I’m not even sure if you like daisies,” he bit his lip and held out the flowers, “I’m sorry that I left without saying anything, I didn’t want to outstay my welcome.”

You smiled and took the flowers from him, “they’re beautiful, Frank. Thank you, and you wouldn’t have outstayed your welcome,” Frank grinned before arranging his face into a stoic expression but it was still a look that made your heart flutter, “would you like to stay for dinner?” you asked without thinking, eager to spend more time with him and know him better, “I always make enough pasta for a small army.”

Frank opened his mouth and you were frightened that he was going to say no, “I shouldn’t,” he bit his lip as your heart dropped with disappointment, “I shouldn’t even have come here,” he swallowed and made to turn away before you stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the hard plane of muscle.

“I don’t mind that you came here, I like the company actually,” you laughed nervously and Frank’s face softened as he smiled at you.

“Sure, why not,” he shrugged, “I guess that I can stay for dinner,” he grinned and you ushered him into your apartment.

You busied yourself with putting the gorgeous flowers in water while Frank looked around your penthouse with interest. You wondered whether he felt out of place, “this is a real nice place you got here, Y/N,” he mumbled, “I didn’t realise while I was bleeding out on your sofa,” he chuckled as he looked out of the massive windows at the glittering city below.

“Thanks,” you smiled, “I love it here, whiskey or wine, Frank?”

Frank turned back to you with an eyebrow raised; he screwed up his face like it was the hardest decision in the world, “err, whiskey. Thanks, Y/N,” he grinned as he joined you in the kitchen, “would you like a hand with anything?”

You were struck by how nice this menacing looking man was and how safe you felt when you were with him, “I’ve got it, thank you anyway,” you smiled as you poured him his drink.

“This is so good,” Frank groaned, the deep sound of it made you clench your thighs together, as he looked at you with approval and shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth, “it’s been a while since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”

You laughed as you took a delicate sip of your wine, “it was my grandmother’s recipe, she told me to guard it with my life,” you winked at him.

Frank lifted his gaze from his plate to smirk at you, “I’ll take it to my grave,” he chuckled as he placed a hand over his heart. He paused as he took a swallow of whiskey as he regarded you with his deep brown eyes, “are you a doctor, Y/N? You told me that you used to be a med student but you patched me up with expertise.”

You sighed as you shook your head, pushing your food around your plate, the memory still stung, “no, I’m not a doctor. I dropped out of med school a couple of years in.”

Frank furrowed his brow as he swirled around the whiskey in his glass, “why?”

You raised an eyebrow at him as your lips parted, your ex-boyfriend, Matt hadn’t even cared enough to ask. You were touched that a man who was little more than a stranger wanted to know, “my parents forced me to,” your voice wasn’t harsh but it had a sharp and final tone to it.

Frank nodded as a look of understanding washed over his face, “I get it, I’m sorry for asking. Though, I would have thought your parents would be proud of you.”

You laughed bitterly, you thought the same thing, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Frank was a closed off man and you vaguely wondered what had made him that way. He mostly talked about his time in the Marines which you both bonded over, since your dad had once been a military man. In turn, you complained about your job, making sure not to tell him too much. You were worried that he would think that you were a spoiled brat.

It was a nice night, full of conversation; it was the best conversation that you’d had with an attractive man in a while.

Frank smiled at you as he stood in the doorway, “thank you for dinner, Y/N. You’re too kind,” he squeezed your elbow gently.

You bit your lip and watched his eyes follow the movement as you ran your tongue over it, you wanted to kiss him. But, you weren’t sure whether he was married or with anyone, he definitely hadn’t mentioned anyone. You decided that you couldn’t risk it; you’d be so embarrassed if he rejected you.

“It’s no problem at all, Frank. Will I see you again?” you tried not to make your voice too hopeful, you wanted to see him again.

He smirked as he raised an eyebrow and lifted a shoulder, “maybe,” he grinned and strode down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder at you.

When you were safely behind your closed door, you finally let out a breath that you didn’t realise that you’d been holding. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and you smiled to yourself as you thought about Frank. It could never work out, you were just two different, and it would be a mistake. A wonderful mistake.

You walked over to your refrigerator to grab the bottle of wine and you saw a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter. It had Frank’s number on it.

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

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​

[berrydoodleoo]

FFXIVWrite 2021: foster

“Well, my dear.” Master Matoya stepped past Y’shtola to look at the new crater in her underground lab. She’d stopped it from filling with water via a handy spell, but repairing the ruined brick and pipes was going to be a more physical sort of challenge. “Regardless of what stories Mr. Kribbet has been telling about my memory, I certainly won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon.” Matoya paused thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any student who was such an unmitigated disaster.”

Green eyes hidden by her sodden white bangs, Y’shtola growled under her breath and stomped a foot indignantly. Her wet shoe made a little squish.

Matoya rounded on her, quick as a snake. “And what was that, Y’shtola?”

Her last student, some twenty-odd years past, would have been scrambling at her tone. Y’shtola simply glared out from under her bangs. “Nothing, Master Matoya.”

“What was that? Hm? Can’t hear you when you mumble.” Matoya poked her with her walking stick.

Y’shtola batted it away indignantly. “I didn’t say anything!”

Technically true. Well, her lab might be ruined, but the girl’s spirit was certainly intact. And she had other labs.

“I think I will put you to studying white magic, for a time,” Matoya finally concluded. “At least you’re less likely to blow the roof off the place that way. When you’re grown and safe in your own lab, you can practice more destructive magics at your leisure.”

She turned, and found the girl gaping at her, eyes gone shiny. “What’s this, then?” Matoya demanded, startled.

“Then…” Y’shtola took a deep breath. “Then I can stay? I can -- I can still be your student?”

Matoya regarded her silently. The girl was barely an adolescent, still young and insecure, lost in her herd (or should that be pack?) of older, talented sisters. Perhaps her insecurity, hidden though it was, wasn’t such a surprise. A bit of careful tutelage might help with that, Matoya mused -- tutelage, yes, nothing else, certainly not parenting. Even if her young, overlooked student could benefit from it.

“Provided you do one thing for me.” Matoya stepped forward smoothly. “You almost drowned here, you know. That whirlpool would have sucked you under and held you till you’d stopped kicking if not for my timely arrival.”

Y’shtola withdrew into herself, but only momentarily: “Just tell me what I need to do! I’ll do it!” She stood tall, only her lashing tail betraying her uncertainty. “Is it the spell? Do I need to master the spell? I almost had it--”

“Quiet,” Matoya interrupted. Y’shtola fell silent. “No, it’s not the spell. It’s not my job to teach you forbidden spells, girl, just to fish you out when you go falling in. And if you’re going to keep learning forbidden spells -- and I can see by the light in your eyes that you are -- you need to learn something much, much more valuable than magic.”

Matoya held out her hand. With the other, held behind her back, she summoned the Crystal Eye and drew upon its bottomless strength. Her extended hand shone briefly with silver light, a small shield spell that was powerful enough to make Y’shtola recoil. When the light faded, the girl looked at her questioningly, and then took her aged hand in her small brown one.

“You are going to learn to hold on,” Matoya informed her grimly. “Not just with your hands, but your whole self. All your magic, and all your soul. Beyond all good sense and reason. If you can hold tightly enough to break my shield, I’ll keep you as my student.”

Of course, it was a trick. No amount of effort a child could bring to bear would shatter a shield from the Crystal Eye. But as the girl gripped Matoya’s hand with both of hers, ears flattening and tail puffing as she summoned all of her physical strength and the impressive might of her magic, Matoya figured the trying would teach her a valuable lesson nonetheless.

(When the shield shattered, it left small scratches on the aether in Matoya’s hand, like little bolts of lightning carved into her bones. A careful spell or two, a little mental effort, and they would probably buff right out.

But she kept them anyway. As a reminder.)

~

Thancred had grown accustomed to rough-and-tumble on the streets of Limsa Lominsa. He’d fought his way to the top of his gang and led an attack on the meanest group of slavers the pirate city had even seen before his sixteenth birthday. He was used to tough going.

This … this was something else.

Louisoix snapped his fingers, and with a musical chime, the winds buffeting Thancred fell away. Thancred himself narrowly avoided landing fast-first in the mud, ending up on one knee instead. Panting, he sank back on his haunches.

“Not bad,” his … friend? Mentor? Teacher? Foster father? said. “You got much closer that time. However, I,” he jingled the bells in his left hand, “appear to be the victor once more.”

Thancred couldn’t help but grin ruefully, staring up at the string of golden bells. “Yes, Master Leveilleur,” he agreed. With a grunt, he pushed himself laboriously to his feet, until he could offer a proper bow to his sparring partner. “Maybe next time.”

The old man’s mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “Hope springeth eternal,” he agreed, sounding rather like Urianger. Both Louisoix and Thancred looked to the edge of the field, where Louisoix’s other student awaited his own duel; even from this distance, Thancred could see him fidgeting nervously.

“Hm, well, what lesson shall I impart today?” Louisoix wondered. Thancred stood at attention, waiting patiently. “I believe you’ve heard them all this point. You certainly don’t need the one about persistence in the face of failure.”

Thancred winced. Louisoix didn’t mean it as a barb, he was certain, but it landed like one nonetheless.

“No, not that one. Nor the one about the tree that bends, or the thrush that survives, or honor like an oasis in the desert.”

Louisoix dipped his chin in a nod. Thancred’s face heated, embarrassed and pleased, and he looked away. Everyone else in Sharlayan might see him a shiftless thief, and those who knew his story saw only an arrogant rogue who’d gotten his gang killed, but Louisoix knew what it had all been for. One day the Upright Thieves would stand tall again.

“No, none of that.” Louisoix pocketed his bells, and came forward to rest his hand on Thancred’s bowed head. “Perhaps I will simply say … never stop. Never hesitate. Never look back.” He thought back to the end of their duel, and imparted a bit of strategic advice: “And always be a moving target.”

~

E-Sumi-Yan lowered the old book as he reached the end of the passage. His students -- orphans and foundlings whom he’d helped raise since they were smaller than him, all of whom (even Nanayepi!) would now stand taller than if they weren’t kneeling respectfully -- waited in silence.

“For a time,” the head of the Conjurer Guild said, “this chapter of I-Ohok-Pota’s tale was censored from common texts, as it was believed to cast the Padjal in a dishonorable light. With it’s unearthing came much questioning of Stillglade Fane and the nature of the Light that powers our White Magic. Quite recently, there were even fears that the white mages could be corrupted and turned to monsters. It was within my lifetime, certainly.” He paused. “Perhaps not so recently, then.”

A gentle murmur of laughter trickled through the crowd. E-Sumi-Yan turned suddenly, picking someone from the crowd. “K'selh? Your thoughts?”

K'selh jumped at being so suddenly addressed. “I-- I--”

E-Sumi-Yan beckoned encouragingly. “Please be honest, K'selh. This is a safe space.”

“I … it’s only, stories like that.” K'selh paused. “They really make me question if I’m cut out to be a conjurer! I could never make a choice like that! I … I don’t mean to seem ungrateful to the Guild or the Elementals….”

E-Sumi-Yan nodded. “I understand. Of course, none of you are beholden to the Guild. We offer you this training to help you find your place in the world, not to trap you within the walls of the Fane, or the Shroud. If the conjurer’s path does not speak to you, it would be unwise to embark upon it.” He paused.

“I cannot lie,” he said, haltingly, his seemingly-boyish voice slower and darker than usual. “Such choices come often to our ilk. But we must remember that our lives are given in service to the Light and the common good. Sometimes we must let one perish in order to save the rest.” His eyes closed, and he looked very much like a child. “We do what we must, because there is no one else to do it for us.”

The pause stretched. Attempting to shake the darkness away, E-Sumi-Yan looked up, and it was by sheer coincidence that his and Talia’s gazes locked.

Talia blinked, startled, but didn’t flinch away. Unlike some of her other instructors, E-Sumi-Yan didn’t try to force her to speak in class -- he had an uncanny knack for only calling upon those who felt a need to speak and simply needed encouragement. He seemed almost as startled as she, his silvery eyes briefly unfocused, lips parting on some unheard word.

And then he blinked and looked away. The moment, like so many others before it, passed without a word.

“The next passage begins when the last left off,” E-Sumi-Yan said. He lifted the book, and continued reading.

~

Minfilia says goodbye to the twins and Y’shtola at Mord Souq, before she, Urianger, Thancred, and the Warriors of Darkness go their own way. Alisaie gives her a would-be casual hug, trying to hide her worry; Alphinaud stops frowning thoughtfully at her long enough to force a timid smile and wish her luck.

