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irabelaswriting · 2 years ago

Text

halcyon 1/2

pairing: morpheus x f!reader | rating: E | words: 5.2k | ao3

tags: #1 emo boy’s coping strategy being avoidance?, checks out, halloween party, the mask comes off, pining, angst, jealousy, possessiveness, semi-public sex, exhibition kink, fluff, no use of y/n,

summary: Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.

That time Morpheus doesn’t keep his promise.

Until he does.

a/n: the sequel to influx is here! tags will be updated when part 2 is posted. hope y'all enjoy, let me know what worked and what didn’t<3

The party has been going on for a couple of hours now. Your friend has all but abandoned you to go after some situationship, leaving you with acquaintances who you barely recognize beneath the layers of greasepaint and masks of different movie slashers.

Weight shifting on your feet, you look around.

The guy your friend has roped you into seeing rounds the corner, mask tilted to the side as he grins at you. He’s dressed as that slasher from Friday the 13th; or at least, you think so. A hockey mask sits tilted to one side of his face, jaw and jowls smeared in sticky fake blood, costume haphazardly put together with a bloodied orange prison uniform.

Everyone needed a costume to get in – your friends had made sure you weren’t able to sit this one out because of a lack of it. And so, you got put in a deliberately skimpy outfit — bare shoulders with a low cut, and stay ups.

Pretty. Flattering. Inviting.

Even if it still was up to interpretation as to exactly what you were supposed to be.

“Thought I lost you.” He holds out the can of generic brand hard seltzer towards you, smiling.

That was unlikely. You hadn’t moved on an inch from where he’d left you, and you fight the urge to raise a doubtful brow.

You don’t really remember his name (was it Josh? John? James? … Jason? the outfit would be eerily fitting, in that case, maybe even on the verge of bad taste), just that he’s shown interest before at some mutual event. Hung around, asked about you, added you on your socials afterwards. Liked every picture posted and swiped up on every story, heart and fire emojis in abundance.

You’ve blown him off with that easy, breezy way that you use on people you have no real interest in. Let him down easy, not wanting to cause a scene. He is, after all, on the fringes of your friend group, and it would be sad to make that circle any smaller than it already is.

So, you’ve let Josh put his hand on your hip, fingers splaying out against the small of your back. Let him get a good look down your cleavage every time he so much as turns to look at you. Let him guide you into conversations with that hold on you, like you might vanish into thin air if he lets you out of sight, or as if you might get stolen away by some other adversary.

With a small thanks, you accept the drink. The crack and fizz as you open it and take a sip fills the void for long enough that Josh starts talking again, ushering you back into the crowded living room with his hand on your hip, too low to just be friendly.

And why not? It wasn’t like Morpheus had been around.

At first, the visits had continued. As he had suggested.

Morpheus would appear at the oddest times – in the middle of your living room, or in your bedroom. One time, you’d stepped out of the shower and gotten a real fright, much to his smug amusement.

And it wasn’t as if he’d just show up and fuck you through the nearest available surface, as you might’ve suspected first. No, he was good company, too.

If you offered dinner, he’d accept, even help (he would, however, not eat much, only poke the food around, despite trying everything). If he was still around in the morning, you’d wake up with his arms around you. It had even gone so far that you would make enough coffee for the both of you in the mornings – a new addition to your daily routine.

Perhaps you had grown a bit attached, as he had alluded to. More days than not he would come around. And you had certainly grown accustomed to having him around; that there would be twin pairs of cutlery and plates in your dishrack at the end of the day.

And if you didn’t want to… well, you hadn’t found yourself in that particular predicament yet.

If you asked, he’d even come along on errands. He wouldn’t say much to anyone else – just listen in on your interactions with cashiers and clerks, observe those around you with a slightly guarded expression. One time he had even joined you on some silly little non-errands; collecting parcels and treating yourself to coffee and cake.

Hadn’t even protested or pulled away when you wrapped your arm around his on the way home. You had, of course, done everything to make the gesture seem natural and not the carefully planned and orchestrated action it had been, heart thumping in your chest the entire time.

In fact, you had thought he looked rather pleased at the casual affection.

After getting home that day, he managed to run up your water bill some more. Barely let you get into your apartment before he was on you.

Hair wet and clinging to his face, eyes glimmering up at you as he let you dangle on the precipice of yet another orgasm.

You wet your lips with another sip of your drink, trying to rid the image of Morpheus on his knees in your shower.

It was as if he had vanished without a trace. Slipped through your fingers like sand.

A month had passed. From the beginning of October to the end of it — only really dragged to this particular Halloween party by your friends because you were a moping mess most of the time that refused to elaborate as to why your mood was so depleted.

Morpheus had used you. It— it had worked. You were out of his hair – no longer his problem. He had taken back what had been unwillingly bestowed upon you at that first meeting, so many weeks ago, and left you high and dry.

