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your-regular-toast-enjoyer · 2 years ago

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The only one: Yandere Damian Wayne x reader

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Yandere!Damian Wayne x reader or Yandere Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 11 368 words

TW: GN reader, Yandere, kidnapping, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), toxic family relations, obsession. Other than that, there's no s*x or anything of the like.

This was requested by @simligul

“How lovely…” Damian sneered.

You were all standing together in the Titan tower lobby, ready to go out to eat dinner, and Jaime had just explained to the green-eyed Robin how he had booked a table at a steakhouse, which didn’t serve any vegetarian dishes other than salads.

“I mean, you could just get a salad and instead focus on hanging out with us”, Jaime attempted to argue, it was clear that he didn’t want Damian to agree though. Damian was already annoyed and blew his team members off with a rough, “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just stay back.” You felt bad for him. It was unlike the others to be so non-accommodating, but they seemingly always had it out for the team’s leader, and you had yet to be let in on the reason why. Sure, he could be rude! But was that really rationale enough to treat him like the plague?

You were new to the team, Black Canary’s long-time protégé.

Dinah had been apprehensive when it came to letting you be on the Teen Titans. She had always acted like a protective mother-hen, and as your mother’s best friend, she felt obligated to keep you safe, despite your work as a vigilante. Both your mother and Dinah had been worried about you becoming a vigilante sidekick all those years ago, but with your growing meta-abilities, giving you the ability to control and create ice, it had seemed like the best way to help your then-ten-year-old self. You had been shipped far away from your mother and over to Dinah. The blonde hero had pretty much taken care of you ever since. You would never admit it, but Dinah was the first person you thought of when asked about your mother, not the woman who gave birth to you and whom you only ever saw for the holidays. It was a sad reality, but you realised why your mother, who knew nothing of how to handle superpowers, couldn’t deal with a child running around and freezing all her furniture to the ground, all her food into icicles and risking one day freezing a person to death. Oliver had handled the legality of it all, ultimately, money does speed up the process of a partial adoption, just a smidge. Eight years later, though, you were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Still, being next to a seasoned superhero and being in a team led by a boy no more than a year older than you were two very different things. Your mother had argued this point up and down, pushing it through your ears and hoping it’d stick in your mind. You didn’t care though, you wanted to be part of the team.

You had always seen how all the other sidekicks had such close bonds and yet the only other sidekick... Well, ex-sidekick… You ever managed to befriend was Roy Harper. He often came by Dinah’s place, which was your home too, when his mentor wasn’t there. However, Roy was more than ten years older than you, he acted like your older brother, not your friend. On top of that, he had a kid and was technically his own hero now. You couldn’t relate to him. Your classmates in high school were of no solace either. None of them knew anything of your secret double life. On top of that, it was hard to keep any friends among them, since you were constantly absent, (off on a mission with Dinah). Academically you did great, Dinah taught you herself whenever you were away, but socially? You were failing miserably. As an eighteen-year-old, your youngest friend isn’t supposed to be a decade older and fathering a kid.

You had become desperate to find company amongst the other sidekicks. You had practically begged Oliver one evening to help you convince Dinah to let you join the Teen Titans, (which didn’t actually contain a lot of teenagers anymore, but they were still within a relatively close age range to you).

The blonde-bearded hero had relented after a while, (having known you since you were a kid, he had never been very good at denying you anything). However, he only did so on the condition that you’d deal with some of the more mindless paperwork related to Queen industries. He had been sure that your dedication to being part of a new team wasn’t as big as your disdain for the asinine task of sorting, filling in and shipping off hundreds of reports. Yet, you had, and he had been obligated to hold up his end of the deal. Oliver spent hours buttering up Dinah to finally make her relent, but she was still on high alert and had even offered to buy you anything you’d want if you just stayed with her. However, you were determined to form new bonds with fellow young vigilantes, it was time to break out of your shell after all these years.

When you entered the large T-shaped tower along with your mentor, you felt a strange mix of total horror and unbridled excitement bubble in your lower abdomen, like the first time you fought alongside Black Canary. On the outside, however, you appeared unimpressed, perhaps even disgruntled. The other Titans had assumed that you were being forced to join, a comically ironic departure from the truth. Still, as you packed out your stuff in your new room, a secret smile betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

You met the team as it currently stood, it had gone through many iterations, but this was your team, the one that you would fight alongside.

You first met Jaime Reyes, he was a few years older than you but was ultimately a sweetheart. You had caught both him and another young man, Garfield Logan, playing a video game which you recognised from Roy’s apartment. Garfield was friendly as well, perhaps a little too friendly… He had jumped to hug you upon first meeting you, completely forgetting about his game with Jaime and crossing any personal space you might’ve wished to uphold. You let him though, it was nice feeling welcomed.

As Dinah walked you further through the tower, she introduced you to Rachel, who had simply given you a court nod, before returning to one of her leather-bound spell-books.

Koriand’r, Victor Stone and Dick Grayson had been next up on your list of members to greet, all being found together conversing. Technically, Dick wasn’t part of the team, however, since Kori was and she spent most of her time at the Titans tower, so did Dick, at every chance he got. He was like a puppy who couldn’t stray too far away from her side, lest he be lost forever. They all gave you warm smiles and firm pats on the back, they were all in the middle of their twenties, far older than any of the others, but still, they remained on the team. Koriand’r mostly being there as a mentor and a much-needed adult presence, whereas Vic simply couldn’t remove himself from the team, which had picked him up from his lowest points more times than he could count.

It gave you a sense of security that actual adults were part of the team, not just a handful of seventeen to nineteen-year-olds. It felt like a much-welcomed safety net, just like Dinah had always been for you.

The last on the list had been the team’s official leader, Damian Wayne. He had been in the position since he turned thirteen and had kept it well for over six years, it gave prestige to his name and it made you look forward to meeting him. However, as Dinah let you into Damian’s office, (a small room at the end of the hallway containing the bedrooms), you quickly realised that he would be the most unpleasant aspect of working with the Titans. He had simply given you an annoyed glance before referring to your teacher, “I suppose you want me to take your little sidekick under the team’s wings?”

Dinah had scoffed, uncaring whether Damian heard it or not, “Me? No, I’d prefer to keep my sidekick by my side, but Olli thinks it’d be good for them to interact more with people their own age”. Damian had raised one thick dark eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to let out a sarcastic insult, but decided against it. Dinah was, after all, a member of the Justice League, Bruce would have his tongue if he offended the blonde hero. “Fine, but I’ll send them back to you if they don’t have the skills required for our team”. Dinah had agreed to his conditions with a frown, she knew that they’d keep you, no matter how much she was going to miss having you by her side, she had to let you go and let you go on your own adventures.

Damian hadn’t ended up being very pleasant to you for most of your stay at the Teen Titans. He wasn’t a bully, but he never let his opinions pass through a filter. As a confidante, he would be horrible. Still, you respected his fighting and leadership abilities, and just because he wasn’t easy to get along with, didn’t mean that he was a bad person. The other young titans didn’t seem to grasp this concept, however.

“If you’re going to be so dramatic about a restaurant choice, then it’s probably better anyways”, Jaime spat at Damian. His aggression towards your leader shocked you, never had Jaime even come close to raising his voice at you, much less sounding so spiteful.

“Whatever” Damian shrugged, turning around and starting to walk out, gently whispering under his breath, “كل قهرا (Kol Khara)...” No one except you heard it, and his tone of voice made a pit form in your lower abdomen, tucking on you to do something, anything, to stand up for the young man. Right before Damian left the room, you exclaimed “I’ll stay back too”. Garfield tried to argue, “No, y/n! Come on! I’m sure Damian will be fine on his own!” His coercion didn’t work on you, and you stood your ground, shaking your head firmly. “No one should be left alone in the tower. Besides, I’m not too into steakhouses, anyways.” Garfield seemed deflated at the thought of you not joining them, looking pleadingly at the others for backup.

Victor or Jaime would’ve usually helped Garfield convince you. However, when your eyes briefly met Jaime’s, your scowl made your disappointment in him clear, and he backed down with an apologetic look. Victor tried to push out some statement that might change your mind. However, by the time he had found the words, you were already waving them off and walking over to Damian’s side.

As the rest of the Titans slowly filtered out of the tower, you turned to Damian. The shy smile that you had previously worn around the others slowly melted into a deadpan. You knew Damian would find your smile mocking, so you didn’t force yourself to hold up any pretences. “Pizza?” You asked as you dug your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. The young man’s green eyes studied you briefly, searching for any hidden meanings behind your act of kindness. “Why did you do that? I can be on my own, no problem. You don’t have to babysit me.” He spoke through his teeth, making him resemble a robot as his lips barely moved. “I don’t like steak-”, you shrugged nonchalantly, “-Did you want pizza or not?”

Giving you a suspicious look, Damian shook his head, “Sure. I’ll pay”.

You knew that Damian had a hard time letting others pay for him, he despised the feeling of being indebted. That was the most profound thing you knew about him, which you honestly found concerning, you practically knew nothing of your team captain. Calling up the nearest pizza place, you had them deliver the pizza to a corner close to the tower. Neither Damian nor you could risk anyone knowing your secret identities, and you didn’t feel like getting into your costumes just for a pizza delivery.

Slowly trudging down to the agreed-upon corner, you forgot to keep an eye on the traffic as you passed the road to the corner. Suddenly, you felt a harsh yank on your arm and a rush of air beside you. As per instinct, you fired a fist towards the direction of your assailant, only to have your hand caught by Damian. He had been the one to pull you back, and as you gave him a confused look, he flicked his index finger into your forehead. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?!” You exclaimed, massaging the affected area with the fingers of your left hand. Damian seemed agitated as his grip on your arm tightened, “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You almost got run over by a car, you idiot!”

You slowly blinked at him, letting out a quiet, “Oh…Thanks”.

Damian scoffed, tugging you across the road, still holding your arm in an iron grip, “Don’t worry about it”.

Damian was still holding your forearm tight when the pizza delivery guy arrived. The teenager in the blue pizza-place uniform gave the two of you a wary glance. It looked as if Damian was holding you against your will as you both held agitated facial expressions and the green-eyed man simply pushed the money you owed into the delivery guy’s hands, taking the pizzas and pulling you away. In reality, Damian had claimed that he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t get yourself into danger again if he let go of you. You supposed that it was a kind gesture, but your arm was starting to ache and Damian’s sour countenance made it look like you had just killed his new puppy.

When you and Damian re-entered the Titans Tower, he finally let go of your arm, setting the two steaming pizzas on the kitchen counter, before he started to rummage through multiple cupboards, looking for a pizza slicer. You discreetly rubbed the area that your team leader had squeezed so firmly. You didn’t want to complain to him, afraid he might make fun of your weakness. Still, he seemed aware, despite having his back turned to you. “Did my grip hurt you?” His voice was precise yet a certain calmness rounded his otherwise harsh tone. “Don’t worry about it”, you tried to reassure him, but he refused to let the topic go. “I didn’t ask you whether I should worry or not, I asked if your arm hurts?”

You stared at the dark tufts of hair at the back of the man’s head, a sense of bitter annoyance filling your throat. Why did he need to know if it hurt or not when you had already told him that it wasn’t a big deal? “A little, but it’s nothing compared to any of the injuries I get on the daily from sparring with Kori”, you giggled softly at the thought of how Koriand’r often left anything from tiny burn marks to black and blue bruises of varying yet considerable sizes. You had often wanted to spar with someone more on your level, like Garfield or Jaime, but you and Koriand’r were natural sparring partners. Her ability to shoot rays of fire perfectly contrasted your snow-themed meta-abilities.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you”, Damian muttered as he finally found the pizza cutter, turning around and meeting your eyes. For a second you were rendered gelid, his eyes were the deepest shade of forest green you had ever seen, with specks of a minty blue and rich gold spread throughout. You almost breathed out a woah, but managed to catch it mid-air by taking a deep breath. You had never realised that eyes could be so stunning, they almost seemed artificial. Forcing your gaze away from Damian, who himself had stood still, staring into your eyes, you turned to the food. Walking to the counter and unpacking the pizzas, you tried your best to ignore how Damian’s searing gaze was burning holes into your backside. It almost felt like he had aimed a laser at you while you were trying to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of him. “Can I have the pizza cutter?” You requested airily, it felt as if your team leader’s wonderfully green eyes were sucking out the oxygen from your lungs with their intensity. Making his way to your side, Damian pushed you away from the pizzas, “I’ll do it. You’ll just end up cutting yourself”. Finally, his fierce gaze dragged off you and onto the food in front of him. A chill went down your back and you realised that you had accidentally cooled down the entire room with your powers. You could’ve facepalmed at yourself, thinking, ‘that’s probably why he looked at me like that. I was literally turning the entire kitchen into a freezer!’

Calming yourself down and letting up on the use of your powers, the room slowly heated up once again. Damian didn’t comment on the sudden temperature changes, instead platting three slices of both your pizzas and taking them to the dinner table. Standing still for a while, seemingly pondering something, Damian finally put down both of your plates next to each other. “Come over here”, he commanded softly, dragging a hand through his thick hair, the muscles under his golden skin flexing in turn. With hesitant steps, you made it to the chair where your pizza had been put in front. Before you could drag out your chair, Damian did it for you, gesturing for you to sit down. Giving him a suspicious glance, you acquiesced. It wasn’t like Damian to be such a gentleman, or at least you didn’t think it was. Truth be told, you didn’t actually know much about how he usually acted. Damian always kept to himself or hung out with Dick when he was there, he hadn’t given you much of a chance to get to know him on any more than a surface level. When your thighs hit the pillow of the seat, Damian gently pushed the chair in place, before taking his place beside you. You ate in silence for a while, until Damian suddenly spoke up, “Thank you, by the way”. You were confused, why was he thanking you? Because you stayed silent? That wasn’t much to thank you for, your lack of social experience usually kept you relatively quiet. Deciding to be bold and ask him, you almost faltered as you turned to see Damian staring at you again. “What are you thanking me for?”

Raising a single mocking eyebrow, Damian tried not to sound harsh as he explained, “For staying behind to keep me company. I know that you didn’t just do it because you dislike steakhouses or whatever. It was nice of you, thank you.” His use of short and concise sentences almost made every word he spoke sound like an important disclosure, like something you’d expect to come out of the mouth of a scientist explaining the danger of a chemical substance.

“Oh, no worries. They were being arseholes anyways, they usually aren’t that way, I don’t know what happened with them today-”, Damian interrupted you with a loud scoff. “Perhaps they’re nice to you, but to me? They’re always like that, I’m not even surprised anymore”, his tone seemed like a mix of scorn and lament.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know”, you had no idea what else to say, what could anyone say in that situation? It was a lie, obviously, you were quite aware that your other teammates didn’t treat your leader particularly well. What you didn’t know, however, was that it actually affected Damian. He had always seemed like this indestructible wall, no emotions, all logic. You had never resented him for that, you had honestly respected it, but what you had never done was consider him human like the rest of you… well, except Koriand’r.

“Don’t apologise for others. You’re being kind to me… As the only one”, the last part barely came out as a whisper, it was clear he didn’t want you to hear it, but had to let it out, or else he’d burst.

Taking the last bite of your third pizza slice, you took the plate to the sink. You had no idea how to deal with Damian at that moment, you had practically grown up with Dinah, a licensed therapist, and yet you had no idea how to tackle the Wayne boy’s display of emotions. It was such a rare occasion, you knew, and with his hardened composure, it was obvious that he hated being vulnerable. You wagered that he’d probably have preferred to have this minor breakdown with anyone else except the newest member of his team. However, since you were the only one there, you supposed you’d have to do. Roy did always tell you that you were a great person to rant to, lending your ears to anyone willing to speak their woes.

Going over to Damian, you offered him your hand. He looked almost offended at the gesture, with his eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched all the way up. Still, he gently placed his rough palm in yours, forgetting his last pizza slice. Hoisting him up, you lead him to your room in complete silence, except for the thumps of your feet hitting the floor. Closing the door behind you, you led him to your bed, and plopped on top of your duvet, dragging him down with you. “Speak”, you gently suggested, hand still intertwined with his. “What?” Damian questioned, looking at you like you were mad. “Talk about how you feel about the others, please. It usually helps to get it out. I promise, whatever you say in this room, stays in this room”, you requested with a sweet smile, urging him to open up, if only a bit.

“No.” Damian refused immediately, he wasn’t the type to share his worries and woes, so why was it any of your concern that he felt unfairly treated by his teammates? That he already preferred you, the newest member, over the others, because the others always assumed the worst about him and simply treated him like a robot sent to make their lives difficult, despite him just trying to keep them all safe?!

“I can see why that’d make you feel alienated by them”, you muttered peacefully, your thumb rubbing calming circles into the skin of his hand, just like you had always done with Roy.

“Shit-”, Damian breathed out, he had said all of that out loud. ‘Way to go Damian!’ His mind screamed at him. He felt exposed and vulnerable like he had just ripped his skin off and presented you with all of his bleeding organs. It was disgusting and he felt the need to backtrack. Yet, the rhythm of your finger tracing lazy shapes on top of his skin made him enjoy the moment just a bit too much to let it go.

“Why are you doing this?” Damian asked with no small amount of scepticism.

“Everyone deserves someone to listen to them, that’s what Dinah always says. Besides, my best friend is literally Roy Harper”, you answered casually. Your last sentence made Damian laugh, despite himself. It was no thunderously bellowing laughter, as you knew his brother had from the few times you and Jason Todd had visited Roy at the same time, but rather a contained yet harmonious chuckle. Still, your argument was valid, Roy’s mental instability and former partiality towards drugs were infamous within vigilante circles.

Damian considered you for a moment, before leaning in closer as if what he told you was a rumour to be whispered. Starting off slowly and carefully, Damian admitted feeling as if had no one at the Titans to speak with, as if they all compared him to his older brothers and were disappointed. He felt as if he was oftentimes the only one who saw matters logically. As evidence of this claim, he cited incidents such as Terra’s traitorous nature slipping through Kori’s fingers because the woman refused to do background checks, or how just last week Jaime had almost gotten all of you killed because he refused to attack a crying henchman soliloquizing about his family, who turned out to simply be acting to divert the team’s attention from the bomb planted close by. He was frustrated by their idiocy and the way he spoke so passionately on the issue, you were able to deduce that what really frustrated him was the fear that the team would get themselves hurt.

You let Damian vent out all of his frustrations until the sound of the front door opening harshly followed by Jaime and Garfield’s yelling filled the entire tower. Damian shut his mouth like a clamp immediately, yet he sent you a grateful smile, which revealed the deep dimples on the side of his cheeks. “Thank you for listening to me, صديقة/صديق, (Sadeek/Sadeekah)”, Damian squeezed your hand one last time before sneaking out of your room, unseen. A weight lifted off his shoulders and a curious pit formed in his stomach.

You and Damian started talking sporadically after that, it was never in front of the other teammates, but Damian seemingly always managed to catch you alone for a few minutes every few days. You’d exchange a few hushed jokes or comment on the latest mission. It almost felt as if your newfound friendship was illegal. As if the others couldn’t know that you found Damian’s company pleasant and almost refreshing compared to the hyperactivity of Garfield, Jaime’s constant laments about his previous friends, Brenda and Paco, or Kori’s disturbing lack of filter. Damian was a delightful contrast to the constant tumult that the others provided and you felt as if he already knew you better than yourself. His music recommendations were always bangers, his favourites in everything from food to movies always seemed to match up perfectly with yours, and if a particular teammate had been an irritation that day, he always commented on it, which felt nice as it confirmed your own feelings on the matter. It almost felt as if the two of you were made to be friends.

The truth was, Damian did in fact know you pretty well. It was hard not to after having hacked into your computer and phone, looking through your google searches and favourite music, and sneaking into your room while you were on patrol, going through all of your things, as well as discreetly observing you whenever you were in the same room as him, (had he not been a trained assassin, he was sure that he would have been caught staring by at least one of your team members).

After your earnest kindness during that evening when the others had left for the steakhouse, an unfamiliar feeling had started to spread through his body. At first, he had thought he got sick, but after having gone to the doctor and been cleared for any physical ailments, he had started to panic. What was going on with him?! The image of your face never left his mind, a strange pain went through his chest every time he was far away from you and whenever either Jaime, Garfield or Victor touched you, he experienced a rage unlike any other.

He had gone directly to Dick the moment his brother visited. The older man had chuckled at first, explaining that it was probably just a crush, but Damian disagreed vehemently. The green-eyed man had experienced crushes before, he once had one on Rachel and even some of his fellow assassin trainees as a kid, but this was entirely different.

Dick had shrugged and waved it off as Damian’s first time falling properly in love, comparing it to how he had been with many women throughout his life because he was attracted to them, but he had only ever been in love with Barbara and Koriand’r. Damian hadn’t really understood the explanation, but he did gather that he could perhaps have with you what his brother had with the two red-heads, just… more exclusive.

Maybe Dick would have been more careful with his explanation had he known his brother’s obsessive tendencies. In later years Grayson would defend himself with the phrase, “Who assumes that about their brother?” But at that point it would be much too late, after his talk with Dick, Damian had gained a new insight into himself. He was definitely in love with you.

Still, Damian had felt the need to do as many background checks on you as possible, hence his first visit to your room without your permission. He refused to let his feelings turn him into danger, ever the sceptic. Yet, when all came back green, he let his heart guide him for the first time in his entire nineteen years of life. It felt freeing and he became deathly afraid of losing the feeling.

Still, this overwhelming sensation came with its drawbacks. Never had Damian felt so jealous of anyone or anything, not even Tim. Most of his jealousy was aimed at his green teammate, the man going by the moniker Beast-Boy, Garfield Logan. His newest enemy, in a long line of them. The man was clearly your best friend on the team, always plastered right by your side. It was cruel how you were so open with your friendship with Garfield, but hid away your affiliation with Damian. On top of that, it was so obvious that the little green freak had a crush on you, it was almost too much for Damian to bear. Garfield didn’t deserve you, Damian did. The green-eyed Robin was simply looking for a reason to do away with the beastly man. No matter the severity.

It was a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, you were relaxing on your bed, reading a book that you had recently lent to Victor, but never gotten around to finishing yourself. It was on these days that your ice powers were the weakest, you had barely been able to shoot a single beam of ice at Koriand’r during training earlier and had needed to resort to hand-to-hand combat within the first ten minutes. It had you exhausted and your powers totally drained. So tired were you, in fact, that you hadn’t even bothered to pack away most of your melee weapons. Knives laid on your desk and bedside table, out in the open, it was against almost every rule in the protocol. However, you were just so exhausted that you would rather deal with the consequences of getting caught leaving your weapons out than stand up and do any work for a single second more.

A loud knock ripped you out of your reading. A shame really, you had just reached the good part.

“Come in!” You urged with a deep sigh, and the door opened to reveal Damian.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, displaying a smug smile, knowing you wouldn’t mind his light teasing.

“Just my book reading. What’s up?” You replied as you sat up properly. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d slid so far down with your back, your neck practically leaning against your bed’s headrest.

“Just wanted to hang out with you, and thought you probably wouldn’t mind”, Damian made his way into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, making sure that none of the others saw him enter.

You hummed in confirmation as Damian lifted your legs, plopping down on your bed, before laying them over his lap, not changing your previous position.

Relaxing your body again, your eyes drifted to the page you had gotten to, continuing to read the story, but Damian had a different idea, plucking the hardcover from your hands and turning the pages towards himself. You dragged your legs back towards yourself and leaned closer to Damian, trying to grab your book back. However, once you had gotten relatively close, the green-eyed man leant back as well, a clear smirk bending his plump lips. You continued to pursue your book until Damian was on his back, book covering his face, and you leaning over him, an arm on each side. From behind the cover of the book, you heard his muffled voice, proud and taunting, “My, my, Y/n. I didn’t know you felt that way-” Your face started to burn like a fire, unaccustomed to the flirtatious tone in Damian’s voice. Using your powers, you attempted to cool your skin down before your friend saw, but it was too late, as Damian had already moved the book away from his face. “Wow, Y/n. Is it that bad? You’re getting all worked up”, his smug expression worsened, which told you that he had planned for something like this to happen. Yet, as you were examining his face up close, you were momentarily caught off guard. You had never realised how beautiful Damian actually was. You knew that Bruce was considered attractive by pretty much anyone who was into men, heck, even you could admit that he was good-looking. And from the few pictures of Talia that you had seen on the Justice League supercomputer, you could confirm that she was gorgeous. So, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Damian was absolutely stunning, but still, it somehow surprised you how everything on him just seemed visually appealing. His eyes, which were so green that you’d think he wore contact lenses. His thick dark hair, currently spread out on the foot of your bed like a mini halo. His skin, which held such a beautiful golden colour, even if it was dimmed significantly from being inside writing up reports for the Justice League most of the time. Reaching forward slowly, you let a single finger trace along his nose, roman in shape, which gave his face character along with his sharp jaw. He was like a Greek statue. Damian’s gaze was focused on you, eyes blown wide. Yet, as you continued to trace your finger down his face, as if in a trance, his long eyelashes started to flutter, gradually closing his eyelids and enjoying the sensation of his face being caressed. He wasn’t used to physical affection and had been sure that he wouldn’t like it, even if he got it. However, when it came from you, it just seemed so gentle, so… correct? Like you were supposed to touch his face like this. Like if you didn’t, the world would go down in violent flames. But as soon as the moment began, it ended. When you realised what you were doing, your hand sprang away from his skin like a frightened spider. You almost pulled away, but Damian’s strong hand grasped your wrist, eyes still closed. “Don’t stop, please”. If your face hadn’t been warm before, it surely was now. How could he be so casual about asking for that? Was this not too much for a pair of friends? Well, you actually weren’t too sure... You hadn’t really had an actual friend since you were ten, maybe this was entirely normal friend behaviour. Who were you to say?

