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atlabeth · 3 months ago

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family line

pt 2

pairing: spencer reid x gideon!reader

a/n: pardon the end where i just go into endless conversation for no reason but i cannot control myself. anyways thank you sosososo much for all the love on the last part and gideon!reader as a whole it makes me so happy!! enjoy some dad-daughter-spence car convos(arguing) and some elle time

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): the usual! r and gideon argue, gideon is not a good dad(but theres some reconciliation), angst, hurt/comfort, but some fluff between r and gideon & spence. more of a set-up chapter

The drive over to the safe house is a long one, and unfortunately, not a quiet one.

Spencer takes the back seat, leaving shotgun for you with your dad. He spends the entirety of the drive briefing you on what living in a safe house will entail, all the things you can and can’t do.

You can’t use your phone because it could be tracked. You can’t leave the place without Spencer because you are, in fact, being stalked. You’re not to reveal anything about your location to anyone—you’re basically shut off from the world until the unsub is behind bars.

And once he’s done briefing you, he basically starts interrogating you.

“Have you been contacted like this before in any way?”

You huff a laugh. “What, with creepy pictures of myself? No.”

“Anything unsettling,” he clarifies. “A text message, a call, an email— anything that rubbed you the wrong way that you might’ve just passed off as a joke or spam.”

“No,” you repeat.

“You’re sure?”

“How many times do I have to say no?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and stare at your dad. “Go through it if you want. You won’t find anything.”

He pauses, then he nods. “Reid.”

You shake your head with a slight laugh, then turn it over as Spencer extends a hand. He flips it open and starts to go through it, and you just cross your arms and stare out the windshield.

“We should really hand this over to Garcia,” he says. “She’ll be able to do a lot more than I can. I don’t really—”

“Like technology, I know,” your dad finished. “We will. Just trying to get all the leads we can upfront.”

You sigh, but you keep quiet. You guess you can’t really consider it an invasion of privacy when there’s a stalker after you.

“We typically talk to stalking victims for a while to figure out their lifestyle and possible suspects, as well as the type of stalker we’re dealing with,” Spencer says. “We don’t exactly have the time for that here.”

“This unsub has already been watching you for a month, maybe more,” your dad says. “He’s made his first move by reaching out to me—that means he wants us to know about him, wants you to know about him.” He glances over at you. “He wants to scare you. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction.”

“You’re jetting me off to a safehouse before you’ve even gotten the chance to look into any leads,” you say. “It looks like we’re pretty scared, Dad.”

“It’s preparation,” he says. “The unsub has made his first move—I’m not going to wait around for him to make another and compromise your safety.”

“This could also be a lot more dangerous than we think,” Spencer says. You still hear him clicking through your messages, and you’re beginning to regret your decision to turn it over to him. “Our unsub could be someone after Gideon using you as collateral.”

Your heart stops for a split second and your attention snaps to your father. “What?”

“…It is a likely option,” he says. “Very few people know you as my daughter. Someone who wants to hurt me could try to use you to do it.”

“So I was right,” you say. “This is only happening because I’m your daughter.”

“Do you want me to say yes?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes— I want you to admit that I’ve missed out on all the positives of you being my dad and gotten stuck with all the negatives!”

“This is not the time,” he says.

“How is it not the time?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ve said it yourself several times— my life is in danger. There’s someone out there that might kill me to get back at you. What is a better time than this to talk about how shitty of a dad you’ve been?”

“A better time would be when we aren’t this high strung,” he says evenly. “Neither of us are thinking as properly as we should be. We don’t want to say anything we’ll regret.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll regret any of this,” you say. “After all, I could be dead soon, right? I should get all those regrets out of the way.”

“Please stop arguing,” Spencer interrupts hastily. “This— this is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff. The flames burn just as bright, but for some reason, you decide to hold them back a bit.

“I’m sure it’s real hard for you, boy genius.”

The silence lingers. You can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Your dad, to his credit, doesn’t stoke the fire.

It looks like you’re all capable of restraint today.

“I— I went through all her messages,” Spencer continues. It irks you that he talks like you’re not here. “There’s nothing suspicious there, at least.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’ll hand it over to Garcia after I drop you both off.”

“We’re not gonna have a car?” you ask.

“You’ll have this one,” he says. “That’s why Agent Greenaway is following us.”

“Elle’s coming?” Spencer asks, and you see him perk up. You belatedly wonder what that deal is.

“Just so she can drive me back to the office,” your dad says. “She offered.”

“What’s everyone else doing?”

“Garcia is digging through some of your personal records for the team,” he says, glancing at you. “JJ is in contact with the local police stations so they’re ready once we have a profile. Morgan and Hotch should be looking through every case I’ve closed to get a running list of suspects.”

“Great,” you say as you lean back in your seat. “Nothing like getting my whole life aired out and put under a microscope.”

“It already is,” Spencer says. “You’ve got a stalker.”

“Thanks, Spencer,” you mutter. “I forgot.”

The rest of the drive goes by with ease—at least, relative to how difficult you’ve made everything else.

You’re already sick of Spencer Reid by the time you get out of the car. You don’t know how you’re going to survive such close quarters under these kinds of circumstances.

Another car parks next to you as the three of you get out, and your eyes are drawn to the woman that steps out.

“Easy drive?” your dad asks.

“I was right behind you,” Agent Greenaway says. “You drive like an old man.”

Your dad just barely smiles. “Stay with her, Elle. Reid and I are going to check the perimeter.”

“You can’t be serious,” you cut in.

“I already told you I’m not taking chances with this,” he says, and he takes his gun out. “This won’t take long.”

Spencer takes his out as well—he carries it with both hands, like it’s actually weighing him down, and it’s a bit ridiculous—and they split to cover both sides of the house and the surrounding area. You sigh and shake your head as you cross your arms.

“He’s certainly spirited,” Agent Greenaway says.

You huff a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’m Elle, by the way,” she says. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced.”

You nod your acknowledgment and say your name. “Nice to meet you.”

She turns to fully face you. “Do you mind if I say a few things?”

“If it’s about my dad—”

“It’s not,” she interrupts with a wry smile, “I promise.”

You shrug. “Then sure.”

“First, I just want to ask if you’re doing alright,” she says. “You’ve gotten a lot dropped on you all at once.”

“I’m as good as I can be,” you say.

Elle nods, and her eyes soften. “I’m not gonna tell you to take it easy on Gideon. He’s an incredible agent, but that makes it hard to be a good dad.”

You don’t say anything, and she continues.

“My dad was on the force too. I resented him for a lot of my childhood because he was gone so often, but… then he was killed in the line of duty.”

You frown. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Elle nods in thanks. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I’m just saying I know what it’s like.”

You shift your balance and sigh, glancing away momentarily. “Everyone here sees him as a hero, and— and he is. He started this whole thing and you all save lives every day, but it feels like he’s missed my entire life because of it.” You huff a bitter laugh. “I think you all know him better than I do.”

“I think you’re probably right,” she admits. “You deserve to be angry. And honestly, I think you deserve to hate him some for it.”

You huff a slight laugh. “You’re the one person who hasn’t tried to make me feel bad for it.”

She shrugs. “You’re in an awful situation and it might be because of him. You don’t have to have endless grace.”

“Any chance I can get you to stay in here with me instead of Spencer?” you ask.

She smiles. “I don’t think Gideon wants to stick the two of us in a house together. But I am gonna make sure we catch this guy.”

“These kinds of assholes go after vulnerable women because it gives them the attention they crave,” she continues. “They worm themselves into their lives and disrupt it all and it makes them feel powerful—you have to play to their whims.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with this,” you murmur.

“I have a lot of experience putting away sick men,” Elle says.

“Do you have any advice, then?” you ask weakly.

“I’ve only been around you for a few hours, but I already know you’re better and stronger than whatever bastard is after you,” she says. “He wants to control your life. Don’t let him.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I’m… really glad you’re on my side.”

She smiles again. “Just doing my job.”

Your eyes latch onto your dad as he and Spencer come back around the front, and they both tuck their guns back into their holsters.

“It’s all clear,” your dad says.

“And I’m not dead,” you say. “Looks like we’re all doing good.”

He chooses to ignore you, instead looking at Elle. “Did you go over anything with her?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Just gave some advice.”

“Great,” Spencer says. “Just what I need.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Reid,” Elle says. “You’ll be fine.”

You don’t miss the look he gives her, and your dad clears his throat. “Can you take her inside and check everything? Reid and I need to talk.”

He frowns. “We do?”

“Sure,” she nods.

You stare at your dad this time, and he doesn’t entertain your annoyance with some of his own. “We’ll be in soon.”

“Sure,” you repeat.

You follow Elle in—you don’t feel like getting a lecture on safety just yet—and when you pass a glance over your shoulder, you meet Spencer’s eyes. He was watching you.

His eyes dart away just as quickly, and you huff the slightest laugh. You don’t know if he’s scared of you or just tired of you already, but whichever one, you don’t really care. If you have to be stuck in this house with him, he has to be stuck in there with you too.

Elle shows you around the place, and it’s nothing special—a one story house with two bedrooms and a noticeable lack of windows, furnished plainly with a couch and a few chairs, a small kitchen table, a television. You’re honestly surprised at how nice it all is.

But as she takes you on the impromptu tour, you can’t stop thinking about her words. You can’t stop thinking about all of it, honestly.

A month ago, you were driving home in silence after your dad forgot about the plans you made. A week ago, you were out for drinks with friends.

Today, you’re hunkering down in a safe house because there’s a stalker after you, and you have to do it with your dad’s stand-in kid.

That’s what gets you, you think. That you know more about Spencer Reid than anyone at his job knows about you—that your dad ignores you in favor of his work, and instead of trying to fit you into his life, he finds an FBI replacement.

Your jaw clenches. It takes a few seconds for you to realize you’ve completely tuned out Elle, only really coming out of it when she says your name.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was distracted.”

“I don’t blame you,” she says wryly.

You’re about to respond when Spencer walks in with your dad. His face is slightly flushed and, as opposed to all the other times, he won’t make eye contact with you. You can only imagine what your dad decided to talk to him about.

“You showed her around?” your dad asks.

Elle nods. “The basics. She and Reid can figure out the rest.”

“Thank you,” he says. He looks at Spencer, who has his hands stuffed in his pockets and is very intently focused on the wall behind you. “Help Elle get the rest of the things out of her car.”

He frowns. “Elle doesn’t need my help.”

“Come on, Reid,” she says as she starts to walk.

He blinks and nods. “Oh. Uh— yeah.”

You feel his eyes on you as he goes, but you don’t meet them. You just stare at your father.

“Is it my turn for a lecture?”

His eyes soften as he says your name. “This isn’t how I want things to be between us.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “it takes a decade or two of neglect to get here.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me. But I’m going to get you out of it.”

“I hope so,” you say. “Because I don’t really know how Doctor Reid is going to help.”

“Don’t take it out on Reid,” your dad says. “Hate me all you want, but leave him out of it.”

“You’re the one that pulled him into it,” you retort. “He’s more your kid than I am.”

“And I regret it,” he says. Your eyes widen a bit, and it actually gets you to shut up. “I regret that it took something like this for me to be a part of your life again. But I don’t want our last interaction before you’re sequestered for the indefinite future to be a fight.”

“That’s all I’m good at when it comes to you,” you mumble. The wind has been taken out of your sails considerably.

“And I want to change that,” he says. “But first, we have to get through this. And we’re going to get through it together, sweetheart.”

The term of affection feels strange coming from him. Ever since your teenage years, he’s felt less like your dad and more like some estranged cousin. You hate it. You hate how unfamiliar everything feels with him. Jason Gideon has been a profiler longer than he’s been a dad and it shows in your every interaction with him.

But still, your heart aches. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“You promise?” you ask. You feel like a kid again.

“I promise,” he says.

Then your dad pulls you into a hug, and for a moment, you freeze. You can’t remember the last time he hugged you.

Despite the anger inside of you, the bitterness built in your bones, you can’t help it—you hug him back. You practically melt into his arms as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the sudden threat of tears.

Because deep down beneath it all, you’re scared. You’re fucking terrified, actually, and right now you’re just a girl who wants comfort from her dad.

“I love you,” he says.

“…I love you too,” you mumble.

Neither of you pull away for a good thirty seconds. When you do, you turn around to wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see. You hear the door open and start, but it’s just Spencer and Elle with some bags and boxes.

“Elle’s got some groceries,” your dad says, clearing his throat. “We’ll deliver more if necessary, but you’ve got the basics for a couple weeks, at least.”

“And a whole lot of books and movies,” Spencer says, hefting the box in his hands. “Did you know that there have been approximately 122 million unique titles published since the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press in 1440?”

“That’s less specific than usual,” Elle says. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

He frowns. “I couldn’t find statistics on the exact number.”

“Why were you even looking at those statistics?”

“I get bored sometimes.”

Elle just laughs as they continue into the living room. You feel your dad’s eyes on you, and you sigh.

“I’ll take it easy on him,” you say. “Mostly. Maybe.”

And he actually smiles. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say offhandedly, but you find the slightest smile creeping on your lips as well. You kind of hate it.

Everything else goes by relatively quickly now that you’re not arguing every single thing—you have to fight your instincts not to, but you manage—and eventually, after another lingering hug and some promises to be safe (and one from Spencer to your dad to keep you safe)—you’re alone in the house with him.

“So,” you say as you settle on the couch, “this is what the indefinite future is going to be like.”

“If it makes you feel better, last time we dealt with a stalker we caught them in a few days,” Spencer says. “She watched her for a good while, though.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” you say. “Thanks.”

“...Sorry.”

You shrug your indifference and Spencer walks past you, focusing in on some of the paintings hanging on the wall. You’re sure he knows the artist, title, and meaning behind every single one, so you speak up before he can start.

“What did you and Elle talk about?”

“How this place doesn’t have a pool,” he says.

You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “What’d you and Gideon talk about?”

“We fought then made up,” you say. “It was… weird.”

Spencer looks at you. “How?”

You shrug again as you cross your arms. “You’ve seen how we are. We don’t exactly get along.”

“Has he really been that bad of a dad?”

“It’s none of your business,” you say. “But… yes. He’s barely been a dad at all.”

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t get that. He’s so different in the field.”

“That’s why he’s barely been a dad—because he’s so busy here.” You tilt your head. “Don’t you have some facts or whatever on the percentage of fathers that are workaholics?”

“Well, 89% of dads work full time,” Spencer says. “And fathers typically work around 47 hours a week. But I don’t have anything on workaholics specifically.”

“Great.” You stand up and walk over to the box of DVDs Spencer set down on the table, and you start rifling through them. “So, what’d my dad tell you about me?”

Spencer blinks. “What do you mean?”

“When I came in here with Elle and he kept you out there,” you say. “Did he give you the run-down? Warn you on how difficult I am to be around? Tell you that I hate you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Uh— no. He just… talked to me. Gave the rundown on everything.”

You hum. “You can tell the truth.”

“I— I am,” he says. He’s clearly not. “He didn’t say anything bad about you. Promise.”

“Whatever you say.” You land on a DVD and glance over at him. “How do you feel about Groundhog Day?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t like Bill Murray.”

You frown. “That’s ridiculous. How can you not like Ghostbusters?”

“I love Ghostbusters.”

“How can you like Ghostbusters but not Bill Murray?”

“Because I like the concept more than I like him,” he says. “I love Halloween.”

You shake your head and move on. “Who put these together?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Gideon? Or maybe some random BAU office worker.”