It had been what you wanted; the ability to get your rocks off had definitely returned. But now, you acquired another, different, problem. Every orgasm was fueled by thoughts of him; making up for lost time, masturbation statistics shooting up faster than rent in a gentrified neighborhood. All of them subsidized with new fantasies, no– memories replaying across your retina.

Still quivering from the comedown, Morpheus lodged inside you, grinding deep, almost too deep for comfort. Lean arms wrapping around your torso, slender fingers digging into the softness of your sides, pulling you down in union with his raised pelvis. Hips pistoning, tapping repeatedly upwards, until you wail into the crook of his neck, unable to do anything but letting him take what he needs.

Thighs rubbing together, you shift on your feet, inhaling through your nose, steadying yourself from thinking more about any sexual ventures.

As the days turned to weeks with no further call or interaction from Morpheus, not even the merest whisper in your dreams (that had all returned to the same boring routine of your teeth falling out or other mishaps) that he cared, you had started to suspect that he... had forgotten about you.

Used you for the purpose he had stated and then left. That you were nothing more than a means to an end.

And sure, that happened. Not like you’d been a virgin, or even inexperienced in the one night stand department—

It just—

He had not seemed like the type to instill false hope into you.

But as time passed you couldn’t help but feel as if that was the case.

Why had he stuck around then?

Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.

Was it something you said? Something you did? You had recounted every interaction, every exchange like a heartbroken teenager, trying to find a reason for the abrupt end. Even shed a few tears about it in the dark of night.

Maybe it had been true, what he had called you – lonely girl. So desperate for a connection that this mere fling of intimacy had your heart soaring, had brightened your days enough to make you actually look forward to them.

Suddenly despondent, you take another sip of your drink, feigning a smile as Josh finishes yet another story that has the cluster of people surrounding you laughing. Again.

Really, you had thought you’d even gotten better at reading Morpheus’ cues. The little telltale signs that he wanted to touch you, wanted you to touch him, that he needed to leave or that he found whatever it was that you dragged him along to was particularly amusing. Even with your limbs entwined in bed, you had gotten better at figuring out his cues – exactly how he wanted to be kissed, wanted to have you.

Had you been wrong all along?

Perhaps it was the same as what you were doing to Josh. Leading him on by not swatting away his hand the moment it landed on your hip, by laughing along at a bad joke he told. Instilling him with hope, the promise, that you would go home with him, maybe even let him pull you into one of the many vacant bedrooms on the floor above and let him do as he pleased.

Maybe you were the same as Morpheus.

Maybe you deserved what he’d done to you – how he’d left you. Alone and hoping. A thin layer of something like sand in his wake you’d spent the good part of two days finding scattered across your apartment and which you had subsequently vacuumed up, cursing him under your breath the entire time.

Thoughts turning dark, you zone out all the noise, the music, the people, around you; the bass is the only thing you feel, thrumming through your system.

In the peripheral of your vision, something moves. Barely, you turn around in vice like grip Josh still has on your hip, eyes searching in a crowd of muddled and masked faces–

A person, dressed in all black moves through the crowd, just a few feet away. A mask so unusual that it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before covers their face; made up of a long, boney appendage and tinted pieces of glass shielding the eye sockets. Around you, people stop and stare, almost startled as they’re passed by. No one makes any moves to approach the mysterious figure, letting them pass by as if all they’re seeing is a mere stranger on the street.

The stranger doesn’t seem to mind, no– notice, any of the odd looks.

Instead, the scarlet glass covered eyes lock with yours, eerily familiar.

A shiver races through your system.

As if nothing has happened, noise fills your ears again, loud music reverberating through your system, everyone around you seemingly forgetting the sight of the wispy form of a stranger.

What was that?

“Just gonna get another drink,” you mumble, barely giving any mind to pleasantries for the moment, untangling yourself.

“You just got one.” Josh’s brow furrows momentarily. Instantly, you’re reminded that he was the one who got the can for you, that hurt tinges the fringes of his voice. Like he’s a puppy you’ve just kicked.

“Not a big fan of cherry.” You lie on the spot, scrunching your nose up and shaking the can back and forth. “I’ll be right back,” you add over your shoulder, hitting him with the most charming, reassuring smile as you leave to investigate.

The eyes that you feel lingering over your rear are unmistakably his.

Quickly, you act, intent on not losing track of the figure.

You don’t know what you saw — just that you feel inexplicably drawn to it. The mask was weird, in an uncannily familiar way; as if you’ve seen it somewhere, passed it by in a shop window without sparing it a single thought. With its giant bug eyes it would’ve looked like an overgrown dragonfly if it wasn’t for the spine-like mouthpiece – and surely, you think you would remember seeing that.

Getting through the crowd is easy; and as you move into the hallway you swear you catch something moving towards the end of the staircase.