Y’shtola stands a bit aside, in a little pocket of shadow, blind eyes peering thoughtfully into the endless light. She beckons Minfilia closer, apart from the others.

“And have you made your choice?” Y’shtola asks, without preamble.

Minfilia glances aside, picking at a seam of her gloves. “I -- I … almost.”

Y’shtola’s eyes narrow, her expression fierce as the wind whips her hair too and fro. Minfilia says nothing more. On one hand, the urge to babble is strong --  to let all the uncertainty and agony come pouring out, to desperately hope that someone, anyone, will talk her out of her fate. On the other hand, she can already feel her chin wobbling, and knows if she says anything more she’ll start to cry.

“I see.” Y’shtola straightens. “Minfilia,” she starts, and then hesitates, brow furrowing. “No, that’s not ... I wish we knew your birth name, but I suppose it’s too late for that. And Minfilia is a good name. One you have certainly been worthy of.” She nods, decisive. “Minfilia.”

Minfilia takes a careful breath, only a little sniffle-y, and comes to attention.

“Whatever choice you make, make it with all your heart. Whatever doubts assail you, hold onto your decision with all your strength. I believe there is no end to the things you can do, if only you persist in the doing them.” Blind eyes bore into hers, seeming to peer into her small, unworthy soul. “Do you understand?”

Minfilia blinks back her tears, and tries for a smile. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

Y’shtola flinches and averts her face, suddenly sorrowful. But there’s no time to apologize; Minfilia’s destiny awaits.

~

“But what about you?” Minfilia cries.

Thancred unhooks his gunblade. ���Keep moving,” he orders her. “Keep your eyes on your target, and let nothing stop you. No matter what you hear behind you.” He hesitates, head bowing, and for a moment Minfilia thinks she might see her noble knight weep.

He turns away, voice gone choked. “And don’t look back.”

~

The air is quiet and hushed, where Minfilia -- the real Minfilia, not a pretender like her -- stopped the Flood and saved them all. “Whatever happens,” Minfilia whispers to Tally and Vahn, “you mustn't interfere.”

Vahn is plainly heartbroken, expression ravaged, but he nods. It’s Tally whose brow crumples in fierce anger, who kneels and pulls her into a hug. Hard enough to hurt. Minfilia’s composure, which has carried her through so much, falters and breaks at last. For just a moment, Minfilia hides her face in Tally’s white robes -- soft white, not cold and bright like the Light that surrounds them, comfortable and worn -- and searches for the determination and cunning Y’shtola and Thancred told her she had.

My friends, comes the Oracle’s voice, the Word of the Mother, like music. Minfilia gasps, struck by the familiar melody, and turns to find Minfilia -- the real Minfilia -- descending from the air to alight on the ground. She is barefoot and smiling, and it hurts to look at her, for all that she is less bright than everything else around her. Her terrible, shining eyes linger on Tally and Vahn for a long, long moment, her lips curving in a sad smile.

“I knew I could count on you,” the Oracle says to them. And then, at last, she directs her attention to her heir. She holds out her hands.

And Minfilia -- Minfilia steps forward, timid at first, and then with greater assurance -- she rushes forward to meet her, laughing in her amazement -- they are so similar! as if Minfilia was her mother in truth, and not just in her imaginings -- and for the first time Minfilia thinks she might be able to be brave, to go out into the world and be unafraid. And she knows she has made her choice at last.

[cordonian-literature]

Forever Mine

prologue

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and plans to make sure the Princess ends up with someone suitable. 

➺ a/n: so i got this idea for an evil-Liam fic, where the roles between him and Riley are switched, but they don’t meet the same way & nothing besides the Social Season is similar to things that happen in canon. basically, Liam is one of the higher-ups in Cordonia’s military (i don’t know much about militaries in a monarchy, so bear with me and keep in mind this is fiction) and yeah, it all just goes from there :) this might end up being a mess, but I hope you all enjoy it!

❦ word count: (+/-) 1195

➺ catch up here!

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Liam remembers his first audience with the royal family. He had become a General just a few weeks prior. The air had been tense, and the silence almost gave him a headache. The king had invited him to dinner with his family a week before — as Constantine’s declarations of war became more frequent, Liam’s superiors had confidently brought him to the table. The King was a witness to the crazy strategist who was willing to gamble everything on a whim. The king almost dismissed him from his presence, but again, the young General’s superiors were frighteningly confident with him. 

At the dinner, Princess Riley had quickly glanced between her father and her brother. Liam had heard that Prince Leo had come to the dinner reluctantly. Tired of the silence and aware that he had to impress the king, Liam effortlessly picked up a conversation with the young princess. The life in her eyes enraptured Liam. He had never been a lover of music, but her voice was a melody that only a goddess could create, and he wanted to listen to it nonstop.

But he told himself to not let his gaze linger on her for long. For one, he was there for the king, not the childish princess. The entire nation knew she was sheltered and unwise in the ways of governing. Many people spoke of her recklessness as well. 

Secondly, Liam knew the impression he made tonight could mean another promotion: in the past few days, the king had summoned Liam instead of the Commander that he had relied on most of his reign. Liam was not going to jeopardize this opportunity. 

And lastly, the difference between their statuses was too large for Liam to dream of any possibilities. No matter how hard he worked, in the eyes of society, he would never be good enough for her. More than that, they were from different worlds. She was expected to marry a well-known noble from one of the Great Houses, or perhaps her hand in marriage would be used as a peace treaty. 

So Liam turned his attention to His Majesty, and soon had Leo engaged in the conversation, too. He would accidentally glance in the princess’s direction a few times, and his heart would jump when he noticed her intense gaze on him. 

After that evening, Prince Leo always spoke comfortably with Liam, relying on him before having audiences with Constantine, and even inviting Liam out for an occasional drink. 

The next time he saw the princess was when he bumped into her and her childhood friends, Duchess Olivia of Lythikos and Drake the commoner. Riley had introduced Liam with words sweeter than candy, and he felt he would have died happy had those been the last words he heard. 

Liam and Drake already knew each other through Leo. Drake gave him a friendly pat on the back. Though the Duchess was polite, she had an edge to her tone. Riley asked if Liam would join them for dinner again. He was obligated to comply, but he wouldn’t have denied her for the world.

He slowly became close friends with Leo, Riley, and most of the people within their circle. He was only a bit older than them, but they shared common interests. Liam had never prioritized making or having friends, but not only was this group pleasantly sociable, but it also helped his public image. He maintained his focus on his duties as General, though, and always remembered to keep a distance from Riley. Though his heart longed for her love and attention, Liam had to convince himself that he was fine with a merely platonic relationship. 

Weeks later, when Prince Leo abdicated, Liam had been the one to hear Constantine curse his son while Leo packed his bags on the other side of the palace. Liam had seen the panic in Riley’s eyes. Liam had been the one to calm her, to tell her she would be the perfect queen, and he even offered to guide her through everything she was going to have to learn. 

Leo had believed that Liam sympathized with him, so the Prince had ranted about his father endlessly the night he left. Leo made Liam follow him out of the front door, and made him promise to watch after his sister. 

“Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble,” he had said with a smile. Liam knew that even though Leo had made such a request, he still had to keep his distance from her. “I wish I could stay and help her with the transition, but you know I just can’t be here.” 

“Of course,” Liam had stated, though he’d never be able to understand why a man would abandon his duty to his nation. Leo was also putting Riley in pain. He was going to leave her alone. Who could have the heart to leave such a precious soul? “We’ll all be here when you visit.” 

Leo had given Liam and brotherly hug, then got into a car and drove away. 

In the coming weeks, Riley had begun to see Liam as a useful source of knowledge and kept the young General on her side, even when the king demanded his presence. Liam taught her whatever she wished to know, and found her far more intelligent than people gave her credit for. Her presence was always a sweet blessing: her smile was enchanting, her focus never faltered from him, she was more optimistic and kind than anyone he had met. 

She never failed to make him happy and was always ready to cheer him up when a meeting with her father hadn’t gone as planned. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him. 

Becoming Commander had pushed Liam away from Riley further — it upset her, saying that she detested being pushed away from a close friend, and she constantly requested his presence during their free time. Even though most of his time was spent with the king or other advisors discussion Cordonian issues, he was eager to clear his schedule for her.

Liam joined the royal family for dinner almost every night, and he was practically living in the palace. He had noticed that the princess was making herself scarce after meals. This behavior of hers had lasted barely a week before Liam decided to investigate, Leo’s request to keep an eye on her echoing through his mind. 

Through the window, he sees her going into the garden. Liam found himself racing down the staircase and following in her direction.

Liam knew to stop when he heard a rough voice call out to her. “I’ve been waiting for you,” an unknown man says. 

The princess laughs, a sound which draws Liam to her, but he maintains a distance and hides himself from their view. He can’t hear what they say, but after a while the man walks away from the garden, passing by Liam’s hiding place. Formal clothing. A noble, Liam realizes. But who could it have been? 

He waits for an appropriate amount of time to pass before he comes out of his hiding place. 

“Riley?” he calls out to her. She always insisted the Commander call her by her first name. 

“Liam!” Her face lights up when she sees him. She pats the stone bench next to her, signaling him to sit. Though it would be improper, Liam knew that Riley wouldn’t stop insisting, and he hated to see her upset. 

“I’ve seen you come here often lately,” Liam says. He expects some kind of reaction from her, but she only smiles. 

“I like to think of my mother when I come here,” she states. “I’ve been thinking of her often as of late.” 

“May I ask why?” 

She doesn’t hesitate to continue on, and Liam’s heart swells at how comfortable she is around him. “I wish she would give me some advice about becoming queen.” After a pause, she continues, “But also...”

When she doesn’t continue, Liam prompts, “Also?” 

A gentle frown comes across her face. She lowers her voice. “There’s... this noble. From one of the lower houses. I... I think...” 

Another pause. Liam knows who she’s talking about. Is she in love with him? he wonders. What other reason would there be for her to mention him? 

“Your Social Season is about to begin soon,” Liam reminds her, partly hoping that would convince her to forget about that man. 

“Yes, but... say he was one of the contenders. Do you think maybe...” Her voice was as hopeful as a child’s. 

Liam stands from his seat next to her. He reaches for her delicate hands and raises it to his lips. “If he is worthy enough, then of course.” 

He leaves her in the garden and goes back to the palace. He knew that whoever that lesser noble was, he was in no shape or form worthy enough for his darling. 

Days before, Constantine had taken Liam’s advice when the king approached him and wondered if it was time to start his daughter’s Social Season. The only reason Liam agreed was because he knew he was in the perfect position to influence which man she would marry. Even if Riley felt that she was the one in control of her Social Season, she would be wrong; Liam was the one who knew who was good enough for her, and he planned to implement that knowledge during the season.

Liam thinks to himself for a while, and estimates that he can have that man gone by morning. Perhaps sooner, if he didn’t show up to dinner with his Majesty. 

Security footage provided Liam with the rooms he was occupying. He asked some servants for his name. After some research about the man and his reputation — something the princess clearly didn’t know about — Liam drafted a straightforward letter and had two of his inferiors deliver it, who were tasked with escorting him out of the palace. 

The next morning he found Riley crying in her quarters, a wrinkled letter in her hands. Liam’s heart gave a jolt, and he wondered if she had found Liam’s threatening letter. But as he entered her room, he saw that it was a different one. He wrote to tell her goodbye. He’s gone, Liam thinks to himself. 

He takes a seat next to her on the edge of her bed, Drake on the other side of her. Riley doesn’t hesitate to lean her head against Liam’s shoulder, and Drake goes to close the door. 

Once her crying slows down, Liam retrieves something from his back pocket, convinced it would make her feel better. He had been holding back his feelings, afraid that he would draw her away, but Liam still wanted to give her a token of his affection. 

A necklace. Immediately her tears subside. She turns her back to him, asking if he would help her put it on. 

Liam stops himself from caressing the smooth skin on the back of her neck, aware that Drake was still in the room. 

She walks towards her mirror and examines her new piece of jewelry. Liam stands behind her, and she gazes at him through the mirror. They make eye contact and, she quickly averts her eyes and blushes. 

The door opens. Riley’s handmaid, Maria, rushes towards her. Noticing tear stains on Riley’s face, the woman grabs a tissue. 

“The Masquerade Ball beings in a few hours,” Maria tells her. “It’d be best if we start getting ready.” 

“Of course,” Riley says. As Liam and Drake walk out the door, she offers the men a smile. 