Letting Damian guide your hand back to his face, you gently allowed your palm to brush his right cheek. Leaning into your touch, Damian made a content sound from the back of his throat. Both of you were surprised that he was capable of such a thing. Putting his free hand between your shoulder blades, Damian coaxed you closer, getting you to put your weight on your elbows instead of your hand and wrist. You were so near each other, all one of you had to do to meet each other’s skin was to lean a little up or down, depending on which of you took the initiative. After you had continued your tender ministrations on the right side of your friend’s face for a while, Damian carefully moved your hand to his jaw, turning his face and leaning up to meet your lips. His attempt at a kiss was broken when your bedroom door swung open to reveal Garfield standing in the opening. A beat of silence occurred and if anyone had dropped a pin, it would have made a resonating clatter.

The green boy stood still, shocked at the scene and with a look of outrage on his wide-set features. “What the heck are you doing to them?!”

Looking at your position, you understood how this could be perceived as Damian forcing you upon him, especially with his hands placed controllingly on your hand and back. Couple that with Garfield’s total lack of knowledge of your friendship. It wasn’t a pretty look for the man under you.

You quickly tried to explain Damian’s innocence, but the man himself jumped in to defend himself, or so you thought. Instead of explaining the situation to Garfield, who stood in the doorframe, ready to turn into a tiger and maul the green-eyed Robin on the spot, Damian simply spat out an annoyed, “Get out!”

Garfield didn’t move, however. He instead entered the room, slamming the door behind him. “No! Let them go and get away from them!”

Again you tried to explain, but before the words even reached your lips, Damian tugged you closer, burrowing your head in his shoulder and sending his green comrade a challenging look. “Or what?”

Garfield was taken aback, he didn’t expect things to escalate this far, but he adored you, thought of you as a dear friend, and there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his friends, which he decidedly didn’t consider Damian to be. “I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to touch anything again”.

Realising how bad things were getting, you attempted to push Damian off you to diffuse the tensions, but he kept you in place and you began beating on his chest to let you go. “You’re just acting like this because you want them for yourself! You’re trying to take them away from me!” Damian sneered at Garfield as he sat both of you up, still keeping you close to him. Both you and your fellow team member were shocked at Damian’s words. They came out of the blue. “What?! No- That’s not- You know- I don’t-”, Garfield was too stunned to speak, but Damian wasn’t as he again commanded the green man, “Get out”. The man in question growled, “No way! Let them go, you psycho! I’ll tell Grayson how creepy you are!” The mention of his brother made something within Damian snap, he carefully let you go, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, the last moment of silence. Before you even had time to react, Damian grabbed a pencil from your desk, currently ignoring the knives abandoned next to it, and swung at Garfield. The attacked was able to jump away in time for the lead-cored writing utensil to just narrowly miss his head. It still bore deep into his shoulder, though, and he let out a howl in pain. You attempted to run to your friend’s aid, but both men told you to stay out of it. You wanted to race out of the door and get some of the others to help you, but the two men were blocking your path. You attempted to freeze both of the men’s feet, anything to keep them from each others’ throats, but your powers gave out on you and barely made a pfft sound as two puny clouds of snow emerged from your palms. You were panicking as Garfield turned into a verdant lion, right before your very eyes. You screamed for the two of them to stop, for one of them to just leave, anything other than fighting. You knew that a showdown would only result in someone getting seriously hurt and you wanted that for neither of your friends. You practically begged them to end the fight, but they both ignored you, with Damian grabbing two of the knives on your desk, and entering a fighting stance.

You tried to run into the fight but were pushed down to the floor as Garfield jumped at Damian, who expertly sliced open the side of the green animal. A roar of pain filled the room and you wondered how none of the others had shown up yet, wishing with everything in you that Kori would come or even Victor. Any grown adult that was older than twenty. The thought of calling them briefly crossed your mind, but your phone was on the desk, which was being obstructed by the two men fighting. As a last-ditch effort to get help, you screamed your lungs out, “Kori! Victor! Anyone! Please!” Your throat became sore, the skin inside it felt ripped and inflamed, and yet you continued your screaming, like a mantra. But none came.

What you didn’t know was the reason Garfield had gone to your room was to tell you that the others had gone to see a movie, one that both you and the green man had expressed disdain for. Garfield had planned a movie marathon for just the two of you, but now? Those plans seemed like a far-off dream.

Garfield was wounded, severely. Damian hadn’t even gotten a scratch. The dark-haired man considered his opponent as they circled each other. He scoffed, Garfield should’ve known he’d never stand a chance in a fight, but it was nothing if not a net positive for Damian. He got to get rid of the green boy who always clung to your side, so obviously having a crush the size of the moon. Disgusting, Damian thought. Did Garfield not know how beneath you he was? What made him ever believe he’d deserve you? He probably didn’t even love you, you were just someone he’d play around with until he got tired and then he’d throw you away. So far from Damian’s more respectable intentions, from his true and deep love which ran through his blood, getting pumped in through his heart and out through his veins. His love for you was his entire being. So, Damian was happy to get rid of the little green obstacle.

When Garfield jumped at Damian again, he felt a sudden shock as a knife was stuck in his chest. He shook and had to focus his entire being on not turning back into a human, if he did that, the wound would leave a much bigger impact. He didn’t get to ponder on it too long as Damian pushed him to the ground, sitting firmly on his lower abdomen, threatening to stick the second knife into Garfield’s throat. The bleeding man looked for you. If he had to die like this, he’d want to see you one last time. But he couldn’t find you in his sights. Suddenly, the weight on top of him was pushed off. Trying to see who his saviour was, he caught a flash of your shirt. “What is wrong with you two?!” Your voice, you were practically hissing, hoarse beyond measure.

Garfield gasped, and you quickly found your phone, calling your emergency number. You had a special one for the vigilantes, a measure to protect all of your identities.

After ending the call though, you felt something hard collide with your head, and you fell to the ground, blacking out at your back made contact with the floor, an incoherent scream in the background.

Damian had knocked you out with the book you had been reading previously, it had laid abandoned on the bed. He realised what he had just done would mean. He hadn’t considered the ramifications while in the heat of the battle, but now, all he could think about was how he’d lose you if he…when he was kicked off the team. There was no way that they’d let him stay after almost killing a teammate. So, he’d leave on his own accord. His mother would probably be mighty happy to see him again, she wouldn’t mind him bringing along his beloved.

Leaving behind a screaming and bleeding Garfield, Damian picked you up and took out his phone from his pocket. He was surprised that it had stayed in there during the brief fight. Calling up his mother, she picked up immediately, it had been years and yet she was more than a little desperate to hear him utter the words she had waited so long for. “I’m coming home and I’m bringing a friend”.

Dinah was inconsolable. Bruce had already tried to get her to calm down, but any time he opened his mouth, the blonde hero would cry about how this was his fault for raising a lunatic. Oliver also blamed Bruce, even going as far as to suggest making Damian their number one wanted enemy, a decision thoroughly backed by all except Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman.

“He’s a confused boy!” Clark had tried to defend, but Dinah would have none of it.

“He kidnapped my kid, my Y/n! He’s a psychopath and he’s dangerous! Look what he did to Beast-Boy!” The blonde had gestured to the photos of Garfield’s extensive injuries. He had survived, but barely. There was heavy doubt about whether or not he’d ever be able to get back to his vigilante duties. The damage was the worst around his stomach area, where Damian had practically gutted him like a fish.

It had been Garfield that explained what happened. How he had walked in on Damian forcing you upon him, the ensuing fight and your kidnapping. While his story wasn’t entirely true, it got the point across well enough. It had left Dinah and Oliver furious and out for blood.

No matter how much Bruce attempted to convince the other Justice League members that he could convince Damian to give you back, it was hard to take him seriously when they, firstly, had no idea where the two of you were and, secondly, when looking at how he had almost snuffed out the life of a teammate.

The Doom Patrol demanded retribution as well, or at the very least reassurance that Damian would never return as a hero after what he had done to their former mentee. Rita Farr had almost been as devastated as Dinah when she had seen her adoptive son, racing to her green man’s side as soon as she had gotten the news, she still had yet to leave him for any substantial amount of time, barely letting herself get any food.

“I want my sidekick back! Your boy took them from me! That makes it your responsibility too!” Dinah had hissed, letting her mouth hang open for a second, a clear warning that she would have no scruples about blowing up both Wayne men’s heads with her canary cry if she didn’t get the young hero, whom she saw more as her own child, back.

The Justice League had voted on whether or not Damian and Y/n should be hunted down, and it had been an overwhelming five to three in favour.

After the vote, Oliver guided the fishnet-wearing heroine out of the tower to cool off. Slowly, most of the members followed, leaving only Bruce and Clark. Superman placed a hand on his friend’s back and gently rubbed circles into Bruce’s latex-clad back. “We’ll get them to see sense, don’t worry. It’s probably all just a misunderstanding”. Bruce knew that it wasn’t. He always had a feeling that something was off about his youngest son, he had simply ignored the signs in favour of training up yet another young vigilante, fit to take over his legacy.

“It’s not,” Bruce stated bitterly, letting his guilt take over his heart.

Months later, on the other side of the world, in the palace barracks of Eth Alth'eban, you sat next to Damian at a vast breakfast table. It had been so long since he took you with him, you presumed that no one had any idea where you were or that they simply weren’t looking.

Damian hadn’t bothered taking any of your possessions along as he fled with you, so, when the clothes you had been wearing that damned Saturday had gotten sufficiently dirty, you let him outfit you in the deep green robes associated with the Al Ghuls, of which he wore a similar one himself.

It had been long enough for you to give up hope of ever getting rescued. You had tried to escape, multiple times in fact. With your powers, (weak as they were in the beating sun), it was relatively easy to get away from the regular guards, meant to keep you within the palace’s walls. Damian was a completely different story, however. The moment he got news of your escape, he’d instantly know where you’d be heading, he knew you better than anyone else, after all. And as much as you tried to fight back against Damian, it was no use. He was too good of a fighter. So, you resigned yourself to your fate.

“What would you like to eat, beloved? I won’t let you skip a meal”, Damian questioned gently, while holding your hand tightly under the table, tracing figures of eight into your palm. You shrugged, you didn’t like the idea of taking food from your kidnappers, it felt like an admission of consent in the entire matter. Damian’s face hardened, “You have to eat something. I’m not repeating myself again, beloved.” His tone left no room for discussion. He had taken up the unfortunate habit of talking to you like one would a child, entirely incapable of taking care of itself.

“Maybe some fruit? I don’t know”, you stuttered out, which seemed to please Damian immensely.

“Of course”, he smiled as he reached his muscular arm over the table, fishing up a small assortment of colourful fruits, some of which you had never even seen before, and putting them on your plate. You observed his arm carefully, watching the muscles flex under his skin, which had gotten a much healthier golden glow since you arrived at the League of Assassins’ lair.

Talia sat opposite the two of you, her eyes inspecting you with scrutiny. Her gaze made you want to shrivel up and hide behind Damian. She truly was as beautiful as she had seemed on the Justice League computer, if not even more. The computer hadn’t been able to capture just how sharp her green eyes were, nor how said eyes could make you feel like the smallest person in the entire world.

You sent Talia an apologetic smile as if to say, ‘I don’t want me to be here either, we’re in the same boat’. You had no idea if she got the hidden meaning, you doubted she would care, even if she did.

“I’ve taken time off from my duties today, Y/n. Perhaps we could walk through the gardens, or would you rather do something else?” Damian’s voice cut through your thoughts, he was observing you bite into the fruits he had picked out for you, so fresh that their juices dribbled down the corners of your mouth. Looking up at the youngest Al Ghul you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to put a napkin over your lips, wiping away the stickiness left behind on your chin from your breakfast.

“All better”, he muttered as he leaned over and pecked your cheek. Your face heated up. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him, but his treatment of Garfield, whom you presumed dead, kept flashing in your head every time you felt ready to forgive him, or at least try to. It made ever moving on with this new life of yours near impossible. “What about the library?” You suggested nervously, Talia’s presence usually did that to you. Leaning close and capturing your tepid lips with his, Damian hummed in agreement. Your eyes went to his mother, who was looking at the two of you with an emotion which was hard for you to decipher.

As you strolled around the library, hand in hand with Damian, you picked out books which caught your interest. The League’s library truly held everything, there was at least one copy of every fiction and non-fiction book you’d ever heard of. “It’s important to have access to all information”, Damian chuckled every time you were surprised that the library held the book you’d ever asked for, no matter how new. You almost suspected that they held the unfinished versions of books, just to be sure that they didn’t miss out on the writer’s process. Despite the gigantic library holding so many books, very few were actually present except you and Damian. “Most assassins are too busy to read often”, a shame you thought, what was the point of having all these books if they never got read?

Deciding on a book to read, you attempted to walk towards a closed-off area with deep green couches, but Damian stopped you, pulling you back, and making you collide with his hard chest. The green-eyed man laughed loudly at your confused expression, his voice carrying across the many bookcases and returning back to you as an echo. Effortlessly plucking the book out of your hand, Damian kissed the crown of your head, whispering into your hair, “let me read to you, beloved”, it wasn’t a question nor was it a command, you couldn’t quite place it as anything other than a statement of fact.

When you reached the sofas, the green-eyed heir pulled you towards him, urging you to sit between his outspread legs, an invitation which you were nervous to refuse. Settling down, you leaned back against his chest, letting the warmth of his body fill you up as he wrapped his free arm around your midsection, before starting to read out loud.

The book itself was disappointing, with one-dimensional characters and a boring setting, however, Damian’s raspy yet clear voice rang out perfectly without vibrato or mistakes in his pronunciation. Like melted chocolate and soft butter, his weirdly mixed accent was smooth and enchanting. You would have listened to him read any book, even a dictionary, for all of eternity. You never realised how musical Damian’s voice indeed was, his chest rumbling along with the words as you slowly started to relax in his grip. At one point the sound of his reading stopped. You opened your eyes, which you hadn’t even realised had closed during his reading, coming face to face with Damian’s eyes gazing down at you, you returned the gesture. He honestly looked like he had been carved by a renaissance sculptor. You wondered if he knew how breathtaking he really was. “You’re gorgeous”, the words tumbled from your lips like rocks over a cliff. Damian’s eyes softened, never had you seen him so vulnerable yet relieved, “Nothing compared to you”, he whispered reverently, moving his hand up your body and caressing your jaw softly. It hurt, not physically, but rather your mind. People usually said that emotions were centred in the heart, but you’d disagree, it was all in your brain, pulsing with the thoughts of Damian’s sweet touches, his attack on Garfield, the forced relationship and how you’d been infatuated with him ever since the evening that you two had gotten pizza. You had never been one to cry, you had grown up as a vigilante, and as a meta, you had been forced to put up a hundred proverbial walls, guarding your emotions and opinions with an iron fence. Still, as the pounding in your head got worse and Damian’s touches gentler, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, and despite you biting down on the inside of your lips hard, almost drawing blood, you couldn’t keep in the body-wracking sob that pushed its way from the deep depths of your stomach and out through your mouth.

Damian took less than a second to react, lifting you up and turning you around, holding you close and letting you burrow your head deep into the deep green fabric covering his shoulder, soaking up the silky material with your salty tears.

Damian hugged you tightly to his body, trying to comfort you, whispering endearing reassurances into your ear. When it did nothing, you came to realise that your outburst wasn’t even caused by what Damian did, that was simply the spark that lit the fuse. It was everything else as well. Your mother practically gave you up to Dinah because she couldn’t handle that you weren’t just a normal kid, being thrown into the throngs of vigilantism at the age of ten, (even younger than any of the Robins which Bruce had taken on), and you had just been expected to be cool with it, to enjoy it even! You felt as if your childhood and teenage years had been robbed from you by Dinah’s never-ending ‘adventures’... yeah, that had been what she’d called it, “adventures”, it made it seem more fun than “missions”, less demanding than “potentially world-ending crisis needing immediate attention from two meta-powered humans, one of which being a child”. You were eighteen and you had never even gone to a school dance, never been to a party, never had a boyfriend… Well, now you did. You supposed it was only fitting that the only romantic relationship you had ever experienced was so intense and anything but childlike, it seemed to fit your life perfectly. You were filled with a burning hot rage, not aimed at Damian, but rather aimed at your mother, at Dinah, at Oliver and at anyone else who had supported the pillaging of your entire youth, all in the name of justice… What justice?! Certainly not any justice for you. Of all the people who had mistreated you, Damian was the better of two evils. At least he loved you, adored you even, he didn’t make you shoot ice beams at dummies for hours until your arms burned with the fury of a hundred suns and then demand that you run for hours afterwards. He treated you well, he made sure you ate, he read for you and now, in your darkest hour, he comforted you.

Tightening your grip on the green-eyed man, you whispered softly into his neck, “Marry me, please”. If Damian was the best you could get, then you would make the best of a bad situation and love him back.

Damian was shocked, just this morning you had apathetically evaded his kisses and now you wanted to marry him. He was ecstatic, of course, but sceptical at the same time. Regardless, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. If you were planning something nefarious, he’d deal with it swiftly. “It would be my greatest honour”, he exhaled, kissing the top of your head.

You sat there for what seemed like ages, his steady breathing calming yours, as well.

Your moment was broken when one of the assassins dropped from the roof of the library, giving you a shock, yet not even surprising Damian. “Speak.” The Al Ghul heir commanded.

“The Justice League have located us, they’re here to take back the royal consort Y/n”, the assassin had spoken loud and clear, in that peculiar way that they were trained to do.

“Prepare for a large-scale defence”. Those were the last words you heard before being hauled into your room by Damian, left with a searing kiss on your lips, the first one you ever reciprocated. How tragic.

It had been hours since the invasion by the Justice League, and you had no idea how either side was doing, the only window of your room was facing away from the palace barracks, which you supposed were where the fight was currently being held. Your thoughts went to Damian, you felt nauseous at the idea of him getting hurt. The image of his beautiful feature caved into a broken skull made you cringe and the very idea of losing him made you dizzy. You had situated yourself in the corner of the room, legs pulled to your chest and forehead resting on your knees, waiting for something you weren’t quite sure what was.

When you heard the sound of a cape blowing in the wind and the click of heels hitting the tiled flooring of the room, you glanced up. Outside your window floated Superman and in front of you stood Black Canary, tears streaming out of her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots. “Oh, Y/n!” the blonde cried out as she wrapped you in her arms, the leather of her jacket was cool against your exposed neck.

“Why are you here?” You uttered in distaste, not returning the hug of your former mentor.

“We’re here to save you, Y/n! Oh, I’m so glad to have you back next to me! You have no idea how much I worried for you!” Dinah could barely keep her emotions in, something which was entirely different from her usual laid back personality. As the leather-clad heroine tried to drag you towards Superman’s waiting arms, you pulled back. You didn’t want them here. Everything had just fallen into place. You had technically just gotten engaged with a man who you were pretty sure that you loved, at least a little bit.

You were slowly forming your own adulthood, you didn’t want Dinah to take this away as well, locking you up by her side forever until you would inevitably take her place. That wasn’t the life you wanted, you just desired a ‘normal’ existence with a husband and a home, why were the Justice League even here when you didn’t need to be saved anymore?

“Go home”, you commanded, copying the tone of your fiancé when he talked to his subordinates.

Dinah didn’t get what you were asking, instead happily grabbing your face and wiping non-existing tears from your cheeks. “Yes, darling! We’re going home! No more of any of this! We’ll be back in Star City, safe and sound! Oh, Roy even prepared a large brunch for tomorrow to celebrate your return, just you, Oliver, Roy, Lian and me”. You cringed at the idea, she was treating you like a child, as if you were still the ten-year-old kid who had stood on her doorstep, confused and in need of a mother’s guiding hand. Did she ever stop seeing you like that? You couldn’t help but wonder.

“No, I want to stay here” You tried to reason in an even voice. Dinah’s face fell.

“What?! Why?! No! You can’t! You’re just experiencing Stockholm Syndrome! It’ll all be better tomorrow!” The blonde tried to tug at you again, but you stood your ground. “No, I like it here, I want to stay. Damian treats me well, a-and I’ve been in love with him for longer than I’ve been here”, you argued, only to be met with a scoff.

“You don’t know what love is, Y/N! You’re so young, Damian just took advantage of your crush! That’s why he tried to force you upon him! Garfield told us, no need to explain! I understand!” Dinah was frantic at this point. You were her little kid, she couldn’t lose you!

“Damian didn’t force me upon him! I wanted to kiss him! Garfield came in and interrupted us! I-I don’t know how to make it clearer to you! I don’t want to leave Damian!” You were screaming at this point, and Dinah shook her head, blonde locks hitting both of your faces. She couldn’t accept that her sidekick would want to engage romantically with someone, you were too young! Too immature! Damian had to have taken advantage, right? He was only a year older than you, it suddenly occurred to her… but still, he had never occurred to her as a kid, always so adult. You two, together? It just seemed so… wrong.

“No, y-you’re too young, it’s… You’re… Please, Y/n! He’s a psychopath, he kidnapped you, and he hurt Garfield!” Dinah was struggling to find the words, her hands sliding from your face to your shoulders, needing something to steady her. She was clearly feeling unwell. It stabbed your heart, no matter how angry you were at her, she was still the person who had raised you for half of your life. You loved her as a mother, of course. But you couldn’t let her inability to let go ruin your life any longer.

You could feel your own tears dropping off your chin as well now. You were sobbing softly, much less visible than the woman in front of you, but still, it made your words shaky as you spoke again, quiet as if you were afraid to disturb a sleeping bear.

“I’m not a kid anymore! When will you realise that I grew up! You’ve kept me in the role of a child for my entire life! But I’m an adult now and I’m engaged! I beg you, please let me stay, mom-”, you stopped and Dinah’s eyes widened and surged to find yours. Something within her stirred. It was somehow the first time either of you had verbalised the unspoken bond between the two of you. Yet, while it had always been a clear subtext in your relationship, to have it out in the open made Dinah feel so incredibly moved. It was true, though. The blonde heroine had always been a better and more true mother to you than your own. A revelation that made you pull her closer. “-I’m sorry.”

The leather-clad woman shook her head, “No, don’t apologise. I’m the one who is sorry. I never realised.”

A beat of silence fell upon you two as you rested your head on each other’s shoulders. Breathing in shakily you recognised the perfume Dinah was wearing, it was the same one she had been wearing for the past five years and something about it made you feel nostalgic. You imagined this was how others would feel when they returned to their old childhood bedroom.

Looking towards the window again, you realised that Clark had left momentarily, probably not wanting to be caught in this familial dispute.

Dinah was the one who broke the silence with a witty comment, “So, am I invited to the wedding or not?”

“I’m not sure Damian will want you here after you attacked his organisation.” You chuckled.

“Well, he’ll have a hard time refusing if I throw the Justice League on him again.”

“Maybe. Does that mean you’ll let me stay?”, you muttered with a smile, slowly pulling away from your former mentor.

“Yes, although it will mean that you can never rejoin vigilante circles. Damian has been totally blacklisted, are you prepared for the same to happen to you?”

You thought about her question. It took you a moment, but every time Damian’s green eyes and teasing smile emerged in your mind your heart would beat like a morning alarm. You had no clue if it was the right choice…No, you were entirely sure that it was the wrong one, as a matter of fact. Especially as Garfield’s mangled body interrupted your rosy imaginations of your fiancé, but you felt bound to Damian and you weren’t sure if you would survive leaving him, you felt too dependent on his love. “Yes”, you pushed out shakily, your final answer.

Dinah had left with Superman, taking the rest of the Justice League with them. They had done minimal damage to the League of assassins, it had mostly been a fight for distraction, after all.

You felt entirely unsure of your decision as you stood by Damian’s side looking at the heroes retreating. But with Talia’s sharp gaze forcing you into submission and Damian’s warm hand rubbing calming circles on your shoulder, you realised that there really hadn’t been a choice. Even if you had left with your blonde mentor, your green-eyed fiancé would never have let you stay with her. So, perhaps, this was all for the better. At least you had a friend and lover around your age now, which was an improvement… right?

A/N: Yes, you can just ignore this, it's mostly for the user who sent in the request. Thank you for this great idea! I know you had to wait a while for it... but it was also a lot to write, which made it take way longer than I had originally planed...hehe... Anyways! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn't disappoint with the long wait, I tried my best to honour your request!

#yandere damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #yandere x reader #yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne #batboys x reader #dc x reader

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abitohoney · 11 months ago

Text

All I Want for Christmas Is You

Chapter 6 of 6 - Bells are Ringing

AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5 || CH6

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, AU - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Sex, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Humor, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Delay (nothing extreme), Begging, Strap-Ons, Face-Sitting, Corny & Cheesy Dialogue, kinda sappy, light bondage

Word Count: 7.4k

Fic Summary: It’s your first year spending the holidays with Sevika, and though the two of you couldn’t be any different in your level of holiday spirit or view of the traditions that come with it, your shared adoration (and sexual attraction) for each other is more than enough to get both of you through it together.