“It’s an interesting compilation.” You look up at him again. “How about Dirty Dancing?”

“No.”

“No reasoning?”

“I don’t feel like dealing with a musical right now,” he says.

“So you choose to deprive me of Patrick Swayze,” you tut. You grab one movie out of the back and hold it up. “If I put on Goodfellas, will you interrupt every five seconds with facts?”

“...I can push it back to every thirty seconds,” he says.

“Five minutes,” you say.

“One minute.”

“Two.”

“One forty-five?”

“Two—take it or leave it.”

“Technically I have all the power here,” Spencer says. “I can talk nonstop about anything. Putting down a movie narrows that down.”

“...One fifty.”

He nods, and you huff a disbelieving laugh as you put the DVD in the player.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?”

“A lot,” he says as he sits down on the couch. “I usually get insufferable or weird or annoying, though. So ridiculous isn’t too bad.”

“Well, you’re certainly something.”

“That’s also not too bad,” he says. “I could even take it as a compliment.”

You sigh and pick up the remote before you sit back down. You look up at the clock on the wall and bite back a curse.

“It’s only been ten minutes,” you mutter.

“Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, actually,” Spencer says. “Did you know that Scorsese actually cast real mobsters as extras? The cast members were told ahead of time so they could show the necessary respect to them while they were on set. There’s a whole mafia hierarchy, and only full-blooded Italians—”

“I haven’t even gotten to the start screen,” you interrupt in disbelief.

Spencer shrugs. “You said every minute and fifty seconds. Not how long I could go on for.”

You let out another sigh as he continues on. You bet Spencer could probably recite the whole movie from memory if you asked, but you honestly don’t know if you could take that.

There’s one plus, at least. When you’ve got a human encyclopedia next to you that can spout off whatever information he wants any time he wants, you think you’re gonna have a hard time thinking too much about your stalker.

You look over at Spencer when you finally make it to the opening scene, still talking but now about the different crime families in the United States. His eyebrows are surprisingly animated when he talks, going up and down depending on his inflection, and you find yourself thinking that it’s charming.

It’s annoying how pretty he is, and it’s annoying how annoying he is.

You look away.

This is going to be a very long lockdown.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes

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sigma-alpha-writer-chad · 22 days ago

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Grow Up, Would You? [Josh Washington]

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.”

You can also find this story on Ao3!

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

[CHAPTER TWO]

CW: Marijuanna use

“Chris, I’m not so sure about this,” I mumble, crossing my arms as I follow my cousin down the forest trail. “Things are just going to get super awkward.”

“Then just… don’t talk to him. Can’t be that hard, right?” Chris responds. I can tell that he knows as well as I do that Josh himself would do whatever it takes to get under my skin in any given circumstance.

“It’s his house,” I retort.

“It’s Hannah’s get together,” he replies. “She knows how you guys are, hopefully she’ll get him off your ass.” I say nothing. "Just..." Chris stops walking and turns around to look me in the eyes.

"What?"

"Just please try to get along?" He asks. His expression is serious and pleading. I sigh, heavily. Why wasn't he on my side? Why can't Josh try to get along with me?

"Sure, Chris," I relent. "I'll... do my best." Chris smiles at me appreciatively and continues down the trail. I hate this. I don't want to be walked over, I don't want to be the doormat or the verbal punching bag for whoever was in a bad mood that day - especially Josh's. But I didn't want to ruin everybody else's good mood, either. If no one else sees a problem, why am I so upset?

The autumn trees towered above us, providing shelter from the warm sun – although some warmth would be appreciated as the temperatures dropped lower by the day. I’d only been to the Washington house before for some rager of a graduation party, when the sky was dark. With the sun, however, the gorgeous forest could make me almost forget I was on a death march to the lair of my enemy.

Chris and I finally make it to the porch of the Washington home. He turns to me, as if to say “after you!” I hold my arms tighter to my body and shake my head. So, after a roll of the eyes, he knocks. There’s a muffled call from the other side to let us know someone was coming to let us in. Just my luck, Joshua opens the door.

“What are you, Chris, a vampire? Gotta be invited in, now?” Josh jokes, a wide grin on his face.

“I’m with Jordan,” Chris says, as if clarifying. Josh looks over Chris’s shoulder to see me. I swear I see his smile widen, and I can only think that can’t be good.

“You can leave her outside, Chris, no worries,” Josh snickers as he steps aside, holding open the door for Chris and I. As I walk past, I nod and offer a gentle thanks. “You’re welcome, pet.” Immediately, Chris sighs as if he knows whats coming. He knows I want to say something – but the guilt I feel in my chest for ruining every good mood keeps me from speaking. Instead, I just give him a hurt, frustrated look.

Josh seems surprised. Next to the shock, though, is a flash of an emotion I can’t quite catch. It’s Josh, however. So I didn’t much care. I walked into the living room, where everyone else was waiting. Hannah stands up and hurries to greet me, walking straight past Chris to pull me into a hug.

“Ahh, thank you for coming! I’m glad you could make it!”

“Oh, uhm, thank you!” I pause. “For inviting me, I mean. You have a lovely home.” I give an awkward bow, staring wide-eyed at the floor. You’re so fucking weird, what are you doing?! I scold myself. I know they’re thinking it, too, but I once again push the negative thoughts away.

“We’re gonna head down to the basement,” Hannah says, smiling as if I hadn’t just made the most awkward air possible. “Do you smoke?” I’m taken by surprise. Chris, Josh, and everyone else walks past Hannah and I and towards the stairs.

“Smoke?” I repeat. “What, like, weed?” Hannah giggles.

“Yes, like, weed,” she says.

“Yeah, sometimes. Not often, though.”

“Great! We have weed.”

“Sounds… good.” A part of me is relieved. Maybe with something in my system I’ll be able to relax for once. Especially around Josh. I feel a burning anger in my chest at just the thought of him. Hannah takes my hand firmly and begins to lead me to the stairs the others had gone down. I make a mental note that the twins both really seem to like holding hands. Not that I minded. It just wasn’t that common for someone to take your hand in theirs when showing you around their house.

We get to the basement, and it’s noticeably colder. And massive. My eyebrows raise as I look around the room. There’s a huge TV mounted on the wall, a large circular wooden table in the middle of the room on a round, purple rug. Around the table for seating were two L couches, and on the couches were Hannah’s friends. Not everyone, though.

Matt, Sam, and Jess were missing, leaving just Ashley, Mike, and his girlfriend Emily, who was casually sitting on his lap. Next to Mike and Emily, Chris unsurprisingly had sat next to Ashley, leaving the other couch to Hannah, Beth, Joshua and I. For a moment I wondered if this could be some kind of set up. Hannah quickly left my side to sit next to Beth on the furthest end of the couch. On the other side was, of course, Joshua, rolling a joint. And, of course, the only open seat was next to him.

And he knew it.

I didn’t want to be rude or, again, make things awkward. And so, I sat next to Joshua Washington. It’s here, watching him focused on something that I suddenly realize how tired he looks. The underside of his eyes were dark, as if he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days.

“Like what you see?” Josh smiles, eyebrows raised. I frown in response.

“No.” I immediately regret this as the vibe is instantly brought down by my rude answer. “I mean, like, not NO, but I just mean I didn’t -”

“Calm down, girl, I’m just… just JOSHING ya,” he laughs. I roll my eyes but I can’t help the small smile that hints at my face. Josh’s head snapped to his sisters, mouth wide open in a smile as if he can’t believe I was capable of anything but a straight face or a frown. “I made her smile!” He whisper yells. I hate it, but it makes it harder to keep the smile down. Somehow I manage not to fully grin.

“Alright, you first, Mike,” Josh says, handing the dark haired boy the joint. Mike takes a long drag and shotguns it to Emily. My lip twitches, threatening to make an obvious sneer at the strong PDA.

“Ohh, spicey,” I hear Josh laugh. “Chris and Ashley next.” Ashley and Chris immediately chime in in a chorus of no’s. Chris takes the joint and takes a hit. I notice his hands are shaking. The idea of his lips so close to Ashley’s is more than it appears he can take. I can hear Josh continue to laugh to himself as Ashley is handed the joint.

“So, what’s the plan for the winter this year?” Beth says, her face shining with excitement. “Are you guys coming?” Mike and Emily look away from each other, their teasing and giggling cut short by Beth’s question. Despite the unhappy look on Emily’s face, she answers. Ashley passes the joint to Hannah.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, hon,” she smiles, but it looks forced and sarcastic, even. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion as to why she’s here – and why does she keep getting invited? Mike nods next to her, a smile on his handsome face. He seems much more laid back and agreeable than his girlfriend, who I notice is looking me up and down. “Do you have a problem or something, weird girl?” I’m taken aback at the sudden confrontation and I sit up straight. My heart begins to pound. Hannah passes the joint to Beth.

“No, I don’t. I was just -”

“Staring at me like some sort of creep? Yeah, I saw. I saw you look at my man, too. What’s up? You want him?”

“What? No, I -”

“You can’t have him. So eyes off, bitch.” I clench my jaw, hard. I swear I almost cracked a tooth.

"Emily -" Mike starts, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration and embarrassment. He shoots me a worried, apologetic look.

"No, it's fine," I say, staring Emily directly in the eyes. As I expected, she takes it as a challenge. "I looked at you, yeah. When you're sucking face like that it's hard to ignore." Beth passes the joint to Josh.

"Well, keep looking." Emily hisses, throwing her arms around Mike and holding his neck tightly. I wonder if he can breathe. I clear my throat and look up at Chris. His eyes are already a bit droopier, but through his mild high he still looks back at me with a sort of pity and embarrassment that I just can't stand.

Josh hands me the joint.

"Go on, take a big drag, babydoll," Josh grins at me. I frown at him. He did nothing wrong, but I still can't help but feel like he's making fun of me in some way. Still, I ignore the nickname. I know he's just trying to get under my skin, yet I can feel the tips of my ears heat up in embarrassment. I side-eye Josh as I put the blunt in between my lips. He's staring at me as if he's studying me, his ever present smile missing from his face, eyes half closed. He couldn't be high that quickly, could he?

As he suggested, I take a long drag, adding a bit of 'coolness' by French inhaling.

"Oh, so cool, I've never seen that before," Emily says sarcastically. I ignore her as I pass the weed back to Mike. Mike doesn't look at me as he takes it, instead glaring at Emily. I can tell he's embarrassed by her cruelty.

I don't hate Mike. He's never been my favorite person in the world, but he's never done anything to me or that I've seen that could make me dislike him other than his habit of... Well, women. However, I could tell that despite her attitude Mike saw something beneath that and really did care about Emily. He was handsome, I could never deny that. Thick, dark hair and brown eyes, a chiseled jaw and a decent body to match. The more time I spent near him the more I understood that he really wasn't a stereotypical 'high school hot guy.' Mr. Class President. He locks eyes with me and gives me an awkward smile. I can sense an apology in his expression. I want to return a look, but I quicky shift my gaze before Emily catches on to the telepathic conversation.

As we continue the rotation, the conversation of their winter plans continues on. I listen, but I don't contribute due to my lack of invitation. I look around me, and everyone looks happy and content. I can feel my own high start to creep up under my eyes, and I can't help but smile to myself. It was pleasant. Even though these were people I didn't yet consider friends outside of Chris, Beth, and Hannah, I didn't feel completely out of place in this moment. I felt content for the first time in a long time.

An hour passes.

"Hey, I'm sorry, where's your bathroom?" I ask. I start to think I might be greening out and I needed a moment to myself. Josh turns to me, a dopey grin on his face.

"The bathroom?" He asks. I smile back at him.

"Yeah, the bathroom."

"What for?" Josh scoots closer as if to hear me better.

"I'm getting anxious, I think," I admit. This surprises me. Why would I tell Josh I'm anxious? So he can make it worse? Instead of poking fun at me and telling everyone to look, his smile fades slightly and his eyebrows twitch in what looks like concern.

"Anxious? Are you ok?"

"I'm greening," I say, widening my eyes for a moment to exaggerate. Josh takes my hand.

"I will escort you to the bathroom," he says, standing up. "It's kind of a maze, this house." He's smiling at me. Even under the influence I can't help but search for any sign of malicious intent. My anxiety spikes further. What does he have planned?

"Can't you just tell me how to get there?" I ask, though I stand with him anyway.

"Yeah, but you'll get lost."

"Joshua Washington," Hannah starts, her tone that of a parent warning their child. "You better not upset her or I swear..."

"Yeah!" Beth chimes in.

"Awe, guys, give me a chance! Give me a chance..." He trails off, beginning to lead me to the stairs, still holding my hand. When we're further away, I inform him that my hand was still in his. "Oh, can I just keep holding it? Your hands are just so soft." I say nothing. How do I respond to that? Is this some sort of joke?

"Your hands are calloused," is all I can muster.

"Oh, man, is that bad?"

"No."

We stand in front of a door. I assume it's the bathroom but I can't think clearly. Josh just stares at me. I ask him if this is the bathroom. He says nothing. He's expressionless.

"You seem anxious around me, do I make you anxious?"

"Is this the bathroom?" I ask. Silence. My heart is pounding. What is he trying to do? Embarrass me? He's staring into my very being. Of course he makes me anxious.

"...yeah." He steps aside, opening the door for me. He suddenly seems sober. I feel a pang of guilt as I walk past him and into the bathroom. Why? I stare at myself in the mirror, studying my own features. I'm not wearing any makeup, but I kind of wish I did. Maybe some mascara, or something. My cheeks and the tips of my ears were a light red, my flustered state obvious. As I observe myself, my mind wanders to the people out there, in the basement. Chris seems to really enjoy their company. Outside of Emily and Josh, I do too. Yet I still can't help but question it all.

Did they see me as a charity case? They never invited me to anything before, no texts after I'd moved. The friendship or my classmates was utterly and completely out of nowhere. Why did Beth and Hannah invite me? My pupils are dilated. I look tired. My eyes water. Will I be invited again? I think I hope so.

A knock on the door makes me jump.

"Are you ok in there?"

"It's been like, 10 seconds."

"It's been like, 10 minutes, J." Had it really been that long? There was no way. J? I find myself wondering where such a familiar sounding nickname came from.

"Are you timing me?" I ask.

"No," he answers. "I'm not." A beat of silence.

"Have you been waiting for me this whole time?" Josh doesn't answer. After a moment of silence, he knocks again.

"Are you ok in there?" I roll my eyes and sigh in frustration, opening the door and stepping out. Well, trying to. Josh is standing directly in the opening and I bump into him, hard, but he doesn't stumble. He grabs both my shoulders as if to hold me still, keep me from falling over. I only notice now he's taller than me by a few inches, my eyes in line with his mouth.

"Yeah," I say, frozen in place. He's touching me

Why is he touching me? Why? His grip loosens, noticing how tense I am.

"You were just in there for a while, and," he paused, taking a step back. "I dunno, sometimes people cry at get togethers or whatever." I chew on my lower lip. I had almost cried. "It would've been a major bummer, or whatever."

"Do I look like I was crying?"

"Yes." I'm taken aback, lifting my hands to my face. Sure enough, my cheeks are wet with what can only be tears.

"How would - how would you know?" Now it's his turn to be embarrassed. He takes another step back from me as he looks at the wall to my left, shifting his weight. Is he nervous?

"...I've seen you cry a lot."

"Oh. Right." The silence is deafening. "Let's go back downstairs." I wipe my face dry with the sleeves of my sweater. "Thanks for showing me where the bathroom is." I try to change the subject. He says nothing, only offering me a nod this time. He doesn't take my hand.