Tendrils of black smoke lick at the varnished wood posts going up to the second floor. They curl upwards and inwards like tails, a soft beckoning motion, before vanishing into thin air, one after another.

And like a dog on a leash – you follow.

The last wisp of dark shadow sneaks around the bend, just enough that you don’t miss it. Drink willfully abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, you start the climb upwards.

A long corridor greets you, filled with large wooden doors in the darkest of oak, dimly lit and foreboding.

Hand on the stair post as you twist around, already forming a plan to start your search at the shorter end of the hallway when you feel it.

Maybe it’s some primal instinct from when humans were prey more than predator – but the hair on the back of your neck prickles, feeling the weight of a presence behind you.

Your breath hitches.

Slowly, as if any sudden movements would scare them off, you turn around.

Your own reflection stares back at you, painted red like guts. It’s even stranger up close, the mask; all metal and stone, glass and bone. Much more of a helm than a mask, you note.

“... Morpheus?”

A ruby dangles around his neck, crimson like thick blood.

“Take off the mask, it’s creepy.” You say, suddenly uneasy at seeing yourself in the bugeyed reflection. “You look like the cryptkeeper.”

“That’s my sister.” The voice is distorted through the helm, but sure enough – it’s him, the baritone familiar, intimately known to you. And he obliges, hair even more tousled than usual as he removes it.

“...What?” You blink, shaking that off as you take him in. Despite it all, he’s still gorgeous – the mere expanse of his neck sends a tingle through your body, trying your hardest not to stare at his Adam's apple, the lips you know are soft, that you know has kissed parts of your body that even the skimpy outfit isn’t showing off. “W—what are you doing here?”

“Attending the party.” Morpheus motions to the helmet in his hands.

“No— very funny,“ his reply shifts you off key, like it’s impossible that he would be here for that simple reason alone. Regaining your footing in the midst of emotions filling you is harder than it should be, and all you manage is a scoff, shrugging. “I wouldn't know. Not like you’ve been around.”

His eyes roll over you, taking in the costume, the carefully guarded tone you’ve chosen, before he replies. “Circumstances have gotten… complicated.”

By your sides, your hands form fists, jaw clenching.

“Great fucking excuse,” you smack a hand into his chest. Him being here doesn’t make you feel any less jilted, any less upset–

The impact doesn’t even seem to faze him, only meeting the resistance of his chest, but momentarily, his dark brows pull down. “I do not expect you to understand.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your system making you braver, angrier, but you voice raises above the conversational volume you’ve kept, no longer able to keep the hurt in your chest contained–

“Understand? How hard is it for you, of all people, to let me know in a fucking dream or whatever that you didn’t want more than—“

From the foot of the stairs, someone calls out your name.

You’ve taken too long. Now, Josh is looking for you, intent on leading you towards the end he has imagined all evening.

“It’s Josh,“ your whisper sounds panicked, even to your own ears as you turn towards the sound.

“A friend?”

You don’t hide your eyeroll at his terse tone. “Just some dude—“

Morpheus scoffs.

At once, your head whips back to meet his gaze.

He’s frowning at you, like a skulking child.

“Are you serious?” You’re still whispering, and you’re not sure why. “You can’t be seriously upset that I– that I–”

What was it that you were doing, really? Replacing him by leading along a guy who's had it bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you? At the realization, the way you’ve clipped your own tongue, you decide that you don’t particularly feel like talking to Morpheus anymore.

“You left me.” You simply hiss, turning back to hurry down the stairs.

You’re gearing up to answer Josh’s call, air rushing to your lungs – when slender fingers wrap around your elbow.

Instead, all that leaves your lips is a startled sound as Morpheus shoves you into an empty bedroom, seemingly exerting no strength while doing so.

“Hey!” You protest.

Morpheus hushes you, actually hushes you, as he leads the way with you in front of him, out on the bedroom's adjoining balcony.

Below, the garden is alive with people. Fairy lights twinkle, people in masks and costumes laughing and drinking, music still loud enough to be heard outside. The lights are a bit redundant; a full moon sits fat and round in the sky, illuminating the scene in pale light – a perfect addition to the Halloween party. No one thinks of looking up – or at least, you hope so as Morpheus presses you against him, your back to his front.

Now, he was the one with a front row seat to look down your cleavage.

“Stop,” your fingers snag around his wrist, about to struggle to get free, to make the distance more controlled, “let me go.”

“Quiet,” he retorts, “they’ll find us.”

“It’s all your f—“ the words are cut off as his fingers smarts a garter against the soft plump of your thigh.

You gasp, momentarily stunned before you’re readying up to turn around and smack him again when his grip tightens.

“Quiet.” The command is repeated in a whisper right by your ear, punctuated by a pinch to your thigh. Pulling you tighter against him, slender fingers digging into the natural curve of your waist, making sure the two of you are shielded from the inside of the bedroom.

Warm fingers soothe the hurt on your thigh, even warmer breaths hitting the soft skin of your neck. Gods, you’ve shivered for less.