A collection of little holiday-inspired scenes, technically chronological, but really could be read in any order or as stand-alone oneshots. Includes a nice blend of sugar (fluff) and spice (smut).

Chapter Summary: Beyond excited at the prospect of marrying your one true love, you arrange a small wedding in record time. In less than a week's time, you’ve got your special day planned and set for New Year's Eve. (includes a nice blend of sugar and spice)

AN: Brand new chapter for this holiday season!!!

Beyond excited at the prospect of marrying your one true love, you arrange a small wedding in record time. In less than a week's time, you’ve got your special day planned and set for New Year's Eve. It helps that the only guests invited are Sevika’s- and by extension your- friends. Silco and all his crazy crew.

Turns out your impatience paid off for more than just you. You learn Sevika is actually quite a mess of nerves when it comes to these things. In those few days leading up to your big day, she’s either pacing your home muttering things to herself or smoking cigarillo after cigarillo at your tiny kitchen table and nervously tapping her foot nonstop.

When the day arrives though, it couldn’t be any closer to perfect. There’s a lovely dusting of snow covering the ground, trees, and buildings. The sun shines brightly above, making everything sparkle like something from a lovely snow globe. It’s chilly, but without a single breeze, it’s actually comfortable.

You sit in the small dressing room connected to the reception hall, donning just a white corset bra and short slip as Ran works on your hair and makeup. You’re rather surprised at how skilled they are, not only in application and technique, but also in selecting such a beautiful mix of silver and white accents. Ran even dons a lovely silver suit, and subtle streaks of sparkling silver in their choppy black hair.

Just as Ran finishes up your lipstick, you hear the door fly open.

“Here’s your dress lady!” Jinx hollers as she comes bounding over to the two of you, slinging your wedding dress around like a ragdoll.

She knows your name, but insists on calling you ‘lady’. Likely something to do with her dislike of Sevika and thus you by relation. You take no offense to it, honestly finding it rather entertaining. How your forty-year-old fiance managed to have beef with a teenager is something you’ve yet to learn, but it amuses you nonetheless.

“Thanks Jinx,” you reply with a smile, “You can just hang it up right there.” You nod towards a small rack behind a privacy screen.

She all but throws it onto the rack before clomping over to inspect Ran’s work. As she leans down, well into your personal bubble, you try not to laugh at her scrunched up face while she scrutinizes your makeup. She too is all dolled up with silver and white. Although it’s obvious she did her own work considering it looks as though she’d simply locked herself in a closet and set off one of her bombs, but full of silver and white glitter.

“Nice job Ran,” she finally exclaims before straightening back up with a dramatic swing of her blue braids. “She looks halfway decent.” Her bright eyes look down at your figure before meeting your eyes. “Lady, I really don’t know what you see in Sevika. You should marry Ran. Ran’s single.”

You nearly choke at that last comment, eyes growing wide.

Ran appears considerably less shocked, their dark lips curling into a crooked grin.

“Well, Jinx, I see a lot in Sevika–”

“Also I thought white dresses were only for virgins.”

Now Ran bursts into snorts and barely contained giggles.

You narrow your eyes at the mischievous blue-haired girl.

“What?” she exclaims, then dramatically rolls her eyes and head. “Everyone knows you two did the dirty deed in Silco’s pantry at the Christmas party.” She accents those words with a circle of thumb and pointer finger on one hand, sticking the pointer finger of the other hand repeatedly in and out of the circle.

Ran’s thoroughly enjoying themselves now, and you can’t decide whether you should laugh at Jinx’s crude and ridiculous gesture, or be embarrassed by the fact that more than just Silco knew what you and Sevika had done.

“Speaking of that lumbering oaf, I’m gonna go see how Silco is fairing with his attempt to make her less ugly,” Jinx states before promptly spinning on her heel and skipping towards the door to an adjacent room.

You turn back to Ran, who is just finally recovering from the hilarity of that scene. “I really don’t know what to make of that girl,” you admit, “She’s funny, but obviously blind. Sevika is literally the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.”

Ran shrugs before starting to pack up all their supplies.

You make your way to the floor-length mirror behind the privacy screen to admire your hair and makeup. Ran had really outdone themselves. All that was left was to slip into your wedding dress. A quick glance to the clock says you have less than twenty minutes before the ceremony starts. You wonder how Sevika is fairing. You hadn’t seen her since breakfast that morning, and she had been a disaster of fried nerves.

You hear the door to her dressing room fly open suddenly, followed by the cackling of Jinx as she prances back in.

“What’s so funny?” you ask suspiciously as you step back out from the screen.

“Sevika is freaking out!” she cackles.

Oh no.

Brows knitted in worry, you rush past Jinx and towards the door.

“Hey! Isn’t it bad luck for her to see you before the wedding?” Jinx calls out.

“I don’t care. She needs me. Besides, I’m not in my dress yet.”

The moment you step into the room, you realize just how bad it is. Sevika is sitting, or at least she’s in a chair, but bouncing her legs so erratically it looks like she’s got bugs. She’s facing Silco as he works on applying her makeup. Or at least trying to.

Before you can even say anything, Sevika’s wild eyes are on you and she’s leaping from her chair, ignoring the fact that the eyeliner Silco was in the process of applying has now left a black streak clear down the side of her cheek.

“Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ve just been trying to apply your makeup for the past hour,” Silco drawls with a dramatic throw of his hands.

“Babygirl!” Sevika exclaims, her stormy gray eyes taking in your state of undress, “Are you okay?”

She too is not fully dressed, donning only a pair of white boxer briefs and a white wife pleaser.

Silco turns in his seat to peer over his shoulder at you, rolling his good eye before capping the liner and tossing it into the pile of cosmetics.

Sevika steps around Silco to get a closer look at you. Her brows are knitted in worry and sweat beads along her hairline. She really was freaking out.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, taking her human hand into yours and rubbing it soothingly. “But it looks like you aren’t. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fi-” Sevika pauses, her eyes growing wide. “Where are the rings?!”

She spins around, searching the small room in a frenzy. You have honestly never seen your fiance so frazzled in all your time with her. She was usually so level-headed, or at worst furious, though never with you. She was quite literally a hot mess.

“Sevika, they should be in your jacket pocket. Remember, we put them in there this morning so you wouldn’t lose them.” You pick up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of a chair, pulling out the two boxes from the inside pocket. “See. They're right here. No need to worry.”

Sevika spins around and you can literally see the relief wash over her face. After you slip them back into the pocket and lay the jacket back down you take her hand again and pull her close. You smile up at her softly. Using the side of your thumb, you wipe away the bead of sweat at her temple. “Everything is going to be just fine,” you assure her. She doesn’t appear to believe that, her brows still tightly knitted in worry. So you take her human hand and sneak it under the back of your slip so she can feel the skin of your bare ass. The corner of her mouth twitches as she takes a handful and squeezes.

So close.

You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her down for a sweet kiss. Or at least you intended it to be. The moment she pulls your body flush to hers, she seems to relax. Her tongue prods at your lips, which you happily grant entrance. She swirls her tongue around yours, both of you moaning softly.

Silco intentionally clears his throat, but neither of you pay him any mind. You’re not about to stop kissing your fiance when you can literally feel her worries melting away, taken over by lust.

Her metal hand joins her flesh hand beneath your slip, grabbing a handful of your other asscheek and gently kneading it. She slots her knee between your legs and uses her grip on your ass to drag you up along her thigh. The long, deep moan you release echoes in the tiny room when she finally breaks the kiss to catch her breath.

The two of you stare into each other’s hooded eyes, aching, needy, and oblivious to everything else around you. Specifically Silco.

“I want to fuck you right here. Right now ,” Sevika husks, emphasizing that last word by dragging your aching cunt up along her thigh again.

“Sevika,” you whine, recalling you two have only a little time left before you need to be out and ready for the ceremony. But Janna, do you want her right now.

“No. Really, don’t mind me. I rather enjoy a free show,” Silco drawls sarcastically from his seat.

“Sevika, we have to get ready,” you say softly.

She stares down at you for a moment, lips parted as she contemplates. You know she’s fighting between admitting you’re right, the logic, and wanting to fuck you silly against the door, the instinct.

“If the two of you wish to be at your own wedding- on time- I suggest you save your escapades for tonight,” Silco drawls.

Sevika releases a long sigh.

He’s right.

You’re right.

She releases her hold on you and steps back.

Though she looks just as hot as she did moments ago, new beads of sweat glistening against her dark skin, she at least doesn’t appear to be the least bit worried. But, just to make sure, you grab the small flask of whiskey you had snuck into the other pocket of her jacket and pass it to her.

“Drink. I need you to relax and enjoy our big day.” Realizing her eyes are not on your face, you follow their stare to find she’s focused on your breasts, which are pushed up and out thanks to your ridiculously tight corset-style bra. You smirk up at her. “Why don’t you give each one a kiss for good luck.”

Silco groans loudly.

Sevika’s lips curl into a smirk and she bends down to not only give each breast a soft kiss, but also to make an attempt at sucking a bruise into the supple flesh.

“Sevika!” you chastise, “You can’t mark them. People are going to see it!”

“That’s the point,” Sevika mumbles against your skin before licking a long stripe from one breast to the other. As she straightens back up, she flashes you one of her lopsided grins, knowing damn well she was pushing your buttons and getting you worked up.

With a roll of your eyes, you stretch up to kiss her cheek. “Save the bad behavior for tonight,” you tell her before heading back to your dressing room.

Great.

Now you’re horny and hot as hell, and you’ve got to get into your dress and somehow manage to look and act normal as you walk down the aisle towards the woman who got you so hot and heavy in the first place.

Though you managed to finish getting ready with plenty of time to spare, you can’t help but worry about Sevika.

You stand beside Ran, arm linked with theirs, as you wait for your time to walk down the aisle. The aisle is a long, white length of silk that runs down the sidewalk that leads from the sliding glass door you stand before, clear up to a beautiful gazebo. The gazebo is dressed in lovely drapes of white and silver silks, flowers, and a sprinkling of lovely green sprigs. The snow is lightly falling, creating the perfect winter scene, just as you’d always imagined it. And the icing on the cake; you can see your gorgeous fiance standing under the gazebo, dressed in a beautiful white suit, perfectly tailored to her muscular and curvy build. Her silver tie sparkles just as brightly as the snow surrounding the area, as does the lovely white snowflake pin that holds her silky ebony strands back in its typical half-ponytail. She looks absolutely stunning.

Silco stands back and off to the side, dressed in a silver suit similar to Ran’s, acting as both best man and the one to give Sevika away. Even from this distance, you can see the small smirk on his face as he watches Sevika. It honestly warms your heart how damn cute this is.

You take a deep breath, and slowly release it through your nose. Nerves tingle and burn beneath your skin, but you wear the most enthusiastic smile. It’s a wild mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling up with each passing second.

Ran taps you on your arm and you turn to find them giving you an encouraging grin. “Ready?”

You take one more breath, then nod.

Ran opens the glass door, arm still linked with yours, and guides you out as the music plays.

The guests, only a couple dozen or so, all turn from their seats in the chairs along the front of the gazebo to watch. It’s almost comical, seeing all of Silco’s crazy crew all dressed up in fancy suits and dresses, all full of bright smiles as you walk down the aisle. Some even look close to tears.

But your attention is quickly drawn to your waiting fiance whose eyes are locked on you. Sevika smiles that cute little crooked smile you love so much as she takes in the sight of you in your beautiful white dress and fluffy white shawl. The snow is feather soft as it falls on you and your guests. Though Sevika is sheltered beneath the gazebo, you can see specs of snow just starting to melt into her dark hair.

You’re all smiles and bright eyes as Ran walks you up the stairs leading to the podium where Sevika stands with the officiant. Seeing her up close, you can really see how downright stunning she is. Her white suit fits deliciously snug, accenting every line of muscle, every curve of chest, hip, and waist. The silver tie, snug to her neck, sparkles much like her silver eyes. But what really knocks you out is the way she’s smiling at you. Like you are literally the most beautiful and perfect thing in the world to her. Your heart swells knowing that’s exactly what’s going through her head.

You stand across from her, nodding to Ran as they step aside and towards the back as your maid of honor.

As the officiant addresses the guests, you almost tune him out entirely, too lost in grinning at your wife-to-be, who appears just as lost in you. Your warm breaths mingle, little white clouds swirling and mixing between you. Though the air is chilly, your entire body heats with excitement and adoration.

Sevika looks as if she’s finally lost all those anxious thoughts. You’re not sure if it’s the drink you handed her earlier, or if she’s just too distracted by you to care. Whatever the reason, you’re grateful that she finally looks comfortable. This moment is just as much for her as it is you.

Sevika repeats her vows as if on autopilot, her eyes on you the entire time even as she slips her hand into her pocket to retrieve your ring.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Her voice is deep and low, as if she only intends for you to hear. As if you’re the only person there.

Your cheeks burn and ache with how hard you smile as she slips the ring on your finger. She must be feeling the same, her smirk so big and wide you can see that adorable little tooth gap of hers.

She hands you her ring from the same pocket and you can hardly contain your glee as you slip it onto her thick finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” you say softly, voice shaking with excitement and emotion. You feel the familiar prick at the corners of your eyes, so close to bursting into happy tears.

Sevika’s eyes are glued to your lips and her fingers twitch at her sides. She knows what comes next.

“You may seal your union with a kiss.”

The officiant barely finishes his sentence before Sevika’s metal hand is gripping your waist and pulling you against her body. Her human hand slides along the side of your cheek, fingers behind your head guiding your lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

She kisses you like she’s been craving it for years. All tongue and teeth with no regard to the onlookers. Not that they seem to mind as they cheer, clap, and whistle.

You wrap your arms around her neck and attempt to match her fervor only for her to pull you impossibly closer. Her tongue swirls around your own. You’re almost dizzy and out of breath by the time she finally releases you.

She rests her forehead against yours, a dopey smile on her face as the two of you attempt to catch your breath. The condensation from your now much warmer breaths almost clouds your vision.

“Not even death will take you from me,” she whispers.

You beam up at her. You’re not sure how that could be true, but you believe every word she says.

The two of you walk hand in hand down the aisle together as the guests toss the freshly fallen snow at you. You giggle and shield your face against Sevika’s shoulder, clinging to her bicep and trusting her to guide you back to the reception hall.

By the time the two of you manage to get inside, you’re both covered in the white fluffy snow. You do your best to dust it off Sevika’s suit and hair as she does the same to you.

Sevika grabs you by your forearms and pulls you against her. You gasp at the unexpected move, nearly forgetting how to breathe when you meet her fiery gaze. She looks ravenous.

“I want to fuck you,” she husks, her lips a hairsbreadth from yours.

“I- I do too, but-” you start, words failing you when she teases her tongue along your bottom lip.

“But nothing,” she rasps, “Let me take you into that dressing room and fuck you for the first time as my wife.”

Your cheeks burn and your core aches at her words. As tempting as it is- as tempting as she is- you two will be expected out in the reception hall any minute.

“We- we just need to be patient. After the reception, we can start our honeymoon and do it as many times as you want.”

“How long is the reception,” she all but growls in frustration.

You giggle at her impatience. Though you don’t entirely blame her. You’re just as enthused to consummate your marriage.

“A few hours.”

“Fuck,” she curses, shaking her head while it still rests against yours. “Babygirl, I can’t wait that long.”

“You can,” you insist, “I know you can. Just be patient and it will all be worth it.” You pull back from her. She reluctantly releases you from her grasp, her nostrils flaring in sexual frustration. “Just think how much more fun it will be when you can finally release all that pent-up energy.” You reach up on your toes to kiss the tip of her nose before whispering in her ear. “I’ll let you have me however you wish.”

You pull back to examine her face. That soft, sexy smirk is back. Seems you’ve placated her. At least for now.

“Now come on, wife , let’s go entertain our guests,” you say as you link your arm with hers.

The reception goes on without a single problem. With an open bar, you were pretty sure Silco’s crew would be more than content, no matter the circumstances. Most of them mingle amongst each other near the bar after dinner, but several do make it to the dance floor where you and your wife spend a good part of the night.

The first song is specifically for you and Sevika. It’s slow and sweet. Sevika surprises you, remaining well-behaved despite how close she holds your body to hers. Her arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, yours around her neck as the two of you sway back and forth to the slow tempo.

You both wear soft, adoring smiles, gazes locked and turning out everyone else around you. Sevika tilts her head before dipping down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. Your skin warms and tingles at the sweet gesture. Then she brings her mouth to your ear. You expect her to whisper something dirty, but you’re left pleasantly surprised.

“I love you.”

Those three simple words nearly take you out at the knees. When she pulls back to peer down at you, you’re certain you’re going to cry. How did you ever get so lucky to snag such a beast of a woman whose heart she only shares with you? No one else gets to experience this side of her. At least not up close and personal like this.

“I love you too,” you choke out, so damn close to breaking into tears. You rest your head on her strong shoulder, face buried against her neck for the remainder of the song, not trusting yourself to keep it together if you remain looking at her.

Several drinks in and Sevika definitely starts losing that control, quickly shifting from sweet, lovey-dovey to that fiery passion you knew all too well. Not that you’re complaining. Even your inhibitions start to slip away the more you drink and dance.

By the time the DJ calls for you and Sevika to the middle of the dance floor for Sevika to remove your garter, Sevika has lost all restraint.

Sitting on the chair facing your guests, you know you’re in for it with how Sevika eyes you like fresh meat. It’s no surprise when she puts her whole upper body beneath the skirt of your dress. Not at all necessary for the task at hand, but you know she’s got other things on her mind than just retrieving that tiny bit of lace wrapped around your thigh.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape as you feel her lips press against the inside of your calf. Your cheeks burn under the scrutiny of so many people. And it only worsens when you feel the press of Sevika’s warm, wet tongue slowly gliding up the inside of your thigh. The one without the garter.

Sensing her final destination, you bring your hand to cover your mouth and hope the audience thinks it’s just to stifle giggles. She reaches your thin lace panties and pauses. Unknowingly, you hold your breath, legs damn near trembling in anticipation. It’s a good thing you have your hand over your mouth. There’s no holding back the wanton mewl she pulls from you as she slides that devilish tongue clear up the center of your slit, moaning as she tastes your arousal through the thin fabric.

You close your thighs around her head, realizing all too late that you’d just sealed your own fate. She takes advantage of her locked position, her mouth pressing against your barely clothed cunt. Another swipe of that thick muscle has your mind reeling and your core clenching.

Just when you think she’s going to do it again, she takes mercy on you and pries your thighs open. She moves to the opposite thigh, her teeth catching on the edge of the lace lining the garter and smoothly pulls it down your leg and off over your heel. She stands, garter still between her teeth, cheshire smile on her smug face. She grins at your flushed face for a moment before turning to the audience to show off her successful retrieval.

Everyone cheers, hoots, and hollers, spurring on that ego of hers. If you weren’t so damn flustered, you would give her a good piece of your mind. Unfortunately, you aren’t even sure you can manage to stand on your wobbly legs.

The remainder of the night doesn’t get any less risque. After several more drinks and dirty, slow-grinding songs, Sevika removes her jacket, rolls up her shirt sleeves, and loosens her tie. She stands behind you, hands on your hips as she grinds against your backside to the beat.

Her mouth moves up along the side of your neck, sucking, licking and nipping at the stretch of delicate skin. You tilt your head to the opposite side, granting her more access as you moan softly, uncaring if any of your guests on the dance floor can hear.

Her lips pause at your ear. “How much longer are we gonna do this, babygirl?” she husks.

You hum and smile as you push your ass further back into her, rubbing it in a motion you know she can really feel.

She growls and nips at your ear. “If we don’t go soon I’ll just drag you to the bathroom and fuck you there.”

You slide your hands down the side of your body until they meet hers where they grip your hips. “Aren’t you the one who always speaks of patience?” You tease. “We’ll be done soon. Couple more songs.” You glance around the room, there’s only a few stragglers over at the bar and a couple on the dance floor. “Almost everyone has left.”

“Well then maybe I’ll fuck you right here then,” she purrs, sliding her flesh hand down to cup your cunt through the layers of your skirt.

“Sevika!” you chastise, but it’s lost to her in the way you moan her name and grind against her hand.

She chuckles, warm breath wafting over your neck and shoulders, and good god you are very tempted to take her up on either of those offers.

You two barely make it to your private little cabin she booked for your honeymoon before she attempts to rip your dress off. You stumble in as she kicks the door shut behind her, her hands ripping at the zipper of your dress. The dress falls into a pool on the floor, quickly forgotten. You’re left in just your corset bra and slip skirt.

“Wait!” you exclaim as she attempts to rip those off as well. “I bought something special for the occasion!”

“So What. I’m just gonna rip off whatever you put on,” she husks and pulls you back towards her by your waist.

“Fine, but at least let me put it on so you can see it once!” you insist. You squirm in her grasp, too tipsy to manage your movements. Not that you would have ever stood a chance against her strength anyway. “It will be real quick. I promise.” When you dodge her mouth reaching for your neck, she finally caves.

“Fine. But make it quick,” she huffs.

You scramble over to your suitcase, nearly toppling over when you bend down to pull the bag out that hides your lingerie. Sevika snorts from her spot leaning against the wall behind you and you shoot her a nasty glare. “You’re a bit drunk too,” you remind her, “You hit your head not only getting into the limo, but also getting out.”

She rolls her eyes before her hungry gaze follows you as you saunter- or more like wobble- towards the bathroom.

You’re grateful for selecting a fairly simple set of lingerie. In your current state there’s no way you would manage anything complicated. After slipping out of your bra and slip with minimal tipping over, you quickly pull on your white, lacy babydoll. You take a quick glance in the mirror, pleased to find the cut of the babydoll perfect. It accents every curve delightfully and reveals just enough skin to tease.

“Thought you said this would be quick!” Sevika grunts from just outside the door.

When you sneak back out the door, you don’t bother hiding the grin painting your face. You know she’s going to like your little outfit, even if she does rip it off you. “Patience, Sev,” you purr.

She pushes herself off the wall and turns to you. You swear you can see her pupils widen the moment her gaze travels up your scantily clad form. That lovely crooked grin of hers appears and you can’t help but giggle at her obvious approval.

“You like it?” you ask sweetly.

She steps closer, that sexy smirk curling higher. “I do.” She slides a finger across the fabric hugging your breasts. “In fact-” She lets that finger glide down the thin fabric between your cleavage and licks her lips. “-I think we’ll keep it on tonight.”

You giggle. “Doubt that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

You reach up to grab her tie with a playful smile. “I bet you can’t last more than three minutes before you’re ripping this outfit to shreds.” You start to pull her towards you as you slowly back your way to the bed.

Her lips curl into a crooked grin. “Oh you wanna make a bet, babygirl?” Her hands find your hips, eyes locked on yours as you continue to pull her.

You nod.

“I win, you’re mine to do with as I please for the entire night.” Her voice is low and dangerous. As if what she’d do with you would truly be devastating. But you both know, no matter who wins, you’re both going to enjoy it.

“Well if I win, which we both know I will, you’re mine to do with as I please for the entire night,” you counter.

“Deal.”

You take a quick glance at the clock beside the bed. 11:41. She’s got to last until 11:45. Highly unlikely. Your attention returns to her and don’t bother trying to hide your confident smile.

The backs of your knees bump into the mattress and you tug on her tie, pulling her lips to yours. Both of you moan into each other’s mouths, tongues swirling and fighting for dominance. Of course Sevika wins, every part of her overpowers you. Not that you mind.

You continue to pull her along as you sit on the bed and scoot backward. She follows without breaking the kiss, her knees moving along the bed on either side of your thighs. It’s not until your head collapses against the pillows that you finally release her and break the kiss. Lips parted and wet, you both attempt to catch your breath.

Sevika hovers over you, her hands on either side of your shoulders and knees on either side of your hips, eyes half-lidded and burning with lust.

After a moment she finally rises on her knees. She loosens her tie and pulls it over her head. Her grin is lecherous. That should have been your warning, but rather than toss the tie aside as you expect, she scoops your wrists up and wraps the tie around them before securing the other end to the headboard.

Your gasp of surprise is met by a sinister little chuckle. One that has that familiar ache between your thighs pulsing.

She quickly removes her white blouse and tosses it aside before shimmying out of her pants, leaving her in just her white wife pleaser and boxer briefs.

Her mouth crashes into yours again. This time her kiss is wild. Sloppy. But she doesn’t linger there long before she’s making her way down the side of your jaw to your neck. She moves her knees, pressing them between yours and forcing you to spread them open.

You wrap your legs around her waist, moaning as she finds your pulse point and sucks hard. Then she’s moving even lower until her mouth finds your breasts. You desperately want to thread your fingers into her hair as she sucks matching love bruises into the plump flesh of each breast, releasing a frustrated huff and pulling against your restraints. You can feel her lips curl into a devious smile, clearly amused by your distress.

“You’re an ass,” you whisper breathlessly.

“You love it,” she mumbles before licking a long stripe between your cleavage.

As much as you’d like to argue that fact, not only is she right, but your head empties the moment she rocks her hips, dragging herself between your legs.

“Sevika,” you whine, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rolls through your body.

She chuckles and rocks her hips again.