"Next time you're on your own." He huffs, turning on his heel and walking quickly away from me and back towards the basement. I'm taken aback by the sudden shift in attitude but I bite my tongue. I promised Chris I would do my best to get along with Josh, and I intended to keep it. But damn was it difficult.

Back into the basement, Josh is already sat and smoking. I furrow my eyebrows. Did he have to be high to tolerate my presence? I shake the thought from my head and take my place next to him. He shifts, scooting slightly further away from me. My chest fills with a deep, rumbling anger, and I grip the sides of the couch tightly. I didn't do anything to him.

"You'll be coming, right, Jordan?" Beth asks. I snap out of my thoughts and lean forward to see her over her brother, who stiffens.

"What? Coming to what?" I ask. Beth smiles and rolls her eyes playfully. I can hear Emily snicker and Mike sigh at her in mild frustration, saying her name as if in a warning - again. Chris is watching Josh, his eyes seemingly scanning for something.

"Our parents own a lodge up on a mountain," Hannah answers for Beth. "In the winter we all spend a few days up there. No parents, if you were wondering."

"And you're invited," Beth butts in. "It would be rude of us to talk about it so much in front of you if we didn't plan on taking you along." I'm passed the blunt, but I don't hit it this time. I'm high enough.

"Uh, well, I don't know," I start, chewing at my bottom lip. I glance at Josh, who is staring at me intensely. The sudden eye contact kind of freaks me out. I look at Chris, who shrugs at me, his expression wide eyed and clueless. Emily rolls her eyes, and the twins look at me expectantly. "I... I don't think I would be any fun." My heart pounds. I don't want to spend time trapped on a mountain for days near Joshua Washington. I would expect to wake up one morning with my mattress somehow moved outside as a "joke."

"What? Why?"

"I'm just not a partier." I gulp. I look again at Chris. I can't tell what he's thinking. Does he want me to come? Does he think I'll ruin it for him? For everyone?

I think I would.

"Jordan, please. Just think about it?" Hannah pleads, standing up from her place on the couch to crouch down in front of me like a parent talking to their child. I can feel Josh's gaze boring into me, telling me I'd better not dare to say yes. My eyes snap to his, my head unmoving.

If you come to the lodge I will make your life hell.

The anger in me bubbles and burns to the point of pain, my jaw clenching. I can't help but think about how many times I'd missed out on something because Joshua Washington would be there or even nearby. How many tears have I shed over this asshole? And now what? Now he thought he could control me?

"Jordan?" Hannah repeats. I know she can see the staring battle between Josh and I.

"You know what, Hannah?" I start. Something in Josh's expression changes. The warning is still there, but now there's something else. Shock? Admiration?

"Yeah?" Hannah starts to smile, though there's a hint of nervousness to it. I wonder if regret ever creeped into her head.

Fear?

I don't know. But I know I'm done with agreeing to be put down and pushed around for the comfort of others. If Joshua Washington wanted a battle he sure as hell would get one, though this time there was no winning for him. I'm not laying down anymore. I turn my head so I'm fully facing him. His expression shifts further towards surprise and realization that something was different.

"I'll be there."

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

Whoo!! Sorry for the wait! Thank you for your patience.

Taglist: @sc4rrc @mattymxmo @cellyx33 @jenepleurepasbaby

#josh washington #josh washington x reader #josh washington x you #joshua washington #until dawn #until dawn x reader #x reader #jordan = y/n

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thisapplepielife · 4 months ago

Text

Written for @steddie-week.

Long Long Time

It's not one realization. It's several, over and over again. A steady falling, until he's in so deep, there's just nothing to be done about it.

"Stop pining, dingus," Robin says, and Steve looks up at her and smiles.

"Impossible," he answers.

"Just tell him," she urges, and he shakes his head. Eddie isn't interested. He's made that pretty clear with the distance he's put between them.

"Nah, that's not cool. He's getting ready to go," Steve says, "no reason to make it uncomfortable now."

"Dingus. No. Stop it. I can promise you Eddie is pining for you just as hard."

Steve shakes his head. He knows that's not true. Steve's tried all his best moves over the last two years, everything he knows, and has nothing to show for it, except a heart that's maybe not gonna be his anymore.

Steve sits on the floor of Wayne's house, and helps box tapes. Eddie's going. He's really leaving, and soon.

And Steve's sure that's gonna hurt him for a long, long time.

"So, what're your big plans for this summer, Harrington?" Eddie asks.

Missing you, Steve thinks, but doesn't say.

"Oh, I don't know. Hang out with Rob, I suppose. Find new jobs. You know we like to change it up every so often. Wreak havoc elsewhere."

Eddie laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"You could come with me, you know," Eddie offers, but keeps looking down at the box he's packing. "Both of you. All of us."

It's not a real offer, Steve knows that. He knows he's supposed to say no, supposed to let Eddie go, without throwing an anchor around his neck.

"Oh, you don't want that," Steve rebuffs, and Eddie looks up. "I'll cramp your style."

Eddie laughs, "Yeah, you know me. Party animal."

Steve grins, "You might become one. You won't want me tagging along for that."

"But, what if I do?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks up at him.

"Eddie," Steve says, trying to cut this off before he embarrasses himself.

"You're one of my best friends, and we could have fun together."

They could. Steve knows that's true. But he can't go live in an apartment with Eddie. Can't watch him spread his wings and date, right in front of Steve's face. That'd be too hard.

Even if part of Steve wants to say yes, desperately, just to cling onto anything that's being offered.

But he's trying to be better about that. Trying to grow, and shit.

He can only let his heart get trampled so many times, and he's nearing his limit. He definitely won't be able to survive it happening under Eddie's boot.

"C'mon, Steve. For me."

And that almost does it. He hates to deny anything that Eddie might want, but sometimes, you've got to save yourself first. Put on your own life preserver, then worry about everybody else. Robin's taught him that. Or, has at least tried to.

"I can't."

"Why? Robin? I said she can come, too!"

"Because we don't feel the same way about each other, Eddie!" Steve snaps, and Eddie turns into himself, immediately.

"Oh. Oh shit," Eddie says, "I didn't know you knew. Wow, that's embarrassing," he mutters, and it kind of makes Steve mad.

"I'm not embarrassed. I can't help who I lov-. Like. Whatever. But I just can't torture myself, man. I want you to be happy, I do. And I'm the wrong guy for making that happen, obviously, so let's just leave it. While we're still friends."

Eddie's nodding, still packing, then he's suddenly frozen in place, "Wait. What? You make me the happiest."

"As a friend," Steve clarifies.

"Well, yeah. But, if you were into it, as more, too."

"Wait. What?" Steve asks, repeating the same thing Eddie had just said. This is gonna turn into Who's on First? if they aren't careful.

"I mean," Eddie says, shying away, "I know you aren't interested like that. But I still want you around."

Steve laughs, fucking cackles, like he's crazy. He feels crazy.

Was Robin right all along? Was Eddie doing the same kind of pining, and Steve just never noticed? Fuck.

They are both goddamn idiots, if that's the case.

"Well, don't laugh," Eddie says, and he sounds dejected.

"Wait, Eddie, hold up," Steve says, crawling across the carpet towards him, putting his hand on Eddie's forearm. "Do we have crossed wires here? Do you like me, like me? Like I like you?'

"You like me?" Eddie asks.

"Uh, yeah," Steve admits, "I have for a while, to be honest."

"Jesus H. Christ, we're idiots," Eddie says, pushing his hand into Steve's hair.

"Dinguses, if you ask Robin," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie's so close he could kiss him.

Steve thinks he will, and leans in, where Eddie meets him halfway. Kissing him, and it's everything, more than Steve hoped it could ever be.

When Eddie pulls back he's smiling, eyes crinkled at the edges, fucking happy.

He looks thrilled, and Steve decides to go all in. In for a penny, in for a goddamn pound.

"I think I'm gonna love you for a long, long time," Steve whispers in a sing-songy way, because even as happy as Eddie looks right now, Steve's still scared his love won't be wanted.

But Eddie just grins even harder.

"What made you think of that song?" Eddie asks, eyes big and bright, almost shiny.

"You hum it all the time," Steve answers, "under your breath. Like it's soothing."

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's neck, pulling him tighter. Harder. Closer. They're on their knees, so that kind of hurts, but Steve refuses to let him go as Eddie whispers, "It was my mom's favorite song. She'd sing it to me at night."

"Kind of a sad lullaby," Steve says, and Eddie smiles.

"I was kind of a sad little boy," Eddie admits, and Steve runs his hands up and down Eddie's back.

"Well," Steve says, pressing his lips to Eddie's briefly, "if you'll let me, I'm gonna make sure you're not a sad adult."

Eddie kisses him hard at that, and Steve really will. Even if it takes his whole damn life.

"I'll definitely let you. For a long, long time," Eddie echoes, the beginnings of a promise.

And Steve will take that deal.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!t

The title is from the Linda Ronstadt song of the same name.

#steddieweek2024 #day three #mutual pining #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddieweek #thisapplepielife: steddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 5 months ago

Text

returning home

(cw: age gap 26/41; nsfw, mdni, smut, a bit of angst and drama, fluffiness and a lot of tears)

the part before: it's the parts of König that she didn't see

a/n: i'm sorry, this got a bit out of hand :') over 9k words, buckle in, we're in for a ride

I have been a mess those past four months. This has been the worst breakup of my life. I mean, not that I had that many partners before. And the only one I still sometimes cry after is my highschool sweetheart.

But this… we weren’t even an official thing. König and I spent a lot of time together in those few weeks, yes. But we never even clarified if we were in a relationship or not. Dating. Being exclusive. And sure, I was basically living at his place after only a week of knowing each other. But that didn’t mean anything in retrospect. Apparently.

You can’t really call in sick for a broken heart and I wasn’t able to leave my bed for a few days. Sleeping a lot, listening to all the sad love songs, barely eating. Until my mom came by, basically kicking me off my mattress. Forcing me – in a loving way – to get a grip and not mope around like a heartbroken mess.

The worst part was when I found one of his hoodies in between my stuff, I must have accidentally packed it with my clothes when I got everthing together, and it still smelled like him. It doesn't anymore because I have been wearing it nonstop when I'm at home. Not outside though, because the piece of clothing looks ridiculous on me with how big it is compared to my size. I could fit myself in there three times and the hem falls over my knees. If I press my face into the fabric, I still pick up hints of his scent. At least that’s what I tell myself.

The marks on my body faded too. The hickeys he left on my skin becoming fainter by each day, until they were gone.

I looked at all the pictures we took together. Well, more like, I took them and König is also in them. And the selfies we sent each other. The only ones I didn't keep were the filthy ones, because it felt wrong, so I deleted them. But I didn't have the heart to do that to the pictures of us, the ones that carried the memories. And it stopped hurting as much over time. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Lying in bed. The one he bought and we built together, because he broke mine. It's unfair, really, because he is gone and I can't escape him still. Repeating his words to me in my mind.

You should be with someone your age.

It never had been a topic for me, not something I would've spent a second thought on, at least not like this. But apparently, it had been on his mind.

Someone who can promise you that they'll come back every time.

And in the back of my mind there is still the little voice that wishes that he would just have had the guts to be with me. Despite the possibility of him not coming back in one piece, leaving me to mourn him. Because like this, he isn't in my life either. And I still worry about him, because there is no way for me to know that he still is in this life.

He didn't even want to hear my side of things. Or maybe he wanted to, but I was just too blindsided by it all, frozen in place as he “broke up” with me.

Afterwards, when I thought about what he said, I wanted to scream. To shout at him. Even if I could never really do that. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and ask him, what the fuck he was thinking. Why the fuck he was thinking that.

Fuck. I’m so sorry, Liebes.

His apologies didn’t help either. Because I wanted to be mad at him. I was mad at him, and I still am. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Because even though I get it - I get what he was telling me - I still don’t fully understand.

And I remember the look on his face as he was crouched before me. When it became painfully clear that I couldn’t read him.

I never meant for this to go this far or… this deep.

Well, I didn’t either. But it did. And he left, even though he felt the same way. Or at least so I thought.

After a few weeks I finally feel better. I’m okay with how it is. That’s what I tell myself.

Not at all ready to go out on dates again. Not that there is any rush. Not that there had been that many occasions, but still. The thought alone of being with somebody that's not him…

I get back to work, meet my friends, hang out with my family, and when they ask me how I’m doing, I can convincingly tell them I’m okay.

Almost every night the thing on my mind before I fall asleep is him. Nothing, but him, and how I wish he was lying right next to me. I still just want him to come back.

And I know I’m not making any sense. It’s just gonna take some more time to get over this.

When I wake up one morning and see the messages on my phone, I don't even realize what they mean at first.

I'm coming back tomorrow I don't deserve you, but if there's any chance that you'd want to see me again... I’m landing at the airfield in [REDACTED], at 1130 I'm sorry, and I understand if you've moved on or maybe we can talk sometime this week if you're busy whatever works for you or maybe you don’t want to talk to me at all which is fine as well, of course just let me know in Liebe, König

I blink, reading the messages over and over again. The little incoherent ramble until it finally clicks. He's coming back.

I groan, putting the phone away, hiding my face in my hands. Contemplating what I should do as the possibility of seeing him again churns in my stomach. And all the emotions come flooding back, tears pricking in the corner of my eye. God damn it.

Men and women are disembarking from the aircraft and I crane my neck, looking for him.

I’ve been waiting here for some time cause they were running late. And I’m not the only one, there are quite a bunch of people waiting. Probably families and partners? They all seemed relaxed, at least more relaxed than me.

I’m hopping from one leg to the other, my hands feel a little clammy as I knead them. And honestly, I’m a little nauseous.

More people in gear than I would have thought come off the plane, meeting up with their relatives, mingling with each other or just leaving.

I already fear that I completely misunderstood his messages, but that couldn’t have been possible, right? Maybe I shouldn't have come here, and just told him I’ll see him some time this week, maybe I shou-

Two more figures emerge from the cargo hold, coming down the ramp. I don’t recognize the man on the right, but the one on the left…

Beige cargo-pants, protectors on the knees and shins. A simple longsleeved shirt, black of course, and a bulletproof vest. Gloves and more protectors on his arms. The band of bright red beads around his wrist.

The mask, the hood fashioned out of simple fabric, red streaks down underneath the eyeholes, held in place by the helmet atop his head. Hiding his face away.

Fuck.

I only saw a picture of him in gear once, when he showed me, but I still would have recognized him instantly. His tall build, the attitude with which he carries himself, gives him away. This get-up can’t hide it.

He stills. Frozen in place, and from the distance I can’t make out anything.

I just stand there, unsure if he already saw me. And I lift my hand, just a little wave, before I drop it again.

Shit, maybe I should have told him that I was coming.

But then he starts running towards me. A slight jog at first, his strides getting longer with every step. I can’t just stand here either, my legs almost moving on their own.

Dropping the bag that hung over his shoulder. His gloved hands are fumbling with his helmet, until he gets it off, just throwing it away, and pulling of the mask too, and when I see his face for the first time in month, I feel tears prick in the corner of my eyes. Running a little faster, only a few meters between us now. The skin around his eyes is smeared with eyeblack, his long hair is clinging to his head, as he also gets rid of the balaclava, just pushing it down, so it sits around his neck, and then…

He stops, just a step before me, not to run me over, but I don’t, jumping up, jumping into his arms, the full impact of my body against his not moving the big guy a little bit. I’m clinging onto his shoulders as he catches me in his embrace. I’m burying my face in his neck, and when his scent hits my nostrils, a little sharper than usual, gunpowder and sweat mixing with his warm soothing scent, the tears flow free, staining his balaclava, wetting his cheeks. Sobs are shaking me as he presses me against him, my legs hugging around his waist.