And, you feel compelled to listen to him, heart beating at the pit of your throat, adrenaline surging through your system.

Like a bloodhound on a trail – Josh has followed you.

Even from out on the balcony, you hear him in the hallway, looking for you, accompanied by someone.

The hands on your midriff move upwards.

“Where could she have gone?” Josh’s weary sigh is audible enough that you realize he’s right outside the bedroom door now.

Fingers with light pressure behind them trail up against your ribcage, taking their time before reaching their goal.

“Not over ‘ere,” responds the other voice, slightly slurred.

Tucking his head against your shoulder, Morpheus’ hands curve up from below, cupping your tits in his broad hands. Pushing them up like the most scandalous push-up bra would, molding them against his hands as you wriggle in his hold and you think you could curse him now. Heat starts flowing through your veins, and he has to know, feel it through the layers of clothing separating you, embarrassment and want stoked like a fire by his attention.

“So responsive,” he whispers, a thumb following the natural curve on the underside of one breast, a hot trail left in its wake, testing the plumpness of you with easy pressure.

Deftly, the soft pads of his fingers shift ever so slightly, hooking in the hem of your already low neckline, and slowly, slowly, drags the fabric down.

Stiff and aching, your nipples tighten even further as your breasts spill out and meet the cold night air.

Finally, you gasp out loud.

Anyone could look up from the garden below, see you–

Morpheus tuts, right by your ear, a quiet reminder of his earlier command.

The door handle to the bedroom is pulled down.

At once, you freeze.

You hear Josh tentatively call out your name again, peeking around the room.

Warm hands move downwards, gleaming eyes following the path from the valley between your bared breasts.

“Do you think she ran away?”

Beneath the layers of your skirts, fingers ghosts over your mons pubis, stroking your innermost thighs with a soft touch, until he’s cupping your cunt in his hand. Toying with the crease of wetness that’s obviously there, that has the gusset of your underwear sticky, fingers skirting against your folds as his palm grinds down, pressure applied to your clit.

“Be just like her to just vanish, wouldn't it?”

It feels so good, warm honey spreading across your limbs, and you’re hazy with want, body reacting with a full body rush as his touch ignites your body, a thin sheet of sweat breaking out across your skin. Even when your hand grasps around the wrist moving under your skirts, it’s half hearted – you don’t actually want him to stop. He knows exactly what makes you tick, what makes you putty in his hands.

Perhaps it would feel like losing a battle if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His touch has that effect on you – soothing the anger, overpowering it with pleasure.

The conversation, the noise, the people below in the garden, is all buzzed out from his hands on you.

Someone sighs something – and this time you hear nothing, only the small huff from Morpheus by your shoulder, the low whisper of your name as your legs start to tremble.

His head buries into your neck – incisors finding soft skin and biting down, tongue slowly alleviating the trail of stinging sharpness he leaves in his wake. A large hand comes to rest against your sternum, keeping you to him tightly, fingers tracing against your collarbones, thumb slowly drawing circles at the divot of your throat, protective, possessive.

A digit strokes around the perimeter of your still covered core, but stays withholding. You bite your lip to keep from whining, eyes squeezing shut as you swivel your hips, trying to entice it to enter you, give you anything to clench down on.

If they– if they stepped closer to the balcony, leaned out the expensive lead framed windows, they would catch you. They’d find you entangled with a stranger; one of his hands tucked under your skirt, tits out on display like a heathen. Embarrassment courses hotly through your veins, the mere prospect of getting caught making a new rush of wet soak Morpheus’ fingers.

It’s not something you should want – but it’s been part of your daydreams enough time that Morpheus has to know, has to be intrinsically aware of what this does to you, the thrill of being seen. Just how little he seems to care if someone catches you is only reinforced by the press of a digit to your center, willing you to come apart under him, coaxing– no, daring more sounds to spill from your lips.

Blood pounds in your ears, almost deafening, shutting out everything around you, making you careless–

Before the first, proper moan has time to make it past your mouth Morpheus has it covered with a hand, as if he had felt it vibrating in your throat. The ministrations between your legs don’t even pause, no reprieve awarded you. Two fingers even make it past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, muffling more sounds – it’s mere instinct, but you still suck on the digits, wrapping your lips around them.

You melt into it, into him, a puddle of want as he unravels you, working you like only he knows how to.

The click of the door shutting reverberates through the room.

Instantly, Morpheus' hand is off your mouth.

Gossamer spit still connects your mouth to his fingers. He presses them together in front of the both of you, spit glistening as he inspects them.

“You were saying?” He breathes by your ear.

The haze that’s settled over your mind is dispelled.

“Forget it.” You pull away from him with a start, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, tugging the neckline back up over your bare chest. In the stark moonlight his eyes glimmer as if there’s stars in them as he watches you right your clothing.