“I feel like Constantine’s rushing the Social Season” Drake says to Liam when they leave her room. “Leo’s didn’t happen this quickly.”

“The King has his reasons,” Liam says, though he doesn’t know what they are. Maybe he’d ask His Majesty about it later. 

“Hm.” Drake gives Liam a pat on the back before walking off. Liam continues on his path towards the king’s office, itching to see the guest list and who exactly Riley’s suitors would be.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags :)

tags: @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ 

[sncwbaz]

left on read.

| Carry On Countdown | Day 5 | Nov. 29th 2020 | Sleepless | @carryon-countdown |

Once a year I rise from the ashes to write a fic for the Carry On Countdown. This time about troubled boys and their unexpected late night texts. I hope you enjoy.  

(This takes place somewhere before Wayward Son I think? Maybe?)

link to ao3

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He felt stupid about it, but there were times when Baz missed the Watford catacombs. He specifically missed them as he lay awake at unreasonable hours, with his head full of worries. He knew it wasn’t a good place to long back to. Not a good time in his life to long back to, either. However, it had been nice to have a place to retreat to when the voices in his head wouldn’t quiet down. It had been a good place to feel lonely; in the catacombs his loneliness just became part of the scenery, whereas in his London flat it turned the air so heavy that he felt constantly weighted down. 

It had been good to have a physical place to put his emotions. Now that he lacked such a place, he resulted to outsmarting and outrunning all the feelings and thoughts that tugged at him. 

Baz rolled over in his bed and reached for his phone, that he unwisely kept on his nightstand where it could act as a perfect distraction from sleeping. He knew he wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway, though, so it didn’t matter if the brightness of his phone screen kept him further from a proper night’s rest. If he found himself feeling nostalgic to his angst-ridden days at Watford, then he truly was in a bad place. 

He unlocked his phone and, without much thought, found his way to his text conversation with Simon. The conversation was mostly one-sided, as had been normal the last few months. Both with texting and real life conversations. Most of the texts were Baz asking Simon practical questions: If he wanted something from from supermarket (butter), if Baz should come over on Friday to cook dinner for him (sure), if Simon wanted back his hoodie that he’d left at Baz’s flat way back when (no answer).

Looking at the text only made Baz feel lonelier, but he still clung to them like they were a life line. Simon was still there, just… less. 

Baz scrolled all the way down again, to the last text he’d sent Simon the previous evening. 

Baz (21:39) - Will you let me know if you need anything from me? 

He’d sent this unprompted. The fact that it had gone unanswered was answer enough for Baz. Simon wouldn’t ask for help, which left Baz with a permanent furrowed brow.  

Baz stared at the texts long enough that his screen almost turned to black again. He was about to close out of the app when a tiny speech bubble with moving dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. It took him a moment and a held breath to figure out what this meant. Simon was typing. 

Simon was awake, with his chat to Baz open. And Simon was typing. 

Baz’s heart was suddenly racing. He sat up in bed as he waited for Simon to finish typing. 

But then the speech bubble disappeared, and no text followed. Baz waited for a bit, but nothing came. Baz considered the option that he might have imagined the little speech bubble, but his breathlessness told him otherwise. 

Even more awake than before, Baz kept staring at his lit phone screen. 

Will you let me know if you need anything from me? 

What if Simon had been trying? Baz decided to bite the bullet and typed out a message himself.

Baz (03:12) - Hey, are you awake?

The longer he waited for an answer, the more he regretted sending the text in the first place. Something in Baz kept telling him that he shouldn’t push Simon. That he should follow the pace Simon set for them. That he shouldn’t ask more questions than Simon would have the energy to answer. That he shouldn’t want more from Simon than Simon was willing to give. 

But he felt alone and sad, and his inability to reach Simon was eating at him more than the voice that told him that he should leave Simon alone. 

When Baz almost lost hope that Simon would reply, the little speech bubble with the moving dots reappeared, causing Baz to still completely. 

This time the speech bubble really did turn into an actual message. 

Simon (03:29) - Yeah

It wasn’t much—barely a word—but it was something. Baz took a few deep breaths, and decided to take Simon’s short reply as an invitation. 

Baz (03:30) - What’s keeping you awake?

Baz’s heart did a leap as Simon started typing back almost instantly. Simon had been typing for a while, but Baz only got a one word reply. 

Simon (03:32) - Caffeine

Baz snorted despite himself. Considering the time it had taken Simon to type such a short message, it had probably gone through many revisions. Baz knew he wasn’t getting the full truth. However, it was an answer nonetheless, which was more than Baz could have hoped for. 

Baz lay back down in bed, and wondered shortly how to follow up on Simon’s text, but he didn’t get the chance to come up with anything.

Simon (03:32) - What’s keeping you awake? 

Baz (03:33) - My head won’t quiet down. It’s full with uni stuff.

Baz contemplated for a moment before sending an additional message, his fingers shaking with adrenaline as he pressed send. 

Baz (03:33) - And you.

Simon (03:34) - Oh

Baz (03:34) - Yeah.

Baz couldn’t stand the idea of allowing a silence to fall between them at this moment, so he continued typing. 

Baz (03:34) - Perhaps I was missing you

Simon (03:35) - You were here yesterday

Baz (03:35) - Well, yes. You’re saying you don’t miss me after not seeing me for a single day?

Simon (03:35) - Don’t be ridiculous

Baz (03:36) - And how exactly am I being ridiculous?

Simon (03:36) - I always miss you. 

Something stilled in Baz. He didn’t know if it was his heart, or simply his breathing. 

Baz (03:36) - You don’t have to, you know.

Baz (03:36) - I mean

Baz (03:36) - You can always reach out to me when you miss me.

Simon (03:37) - Okay

Simon (03:37) - I think I know that

Baz (03:37) - You *think* you know? 

Simon (03:37) - Things aren’t always clear in my head. Not used to thinking. It’s tiring. 

Simon (03:38) - I used to be better at not thinking. 

Baz felt at a loss for words here. He felt like Simon was finally saying things to him—really saying things. He was finally showing him a little of what was going on in his head, and Baz didn’t know what to do with it. His inability to act as proper support for Simon left him feeling hollowed out. 

In a panic of not knowing what to reply he ended up pressing the call button. If he couldn’t find the words to comfort Simon, then he at least wanted Simon to know that he was really there with him.

The call got denied within seconds. 

Simon (03:39) - Did you mean to call? 

Baz (03:39) - Yeah.

Simon (03:39) - Oh right. It made me jump. Sorry. 

And then a call came in from Simon. 

“Hey,” Baz said as he answered the call. 

“Hey,” Simon’s voice sounded, cracking through the speakers of Baz’s phone. 

“I figured listening to me could maybe help you a little with the thinking problem?” 

“You sound unsure.”

“I am unsure.” Baz sighed. “I just didn’t want you to think that my silence would mean that I was leaving you on read. I’m here with you even if I don’t know what to say.” 

Simon makes a snorting sound at that. 

“Are you laughing at me, Snow?” 

“You don’t seem like someone who’d have trouble with finding things to say.” Simon’s voice had a sleepy kind of roughness to it, over the phone like this. Baz melted a little at the sound of it. 

“I do when I want the things I say to mean something.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Yeah.”

A silence fell. 

“I think I’m getting sleepy,” Simon said after a while. 

“I can stay on the phone until you fall asleep, if you want?”

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Baz said, soft enough that it could almost pass as a whisper. 

“Won’t it be weird?”

“I don’t know, Snow. Won’t it be?” 

Simon made a huffing sound, which Baz guessed was the audible version of a shrug. 

“Maybe it’s better if we hang up. What if the call stays on the entire night?”

Baz couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for another moment. 

“Well, good night then, Simon.”

“Good night,” Simon said back, and Baz thought he could hear a smile in Simon’s words. Though, maybe it was just wishful thinking. 

“See you tomorrow, right?” 

“Right.”

“Okay. Good.” 

Another silence fell. Baz had already firmly decided that he wouldn’t be the one to hang up. 

“Okay, bye then,” Simon said.

“Bye, love,” Baz whispered back and Simon ended the call. 

The feeling that spread out from Baz’s chest to his throat was one he couldn’t quite understand. He was happy. Simon had properly talked to him for what felt like the first time in ages. Yet he felt heavy in a way that came too close to dread.

He wondered if the conversation they’d had just now would change anything between them when Baz visited him tomorrow. He wondered if anything about Simon’s state would be improved tomorrow. If Simon would come greet him and kiss him at the door when he arrived. If Simon would talk about his day and actually listen while Baz told him about his. 

But the heavy feeling in his chest told him not to hope. Simon was not okay, that much was clear. And Baz didn’t really know how to help him, that was clear too. But maybe, he’d made Simon understand that he would still be there for him, even if he didn’t really know how to, and maybe that was a good start.  

[mrsren]

chapter two of tom/hermione wip

1400 words into the second chapter and I have to share this.

  The walk to his classroom only takes a minute and she lingers at the end of the corridor until she’s two minutes late. Then three. This is a dangerous game, pushing him so she can see what he’ll do. In fact, all of this is a dangerous game. But it’s also an opportunity that several witches in Hogwarts would love to find themselves in. Hermione waits a bit longer, and then turns the corner. The door is unlocked, and she lets herself in. He’s not at his desk, not any of the work tables that line his classroom. Perhaps he hadn’t come at all and she’s the fool.

Tom appears in front of her in the time it takes to blink. It’s also the time it takes to drop a disillusionment charm. The false smile he wears during the day is gone, and in its place is a rough one, littered with threats that are dressed as promises. He backs her to the door, her spine meeting the wood roughly, as he reaches down. The lock turns into place, and her heavy breathing is all that falls between them. “Did you think it would be fun to make me wait?” Tom drops his head, and his nose skims the length of her throat. “I’ve already been patient, Granger. It would be unwise to push.”

One deep breath, then another. Hermione says nothing.

“Why?” Tom’s teeth catch a soft bit of her skin, and he suckles the spot. There will be a mark.

“I want to find what makes you break.”

He knots his fingers in her hair before his mouth crashes down on hers, and they trade kisses like blows.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.20

A King’s Cottage

12/20/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,881

Warnings: fluff, cute Peter Parker, smut, subtle trauma flashbacks

A/N: A lot has happened since I last posted a chapter. I lost my desire to write ever again for a bit and it was hard to come back from that. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. It was really very difficult to finish it but once I pushed through it all just came tumbling out. Thank you for being so patient with me. It means a lot to me. All of you mean so much to me and I hope that I haven’t disappointed y’all too much.

“Have you got everything?” Nat is fussing. She’s unpacked your trunks several times, checking them over again and again.

Three formal gowns, just in case. Almost ten casual gowns. Soft and free flowing like the white one you tend to favor. All of them had been newly commissioned for you. Two tiaras were put in a smaller locked chest, again, just in case.

You liked the more casual dresses. You didn’t want this time alone with Steve to be all formality and duty.

Your marriage may have begun as such, but you hope that truly, your marriage is one of love now. You want to know him the best. Knowing you the best is something you hope he wants too.

It feels as if a new chapter has begun in your life and you cannot be more grateful.

“Nat,” You sigh, watching her unpack your gowns for the fourth time.

“Should I get you more nightdresses?” She asks herself quietly.

“Nat!” You call a little louder.

She looks at you, her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“What?” She asks, finally focusing on you.

“You don’t have to worry. I have everything I need.” You promise her, but she frowns at you.

“What if something happens?”

“Let her go.” Grandmother’s stern voice cuts in from behind you, sitting by the window in one of your tea table cushioned seats. “It’s time they reconnected.”

“Yes, but…with her Majesty’s pregnancy-”

“She will be in safe hands. As you very well know. His Majesty the King is not one to cross and is more than capable of protecting his beloved wife.” The old woman argues, her gravelly voice somehow strong despite her age. “The Queen’s cottage is in King’s Peace. No one would dare disturb them there.”

Nat frowns and you know that she’s thinking about Hydra and their lack of worry with upholding rules of honor.

Hydra won’t care that the cottage is in King’s Peace. They’ll invade if they so please and if you’re honest, you’re terrified. You know that Steve is strong. He’s large and his muscles are hard, his body built out of marble…but he’s only a man. He couldn’t take on six men if they stormed the cottage.

What if it were nine men? Thirteen? He’d die trying to protect you and your child.

“Maybe-?” You begin, worry turning you blood to ice.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, my dear.” Grandmother orders, getting up and wagging her finger at you. “Take your tonic at the end of the night. Eat a hearty breakfast. If you are tired, sleep. If you are hungry, eat. And if his Majesty should give you a command, obey should it concern your safety. Your priority is that baby you’ve got growing in your belly. Are we clear?”