“I missed you so fucking much.”, he says, his deep voice shaky, and I can’t even answer because it just makes me cry more. “Ssssh, Liebes. Don’t cry.”, he tries to comfort me, but hearing his favourite term of endearment only lets the tears flow freely. “I didn’t wanna make you cry.”

“To-oo late for - that.”, I press out between two sobs.

“I’m so sorry, fuck.”, he sighs, his arms closing even tighter around me. “I don't know how I will ever make it up to you.” His gloved hand is softly caressing down my back.

“I missed you too.”, I finally manage to say, my voice thick with tears, pressing myself against him, and I never wanna let go.

But I need to pull back, only a little, just to look at him again. Touch him. Convince myself that this is real.

My vision is blurred, but that’s still him, his face so close to mine. His gaze intently on me, while one of my hands grabs him, my fingers caressing over his jaw, the stubble a little longer than I’m used to, the smudged black colour around the eye area making him look a little different. He leans into my palm, the eyebrows pulling up and the tension melting away.

His hand cups mine, his thumb softly caressing over it, such soft touches and another small sob is shaking me.

“I don’t want to overstep anything.”, he whispers. “But I would really like to kiss you.”

And I nod, not able to speak the words yet. And before he can lean in, I already press my lips to his. When my mouth meets his, and I taste the saltiness of my tears intermingling with his scent, the wave of relief that floods me is indescribable.

It's as soft as I remember, something that always surprised me. How soft his kisses are.

The way his lips press against mine, like he's searching for something, tasting me. Nipping at my lower lip, his nose rubbing against mine. His stubble scratching over my skin as he tilts his head.

He presses kisses to the corner of my mouth, my cheeks, my nose. All over my face, slowly drying up my tears, and I take a deep breath, calming myself down. He really is back.

When I finally take a look around, I realise that we’re off to the side a bit, but not that far away from the others on the tarmac, so… this must be quite the spectacle for his colleagues and the people who waited for them. Some of them are in tight hugs or talking with the civilians, but some are also looking in our direction, every once in a while. I don't have any time to feel self-conscious though, about being a teary mess.

And the guy who disembarked the aircraft with König comes our way, a little hesitantly, but smiling at us both.

“Köni.”, he says in a deep, but friendly voice, omitting the g in his name.

“Horangi.”, König says, setting me down, but keeping me close by his side, and I wouldn’t have moved an inch away.

The man in front of us is dressed in green and beige camo, quite different from what the big guy is wearing except for the pants. A similarly coloured balaclava around his neck and sporty sunglasses on his head, sitting on top of it in his hair, complete the look.

“I heard so much about you.”, he says lightly, addressing me.

“You did?” My eyebrows shoot up, almost colliding with my hairline.

He nods, grinning, not fazed at all by the threatening stare from König. “Yes. Every time he drank just a little too much, he wouldn't shut up about you.”, Horangi says. “You did a number on the guy.”

I don't know what to say to that at first, honestly a little gobsmacked. “I did?”

“Yeah, yeah, now fuck off.”, König says to Horangi, patting the other man’s back, the frown on his face turning into a grumpy smile.

“See ya, Colonel.”, he says with a grin. “Enjoy your leave.”, adding a little joking salute, before stomping off.

I wave after him, confused for a moment. Colonel?

“Don't mind him.”, König grumbles as I turn to him again, but he doesn't look mad in the slightest bit. “He doesn't know how to behave sometimes.”

My arms closing around his waist, and he repositions me a bit, so the straps on his bullet proof vest don’t press into my cheek.

“So, you really did miss me.”, I say pulling him tighter. Not a question, a statement.

“I did.”, he answers almost solemn as he brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face.

Some of the soldiers are still standing around, talking to each other and the people around them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

“They’re still looking.”, I whisper to him, unsure what that means.

“Yeah, cause they’re all seeing my face.”, he whispers back, smiling down at me.

Right, the hood!

“Oh shit, I forgot about the mask thing.”, I say, my hand clasping over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.”, he says softly. “They'll survive seeing my face. And I will too.”

“Right, still.”

“Don’t worry about it. I asked you to come here.” He pauses for a moment. “More on a whim, cause I didn’t really think you actually would.”

I take a deep breath. “To be honest, until this morning I didn’t know either.” My eyes pan up to meet his. When I woke up, I knew that I wanted to see him. But only when I got into my car, I called into work to take a personal day off and instead drove here.

“I’m glad you did.”, he says, holding my gaze.

“Me too.”, I whisper back.

“Cause Horangi was right. I was miserable.”

Just like I was. “Really?”, I ask him again, almost soundlessly.

“I was fucking miserable without you.”, he repeats, picking me up again and pressing another kiss to my lips.

I think I don't wanna leave his embrace ever again. But we still have stuff to talk about. Stuff to sort out. And we really can't do that here.

Plus his kisses have their usual effect. As the emotional turmoil and tears dissipate, a familiar feeling spreads through my body, my lower belly tensing up.

“You’re here in your car?”, he asks quietly in between two more kisses. Getting more desperate.

“Yeah.”, I say. “I parked it around the corner.”

“Okay, you wanna get out of here then?”

I just nod, kissing him again, and his little hum against my lips lets tingles erupt all over me. Then we're out of here.

Not before picking up his helmet and hood that he shed on the way, me still in his arms, getting his duffle bag, and I can’t help the little giggle escaping me, because he refuses to set me down when he bends down. Carrying me like I weigh nothing, also not willing to leave my side even for a moment.

On the way to the car, it gets even a little more heated and I’m glad when we turn the corner, hiding away from other eyes.

He’s taking huge strides, heading right for my car, that he spotted in an instant, the small silver one.

My fingers are tangled in his hair, his hands grabbing my ass and thighs, and I pull the car key out my pocket and unlock it. He opens the car door, lying me down on the cushioned seat and I scoot back to make room for him.

Reminders flood my brain how we did it in the back of his car, much bigger than the Toyota I drive. It’s way too small for him, but that doesn’t stop us.

I push off my shoes and get my pants off quickly as he climbs in over me, his shoulders pressing up against the roof of the car, while he sheds his protectors and gloves and shuts the door behind him.

A moment later, I’m folded in half, my knees against my chest, the feet up in the air brushing against the frame of the car. His hands gripping my thighs, spreading me for him.

König is eating me out like a starved man, soft mewls and grunts dropping from his lips, the vibrations of them against my sensitive skin.

“Oh fuck.”, I groan.

His hair is falling over his face, but I just want to see him, brushing the strands back. His gaze burning into me as he looks up at me, the eyeblack giving him a rugged look.

Desperately licking me, my juices glistening all over the lower part of his face. The stubble that is longer than usual is scratching against the insides of my thighs, but I don’t care about that right now, in the contrary, the soft scratch right there makes me even hotter.

It’s him. in this get-up, a little different than I was used to, but it’s him.

When he slips his fingers into me, his lips closing around my clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, something that always made me lose my mind fast, and this is no exception.

The way he fills me up, his thick digits stretching me. His tongue working my pussy, knowing exactly what makes me cry out. His mouth wandering, littering my inner thigh with kisses and hickeys.

The bites and nibbles send shivers down my body, my hips rutting forward, pushing my pussy into him. His arm comes over tummy, holding me in place, so I can't escape his touches.

“Yes, please, just-”, I sigh, and I can feels how he curls his fingers inside me, hitting just the right spot.

I come around them, my cries a bit too loud in my own ears in the small space, and I almost bump my head into the car door behind me as he doesn’t let up, but dives in again. His tongue is toying with my clit, dragging over it, slow, broad licks, and my body shakes and convulses.

“König…”, I plead, my hand tangled in his hair.

He finally pulls back a bit, still lapping everything up, even putting his own fingers in his mouth. His lips closing around them, his lids fluttering for just a moment.

“You taste so fucking good, Kleine.”, he whispers, not breaking eye contact as he meticulously licks my arousal off them, and I can’t help the blush on my face, especially when his tongues darts through between them. Fuck.

Instead of an answer, I pull him into me, to kiss him again, tasting myself on his lips, my hands dropping to his belt, fumbling with the clasp. I want more. I want him.

“Wait.”, he says, his hand coming over mine, I can feel the lingering wetness on them, and I still for a moment. “Shouldn’t we like…”

“You…. don’t want to?”

"No, of course I do, Liebes… I just want to do it right, you know? Make it right. In a proper bed."

I pull one of my eyebrows up. He thinks about that now after eating me out. "We can still do that later, no worries."

"But- I-"

"Yeah, that's all really noble, but right now I just need you." I kiss him again. "So shut up and fuck me. Please.", I say, still fumbling with his belt.

“I don’t have any condoms with me.”, he says, still not helping me to get his gear off.

I pull up an eyebrow. “And?” We did it raw many times, why would it be…

"Did you not... You didn't...?", he stammers, his eyes searching mine.

And then it dawns on me. "If you're gonna ask, if I slept with somebody else in the meantime, I suggest you don't. Because I fucking didn't." Adding after a moment’s pause: “Did you?”

"Fuck, no.”, he answers without hesitation, but his whole body is still shaken with agitation. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I just-" His hand strokes through his hair, exasperated, straightening up a bit and almost hitting his head on the roof of the car.

"König."

He stills, his eyes on me again and I can see the turmoil in them.

"I didn't want anybody else, I just wanted you back.", I say, my voice a little shaky. "And now that I've got you back, I just need to feel you. We can talk and do all the other stuff after getting home, okay?"

Home. The word slipped over my lips before I could think about it. It's out there before I can take it back.

He doesn't move a bit, just looks at me incredulously, and my hand shoots out to grab him which pulls him from his thoughts.

“I do not fucking deserve you.”, he whispers, and then it all happens very quickly. Pulling the zipper down and getting his dick out, the tip slipping between my folds.

He doesn't wait a moment longer and we both groan in unison when he slides into me, and the familiar feeling floods me, the stretch deliciously making me squirm.

Yet my eyes don't leave his for even a moment, not daring to close them, in case this is still a dream and he did not really come back.

But when he grasps my chin, tilting it up and leaning down to press his lips to mine, the tears that have been welling up again roll down my cheeks, the wetness blurring my vision.

I wipe them away, aggressively, a little mad at myself that I just can't stop crying. “Fuck, just… I-” I sigh. “Those fucking tears.”

He’s not saying anything, his thumb brushing over my cheek, a soothing gesture. His lips are peppering kisses all over my face as he starts to fuck me, slowly and sweetly.

I look down to where we are connected, seeing him push into me, seeing and feeling his dick slip into me. As deep as he can go.

With the position I’m in, folded in half, my belly is bulging with every thrust, just a bit, but still. And when he bottoms me out, time after time after time, I inadvertently squeeze around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, he groans.

He’s not fucking me fast, more hard and deep. The sound of skin against skin when his lap collides with the plush of my thighs, loud and quite heavy. And I’m underneath him, framed by his strong arms, holding onto them.

Every single one of his thrusts lets a moan slip out of me, especially with how his pubic bone is pressing up against my sensitive clit, over and over again.

My breath hits his face, the look on it still a little incredulous, the almost enamored smile.

His breath is getting heavier too, rattling grunts shaking his chest. I wanna feel them, I wanna feel his rapid heartbeat against my fingertips. My hand slips under his vest, the other one holding onto it. The soft fabric of his compression shirt is warm, feeling his heartbeat strum against the palm of my hand, as I look up at him. Back in one piece. Alive.

The telltale signs how close he is are written on his face. The breath that halts in his throat every so often. The way his jaw drops. His brows draw together, not his usual frown, the ever-present scowl. Ecstasy visible on his features. And his eyes pressing together, for just a moment.

Looking down at me again, he’s still fucking me, my knees pressed up against my chest, his propped-up arms carrying most, but not all of his weight. My fingers are grabbing his bulletproof vest, needing him closer. The buttons of his waistband and the belt pressing into my ass with every thrust.

But all those sensations get overtaken when my second orgasm washes over me abruptly, just holding onto him, and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, when he doesn’t stop. The pushes of his hips, how he rolls them into me, getting a little more desperate, almost losing the rhythm, as I clench around him.

He’s buried deep inside me, filling me up when he comes, and groans drop from his lips. His face contorting in pleasure. I missed his stupid face, and apparently I also missed his O-face.

He takes a big breath, backing off a bit, giving me a moment to reposition my legs. When his dick slips out of me, I sigh, feeling a bit empty and the wetness against my stomach as it rests over it.

His big heavy body slumps over me, and we just stay like that for a while. Cheek to cheek. My arms around his neck, his hands softly caressing down my body.

Maybe I could even stay like this forever.

Again I remember the time we did it on the backseat of his car, that was much more spacious. Half an eternity ago. Only the second time we ever did it.

Softly kissing now and then. The little sounds and our breath the only thing in the calm silence around us, until he breaks it.

“Can I take you home?”

“Yes.”, I answer without hesitation. We still have some stuff to sort out, and we should get going.

He’s zipping himself up, I put on my pants again, his cum seeping into my panties now, but I don’t even care and get into the driver’s seat, the doors close behind us.

And for once he is in the passenger’s seat, my car still way too small for the big man. It’s almost ridiculous how his stature fills the car. He almost has to duck his head like this, even without the helmet, dwarfing the whole space.

I chuckle a little, put on some music and start driving.

“So Colonel, huh?”, I ask him, pulling an eyebrow up.

“Yeah.”, he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know why I never told you.”

“It’s okay.”, I say. “I guess, that doesn’t really matter in the civilian life.”

“It doesn’t.”, he agrees. “But it also feels like I wasn’t fully honest with you. Which is shitty.”

I clasp my hand over his for a moment, squeezing his fingers. A little reassurance. I don't care about his rank cause it doesn't change anything anyway, and I also never bothered to ask.

“So, I wouldn't get in trouble for insubordination if I called you Sir and not Colonel?”, I ask him, teasingly.

His brows furrow, that certain look in his eyes like always when I was being bratty - and I missed that too.

“You won't.”, he grumbles.

I can't help the little laugh. “Good to know.”

I look to the side, and there he is. It’s him, even in this get-up, it’s him. In my car.

And he’s grinning back at me, not as bright as I was used to, but still. I shake my head as I look back onto the street. He really is back.

I pull into the driveway, the sight of his house alone pulling at my heartstrings. The heavy feeling hits me, the lightheartedness I felt before taking a little hit, even before turning the motor off, getting out the car and heading inside.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, putting down the duffle bag, as I follow him. I stand around a little unsure, taking my shoes off, before heading to the living room.

When I see the couch, I have to swallow my emotions down, not ready to cry again. The memories come rushing back and I just need a moment to take it all in.

Heavy steps behind me, warmth emanating from his body. His presence so tangible, even when he’s not touching me. I’m still so tuned into him.

And I turn.

God damn, I almost forgot how big he is. He fills the doorframe that has been fit to his height. His shoulders seeming even broader in his gear. His head almost grazing the top of the frame.

And I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. We just stand here for a moment.

“I need to shower.. you, uh-”, he starts.

“I’m just gonna wait here, okay?”

He nods. “Yes, of course.” He hands me his phone. “You wanna order something to eat in the meantime? For us.”

“I can do that.”

“Pick whatever you like.”, he tells me before rushing up the stairs with huge strides, taking his bag with him.

I sigh and take a seat at the dinner table we barely ever used. Not daring to sit on the couch like I usually would have.