You can already feel the desire pooling low in your belly. The two of you have been craving each other the entire day. It’s not going to take much to get either of you off. Especially not when she keeps acting so fucking cocky.

One of her hands grope at your breast while the other remains on the mattress. She continues to grind into you, pulling moan after moan from your parted lips. Her fingers slip beneath the cup of your lingerie and attempt to pull it down.

She growls in frustration, the fit of your lingerie apparently a little too good. The rhythm of her hips falters as she diverts her attention to her attempt at removing the offending material. You peer down at her through hooded eyes, a small smile on your face as you witness her struggles.

She mutters something under her breath, most likely a curse, and you barely contain your laughter. It’s only a matter of time before her frustration boils over and she rips your clothes off, just as you said she would.

She glances up at your bound arms, realizing she can’t pull the lingerie off over your head and it’s her own damn fault.

This time you snicker and she flashes you a nasty look. She sits up on her knees, and even though you know what’s coming next, you still release a startled squeal when she reaches down with her clawed metal fingers and tears right through the flimsy lace. She doesn’t stop there either, making short work of your underwear as well.

Now she’s the one chuckling. Not that it matters to you. A quick glance to the clock, 11:43, and you’ve confirmed your victory.

“You lost!” You exclaim, but you’re not prepared to find that smug smile still painting your wife’s face.

“Did I, though?” She taunts, her eyes darting up to your bound hands, then back to your surprised face.

Realization sinks in, but before you can protest, her mouth descends to your breast, teeth clamping down on the hardened peak.

Your sharp gasp dissolves into a soft moan as she soothes the marks she left with a swirl of her tongue. Your eyelids fall closed again. Her lips remain curled in a devious grin while she continues to suck and tease the sensitive nub.

She moves to pay the same attention to your other nipple, alternating between biting, licking, and sucking. All the while you strain against the tie holding your wrists, desperately wanting to touch her. To guide her head lower where your body aches for her the most.

“Sevika, please,” you whine, arching your back when she bites down particularly hard.

“Please what?” she asks.

Your eyes slowly flutter open to find her smirking face now hovering over yours.

“Please touch me.” You know those words won’t be enough for her. They never are. She’s a sadist who loves to make you tell her exactly what you want, just so she can see you flustered. Though you'd be lying if you said that didn’t make your core burn just as much as it did your cheeks.

“I’ve been touching you, sweetheart.” she teases.

“Lower…” your whine trails off into a wanton moan when she intentionally pushes a knee between the apex of your thighs.

“Where?”

“Sevika!”

“Use your words. Tell me where you want me to touch you.” She’s taunting you, but Janna it’s so damn sexy, especially with that husky voice of hers.

You squirm beneath her, trying desperately to rub yourself against her knee, but she quickly pulls it away with a chastising “Tsk”. You’re so damn turned on and needy you can’t help the pathetic sob that rips from your throat.

Finally, you cave.

“Touch my pussy! Please, Sevika!” you beg, cheeks burning.

“That’s my good girl,” she purrs and you keen. She brings her lips to yours in a passionate kiss, stealing your breath away. She slides her calloused fingers slowly down your stomach until two fingers rest just outside your wet folds, her middle finger hovering just above.

She swallows your whimper.

You swallow her evil little chuckle.

She finally takes pity on you and slides her middle finger through your slit. Her tongue swirls around yours, mimicking the motion of her fingertip circling your clit.

You writhe beneath her. The sensations are too teasingly slow and soft. You need more. You need her inside you. When she hears you whimper against her lips, she finally breaks the kiss to peer down at you.

“Sevika,” you gasp, “Stop teasing!”

“Hmm,” she hums, “You want my fingers inside that pretty little cunt?” That damn cocky smirk still paints her face and it makes the knot low in your belly pull tighter.

You nod your head frantically.

“You sure it’s ready?”

Another nod.

“I don’t know, babygirl. I don’t want to hurt you if you’re not ready.” She runs the tip of her finger through your entrance again, collecting your juices before returning to tease the bundle of nerves above.

Even in the haze of your arousal, you’re aware that she knows damn well you are more than ready. You can feel the wetness leaking down the insides of your thighs. And you know she feels it too. She’s toying with you. Trying to get you even more riled up than you already are.

“I’m ready!” You try to give her a stern look, but it falls short when she slides two fingers through your folds.

She hums again, “You are pretty wet.”

You say nothing, just stare up at her with pleading eyes. Janna, she’s so fucking sexy you’re certain the moment she finally does give you what you need you’re going to lose it almost instantly.

Just when you think she’s finally caving, she drags that blissful torture on even longer, deliberately sinking her middle finger ever so slowly inside you. Simultaneous groans fill the room. For as many times as she’s used those fingers, you’ll never get used to how sinfully thick they are. How you can feel each knuckle and each callous drag along your walls. Likewise, she never gets enough of how deliciously tight and wet you are.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” she groans, her warm breath wafting over your lips as she lowers her head. “Such a tight, wet pussy.”

A wave of pleasant warmth rushes over your lower half, followed by an ache that makes you crave more.

“And it’s all mine, isn’t it?” she husks.

Words fail you as she slides the last remaining length of her finger inside you and trails the tip of her tongue across your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Is this pussy mine?” she asks as she begins slowly sliding her finger in and out.

You swallow thickly and try to answer, but you’re too drunk on pleasure.

“Answer me or I stop,” she growls before nipping at your bottom lip.

You yelp, more startled than hurt.

“I- I-” you struggle to form words while she relentlessly distracts and teases you, running her tongue along the little indents she left on your lip. “Yes, it’s yours. All yours.”

“That’s right,” she husks, her lips grazing yours before she seals them with another quick kiss.

She starts fucking you with a slow, steady pace, rocking her hips with the motion as if she was strapping you. You rock your hips along with her, teeth catching your bottom lip in an attempt to hold back your moans. But she’s not having that.

She slips another finger inside, increasing her pace until you’re unable to keep your mouth in check. Moan after moan spills from your parted lips as she fucks you in earnest. Your hips rock with hers in time with her fingers thrusting. The bed shakes, headboard rattling against the wall. Neither of you notice, too high on the sounds and sensations the other is providing.

You can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, the knot in your belly burning and drawn tight. The rocking of your hips falters until you finally give up and let her take complete control.

She gladly takes over, speeding up even more, curling her fingers so with every withdrawal she’s hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

“That feels so good,” you mewl.

“Yea? You like that?” she huffs, her breaths just as ragged as yours.

“Janna, yes!” You fight against your restraints, desperate to touch your wife.

“You’re close aren’t you?” she grunts against the side of your neck.

“Yes!”

Those fingers are thrusting inside your sopping wet cunt so hard now the room is filling with debauched squelching sounds.

Your body tenses, every muscle pulled taut. You’re so close.

“Cum for me,” she growls before sinking her teeth into your neck.

All the sexual tension that had been building that day finally releases in a tidal wave of pleasure. Blinding light flashes behind your closed eyes. A string of nonsensical words spill from your mouth. Your walls clench and spasm around her fingers, pushing your release out in a gush that drenches her hand.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it. Let it all out. Such a good girl for me,” Sevika groans into your ear, her fingers pumping into you while you ride out that blissful high.

When your body starts to twitch beneath her, overstimulation setting in at the end of your high, she slows her pace before finally pulling out completely.

You’re startled from your post-orgasmic bliss when you suddenly hear fireworks somewhere in the distance. You turn to glance out the large glass door to see the bright colors lighting up the night sky, then you see the time. 12:00. New Years.

Unbelievable.

You turn back to your wife with a smile as large as you can manage in your fucked out state.

Resting on her forearms and knees, Sevika peers down at you adoringly, her lips pulled into a satisfied grin. Both of you pant, equally out of breath.

All you can manage to think at that moment is how damn lucky you are to have such a wonderful wife. Not just because she’s indescribably good in bed, but also because she’s so fucking sweet. She rented this cute little private cabin for the two of you to spend your honeymoon. Prepacked said cabin with goodies and firewood for the fireplace. She even perfectly time your special moment with the fucking fireworks!

She reaches above you to remove the tie from the headboard and your wrists, and you immediately pull her down for a sweet kiss.

When you release her, she pulls back just far enough to touch the tip of her nose to yours.

You suppose you can forgive her for reneging on your bet. Kinda hard to complain when she fucked you so good AND timed it with the New Year.

“Happy New Year, wife,” you whisper.

She smiles down at you lovingly. “Happy New Year, my perfect wife.”

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes #BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS HOLIDAY SEASON! 😁#Plans got all jacked up so posting earlier than I originally intended

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voltstone · 10 months ago

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they adopt a cat named floof (Wenclair One-Shot)

wednesday, for her girlfriend, gets a cat. she finds a way to bypass the “no pet” policy in order to do so. :)

(inspired by this post)

[1,268 Words] | [Last Edit: 11/12/2022] (Full One-Shot Post)

Note: This one-shot has been reposted from my old account onto this one. If it looks familiar, that's why.

Hope you enjoy! :)

Enid has figured, months ago, that she might as well be dating an Eldritch horror.

At first, she thought that Wednesday is just an angsty little goth. Come to find, her aesthetic and snapped wit are the most outwardly charming things about her. Because, as much as Enid loves her, Wednesday is really, really fucked in the head.

Fucked head or not, though, Wednesday has a heart. She does. Sure, it may be in her foot for all Enid knows, but watching how she plays along with Eugene’s bee-scapades, and how cordial she and Bianca have gotten, she knows there’s a heart of gold in Wednesday. (That or she’s color-blind and it’s not gold but rather, in fact, dirt.)

Not that it matters. After too long of a day, Enid is ready to collapse onto Wednesday’s bed and badger her until she stops her “hour of novel writing” in exchange for, uh, osculation.

Some days the struggle is short-lived. Wednesday gets needy too. But other days, the “hour of novel writing” is extended to several, and a long, long pout-full sleep on her bed. Hopefully today is the former. Given the labs, and the lectures, and the other labs, Enid really just needs to scratch an itch. And by that, it’s really Wednesday scratching it, and then Enid taking a nap afterwards. With Wednesday. (They cuddle.)

The door is nudged open. A hinge creaks, and a floorboard groans. Her eyes find Wednesday immediately. By the window. Waiting for her. Mildly surprised, but, ultimately, glad. Enid smiles widely. “Wednesday! Your novel's…”

“Done for the day. I did it this morning.” She straightens as Enid closes the door. "Enid,“ Wednesday prompts, and though she catches a quirk down her lips, Enid can’t help but feel…cautious. A Wednesday with her hands behind her back is a Wednesday with too big of a trick up her sleeve. "I have a surprise for you." See?!

Wait.

Cautious or not, a wide smile flourishes. "A…surprise?”

“Yes.” A blink. (Surprisingly. Heh.) “You said that you wanted a pet to keep us and Thing in better company.”

If Enid could jump Wednesday’s cold, frigid bones, she would. But, alas, as much as she loves Thing, Enid isn’t sure if she’d appreciate two running around—as a hand, and then a paw. So she stands herself squarely and musters a curious face. “Yeah, I-I did… So…?" A grin is pressed. Oh fuck, she can’t bear holding herself together any longer. Her hands are clasped. The grin cracks glee. "What is the little one…?! A gerbil? A ferret? A—” Enid practically melts off the face of the earth. “A kitten?!”

Wednesday maintains her composure, but that quirk down her lips worms. “Not quite. Close your eyes.”

She does as told, and she hears Wednesday shift with the surprise in her arms. Her grin is wide with her tongue snagged between teeth.

“Enid. I got us a cat.”

There’s a hop, and a skip, and yip! before she has the chance to open her eyes. "O-M-G! Can we name it Floof—?!“ When Enid does open her eyes, she… U-Um. Well, um. She sees orange. And the cat is…staring at her. Except it’s disconcerting and not at all like Wednesday; rather than stare deep into her soul to lobotomize it, the cat is, like, staring…through…it?

Wednesday tilts her head. Another blink. "What?”

The—

The cat isn’t fucking moving. It just…isn’t. It's—

Oh my fuck, what the God did you do, Wednesday?!

Enid stands in place, feet anchored to the ground, as she stares at the… The— M-Muppet. Dead muppet. There’s a swallow, and then, a squeaked, "…w-why does it look like that?“

Wednesday lobotomizes Enid’s soul (affectionately). "Like what? The child we shall raise? Together?” …that shouldn’t have flipped Enid’s heart over. It’s practically roasting on a skillet now.

Enid lurches a quite tentative step forward. She meets…Floof by its vacant stare. "Did you put googly-eyes on it?“

"Well it is taxidermy,” Wednesday confirms, bluntly. She gazes down at the cat’s face, and the black dots follow. “I felt you would have appreciated her eyes.”

“Instead of what?”

Wednesday stares back at her. “The eyes I found bludgeoned from her head.”

Where did she get this cat?! Enid follows Wednesday to her desk. …Floof is gently set down beside the typewriter, and as Wednesday fixes a bent whisker in place, Enid hears Thing scatter across the room and back under one of the beds.

Judging from the multitude of blemishes across…her body, it’s clear that Floof spent all nine lives at once. Poor thing. Yet, she looks as alive as Enid supposed she was not months ago—googly-eyes discounted. She imagines Wednesday’s lithe fingers spindling to sew the worst of death, hide it away, and it’s a mellow thought, if morbid. Her coat looks soft, and her body, strong. Put back together, at least. "That's— That’s such a pretty pattern on Fl-Floof’s back,“ Enid comments.

"Goodyear, for a truck—winter coverage.”

…a-ah. Okay.

Wednesday lingers in place, with her eyes avoidant, and hands tied together. It takes a moment before she begins to ramble—a rarity, with Wednesday, and Enid feels her own heart pool to her foot: “You said you wanted a cat, but I told you—again—that we can’t because of the academy’s policy, but you looked like you wanted to kill yourself when I said that—”

“…Wednesday, I’m not…s-suicidal.”

“—so I went out searching for one, on the roads, and I found this one. She looks like a lot of your sweaters, which is disgusting, so I figured it’d work out. We wouldn’t have to pay for any of the necessities she needed alive, though I’m sure enough nail-paint and -remover will do the equivalent.”

Enid grimaces, though her eyes land on Floof’s white paws, and they snag each toe. “She does have nice nails.”

“I filed them.”

A hum down her mouth, because Enid can smell the anxiety off her neck—even from around the desk, despite whether or not Wednesday herself realizes it. But it's…funny, really. There’s a sort of beauty about it, how mental gymnasticshas become the sound way to understand Wednesday’s language:

Want a pet? Can’t have one because of rules. So, here’s a dead one. With pretty nails you can paint, and a head big enough for a bow.

Enid watches her quietly. Wednesday plays with her hands, spindles them together. Her lips are thin. She’s nervous. Her eyes are cast down. She anticipates.

“How long did this take…?”

Wednesday, slowly, murmurs, “Two weeks. I had to…help with the odor. You would’ve vomited or kissed the floor otherwise.” A pause, then, “…and broken your…pretty nose. Again.”

“That did hurt, yeah…” Enid breathes. (It’s still sore. She swears she’ll set Wednesday’s side of the room on fire, someday.) She rounds the desk’s corner, and Wednesday is swiftly tucked in her arms. There’s that initial frigid moment before Wednesday unwinds, and her body remembers that, yes, it’s Enid, and Enid has the permission. She nudges her pretty nose along Wednesday’s neck. “Thank-you…” is murmured.

“We’re going to reconsider the name." You’re welcome.

"No we’re not." No we’re not.

Together, they eye Floof, and Floof…is staring at both the door and window simultaneously. With—

Aww, her tongue is almost sticking out. What a cute touch, Wednesday…

"You’re needy.”

“It’s almost a full moon…?”

Wednesday twists her head, and Enid seeks for treasure.

They osculate. And her lips feel like death, but they’re the most liveliest thing, all at once.

Hope you enjoyed! :)

#volt's library #wednesday 2022 #wednesday netflix #wednesday show #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #fluff #they kiss #and there's a cat :)#reposted from last account #if this looks familiar it's because i yoinked it from my last (dead) account

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year ago

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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter nine

summary: you spend one last night at the hard deck before the remaining daggers go their separate ways. jake and nat finally talk, and rooster introduces you to maverick as his father-figure -- not just your captain.

warnings: fluff, minor angst, suggestive language, swearing, mentions of death, military & aircraft carrier inaccuracies, second person pov

wc: 5.3k

listen to: she's gone - hall & oates | the playlist

a/n: how appropriate that i would finish this story during mdw. anyways, this is the final chapter for this story with so much more to come! thank you to all who have read, liked, reblogged, and shared your thoughts. it really inspires me and makes me happy to hear that others are just as excited about these characters and story as i am. while it's the end of the series, i have a longer oneshot coming up that checks in with these guys in about a year and a half, a rooster x whiskey christmastime oneshot, and... well we'll go from there.

chapter eight | masterlist

“Eject! Eject! Eject!”

Phoenix can hear the voices screaming in her ear as she finally gives up on saving the plane.

Only she can’t eject.

And neither can Bob.

“Phoenix, it’s not working!” Bob shouts over the radio.

“Hang on, Bob! I’m going to try again,” she yells back. “I’m gonna get us out of here. I’m gonna get you home, Bob.”

But it’s too late and the plane begins to spiral. It doesn’t matter what she does. She’s lost control and the plane is on fire, falling out of the sky, taking them both down with it.

“Phoenix, what do we do?” Bob asks, a panic in his voice.

Before she can answer, she feels the jarring sensation of the plane crashing against a mountain before it spirals into the Pacific Ocean, jolting her awake. She swears under her breath, realizing that she’s no longer in her F/A-18 but in the California king of the hotel room that Hangman somehow sweet-talked her into.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything, darlin’. Just think we deserve to get out of the barracks. Sleep in a real bed,” he’d persuaded her, making a perfectly reasonable case for her to accept, considering she’s nothing if not logical.

But she shoves the memory of Jake’s proposition aside as her mind reels back to her nightmare. Her heart is pounding loudly in her ears and she feels dizzy as she reaches up to place a hand on her chest.

It was just a dream, she reminds herself.

A nightmare.

She runs a hand through her hair, finding it to be damp with sweat as she sits up in bed, her heart still thudding loudly. Hangman stirs next to her in bed, one his hands moving across the sheets, reaching for her.

“Nat, you okay?” he murmurs, blinking his eyes open. He turns to her, awake now, and he recognizes the all-too-familiar look on her face. “Nightmare?”

“How did you know?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Because I get them too,” he answers, honestly. Hangman sits up in bed, bringing a hand up to rub her back. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” she answers curtly, flinching as he touches her.

She doesn’t mean to reject him, but she’s still a little jumpy from the nightmare.

Jake sighs in response, feeling how sweaty she is underneath his UT t-shirt. The comforting, tender touch of his hand should be calming, but it only alarms her even more. She can’t stand the idea of being fragile and certainly has mixed feelings about Hangman being the one to soothe her in her moment of crisis.

“I think I just-, I’m just gonna get up. Splash some cold water on my face and change,” she murmurs, sliding sideways off of the bed so that she can get as far away from this feeling as possible. Jake opens his mouth to say something, but she’s halfway across the room before he can.

She heads into the bathroom, flicking one of the lights on. The harsh light of the bathroom helps bring her back to reality, and Natasha takes a moment to press her back against the wall. The cold and rigid plane of the wall is grounding, so she closes her eyes for a second, allowing her body to relax against it. After a few moments, she pushes herself off the wall, moving to turn on the cold tap water.

With two hands braced against the bathroom sink, she examines her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is messy from tossing and turning, pieces stuck together with sweat. She pushes her out of her face, tying it up into a bun with the hair tie around her wrist in an effort to provide herself some structure.

“Get it together, Trace,” she whispers to herself, focusing intensely on the sound of the running water.

She splashes cold water on her face, before using one of the plush hotel room towels to dry off. The last thing she needs to do is get out of this sweaty t-shirt, stripping off Jake’s old tee and tossing it to the floor behind.

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, she reminds herself, as she reenters the bedroom, flicking off the bathroom light behind her.

Jake’s still awake, sitting up in bed in all of his shirtless glory when Natasha returns. Her eyes are glued to the floor, searching for another shirt using just the peripheral moonlight to guide her. She wraps her fingers around the button down Jake had worn to dinner the night before, sliding it over her body.

“Woah,” Jake marvels, running a hand through his messy blonde locks.

“I’m not fucking you right now, Bagman,” she grumbles, her feet carrying across the room.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he replies, unable to hide the irritation in his voice at her assumption.

He can tell she’s shut down, so he’s not going to push back, and he’s sure the last thing that she wants to hear right now is how breathtakingly beautiful he finds her. Nope, definitely not going to be helpful. Natasha pulls the covers from her side of the bed back, realizing her side of the bed is still damp with sweat from her nightmare.

“C’mere,” he encourages, his voice low as he scoots over so that she can fit on his side. “Plenty of room over here.”

Thank God for the California King.

Instead of putting up a fight like he expects her to, she only nods. Hangman pulls her into his arms, scooting the both of them over, and allowing her to settle in.

He’d be lying if he said this didn’t feel good.

It feels too good.

He likes being this guy, and he likes being this guy for her.

He likes it too much, maybe.

Jake waits a beat before speaking again, asking again, “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Yeah,” she manages to get out, barely above a whisper.

He knows he can’t push her – knows her well enough to know that’d never work – knows this, PTSD, well enough to know she’s going to have to reach out on her own time. But he wants her to know that he’ll be there for her if she wants him to be.

“It doesn’t have to be me, Nat… but you should talk to someone about it. I-, it helps me… to talk to someone,” he drags out, cautiously.

He braces himself for her response, but is pleasantly surprised to hear she sounds more like herself as she dryly quips in response:

“Don’t tell me the great Hangman sees a therapist.”

She’s not expecting the answer he returns with.

“I did for a while, yeah” he admits, taking a more serious approach. “And Coyote and Whiskey too… They’ve been good to me too. They’re good friends. Good listeners.”

“Can’t imagine you being a good listener,” she teases, and he can tell that she needs to pick on him just a little.

Just a little. Just something to feel like herself.

He chuckles and she can feel the low rumble of the sound resonating in his chest as she rests against him.

“Like I said. Doesn’t have to be me.”

“Yeah,” she half-heartedly agrees, as she feels him pull her closer.

“Anything I can do?” he asks, softly, his voice so gentle it startles her.

Phoenix is just surprised, is all. By Hangman.

By his kindness.

By his generosity.

She knows she has a long road ahead – that the bird strike had changed things – but the least she can do is not be a dick to Jake when he’s trying his damndest to be helpful.

She shakes her head, “No, I-. No. But thank you.”

“Just tryin’ to get in your pants, Trace,” Hangman jokes, earning a small laugh from her.

But she knows it’s more than that.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bagman,” she fires back, beginning to close her eyes.

He thinks it may be inappropriate to say – like he’d be taking advantage of her in a vulnerable state if he admitted it now – so he doesn’t, but the words echo in his head as he closes his eyes in an attempt to drift off to sleep.

You. You help me sleep at night.

“Anything to drink?” the waitress asks, looking from Bradley to Maverick as they wait for you.

You were running late. Of course.

“Uh.. just coffee. And keep it comin’, thanks,” Maverick requests, a polite smile on his face.

“Why don’t you come check out the hangar? I’m packing it up… been looking for a place here. I’ve got some planes I’m workin’ on. Think you’ll find ‘em interesting,” Maverick offers over his first sip of coffee.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Bradley agrees, wondering if he sounds a little too eager to bond with his previously-estranged-father-figure.

Maverick watches carefully as Rooster doctors up his coffee, a few creams and one sugar, before using his spoon to stir.

“Leave early tomorrow morning?”

“Sure.”

Maverick takes a beat. He wonders for a second what the hell he’s supposed to talk about with the kid. Sure, they’ve spent the last three weeks together, but they’ve been buried in training and things left unsaid. Now that the mission is over he’s not sure where to begin with the kid.

“So you and Whiskey…” he trails off, figuring he might as well start with why Rooster asked him to meet for breakfast in the first place. “I put two and two together when I saw the two of you on the carrier.”

Bradley blushes, “You saw that, sir?”

“It was uh.. Hard not to,” Maverick answers, half-apologetically.

“Right, yeah, I uh… thought you guys should meet. Not as captain and lieutenant but as uh… you know…” Rooster trails off, nervously, a warm blush running across his cheeks.

“As… something that may involve… paperwork?” Maverick asks, hoping to fill in some blanks for Rooster. He shoots the kid a reassuring smile in an attempt to put him at ease.

Maverick can see the pure adoration and happiness in Rooster’s eyes when he answers with, “Think so, Mav. We can talk more about it at the hangar. If you want.”

Maverick nods, mentioning a quick ‘sure’ before they’re interrupted by your arrival. He watches as Rooster’s eyes light up, and he’s not sure he’s seen Rooster like this… ever. Then again, he knows he’s missed a few years too.

“Hey. Sorry, catching up with my Dad and lost track of time,” you apologize as you slide into the booth next to Bradley. He gives you a soft kiss on the cheek as you’re all smiles, the two of you sitting across from the captain.

“Don’t worry about it. ‘S given us some time to catch up,” Maverick smiles. “Coffee?”

“Please,” you answer as you begin settling in.

Rooster gives your leg a squeeze underneath the table. He can tell you’re nervous. You’ve obviously met Maverick before, but that was as your captain.