You consider the old woman for a long moment, weighing your life against Steve’s and you know that if you had to choose it would always be Steve. You’d save him if you could.

With the little one in your tummy however, you know that you’d run and leave him to be slaughtered if Steve ordered you to do so.

Sadly, you nod.

“Don’t worry, my dear.” Grandmother closes the space between you and gently caresses your cheek. “Nothing shall happen. You will go, spend a month with his Majesty, and be back before you know it. Back to duty and regulation.”

Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all.

You frown. Grandmother cackles.

“Farewell, my dear. Safe travels. And do yourself a favor, enjoy yourself. Not everyone can marry his Majesty Steve Rogers.” She winks at you.

“Grandmother,” You gasp, mouth dropping open at her playfully suggestive words.

She moves from the room, chuckling happily. “Come along, Lady Romanoff. His Majesty will not tarry for much longer.”

Natasha moves to grab one of your trunks. “Peter?”

“I’m coming.” Peter declares, running in and easily grabbing the two other trunks then moving with them towards the door.

“I wish I were coming with you.” Nat laments.

“You will be. Just two weeks behind.” Steve wouldn’t deprive you of Nat for too long but he is adamant on spending some alone time with you and, if you’re honest? You want it to be just the two of you as well.

“Who will dress you? Who will make your baths? Who will hold your hair up when you get sick?” She worries.

“Nat,” You begin, chuckling slightly. “I grew up in a village where I had to hunt my own food. Preparing my own bath will not kill me, nor will dressing myself. As for tending to me when I’m sick-"

“That’s what I’m there for.”

The familiar deep tone comes from the doorway and both you and Nat turn to look.

Steve stands, dressed in dark trousers, his navy tunic over his usual white linen shirt. Through his arm he has two cloaks, one deep almost blood red with silver stitching along the hem. The other a chocolate brown with gilded thread for embellishment.

What catches you off guard is the bright face that stares at you. The trimmed hair is so short. Just enough to put your hands through, golden tresses that shorter glisten in the light from your window.

His beard, rough and thick, is gone.

Without it, Steve looks years younger. Happier. Lovelier. Though you miss the gruff sight of his facial hair, this soft cheek and sharp jawline is to die for.

“There you are.” Nat says, a slow smile creeping into her face. “I’d wondered where our Steve Rogers was hiding.”

Steve pushes away from the doorframe and reaches up to stroke his chin and cheeks.

“It was time.” He says, sounding slightly ashamed.

“Long past.” Nat tells him, not chastising but stern.

“Yes.” Steve agrees, then with a shyness you’re unfamiliar with, he peeks at you from behind those impossibly long blonde lashes.

Cheeks flushed; he smiles softly.

“Perhaps my love doesn’t like it?” He checks, concern crinkling his brow.

You realize that you’ve been standing with your mouth agape, overwhelmed by your husband’s beauty.

Shutting it, you feel your own neck burn.

“Like it?” You sputter. “I love it, Steve. You look…I can see your face.”

Finally, you smile. Steve does too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next twenty-four hours are rough. For you especially.

You wish that your voyage had been one of ease and comfort. Steve had been hoping for a lovely trip and you’d wanted it to be perfect too, but the entire first day of your journey was lengthened by your constant need to stop.

This trip, the rocking carriage, the bumps and the trembling wooden wheels do not agree with your pregnant state.

Your early morning sickness had improved as of late but something about the swaying and jostling seems to have disagreed with your poor little one. Nothing has been quite so terrible as grabbing your skirts and hoisting them back out of your way as you haphazardly tumble from the carriage to puke into the nearest bush.

True to his word however, Steve has rushed after you, making small declarations of, “Watch your step, my flower.” and “Y/N, wait. Hold my hand as you alight.” and “Does that feel good? When I rub your back?” and “I’m sorry, my petal. I didn’t think about how the journey would make you feel.”

As you straighten, you assure him that you’re fine. You half force a smile, he hands you a water flask, and you clean your mouth as best you can.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine. You can be comfortable with me, Y/N.” He shifts on his feet, stepping closer by inches and it makes his newly cropped hair bounce a little. It falls forward onto his forehead where it twitches in the late winter breeze.

It’s brisk and normally you’d be shivering, but your thick linen dress and the red cloak that Steve had bought for you keep you mostly warm. You’ll need a thicker cloak soon if the weather gets worse.

With a tentative hand, you reach up to push the strands away from his face and he freezes. Visibly, he’s immobile and it takes every ounce of strength you have left to keep from laughing as he cheeks are painted crimson.

His blush is pleasing and it fills you with pride that you really do seem to have this effect on him.

Instead of laughing you smile wryly, your cheeks aching from the urge to chuckle.

“I wish I could.” You admit, exhaling forlornly while maintaining your now slightly sad smile. “But it will take some time. You were very compelling in your hatred for me. Your sudden kindness has me quite thrown.”

Steve’s face saddens, but you don’t feel bad about his expression. This is the new beginning for both of you, but it doesn’t wipe away what happened before. These are the facts of your marriage and pretending they didn’t happen would be unwise.

“I never really hated you.” Steve says. “Not really. I hated that I had no choice.”

You nod slowly, seeing it all from his side of things and knowing now with how important his people are to him that he must have seen this marriage as unavoidable. An intrusion to his mourning.

There was never an option.

It was marry you or relinquish the Kingdom and for Steve there was only one choice.

Resting your hand against his cheek, you nod for him. You hear him. You want him to know that.

“I know. But it’ll take time. I can’t just pretend it never happened.” You explain.

“I guess that’s reasonable.” He grumbles, then gets distracted and places his hands on your stomach flipping his hands underneath your cloak to feel you over your dress. “Are you well enough to get moving again? We still have a half day’s journey to go.”

The way he cups your teeny barely formed bump makes your heart erupt into flutters. He places his other hand on your lower back and slowly strokes the aching muscle.

“Should we just turn back and go home?” He wonders.

“No!” You answer, a bit too quickly. “No. I want to go. I just need a minute.”

“Have an hour.” Steve quickly offers, moving a little closer so that your left side is pressed against his chest.

This time you don’t try and stop yourself. You laugh.

“I don’t need an hour. Just a few moments will suffice.” You assure him.

“I wish I could take the sickness from you.” He frets.

A sudden thought occurs to you and because you have no damn filter, you speak it before you can stop yourself.

“Margaret didn’t have sickness in her first few months with child?”

There’s a very thick pause and though it feels as if it lasts hours, it really is just a moment.

“Now that I think about it, she did wake up a few mornings feeling ill. We attributed it to rotten food or an outbreak of the sweating sickness. It passed after a few weeks so we…didn’t think…” He trails off, thinking back, his mind trapped in the past.

“I’m sorry.” You bite your lip hard, regretting your train of thought. You avert your eyes, down to his chest to avoid the look of sorrow you know you’ll find in those sea storm blues. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Heat lines your jaw as Steve reaches up to cup the side of your face and with his thumb he smooths your lip, preventing you from biting it any longer.

“It was a fair question. I would want to know too. We should have picked up on the signs, but we weren’t trying to start a family although the Kingdom and the council expected it. Because of what we did-”

“Fighting the evils? Like Hydra?”

“Yes. Because of that, we didn’t want to start a family right away which wasn’t normal for my position especially. It was a surprise when I found out that she was carrying what would have been our first child.” The yearning in his voice is heartbreaking.

You aren’t jealous in this moment, but truly sorry. Margaret and Steve seemed to have really loved each other. To have had a child coming and lost it…

Reaching down you curl your hand around your own little swell but find Steve’s hand still pressed to it, his hand a bit firmer but just as careful as before.

“I’m so grateful to you for telling me. For showing me that I could live again. For letting me love you and our future heir.” Steve gushes so suddenly that your heart flips and dips, making you gasp in surprise. “I won’t make the same mistakes. I will cherish every moment we have together.”

“Steve…” You whisper, overcome with awe in how he can make you melt so easily.

Without warning, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, wanting but gentle. Your knees buckle and he catches you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

He chuckles, soft bubbles of air through your kiss. When he pulls back, he’s still chuckling.

There’s beauty in the way he smiles. The happiness in his face. The love in his eyes. It’s gorgeous but not in the way that attracts a person to another. His bliss is pure and radiant, and it fills you with hope.

You feel lucky to love him, but even if you could only see this happiness from the outside, you would be just as pleased. How amazing that you get to be one of the reasons he smiles like this.

“We should get going, your Majesties. This part of the Kingdom gets cold very fast and with night upon is, it will be too cold to stop again.” Peter looks down at the pair of you from the front of the carriage where he sits beside the coachman.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your duties a little too seriously? I’m here after all.” Steve rants, turning to look up at Peter with a look of tempered annoyance.

Peter smiles. “You told me to protect the Queen. I will do as commanded. Hurry up, please.”

Your turn to chuckle. “Do all of your friends talk to you like that?”

Steve sighs. “Just the ones that know me too well. He is right though. It will get very cold soon. Come. Will you be okay?”

“I think the worst is over.” You nod. “I’m ready.”

“Don’t worry, my blossom. I’ll keep you warm.” He whispers then helps you back in as the wind whistles and thrashes the moss green forest around you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Frost bites at your nose, the winter air like pinpricks against the exposed skin of your neck and cheeks.

“Here, bundle up.” Steve says, rushing to pull your cloak’s hood over your head.

In awe you stare at the so-called cottage before you, speckled with random dashes of quick melting snow.

“Steve…” You whisper, and he chuckles, leaning down to bury his nose against your temple.

“I love the way you say my name.” He whispers huskily, body shifting around yours and providing you with more of that delicious heat that you’d cuddled up against in the carriage for the length of your journey.

“I thought you said we were going to spend some time at your cottage?” You gasp.

Steve pulls back, sliding his hand along your forearm until he slips it into your hand and gently gives it a squeeze.

“We are. This was my mother’s favorite place. Empire Cottage. We spent every winter of my youth here.” Steve explains and pulls you forward. “Would you like a tour?”

He seems so happy that you don’t have the heart to tell him how much this is not a cottage. This is a castle. A small one, only about fifteen or so bedrooms probably but it still has towers—two of them with dark slate pointed roofs and parapets—and it still probably has two large halls for feasts and balls. There are extensive gardens lining the gravel drive up towards an arched stone canopy before the front doors for boarding carriages in the rain.

If the pale gray color is anything to go by, it’s a new addition. The rest of the stonework of the cottage is dark and weathered. Aged. This place has stood for many years.

“When our Kingdom was in its infancy, this was our castle. There are a few villages still standing a few hours’ ride out and you’ll find the ruins of the ones that gave up and chose to move closer to the new one. That one has only been around for-”

“Two hundred years?” You offer, freshly versed in the histories of Broklin.

“Yes.” Steve nods, shining with smiles for you before he pulls you along the curving drive.

You glance behind you, watching Peter and the coachman disappear into what must be a stable.

As the rocks crunch beneath your feet, Steve releases your hand in order to jog towards the small slope on either side of the drive where soft green grass grows peppered with bunches of what you recognize as freesias. Pale blue to contrast against the dark and light grays of the cottage behind them.

“My mother planted these. All of them. By hand.” Steve brags, and you can’t help but smile at his childlike excitement.

It feels almost out of place what with him and his big body and the brooding man you’d come to know, love, and fear.

Those storm blue eyes however are three shades lighter as they gleam with wistful but pleasant memories.

“They’re beautiful, Steve.” You move towards him and he holds out his hand for you.

Taking it, you let him lead you forward away from the trembling blossoms.

“I think it’ll probably snow tonight. One last freeze before Spring comes.” Steve tells you, just chit chat.

It’s so out of the norm, you’re not sure how to respond. So, you nod. “Mm.”

“Bucky jumped off of that boulder.” He tells you, pointing across the circular lawn between the curving drive. “Broke his ankle.”

He laughs just once, then looks at you just as you shiver.

“Oh, you’re cold.” He fusses. “Let’s get you inside.”

“No, I’m okay. Show me more.” You argue.

“We can see more later.” He insists and gives you no room to resist as he tucks your arm underneath his and walks you towards the front doors.

Inside you find dark, rich, very well-kept wooden walls and tan stone floors. Your eyes scan the vaulted ceilings, rafters exposed as he leads you through the cottage, up a set of pale wooden stairs lined with braziers along the stone walls that shift back into chocolate wood as the two of you reach the second-floor landing.

There are small coves in which the braziers sit and long, colorful tapestries adorn the spaces on the left and right.