Unlocking his phone, only clicking on the delivery app, of course. Searching for his favourite take-out place, the grill with the nice little garden out back.

Does he deserve it? I don't know, maybe not. But I'm not gonna be petty over food. I’m adding another dessert for myself, though.

After I placed the order, I put his phone away, picking up mine instead. Scrolling on the usual apps, waiting because I don't know what else to do. He’s taking longer than I’m used to for the shower. And I can feel myself getting a bit restless. My mind coming back to the things he said. When he broke up with me and then today when he came back.

Heavy steps are coming down the stairs, him emerging in a get up I’m more used to, a simple black shirt and shorts.

His hair is still a bit wet, clinging to him in strands. He’s freshly shaved too, the stubble he had before gone. And I can smell the clean and sharp tone of his after-shave when he walks up to me.

“Food will be here soon.”, I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Your favorite.”

“You didn't need to do that.”

“I know.” I hand him back his phone. “And I didn't snoop through it or anything.”

He nods, acknowledging my comment. “I trust you.” He steps a bit closer, taking it. “But you wouldn't have found anything noteworthy either. My phone is embarrassingly empty.” He looks up from the device, to me, a lopsided wry smile adorning his face. “Mostly work emails and photos of you I couldn't bring myself to delete.”

“Yeah?”

He nods.

“What’s the other stuff?”

“Photos of Mimi.” His smile is turning into a grin.

“That little minx. I should have known.”, I say exasperated, but jokingly.

He’s still standing there, swaying from one foot to the other ever so slightly, and almost wanna tell him to just sit down.

“I thought about calling you. I just didn't know what to say.”, he says, his voice quiet. “I wasn't even sure you'd pick up.”

“I don't know if I could have handled talking to you over the phone.”, I say carefully, but honestly. I probably wouldn’t have picked up.

He just nods. “I understand.”

“I actually didn’t know what to think when you texted me.”, I continue. “It was a lot. After a few months of no bleep, no nothing.”

“I wanted to text you. I just chickened out every time.”, he says. “But Horangi kicked some sense into me.”

“Does he do that often?”, I ask, biting back a grin, when remembering the conversation with him earlier. How he basically snitched on him, painting the a bit pathetic picture of drunk König who missed me so much that he wouldn't shut up about me. After he broke up with me of his own volition.

He tilts his head to the side, grudgingly admitting: “Sometimes.”

“And we all need friends like that sometimes.”, I say.

He laughs a little and confesses. “Yeah, he actually helped me phrase the messages because I just didn’t know how I-” He breaks off. “I meant everything I said though.” His eyes find mine again. “I would've understood if you didn't have time or if you just didn't wanna see me. But I still had to try. And I meant it earlier, when I said that I’m glad you came.”

The look on his face, almost pleading. And I feel the same way, but being here with him still feels a little… overwhelming.

“I-”

The doorbell ringing disrupts our conversation. He turns and hurries to the door. I can hear him talk to the delivery person as I get up and hurry to the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.

We’re both coming back a few moments later, setting everything down on the dinner table, taking a seat next to each other. Opening up the containers of food, laying everything out. Loading our plates up, my stomach grumbling. I hadn’t eaten all day, too anxious and nervous. I dig in, taking spoonsfuls of the veggies with rice, and I feel how his eyes are on me, how he’s watching me.

I meet his eyes when he breaks the silence again.

“I missed your birthday, didn't I?”, he asks, but judging from the look on his face he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.”, I say, nodding.

“Now there's ‘only’ 15 years between us.”, he says, matter-of-factly.

“There are.”, I agree. “But it doesn’t matter. 15, 16, what’s the difference.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I put my fork down for a moment and just tell him outright what I have been thinking: “When I teased you, it was never about that. Our age difference never was an issue for me, you know. But I will never call you an old man again, if there is a chance that you will throw it in my face like that.” I pause. “Again.”

“I’m not gonna do that - again.”, he reassures me.

“Good.” I take a deep breath. “If I had known that this was plaguing you, I could have put your mind at ease. Or at least tried.”

“It’s not on you.”, he says with a sigh, his hand dragging over his face for just a moment, rubbing over his eyes. I can feel the frustration emanating off him. “I just- I tried to hide it.” Like he also tried to hide it when he had shit days. I wanna grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“I figured. Because the whole… conversation came out of nowhere for me.”

“Yeah, I felt like such an asshole afterwards. I went about it the most blunt way. The whole thing anyway… it was a mistake.”, he continues, point-blank. “And I’m sorry for that.”

If we had this talk only weeks after he left, I would have been so mad still. The distance helped. It's also helping right now. Acknowledging that it had been a mistake, it doesn't make the "break up"-thing go away. But I feel like I still needed to hear that.

“It’s okay.”, I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It’s not.”, he says. “It wasn’t okay.”

“I know.” I reach for him, our fingers intertwining, my thumb softly caressing over the back of his hand. Our eyes meet and I can see his emotions in them, clearer than ever before. Not trying to hide them anymore. And I understand. A little smile stalks onto my face.

“Let’s just eat, okay?”

And I never have to tell him that twice.

After we finished up, he carries the plates and leftovers to the kitchen, refusing my help, and I finally take a seat on the big couch, slumping into the cushions.

König emerges in the doorframe, just standing there. Frozen in place. I put my phone down and for a moment we just look at each other. The same familiarity hits me, but the guilty look on his face tells me why he’s not moving an inch closer.

It's a bit ridiculous. We fucked, we ate together, we talked about some of the shit that went down. He apologized - again.

I softly pat the cushion beside me. “Come here.”

He’s taking a few steps, hesitatingly approaching and sitting down. But he stops there. I look up at him from the side, and I have never seen him so unsure. It's almost a little sweet.

Grabbing him, I pull him down to me and he just lets me. Positioning his head in my lap, cradling his face, and he lies down the feet dangling over the side of the couch. When my hand caresses over his chest, he sighs. Relaxing into the cushions. I can almost hear the weight drop from his shoulders as he melts into my touch. His hand clinging onto my arm. His brows turning up as he looks up at me.

For a moment we just sit in silence and I let the calmness flood me that his proximity brings. Playing with the long strands of his hair. Softly straightening out the waves that always form when they are freshly washed. Looking down at him.

“I don’t fucking deserve you.”, he whispers.

And there it is again. That sentence. It bothered me when I read it in the messages he sent. And then when he uttered them today.

I grab his face and make him look at me. Squishing his cheeks. “Don’t say that.”, I tell him, my voice trembling. “Don’t fucking say that.”

He stills, his eyes flitting between mine, his mouth dropping open a little.

“I didn’t- I…” I’ve almost never seen him speechless, but today every time I’ve said something that he seemingly didn’t expect he just looked at me like that.

“You think it's flattering or whatever. It’s not.”, I say, exasperated. “It’s like I’m on a fucking pedastal. It doesn’t make me fucking feel good, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. I don’t need anymore “sorry”s from him. “You already thought that before you broke up with me, didn’t you?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding. Silence between us as I only look at him, reading what’s in his eyes.

“Beating yourself up over this isn’t gonna make either of us feel better. I don’t want you to grovel like a beaten dog. I just want you to be honest with me what’s going on in this thick head of yours.” Tapping on said thick head.

“Yeah, you fucking hurt me by just dropping me off in my flat and fucking off because you thought it was the right thing for both of us. I don’t need you to think for me. I just need you to talk to me.” Damn, I’m laying into him right now, but I fear otherwise I’m not gonna get through the thickheaded stubborness.

“I didn’t mean to go over your head like I did. I was too in my own head already, so it was the only thing that made sense to me.”, he says as calmly as he manages. “I thought it was the right thing for you.”

“Because you didn’t deserve me anyways and I would be better off with someone else, right?”, I summarize. I can’t help but sound a little bitter. And I realise now that that was the thing that hurt me the most.

He nods again.

I feel the jab in my heart. Not knowing what to say to that. It's not nice to have the person you're with express the sentiment that you should be with someone else. Well, it’s pretty fucking far from nice.

He casts his eyes down, fidgeting with his wristband, not daring to look at me. And I can practically feel his self-deprecation prickling at my fingertips, the hand still lying on his chest, clearer than ever before.

“I thought I would be selfish to have you wait for me. And I realised that the opposite is true. I was a coward, I just fucking ran away.”, he sighs, and I can hear the shame in his voice.

His hand clasps over mine, squeezing my fingers.

“You did.”, I simply say.

“And it didn’t fucking solve anything.” He laughs, a barking joyless laugh. “For the first time in a long time it was worse without someone else, you know.” He pauses for a moment, finally looking up at me again. You don't need to be Sherlock to know who he's talking about.

I nod, swallowing back my emotions again, squeezing his hand back. “And it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Fuck. I know, I just- wanna kick myself every time I think about it.” An exhausted and frustrated sigh rising up from deep in his chest. “I don't know what I can say to make it all okay again. I don't know what to tell you to-”

“Just show me.”, I interrupt him before he can go down that spiral. He stills

“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear.” His hand grabs mine a bit tighter. Pulling it up to his face and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

I nod, a little smile stalking onto my face. “Okay, good.”, I say, adding a “And don't ever say you're undeserving again.”

“I won't.”

“Thank you.” I lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips, and he answers it like it holds the promise he just made.

When I pull back, I don’t get far cause he is cradling my cheek, not letting me go anywhere.

“Did anybody ever tell you that it’s hot when you get all bossy like that?”, he whispers, a small grin forming on his face.

“Yeah?”, I say, tongue in cheek. “You like getting ripped to shreds?”

“Only by you, Hexe.” which makes me laugh. “But I deserved it too.”, he says.

“You did a little bit.”, I say graciously, and we both laugh.

We just stay like this for a while, holding hands, and I can take a deep breath feeling most of the weight drop away from me that I felt walking into the living room.

He turns to the side, his cheek pressing against my belly as his arms close around me, around my waist. As close as he can get.

I’m brushing his hair out of his face, playing with it. Massaging his neck and shoulders, softly caressing.

He almost falls asleep like that, and I don't think I’ve ever seen him so peaceful. Deep calm breaths. Not a wrinkle on his forehead as I brush over it with my thumb. His eyebrows are turned up. Not even a hint of a frown on his face.

He grabs my hand, pressing sweet kisses to my fingers. “Stay with me.”, he whispers. “Please.”

“You sure?”, I ask.

He nods, not letting go of me. “I just want my bed and you in it, like I dreamed about those last few weeks. So… please?”

And it finally sinks in that the break was just as painful for him as it had been for me. Because I dreamed of the same thing. “Okay.”

He doesn't need anything else, just gets up off the couch, picking me up as well.

I can't help the giggle rising up my throat when my legs close around his hips and my lips find his neck, kissing the sensitive spots, the ones that always make him shiver. My fingertips are digging into his shoulders. The soft lingering touches I know will get him riled up.

He hums. “Glad to see that your ass is still as bratty as before.”, he grumbles, but he can't hide the grin as he playfully places the tiniest spank on said butt.

“Never.”, I tell him before he kicks open the bed room and lies me down on the bed.

We both scramble to get rid of our clothes, pulling them off quickly. He crawls over me, his dick nudging against my pussy while he settles between my thighs and his lips land on mine. His long hair falls over me like a veil, the tips tickling my naked skin.

His hand drops down, his fingers rubbing over my clit as he pushes into me. Carefully enough. And I sigh taking him in.

His mouth is coasting over my neck, making me shiver as he kisses, nibbles and bites. Leaving marks where anyone can see. Licking the sensitive skin, his tongue drawing wet tracks over it. His heavy breath hitting the shell of my ear as he pulls my head back and sucks on the sensitive spot right beneath it.

My fingers are digging into his shoulders and back, his muscles, leaving my own marks with my nails. Dropping down further until I grab his asscheeks, pulling him into me.

He chuckles, pushing deeper, his thrusts picking up pace. I arch my back to meet his movements, my chest against his, the sensations making me throw my head back.

His hand catches my chin, and he’s telling me: “Look at me, Liebes, please just look at me.”

My eyes meet his, a satisfied deep hum rising up his throat. And I never felt more at the center of anybody's attention than in that moment.

He turns, and suddenly I’m on top, riding him, my hands placed on his hairy chest. Slowly sliding up and down his length. One of his arms around my waist, the other on my ass guides me. I almost can't handle it, the way he fills me up in this position, his tip nudging against my cervix. But fuck. I have missed this.

Not just the sex. The closeness. The familiarity. Him.

König looks up at me, the same look on his face that I have seen a few times today, the one that I still can’t quite place what it means. But I love when he looks at me like that. If the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest is any indication.

We spend the rest of the day in bed, talking, fucking, listening to music, sometimes almost dozing off. Until it’s late, almost a bit too late.

My head is resting against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, his legs entangled with mine. His burly tattooed arms embracing me, pulling me against him. His cheek resting atop my forehead with the way I’m nuzzled into the crook of his neck, so his hair is tickling me when he moves a bit.

His body all around me, with nowhere else to go.

I didn’t like sleeping like this ever before I got to know him. But I really don’t mind anymore. I really don’t.

When I open my eyes the next morning, I need a moment to catch up where I am. König’s bedroom. In his bed, the soft sheets against my naked skin. I stretch a little and turn to the side, expecting to find him still fast asleep. But I’m greeted with a smile on his face, his eyes on me. Wide awake already.

“Good morning, Liebes.”, he says softly, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, and I have to swallow to not instantly burst into tears.

“Hi.”, I answer, trying a little wobbly smile.

His hand shoots out and he caresses over my cheek. A simple gesture, one he did so many times before, but right now it has me crying again.

“Oh Liebes.”, he coos as he sees the tear rolling down my face.

“I swear, I don't wanna cry! I must be getting my period or something.”, I grumble while he presses kisses to my cheeks, softly kissing away the tears.

“I’m gonna make you laugh and come twice as much for every time you cried.”, he says, and the twinkle in his eyes tells me that he is joking, yet at the same time seeming earnest.

I break out in laughter. “That would be a lot of jokes and a lot of orgasms.”, I gasp out, wiping the wetness from my cheeks.

He leans down and gives me a kiss. “That’s okay. Cause I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls back a bit.

“Don't make any promises you can't keep.”, I say.

“I wouldn’t.”, he says, his voice serious and his gaze soft. “I promise.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Now let me start with it. I already got a laugh out of you.”

“You insatiable man. Let me go get my teeth brushed first or-”

“No time!”, he exclaims, pulling away the blanket, to position himself between my legs.

I burst into laughter again, the sounds turning into moans when he pulls away my panties and puts his mouth on me.

“Another laugh… that means I need to keep up with the orgasms.”, he quips, mischief lighting up his eyes as his tongue dips into me.

I sigh, snuggling myself back into the comfy sheets, grinding my hips against his face. Meticulously he eats me out, getting all sloppy with it.

His hands are grabbing the swells of my ass, my legs over his shoulders, until he is buried between my thighs. They are littered with all the marks he left there. Faint bites and hickeys. And he’s leaving even more. Oh god, I missed them.

He spits once before his fingers push into me, soft squelching when he fills me up. I’m still a little sleepy, yawning once while I stretch. Meeting his movements and touches.

“Feels so good.”, I tell him, and a little smile forming on his lips as I look down at him.

“Yeah?”, he quips, his thumb rubbing over my clit while he fingerfucks me, slow and deliberately.

I barely can hold the eye contact, almost a little shy, although we did this what feels like a million times. “Yeah.”