“Thank you, Captain Mitchell,” you say, formally, as he pours coffee from the carafe into your mug.

“Here, uh… you can call me Pete,” he replies, a friendlier tone in his voice. “But tomorrow, at 0800 sharp, it’s back to Captain Mitchell… or at least, Maverick.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree with a nod and chuckle.

It’s an honor, really, you think to yourself, as you lift your coffee mug to your lips, taking a first sip.

“Well then, Pete,” you begin, making conversation. “I’m still dying to hear that story you never told us from class. From your last Afghanistan deployment.”

As Maverick grins, more than happy to share stories of his exploits, there’s a warmth that spreads inside of Rooster’s chest. He watches gleefully as you and Maverick talk, Maverick busy telling his elaborate tale as you listen attentively. He grows even quieter as the two of you debate pancakes over waffles, his heart swelling as he realizes what’s happening. After years of being alone – of being lonely – Rooster realizes that he just might have people now.

As you enter the Hard Deck this evening, everything feels different. It feels like an ending of sorts. Even though you’ll return in a few weeks for another Dagger mission, Bradley won’t be here. And neither will Jake. Or Natasha.

And you’re still processing just how much has changed in the last three weeks.

“You still want to do this?” Rooster asks, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Yes,” you answer, confidently.

You lead him to the pool table that your friends are all crowded around, drinking beers, shootin’ the shit. Nat grins as she spots the two of you – holding hands, no less – and you reach out, tapping Coyote on the shoulder.

“Hey, I want to introduce you to someone,” you say, a sly look on your face as Coyote turns around. His face goes from happy to see you to confused in under two seconds, looking from you to Rooster once more.

“I don’t get it. We already know Rooster,” Coyote states.

“I know,” you answer, shooting Nat a cheeky grin across the pool table. “... But you don’t know him as my boyfriend!”

“Oh my god!” she squeals, practically jumping over the pool table towards the two of you for a hug.

“Oh noooooo,” Jake groans, sitting up from the barstool he was previously perched on.

You catch his gaze as Phoenix drags both you and Rooster into the tightest group hug, watching as Jake approaches cautiously. While Nat is more than overjoyed to hear the news, Jake waits, his stance steady as he watches the celebration. As much as he’s pretending not to be, the look in his eyes gives him away, and you know your best friend is genuinely happy for you.

Bob rolls his eyes playfully as soon as he realizes what’s going on.

“You guys are so cheesy,” Bob scoffs, flicking another peanut shell into the empty cup.

“I’ll cheers to that,” Jake says, raising his near-empty beer bottle in Bob’s direction. “Ah shit. Anyone need another round?”

“A first round for the happy couple, please, Hangman,” Nat orders, gesturing towards both you and Rooster.

“Sure,” he mutters, keeping up his charade of disapproving-annoying-older-brother.

While he may think he’s thrown you off his trail, you can still sense the tension between both Jake and Natasha. It’s not exactly subtle, and you wonder if they’ve had a chance to talk about what happens when you all leave yet.

“You got plans for leave, Coyote?” Rooster asks, in an effort to make conversation.

“Yeah,” Javy sighs in response. “Headin’ back up to Lemoore tomorrow. Gotta break it to the Mrs. that I got back to back deployments. Can’t believe you two are crazy enough to do the whole dual military thing.”

You and Rooster exchange glances with a laugh before Rooster excuses himself to offer Hangman a hand with the beers.

“Maybe Helll really has frozen over,” Nat comments, joining the conversation as she watches Jake hand Bradley two of the four beer bottles.

“They’re… civil… chummy, even,” you add, watching the interaction carefully.

“It’s weird,” Coyote says, shaking his head. “Like a harbinger of doom.”

“It’s disturbing is what it is!” Bob declares loudly, earning a laugh from all of you.

You watch as Jake leans in, muttering something to Rooster, and slapping him on the back before grabbing the other two beers.

“You take care of her. And don’t fuck this up, Rooster.”

The two head in your direction, and you’re sure that Nat is right: Hell must’ve frozen over during the uranium plant bombing.

The rest of the night is filled with drinks, rounds of pool, darts, and is certainly not complete without a few rounds of Rooster on the piano. After his grand finale of “Great Balls of Fire,” it hits Natasha that this is all coming to an end: her time at TOPGUN for a while, the singalongs, and most likely, whatever this thing is with Jake.

It hits her as she watches him pull you onto his lap, playing something instrumental. It’s the look in his eyes and the way you look at him in return.

Her and Jake were no you and Rooster.

She’s happy for you guys. Of course, she’s happy for you guys. Hell, she’d been the one to parent trap the two of you in the first place! But tonight had been a glaring reminder that she still wasn’t ready.

For someone so fearless and action-oriented in an F/A-18, the don’t think-just do mentality isn’t something she’s figured out how to apply to her life. She’s got too much to do. Too many aspirations that don’t include having a partner. Too many many thoughts of how having one would hold her back.

She entertains the thought for a second that maybe it’s her specific bedfellow. The fact that it’s Hangman. Jake.

But she knows it’s not.

It’s not about Jake.

Natasha excuses herself from her conversation with Bob, before going in search of some fresh air. She hates what she has to do and wonders if it was worth it all to get involved with Hangman in the first place. As her mind reels, her feet take her further away from the Hard Deck and out onto the beach, wondering when the hell she started to care about Hangman’s feelings.

With the sand beneath her feet and the sounds of the ocean in the background, Natasha finds a good place to sit. Wearing a pullover sweater that was maybe Coyote’s, she curls up, hugging her knees into her chest as she watches the waves crash ashore.

It’s not long before she hears footsteps behind her followed by a familiar Texas drawl.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies, turning her head to confirm that Hangman’s followed her out here.

“Mind if I sit?” Hangman asks, hesitantly, still standing behind her.

“Go ahead,” she exhales, patting a spot on the sand next to her.

Jake knows what’s coming. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. He lets out a heavy sigh as he sits down next to her, so that they’re sitting side by side. He steals a glance her way as he works up the courage to have the conversation they’ve both been avoiding.

“Nat, I-,” he starts.

“Jake, please don’t…” she warns, a fragility in her voice that surprises her. “Don’t… say the thing you’re going to say.”

A pang of disappointment finds itself in his belly. He swears under his breath, then swallows as he waits a beat.

He knows she’s scared. He’s pretty freaked out too. He’s not sure if either of them knew what they’d be getting into when they hooked up on the carrier. Jake could feel it last night – that something shifted – and he can feel that they’ve come to different conclusions on what comes next.

“Trace…” he trails off, his voice steady.

“I’m not ready,” she states, her voice sure. “I wish I was… but I’m not.”

Three words.

Three little words that had been nagging him all weekend.

She’s not ready.

The three words he could feel in his bones, but he’d pushed them to the back of his mind, not ready to acknowledge the truth.

He takes another beat, because hearing them feels different than feeling them.

“I know,” he finally says, in acceptance.

Nat sighs disappointedly, turning her head to look at Jake once again with an apologetic look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to say ‘sorry,’ but she’s also not sure if that’s the right thing to say. Hell, she doesn't know if there is a right thing to say. She open her mouth again, but Jake beats her to it, putting a hand on her knee to give her a comforting squeeze.

“I really like you, Natasha Trace. And I want you to know that,” Jake confesses, holding her gaze with an intensity that surprises her.

She’s quiet – his admission weighing heavily on her.

Would it be unfair to say it back? Does she even feel the same way? This feeling inside of her that’s settled in her belly – a fondness for the last man on the planet she ever thought she could feel this way about – only confirms her suspicions.

I really like you too.

“You don’t have to say it back but… I wanted… to tell you that. Not just for you. But for me,” Jake continues, his voice steady, knowing it’s something he needs to get off his chest.

In all honesty, he’s felt this way for her for a long time, but he knows now isn’t the right time to tell her that either.

She nods, as if she’s processing what he’s just said.

“Jake, I… it’s not like I expect you to wait for me or anything but-,” she begins, still stumbling over her words as she searches for the ‘right’ thing to say.

“Wasn’t gonna, Trace,” he interjects with a chuckle, lightening the mood.

She laughs, and the feeling seems to lift some of the pressure off of her chest.

“I guess I just-. Thank you for telling me,” she says, mustering up all the sincerity in her body that she can. She’s not ready to say it back, but she doesn’t want it to go unacknowledged. “And… I’ve… I’ve enjoyed this… whatever the hell this was.”

Jake smiles softly, stealing a glance in Natasha’s direction. It’s not like he expected her to say it back, but the look on her face seems to quell any pangs of disappointment he may have had. In his silence, Nat observes the soft smile on the aviators face, narrowing her eyes at him before she follows up with:

“But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

“No one would believe me even if I did,” he drawls, leaning back on his hands and relaxing into the sand.

“Right,” she mumbles with a dry laugh.

She takes a breath, then a beat before asking:

“Are we going to be okay?”

Jake sits up once more to gently bump his shoulder against hers.

He shrugs, “Yeah, Trace. We’re gonna be okay.”

She’ll admit that she’s surprised by how well he’s taking this rejection. Was Jake Seresin actually much more mature than he led on?

“So what do we do now?” she asks, a hint of defeat in her voice.

“We enjoy one more night together,” Jake answers truthfully. “That is… if you want to. And then we go our separate ways in the morning.”

Her eyes search his calm expression, caught off guard by his casual tone. Could it really be that easy? Could it really be that simple when she feels so damn conflicted inside? And for Jake, it isn’t, but for now, it’s going to have to be.

Before she can give him the credit, in typical Hangman fashion, he’s got more to add, taking a much more playful approach this time as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“Then, by the time you get back to base, you realize you can’t get me out of your head. After agonizing over your decision to let me go, you come to said realization in a rom-com-worthy montage,” he goes on, telling his wild tale. “Doesn’t matter where I am: Texas, Japan, the middle of the Pacific Ocean – you book the earliest flight you can – and it’s all pebbles on my bedroom window, boombox blaring the cheesiest love song you can think of in a chivalrous attempt to win me back.”

She laughs, shaking her head incredulously at his described scenario.

“Don’t push it, Bagman,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Can’t help it if I’m always right, Phoenix,” he gloats, earning another eye roll from her.

Natasha returns her attention to the ocean, watching the water ebb and flow like they’ve done so perfectly since the dawn of time.

“It’s a nice fantasy,” she admits, breaking the silence between them.

Jake nods, and they exchange a laugh; the look in both of their eyes, bittersweet.

Jake takes a breath before standing, making sure to offer his hand to help her up. Natasha gladly takes it as he helps her up to her feet, before they start their walk back up the beach. As they reach the back of the Hard Deck, shoes in hand, Jake pauses so that they can both put their shoes back on.

“Oh and Nat?”

“Hmmm?”

“I want a real boombox. Not a bluetooth speaker. I want authenticity and I’ll settle for nothing less,” he warns playfully.

“Fine,” she gives in, because it really is a nice fantasy. “I’m sure arrangements can be made.”

It feels dangerously close to making a promise.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding out a hand to her.

It’s an invitation – a promise of one last time – so she takes it.

Just one more night, she thinks to herself.

In the morning, everyone goes their separate ways. Bradley heads out to Maverick’s hangar early in the morning with a promise of a reunion.

“Why don’t I spend the rest of my leave with you at Lemoore? Before I head back to Oceana,” he’d proposed when you’d discussed what next. “Should be with Mav for a few days. Then I’ll drive up over the weekend.”

“Are you sure? If you want more time with Mav-,” you’d hesitated.

“I’m sure. The week will be plenty of time.”

And you’d found no other reason to argue with him, more than happy to have more time with your new boyfriend.

It’s less of a goodbye and more of a see-you-later.

But for Natasha and Jake, this morning feels far more bittersweet. He’s unsure of when he’ll see her again, the weight of it feeling heavier this morning. After she leaves in the morning, LA bound in a rental car, Hangman’s not ready to sit with it just yet. He changes into some workout clothes, eager to clear his head.

The weight of goodbye had colored their last night together, turning up the intensity – the intimacy – of their interactions. He’d had some of these feelings for Natasha Trace for a long time. It was her hunger for excellence, her fire, the fact that she could hold her own when it came to his quips and banter.

And after what they did on the carrier? After this past week? He knew he knew she'd carved out a permanent space there, taken up residence in his head (and maybe even in his heart) that he’d never quite be able to shake.

After parting ways with Rooster, It’s not hard for you to find Jake. He’s never quite figured out how to turn off his location sharing from that one time a few years ago when you’d showed him how to turn it on.

You find him on the beach, sitting and watching the waves. He’s sweaty from his run, his running sneakers somehow still in perfect condition.

“Bagman,” you call after him, the familiar nickname bringing a smile to his lips because of who it reminds him of.

“How’d you find me?” he asks, as he turns, watching you take a seat next to him.

“I swear to god, you barely know how to work a smartphone, grandpa. I’m pretty sure your location is shared with me eternally,” you tease him, sitting side by side with your best friend.

“Damn it,” he mumbles, returning his attention to the ocean.

“How ya doin?” you ask him, as if you know he needs to talk.

He wonders if that’s why you came to find him in the first place.

He shrugs, thinking about his answer, “I’m alright, kid.

You nod slowly, trying to read him as you ask:

“You got plans for leave?”

“Dunno,” he drawls, searching for answers in the pattern of the waves. “Might head back to Nevada early. I got booted off the shortlist for the next mission for defying orders to stand down but… you know how it goes.”

“Ahhh the price of being a hero,” you sigh, bumping your shoulder up against him.

He laughs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes as you exchange glances, that you notice immediately.

“Or I could head back to Texas. Might go visit Sarah and the kids,” he thinks out loud as he explores the options he has for the next few weeks you all were given.

Go see his sisters, Sarah and Caroline. Catch up with old friends. Maybe (and it’s a big maybe) see his parents.

“Texas, huh?

“Yeah.”

This time you turn your whole body towards him, scooting over in the sand.

“In that case… how would you feel about a pit stop in Austin? I could… get a ticket too and go see my dad. I’m gonna have to tell him I got called up for a top secret mission and all I came back with was a boyfriend he’s now gotta worry about,” you propose, dressing your offer with a little humor. “You wanna come with?”

“Someone’s gotta give him an honest and unbiased opinion on Rooster, kid,” he teases, taking a much more light hearted approach.

“Unbiased? Thaaaat’s not the word I’d use to describe your perspective of Bradley!” you fire back.

“Bradley, huh?” he asks, shooting you a look.

“You don’t think I call him Rooster when we-,” you begin to ask, before immediately being cut off by Jake.

“Woahhhh okay, kid. Way more than I need to know!” he interjects, because he really doesn’t want to picture you, his best friend, and Rooster doing anything right now.

He waits a beat before asking:

“So it’s serious?”

You smile, and the look in your eyes is all he needs to know as you answer, “Yeah, I think so.”

Jake hums in response before checking his phone. While he swears he’s checking the time, he’s only alotta disappointed when he doesn’t see a message from Nat.

“You… wanna talk about it?” you ask, noticing the shift in him.

“Hm?”

“You and Nat.”

“Ahhhh.”

He pauses and he can’t look at you when he drags out:

“She’s not ready.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve liked her for a long time,” you console him, giving his shoulder closest to you a squeeze.

“It’s-,” he starts to stay, before realizing what you’ve actually said. “What do you mean by ‘you’ve known for a long time’?!”

“Because… I have eyes!” you cry out with a laugh.

“I’m not that obvious,” he protests, shooting you a look that says, ‘oh, c’mon.’

“Oh you so are!” you reply, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I-,” he begins to say, before giving in.

You exchange another look with Jake before he just laughs, shaking his head this time too. You see him, you know him better than anyone else (except for maybe Coyote), and there’s no point in fighting you on it. It’s not like he’d been keeping it – his feelings for Nat – a secret, but he hadn’t thought it was that noticeable either.

“It’s okay,” he finally says, steering the conversation back to your question. “I should’ve known. Not all of us can just throw ourselves into it like you and Rooster.”

And even though he says it’s okay, you can tell he’s disappointed. You shift your position once more so that you can rub a few soothing circles over his back.

“Jake, you two are gonna figure it out one day. I know it,” you declare, reassuringly.

“I’m not so sure about that, kid,” he shakes his head, letting out a doubtful huff.

“Well, I am. C’mon,” you encourage, giving him a rallying slap on the back.

He laughs again.

“Have a little faith, Seresin.”

the end.

#call sign tennessee whiskey #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #hangman x phoenix #hannix #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix top gun #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #hangman top gun #jake seresin #top gun maverick smut

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gothgleek · 11 months ago

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Redesigning Rhaenyra’s Costumes

Let’s be honest, her costumes were not giving what needed to be gave. I’m sure Covid impacted the fabrics that were available and how a thorough a job they are able to do fittings but the end result still wasn’t great. However, I did enjoy the ahistorical nature of it in that, much like GOT, you could not find direct historical inspiration for all the outfits. I tried to keep that in mind when I drew Rhaenerya’s outfits while also trying to keep it similar to her costumes in the show because I’m not redesigning ALL her dresses. I might redesign other dresses in the future, along with Rhaena and Baela.

1.Red Tourney- Great idea, terrible execution. it is so ill fitting with no structure whatsoever and it makes her look so frumpy. Which I know is not the intent because of her flared collar. Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of the collar because it seems a little too advanced for the time period in the ASOIAF universe and Cersei would have certainly had an Elizabethan collar while queen. However, it is probably the most defining piece of the outfit so I had to include it. I also hope that it comes back in future appearances otherwise it would be such a bizarre design choice. Anyway, for my redesign I structured the collar a bit more, making it resemble a dragon wing. She has a blue-purple broach to represent her mother. The whole tourney is being thrown in her honor but Rhaenyra is really the only one thinking about Aemma. In a similar vein, Rhaenyra’s sleeves resemble armor with blue gems in reference to Aemma’s quote about a woman’s battle ground being the birthing bed.

2.Yellow Dress- This dress is inspired by the Byzantine period and by Rhaenys’s gowns. A lot of people on the show seem to favor wide necklines or off the shoulder dresses so I simply adorned hers with gemstones. Embroidery and sewn gems are also added because her dress was too plain and I think they tried to make up for it with shiny fabric. Plus all the men around her are obsessed with Old Valyria which I visualize as the Byzantine period and Ancient Rome so it makes sense she would incorporate Valyrian styles into her dresses. It is of course modernized with a medieval silhouette as she is expected to set the trends at King’s Landing. Matching the jewels is a simple gold circlet because Rhaenyra needs some casual crowns to wear around the house.

3.The Rose Gold Dress- Again, the idea was there but the execution wasn’t. This is the most medieval inspired of the dresses I redesigned for her. Since this is the scene where her and Alicent make up, she looks probably the softest we’ve seen her with light pink and a fabric belt. The fabric belt is inspired by Byzantine clothing. The bright red gems, tiara, the dragon scale dress and dragons scale lace under her rose gold dress do indicate that their animosity isn’t over but it is tempered for now. They simply miss each other that much. I emphasized the amount of gold she wears to contrast her older self who will wear more silver because it is a variation of black. I know she wears gold to match her dragon but she can’t wear black and gold without looking like a Baratheon I’m afraid.

4.Meeting in a Maternity Gown- I liked the original dress except for the front lacing and the white fabric. I don’t know why they made her wear white so much. I know they needed a pale fabric to show her lactating in this scene (🙄) so I kept it a pale gray since it’s still aligning herself with Team Black. In my redesign she’s wearing pale gray in softer fabric as she is probably seeking something comfortable post giving birth but it’s still regal enough to stand toe to toe with Alicent. She’s also wearing a variation of a French hood because that is what she wore at her coronation and she’s trying to maintain the idea of herself as heir. Instead of a front lace corset detail- which I assume was for breast feeding purposes because why would someone either handmaidens wear something that needed tying in the front?- I gave her a robe and belt. She’s aware of the rumors about her sons so she wears some of Laenor’s house colors to dissuade those rumors. Sort of like, “See how happy we are? I’m wearing his favorite color!” The gray and blue are House Strong colors though so she is showing her love for him as well. But both are so overwhelmed by her house colors, it barely registers. Rightfully so as she is representing herself during the council meeting. I added more dragon emblems because I loved her dress in the teaser trailer for season 2.

#rhaenyra targaryen #hotd rhaenyra #house of the dragon #HOTD #HOTD redesign #asoiaf hair and clothing #asoiaf clothing and hair #hotd fanart #fanart #Art #mine #house targaryen #house velaryon #my art

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jumpywhumpywriter · 1 month ago

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A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life *BONUS Scene* part 2

Warnings: semi-reformed Villain, kidnapping, ambush, beating of Hero, mention of future torture, broadcasting death

"Amber," he whispered to himself in disbelief. What had she gotten herself into?!

Zack stared blankly at the wall in front of him, processing what had just happened.

Amber. Amber had called him for help. But why him? Did she really trust him that much to put her life in his hands again, even after everything he'd done to her?

On the one hand, Zack would leave her on her own, and not risk the wonderful new life he'd created for himself. He wasn't Villain anymore. But... Amber had also saved him from the death sentence he deserved. He owed her one.

Zack groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. His stupid newfound conscience was getting annoying. The past version of him would stay out of it and let things play out on their own, but... he'd developed a small soft spot for the hot-headed Hero. He respected her, maybe a little too much. And whoever had captured her would no doubt have dark plans for her.

But if he did decide to come to Amber's aid... how was he supposed to find her? Her attackers knew what they were doing, they had taken the time to destroy her phone and ensure they were followed.

Tracker, Zack realized with a jolt. He'd never removed the tracking chip he'd given Amber when she was his prisoner. He'd meant it as a means of finding her if she ever escaped his grasp, but now it could be the only thing that saved her. He felt a flicker of pride in himself for that clever foresight on his part, thanking his past self for it.

But there were a few other problems with this situation: firstly, he didn't have his Villain suit to hide his identity, and secondly, he didn't have any of his old weapons that had been confiscated by authorities along with his suit. As a dead man, it wouldn't be wise of him to show up guns blazing without something to cover his face. No one could know he was still alive.

Zack rifled through his closet to find the skii mask he often wore to protect himself when tinkering with things that would generate small sparks. It was perfect.

Now he just needed weapons. He took a look at all the various tools and creations he'd made in his apartment, sprawled out across his work table. Most projects were only half-finished and not functional or reliable. But there were a few he could find use in bringing.

He donned a special belt to hold everything, hooking a modified stun gun to it that could blast high-voltage electricity. Inspired by Supervillain's design when he'd almost killed Amber. He added various fighting knives to his collection, along with some lock picks that might come in handy. Then he sighed, marching to the door next and taking a long black cloak off a hook in the wall that he put on, pulling the hood up over his head after sliding the skin mask on. He wrapped it snugly around himself, hiding the fact that he was heavily armed, and set off to his van.

He drove to the last location Amber's phone had been before it was destroyed, walking into the alley the fight must have taken place. It was as good a place as any to start searching. And it was awful. There was blood visible on the ground, mostly dried by now but the amount of it was what had Zack worried. If it belonged to Amber, it meant she was seriously injured.

And in a small puddle of that blood, was Amber's phone, smashed to smithereens and crushed into the asphalt. Zack's stomach churned with an unknown emotion as he pulled out his own phone, snapping a quick picture of the crime scene in case he needed it later before he pulled up the app connected to the tracker he'd once implanted into Amber's neck. He let out a sharp breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the signal came through, strong and steady. Only ten miles away from where he was standing.

Zack turned around and walked briskly back to his van. He had a mission to go on.

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

Amber's head was pounding with pain when she came back to consciousness, her ears ringing painfully. Drying blood trailed down her face from her forehead and nose, her broken ankle swollen and throbbing.

She groaned and twitched as her awareness trickled back. Something rough and scratchy was digging into her wrists and ankles, and there was something thick covering her eyes -- she was blindfolded. The rest of the brain fog instantly evaporated in her alarm, and she tugged experimentally against the ropes binding her to -- a chair? What was going on?

And voices. She could hear voices somewhere close.

"...I think she's back," one of them suddenly said.

Footsteps approached, and Amber flinched in surprise when hands touched her head, taking the blindfold off. She squinted at the light that filled her vision, eyes taking a second to adjust.

The first thing she noticed was the camera on a tripod in front of her, then the three men surrounding her, all of which had malicious intent written in their cold expressions.

"Morning sunshine," one man jeered mockingly. "You've been out for quite awhile."

Amber scowled viciously at him with a withering glare, but he only laughed. "What do you want with me?" She snarled angrily.

The man had dark brown hair and eyes, and a small scar on his cheek, and he crouched down in front of the chair Amber was tied to to be eye-level with her. "I'm Roger, and I'm being paid a whopping sum to livestream your death to the city – and I get bonus points depending how long I can draw the torture out. My employer wants to send your hero team a firm message to back off his operations, or he'll start killing other teammates next."

"You're from (Organization)?" Amber gaped in disbelief. She and her team had been tracking them for over a week, interfering with their work and stopping lethal drugs from being transported. They'd been planning to catch and arrest the leader next, destroy everything and put a stop to the business altogether.

"How'd you find me?" Amber demanded, suddenly wary.

"That's not for you to know," Roger chuckled, straightening. "But let's just say your team isn't as secretive and careful as they think they are with their identities."

Amber's face hardened, and she tried to blast him with her fire powers, but only a few pathetic sparks left her hands, making all three men snicker with amusement.