“It seems you have moved on.” He remarks, too casually. As if he deliberates on congratulating you on finding someone interested in you.

“Stop it. You’re the one who hasn’t—“

A million demands for explanations, reprimands and sour, hurtful words fill your mind, all of them sitting at the tip of your tongue. A hot sting of tears also tetters dangerously on your lower lash line, ready to burst through – you force that down deep, deep inside. Gods, were you that desperate? Maybe that was why you’d thrown yourself at the first person to show you an ounce of attention as soon as the realization that Morpheus had left you settled in.

Except… he hadn’t.

He was standing in front of you, on the balcony of some Halloween party you got dragged to. Even brought a mask for the occasion.

The cold breeze lightly tousles his dark hair as he peers down at you imploringly. You knew what that hair felt like, the texture of it, had wrapped locks of it around your fingers. Had run your fingers through it, tugged and tousled and smoothed it and done everything in between to it.

Wrapping your arms around yourself now that his heat isn’t there to shield you from the chilly night air, you start again. “Is that why you’re here? Because someone took your spot?”

You wish you could text him, or had some way of contacting him that wasn’t dependent on him being receptive to your advances (or on him simply making those advances first). All this had done was leave you with a feeling of being stranded – no way of knowing when or even if he was coming back. Stuck in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean.

You huff. “It’s not like I can get a hold of you.”

“I am not available at mosts’ beck and call.” The way he says it makes you feel like you’re getting a parental scolding. “My realm is vast, my duties never ending. Other matters have needed my attention–”

Nails dig into your palms. Imprudent, you cut him off.

“If you wanted to, you would.”

He looks like he’s never been interrupted in his entire life. Probably hasn’t – being who he is.

What he is.

Oh–

Where he came from is the place between the stars and the sky, the unexplored trenches of the sea, the still hidden places of this earth that you knew nothing of.

Endless, an ebb and flow you can’t even begin to comprehend. Millenia of consciousness in one person– no, in one being.

Suddenly, you feel stupid. Infinitely small and insignificant. An amoeba in the grand scheme of things.

The tears feel a lot closer to spilling over your lash line than they did before.

“And,” Morpheus finally says, as if he’s been privy to the thoughts racing through your mind, “I tend to forget how differently time is perceived by mortals.”

It’s not an apology. But you feel as if he’s admitting something he never has to anyone else, ever.

You fight away the unbidden fat tears with the back of your hand, voice only wavering slightly. “How– how did you know where I was?”

“I haven’t been completely idle in seeing to that your well-being was kept,” he pauses, scowling at the wetness of your eyes, words hanging in the air before he continues, “up to standards.”

Not that you’ve been well – he’s not using that particular terminology to describe the state you’ve been in. Because well, you hadn’t. Probably, he knows exactly how mopey and depressed you’ve been, sitting around waiting for him to arrive, to make good on his promise.

It– it must’ve been something urgent needing his attention if he didn’t come to you, didn’t let you know, despite that.

Intuitively, you sense that he doesn’t want to discuss that with you, what had caused him to be so swallowed up he couldn’t even bother giving you a dream version of a wyd? – atleast, not now. No matter what kind of talents you may have acquired for the arcane, there were many things you didn’t understand, that you didn’t know about Morpheus.

“How?” You ask instead.

“A raven.”

“A raven?”

CAW

As if on cue, a raven takes flight. Almost silent, the large wings spread out as it takes off, the leaves from the tree it had been perched in parting softly to let the watcher in the canopy pass.

“His name is Matthew.”

The raven circles high above you, cawing again in greeting, corvid outline stark against the brightness of the full moon.

“I’ve never met a crow named Matthew.” You say, eyes stuck on the bird in the sky.

“I’ll have to introduce you.”

You laugh at that – the first unfeigned laugh of the evening, of the past weeks.

Morpheus’ face cracks, if only slightly. A secret uptick of his mouth as he takes in your smile, the sound of your joy.

Without any further prompting, you feel your walls fall. It’s disarming, seeing him again. Hearing him. Being near him. It’s as if your magnetic field shifts – you want to orbit closer to him, want to stray from your already pre-designed course if it meant being just an inch closer to him. A gravitational pull as natural as the ocean’s ebb and flow controlling the tide.

Slowly, you inch closer to Morpheus. Arms wrap around his narrow middle, pressing closer, resting the side of your head against his chest, nuzzling into the dark fabric, the feel of coarse fibers against your skin a reminder that it’s real. He feels warm — decidedly warmer than the chilly, almost November air.

You whisper into the textile, voice small as you speak, as if he’ll disappear if you let him go.

“I’ve missed you.”

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, his arms circle your frame, keeping you tight against him.

It feels wonderful, being in his arms, being close to him after so long. Breathing in his scent, as ineffable as everything about him.