The same insignia from your necklace stitched at the center.

Absentmindedly, you reach up to trace the shape.

Now that you see it so large…it looks like a shield. And really familiar…

“We’re here at the end.” Steve points, showing you the way.

“We are?” You wonder stupidly, still lost in the beautifully aged castle around you. It feels darker and drafty compared to home, but this place is cozy.

You’re beginning to understand why Kings of past have called this a cottage compared to the massive halls you’d left yesterday morning.

Steve stops, turning to look at you as the two of you reach a set of pale wooden doors. Made of driftwood?

You reach for it, fingers eager to feel the silken grain.

“Would you prefer to sleep by yourself?” He asks, and it’s the hurt…the disappointment that makes you look at him.

Despite the emotion you’re sure you just heard, he smiles, soft and kind. A smidge of tightness around his eyes is all that keeps the façade from ringing true.

“No.” You hurry to tell him, grabbing onto his hand more tightly. “No, of course not. I want you with me. I’m sorry, I just…for a moment I didn’t understand what you meant.”

The tension fades from his body.

You relax too. He slides his hand out of yours and you feel the gentle graze of his fingertips as he wraps his left arm around you, trailing that strange slightly warmer than normal heat down along the length of your spine to the small of your back.

He lays his hand flat, stealing your breath as it curves to your body and then he reaches for the handle of the door and pushes it open, still staring at you smiling as if you are the only thing in the world he can see.

For a moment, he’s all that matters. You’re not sure what has shifted between the two of you.

Yes, you’re pregnant. Yes, he knows that now and it’s why he was fussing over you the entire way here. Yes, he’s trying to make amends. Especially after the ridiculousness that happened with Sharon.

Your blood still boils when you think about it and the way she seemed not to care when you’d confronted her.

All of this, you know. What you most definitely know is that something has changed. Something large and permanent. You feel it in your bones as it carves Steve’s name within them and splinters you with his own altered bones.

Steve Rogers is different. You are different. Finally, as Steve leads you over the threshold into a large bedroom decorated in pale blue luxurious silks, linen, carpets, dark pine trunks, a vanity, a table large enough for four people to eat, and a roaring fire already filling the space with heat—finally, your marriage can start.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, hovering over you with his hands on the arms of your armchair.

He’s got his weight completely settled there where he’s holding your seat, looking down into your sleepy eyes as you blink them awake slowly and set aside the shirt you’d been working on.

It’s a normal shirt, one of Steve’s, dark red. You’ve been working in a pattern of dark blue and real silver threads. Expensive but pretty. Even with a tunic on, with the pattern worked only into the wrist and neckline, it will be visible and dress up any old tunic he chooses to wear with it.

“Don’t be.” You smile at him, trying to clear the fog of sleep from your mind.

“I am.” Steve insists. “This is supposed to be our time alone together and I’ve spent the first three days in council.”

“Hydra is attacking our people, Steve. I don’t begrudge you your duties. I only wish I could help more instead of sitting here stitching. Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?” You reach up and stifle a yawn, Steve’s eyes sparkle with delight—at what you just said? He has the strangest reactions to some of the things you say.

At times you’re only making an observation or speaking your mind and more often than not, he pulls you to him and kisses you. Lately, those kisses have gotten slow, languid, like molten iron flowing slow and hot.

He does it this time too.

He hooks his hand behind your neck and draws your lips to his. With a slightly opened mouth, he takes your bottom lip between his and pulls a little before kissing you again, driving your sleep away.

With your mind in a flurry, he pulls back to look at your face, lips still puckered after his are gone.

He chuckles, just a quick bubble of air expelled as he brings his hand forward to stroke your cheek.

“What was that for?” You wonder, finally finding your voice through the swoon.

“For being my Queen.” He explains. “Because you deserve to be.”

“Even if I’m not high-born?” You whisper so that only he might hear. Just in case there are listening ears.

“Especially because you are not high-born.” He promises and places his hand back onto the seat.

You smile, at ease, and finally comfortable with him.

Over the past three days, Steve has spent a total of a few hours in your company.

He’s gone before you wake—"I’ve got to go. Sam and Bucky have come to deliver more news on the attacks to our smaller villages.” He kisses you slow but pulls away before you have chance to wrap your arm around his shoulder and he slides away as your hand slides along his arm until he’s out of reach—and he’s in bed long after you’ve gone to sleep.

He curls up behind you, warming you up with his heat, nuzzling into the back of your neck, wrapping you up so tight that you groan in slight protest because you can’t breathe but he’s only giving you a long squeeze.

When he releases you, you turn to look blink at him still asleep. He kisses your lips and you pucker your own but fall asleep before you’ve finished.

Despite this short time that you spend with him, things feel settled. This is who the two of you are. Both searching for a connection and finally having found it.

Slowly, he squats down hands still holding your chair as you adjust to look down at his beautiful blue eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but the wind outside suddenly whistles. It seeps through the cracks in the old stone walls and the blaze set to warm the room crackles loudly, the cold wind finding a way to force it to dance.

You look behind you, staring at the window as a sudden fall of white begins.

“It’s snowing?” You gasp, slightly excited.

“Looks like it.” Steve says, then stands and moves to the window. “The ground will be covered by nightfall. It will be impossible to go anywhere in the morning.”

“Bucky and Sam?” You gasp, worried for their safety. “Are they staying?”

“They already left, my petal. Don’t worry.” Steve assures you and throws you a smile. “It’s just us now.”

“And Peter.” You remind him.

“Peter is in the small manor behind the castle, along with almost all of the staff.” He moves towards you, slow deliberate steps. His boots echo with a gentle tap until he stops before you. “We’re finally alone, my flower.”

Your heart seizes up, nervous flutters fill your tummy. You’re wrapped up in a thick woolen shawl, settled over the long and relaxed gray dress you’d chosen to wear while you lounge indoors. It sits off your shoulders in a pattern of dark gray lace.

Steve offers you his hand and you wonder if you’re ready. If this time will be the right time. You’re eager. But you’re scared. Everything that’s happened before rings fresh in your mind as you take his hand and he pulls you to your feet.

Letting you go, he slips his hands underneath your shawl, his calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your shoulders as he pushes the shawl away and it falls onto the seat you’d just been sitting on.

You can’t breathe. You’re so nervous it’s like your wedding night all over again.

Fear begins to grow as you remember the pleading. The begging. The pain.

“Steve…?” You whisper, looking up to find him watching you carefully.

He suddenly dips down, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. While you wrap your arms around his neck timidly, he lifts you easily, your feet dangling as he carries you towards the end of the bed.

“I have so much to make up for.” He tells you, his voice pained, hurt. As if it physical ails him to remember what you’re remembering too.

“Steve…” You lament with him, trying to move past the rough images that fill your mind.

“Forgive me, my sweet. My love.” He grieves.

“Steve…” Is all you seem to be able to say.

He puts you down on the bed and before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again. With his knee on the edge, his hand holding the back of your head to keep your kiss pressed, he slides his hand down along your leg until he can flip his hand underneath your long skirts.

As his skin grazes your ankle, you gasp and pull out of the kiss to watch him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his hand now locked around your ankle.

Every other part of him but the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes deep and labored, freezes. He is a statue, waiting for your word.

But you have no voice.

You nod.

He comes rushing back up to meet your lips, collapsing on top of you, the full force of his body pressing you into the mattress as he lays you back. His tongue slides along your lips and you open for him as he explores the taste of your raspberry flavored lips.

Kissing him is easy. You love this. But as his body presses into yours, crushing you against the soft bed, a panic begins to grow in your chest.

It’s a fledgling of a feeling, and suddenly, his body is gone. You gasp as he releases you, searching for him in a frenzy to keep him in view.

But you don’t see him. You expected him to stand up, remove his shirt to expose for you the perfection of his body.

Instead you see the fabric of your skirts rise and then fall again.

Pushing yourself up, you rest on your elbows to get a good look and finally feel Steve’s hands find your legs again.

You can’t see him, hidden as he is beneath your dress, but his hands pull your legs wider and you don’t have the strength to resist. You don’t want to resist.

You’re scared…but you trust him.

He pulls off your shoes and the clatter against the floor. His lips are pressed to the inside of your right ankle, the tip of his tongue trails up along your calf then back down to press another kiss. He repeats this move on your left leg and you try not to hyperventilate.

You don’t want to faint now.

He takes his time, repeats the same movements until your skin is pimpled and your heart begins to slow.

Placing his hands flat against the sides of your knees, he traces them up along your thighs, the rough skin of his hands renewing the stutter in your heart.

Heat puddles between your legs and you’re suddenly very embarrassed.

You try to shut them but he’s right there, already kissing the inside of your thighs. He nips at them, biting down on the soft fleshy bits before kissing and licking at the offended skin.

You’re gushing, too nervous to realize that you’re actually enjoying yourself. His touch feels good. Better than good.

It feels just as you’d wished it had from the beginning.

He pushes your legs apart further, grabbing behind your knees to push them up and over his shoulders.

“Steve…” You whimper, voice high and wheezing.

Hot air floods against your bare cunt as he breathes on you, “Hhhaaaaaaaaa….” It’s an audible breath, muffled only by the layers of fabric still keeping him from view.

He presses his nose to your clit, and instinctively you reach down to place your hands on the bulge that is his head. You don’t push but instinct is telling you to. This is embarrassing.

He’s smelling you. He’ll know your scent…What you smell like in your most intimate of places.

A sudden and very slow flick of tongue spreads your folds and you whimper with shock.

Falling onto you back, you find a spot on the pale blue canopy of your bed to stare at.

“You’re gushing, my sweet…” Steve tells you, and you try to close your legs again but he’s already there and he dives in.

The sound is lurid, a soft slur and squelch as he opens his mouth and suckles on as much of your pussy as he can. His tongue explores your insides, finding your entrance to tickle and savor.

You moan, toes curling against his back as he scoots closer and hooks his hands around your hips.

As he finds your clit and laps at it with a passionate almost hungry fervor, you reach down to pull your skirts up over his head.

You want to see him. This is everything you’ve wanted. Maybe not specifically this, but Steve with you…enjoying your body.

His blonde hair peeks out first but as your skirts fall away to expose his half-hidden face, he looks at you and meets your gaze.

His eyes are dark, blown out from lust as he becomes more aggressive and latches to your clit to suck.

Your hips quake, stuttering as the pleasure begins to press along your cunt.

He breaks away, catching his breath but hurries up to rest over your body once more and kiss you soft.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he explores the hollow of your open mouth.

“You taste like sugar, my sweet.”  He whispers, voice deep and husky.

“Steve…” You moan, and he slides back down to spread your folds with two fingers before tasting you again.

He settles over your clit, tongue flicking at the nub with want and speed. He suckles on it, pressing his tongue flat against the bud.

You whimper more loudly as the pressure catches you by surprise.

“Steve!” You moan, shocked by the rush of it.

“Mmmph.” He moans, shaking his head almost violently. Running his tongue fast against your clit.

It pushes you over and your body is suddenly floating. It’s unreal. It doesn’t exist for this one moment in time.

A wave of numbness flows from your cunt down into your legs, to your toes and feet where they go limp against Steve’s back.

Your hands, curled into his hair, go slack as your body melts into the mattress.

Steve is still there, licking and nipping at your cunt, making you twitch.

You’re wrapped up in bliss and you don’t know which way is up or down, only that Steve is still there, making you want more.

Your hands tighten once more as the moments pass and you try to tug his head up from between your legs.

“Steve…oh, Steve…” You sigh, satisfied and happy. “Kiss me…”

He smiles at you, eyes curling at the corners with the brightness of his own happiness, but he shakes his head.

“Why?” You ask, as he laps at you some more.

When he stops, you can see his chin drizzled with your slick. He licks his lips and a fresh wave of arousal floods between your legs.

“One down.” He says, then hooks his hand into the fold of your thighs and hips to pull you down towards the edge of the bed again. “One-hundred and eighty-one to go.”

“Wha-?” You begin to ask, confused by the number, but then he’s back on your cunt, his tongue working its magic and setting your skin on fire.

[that-sarcastic-slytherin]

Help Me Forget

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Tony Stark

- - -

The streets were busy and lively as you pushed your way through, desperate to fight the crowds and return to the safety of your home.

It had been a relatively normal day, a good day, up until you had stumbled across one little happening. 

Up until you had seen them.

As you walked briskly on the darkened pavement, you tried frantically to rid your mind of the troubling thought, but no matter how hard you tried, the images kept flooding right back.

Your eyes filled with tears as you recalled the unfortunate incident.