"You must really think we're rookies, don't you?" Roger teased, "to assume we wouldn't take precautions and disable your powers in advance." He gestured to the single metal cuff on her left wrist, right in front of the rope binding it to the arm of the chair. A power-suppressor.

Amber cursed under her breath. How could she have been taken down in the first place?! She was one of the strongest heroes in her team, and she felt she might die of the humiliation long before these men killed her.

The smallest of the three men approached Amber with a syringe in his hand, and Amber leaned as far away from him as possible. "Wait! What is th--" she gasped as he stabbed the needle into her skin, injecting an unknown drug. But whatever it was, took immediate effect. Amber's vision went fuzzy, the world tilting on its axis as she struggled to focus her eyes, a slow, stretching pain taking over.

The man next to Roger stepped behind the camera on the tripod, clicking a button. "We'll be live in 5 seconds," he announced.

Roger slipped a balaclava over his head that covered everything but his eyes and mouth, drawing a sharp hunting knife from his belt, and Amber felt ice-cold adrenaline rush down her spine. No one was going to find her in time. And everyone would be watching her die. On live television.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whump-queen

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bella-rose29 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4 - The Honeymoon (part 2)

Did I take inspiration from Queen Charlotte? ... mayybe. Did I also take the image from Queen Charlotte? ... mayybe

Also please let me know if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list and I will do so!

Enjoy! <3

Warnings: mentions of past trauma

Word count: 2.6k

Tag list: @kentucky-criedfricken, @polli05927, @kateswone, @historianthesecond, @ell0ra-br3kk3r

This honeymoon was a disaster.

Since that first day when they had arrived, Y/N had seen Nikolai twice.

It was the third morning.

She had breakfasted alone, she had eaten her lunch alone, and she had had dinner alone. Her husband was nowhere to be found, and it was starting to infuriate her. She understood that she wasn't being the nicest to him, but she didn't feel that Nikolai had given her enough reason to trust him yet, and her past experience had left her too hurt to trust this man so easily.

But he could still have sat and eaten with her.

The dining table was long enough to seat her entire village, yet she was the only one there every meal time. There were staff around the walls, of course, but nobody to talk to, or even glare at across the table.

The first day, after she'd left him standing by the lake (she could have sworn that he'd said something but she was too far away to make it out), she'd gone back to the greenhouse, finding peace in the plants as she always had. Y/N had stayed there until someone had found her and told her it was time for dinner, and she was only a little disappointed to find that Nikolai wasn't there, but she should have expected it, really, given how she'd treated him earlier. She did feel bad about it, but she was hurt, and lashing out.

After eating, she had been on her way to her rooms to retire for the evening, but was distracted by the library on the way. The library in the Little Palace had been incredible, and she'd read everything in it at least twice, spending more time there than in her training sessions, but it had been somewhat restricted in its contents. This library, she found as she scanned the shelves, had far more interesting texts; there were some titles she recognised from Os Alta, but a great number of them seemed to be older, in different languages she could only barely read. Y/N frowned to herself, making a mental note to try and learn more of the languages, in case it helped with negotiations with other countries.

She'd then spent the next hour or so in there, brushing her fingers over the spines and occasionally selecting one from the shelves to take back to her room. When she'd eventually left, and headed out into the corridor, she'd caught a glimpse of Nikolai at the far end, fiddling with something in his hands. Curious, she followed him (at a distance, she didn't like to think how it would look if she were caught stalking him), and her curiosity only grew when he disappeared into his room, still fiddling with what looked like some sort of vial, and Tolya went in after him. The door locked behind him, and Y/N was left in the corridor with her stack of books to wonder what the hell had happened that Nikolai needed to talk to Tolya this late at night.

The second time she saw him was when she had gone for a walk the next day. The weather was nice, the sun shining over the grounds, and so she'd taken one of the books that she had collected the night before and gone outside. She'd been wandering close to the stables when she'd heard what sounded like metal clanging, so she'd walked a little closer. Her first thought was that a stable hand was helping a farrier shoe a horse; her second was that somebody had broken in to steal something.

Given her ideas on what she thought she would find, she naturally was shocked to see her husband, King Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka, lying on the floor in his shirt and trousers and covered in straw, fixing something on the underside of the carriage they had ridden in the day before. She felt like a schoolgirl looking at him, his shirtsleeves rolled up just past his elbows showing his forearms and blackened hands (that she assumed was oil, although it looked much darker than that), one of his suspenders slipping off of his shoulders and being yanked back every now and then. He had dirt on his cheek, and Y/N wondered if he knew, then had to fight off the thought that she should go and wipe it off. Shaking her head, she left quickly, gathering a mist to cool her flushed cheeks that she refused to properly acknowledge when asked if she was alright by a concerned staff member. Since then, she'd been stubbornly avoiding him, hoping that by putting some (extra) distance between them it would help reduce the number of times she thought about his arms.

On the third morning of the honeymoon, Y/N had awoken to the sun, frustrated at the thin curtains for allowing so much light in so early, then had reluctantly got out of bed and dressed herself. Heading down for breakfast, she was expecting to eat alone, as she had at every mealtime here so far. She was surprised, however, to see her husband sat at the other end of the table, looking exhausted yet scribbling notes like his life depended on it.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was loud in the quiet of the room, and although her shoes had clicked on the floor, she didn't think he'd actually heard her come in. Her suspicions were confirmed when his head snapped up so fast she thought he might break his neck.

"Oh, you're here! Uh, I was just... eating my breakfast. I'm not normally awake this early, so I thought I'd just come and eat with you?" His explanation was more of a question, as if he were hopeful she wouldn't turn him away. She could only stare at him, though, fixating on something.

"You're... not normally awake at this time?"

"Uh, yeah. I usually end up sleeping in, so..."

"Oh. Okay then." It was awkward after that, both of them refusing to meet the other's eyes. The only noises were his scribbling and their cutlery clinking as they both ate, and Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the staff positioned around the room would say afterwards. Most likely rumours would spread that the king and queen were fighting, or unhappy, or hadn't consummated the marriage (all of which were true, but nobody needed to know that), and then both of their reputations would fall apart, Ravka would become even more susceptible to attacks, and they could all lose everything.

When they had finished eating and were getting up to leave, she made a decision.

"Would you join me on a walk this morning? The weather is lovely and I would hate for you to miss it," she said, and she was immediately relieved when he nodded. Y/N didn't miss the way the staff looked at each other, or the hope in his eyes, and as soon as they were outside and away from prying eyes and ears she turned to him.

"I just wanted you to know I only asked you out here so that people wouldn't think something was wrong. I could tell they were already coming up with stories and I didn't want any rumours to spread that Ravka is weak or anything."

He was quiet for a moment, and he sounded almost deflated when he spoke.

"You're right, of course you are. Did you... did you have any plans for today?"

"Not really, although I don't really see why you care, you haven't been very involved in my daily plans lately." She knew it was unfair, but she was still hurt, and old memories had been dredged up from the back of her mind that she thought she'd never have to revisit, and it was making her lash out.

"I'm sorry. I could show you what I've been doing, if you like?" She nodded, letting him lead her away to a separate building she hadn't noticed before. It was nestled in the undergrowth, and she had a horrible moment where she thought he might be taking her here to kill her, but then they stepped inside and all thoughts of malicious intent left her head.

She was surrounded by machinery, work benches and storage cabinets overflowing with stuff, and projects that had been started but not yet finished were everywhere. The thing that really took her breath away, however, was the boat suspended in midair.

"So you build things?"

"Yes. I haven't had much time to do any of this recently, what with the war, becoming King, getting married. I'm sorry for not spending more time with you, I just figured you wouldn't want me around since I can't actually tell you why I left, so I came here. I've been working on a new model, one just for small travelling parties, but I can't quite get the-" He cut himself off when he saw her face, then said "Sorry. I'll stop boring you with this. I just thought you might want to see what I was doing."

"I- thank you. Really." She supposed she could try and be civil, since he was being respectful of her wishes. "If... if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, I just..." she sighed deeply, taking a risk and jumping in the deep end. "I've been left before, and I don't want to get close to you in case it happens again." She could feel his surprise at the fact that she'd shared the information, but her eyes were squeezed shut so that she couldn't see his reaction.

"I won't leave you, I swear. I know this isn't the most... ideal situation, but on a purely political level I need this marriage to work, and that won't happen if you hate me or if I leave. On a personal level? I would like you to have some sort of happiness in this marriage, given you didn't have much of a choice in it. So I swear I won't leave you, because I need you, and because Ravka needs you. Also you'd probably have to run the country on your own because you'd have killed me for leaving, so..." At some point his hands had landed on her arms, gentle enough that if she wanted to move away she could, and she had to blink back tears. His last comment had made her laugh a little, and now that her eyes were open she could see that he was smiling softly at her, hope in his eyes again.

"Alright. I can't promise that I'll be anything more than civil, though. I just... don't want to get too close in case I get hurt."

He nodded his agreement, exhaustion coming back from breakfast momentarily before he seemed to be so full of energy she thought he might be a power source himself.

"Why don't you show me around? I doubt I'll understand much of what you're saying, bu-" she was cut off as he practically dragged her over to a workbench, already explaining about three things at once and talking so fast she couldn't keep up.

Let's just hope this works, she thought. Or we could be in big trouble.

Y/N wasn't sure how long they'd spent in Nikolai's workshop, since they'd eaten in there when they got hungry (he had a cupboard filled with food, and she made a mental note to put one of those in her rooms when she got back to Os Alta), but she found herself thoroughly enjoying the time. They ate dinner together (sat at opposite ends of the table, but still), and the atmosphere was much less awkward than it had been that morning.

When Y/N decided to retire, Nikolai walked her to her rooms, her arm slipped through his. It seemed as though he really meant that he wouldn't leave unless she wanted him to, and the thought made her smile.

Maybe this won't be like before.

It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she had to hope that he was different, that all of this was different, even if it was only so that the two of them could help Ravka be rebuilt.

They reached her door, coming to a stop, and she took her arm out of his, one hand already on the handle.

"Thank you, for giving me a chance today, I really appreciate it. It must have been difficult for you to tell me about... that, so thank you," he said, voice quiet and, if she wasn't going deaf, a little shy? She nodded, hesitating slightly.

Before she could question what she was doing, she reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, immediately turning red and shoving open the door, muttering a "Good night," and practically slamming it in his face. Y/N pressed her back up against the door, gripping the handle for dear life as she tried to work out why, in the name of all the Saints, she had just kissed his cheek, when unbidden the memories of him in the stables fixing the carriage came back to her, and her face became even more red (although how that was possible, she wasn't sure, since her face felt like it was on fire).

Y/N only managed to get to sleep many hours later after chucking a jug of cold water over her head to try and get her out of her thoughts, and when she woke in the morning, she found that she was actually looking forward to the day, hopeful that Nikolai would be at breakfast when she got there.

He was, looking considerably more well rested than he had the day before, and they spent that day together too, and the next, and the next, and she was almost sad when their honeymoon came to an end and they had to return to the Grand Palace. He hadn't brought up the kiss she gave him which she was grateful for (and she hadn't done it since), and there hadn't been anything other than the occasional hand-holding and awkward hug, but they had talked, and learned a lot about each other. She sensed there was something more, since when she had brought up why he wore his gloves one evening he had stiffened and abruptly changed the subject, but she had softened up a little over the week, deciding that if she was allowed to have secrets then she couldn't fault him for keeping things from her either. She just hoped that in time, they would be comfortable enough around each other to share, and stop keeping each other in the dark.

The carriage ride home was a lot smoother, both conversation-wise and physically; whatever Nikolai had done (he had explained it, but it mostly went over her head) it had made the carriage jolt less on the smaller bumps, although every now and then a larger pothole would get the better of it and they'd go flying in their seats. The journey was short, but tiring enough that when they got back they ate their dinner and went straight to bed, Nikolai walking Y/N to her rooms as he had done every night since that first one.

The next morning was chaos, filled with reports and meetings and note-taking and people talking into her ear, and the rest of the day carried on like that. She needed no help getting to sleep that night, but found herself longing for the calm of her honeymoon, or even the Royal gardens. She'd had to finish planning for her coronation, too, which was only a couple of days away now.

Her last thought as she was drifting off into sleep was that the honeymoon wasn't as much of a disaster as she'd originally thought.

Chapter 5

#grishaverse #netflix shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai x y/n #nikolai lanstov x y/n #king of scars

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kitty-is-writing · 7 months ago

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📝 Short story time 📝

This is an older one called Battery Low, inspired by a car crash I had several years ago. It's a short I'm especially proud of, unrelated to any of my other work.

- Battery Low -

The car finally rolled to a stop. Alice switched off the engine, as she’d been taught to do in an accident, and pushed the door open. It was difficult, as the side of the car had buckled somehow as it had flipped over. She eventually got it open though, and staggered across the grass blindly in the dark.

“Why did I agree to go and collect him at this time of night?” she said frantically to herself. “And in this weather too. I’d better phone him and tell him I’ve wrecked the car.” She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and found her dad’s number. Before she could dial, the phone bleeped at her, with a message saying ‘Battery low.’ Thinking she would have enough to last for a quick phone call, she pressed dial.

“Alice? What’s up?” her dad said when he picked up the phone.

Alice took a deep breath. “I’m not going to be able to pick you up, dad. I’ve had an accident in the car, I think I’ve rolled or flipped it. I’m in the field somewhere,” she said, feeling her way around in the dark.

“Are you alright?” her dad asked straight away. “I’ll get in the work’s van and come to find you.”

Alice checked herself quickly. “I think I’m alright, I’m walking and nothing feels broken or anything. I’ll try and get to the road, I seem to be in the middle of a field,” she tried to find her way back to where the road was, or had been. “I’m in some trees, and I’ve just found a barbed wire fence, I can’t find where I went through it. I’ll climb through, hang on, I’m putting the phone in my pocket so I can climb through easier,” she slid her mobile into her coat pocket and clambered awkwardly through the fence, ripping her jeans. She stumbled over a little more grass before realising she was getting further from the road. She headed back through the fence.

“Alice? Alice are you there?” her dad’s voice came from her pocket. She took her phone back out. “I’m heading down the road now, I’ve just hit the crossroads… ah. You skidded on some ice, didn’t you? I’ve just hit some myself.”

“Yeah, I just lost control. I’m heading back to the car, I was going the wrong way before. I’ll try the other way, I think the car’s facing backwards.” Reaching the car, she tripped over a big lump of something on the ground, and flung a hand out to steady herself against the back of the car. Her hand went straight through an empty space where the back window had been. “The back window’s gone, I’ve just put my hand through it. And there’s a big spring thing here, I think it’s from the car,” she told her dad, picking up the thing she had tripped on.

Her dad kept talking, reassuring her. “Don’t worry about the car, the insurance will sort that out. Just worry about you. If you can’t find the road, stay by the car, I’ll find you. Where exactly are you?” he asked.

“You know the corner, just after where the speed limit changes, I’m just past there from home. So just before there from your direction,” she said. “I’ve got to the road, it’s really icy.”

“Okay, I’m almost with you. I’m going slow because of the ice, I should be there in about five minutes. I’ve just gone past the level crossing,” he replied. “I’ll put the orange lights on so you can see me coming.”

A few minutes passed, and Alice saw some flashing orange lights coming over the slight hill. The van from her dad’s garage followed shortly after, and stopped a few feet away. “Christ, you did lose it,” her dad said over the phone. “I can see the car, whereabouts are you? I can’t see you anywhere.”

“I’m standing a few feet away from the front of the van, dad,” Alice told him. “You should be able to see me, I can see you fine,” she said, as her dad got out of the van and slipped across to the car.

“Whatever road you’re on, Alice, it’s not this one. If you’re standing in front of the van you must be invisible,” he said. “I’m going to head to the car, if you head back the way you went we should meet by the car. Don’t worry, I’ll stay on the line.”

Alice watched her dad walk across to the car, and followed him. She thought he might be playing one of his silly jokes, to relax her a little. It was the sort of thing he did sometimes. She stood behind him, and said down the phone, “Turn around, I’m behind you.”

He turned. “No you’re not.”

“Dad, you’re staring right at me. This isn’t funny, stop messing about.” She stared into her dad’s eyes, and he seemed to look right through her. “Dad!” Alice tried to touch his shoulder, to get some kind of reaction. Her hand went straight through.

He turned back to the car, and seemed to look at something in the driver’s seat. “Alice?” he said softly.

“Dad, I’m scared. I’m right next to you and you can’t see me,” she said, almost crying.

“Oh Christ, Alice, you can’t be talking to me. If you’re there, you should come and look at this,” he said, moving away from the driver’s window.

Alice moved forwards, and looked through the window. She saw herself reflected back, except it wasn’t quite right. Her head was at the wrong angle, and there was something running down her face. The car door was closed, and she was sure she’d left it open when she got out. The Alice in the car window was very still, and didn’t blink at all. “Dad,” she whispered down the phone line.

“Alice,” he started to say. There was a beeping noise in Alice’s ear. She looked down at her phone, to see the message ‘Battery dead.’ The screen went black, and Alice heard no more.

#my work #short story #writing #writblr #writeblr

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 9 days ago

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Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: child abuse, ptsd, panic attacks, abuse, manipulation, implied potentially forced marriage, mistreatment of mental health issues, grief, referenced child death/child fake death/believed loss of child

AO3 link:

Chapter 11 - Wylan

“You know how those muses are: sometimes they abandon you. And this poor boy, he wore his heart out on his sleeve. You might say he was naive to the ways of the world,”

- Any Way the Wind Blows, Hadestown

Wylan really wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. He was standing outside a tall, slender building, with a brightly lit cafe pouring out from the ground floor and into the small, gated courtyard ahead of it. The low white fence that surrounded it must have been recently repainted, because it was brighter and cleaner than anything else on the street, and he found his anxious mind wandering to the metal compounds that would have been used to develop the paint; titanium dioxide, maybe, or zinc oxide. Wylan knew less of the exact process than he would have liked to, but he knew that underground mining of zinc yielded zinc sulphide - but maybe surface mining was different? He wished he knew. Did his father’s mines bring up zinc? Maybe it didn’t matter; maybe you could use Materialniks for that sort of thing. Wylan wished he knew that too. He seemed to know an awful lot less than he wanted to about everything.

The cafe was busy, tables full inside and out - apparently the coffee here was good enough to brave the weather - and the chatter of the different groups filled the crisp morning air. A girl huddled in the folds of a heavy coat sat with her feet tucked up onto the little metal chair she was cosying on, the mug in front of her steaming into the air, a slightly worn paperback clutched between her fingers. The book must have been good, because she hadn’t touched her drink since she’d sat down several minutes ago.

It was only on that thought that Wylan realised he’d been standing here, clutching his bag close against him and not moving, for several minutes. He knew that he should probably go inside, not least because if he stayed still in this weather without a proper coat for much longer he would probably find frost growing on his skin, but his feet didn’t seem to be answering his call. This really didn’t feel like a good idea. But it also felt significantly like he was running out of other options.

Well, Wylan had thought with a sigh as he studied Kaz Brekker from across the table yesterday, I’ve spent worse mornings. For the first few moments neither of them had said anything; Kaz closed the door behind him and Wylan awkwardly gestured to the chairs that sat either side of his rickety little table. The room he was staying in was small, but he appreciated the privacy; few of the hostels had single rooms, less that cost little enough for him to stay. It was a squat building, three floors but wider than it was tall, with windows that came loose in their frames to let in the wind and rain, damp festering in the walls and what might have been - or definitely was, if Wylan wasn’t trying to be overly optimistic about it - mould growing along the ceilings. The single blessing, up until recently, had been that nobody knew he was here. Still, it was affordable on the pittance that Wylan was dragging in since managing to secure a job stirring vats of dye at a tannery farther North in the Warehouse District. The hours were long, the pay was horrendous, and the lack of protective clothing for spending hours leaning over dizzying chemicals probably meant he would die of poisoning long before he had to fret over the mould, or even the next lot of rent. Wylan was less concerned about that than he maybe should have been. He was already dead, after all.

Kaz had placed the letter on the table and it lay ominously in between them, like a dead animal that had not yet been skinned and gutted for supper. The seal was still intact, the red laurel glinting up at them, a thousand times brighter than it should’ve been in Wylan’s eyes. For a moment he was comforted to think it impossible for anyone to have seen the contents of the envelope, if the seal and paper were still unbroken, but then he noticed the irregularity along the closest edge of the wax. It was subtle, but Wylan had spent too long staring at that thing not to recognise changes to the shape: the seal had been removed. Steam, maybe? Or a heated blade slid beneath it? That seemed the most likely. Clever, he thought, even in and amongst the panicked jumble swimming about inside his head.

“You read it,” he said, glumly, not looking up at Kaz.

“You didn’t,”

“No,” Wylan replied, before releasing a light sigh and leaning back slightly in his chair. He still didn’t reach for the letter, nor did he ask Kaz what it had said, but one distracted hand floated to lay his fingers over the scars around his neck, “What business?”

And now he was standing outside a cafe, a contract and… other things sitting heavy in his satchel. Why had he agreed to this? I’m here for her, he promised himself, as he tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. I’m here for her.

There was a young family sitting at one of the tables near the fence; a baby in a sling against its mother’s chest and two small boys laughing as they chased each other round the table. Wylan had already heard the mother telling them to slow down before someone hurt themselves, and now one of them, by the looks of him the younger of the pair, tripped on his shoelace and planted headfirst into the grass. He was maybe four years old and immediately began to cry as he tried to stumble back onto his feet; his brother, who was maybe six or seven, Wylan guessed, grabbed his arm to pull him up before their father bent down and scooped the younger boy up into his arms. The mother was on her feet, one hand clutched close to the sling to keep the baby still as she took hold of the six year old’s hand and led him back to the table, shooting a brief, exasperated look at her husband that made Wylan’s stomach clench. But then she was smiling, brushing hair out of her son’s eyes as he settled on his chair and pushing a small plate of cookies first to the sniffling middle child, and then the eldest. Wylan couldn’t hear what any of them were saying at first, but as he finally forced himself to step forwards and through the door the elder boy had settled back into his seat and the younger was sitting on his father’s lap as he said to them both calmly:

“Let’s think of a game we can play sitting down, yes?”

The easy simplicity of it hit him like a blow to the stomach but then he was inside and the door had swung shut behind him, striking their voices clean dead in the air.

There was a small queue at the counter and Wylan hovered at the back of it nervously for a moment before he convinced himself to walk straight to the back of the room, where Kaz had told him to go. He felt like he was doing something wrong as he slipped through the door - also freshly repainted but this time a pinkish colour; how did they make that? Iron oxide pigments mixed with white, maybe? It sounded expensive - and began to traverse the narrow staircase tucked around a corner behind it. As though someone would burst in at any moment and start yelling, demanding to know what he was doing there.

“I have some questions I was hoping you could answer,” Kaz had said, after Wylan asked him.

“Well, ask them,” he replied, “But I’m not promising you any answers,”

Kaz had given a sort of half shrug of agreement, and then said:

“Why death? Of all options, it seems the hardest to undo,”

Wylan frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did they do it? You had been hidden from the public eye for years after the plague outbreaks. Why bother faking your death when that was already working?”

“I don’t- I mean…”

“I see where they might have been coming from,” Kaz continued, “Someone was looking for you, maybe, so your parents claimed you were already gone to keep you safe. Someone who wanted to use you to threaten your father; it’s hardly inconceivable. But why dead, why not missing? It’s a lot easier to stage the dramatic, unexpected return of an abductee than it is a resurrection. And why-?”

“What do you mean?” Wylan finally interrupted, “Death?”

Kaz frowned.

“Your parents told the world you were dead,”

Wylan felt as though the air had been pulled straight out of his lungs.

“People know?” he whispered.

“People believe,” said Kaz, watching him with heightened suspicion, “that an accident befell you at your family home six years ago, and that it resulted in your untimely death. People being people, they know nothing,”

Something uncomfortable, something that wasn’t quite pain but that Wylan lacked the words to describe accurately otherwise, prickled through the marks around his neck. He raised a hand as though to quiet them, pressing his cold fingers against the ropey scar tissue.

Wylan considered what had happened when was twelve to be a kind of death. His tiny snippet of the world had ended, and it was easier to be a ghost in the remains than it was a survivor. And besides, they called them Wraiths for a reason, didn’t they? But when Kaz had said that, a horrible, squirming coldness had wormed its way through Wylan’s stomach; the thought that people knew the truth, that the threat his father had held over him for years on end come to life.

But Kaz meant actually dead. The world thought Wylan was long buried.

“But…”

“What did they tell you?” asked Kaz, frowning.

“Nothing. I mean, he said - I don’t know, I thought…” Wylan’s words curdled in his mouth.

He wasn’t sure that Kaz had even noticed that he’d spoken.

“What’s brought you here now, then? Idealist? Revolutionary? Just foolish, maybe. Done with the walls of your gilded cage?”

“I don’t-”

“And I assume all this business with your mother has a similar motive. Was it that way from the start? She’s barely been seen in public since her recovery, and that contract-”

“Her recovery?” Wylan has been very busy studying his shirt cuffs, but now his gaze hot up, “What do you mean, recovery?”

“All that illness she had after the accident,” Kaz’s eyes slipped to Wylan’s scars as he added: “Near death experience? Your parents capitalised on it?” but Wylan wasn’t listening anymore.