The full moon sits fat and round in the sky, painting the both of you in pale light. It frames him well, you think, enhancing the dark of his hair, his gleaming eyes. The cloak, almost night itself, shields you from some of it, covers your sides as he cages your form, envelopes you.

If someone looked up from the garden, they would only see two lovers embracing.

Quick, and before you lose your nerve, you rise up on your tiptoes, giving him a peck on his chin, soft and unassuming.

At once, Morpheus has your face cradled in his hands, thumbs tracing against cheekbones, brushing away remnants of wetness still lingering, lips ghosting over your forehead, before he leans down and finally, finally, kisses you.

The wind tousles both of your hair, chilly and cold. You don’t notice it, barely feel the icy needles digging into your exposed skin – only feel the fire inside you, the molten core reginiting, atoms vibrating from the exchange of heat between you, returning the kiss in kind.

You think he missed you too.

thank u all for the love on influx<33 i am so happy so many of you liked it! please let me know your thoughts, i love comments and tags and hearing your opinions, it fuels me. let me know what worked and what didn’t.

#morpheus/dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus smut #dream of the endless #the sandman #halcyon #my writing #yes influx got a sequel. i am possessed by the spirit of this emo boy and he will not leave me alone #yes there’ll be a part 2. yes there is so much angst in here but also so much smut and fluff.#mdni

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highdramas · 4 years ago

Text

your lips, my lips | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers

word count: 2404

summary: is there a more divine thought than being kissed by bucky barnes?

note: here's another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don't have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn't like!

enjoy! <3

how do you know when james bucky barnes is going to kiss you?

you’ve learned that you’re not good at figuring out when, how, or if he is going to kiss you. there have been countless moments outside your door, inside your apartment, inside his apartment, down the street at the pizza place, where you thought… this is going to be it. he’s going to hold your face in his hands and you’re going to feel the cold sting of metal that has somehow become so warm to you. he’s going to pull you in closer to him and your eyes are going to roll back into your head and you’re going to experience the bliss that is kissing james bucky barnes.

the time has never come.

because every time you tip your head back slightly and think this is the moment, it has simply never been the moment. sometimes, bucky clears his throat and gives his head a little shake, as if ridding himself of the thought that you both just shared. the thought that you could kiss right now and never look back and hope for the best. but you know bucky, you really know him, and you know that though he may not admit it often, he is fearful. and if he’s anything like you, he’s afraid of ruining this good thing that sits between the two of you, like a glowing ball of energy and goodness and understanding.

despite your fears of never wanting this feeling to subside or fade or crash and burn in some fiery death, that doesn’t mean that every moment you’re around bucky, you’re not thinking of him kissing you. because you are. and it’s driving you slightly insane.

right now, you sit with bucky in central park. you have learned many things about him, but one of the more recent things is that he has never been on a picnic. you had gaped at him then, and you think you said something along the lines of-- “you were wooing women in the 40s and never took one on a fucking picnic?”

that’s another thing about you and bucky.

you may fear a lot, but you do not fear him.

there has never been a moment where you have pushed bucky to tell you more than he was comfortable with. at the start, once he knew that you were already well aware of who he was and some pieces of his history-- it felt like you both started with a mutual understanding. an understanding that says, i know, and it won’t make me run.

but he has told you what he wants to, in bits and pieces. the first time, it was about yori. it was about the look in yori’s eyes when he talked about his son to bucky, it was about how bucky doesn’t know how he can make amends here, how he can say or do anything to possibly help a man who has lost his son at the hands of a man who he has come to call friend.

you have watched as guilt and anger have made a mess of this beautiful man.

and what did you do in return?

sometimes, you didn’t speak. you didn’t think that was what bucky was looking for. you were simply there, with a listening ear and a careful touch.

other times, you did. other times, you couldn’t help yourself.

it was hard to sit and watch and listen to bucky torture himself over and over and over-- you would burst, you would take his metal hand in between yours and you would squeeze and you would say-- “you are not the things that they forced upon you.”

and bucky halted at that. bucky halted and he stared at you, eyes that were moments ago frantic and full of fright, trying to blink some of those feelings away. he would blink and he would try to slow his breathing and he would finally say to you, “how can you know what i’ve done and not walk away?”

“bucky, ever since i’ve known you, the only direction i’ve wanted to walk is towards you.”

he tells you the hard things.

but he also tells you the good things. the things before hydra.

like the dates he went on, the way his life looked in the forties.

so, naturally, when you found out about the lack of picnics in the life of the winter soldier-- you had taken it upon yourself to decide that a picnic was exactly what you two needed.

it was four months ago that bucky asked if you needed help building your cat tower. later, you would call him a creep for spying on you, but you would say it with a smile on your face and a light nudge to his ribs. and in four months it has been hard to stay away from him. that is, when he wasn’t away himself-- you know of his work with the falcon, and really, you think it’s a good thing. you met sam briefly a week ago, after they returned from god knows where, and sam had been nothing but a gentleman. out of the corner of your eye, you even think that you might’ve seen sam nudging bucky and murmuring something that you couldn’t quite make out.

so when he is here, you try and savor every moment, every laugh, every brush of his fingers against yours and every sweet look you two share.

and you hope that maybe one of these times, he will kiss you.