You had gone out on a food run for the group, it was a usual occurrence and it just so happened to be your turn. You had turned up at the restaurant to pick up your order, when you saw something that made you freeze in your tracks.

Sitting on a table not too far away, was Steve. Much to your shock, he was not alone. He was sitting across from a unfamiliar woman, looking very cosy. Too cosy. 

When you had first seen him, you thought you had imagined it. Perhaps, you had mistook a stranger for the Captain. No. You soon realised that you had seen right.

The sight had shocked you so much, that you turned around and speedily left the restaurant. The food long forgotten.

Returning back to the present moment, as you made your way back home, you had more time to process what had happened, but it only made it worse.

You and Steve had a history, to say the least. You had joined the Avengers not long before the attack on Ultron. The former solider was kind and gentle to you, two things that you had never been very familiar with, given your harsh background. You had found comfort in his warm personality, and you soon became good friends. Shortly after, friendship had blossomed into something more, and the two of you were known around the tower, as the 'power couple,' of the group. You were inseparable, and highly protective of each other. You were in love. Plain and simple.

However, your loving relationship came crashing down when you had got badly injured in an assignment. It was risky to begin with, but Fury had needed all of the team. You had been fighting off a gang of radical soldiers with Natasha, when the Hulk had a huge break out, he had lost control and the team needed Natasha to get to him, quick. Subsequently, Steve made the call for Natasha to go to Banner and go through their lullaby.

What he didn't know, was that you were left alone with a very large group of bloodthirsty lunatics.

You had given the best you could, but there had been too many for you to fight off. By the time Natasha had warned Steve that you were on your own, it was too late.

Steve and Tony arrived to see you on the floor, unconscious, with blood pouring out from gaping wounds. They had rushed you back to the jet and straight to the hospital at S.H.I.E.L.D., where you underwent intense treatment, but had also slipped into a coma.

For weeks Steve sat with you, begging you to wake up. The image of how he had found you haunted him deeply, he knew he would never be able to forget what he did. When you finally woke up, you didn't remember much about the attack, which turned out to be a blessing. 

However, you also woke up to a very broken man.

Steve was left traumatised after the event. No matter how hard you or any other of the avengers tried, he could not and would not accept that he was not responsible to what had happened to you. He blamed himself entirely. He could not live with the fact that he had caused you any sort of pain of injury. He could not bear the guilt and shame. 

As an unfortunate result, Steve had made the painful decision to distance himself from you. He had told you that he could not be with you anymore, that you deserved better than him, that you needed someone who could always protect you.

Needless to say, you had not taken it very well. At all. You thought he was being too hard on himself, to the point where it was ridiculous. He was being infuriatingly stubborn, and you told him as much, but he would not listen. He had made up his mind. He hated himself for putting you in danger, and it was too difficult for him to be around you, knowing that truth.

The two of you had been separated for a little over six months now. You thought that you had finally come to a place where you could deal with it better. It was hard and painful at times, but you had tried your best to come to a place of acceptance, knowing that he was not going to change his mind. 

However, seeing him, the man that you had loved, the man who had detached himself from you, seeing him with another woman...and looking so-so happy...it killed you. It hurt you in ways that you didn’t expect. The pain that you felt in your heart, reminded you just how much you still loved him. 

You were also angry. Very angry. 

You couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to do that to you, to simply find someone else and move on...casting you aside.

As you marched back into the tower, you had one single bitter thought in mind; ‘if he can move on so quickly, then so can I!’

The elevator doors rolled back when you reached the main floor. You took a deep breath then strolled into the allotment, very much aware of the multiple pairs of eyes upon you.

“Hey, Y/N,” greeted Clint from his seat on the sofa, but you ignored him, causing him and Natasha to exchange a concerned glance.

Piertro, who was over by the bar, noticed your empty hands and frowned. “Where is the food?”

“Didn’t get it.” Was all you replied, as you continued to stalk through the floor, passing by all your perplexed friends. 

Piertro pouted sadly. “Aw, but I’m hungry.”

Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother. “You’re always hungry.”

“What? I have a really fast metabolism.”

Bruce couldn’t help but pipe up at the scientific inconsistency. “Actaully, that has nothing to do with how your appetite works...”

You left the room as if you had never even heard them, your mind bubbling with too many things.

Noticing the hard glare that you were wearing as you walked away, Clint asked the others, “what was that all about?”

You walked up the stairs to your own floor, but didn’t go into your room. No. Instead, you stopped right outside a black, shiny door, and quickly knocked on it. The door opened and Tony stared back at you in momentary confusion, before registering that it was you.

He quickly fixed a charming smirk onto his handsome face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You didn’t reply but gazed at him with semi-guarded emotions. He saw the pain in your eyes that you were half-halfheartedly trying to hide, and immediately sobered.

“Whats wrong, Y/N?”

You shook your head, not being able to say anything aloud just yet. “Can I come in?” You asked.

Tony answered your question by moving back and gesturing for you to enter, his concern increasing. Wordlessly, you went in and sat down on the large bed, waiting as he joined you.

You just sat there for a few moments, gathering your thoughts. Tony waited patiently, knowing that something had definitely upset you.

Finally, you managed to summon the courage to speak the words out loud.

“I saw Steve...with another woman...”

Your words were left to hang in the air, as Tony tried to process what you said. He looked at you worriedly, but was sure that you had to be mistaken.

“Are you positive it was Cap?”

“Absolutely. I saw them together at the restaurant when I went to get the food.”

Tony couldn’t quite believe it. It didn’t sound like the Cap he knew. “Maybe it wasn’t what you thought, maybe they’re just friends. Or he could have saved her from a burning building, its Cap, that’s kind of his thing. He can’t resist being the hero.”

You didn't laugh at the jesting in his voice, instead you merely looked at him tiredly. "I know what I saw, Tony. Steve is never that comfortable with someone he's just met, not like he was with her. There was familiarity between them, and not just the friendly kind."

Tony was finding it hard to comprehend how Cap, Cap of all people, could be on a date with another girl. A girl that wasn't you...it didn't make sense, and yet, there was no mistaking the striking betrayal that lay in your pretty eyes.

He reached out and rested his arm across your shoulders, drawing you into his side in an attempt to offer you some kind of comfort. He didn't know what he could say to make you feel better, if there was anything at all. The break up had been pretty rough on you, and to learn that the man who caused it had now done this...it made Tony's jaw clench. 

He would punch Cap in his shiny, patriotic face the next time he saw him.

You lay your head on Tony's chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in his pleasant aroma of aftershave and whisky. As you sat there together, with him gently rubbing your back, an idea formed in your bedraggled mind. An idea that may have seemed incredibly unwise, but one that brought you a twisted sensation of solace and satisfaction.

You lifted your head and angled it towards him, gazing at him with wide eyes. "Tony, if I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?"

He smiled softly. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

You bit your lip as you removed your hands from his waist and brought them up to his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. 

“I need you."

Tony stared back at you in bewilderment, certain that he had misheard, because you couldn't possibly have said what he thought you had. 

“Sorry, what?"

"I...need you," you repeated, judging his reaction carefully.

He was worried you had said that. Under normal circumstances, he would have been only to happy to oblige your request, however, these were not normal circumstances. You were in a highly emotional state and that changed everything.

“You’re clearly not thinking straight.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “But so what? I always think things through too much lately and I’m sick of it. Maybe, just one time, I want to do something not so right.

“I cant, Y/N. I can’t.”

Tony shot up from the bed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you with obvious temptation. 

“Why not?” You countered, standing up too and going over to him. “Because Steve wouldn't like it? Well, he doesn’t seem to care how I feel right now, so why should I care about him? You saw me, Tony, I was a wreck after he ended things. I kept hoping that he would change his mind, but he never did! Now-now he goes off and finds someone else because it suddenly suits him! Without giving me a second thought!”

Anger, betrayal and anguish laced your voice heavily, making Tony’s wall break down one-by-one. He hated seeing you upset. He wanted to be there for you. You had always been there for him.

You sighed deeply, your eyes silently pleading with him as you wrapped your hand in his.

“Please, Tony. I need to forget. Help me forget.”

No more words were uttered.

Pushing away his final thoughts of conflict, Tony promptly captured your lips in his in a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around you and backing you over to the bed.

As you lay down, he hovered over you, his eyes conveying the question he needed to be sure of. You nodded hastily in reply, giving him his answer, and he joined your lips again.

The rest of the night was spent in a whirlwind of emotions. Yielding to passions and succumbing to temptations that you knew deep down, you would come to regret. For that moment, you blocked out the rest of the world, as you focused on only you and him.

-

The following morning, you awoke early in Tony's embrace, and instantly felt irritation creep up at yourself for letting things go so far.

There was no taking it back now.

As quietly as you could, you detached yourself from his arms and left his room, clothed only in one of his AC/DC shirts.

Since it was so early, you assumed that no one else would be up yet, so you went down to the kitchen, intending to make yourself a cup of coffee.However, you stopped in your tracks when you saw that you weren't alone. 

Wanda was sat at the breakfast bar...with Steve.

You went to turn around and leave before they saw you, but you found that it was too late, for Wanda called, "good morning, Y/N."

You sighed in frustration but turned back, plastering on a false smile. "Morning."

Upon hearing your name, Steve swivelled around on his stool to look at you, his heart clenching at the sight of you. He couldn't believe how you managed to be so beautiful all the time. It was still so painful for him to have to keep you at a distance, but he had to do it. He couldn't risk you getting hurt again. It was in your best interests.

“Y/N," he greeted with a small smile.

"Rogers."

Steve bit back a wince at your curtness. It felt so strange to hear you be so formal with him. He knew that something was amiss, you hadn't called him that since you first joined the team, and even then it hadn't lasted more than a couple of days.

Wanda handed you a mug of coffee but her eyes scanned your appearance curiously, until it clicked.

“Is that Tony's shirt?"

That made Steve draw his attention to it too, scrutinising it with narrowed eyes.

You glanced down at the oversized garment, hurrying for an explanation. "Yes, I borrowed it a while ago and forgot to give it back, I just threw something on to come and get a drink."

"That's one of Stark's favourite shirts," observed Steve with a deep frown. "It's strange that he doesn't mind you keeping it."

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to stop the panic from rising. "Well, he's a strange guy."

Wanda accepted that as a reasonable response and decide to change the subject, though Steve was still pondering it, he could always tell when you were lying.

"Steve was just telling me about this dinner he went to last night," explained Wanda, unaware that the topic was a sensitive one for you.

"Oh, was he?" You voiced, sarcasm lacing your tone as you sent a small glare his way.

Wanda took that as a prompt to carry on. "Yeah, he met this woman on this old war website, and found out that she was related to-"

"I'll take it from here," Steve interrupted, not knowing how you would react to the information. "I found out that she was a distant relative of Peggy. She wanted to meet me to see if I could tell her anything about her great-aunt, and I felt obliged to."

Your thoughts were screaming at you as you stared at him, not moving.

Steve mistook your silence for anger or hurt. Peggy was always a difficult subject to broach between the two of you. He had managed to move on from his first love by finding you, his true love, but you had always questioned whether he had completely let her go.

He stood up and walked towards you, his expression wary. "Y/N, I only went for the woman's sake. I didn't think it was right to leave her with unanswered questions, to leave her wondering. There wasn't anything more to it than that. I swear. My history with Peggy is just that. History.”

You didn't have time to reply or fully register what this new information meant, because Tony came strutting in, shirtless, and looking immensely pleased with himself. 

“Morning, everyone." He went over to the counter and picked up the piece of toast that Wanda had made for herself, and took a bite out of it. He took notice of the soldier and tried to contain his anger at him for hurting you, so he settled for irritating him.

Tony threw you a wink as he walked back over to go to his room again. On the way out, he said cheekily, "thanks for last night, Y/N."

Your pulse quickened as you looked at the gaping Wanda in front of you, but you were more concerned by the look of utter pain and shock on Steve's face.

He swallowed thickly, his mind filling with every negative thought. 

“You...and...Stark..."

He whispered, willing his voice not to crack. He could feel his heart breaking that very moment.

“I can't believe you would do that..."

Steve's eyes were full of pain, the same pain that you had felt the previous night. He knew he had to leave quickly, before his emotions overcame him.

He gave you one last, broken look, then stalked out of the kitchen, leaving you to watch after him helplessly.

You had messed up. You had messed up badly.