“What illness?”

Kaz stopped and looked at Wylan properly, maybe for the first time.

“When was the last time you saw your parents?”

“I… I saw my father a few months ago,” he swallowed, “But I haven’t… I thought… He told me…”

Wylan couldn’t breathe. Oh fuck, he really couldn’t breathe.

“You have their marriage contract with you,” Kaz’s voice was low, “Have you read it?”

Wylan didn’t even have capacity left to wonder who the hell Kaz knew about the contract, he just shook his head. He didn’t even know what it was; he’d grabbed it from a stack of papers almost at random, because he knew it was supposed to only be family documents in that cabinet and he recognised the mark of a Grisha-draft contract etched across it, but he hadn’t so much as dared to look at the thing since he’d reached the Warehouse District. But their marriage contract? That couldn’t be right, surely? Kaz must have misunderstood, or - or -

“Wylan?”

No, it couldn’t be right. His mother would not have signed that. His father wouldn’t have made her. Would he? That wouldn’t make sense. The marriage contract would have come before -

“Wylan,”

Wylan blinked so tightly it was almost painful for his skin as he flinched upright, digging his fingers into his palms.

“I said-”

“What illness?” Wylan blurted, because he didn’t care anything at all about whatever else Kaz might have to say.

Kaz leaned back in his chair slightly, surveying him as though presenting a challenge and feeling intrigued by what his reaction might be when he said:

“I wouldn’t know. The rumour was she lost her mind; that when you died the grief drove her mad,”

Please, let me see her, just once, pl-

She does not want to see you.

“The grief?” Wylan whispered, trying not to choke on the word.

She does not want to see you.

“I assumed when I learned you were alive,” said Kaz, slowly, a new kind of caution creeping into the edges of his voice that Wylan could already feel himself growing defensive beneath the shadow of, “That the rumours were ill-founded, and that she had been struck by some other sickness, but…”

“She thinks I’m dead?” his voice barely existed, “That’s what you’re telling me? My mother thinks I’m dead,”

She does not want to see you.

She does not want you.

“I need you to leave,” Wylan managed, abruptly, hardly believing the words had made their way out of his chest and into existence, “Please.”

Only a moment passed before Kaz stood up.

“I undo people’s contracts for them,” he said, after a moment, “For the right price. Come to the cafe on Bloemstraat tomorrow, where we met before, and meet me in the upper rooms. Bring the contract. You sign on to the demo work I asked for, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do for your mother,”

Wylan looked up at him, slowly, trying to suppress the shaking of his hands even as he kept that hidden underneath the table.

“Do you… do you think she’s…?” he breathed, “That she’s…?”

He couldn’t finish the thought but it didn’t matter; no-one in Ketterdam wouldn’t have known what he meant with those words.

“Bring me the contract tomorrow,” came Kaz’s words, somehow crisp even through the grating rasp of his voice, “And I suppose we’ll find out,”

And then he was gone. The door closed and within moments Wylan, barely even aware that he was doing it, had slid off his chair and cocooned himself in his own arms, knees pressed tightly to his chest, hiding beneath the table like a lonely child.

She does not want you.

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possibly-evil · 23 days ago

Note

If you're still accepting writing prompts: Webby and the Lords in Black have a family game night, it only goes just a little bit catastrophically wrong.

here you go! It kinda sucks because I got cursed with no inspiration, but I tried :)

“This is utterly stupid.” Webby sat in an old cabin, the windows shut and the fireplace burning. In front of her sat her five brothers.

“What about it specifically?” asked Wiggly, her older brother. She scowled at him.

“We’re in a random cabin, we have to be in our human forms, and, oh, I don’t know, I hate you guys?!” She stood up and made for the door.

“So she forfeits!”

Webby paused. She really hated quitting. She was not a quitter. And she didn’t want to lose. Especially not to her brothers. Reluctantly, she turned back around.

“What are we playing?”

–

“UNO! HAHA, I SAID IT BEFORE YOU! DRAW TWO CARDS MOTHERFUKCER!” Tinky danced around the room, overjoyed that he had outsmarted his brother.

Pokey looked as if he was going to murder his little siblings. “It’s a idiotic game. It doesn’t matter. We’re all cheating, anyways. Nibbly’s been eating his cards,” He said. Nibbly giggled.

“I BEAT MY BROTHER! LA LA LA LA LA!” Tinky hopped around and sang out of tune.The others clapped along. Webby leaned back and studied their antics. Pokey’s eye twitched.

“No need to rub it in, you brats.”

“I BEAT POKEY! I'M SO MUCH BETTER THAN HIM!”

Pokey reached out and snatched Tinky’s toybox from the table. Tinky fell still, and stared wide eyed at his brother. The room went quiet. Blinky’s eyes went even wider than before, if that was even possible.

“Pokey… I'm sorry. I’m sorry. Give it back. Please.” Webby sat up. This box was Tinky’s vulnerability. She couldn't decide if she wanted to help her little brother or use this against him.

“Why? After you’ve mocked me? Why should I give this back to you, you brat?” Tinky shook with anger.

“Give. It. Back.”

“Do you want your little Teddy Bear? Too scared to go to sleep without him?”

Tinky lunged at his brother.

The two tumbled on the ground, wrestling for the box. The other stepped back to give them room. Webby’s brothers cheered and rooted for one or the other, while she prepared herself to jump in and stop them.

Pokey grabbed the box and-

“DON'T DO THA-”

A bright light filled the room, and on the table appeared Theodore Spankoffski. The Uno cards fell to the floor.

“Oh. My ba-”

“Teddy bear!” Tinky said, jumping up and brushing himself off. “Sorry about that, I didn't mean to bring you here.” He tucked the box into his pocket.

“What the fuck?” Ted stood up and looked around.

“Let's move on to monopoly!” Tinky said, scooping Ted into his arms and placing him on the couch next to Wiggly.

“Get that pervert away from me right now.” Wiggly scooted further away from the confused man.

“Who- what? Huh?” Ted looked around, eyes darting between the colorful siblings.

“Teddy bear, this is my family, we’re playing games, so just be quiet and help me win. Ok? Ok.”

“Wait a minute!” Blinky stood up. “If he gets his human, I want mine too!”

Webby pushed her brother back down. “This is getting out of hand. What do you mean ‘your human’? We don’t own humans. They shouldn’t even know we exist.”

“Says you. You’ve revealed yourself to those sisters already, why not bring one of them here?” Blinky spat.

“I’m not putting them in danger.”

“Well I don’t give a damn about what happens to mine!” Purple light. Then-

“Bill? What the fuck?” Ted said to his coworker who was now standing across from him.

“Where am I? Who are all of you?” Blinky pulled a blindfold out of his pocket and put it around Bill’s eyes.

“Easy now. You’re gonna hang out with us for a while.”

Webby placed her hand on the man’s forehead, and in another flash of light he was gone. “STOP. BRINGING. THEM. HERE.”

“Hey there boys and girls! And demons.” They all turned to the door. A man wearing nothing but denim had walked in.

“How did you find us?”

“I always know where that Wiggly-Wig of chaos is!” He strutted over to Wiggly.

“Well well well, I guess I also get a helper in our little game. Wilbur stays” Wiggly smiled wide.

“This is just… immature.” Webby stood up and made to leave.

“GOODY TWO SHOES IS LEAVING, EH?”

Webby turned and charged at Tinky.

–

Five hours later, Webby slapped her last uno card down. “I. WIN. TAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Wiggly sighed. Tinky grumbled, while Ted remained unconscious with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Nibbly bit at his nails. Pokey- well, pokey had given up and gone to watch hamilton a few hours ago.

“We’re never inviting you to this again.”

#lords in black

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synergysilhouette · 11 months ago

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Reimagining a Disney musical about "The Snow Queen"

I know what you're thinking, and you're NOT seeing double; I've already done rewrites for "Frozen" and "Frozen 2," but for this post, I'm gonna do my own idea for a Disney musical based on the Snow Queen. I did let some aspects of the film (both concept and official) inspire me, as well as the Christmas special--which felt unnecessary, but I guess not if I'm using it! Lemme know your thoughts. (Note: I do like the idea of this happening in a Northern European country like "Frozen." It's one of the few times we get a specific region in their Euopean-inspired fantasy realms. I haven't really nailed down where, but I just used Danish names here. Have NOT nailed down a time period, though; I'm thinking 16th or 17th century, in contrast to the 19th century of "Frozen.")

Plot

"Every December, wicked is heralded in by the wicked Snow Queen, bringing fear and danger in place of a joyous time for Christmas. However, when Clara decides to challenge the Snow Queen to thaw her Frozen heart, she has one year to save her kingdom from becoming her new ice palace."

Principal Characters

Clara--Intelligent, calm, and (somewhat) practical, Princess Clara is the crown princess of Rensdyr, standing out easily with her red hair and warm color tones (usually greens and reds, but other colors too), usually with floral patterns, and always keeps a rose somewhere on her person. Raised by her kindly grandfather, the studious princess craves adventure and excitement from her otherwise mundane duties. Close to Christmas, the Snow Queen--who has gone unseen for so long, they believed she was simply a myth, a relic of a bygone era, believing the harsh snow was normal--appears in the throne room, insulted by the largest, warmest holiday celebration she has ever seen. For this insolence, she curses the kingdom to eternal winter. Clara, not one to take an insult lightly, ventures to find the Snow Queen and make her reverse the curse, with only a mouse and a nutcracker given to her by her grandfather (who becomes ill and wants her to remember him by giving her his "good luck charm") as protection. She is, unsurprisingly, unable to defeat the Snow Queen physically, but instead of being killed, the Snow Queen offers her a deal: if Clara can find the Snow Queen's frozen heart somewhere in the land within a year, she will leave the kingdom and never return. However, if Clara fails, she will be but the first ice sculpture in the Snow Queen's new palace--AKA Clara's palace that she plans to take over. Clara knows she cannot trust the Snow Queen entirely, but she learns that this is simply a battle of the mind: she must simply outwit winter herself. Of course, she doesn't immediately realize that it's not the mind she needs to think with...(Note: whenever she enters the Snow Palace, her clothes are influenced by the Northern lights, so blues, whites, and vibrant rainbow colors are her new identifier.)

Kai--The knight in shining ice, one of the few humans inside the Snow Queen's domain. While she tells Clara that Kai is meant to protect her for a year and "verify" if she has found her heart and return it to her, she secretly instructs Kai to find "it" before Clara. He originally is portrayed as stoic and of few words, not a large help to Clara. When they find a beautiful ice crystal the size of his hand, Clara accidentally trips and falls into him. As she cries from a twisted ankle, the tears fall onto the crystal and his chest, revealing that for centuries, whenever the Snow Queen froze someone, their heart escaped their body and took the form of a peculiar piece of ice. They can only be captured during the winter; otherwise they melt and turn into puddles of water that the ground refuses to absorb. Upon having his heart restored, Kai finds that he still has an affinity toice, being able to refine and change it's shape--a sign of him still belonging to the Snow Queen. He becomes much more friendly while keeping his confidence and maturity, and quickly falls for Clara over the year that they search for the Snow Queen's heart--though he can't help recall what exactly "it" was that the Snow Queen wanted her to find first...

I'm kinda thinking he's very similar to the Beast when he's an ice knight, while becoming more like Phoebus once he's thawed.

The Snow Queen--A sadistic woman worshiped as a goddess due to her longevity and power, she encases the land in ice and snow, delighting in the misery of others. She's a cross between Maleficent and Cruella de Vil in terms of personality--and in clothes; while she does wear fabrics like silk, she loves the decadence of fur, particularly from animals who disappoint her. Her skin is a beautiful blueish-white, while her eyes are a bright blue, and her hair is whiter than snow. When Clara dares to stand up against her, the Snow Queen vows to break her spirit before turning her into an ice sculpture for her amusement and take over the kingdom. When she instructs Kai to find "it," she is actually not referring to her heart--which she never lost, but it is still frozen solid, making it impossible to feel positive emotions--but to the "Heart of Winter," a primordial being that once gifted her powers over ice and snow when she was a freezing girl in poverty selling matches in another kingdom. A neutral figure, if Clara managed to sway it, it would never visit the kingdom again, forcing the Snow Queen to either flee or stay powerless in the kingdom, which is not an option. When Clara does (by accident) encounter the HoW, the Snow Queen attempts to kill them both in order to keep her powers forever. She manages to freeze Clara, but , Clara's heart has grown over the journey, being more open to love and less cynical, allowing the warmth of her heart (and Kai's tears) to melt her and even the Snow Queen herself, who has lived so long that her body does not become a puddle, but a massive fjord. Her story inspires Clara to focus on the poverty when she returns home, as well as instructing a statue of the queen and the HoW so her story is never forgotten. It is revealed that her name is Anika.

The Heart of Winter--I was gonna make it look like Santa Claus, but I think Clara's grandfather should look like that. In any case, the HoW is a shapeshifter and can appear in any form, usually wise and quiet, though it enjoys the form of humans (not as young as Jack Frost, but I wanted the visual), wolves, foxes, reindeer, and dragons the most. As a spirit, it is swayed by powerful acts of emotion: negative ones like the Snow Queen's inspire it to make harsh and freezing ice, while positive ones inspire it to make memories of joy and fun during Christmastime. Clara's warm heart, however, makes the environment inhospitable for it--not that it's bitter--and thus it leaves, never to return (at least for a few centuries).

Music

I'd still want the Lopez-Anderson team to make this, and if not them, Stephen Schwartz (and maybe Alan Menken). Again, I suck at song titles.

Early in the morning--I kept having "Carol of the Bells" and "4 in the Morning" in my head when I imagined this song. Weird combination I know, but it's mainly an introduction to the kingdom, as well as Clara's life.

My Way--The Snow Queen and Clara make a bet: she must search the land for the Snow Queen's heart, and over the course of a year, the winter will become harsher until every creature on it is frozen.

Ice in my veins--The Snow Queen sings this while Clara searches desperately for her heart, laughing at the ridiculousness of the heart to make you do stupid and reckless decisions, mockingly asking if it's just her who finds it astounding.

Heartache--Kai sings this as he regains his feelings, noting how strange it is to feel again,and how he doesn't remember who he was before becoming the Snow Queen's servant, but vows to find out and free the others once everything is over.

Desperately Yours--The Snow Queen reflects on how Clara has figured out the secret to thawing out hearts, and questions if she's now more dangerous than she thought. She recalls vague feelings of love for others, but laments that it was not returned to her, and ponders how such a thing can cure hate. This is mainly a duet between Clara and Kai, but the Snow Queen intervenes at times.

My Way (Reprise)--Clara reflects on how cynical she's been, about how this whole thing was about her own ego, having glory and being right, when she hasn't stopped to appreciate those who have helped her along the way, and she realizes she loves Kai. She also reflects on how entitled the Snow Queen has become, and how bitter she is because of her tragic past.

Love Will Thaw--A soaring chorus number (I know they're usually saved for reprises, but they're underrated) where Kai and Clara and the other victims of the Snow Queen return to Rensdyr just in time to celebrate Christmas a year after the beginning of the film, but it's the perfect holiday to reconnect.

Lemme know your thoughts, questions, and concerns! I'm enjoying these "bare bones" rewrites just as much as the alterations.

#disney #disney animation #frozen #elsa #anna #kristoff

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autobot-ratchet · 4 months ago

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Lost Light 7-9

Lost Light 7

oh good, so someone did tell Rung about the functionist universe version of himself. “Yeah man you grew a hundred feet tall and punched the moon, it was wild”

jfdks Rodimus just gleefully swinging Skip's corpse around like a ragdoll

Drift's got an interesting perspective on Megatron's absence. I wonder if that's how he personally felt about his presence, I'm sure he must've felt a million different things about being commanded by him again

oofjhd Cyclonus, you gotta speak up, all the way up, he keeps trying and losing his nerve...

Velocity, please don't call it the F.U. LmAO

poor Minimus is going through it too, he's got a moment to finally realize and reflect upon the fact that he actually does like Megatron, despite everything

“You're an inspiration,” she says... she's already got the idea in her head.........

“Discuss this? Since when have we discussed anything?” oof ouch ougfhjdk he's right though... on the other hand he's doing the exact same shit Cyclonus was, he is absolutely trying to push Cyclonus away to protect him without telling him why, Tailgate is just as fuckin bad at communicating as Cyclonus and it hurts

uuuUUUGH I FORGOT HE TRIES TO GIVE CYCLONUS'S INNERMOST ENERGON BACK... he's really trying to break it off completely, he really wants Cyclonus away from him so he doesn't rip him apart in his sleep........

absolutely love this fucking conversation between Magnus and Rodimus, just going over the full spectrum of ways to feel about Megatron, and they're all correct. And Roddy is a lot more observant than anyone gave him credit for, he knows Magnus, knows what he needs to get back up on his feet, so to speak lmAO god what a good bit of dialogue

oh, Cyclonus, honey........ and Whirl, being a good friend for him aaaaudgfhsjghjdfk

gOD fudgfhfghdjk the fact that Tailgate has the vial of Cyclonus's innermost energon in his hand while he's in the radiation chamber fuck my LIFE

damn Fangry was really gonna put Tailgate in the ground for another six million years, fuck you dude

this was another thing that tested my faith in the comic lmfAO I don't think I ever thought this was the last we'd see of Tailgate necessarily, but I was scared that was the end of Cygate lmAO I was scared that by the time Tailgate became relevant again, Cyclonus would have started moving on and would stay away from Tailgate out of respect for his feelings/fear of reopening that old wound and never find out he was stuck underground

Lost Light 8

“Tell me your name. I want to worship you like a god,” is still such a wild fuckin thing to say to someone you just met

“The Mederi Center?!” the HUH??? I REMEMBER THAT NAME THAT'S THE NAME OF THE PLACE

love this girls day out to the shady-ass marketplace

honestly I love how much crime Anode does she's so valid lmAO

oof man poor Nautica is going through it, and she's making poor Velocity go through it too

I talked about it a little bit before but god Anode explaining why she's a she now is still so good, it's a good way to explain her process without having to get into nitty-gritty gender discourse lmAO and like. Good, she shouldn't have to get into it, if you get it you get it and if you don't that's fine just use the she pronouns for her, that's all it takes

Lost Light 9

man... Nautica just misses her man, she saw a chance to get him back and she took it, she figured it'd all be worth dealing with all this skeeviness

oh oof ouch, low blow Nautica, don't do Velocity like that

fghdsjk Anode really just said “Hey I've got something for you, it's mY FIST BITCH HIYAH” and she fuckin hurt herself doing it god I love her lmAO

LOVE this conversation between Nautica and Velocity, love them being forced to lay all their cards out on the table like this, love that Nautica going through with this is a dealbreaker for Velocity

“This is where you stand aside.” “This is where you make me.” TELL EEEEMMMMMMMM granted she gets immediately disarmed but sTILL I RESPECT THE ENERGY

oof yeah this was another moment that tested my faith. In fact, it tested me the hardest, this almost made me drop the comic lmAO I just couldn't deal with Nautica surgically removing her feelings for Skids, it felt like it cheapened the impact of his death, and at the time, I couldn't imagine it having any relevance to any future arcs or plot points. I was fully under the impression that this was only about further solidifying the bond between Nautica and Velocity and I didn't like that the effect Skids's death had on Nautica was completely eliminated in order to do that. Of course now I know that this moment is a surprise tool that helps us later, but at the time, I actively disliked this issue and that was the first time the comic had ever made me feel that way, so that plus all the naysayers on my dash and in the tags got me dangerously close to deciding they were right. So glad I didn't lmAO I'm very glad I stuck with it and I can now read this issue without feeling awful

speaking of surprise tools that will help us later, what's good Epistemus lmAO

#mtmte retrospective

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kmomof4 · 2 years ago

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A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch5

We are back, y’all!!! Thank you all for your love and support of this fic!!! We have some hurt/comfort incoming, so get ready!!! I hope you enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

All the love to @hollyethecurious for whom the fic was written, @jrob64 and @zaharadessert for their beta prowess, and @motherkatereloyshipper for her manips of Killian and Leroy and Astrid in the artwork.

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones.

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later chapter)

Words: 6759 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

“We need a fire and dry clothes,” Killian declared, as he was interrupted by another coughing fit, “- before we catch pneumonia.”

“Of the two of us,” Emma replied, “I think you’re the only one in danger of contracting pneumonia.”

“Too right,” he agreed. He coughed again, doubling over at the waist, and Emma was torn between going to him and maintaining a proper distance right where she was.

“Mr. Jones?” she asked, getting more concerned by the minute. His coughing was getting worse and much more frequent.

“Just help me get the fire going before I cough myself into oblivion.” His voice was raspy and he seemed to barely get the words out.

Emma turned to the firegrate and easily got a blaze going. She’d certainly had enough experience with that as a household maid. In only a matter of minutes, they were both standing before it, their hands held out toward the warmth.

“I don’t suppose your change of clothing stayed dry, did it?” he asked, nodding his head toward her satchel on the ground in front of her.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she replied easily. “But if I stand here long enough, I’m sure I’ll dry out quickly.”

“I can find some dry clothes for you,” he offered.

Emma turned to him surprised. “You have women’s clothing here?”

He shrugged. “My sisters have stayed here from time to time and may have left some clothing here.” He turned his back to the fire when another coughing fit seized him.

“Really, Mr. Jones,” she began once he was over it, “It’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Why don’t you start the furnaces in two of the bedrooms, and I’ll go see what I can find.”

“Which room is yours?” she asked as he started toward the stairs. She followed quickly, not wanting to be left in the dark.

“Top of the stairs on the right,” he informed her. “You can have any other you like.” He had to stop halfway up the stairs to cough; he held the banister tightly and Emma took the candle from him, not wanting him to drop it and burn the house down. She couldn’t help the fear she felt as it seemed to take him longer to get it under control.

“I’ll just stay in the servants quarters,” she told him once he stopped coughing.

“Absolutely not,” he wheezed. “You are not a servant here, you are a guest. And besides, the bedrooms have feather mattresses and goosedown coverlets.”

Emma knew she should remember her place, but the thought 0f a feather mattress and down coverlet was just too exquisite to turn down. She hadn’t slept in such luxury in years.

“Alright then,” she acquiesced. “I’ll… just… get your furnace going. Oh, wait. Won’t you need the candle?” she asked. “Let me just…” She turned toward his bedchamber and entered it, where she found an oil lamp on the nightstand. She lit it quickly and then returned the lit candle to Killian still in the hallway. He moved to another bedroom across the hall as she returned to his.

This time when she entered, she took the time to look around. It was lovely. Warmly decorated and furnished, very masculine in nature. The furniture was dark and heavy, with navy blue accents on the bedclothes. She found several items of a personal nature scattered about the room. She saw miniatures of his family. At least, she assumed they were his family when she spotted a man with blonde hair- his brother David, she remembered. Leather bound books lined the shelves and on the writing desk, a small bowl filled with- how odd, she thought- rocks.

She picked one up and examined it closely. It was the color of a robin’s egg with a ragged pink vein through the middle.

“I found that one on a hike,” his voice came from behind her. She jumped, ashamed to be caught unabashedly snooping.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean…”

He waved aside her apology as he came into the room. He tossed a long sleeping gown on the bed. “I’ve been collecting them since I was a child. Each one special in their own way. I found that one the day my father died.”

Emma gasped in dismay. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I’m still sorry.”

He smiled sadly. “As am I.” He was wracked with another cough and he grabbed the post of the bed to keep himself upright.

“You need to get warm,” she said, turning to the furnace. She stood in front of it for several minutes, stoking the flames, until she was sure it wouldn’t sputter out. When she turned back to Killian, he was sitting on the bed, leaning against the tall post on the end, looking like death warmed over. She hurried to his side. “Are you alright, Mr. Jones?”

“Don’ feel so good.” His eyes were glassy and his voice was slightly slurred. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he was intoxicated, but she’d been in his presence for the last two hours and he hadn’t had a single thing to drink in that time.

“You need to get into bed, Mr. Jones.” It was horribly familiar of her, but his health was at stake, so she wrapped her arm around his waist, placing his arm across her shoulders, trying to get him to move toward the head of the bed. He looked down at her and grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“You coming?”

Emma snorted. “Now I know you’re feverish.”

His hand moved to his forehead. “Hmmm,” his brow furrowed, “I may be a bit hot.”

She felt his forehead herself. It wasn’t burning, but it certainly wasn’t cool either. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. Immediately.”

His voice was even more slurred when he spoke this time. “Yeth, I shuppose so…” His eyes were shut as she laid him back on the bed. He was so near the edge, she was afraid to move lest he fall right off onto the floor. His face looked positively white against the navy blue of the coverlet and Emma tried not to let the fear choke her. She’d never in her life had to care for someone who was ill with a fever. The closest she’d ever come was Mrs. Gold’s elderly mother who couldn’t walk.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, “Mr. Jones,” she said more loudly when he didn’t respond.

“Huh? What?” he asked, startled awake.

“You fell asleep.”

His face was incredulous. “And the problem with that is…?”

“You’re still in your wet clothes!” she exclaimed. “And I’m not strong enough to lift you more fully onto the bed.”

He tried to take a deep breath, but started coughing again when he did. He somehow summoned the strength to sit up, causing it to finally taper off. He tried to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers were still very wet and trembling. He sighed and let his hands drop.