He slips his fingers out of me, taking over with his mouth again. I feel the wetness on his fingers as he grabs my thigh again, his fingertips pressing into the plush.

In the time apart nothing had changed about this. It still feels like he has memorized every little part of me, which buttons to push to make me cry out.

His own moans and grunts give away just how much he enjoys this, and I don’t think I will ever get enough of him. Seeing how his hips restlessly move, almost fucking into the mattress, while his tongue dips into me, fucking into me, over and over again, it does something to me as well.

When he nips at my clit, I jolt, my hips lifting off the mattress, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere. Repeating the same move and I come on his face. My back arching, my fingers grabbing at the sheets, curses dropping from my lips.

With a deep breath I look at him again, the big man still very comfortable between my legs, his chin and lips glistening with moisture before he wipes it away.

“And that’s the first one.”, he says with a little grin, and I can’t help the little laugh.

I sit up and grab him. “Yeah, but it’s your turn now.”, I tell him as I pull him up to me, needing him closer.

A wry smile adorns his face. “I’m sorry, Liebes, I already...”

“You… what?”, I ask a little dumbfounded. Looking down while he sits back on his knees, his tummy all sticky, coated in his come. The sheets beneath him soiled, like he humped himself to completion spilling all over them, while eating me out. My jaw drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

This man. The lop-sided smirk, making him look younger than he is. The long hair all messy. Not ashamed in the slightest that he came like that, just eating me out.

“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” He grins down at me as he crawls over me. “And maybe a shower.”

“But I need to get to work!”, I tell him.

“Who said, you'll ever leave this house again?”

“König!”

“I’m keeping you.”, he says, like a definite statement, while he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

“Brute.”, I say poutily while I can't hold back my giggles.

He just laughs, grabbing my ass as he carries me to the bathroom. “Gonna fuck you in the shower, two birds with one stone. Still need to make you come one more time.”, he lays out his plan.

And I could never say no to that, could I?

We manage to be on time though, even drinking a coffee in the kitchen together, and then he drives me to work.

He also picks me up again, not ready to spend any possible moment apart.

The stupidest biggest grin stalks onto my face when I head out of the office and see his car already parked, faint drum and bass sounds penetrating through. I run up to it and open the door, recognizing the song as Shadow of Intent’s ‘Oudenophobia’, one of the songs I showed him some time ago.

I get into the passenger seat, his hands already grabbing me before I’m properly sitting. Pressing his lips to mine in a kiss. The simple greeting turning into something else with the way he kisses me. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Hi.”, I finally manage to say, a little out of breath.

“Sorry, missed you all day.”, he whispers apologetically, backing off a bit, just looking at me.

“No, come back here.”, I say, my hand grabbing his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and I pull him down to me again for another kiss.

When he pulls back now, he’s grinning down at me. And I don’t need to tell him that I missed him too. He knows.

König straightens up in his seat, shifts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. (The only thing he ever pulls out of, really)

“What’s the plan for today, Prinzesserl?”, he asks me then.

“Oh oh, there is this new Asian fusion place that opened up a few weeks ago.”, I say. “I haven’t been yet.”

He pulls up his eyebrows. “Asian fusion?”

“Yes.”, I say. “They have all kinds of stuff from all over.”

“Spring rolls too?”

“I bet.” I grin up at him.

“Then let’s go.”, he says, the expression on his face mirroring mine.

I sit back, crossing my legs and snuggling into my seat. His hand lands on my thigh and mine clasps over it.

It’s like he never left. Well almost, at least.

And I know that not everything’s forgotten. It doesn’t work like that. My heart is content, but my mind is still catching up. Sometimes thinking about what he said when he left. The promises he made when he came back. Working out how this relationship between us will be from now on. Working with him on that, for both our sakes.

Because despite what happened and my efforts while he was gone... I still do love him.

And we both deserve it.

the whole story in the Masterlist

i'm sorry, i'm so in love with this man that isn't real :') (well, he is, in my mind)

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

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nightlyrequiem · 2 months ago

Note

FEED ME HYPER-FEMME READER X VALERIA!!! GIMMIE IT!!! GRAHHHH!!

then, imagine a little yippee critter foaming at the mouth. Thats me.

okay, but, in all seriousness, i absolutely NEED Valeria x like, fem, bimbo-esque, PINK!PINK!PINK reader!!!! Im going absolutely feral omg... imagine dolling urself up for this woman ... im found dead xp

-🪼

Nothing would make me happier than putting on makeup while Valeria watches, I think. I love hyperfeminity! I'm incredibly partial to skirts, dresses, and pink myself. I actually painted my nails pink last night :3

Also I don’t condone the purchasing of real fur, faux fur all the way!

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship

Nightshade and Peonies

You're lying on your side in your big soft bed. A satin nightgown draped over your body and leaving very few little to the imagination. Baby pink covers surround you, the soft glow from your lamps making them look peachy. Your eyes track Valeria's movements as she slowly approaches you with a box in hand. she kneels and sets it on the bed before you. A humble offering to her deity. you sit up and try to hide the giddy excitement inside of you. You're trying to appear calm and mildly disinterested but the slight curl at the corner of Valeria's lips tells you she knows what you're feeling anyway. You sat up too quickly to keep the illusion of feeling casual.

You grab the edge of the lid and lift. You can't hold back the happy smile at the sight of soft beige fur folded up neatly inside. You've been dropping hints for weeks. You carefully lift the coat out from the box and hold it up to see it in its full glory.

"Oh, Valeria, it's gorgeous!" You gush. Imagining all the outfits you can make with this. Mexico isn't the most ideal environment to own a fur coat in, but you will look so divine that it doesn't matter if you'll sweat yourself to death.

"That's the one you've been wanting?" She hums. Resting her head in her palm.

"Yes." You nod. Quivering with excitement.

You fold it back up with care and place it back into the box. You push it to the side; you'll be keeping the box too. It's a pretty off-white colour that will look so nice in your closet. You lean back in bed and finally give Valeria permission to join you. She crawls onto the bed and hovers over you. Her gaze shifting behind you.

"You have too many pillows." She remarks. Looking at the silk clad pillows, the throw pillows, the two fluffy heart shaped pillows. All arranged with a careful precision.

"I think I need more." You reply playfully.

"Yeah?" Valeria grins. leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. "I'll be your pillow." You're filled to the brim with so much dopamine and oxytocin that you don't know what to do with it. So, you move your head and bite down into her shoulder, making her flinch.

You sit up and push her onto her back.

"So, what are we going to do tomorrow?" You ask. Stradling her stomach. Valeria trails her fingers over the smooth material of your nightgown.

"I think we should go to dinner tomorrow." She replies. "I want you to wear that little pink dress."

"Which pink dress?" You ask. Valeria needs to be more specific because you own quite a few pink dresses.

"The really light pink one... the backless one." She clarifies. You smile. Valeria could never keep her eyes or hands off of you whenever you wore that dress. Tight, lowcut, and short with subtle ruffling at the bottom.

Valeria looks so pretty laying there with her hair sprawled out. it makes you want to bite her again. You're excited by the idea of going out to eat too. Valeria is always taking you on little dates but you're never not excited. You'd show as much enthusiasm for rock climbing as you would for slow dancing. You'd doll yourself up in a pink outfit, put on makeup, and enjoy your time with Valeria.

"The backless one." You repeat. An outfit is forming in your head. You're also thinking of what colour you should paint your nails. Pink is an obvious choice but there's many shades to choose from. You could also do white. Or a sultry cherry red. You zone out as you think critically. You have this delicious white tiara that would look so cute with the dress. Shiny white platform heels would match with the tiara.

Then you remember the coat. You scrap the tiara idea and decide to wear the coat with it. But what heels should you wear?

"Hey." Valeria says. Grabbing your jaw. "What's going on inside that head of yours, hm?" Her hand is warm and comforting.

"I'm thinking of what to wear with the dress, I want to wear my new coat, but I don't know what heels to wear with it." You explain. You have a pair of pink heels that are the same shade as the dress, but you aren't sure if that will throw off the balance.

Valeria gently pulls your face down to give you a short kiss.

"You're thinking too hard." She murmurs. "What about those cheetah print ones?" You consider it. The fur coat isn't an animal pattern. The cheetah shoes would not match at all.

"No, those don't go with it at all." You sigh.

"Oh, my poor baby." Valeria coos. "Your life is so hard; I can't imagine having to find the strength to match your shoes to your top." You playfully swat her shoulder.

"This is serious, I need to look good." You huff.

"You'll look good no matter what." She says. Making you lay down next to her. "You'll figure it out, don't stress yourself."

You sat at your little white vanity the next night, carefully applying a rosy, pink lipstick. Your makeup is almost finished, glittery eyeshadow peeks out from your eyelids. Valeria is laying back in your bed behind you, you can see her watching in the reflection of the mirror. You'd think she'd look out of place among the baby pink sheets if you didn't already know she had matching ones at home. Valeria once told you that she loves watching you get ready. To her, watching you doll yourself up is an act of intimacy in itself. A dainty necklace decorates your throat, the small white jewel glinting from just above your amplified cleavage. You dab a little concealer around your lips to clean them up a bit then stand. You turn and give Valeria a little spin, showing off for her. You decided to forgo the coat. A decision you didn't make lightly.

She gives you a little wolf-whistle and you grin in return. practically glowing with pleasure.

"Beautiful." She speaks.

"You say that every time." You reply, still grinning. she gently grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"And I mean it every time." She pushes up off the bed.

She walks towards your closet and retrieves the pink heels that match your dress perfectly. You glance at the coat longingly. You'll wear it the next time you go out, you silently vow. Valeria chivalrously puts on the heals for you. Holding your ankles with care, thumb running over the little gold ankle bracelet. You stand, a few inches taller than her though neither of you mind and eagerly stride around the room. Putting all the things you need into your tiny little bedazzled handbag. Lipstick and lip-gloss, mascara, and a small compact mirror. You grab Valeria's hand and drag her outside. forcing her to keep up with your energetic stride.

The restaurant is in the next town over. You sit in the passenger seat, looking out of place inside the dark interior. Although little touches of you are placed around the car. A tube of lipstick is in the glovebox. A little handmade pink and gold charm dangles from the rear-view mirror. She has a hand on your thigh while she drives.

The restaurant is nice and lowkey. Hanging paper lanterns provide a welcoming, dim glow. Your exaggerated feminine appearance garners a few looks but nobody comes up to bother you. She pulls out your chair for you and you sit down, looking around and taking in the place. It isn't all that modern inside. The tables and chairs are old, there aren't any TVs on the walls. It's a charming little establishment. You and Valeria order your food and wait. Speaking to each other in low, engaged voices. You excitedly ramble about clothing and makeup and colour theory. About all the ways to style animal prints and different patterns. Valeria listens with rapt attention. Adoring you in such a passionate state.

#cod mw2 #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza

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messiahzzz · 6 months ago

Note

You’re one of the most annoying people on this site. And that really says A LOT because WOW! Shut the Fuck up about Gale wanting to be a father or not. He never says that he doesn’t want to be one. You projecting things onto him doesn’t make it Canon.

on a serious note: i’m certainly not the one that continuously brings up this topic unprompted. i personally really don’t understand the entire controversy around the topic or why fandom feels the need to rehash this conversation almost weekly. i truly believe that there’s nothing more of value to learn from it, to address, or add to it… yet fandom won’t let it rest.

to once again clarify: what i mean by “gale wanting to be a father isn’t canon” is that there is no evidence/neither hints anywhere in any of the dialogue that support the contrary. characters like h*lsin, w*ll and la*’zel have entire adoption subplots. all of them mention their children explicitly during the epilogue:

narrator: *your soul warms thinking of lily aurora ravengard, your adopted daughter. a treasure of a girl, found at the entrance of the open hand temple - one grey eye, one brown.* w*ll: ah, the girl could melt the staunchest heart. she might even have brought a smile to old withers' face! w*ll: but tonight is for us - and lily's only four months of age, besides. i promise, the temple will keep her in good care.

player: and our little hatchling? is he safe? la*'zel: of course. i have complete trust in our newest allies. xan is in fine hands tonight. la*'zel: what a wonder he is. he will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.

h*lsin: being away from it... i cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence. player: we'll be back before they know it. h*lsin: i hope so. the children shall miss their bedtime tale tonight - though perhaps i can glean a few new stories from our friends here, to make up for it.

even shad*wh*art has a line where she briefly mentions that children might be a possibility for her in the future.

shad*wh*art: and i get to see my parents almost every day - i need to make every moment with them count, after so much was stolen from us. but they're doing well, [...] shad*wh*art: who knows? perhaps they'll have grandchildren before long.

gale in comparison? he has none of that. he remains childfree during the entirety of the game + epilogue. in fact, his line in the epilogue that addresses the topic of grandkids is this one:

tara: this is why mrs. dekarios and i will be waiting an eternity more for grandchildren. nodecontext: self-pitying gale: psst! shoo, tara. nodecontext: shooing away tara like one would a naughty cat.

i already wrote a post about this entire discourse here [x] but to repeat myself once more: all of the dialogue that vaguely addresses the topic of children in any way in regards to gale are these snippets

player: gale… how would you feel about having another person in our relationship? gale: what, like a child? i’m not quite sure i’d consider myself father material, plus our current lifestyle isn’t exactly what i’d call settled…

gale, upon spotting oliver during their game of hide and seek: ah, i have you! just a shame i don’t want you.

gale treating the children the group comes across with respect isn’t an indicator either. this is a courtesy gale extends to everyone he meets. he’s a character that approves of a protagonist who systematically commits good deeds. whether it’s sparing animals, helping without compensation in mind, or aiding children. wanting children to be cared for… and you know… for them not to die is common etiquette that every adult should extend to a child in need. those are not “dad goals!!!” it’s quite literally just basic human decency. gale is genuinely kind and caring to everyone he meets, there is no reason why this also wouldn’t apply to children.

i often see fandom mention his encounter with mol at last light and how excited he is to talk to her. which i think greatly misinterprets the context of the scenario since he didn’t have much of a reaction to mol before either — gale is ecstatic about lanceboard. again evident by his reaction to the party finding the life-sized board during the wyrmway trials, and how he immediately offers to give tav pointers. explaining different approaches to them in enthusiastic detail if they allow him to. the man just really likes lanceboard… as well as being the smartest person in the room.

gale: ah, lanceboard! why, this might just be the highlight of our misadventures to date.

gale: lanceboard happens to be a game with which i have more than a passing familiarity. might i offer a suggestion? nodecontext: gale's a badass lanceboard player, anticipating showing off

if you want to headcanon your tav and gale raising a big family together that is more than fine and no one is stopping you. whatever you want to happen to these two after the storyline of the game is up to your respective fantasies. no one is policing you on what you should do with your own character. go wild and create whatever fan content you wish, no justification required.

yet once again, as there is no mention in canon anywhere — neither in the main game nor the epilogue — that this is something gale would ever want (whether that may mean immediately or somewhere down the line) gale wanting to be a father remains a headcanon. while gale being childfree is explicitly shown in the game, in strict comparison to other companions that either have children by the end of the game or voice the desire to (eventually) have them.

my personal preferences are of no relevance here whatsoever. i care about accurate and correct characterization and will point out inconsistencies/false information no matter the topic. i, for one, want to appreciate these characters in the way they're written, not how i ideally want them to be.