“damn-- this is good.”

the corner of your mouth turns up as you watch bucky sip on the sickly sweet wine you brought. there is a wide assortment of food before you-- strawberries and brie, crackers and cheese, plump purple grapes and chocolate that makes your mouth water. you had made sure to go all out for bucky’s first picnic.

“i didn’t know if you would like it,” you say, taking a sip from your own. “it’s like juice. so sweet.”

bucky furrows his brows. “you know i have a sweet tooth,” he mumbles and it makes your heart sigh because, yes, you do know this. you know him.

for a moment, you turn your focus on the scene in front of you. there are kids running around the park playing, couples laying in the grass, a dog owner throwing a frisbee to a black lab. everyone with their own little lives, their own quiet eternities that you will never know of. when you look at bucky, you wonder what these strangers wonder about you.

you stare and you are not embarrassed to do so, not even when bucky meets your gaze with a firm smirk. “can i help you?”

“no,” you shake your head defiantly. “just looking. is that allowed?”

“i guess,” he says and leans back on the palm of his gloved hand. “don’t know i’m much to look at.”

a snort leaves you. his brows furrow. “are you serious?” you finally ask.

“yes, i’m serious.”

“bucky, i don’t know how else to tell you this, but you are certainly not hard on the eyes.”

you watch as his face goes red and you have to halt yourself. “oh my god,” you say. “you’re blushing.”

“i am not. that’s ridiculous.”

“yes, you totally are! you’re blushing because i said you’re easy on the eyes!”

“it’s a natural bodily response.”

“sure, buck.”

there’s a beat of silence and you chuckle, if only to fill the air and to avert your eyes from his gaze. he’s staring at you with a slightly slacked jaw and a gleam in his eyes that you don’t think you’ve seen before-- and it feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped atop your head. “you’ve never called me that before,” he says quietly.

“oh, yeah, well--” you chuckle again and you shrug. “i don’t have to--”

bucky shakes his head instantly. “no. i don’t mind.”

you smile at him and you look down at your empty cup and back up to him. “we should start heading back.”

the two of you make quick work of gathering together your picnic. you laugh as bucky takes a swig from the bottle and you swat at him, saying public intoxication is very illegal, to which he rolls his eyes. you take the last sip of the bottle and then you’re on your way back to your apartment building.

the earth is on the cusp of spring-- where the nights are finally starting to get long and the air smells crisp, smells like pollen and change. you lean against bucky as you walk and you let out a sigh. “i love spring,” you murmur to him. “the world always feels so new.”

bucky looks over at you and he nods his head. “it’s nice,” he says in quiet agreement.

that’s one thing that you like about bucky-- he doesn’t fill silence unnecessarily. you do. you’ve been trying to break the habit in the months you’ve known him, much to his amusement. he has called you out plenty of times. “i can tell you’re itching to talk. i don’t mind. i like listening to you.”

he’s carrying the majority of your things and you offer to take something off his hands at least three times in five blocks, and every time he screws his face up as he looks at you, as if to say-- funny.

he’s good at saying things without really saying anything at all. you don’t like to think too hard about how he picked up that skill.

bucky helps you into your apartment with your things, and he goes a step further and he helps you put away leftovers and wash the dirty dishes you two had created. “i know if i don’t help you now, they’ll be in your sink until i come over again.”

so you stand side by side, he washes and you dry and put away. you play the bee gees and you’re surprised by how much bucky enjoys it. you’ve been traveling through decades of music with bucky, and now, you’re on seventies. bee gees, fleetwood mac, blondie, abba-- you’ve curated a perfect playlist for him. when you come home from work and hear him listening to it through the thin walls of this old apartment building, you try to ignore the way that your heart swells.

and just as fast as you got swept up in your day with james buchanan barnes, it is coming to an end. you walk him to your doorstep and you lean your head against the doorframe as he stands in it, lingering still, staring at you. “can i help you?” you mimic him from earlier.

bucky laughs.

you love that laugh. you want to earn it again and again and again.

“just looking,” he says in a voice that you have a suspicion is an impression of yours. your jaw drops, and he laughs again, and you don’t know if your heart could swell anymore.

your laughter mingles with his, like a waltz floating through the air until it dissipates above your heads. all that’s left is you and him and the dim light of the hallway and the god awful carpet. “well…” he motions behind him. “i should…”

“yeah.” you bite down on your lip and push back off the doorframe. “night, buck.”