“I… might need some help,” he said sheepishly, scratching behind his ear.

“Oh, dear,” Emma breathed. She reached for him, but jerked back again, uncertain. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and started undoing his buttons. She concentrated fully on the buttons themselves, trying desperately to ignore the skin being revealed as she went. Once she was done, she looked up to find that he was asleep again. But at least this time he was fully on the bed and not about to fall off, and was raised up enough that she didn’t think he’d have another bad coughing fit.

Emma sighed. He didn’t need to sleep in those wet pants, either. Her eyes skittered to his face. He was well and truly unconscious and there’d be no waking him to get the pants off. So it was either sleep on top of the covers in wet pants, or she’d have to take them off herself and get him under the covers. Getting him under the coverlet wasn’t an issue. In caring for Mrs. Gold’s mother, she learned quickly how to change a bed with a person in it. But completely undressing Killian Jones was. Even unconscious, she was nervous, not sure she really should. But the depth of his cough was frightening. And the fever seemed to be just getting started. If he was going to have any hope of recovery, she needed to get him warm. And quickly.

She took another deep breath and determined that she would not look at his body more than was necessary to get his pants off and tucked into the bed. Thankfully, he’d taken his boots off downstairs, so all she had to get off were his stockings and breeches. She rolled down his stockings and draped them over the back of the chair in front of the furnace. She turned back toward the bed and pressed her lips together in a thin line. There was nothing for it. She had no choice.

She worked the coverlet out from under him so once his bottoms were off, she could immediately cover him, thus, hopefully preserving his modesty, and her innocence. The pants were still wet and so clung to him like a second skin. Her fingers shook as she got the breeches and his underwear removed, blushing furiously when she couldn’t avoid looking at him. Once she got them off of his legs, she covered him up, made sure he was comfortable and then left the room with the nightgown he’d found for her.

It was only about fifteen minutes later that she fell into the bed, asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

It seemed only moments later that Emma shot straight up out of a dead sleep. Her eyes darted around the room taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. The fire in the furnace was very low and the soft gray of predawn seeped into the room. Was that a moan? She grabbed the candle off of the end table and ran across to Killian’s room.

As soon as she got there, she lit the candle from the fire in his furnace and then moved toward the bed. He was almost unnaturally still, so she watched his chest carefully, waiting with bated breath to see it rise. When she’d left him the night before, he obviously wasn’t well, but he hadn’t seemed at death’s door, either. She wouldn’t have left him, otherwise.

“Mr. Jones?” she whispered. No response. She crept closer to the bed, relieved to see his chest rise and fall. “Mr. Jones,” she said a little louder, leaning over him.

His arm shot out suddenly, knocking her off balance so that she fell against him. His arms immediately came around her, holding her tightly against him.

“Mr. Jones,” she screeched. “Let go!”

He started to thrash and moan, complete nonsense spilling from his lips. His embrace was like iron and she was amazed at his strength while in the grips of a fever. For he definitely was. Emma wrenched one arm free and touched his forehead with her hand. It was on fire.

He was suddenly still, and Emma was wiggling out of his arms when he spoke. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. His eyes were still shut and he was very still.

“Kiss me,” he said again, a touch of desperation in his voice.

Emma ran her hand along his brow- it felt even warmer than it had a moment ago- and murmured, “You’re just dreaming, Mr. Jones.”

“Kiss me!” he demanded, grabbing her upper arms, but his eyes remained shut. She could see his eyes dart back and forth behind his closed eyelids. It was truly a marvel to watch someone dream.

“Dammit, kiss me! Please,” he begged. She was about to explain to him exactly why she could not kiss him when the thought crossed her mind, why ever not? It’s not like he’d ever remember this.

She moved toward him and gently brushed his lips with her own. She ran her fingers along his brow. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you.”

He was still for a moment and Emma thought perhaps he’d fallen back into a deep sleep before he spoke again.

“Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here, Mr. Jones,” she assured him, pulling back from his embrace.

“Don’t leave me,” he begged.

Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed. Even his hands were hot. “I won’t leave you,” she promised, “but I must first go fetch a few things.” She let go of his hand and hurried out of the room.

Thankfully, most houses of the aristocracy were run remarkably similarly. Emma had no trouble finding fresh sheets to replace Killian’s sweat soaked ones now on the bed and a tall pitcher she filled with cool water and basin with cloths to try and cool him down. She may have never cared for someone with a fever, but when she’d been ill when she was a child, she remembered how refreshing a cool cloth on her forehead, neck, and chest felt.

While she didn’t think it was such a good idea to put the cool cloth on his chest, surely it would feel good on his forehead and neck. He didn’t move when she laid the dampened cloth on his forehead and she took that as a good sign. She dipped another cloth into the basin and raised his head just a bit in order to lay it across the back of his neck, causing the cloth on his forehead to fall to his lap. Emma could feel her cheeks heating up as she hurriedly grabbed it, felt his forehead again, then placed the cloth back where it belonged. This time his forehead was warm and a bit clammy. Not a combination she expected, but at least he seemed at least a little bit cooler.

He started to thrash again, mumbling something completely incoherent.

“Really?” Emma asked, trying to smile and failing utterly. “I’m glad you think so.”

He muttered something else.

“No,” she answered, “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken on that count.”

He went still again.

“I’d be happy to revise my opinion, if you could convince me otherwise. Please don’t take offense.”

She was starting to feel quite foolish conversing with a man who was unconscious. Noting that he remained still, and that his breathing was no longer labored, she thought she might safely leave him for a moment to put her dry clothes back on and try and find them something to eat. She didn’t expect him to wake anytime soon, but if he did, he’d need to eat something to regain some strength.

She arrived back in his room about thirty minutes later, suitably dressed and bearing a fresh pitcher of water, some beef broth for him and a few small sandwiches for her.

She removed the cloths from his head and neck and felt his cheeks, his hands, and his chest to try and ascertain if the fever had broken yet. He still seemed quite warm, but not as blazing as he was when she awakened that morning. She dipped the cloths into the cool water again and bathed his forehead, neck and upper chest before covering him with a sheet. He was still, sleeping peacefully and so Emma helped herself to the sandwiches she brought up. It was nowhere near enough, but Emma didn’t want to leave him long enough in order to prepare something more substantial.

As Killian slept, Emma looked around the room. On his desk she found a leather bound notebook, opened it, and was shocked to find drawings. Quite good drawings, in fact. Had Killian done them? She looked in the corner to see his initials in a box. Emma was utterly charmed. She shamelessly flipped through the portfolio, too entranced to even consider how he’d feel about her looking.

The first several pages were of My Cottage- should I call it His Cottage?- details of the front door, with the portico covered with a tea rose vine, his bedroom, the window looking into the kitchen, and front parler.

Then as she moved on, she found landscapes. Lush forests, babbling brooks she could almost hear meandering through the trees, a sunlit meadow filled with the most beautiful and perfectly pink roses she’d ever seen. A sunrise, a sunset.

Finally, she came to portraits. She guessed these must be sketches of his family. The older woman bore more than a passing resemblance to Killian and so Emma guessed this must be his mother. Right behind it was a portrait of a man. Not as old as the woman, but the resemblance to Killian was remarkable. Perhaps this was the father he’d lost so long ago? She kept flipping through the pages. She recognized David at once with his blonde hair. The next to last page in the book was a domestic scene. David was one of several people engaged in some kind of outdoor game. The fun and laughter on their faces almost made Emma laugh aloud. One of the ladies had her face screwed up in concentration as she made ready to hit a ball with a long handled club through a wicket. The scene made her sigh in happiness. Did Killian even realize how blessed he was to have been born into such a large and happy family?

She turned to the last page and gasped.

The final page, the final portrait, was her.

It was a full length portrait and he’d gotten every detail of the fairytale princess dress perfectly, down to the long gloves and the mask with the swan detail around the eye. Even her hair was exquisitely rendered.

Killian suddenly groaned and Emma hurriedly closed the portfolio, laying it on the desk where she’d found it, and moved over to the bed.

“Mr. Jones?” she asked. How she wanted to call him Killian. It was what she called him in her dreams, how she thought of him all these years. But it would be completely unacceptable for her to do so here.

“Mr. Jones?” She touched his arm lightly and his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes were still glazed with fever and he blinked several times. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

He turned toward her and squinted. “Emma?” he asked. “The housemaid?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she assured him. “What do you need?”

“Water,” he croaked.

“Right away, sir.” She turned to the fresh water pitcher and poured him a glass. He took it, swallowing eagerly. He grimaced and fell back on the pillows.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She fought the instinct to curtsy, he likely wouldn’t notice anyway. She touched his forehead, and while it still seemed rather warm, just the fact that he was awake and lucid made her think the fever had broken.

“Do you think you can eat something?” she asked. “I brought you some beef broth.”

“My throat is on fire, but maybe just a swallow or two.” He pushed himself up on the pillows and took the bowl she handed him. He took a sip, his eyes shutting against the pain of swallowing. Emma grimaced along with him. He took another deep sip and handed the bowl back to her. “Very good. Thank you.”

“Of course. Your fever seems to have broken. I think you’ll feel much better tomorrow.”

Killian chuckled, but it turned into a cough, although not nearly as deep as those from the night before.

“Not likely,” he said.

“Well, not recovered, definitely,” she acknowledged. “But I do think you will feel better than you do right now.”

“I truly can’t imagine feeling any worse.” Emma chuckled at his attempt at humor.

“Do you think you can scoot to one side of your bed, so I can change your sheets?”

He nodded and did as she asked. “That’s a neat trick,” he said once she’d finished.

She smiled. “Mrs. Gold’s mother was bedridden and I cared for her when she visited,” she explained.

Killian nodded. “I’m going back to sleep now,” he informed her, unnecessarily.

“Go ahead,” she told him. “I’ll be right here if you need anything. I won’t leave you.”

But Killian Jones was already fast asleep.

~*~*~

The rest of the day was spent closely watching Killian, only leaving him when she absolutely had to. He didn’t have any more of the vivid hallucinations brought on by the high fever, and his cough was much better, but she couldn’t help the fear that if she left him, he’d somehow have a setback. She kept the fire in the furnace going and repeatedly checked his temperature, just to make sure he really was better. He woke again briefly as the sun was setting and she was able to coax him to have a little more broth, before he fell asleep again.

Emma was torn between going back to her room for the night and staying right where she was in the armchair, keeping silent vigil over him. In the end, she stayed with him, bringing the coverlet from her bed to keep herself warm. In her mind, she justified staying with the thought that she wanted to be close by if he needed her.

She slept fitfully, not terribly comfortable sleeping in an armchair, but exhaustion finally took her sometime in the dark and silent hours after midnight.

Emma awoke, late morning sunlight streaming into the room, to see two faces staring curiously at her. The scream she released startled the strangers and well and truly brought not only herself to full wakefulness, but Killian as well.

“Wh- what?” he cried, thrashing a bit as he sat up to find they were no longer alone in the room.

“Mr. Jones,” the woman cried, turning to him on the bed. Emma looked at the man still staring, rather belligerently in her opinion, at her and then over to Killian still on the bed, being fussed over by who could only be Mrs. Miner.

“Who are you?” Mr. Miner asked, training his suspicious eyes back on her.

Emma swallowed hard before speaking. “Miss Emma Swan,” she introduced herself. She motioned to Killian on the bed. “I… he…”

“Spit it out, girl,” the man growled.

“Don’t torture her,” Killian croaked. Mrs. Miner continued to fuss over him, fluffing his pillows amid exclamations of surprise at his presence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “We were visiting my sister on the other side of the village. If we’d known to expect you, we would have come home straight away.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Killian informed them. “Found myself at a bad party and decided to leave.”

“What about her?” Mr. Miner asked, jerking his thumb in Emma’s direction.

“Oh, I was…”

“She was also there,” Killian interrupted, giving her a significant look. Emma cut her eyes to Mr. and Mrs. Miner before continuing.

“I wasn’t attending the party, I was a servant of the house.”

Mr. Miner’s eyebrows rose. “If you were a servant of the house, what are you doing here?”

Killian coughed lightly, catching everyone’s attention. “Can I bring you some more water, Mr. Jones?” Emma asked.

Killian shook his head. “Tea, please,” he rasped.

Emma jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Miner said kindly but firmly.

“May I help with anything?” Emma asked, full of contrition. Something about Mr. and Mrs. Miner made Emma feel like a child. It was obvious they were used to running things around My Cottage and Emma responded to their authority without question. Mr. Miner was short and rather squat with Mrs. Miner several inches taller and thin, but they obviously cared deeply for one another, and Killian as well.

“A fine housekeeper I’d be if I couldn’t prepare tea.”

Emma couldn’t tell if Mrs. Miner was truly miffed or was just joking. “I didn’t mean…”

Mrs. Miner waved aside her apology. “Shall I bring you a cup?”

“Oh, that’s not…”

“Bring her a cup,” Killian interrupted. Emma glared at him, and he glared right back. He turned back to Mrs. Miner and gave her a smile that would have melted the ice of a lake in the dead of winter. “Would you be so kind as to bring Miss Swan a cup, as well?” he asked.

Mrs. Miner curtsied. “Of course, Mr. Jones. But may I say…”

“You may say anything you like when you return with the tea,” he promised.

She gave him a stern look. “I have a lot to say.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

She hurried out and Mr. Miner turned his gaze back on Emma. “Well?” he asked.

Emma wasn’t sure what to say. “Well?” she parroted, drawing the word out in question.

“What are you doing here if you were a servant of the house at this party Mr. Jones attended?”

“Could we please save the interrogation for when Mrs. Miner returns with the tea?” Killian asked, “Since I am sure she will just repeat all of your questions.”

“Of course,” Mr. Miner conceded. “She’ll be back in just a few minutes. And with breakfast as well. When we saw your horses in the stable, Mrs. Miner went to work on it straight away. She knows how you love your eggs, Mr. Jones. We just didn’t know there’d be two of you.”

Killian smiled weakly and leaned back on the pillows. “I do love my eggs,” he agreed.

“I’ll just…” Emma looked around helplessly before dropping a small curtsy and rushing from the room, explaining she would see if she could help Mrs. Miner bring the tea up.

“Once a servant, always a servant,” Mr. Miner commented. Killian couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but for some reason, Mr. Miner’s statement irritated him. While they waited, Mr. Miner explained where they were and why.

“Molly had her baby- a girl,” he said.

Killian was truly pleased for them. “Congratulations.”

“If we’d known you were coming, we wouldn’t have stayed as long as we did.”

Killian waved aside his contrition. “It is of no concern. You had no reason to expect me, and every reason to be with your family for a few days. Emma has taken very good care of me since we arrived.”

“When did you get here?”

“Uh,” Killian mused. “Night before last, I believe. The night of the storm. I haven’t exactly been fully aware of what was going on since we got here.”

“Yes, that was the night before last,” Mr. Miner agreed, his brow furrowing even further than it already was. Killian was always amused when he thought of Mr. and Mrs. Miner. More divergent personalities he could hardly imagine, especially between a long time and happily married couple. Mr. Miner rarely smiled, tending to scowl instead, while Mrs. Miner had the sunniest disposition of anyone he knew, always smiling, always ready to help.

The ladies came through the door just then, bearing a splendid tea service and breakfast. Emma set the tray down as Mrs. Miner fussed over Killian, pouring his tea, and filling his plate.

Emma seemed content to fade into the background as he dug into his meal. He was famished. After he’d taken a couple of bites and a swallow of tea- he was really going to have to pace himself with his throat as sore as it still was- he caught her attention.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked.

“Oh, w-well,” she stammered. Mrs. Miner immediately moved over to her and began fussing over her the same way she had done him. Killian’s lips lifted in a satisfied smirk as Mrs. Miner carried on and Emma blushed furiously.

“When was the last time you ate, girl?” Mr. Miner asked as Mrs. Miner dished up her plate. Killian knew Mr. Miner well enough to know that while his countenance was stern, he had a heart as big as London itself and that his question came from a place of concern that she’d been too busy caring for him to adequately care for herself as well.

“Um…” He could see Emma was flustered in the extreme and Killian suddenly felt sorry for her. She was a servant and wasn’t used to having anyone fuss over her. He knew that he’d been very ill indeed if he’d been essentially unconscious for thirty-six hours. As conscientious as she’d been in getting him into the bed, and what he remembered from his moments of lucidity, there was no doubt in his mind that she had neglected her own needs in order to care for him. “Sometime yesterday… I think…”

“As I said,” Killian interjected in between bites, “Emma has taken very good care of me since we got here.”

“And we are glad to hear it, aren’t we, Mr. Miner?” Mrs. Miner asked her husband. “But now that we’re here, you are a guest and you’ll be treated as such.”

“But…” Emma tried to protest and Killian couldn’t help but chuckle when Mrs. Miner pooh poohed them all away.

“Now, sit and eat,” Mrs. Miner said, laying the plate on the desk and all but forcing Emma down into the chair. “And not another word about it. I’m going to make up a room for her,” she said to the room in general.

“In the servant’s quarters, please,” Emma said.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Miner replied. “As I said, you are not a servant here, you are a guest.”

“Do you need any help, my dear?” Mr. Miner asked. Killian smiled as he watched him. Mr. Miner’s face was as soft as it got when he looked at his wife. Not exactly pleasant, but just a little dreamy, perhaps. Tenderness and love shone out of his eyes, and Killian wondered if he’d ever find someone whom he would look at like that.

Mrs. Miner nodded, and they both hurried from the room, but not before Mrs. Miner told Killian to make sure Emma filled her plate again.

He ate slowly and kept glancing at Emma as they ate. He could tell she was trying to put on her best manners, but it wasn’t long after Mr. and Mrs. Miner left the room that she began shoveling food into her mouth. Killian could feel his jaw tick as he clenched his teeth. He did not like seeing Emma so hungry.

He felt protective over her. They had a strange little bond between them, not something he ever would have expected to occur between himself and a housemaid. He had saved her and she had saved him. Or at least, she had helped him recover much faster than he would have otherwise. If his fever had been truly dangerous, he’d still be fighting it now. But if she hadn’t been here, he truly couldn’t imagine what would have happened to him.

As he and Emma continued their meal, Killian’s thoughts again drifted to Mr. and Mrs. Miner’s relationship and Emma’s care for him. He vaguely remembered her caring for him- mopping his head with cool cloths, feeding him spoonfuls of broth when he woke, changing the sheets on the bed when his fever broke- but the recollections were hazy at best, more like dreams than anything. Suddenly Killian remembered a particularly vivid dream from sometime after they’d arrived.

It was her.

The mystery woman from his mother’s masquerade ball two years ago. It wasn’t a new dream, but he hadn’t had it in a while. He had begun to think that not having it for so long meant he was getting over her, finally. Apparently not. Perhaps his thoughts turning to her in the minutes before they arrived at the cottage triggered the dream.

And what a dream it was. Killian was no saint, and the dream reflected that. He remembered details- whispered endearments, running his fingers along her naked skin- and felt his member stir to life. His eyes cut over to where Emma continued to eat. He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts run away with him, not with her in the room.

“Get some more,” he told her. Emma stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. “I can assure you, Mrs. Miner knows exactly how much food is on the tray, and she’ll blame me if it hasn’t decreased any by the time they return.”

Emma nodded and placed more eggs and bacon on her plate. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Jones?”

“Much better than when we arrived,” he assured her. “My throat is sore from all of the coughing, but I’m no longer chilled, and the cough itself has much improved. Thank you,” he said sincerely, after taking another bite and sip of his tea. “It was very kind of you to care for me.”

“It was nothing,” she said, waving aside his gratitude. “I did what anyone else would have done.”

Killian’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her self-deprecation annoyed him and it made him wonder if anyone had ever thanked her for anything.

“It may not have seemed like anything to you,” he countered before parroting the words she’d said to him the night they arrived, “but it was everything to me. I can’t imagine what kind of shape I’d be in right now if you hadn’t been here to care for me.”

Emma blushed, but she didn’t contradict him again.

“Uh,” he began, nervously, scratching behind his ear, “I didn’t do anything for which I need to apologize, did I?”

Emma nearly spat out her drink in shock. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the single perfect kiss she’d pressed to his lips when he begged her to in the throes of a fever dream.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said. Emma looked at him and saw his face was as red as she was sure hers was. Even the tips of his ears flamed.

“What makes you think you might have done anything you needed to apologize for?” she asked.

“Oh, well…” he was scratching behind his ear again and Emma tried to tamp down her smile at his nervous tell. “Just a dream I had that I was afraid may have worked its way out of my head and into my members… er, my limbs… I mean, I was afraid I might have physically done something untowards… to you. I mean, I hope I didn’t. But if I did, I sincerely apologize.”

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest and she could only pray he was too embarrassed to notice.

“You didn’t, Mr. Jones,” she assured him. Killian looked extremely dubious.

“Are you sure?” he asked her. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Emma caught her breath at his words. Did he mean about this particular question? Or in general? Because couldn’t it be said that she was lying to him now by not confessing exactly who she was? The lady he’d taught to dance two years ago at a masquerade ball. The lady who, for two blissful hours, he’d seen and treated like an equal, not like the servant she was.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied, vehemently, her hands flying to her face. Her cheeks felt hot. She was definitely blushing.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he insisted.

“Well, if I’m blushing,” she said pertly, “it’s because of the nature of your question. Of course you didn’t do anything untowards.”

Killian grinned as the thought crossed his mind of why she might be blushing. “Oh, so are you blushing because you’re imagining what it’d be like if I had? Or if I did?” He couldn’t deny the surge of male pride he felt that she apparently found him attractive. And he had to admit, she was very attractive as well, even when she resembled a drowned rat the other night. “You know, you have a rather smart mouth for a servant.”

Now her cheeks flamed for another reason entirely. She had to remember herself when she was around him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize,” he urged her. “I find it, and you,” he added, “rather refreshing. Don’t stifle yourself on my account.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” She rose from her seat, her plate clean.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, now that Mr. and Mrs. Miner are here to take care of you, I should probably leave to try and find a new position. Somewhere.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Killian objected. “First of all, Mrs. Miner is making up a room for you as we speak, and secondly, I already told you I’m sure I could find you a position in my mother’s household in London.”

Emma gulped hard. She couldn’t exactly tell him she didn’t want to accept any position in his mother’s household in London, because it meant she would see him. And she didn’t think she’d be able to survive that kind of torture.

“And I truly appreciate that,” she told him instead, “But I’d prefer to stay in the country.”

Something tickled the edge of Killian’s mind- something about the way she spoke, a turn of a phrase, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He brushed it aside.

“We have a country estate. In Kent,” he informed her. “You could work there.”

Emma inhaled sharply. “You shouldn’t think of me as your responsibility.”

“I told you I’d find you another position, and I will,” he countered easily. “What else is there to discuss?”

Emma huffed under her breath. There was no use arguing with him at the moment. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Good,” he told her, laying his head back against the pillows. “Glad you see it my way.”

She looked around helplessly for a moment, not sure what to do with herself. Mrs. Miner had made it clear that she wasn’t a servant here, so she didn’t think the woman would appreciate her collecting the dishes and bringing them down. And she needed to get away from Killian before she did or said something she regretted. She couldn’t blame him too much. As a Jones, he was used to making decisions and commands and not having them questioned. But if he thought she was going to meekly come along and submit to him on this, he had another thing coming. There was no way under heaven she would work in his mother’s household.

“Now where are you going?” he asked, rising up from the pillow, the sheet covering him falling towards his waist. She cut her eyes away from him. He hadn’t left the bed since she’d gotten him into it two nights ago, and so was still as naked as the day he was born.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

He raised his eyebrow at her sardonically. “Really. Ok, then. Have fun with that.”

Emma’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply and her fingers closed around the spoon from her tea.

“Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Throw the spoon.”

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line and forced her fingers to drop the spoon. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she informed him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished her. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me. You are dreaming of it right this minute. You just wouldn’t do it.”

Remember your place, remember your place, remember your place, she screamed at herself, suddenly realizing the spoon was back in her hand.

“My, my, my, what ever could you be thinking to look that adorably ferocious?” he asked. “Don’t tell me. I’m sure it involves my extremely painful and untimely demise.”

She loosened her fingers again, letting the spoon drop to the desk. He smiled smugly at her. “That was very mature of you.”

“Are you this charming with everyone, or is it just me?” she asked indignantly.

“Oh, only you,” he assured her. “I shall have to make sure you come to work in my mother’s household, for you do bring out my best, Miss Emma Swan.”

“This is your best?” she asked him in stunned disbelief.

“I’m afraid so.” Killian chuckled and Emma crossed to the door, intent on leaving.

“Oh, Emma?”

She turned toward him to find him smiling slyly, his eyebrows waggling at her flirtatiously. “I knew you wouldn’t throw the spoon.”

What happened next was entirely his fault. Because Emma had absolutely no control over herself. It was like she was watching the scene from somewhere up above the action. She saw this other Emma reach out and take the stump of the candle she had used in the night while she attended to him. This other Emma drew back and hurled the stump straight at Killian Jones’ head.

She didn’t wait to see if her aim was true, but was gratified when he laughed loudly and called after her.

“Well done, Emma Swan.”

Emma smiled.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! A sneak peek will be up on Wednesday with the new chapter dropping next Sunday!!

#a mistress to no one #birthday fic for hollye #krystal writes #art by krystal #manips by kit

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