#also i can live with being annoying #at least i don’t go out of my way to send anon hate to random strangers on the internet #asks #it speaks #fandom discourse #dad!gale #bg3 #gale dekarios #bg3 meta #summed up: gale is for the cf crowd

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abilouwrites · 4 months ago

Text

WRINGING MY HANDS IN MY LAP

AND YOU DONT KNOW IF YOU’LL MAKE IT BACK

I don’t appreciate uncertainty, growing up confident and sure of how my life was going to turn out. That I would become a doctor; or a nurse maybe.

I didn’t expect to fall into a committed relationship with someone I was so sure I wanted to marry at twenty four. I never wanted to date a hero; it’s common within hospitals. Finding a fling with a sexy injured hero. I didn’t except it to be for me.

Yet it was. I fell in love with him, “so you’re leaving?” I ask as he walks out of the shower. Just after dropping the bomb he would be leaving for a secret mission early the next week.

“No” he states, pouring himself a glass of wine and joining me at the stove, “I’m just going on a mission. I dunno when I’ll come back” he restates, but there’s a change. He changed his words.

“No. You said ‘I don’t know if I’ll come back’ Katsuki what does that mean? Are you going to die?” I ask, clicking the stove off and turning to face him, “let me rephrase it” I clarify, “do you think you’re going to die?”

He looks uncertain, damp hair brushes through his eyelashes, it makes me scared. The uncertainty on his face, the way his lips are turned down and sucked against his cheek, “I don’t know” he admits, “I wasn’t told much about it. Just that it was dangerous. But all of my away missions usually are”

I feel like throwing up, “they couldn’t have picked anyone else? Anyone?” I ask, “I don’t like this” I shake my head and take a sip out of my glass. I feel sick to my stomach, like whatever happens it’s not going to end well.

“I’m a hero, it comes with the job. If you can’t deal with that, maybe we shouldn’t” I know where this is going to end. I know he’s going to say we shouldn’t be together.

“No. I’ll.. I’ll be ok” I murmur, I find myself shutting down. Sitting and observing instead of listening. I’m not mad. Scared maybe, “what happens if you don’t come back?” I ask. My knees brought to my chest as I sit in my dining room, watching him pass me the plate of chicken

“I’ll come back” he says, “I promise”

“No. That doesn’t work for me” I tell him, picking at my dinner, “I need to know what happens. If you don’t come home. We’re not married” I explain, “you have no legal ties to me”

“You’re in my will. Im not stupid” he retorts, it’s like the thought never crossed my mind. But he’d never told me.

“But you never told me this, how am I supposed to know when you never told me ‘hey y/n. I put you in my will, hope that’s ok!’” I groan sitting up from the chair, “it’s like when you put me as your emergency contact without talking to me first”

It’s so frustrating when he does this, does something and doesn’t talk to me about his choice. Then gets upset when I become frustrated, it’s a never ending cycle of this, “I’m going to bed. I have to work tomorrow” I mumble grabbing my phone from the counter and walking to the only bedroom in my little apartment.

I feel when the bed dips, his arms instinctively move under and over me. Like a prolonged hug, I don’t want to move. I feel him plaster soft kisses against the nape of my neck, “I love you” I hear him whisper, “and I’m going to come back, and then I’m going to marry you” I listen, allowing the words to soothe me. Comfort me. Allowing myself to imagine me. In a white dress, with a ring on my finger. I want to picture it.

God I wanted it so bad.

It’s been a year, and each night it’s the same dream. Kirishima with a sorrowed look on his face as I walk out of the patients room to where I’ve been called. I knew it when I saw his face, closed eyes and a lip quivering underneath his teeth. My heart sinking into my stomach, “tell me it’s not what it is” I begged, holding onto his wrists as he guides me into an ‘on-call’ room. Sitting me in the chair and gently gripping into the plush of my thighs. Repeated apologies of how he couldn’t have saved him.

Except each time I keep waking up, just as he bows his head at my knees and tells me the love of my life. The only person I ever thought I could marry. Died. And somehow— he keeps thinking it’s his fault. Even if it wasn’t— and as much as I want to blame him. I can’t.

I’m heaving, wailing and crying once again. Four in the morning; crudely awoken from my sleep by the haunting memories. I shake as I pull myself out of bed. Trembling down the hall.

I hate this feeling, so empty even though I feel like I should’ve gotten over it. I should’ve grieved all I had to grieve. But I can’t.

I was stiff and uncomfortable at his funeral, picking at my skin and sitting in the back-row. His mother pleaded I sit with her. I wanted to, but I was just a girlfriend- a girlfriend he wanted to marry.

I knew he wouldn’t come home, deep in my heart I knew he wouldn’t return to my little apartment, no matter how badly I wanted him too.

#louiseabilenewrites #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugo #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x y/n #katsukibakugou #katsuki bakugo angst #angst #mha angst

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wingedcat13 · 1 year ago

Text

Princess in a Tower

[Note: this one is *not* Synovus, or any particular prompt. First person, implications of violence and familial abuse, and a one-off for real I promise!]

They have not yet mopped up all the blood, when I enter the throne room.

It is not the first time I have seen the room itself, but it is the first time I’ve had a chance to inspect it. Earlier, it was still filled with the chaos of our siege; the screams of mortal men and metal against metal enough to distract from the pretty mosaics on the walls.

I ignore the remaining smears of viscera. The bodies have been removed, which is the most important bit. They will all be identified, and depending on how well the people they died to defend behave, may even see proper burials. Loyalty is a virtue, even when it is to the wrong people.

Of course, to the people bound and kneeling in this room, I am the wrong people.

As I stalk through them I hear whispers between the sharp footfalls of my sabaton’d boots. Some are muttered prayers, or incoherent cries. The rest are my names and monikers: Domine of the Northern Reach, the Wyvern-Wraith, Death-in-Red. Some get the title wrong, translating it into the local customs, and I am named both ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’ in an air of confusion. My soldiers will correct them later.

By the time I reach the dais, only one person has been brave enough to utter my given name.

“Elith Frenaye.” Four syllables, but an infinite amount of venom. That’s to be expected. At least the pronunciation is correct.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I greet the man who was King here only a few hours ago with quiet grace and decorum. As he has dropped my titles, I am under no obligation to grant him his - particularly not when the titles he would expect are no longer his to claim.

The now-former King of Kescil is shorter than I expected, even granting the fact that he’s on his knees. He’s doing his best to keep a straight back, and his chin up, balancing as though he still has to account for the weight of a crown he’s already been relieved of. At nearly sixty, he looks remarkably fit for both his age and status; most nobles are showing their excess by now in unpleasant ways.

Archinard is balding, but he’s taken to it with grace. He isn’t the most muscled man I’ve ever faced down, but he seems to still care for himself. Still has most of his teeth, from what I can see of his sneer. Good. It’s always pathetic to execute someone people can’t even recognize as a king without their robes and jewels.

Archinard also isn’t stupid - he knows that’s his fate. He raises his chin again, and the mental image of him doing that on the headsman’s block is all that keeps me from punching him when he demands, “What have you done with my wife and daughter?”

Steadfast. I remind myself, simply staring at him while I take the time to put myself in order. The fight is over, but my nerves will take days to settle properly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

“Nothing yet.” I answer, politely casual as I walk past Archinard. My cape swings into him as I pass, and I swear for a moment he wanted to bite it. Perfect. “Though pretending ignorance won’t help any of you here. Yes, yes, you managed to hide them away from me.”

I turn to face the crowd again, and settle myself into the throne. My voice is steady, unhurried, and unworried, as I add, “For now.”

I don’t clarify that I will find them, or make threats. I don’t need to. There’s a moment where none of the Kescilians even breathe, and saying more would only tarnish that moment of fear. Even Archinard has paled, though his bluster will return in a moment.

Only if he’s given the chance, though, and I don’t intend to grant him that mercy.

I lean back in the throne - my throne, now - and as plush as it is, the thing is damned uncomfortable. Maybe that’s part of why Archinard is the way he is. I’ll never ask. There’s more important things at hand.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I repeat, and where before my voice was quiet and polite, now it is pitched to carry. I was not born to inherit this throne room, but I was born and raised to a crown. All of that training is evident in the seemingly effortless diction in my voice, a layer of fraying velvet over steel. “You are relieved of the duties of Monarch of Kescil. Your life has been remanded into my care. As I am merciful, I will grant you a choice.”

‘Merciful’ is stretching it, in this instance. The crowd likely expects me to give him a choice of how he’d like to die, or perhaps a chance to try and claim mercy for his Queen and the Princess.

“You may accept these changes with dignity, and retire as Ledan - Lord - Holbrooke, with a moderate compensation from your people, in recognition of your service. Or you may be executed as the last King of Kescil.”

The first offer is tempting, but this isn’t as much of a choice as it appears. Demoting the King to a noble may allow him to think he can reclaim his crown later, but it also opens him to punishment for years of mistreatment by his now-fellow nobles, who do not need to fear a crown’s reprisal. Compensating him from his own treasury makes him complicit, and the common folk won’t forget that he took the chance to run with the gold. Recognition of his service is a joke.

Whether it’s in a rebellion, at the hands of his own vassals, in a common folk mob, or by an assassin, I will see this man dead. It’s only a matter of how long he wants to live, and in what comfort, before the axe - metaphorical or literal - falls. Perhaps I am only offering him a choice of deaths.

“I am a King.” Archinard declares, “So I was ordained, and so I will die.”

The smile I give him in return is bloodless. “As you wish.”

—-

I do not execute Archinard immediately.

If conquest was my true reason for being in Kescil, I would have. My armor was still bloodstained, I had my sword, and the man was already bound and on his knees - it would have been incredibly simple to just end it then and there. But I have promised his death to another, if she wants it, and I will stand by that promise.

My excuse to the masses is that I want to make a ‘proper’ example of him. There are speculations that I want to execute the entire royal family at once, to ensure there are no mistakes, no accidental inheritances. Others think I’m torturing the man for fun behind closed doors.

I have a few retainers who know the truth of my purpose here in Kescil - I keep at least one of them with me, always, as a guard for both my body and my sanity. That first night, the four of us share a room, prepared to sleep in shifts in the parlor of a suite, all piled in the center of the floor.

“Better than camping.” Chirps Valentine, setting up his bedroll on the plush carpet.

“Worse than camping.” Counters Ames, who distrusts the textiles and would prefer a carpet of leaves to sleep on.

Ash doesn’t bother to chime in on that debate, just exchanges looks with me over their heads.

“It is camping.” I tell them both, shoving one end of a couch - there were four of them in this room, four. Not to mention the chairs and cushions and footstools and, ugh - further against the wall. If there were hidden passages, no one would be creeping in easily.

“You know,” Valentine muses from the floor, his head propped on his chin, “I can’t wait to hear the rumors after tonight. What about the rest of you? Fan favorites? Particular conspiracies?”

Ash folds her legs beneath her, and starts stripping off her gloves and boots. “That’s not fair to Elith.” She protests around a mouthful of leather as she struggles with a strap. No one tries to help her; we’ve all learned better. She’ll ask if she needs it. “Given she knows what’s supposed to be spreading.”

“Girl-Prince invades castle, hosts wild orgy in celebration.” Ames announces.

While I’m still wrinkling my nose at that, Valentine smacks Ames with a pillow, “It’s ‘Princess,’ you foghorn, not girl-Prince.”

Ames allows the blow to knock them flat, even though I’ve seen them take much worse without so much as a twitch. “I just repeat what I’ve heard.”

“There’s no way they’re already speculating about her sex life.” Ash disagrees, “We just got here.”

“People always speculate about my sex life.” I correct her wearily. “They call me girl-Prince as an insult, Ames, you know Kescil’s weird about these things. And I were to have a celebratory orgy, I would have invited far nicer company than you three.”

“Ah,” says Valentine, smug, “But would they have accepted? Or would you have been dropping trou with just us-“

“Thank you, Ash.” I say mildly, over the sounds of Valentine being smothered.

“We’ll find her, Elith.” Ames tells me, suddenly serious. The other two stop as well. “You know we will.”

The sudden focus of their attention is more than I can bear right now, even benevolent as it is. I exhale slowly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

I manage a smile. “I know we will.”

None of them stop me as I roll my shoulders, checking the fit of my armor is still right. I haven’t taken it off yet, though we did clean the worst of the day’s stains off of it earlier - the rest won’t come out without sanding the chain and plate, and that takes longer than I want to be without it, right now.

“I think I’d like to see more of my new castle.” I remark, purposefully light. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

Ash moves to start replacing her boots and gauntlets, and Ames opens their mouth, but it’s Valentine who’s quickest to his feet.

“I’ll go with you.” He says, cutting off the other two’s chance to claim escort duty. If I let them, they’d still come along, but four people in the halls will have everyone still in the castle up and trying to spy. I’m not certain Valentine and I will avoid that outcome either, but at least we have a better chance.

We walk the halls of the Royal residence, avoiding one particular room. It turns out to be a quiet night.

I don’t sleep at all.

—-

They find the Queen on day three.

We’re taking an early meal in the banquet hall when word comes, carried by a page who’s had to learn the castle’s floorplan faster than anyone else. She skids into the hall, nearly flipping over a bench that’s been left askew by its last inhabitants. When she spots me, she all but climbs over the tables to get to me.

Ames, my companion for the next few hours, is halfway out of their seat with a bread knife before I recognize the page, and settle them with a hand. Even then, they don’t sit, but scan the crowd behind the page, in case she’s being chased.

“Domine!” The page pants, almost throwing herself flat at my feet. “Ser Thorrun sent me, an urgent message. Immediately there and back with a reply, Domine, he seemed sure you’d send one.”

“Peace.” I tell the page, holding out my hand for the message. My food is forgotten - Thorrun is the one in charge of sweeping the castle for any hideaways who are still here. I have four others, each tasked with a different cardinal direction, leading searches in the areas around the castle for those who fled. So far, those searches have only turned up a few servants, and the odd nobleman.

While I read Thorrun’s note, I pass the page a goblet of water. It’s brief -

Q in Weave, A+U.

Rather than send a reply, I rise. The page spills half her water down her front, and looks up at me, gasping. Ames pats her on the back.

“Take me to the Weaver’s quarters, please.” I say. I can only hope it comes across as calm.

—-

A castle goes through a truly preposterous amount of linens. Back home, the weavers and the seamstresses share a compound building, but have separate work spaces they’re free to use as they wish. It leads to arguments and lost items of clothing on occasion, but the Textiline - like a housekeeper, but head of weavers, sewers, spinners, and launderers in the Royal employ - has never complained.

I would be ashamed to show them this place.

Part of it is our fault, yes - hanging curtains are a good place to hide someone with a sword if your opponent is in a hurry, or a moron who doesn’t know to look for boots. The simplest way to avoid that is to prod them with your sword as you pass by, and that leaves a lot of holes. A lot of baskets overturned to ensure no one is crammed inside one.

But there are no windows here, meaning the whole room is lit only by candles, leaving the entire room stuffy and reeking of tallow and lye. The weaver and the seamstress must sit back to back if they hope to have any room at all. There are all sorts of cabinets around, yes, but the doors can’t all be opened at once, and it must be a headache to get anything sorted in here.

But part of the reason for that is evidently because some of these compartments have layers. And behind a second layer rack where garments can be hung, there is another false back, and there is where they found the no-longer-Queen of Kescil.

By the time I arrive, Ser Thorrun has cleared the workers from the area, and has the woman bound, sitting on the weavers’ bench.

“Tabithica.” I greet her flatly. She looks offended to hear her given name. She cannot reply, given the gag. “I presume she still has her tongue.”

The last is directed towards Ser Thorrun, a wiry man who has crammed himself into a corner to give me the space I am due. He glares at Tabithica.