[mirage-babey]

ayla please.... I want to talk about touched starved miraith... I want to talk about my walking heater mirage headcanon and I want to talk about the first time wraith let's mirage touch her whether it's her face or hand or waist literally the Warmth the Yearning AyLAA

It’s one thing to grab ahold of one another in the games, desperately dragging an ally to cover or jabbing a syringe into their chest in hopes of reviving them. It’s another matter entirely outside the arena.

It’s no secret that Wraith - with an alias as cold as her fingers, as cold as her gaze, as cold as her past - was a troubled soul, though her efforts meant that no one knew in what way this was the case. There were very few she truly trusted, barely enough to even count on one hand, and even they seldom saw the inner workings of her mind.

Among the three she considered herself closest to, Wattson was sweet and possessed a quick mind, but Wraith refused to burden her with personal conversation. Pathfinder was equally sweet, but he was in his own way naive and blunt, and as much as she trusted him as a squadmate, she couldn’t bring herself to share her secrets. Mirage - much to her own surprise - was possibly the one she got along with best, exchanging quips and banter at any given moment. He was more reliable than one would assume, but at the end of the day that’s all their relationship comprised of: quips and banter, and the occasional shared victory.

Still, Natalie and Path’s lives were practically presented on a platter for all to see. Wraith knew their pasts - or lack thereof - better than she knew her own.

It didn’t escape her notice that the same could not be said for Elliott Witt.

Maybe this is why she stops dead in her tracks when a whisper at the back of her mind says she’s not alone. It’s not a warning - she saw Elliott sitting at the roof’s edge before the voice spoke up - but it’s something. Her grip on the door handle tightens. She swallows thickly. Nobody comes here. This was where she went when she needed to be alone. Here the noise of the city and the wind swept away her bustling thoughts. Here she was kept company only by the city’s nightlights. Here she was removed from everything, alone, but still provided with some small reminder that it’s a big world and an even bigger galaxy, and perhaps one day she’ll find her place within it.

Yet there he is, still and quiet, just as his alias describes.

She blinks. Unlike that alias, though, he doesn’t disappear. He’s tangible and he’s truly here.

She’s not sure if it’s she herself or the voices repeating the phrase, telling her she’s not alone, but she can just about feel the burning eyes of a million different timelines urging her to stay.

“You’re underdressed.”

Elliott jolts at the sound of her voice, catching himself before he makes an unwise move that’d send him tumbling. He swivels a bit, still sat on the ground, looking over his shoulder at her with his hand on his chest as he recovers from the heart-attack she essentially just gave him.

“And you’re terrifying,” He responds. “I mean, I don’t scare easy, but was that really necessary?”

Wraith resists the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s cold up here, especially at night,” She states, taking a well distanced seat next to him. “Aren’t you cold?”

He shrugs, the city lights casting shadows that highlight how defined his bare arms are. A coy smile slips onto his face. “What can I say? I’m just that hot.”

Wraith makes no attempt to stop her eye roll this time. “I’m serious, Elliott.”

Elliott hums knowingly. “Mhm, yeah, appletinis and little birdies, very serious.”

She quickly glares at him but finds she has to avert her gaze so to hide the upward quirk of her lips. She has a feeling he noticed, but Elliott makes no mention of it. It’s quiet between them, not uncomfortably so, but she’s still hyperaware of his presence.

He’s looking at you.

Wraith glances at him from the corner of her eye, finding the statement to be true. “What?”

He seems flustered for a moment before answering. “Sorry! Just, uh, you never told us your name. It- it’s kinda strange you know us but we don’t know you.”

Wraith doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know how.

Just like that, the atmosphere turns a little more tense, a little more awkward. Mirage fiddles with his hands, radiating guilt for his intrusive question. Guilt needles at Wraith, too. A part of her wishes she could answer.

“I don’t know,” The confession slips past her lips before she can stop it, eliciting an expression of surprise from Elliott. “I don’t know my name. I think another version of me once did, though.”

Though she understands why the voidwalking Wraith that saved her from the lab risked it all in pursuit of revenge, this timeline’s Wraith still found herself resentful that she never received any true answers before she left.

“Oh,” Elliott’s reaction is, admittedly, not the greatest comfort. “That’s, uh, quite the pracid- predic- that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you-“ He clears his throat, as if trying to stifle his curiosity. “Do you know why?”

Wraith shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. “I don’t remember anything from before I escaped a lab.” She bites her tongue. She wouldn’t dare divulge more information than that.

Mirage blinks owlishly at her, seemingly startled by this unfortunate backstory. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

Elliott, on the other hand, sighs, averting his gaze, choosing to instead stare at his palms. “For what it’s worth, I know how hard that is,” He swallows thickly. His voice is barely a murmur as he confesses his own blight. “Most days, my own mother doesn’t even remember who I am anymore.”

Wraith stares at him wide-eyed. By definition, a mirage is an optical illusion occurring when a hot surface heats the cool air around it.

For the first time, the warmth she sees is not a grandiose trick of the eye, but rather the flickering flame of a forlorn soul just as lost as herself. For the first time, she truly sees Elliott.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. Though her situation is not quite the same as his, she recognises the turmoil he faces.

He laughs, albeit forced. “Nah, it- it sucks, it really does, but these things happen, right?” He seems to struggle to get the words out. “I had a dad and three brothers. They, uh, they’re all MIA though - you know how it is, you enlist to protect your home but sometimes it doesn’t go to plan. I’m all Ma has left. She’s all I have left. It just... it hurts.”

“Yeah. Life isn’t fair,” Wraith’s response isn’t one she finds preferable in this scenario, not after such a secret is shared with her, but she can’t find anything to share herself that’d make the exchange of information equivalent. “If it weren’t for the Apex Games, I wouldn’t know where to start finding information about myself.”

“I had a sespi- susitio- I kinda figured you were here for some kinda info,” Elliott hums, a casual reminder that he’s far more than the egocentric Apex Legend that he portrays himself as. “You’re careful with your drops, but when those labs were discovered near the swamps, you immediately went there.”

Wraith blinks at him, yet again caught off-guard by his true colours. He laughs at her expression.

“We agreed with that drop location because we thought it seemed important to you,” He admits, offering a smile. “We’ve been teammates long enough. Path and I trust you.”

Wraith’s mind goes truly silent, unprepared for such honesty and kindness, even from a longtime teammate. She finds herself gaping at the man before her, his words playing on loop in her mind, encouraging her to move in the direction of a better reality, one where she can find the answers she needs alongside people she can trust wholeheartedly.

She freezes at the warmth that covers her hand. It takes a moment for her to recover from the shock, but as Elliott’s fingers entwine with her own, she beings to soften.

Her grip tightens, and he squeezes back in response. The warmth begins to thaw her icy disposition as, for the first time since she escape that lab, she finds she really isn’t alone. There’s someone willing to listen and share the burden.

It’s such a small form of contact - it’s the contact she didn’t know she needed - and she finds herself clinging to it.

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You ch. 14

Read on Ao3

Chat Noir was on the edge, and Marinette - Marinette - had walked him there.

Alright, technically he’d been the one escorting her, but still. It was just supposed to be a chat and a walk. A stroll, even. Easy breezy. He’d shoot her a few compliments, impress his already impressive classmate, get a few minutes reprieve from this constant search, and carry on his way to the Tower.

And literally the first thing he did was call her Mousinette. Again. Like he couldn’t even remember how to be cool around her, like the second he opened his mouth his brain shut off.

And the damn moonlight. Moonlight. He was having a tough enough go of it without the moonlight playing tricks on him, making him see things… making him see people who weren’t there. He’d known, though, when he’d thought he’d seen the similarities, why he was so drawn to Marinette, the reason he kept swinging by her place when it was off the beaten path: she reminded him so much of his Lady that it hurt, but in the moments in between the ache it was almost like she was there again.

He’d seen those similarities before, of course, before Multimouse had appeared. After that, he just assumed their similarities were the reason they were friends. Perhaps Ladybug was a classmate from elementary school who had gone to a different high school. He just didn’t know. He’d run through the list of girls at Francois Dupont and none of them had matched up. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or happy about that.

And having to use his baton as a tool to keep his hands occupied, because he’d known if left unattended his fingers would somehow find their way laced with hers. 

“Ridiculous,” he muttered as he scaled the beams of the Eiffel Tower, slipping between the shadows cast by the numerous lights. “Absolutely ridiculous.” She was his friend. She’d said so numerous times. Just his friend. And he had no right to take advantage of that because he was hurting. After all, he knew how she felt about Chat Noir. It wasn’t fair of him.

But he wondered when flirting slipped into sincerity, because as he made his way to the top of the Tower, he found himself thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t reached for his baton. If he had slipped his fingers through Marinette’s, if he had offered to bring her with him to see the sights, if he had kissed more than just the back of her hand. If, if, if.

Marinette…she’d never felt like just a friend to him, but even then he knew she deserved better than someone who was in love with someone else. She deserved someone who was sure and devoted. Maybe he could be that for her one day, but not this day. He wouldn’t make her wait for him to figure it out.

Chat Noir paused to catch his breath as he finally reached the top of the Tower and Eiffel’s office. Anticipation buzzed in his blood like a swarm of bees, but still he waited. All the answers he sought could be on the other side of that door. If he was lucky, he was minutes away from discovering his Lady, though luck had always been her domain. At the worst, at least he had the grimoire back - a piece of her back. Something she had held, something they had worked on together. Something to remind him she was real on the nights he woke in a cold sweat afraid he had only ever dreamed her.

Bracing himself, Chat Noir strode the rest of the way to the office and through the door. The room was organized chaos, arranged for tour group, but it wasn’t hard to find the tablet. Annoyed as he was, he had to laugh: Salem had stuck the tablet in Gustav’s hand like he was designing another architectural masterpiece on it.

Part of him wanted to drop to the floor there and search for the clues he thought might be there, but he knew that one way or the other, when he opened it, he wouldn’t be moving for a while. Besides he wanted Plagg’s input, if his kwami could give him any.

That had been a particularly rough day, the day he remembered Plagg had known who Ladybug was because they’d destransformed in front of their kwamis. He’d begged Plagg for a name, a hint, anything. And Plagg hadn’t been able to give him anything because she was a former Black Cat Miraculous holder. He’d argued it had been for less than half an hour, a mistake, a technicality. Plagg had said it didn’t matter, he couldn’t say her name. He tried. Bubbles appeared, floating up and popping on the ceiling of his room, her name trapped inside where he couldn’t hear it.

That was the first time he cried. The first time he felt truly hopeless, that despite everything, he wasn’t smart enough to find her, and even if he was, the world was conspiring against him to keep him from her. Every time he thought he might be close, she slipped through his fingers like smoke. He cried mostly from the frustration, but he also cried from the unfairness of it all. They were heroes. They had sacrificed everything for their city. They gave up everything and asked for nothing in return. Didn’t they deserve happiness?

It was also the last time he’d cried. There would be time for tears later, after he had set everything back to right. Besides, he wielded the power of destruction: if the universe was unwise enough to have placed a wall between them, he would turn it to dust in the wind.

The trip home was slow-going. Chat Noir wished he’d thought to bring a bag with him to carry the tablet in, but he hadn’t, so he had to carry it under his arm. He did stop briefly at Marinette’s, frowning when he saw the window was open. Why did this girl insist on inviting trouble into her life? But he couldn’t be too sore about it when he saw she’d already pushed the dress form in front of the window and that the reason it was open was because she’d placed a small plate of cookies on the sill for him. Her kindness tugged at his heart. It always had. It was one of those qualities he’d always adored. Er, admired. Liked. As a friend. It was rare, and it wasn’t always easy, but it just seemed to be her nature.

She was right about the dress, though. It didn’t look like much yet, but he was glad for the excuse to come by, to be able to find his Lady in Marinette, a least for a little while, even if it wasn’t real. To feel the echoes of her.

By the time Chat Noir finally reached home the sky was beginning to turn the dark purple of a a fresh bruise, fading to raspberry red near the horizon. It had been a full night, a good night, but it wasn’t over yet.

“Plagg, claws in.”

The kwami burst forth in a flash of green light, spinning towards the mini fridge where Adrien stocked the camembert.

“Busy day, kid,” Plagg sighed, digging into an entire wheel of cheese. “I don’t trust this Salem character. Did you get the tablet?”

“I did,” Adrien said, plugging it in beside his bed before stripping off his shirt. “Doesn’t look like any damage has been done to it. I think Salem was telling the truth about not being able to unlock it.”

“Finally some good news.” Plagg licked his whiskers as he pulled a second wheel of cheese towards him. “And what about that little detour?”

“Detour?” Adrien repeated as he pulled on his pyjamas. “Oh. You mean Marinette. It was nothing. Civic duty, that’s all.” He turned his back to the kwami, hoping Plagg wouldn’t see his blush in the dark.

“You’re in love with that girl, Adrien,” Plagg said behind him.

“I am not,” Adrien said quickly, but his heart was fluttering. “She’s…she’s just a friend. She’s made that very clear. Besides, I’m in love with Ladybug.”

“You’re in love with her,” Plagg insisted. Adrien could hear him drifting closer.

“It doesn’t matter!” Adrien exploded. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about Marinette, ok! How I feel about anything doesn’t matter at all. I have to find Ladybug. That’s the most important thing right now. So please, Plagg, just…drop it.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien, I…” Plagg floated around to his face. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” Adrien said softly. “I know you are. I’m sorry I yelled., I just… Any sign of Tikki?”

Plagg shook his head. “None. She and LB might have come up with this plan together. On the other hand, Red might be keeping her captive, like Nooroo. If Red’s refused to let her leave, Tikki wouldn’t be able to, but it seems unlikely. I’m with you on getting LB back, but Red doesn’t seem the cruel type.”

“I agree,” Adrien said, dropping onto his bed. “We’ll keep an eye out, though, just in case.” He reached for the tablet. As he pulled it onto his lap, he could see his own reflection in the dark screen. Empty green eyes stared back at him.

“Ready, kid?” Plagg said softly.

Adrien shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m more afraid of: finding answers or finding nothing.”

“You’re not alone,” Plagg reminded him. Adrien nodded. He took a deep breath and punched in the code - the date he and Ladybug had become Paris’s protectors. The tablet took a few minutes to boot up from lack of use, but in minutes the familiar home screen was displayed. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the notes app opened up, as though whoever had used the tablet last had forcibly shut it down knowing it would be recovered when it was turned on again.

‘Dearest Adrien,’

“I guess Salem was telling the truth about that as well,” Plagg murmured as he read over Adrien’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Adrien said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I mean, we knew it was possible, but…she never brought it up.” He bit his lip, the words blurring before his eyes. His Lady had written this note. She’d left it for him. She hadn’t abandoned him. He hadn’t realized until that moment how afraid he was that she had.

‘Dearest Adrien,

You can’t know how sorry I am to do this to you. I know you will feel betrayed by the choice I make tonight, but I hope this note will give you some comfort in the coming days. I’ve tried to think of a better solution, but this is the only way I can think to protect you.

By now you must have realized that I know your identity. I discovered it by accident that day on the Pont Neuf when you fell into the Seine. I should have told you, I know, but I was afraid of the consequences. I was afraid you would try to give up your Miraculous, and afraid I wouldn’t be able to accept it. I know our responsibilities as the guardians, but I can’t win this fight without you. 

Another confession: when we fought Veritas a few days ago, I admitted I knew your identity. I didn’t reveal it. Please know it would have been the last secret, the very last truth Hawkmoth would have wrung from me. Unfortunately the admission was enough; a sentimonster cornered me on patrol today and tried to get your name. They were unsuccessful, but it’s only a matter of time. Hawkmoth is becoming more clever with his akuma’s. This knowledge is too dangerous to keep.

That’s why I’ve decided to give it up. 

I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough. But I know if I shared my plan that you would try to stop me, and I know that I would let you, because leaving you is the last thing I want to do. Giving up Ladybug is the last thing I want to do. But I believe it’s the best way I can continue to protect our city.

I know you will try to find me. It’s that thought that gives me the courage to follow through with my decision. I have to admit restoring my memories is not part of my plan. I don’t know if it’s even possible, but I know you will try to find a way, once it’s safe, if only to tell me how foolish I’ve been. In this I place myself in your hands.

Until then, I renounce our shared guardianship of the Miracle box and entrust you to be its’ sole protector. I know it could not be in more capable hands. I know the responsibility I have placed on you is enormous, but I there is no one else I trust as much. 

Adrien - Chat Noir - I love you. I always have, I just didn’t always know it. I wish we had more time. If love was enough, I’d still be here. But giving it up is the only way I know to protect you and our city. I hope you can forgive me, but I couldn’t hold it against you if you can’t. I know I’m asking a lot - maybe too much. I hope when you remember me it is with some fondness. I will miss you every day, though I may not know it. I hope we find each other again some day.

All my love, 

Forever Your Lady

Tears slid down Adrien’s face and dripped onto his hands. He let them. They were coming too fast to stop anyway. He doubted he would ever be able to stop.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg curled up on Adrien’s shoulder, the smallest rumble of a purr emanating from his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“She…loves me,” Adrien managed, tracing a finger over the words. “She really does.”

“She really does,” Plagg echoed softly. “You were right about all of it.”

A sob broke from his chest. “I doubted her,” he said. “I thought horrible things. I resented her.”

“You had moments of weakness,” Plagg corrected. “Anyone would. She knew that, too. Although from the sounds of it she expected you to see this message a lot sooner.”

Adrien read the line again to himself: 'I renounce our shared guardianship of the Miracle box and entrust you to be its’ sole protector.’  So how had it ended up in Salem’s hands? Right then he found he didn’t even care. She loved him. She trusted him. She was counting on him. They were still a team. 

The sun had spilled over the horizon, gilding the city in gold when Adrien finally lay down to rest. By then he had memorized her note. He knew he’d never forget it as long as he lived, whether he found her again or not. But he would, he promised himself as he drifted off to sleep. He’d spend the rest of his life searching for her, chasing the echoes of his Lady through the streets of Paris, if only to restore what she’d lost.

[punkpoemprose]

The Love Talker- Chapter 4

Universe: Gancanagh/ Fae AU Rating: T (currently, expect M in time) Length: 1636

A/N: Same warnings. This is a dark fic. There’s light spots, it’s going to be mostly fluffy and good towards the ends, but the AU that this is requires a bit of darkness. Apologies! Also, this is unedited. Of course. I am me. So sorry for any messiness.

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

[Master Post]

She’d awoken draped with a blanket. A note was on the floor at her side, hastily written in rough script.

Anna,

You’re safe here. I’ll return this evening to make good on our agreement. There is food here, you may have some. Sven is in the stable, you may spend time with him if you like.

She huffed. It was unsigned. He still had more power over her than she had over him, and as such she thought it was perhaps unwise to bolt off and leave the place. He’d proven kind thus far, if not a bit tricky, but she didn’t know that directly disobeying him was a good plan for her wellbeing. She already had one man trying to kill her, she thought that it would be by and far her worst decision of all time to make it two.

She reread the note, lifting it off the floor to see that below it were her somewhat dirty, but in tact slippers. That at least was clear cut enough to be something she could accept openly, and she was grateful for their return.

As for the note, she wasn’t sure if faeries could lie in writing. She knew that they couldn’t speak lies, but she wasn’t about to take the chance on the food. Maybe the name curse was something she could escape, but eating faerie food was surely as poor of a plan today as it was yesterday. She thought that maybe once she’d heard something about it being dangerous to not accept fae hospitality, but the laws were a mass of contradictions and it was better to go with what she knew for sure, and he had seemed amused before by her knowledge of the rules, so perhaps that would be enough to save her here as well.

If not, better to have the gancanagh against her armed with a single weapon than have herself totally trapped by two. Maybe she could change her name?

She did take the letter up on it’s second offer and set out to see the reindeer. She was somewhat certain that it, at least, had no intentions of hurting her. The creature had been very gentle with her the day before, its fur keeping her warm as she rode on its back on their ascent up the mountain.

After the visit she intended to do some cleaning of the small cabin he’d taken her to. She wasn’t sure if that would be seen as a kindness or a criticism, but again the fae had seemed amenable enough to her conversation, so if she explained that it was an act completed out of appreciation, he might just be pleased with her. She wasn’t sure if he’d be pleased enough to let her go, but she would take what she could get.

                                                        ***

He’d stayed out as long as he possibly could before knowing that she would be asleep when he returned. It had been intentional. He’d just been a short ways off, watching animals, smoking his pipe, doing what he fancied to keep himself away from her. She was too much of a temptation to stay around for any period of time, especially when she was awake. He wasn’t a beast. He should be by all accounts, but he wasn’t. She’d have to show some interest in him before he’d do anything to her, and she couldn’t show interest when she was asleep.

He couldn’t lie to her. He’d promised to come back in the evening. He just hoped that it would be as simple as arriving, asking her to stay in the cabin until her fiancé was dead, giving her his name and then taking off again. Nothing had ever really been “easy” for him though, not in a very long time.

Anna didn’t seem to want to make things easier for him either. When he walked into the cabin she was on his floor on her knees scrubbing at the boards with a rag and some water. He hadn’t really been sure of what to expect when he walked through the door but that hadn’t been it. He’d seen her home when he’d left town, it was much larger than the others in the village, and so he had assumed that she had all her housework done by some sort of serving staff. She had a proud air about her, but not in a pretentious way. He realized now that such a manner came from her belief in herself and in her abilities, which he found attractive, about as attractive as he found her on her hands and knees.

He cleared his throat, and scared her unintentionally. He watched her jump, knocking the bucket of water she’d been using splash across his floor as she did so.

When she looked at him and looked at the pail she looked horrified. He realized, with no small amount of disappointment, that she was still afraid of him. He’d really given her no reason not to be, and while it hurt to see her fear, he thought that perhaps it was for the best.

If she was afraid of him she’d stay away. If she kept herself at a distance he couldn’t touch her.

This thought conflicted with his actions. She was afraid and water was soaking into her thin dress, and he couldn’t help but to reach out to right the pail.

She all but skittered across the floor to get away from him, and he took three steps back at her reaction.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I-”

He interrupted her with his own apology, “Anna I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”  

He was shocked when she laughed. It was a bit nervous and a bit relieved at the same time. He looked at her expression and relaxed somewhat. She looked less terrified and more tired. He’d forgotten how late it was, he’d forgotten that she’d stayed up waiting for him.

He smiled in return and took a slow step back towards the bucket, putting his hands in front of him cautiously, making sure she could see them as he approached the mess. He righted the bucket as she moved back towards him with the rag in hand to begin mopping up the water.

“It’s okay,” she said, “You didn’t mean…”

He nodded, “You don’t have to clean that up it’s…”

She shook her head, “No, I should have been more careful…”

He sighed, “No. I don’t want you to have to be careful here.”

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say to her, because while it was true, he didn’t want her to be afraid in a place he’d promised her she’d be safe, he did want her to be careful with him. He wouldn’t try to touch her. He knew what he was, and while it certainly had come in handy very, very recently, he’d spent more years than he’d like to admit doing his best to not give in to that nature, but he still didn’t trust himself totally. He also couldn’t say “you don’t have to be careful here” because that would be a lie, because he might still screw up phenomenally, especially if she even slightly wanted him to get close to her.

                                                         ***

Anna was scared, but not so much as she knew she should be. He looked as nervous as she felt, which was strange as in all the fae in the stories she’d been told, especially the tales about gancanagh, they had been so self-assured. She did appreciate that he was keeping his distance for the most part, and she got the distinct impression that he didn’t want to touch her.

“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”

He looked at her like she had said something that he wasn’t sure how to answer. She figured that it was a fairly simple question, but then again nothing about their predicament was simple or easy. She’d been running from a man who intended to kill her, and straight into the presence of another who could do the same. The fact that he hadn’t entirely trapped her yet spoke to something reassuring though. He could have had her in any way he wanted, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure why, and she was secretly somewhat offended. She figured that she was at least pretty enough to be tempting, but it wasn’t something she was going to dwell on.

He sighed and she awaited his response anxiously, sopping cloth in hand, dripping on the floor once more and on the edge of her skirt.

“I can’t promise you I won’t touch you Anna.”

His words were terrifying but expected. If she hadn’t been able to go against her trusting nature, she could hardly expect him to go against his nature so entirely either.

“I can promise,” he added, her attention still entirely focused upon him, “that I won’t touch you skin to skin intentionally without your consent.”

She could trust him at his word, especially when he’d spent the time to so carefully word it. The loopholes was obvious. He might touch her in ways that wouldn’t addict her purposefully, and he might accidentally touch her in a way that would addict her to him. That was fair enough. The final bit though was the most concerning, because there was a part of her that still liked the idea of giving him the go ahead.

He was attractive and kind enough to be appealing to her without any fae addiction magic. She wondered if it was because of what he was, or if it was because of who he was. The difference wouldn’t mean much to most, but it did to her.

“Will you fulfill your other promise?” she asked, feeling bold.

He smiled then, “My name?”

“Yes, please.”

“Kristoff.”