“Wasn’t mine to take.” He grumbles, one hand on his sword hilt. There’s no room to really swing in here, let alone draw, but I appreciate the gesture. And that his other hand is where he can reach a knife.

“So it isn’t.” I agree coolly. A quiet request, denied. This woman is not mine to kill either, but I am holding the privilege for the one who does have that honor.

Thorrun just nods, and takes the hand off his sword hilt to point out where Tabithica was hiding. “I’ve been having some boys pace out the corridors and rooms.” He explained. “Dimensions didn’t add up. None of the mortar looked fresh, so figured there was a hidden something or other back here. Found it.”

I step forward to inspect the place that has been a Royal bolt hole for the past three days. It is rank with ammonia - evidently she did not have anyone to empty the chamber pot, even if they did bring her food. There is a bed, and a quilt, and no one else here.

I knew that. Thorrun would’ve searched the room already, would’ve told me if there were signs of her. But I could not help but look.

“Wait in the corridor.” I tell Thorrun tonelessly. He manages to kneel in the small space, bowing his head to me. He asks no questions.

When Thorrun has left, and Ames has entered in his place - the wrinkle of their nose is brief, and shows they share my opinion of the place - I straddle the end of the bench Tabithica is sitting on.

For a moment, I simply stare at her.

Will she be more likely to give me answers if she thinks I won’t understand them? If I’ve threatened her? Or, like her husband, will she want to gloat and bluster and threaten me in turn?

Something about the gleam in her eyes reminds me of iron.

I reach up one hand, and she remains still rather than flinch away. Her breath quickens a fraction, but she keeps her eyes on me, not my hand. Not fearing or cowering from a blow. Pride? Stubbornness?

The gag comes loose with a simple gesture, and I let it fall as it will, sitting back again to examine this woman who once was Queen.

For a moment, we sit in silence. I will break it eventually, if I must, but for now I am content to study her, as she is studying me in return.

She takes the offensive: “Fighting over scraps now, are you?”

It’s a reference to how my parents had referred to Kescil - a kingdom of scraps, not worth the taking. Economically, they were right. Kescil was never going to have the forces necessary to pose a threat, but they also didn’t have anything our people needed or even wanted. So for years, we let them be, and simply didn’t care whether they lived or died.

“I do not need a reason.” I say softly, and as far as she knows, it’s true. I’ve certainly seemed to kill for less. But an answer like that is still to put myself on the back foot, even with a backhanded threat woven in.

Tabithica bares her teeth, “Thorns and horses, Domine.”

My title is spat with derision, but it is the words that are the insult. Ames stirs behind me, showing the anger that I cannot.

When I was yet young, my father went riding. This was not unusual. He forged through a thicket. This was not unusual. Shortly thereafter, his horse shuddered, and died. And the unhorsed consort found himself set upon by bandits shortly thereafter.

That part was unusual.

Investigations had determined the thicket had been doused in poison it did not naturally produce. Had he taken any scratch from a thorn himself, he would have met the same fate as his horse. Instead, it was a bandit’s dagger that took his life. But the thorns are still what killed him - had the horse lived, he could have outrun them easily.

It’s unlikely the event was arranged by Kescil, but I can’t fault Tabithica for trying to take credit.

“I’m not going to kill you.” I tell her calmly.

She laughs, a thoroughly unhappy sound. “Not yet?”

“No.” I seem to agree. She expects me to threaten her with torture and fates worse than death. “I haven’t killed Archinard yet either.”

I could’ve kept that bit of information from her, but I want to know instead.

There isn’t even a flicker of relief. If anything, Tabithica seems annoyed. Interesting.

“So be it.” She sighs, “I suppose he’s gone and committed us both to dying anyway, then.”

“Where is Galatea?”

Stupid of me, really. But I don’t have time to play games with this woman - I don’t care for or about her, or her husband, and only tangentially about her country. I could’ve tried to come around to it another way, but that would’ve taken time and effort I wasn’t willing to spend on a gamble.

Tabithica looks taken aback for a moment. Her head cocks slightly, considering. Then her expression becomes decidedly vindictive. “Dead.”

Ames stiffens. I do not react.

“That’s a shame.” I inform her, as though I’ve been told the last of a wine vintage has been consumed. “As she is the only one who may bargain for your release.”

Tabithica raises her chin, but I ignore her. Instead, I rise, turning to Ames, and putting my back to the fallen royal.

“Toss the room. Ensure there are no more hidden doors.”

“And her?” Ames asks quietly.

I look over my shoulder, and think again of how small this space is, how lightless, and airless. I meet Tabithica’s gaze.

“Put her back.”

—-

On the fifth day, my inner circle is restless.

We, all of us, know exactly how long a human can survive in depravation, and we are reaching the limits of what an ill-prepared hiding place would provide the missing Princess. With provisions, she could likely last quite some time, but…

None of us have faith that such a hiding place was arranged.

I have stalked the rows of the dead thrice, made a point of speaking to every survivor and servant. My searchers have been cautioned to not be blinded by assumptions of gender, of hair color or cut.

Thorrun’s men have paced out the entirety of the castle. They’ve found a few other hidden holes, but no one within them - living, anyway, one did contain a skeleton from either some long ago siege or murder - and there are fewer and fewer places to look. Younger, agile folk have taken to exploring the rooftops. Every barrel in the storage rooms has been opened, even those that have spoiled fermenting wine or beer.

And I am unspeakably proud of her.

—-

On the seventh day, I finally enter the Princess’s quarters myself.

They’re at the top of the eastern tower, windows facing the dawn. Its light cuts through in thin stripes, divided by the protective bars and slats that prevent any enterprising climber from coming in. Or any desperate princess from throwing herself out.

The stairs are narrow and winding. The walls are only now taking on a hint of dust after a week without tending. There is a dumbwaiter, built into the middle of the tower, but it is at the base level, and empty besides.

I have been avoiding this place. I came through it once, during the initial siege, hoping to find her here - and when we found it empty instead, I’d restricted all access to it. I could say it felt intrusive to walk through her bedroom, to search through her things for clues as to where she might have gone.

But in truth, it makes me furious to see this prison.

Every step feels like a purposeful insult. Every sign of care taken with the carpets and cleaning is another reminder that she must never have been alone. The light of the dawn rising every day to tell her she was still here, could go nowhere else, couldn’t even sleep in-

Enough. There will be recompense.

But the watch heard noises here an hour ago, and that means someone has broken my edict. Possibly, it is a bird that got past the bars, but if it is a person, I’ll at least have a target for my increasingly frantic rage. Because I have not found her. I promised I would. I will.

So yes, my steps grow heavier at the top of the stairs. I am somewhat distracted, scowling, when I open the door and stride into the room.

I pay for my distraction immediately.

The rugs are decorative, lavish, and layered across the stone floor atop the rushes. One of them had been moved, and I had not noticed until it was yanked out from under my feet. My stride is long enough, and I had been moving quickly enough, to avoid being sent back down the stairwell, but even still I lost my footing.

The fall stole my breath. The collision of my head with the floor briefly stole my sight. But I could still feel it when hands grabbed at my legs, pulling the knife from my boot and climbing up my body until its blade could be pressed to my chin.

“Move and I’ll carve out your heart.”

It was a growl more than a sentence. Sounds forced through gritted teeth. My vision was returning, blurry yet, and I could not discern one feature from another. Instinctively, my hand had risen to catch the wrist of the knifehand, and by that grace alone I still had a throat capable of speech.

“My heart is claimed.” I rasped in reply. There was clattering, a shout, from lower down the stairwell - someone must have heard my fall. “The neck you’ve earned, if you’re quick.”

Another growl of frustration - my captor did not wish to be caught, it seemed - and the weight on my chest was briefly removed. I flung myself to the side before it could come back down, knife point first.

Twisting away, I blinked the last of the blurriness from my eyes, and came up on my knees. I found myself looking down at my attacker, who was still sprawled on the rugs she’d used to force me down. Long hair in a messy, ratted braid, a dress with wide skirts that hung oddly, the fear and fury in her voice -

The determination in the wild swing she took for my legs, torquing to move, dragging her legs behind her.

“My heart is claimed by a girl of stone.” I gasp, barely avoiding the knife’s edge. “I’ve come to bring her a fine carriage.”

The woman stops, panting from exertion. When was the last time she ate? Truly slept?

She wavers for several long heartbeats, not dropping the knife. Her voice is watery when she corrects me, “the finest carriage, you idiot. I told you the passphrase was too long.”

—-

I insist on making sure Gal eats and has a chance to bathe before we talk. She insists we speak before she’ll sleep.

Arranged in her wheeled chair, she looks like a portrait half-come to life. The skirts of her dress are tailor made to hide the atrophied legs, to lay nicely in the chair’s confines. Her spine is straight, hands folded, and she does not fidget. She looks more regal than either of her parents ever will, wherever they’ve gotten off to. I’ve stopped caring.

(Ames and Ash are on guard duty, while Valentine runs the word that the Princess has been found. My orders were the inverse, but they decided it was better to have two on guard - this would be the time to kill me, after all.)

“You should’ve told me it was you.” Gal scolds me, picking off a piece of bread to throw at me.

“Like you told me you were the Princess of Kescil?” I retort, blinking involuntarily as it nearly finds its mark.

Gal turns up her nose. “I had to be sure you did not covet my title.”

“And I to be sure you did not wish to trap me.” I reply dryly. There is no sting in my words, though, no true animosity. Nor in hers.

The situation is far from ideal, and I am very aware that I am, in essence at this moment, her captor. But the reality of it all has faded away, because she is here. My Gal is safe.

Maybe my friends were wise to leave two on guard.

She drops the offended act, instead staring at the tablecloth. Her expression turns drawn, and tired. I’m on the verge of trying to convince her to sleep again when she asks,

“How many are dead?”

The thought of lying to her is barely a flicker - I can’t. “Seven hundred and twelve.” I say quietly. “Excluding pending executions, and those who may yet die from their wounds.”

She looks up at me, “And how many of those were your soldiers?”

“Two hundred and five.”

Her gaze drifts away from me, and she is quiet for a moment longer. This time, I leave her to it.

“I killed them.” She says flatly.

“No. I am the one who declared war.”

“Because of me.”

“It was hardly something you asked for.”

“But I am the root cause, am I not?” She glares at me, her tone challenging even as her shoulders start to curl inwards.

“Absolutely not.” My voice is firm. I’ve taken my share of blame for deaths before, and I will consider the two hundred soldiers who died under my command my burden to bear - but the dead of Kescil are not on her head. “If you insist on a root cause, it is the King and Queen who failed Kescil - in ordering their people to fight, in not ensuring they were adequately trained and armed, and-“ my voice gentles, “-in failing their daughter.”

“I put the pen to paper.” She says quietly.

“And I swung the sword. As did they.”

I know it isn’t enough. She’ll wonder how many of their men went to fight in the name of their Golden Princess - the delicate beauty they were taught to treasure and protect. She may never be free of the memories of constant haranguing, that she was helpless and failing her family and nation for faults that were not her own, and the substitutions her mind will make about how she was, in the end, the downfall of her country.

But Galatea Holbrooke was not theirs to keep.

“Well.” She says, after a few more heartbeats of silence. Her voice is brittle at first, but smooths out just as she smooths the tablecloth. “Then I suppose we should discuss terms, Domine Hawk.”

The addition of my title to the pen name I used to write her - chosen after one of my hunting hawks nearly took down her messenger pigeon - is a needling I quite deserve.

“Whatever you desire, Galatea of Kescil.”

She raises her brows at that, “Such trust, Domine. What if I desire your title instead?”

I smile, leaning forward on the table, and for once, I don’t clink. My armor has finally been doffed, and sent for a good proper scrubbing. “Then that can be arranged, though you’ll have to be more specific. I have several.”

“And if I want them all?” She’s leaned forward too, her eyes narrowing.

“In the traditions of the Northern Reach,” I say carefully, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes, “I cannot bequeath my titles to another, nor can they be taken from me by anyone but my Liege. But… they can be shared. With a spouse.”

When I glance back at Galatea again, she’s wrinkled her nose. My hands flex, curling inward as my stomach sinks.

“You just had to go and beat me to it.” She complains, slumping back into her chair. “Six months - six! - to get you to tell me your hair color, but sure, propose within the first three hours we meet in person.”

She groans dramatically, pressing a hand over her eyes, as I slowly straighten. “That’s - not quite an answer.” I hedge, “though I understand if you wish time to consider, of course, circumstances -“

“Circumstances!” Gal snorts, giving up the last of her propriety. “My bird, you cannot possibly have earned your titles by being this shy.”

But there’s a laugh in her voice, and when she uncovers her face, I can see a sparkle in her eyes.

“Do you know what I thought, when I was hiding from your soldiers, not knowing it was you and that I was safe the entire time?”

“About that-“ We still didn’t know how she’d been hidden.

“Oh.” She waved a hand, “There’s a closed off landing about halfway down the shaft, there’s still a ledge inside just large enough for me to fit. I climbed down and back up again.”

Gal shrugs, as though she hasn’t just told me she’s done that with only the strength of her arms, and alone.

“I thought it was a shame I couldn’t even live long enough to tell you to your face that grey is spelled with an e, not an a.”

“It can be either-“ I start, before cutting myself off with a sigh. We’d been over the topic at length before, in previous letters. I’d cut a page out of a dictionary to include it and nearly been banned from my own library.

Gal just tilts her head, and waits. Her hair is loose now, mostly. She’s mentioned wanting to cut it before - I can’t wait to see how short she’ll choose to go.

“It was much less complicated, when I was simply your Hawk.” I admit quietly.

“And when I was a simple village Gal? Neither of us were exactly spy material, you know. Where would I have learned to read as a village child? Where would you have found paper and books as a hunter’s child?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Some things we just wanted to believe. But there is a difference, between a noble and the heir to a country. I promised you my help when you thought I had little more than a bow and a hunting bird - and I meant it.”

She sighs, “And I just wanted you to know who I was, before I disappeared.”

Her final letter to me had been written in haste, explaining that she could no longer lead me on, and that all contact between us had to end. She’d signed it with her full name - the first she’d ever used it. When word came that the King of Kescil had decided on a suitor for his daughter, I understood.

But then, from Gal’s letters, I knew a lot more about the King than I suspected most of his subjects had.

“I knew who you were, Gal.” I assure her, and watch her eyes widen before she catches my meaning. “I just didn’t know your full name.”

“As I knew you.” She agrees, “Enough to know you’d be foolish enough to show up if I asked you to.”

“It seemed… prudent.” I say, tracing a pattern on the tablecloth. “And if you want, I will leave. I can’t bring back your army, but I can leave a contingent of soldiers-“

“Elith.” She says, exasperated, and the sound of her voice saying my name freezes me in place. “You promised me the world, little bird. Did you mean that too?”

“I did.”

“Then I do.”

“…what?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll marry you, Death-in-Red, Wraith-Wyrven, and whatever else it is you call yourself. Because my heart was claimed by a hunting bird, and I’ll not let it fly away.”

Her half of the phrase to identify ourselves to each other, if we ever did meet.

“After all.” She says, picking at her bread again, “You did fight a war for me.”

—-

[Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed, consider checking out my other writing, both here on tumblr and on Ao3! You’ll find links in my pinned post on my blog, if I haven’t come back to update them here.]

#original work #Elith Frenaye #Galatea Holbrooke #This is a one off for funsies #I don’t remember how long ago I started it but it’s been in progress for a WHILE #oh the tag says November 2022 #ONE YEAR LATER

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