“night, doll.”

your breath hitches and you put on your best smile and you watch as he begins to step down the hall, and finally, you click your door shut.

it’s like pure energy courses through your body. you place your hands on your hips and you pace, looking down at kitty who has emerged from your bedroom. she meows up at you, and you sigh. “oh, honey,” you murmur as you bend down to scoop her into your arms. “why won’t he kiss me?”

you stand there for a few moments before you begin to grow frustrated with yourself. why do you have to wait for him to kiss you? you know that the lines have been blurred long ago, that there is simply no way that he can look at you like that and not want to kiss you too. setting kitty down, you wipe your hands on your jeans and you decide that you are going to be bold, you are going to be brave. and if it blows up in your face… well, you’ve always been somewhat impulsive. you’ve found your way through things blowing up in your face countless times.

you swing your door open and bucky is already there.

with all of your momentum, you almost collide into him. he catches you by the elbows and looks at you, pupils slightly blown, concern on his pretty face. “were you going somewhere?”

“no!” you stammer out immediately. “no… no. i was--” you sigh and you lick your lips and you finally fix your eyes on him. “i kind of-- i kind of thought that you were going to kiss me, back there. and i was disappointed that you didn’t because… well, i don’t think i’m reading into things, but i really think that we might be on the same page about--”

bucky will never know how you were going to finish that sentence, and frankly, with all the frantic nonsense you were spewing, you don’t know if you even knew to begin with-- because he takes your face in his hands and his lips brush yours.

he’s rid the gloves. that’s the first thing you notice, that delicious cold of smooth metal again your cheek. the next is that his lips are so soft. the third is that you could kiss him forever and you think you could never grow tired of it. he is gentle yet demanding, passionate but so incredibly tender that it breaks your heart. it breaks your heart over and over again thinking about the way he thinks about himself, the things that were forced upon him.

you part. a string of spit connects your lips and it makes you laugh and it makes your cheeks grow warm. bucky reaches out with the hand made of metal and wipes your bottom lip and it makes your heart thump, thump, thump in your chest.

“we’re definitely on the same page,” is all he says before he takes your face once more. this time, you shuffle backwards and into your apartment, the door clicking shut. "there's just a dance to these things, doll."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fic #the world's a little blurry #bucky x female reader #my writing #enjoy babies

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cafeacademic · 3 years ago

Text

Marshal Commander Hardass

Pairing: Commander Cody x Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors dni)

Warnings: light degradation (use of the word cockdumb mostly), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (wrap it before u tap it)

Word Count: ~3.4k

A little (and by little I mean several thousand words) something for one of my favorite Clone Commanders. This is one of several current WIPs, so it felt good to finally finish this one up! Hope you all enjoy lovelies <3

*Read on AO3* or under the cut!

You huffed as the door to the bar swung open and half a dozen clone troopers walked in. You were used to seeing a single soldier here and there, but a large, fully armored group meant trouble. Sighing, you excused yourself from the conversation you were having with a regular patron and returned to your place at the center of the bar.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you deadpanned, not at all in the mood to have to deal with the war today. Your planet had been lucky enough to stay relatively neutral, but the arrival of the soldiers reminded you how fragile that neutrality was.

“Good evening, miss,” the presumed leader of the group said. His armor was slightly different from other clone troopers that had stumbled across your bar in the past; his helmet was framed by an orange visor, and a rank insignia was affixed to his chest plate. “We’re looking for a man named Tost. Do you have any information about his whereabouts?”

“No,” you snapped, hoping to shut down the conversation. “If that’s all, I do have patrons to get back to,”

“Are you sure? Any information would be very helpful--” you waved a hand dismissively, silencing the trooper.

“I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to get caught up in this war. All it does is bring destruction to the planets it claims, and we refuse to offer ourselves up for annihilation on a silver platter,” you said impatiently. “So either order a drink or get out of my bar,”

The regular you were chatting with earlier snorted at your little speech, and a very drunk group in the back broke out into a loud cheer. You raised a single, challenging eyebrow at the soldiers.

“Come on, the General is probably waiting for us,” another clone spoke up from the back of the group. The leader nodded, not even turning to look at the clone who had spoken, seemingly too transfixed on you.

“You’re right, Boil,” he said calmly. “If you can think of anything that would be helpful to the Republic cause, please don’t hesitate to come to one of our outposts. Ask for Marshal Commander Cody, and I’ll see to it that your information is in good hands,”

You scoffed and folded your arms over your chest defensively. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,”

As the troopers filed out, you were sure that you could hear one of them swearing at you, but you chose to ignore it.

Later that night, when darkness had fallen completely and drunk patrons would fall off their stools every so often, two of the soldiers came in and tucked themselves away at a corner table. You grumbled a swear under your breath before walking over to the table and standing there, a single hand on your hip. The clones, now without their helmets, looked up sheepishly at you.

“I know you told us to get out earlier, but we’re not here for the Commander. We just want to unwind and have a drink,” one of them stuttered, obviously reciting a speech he had planned since before they walked in. You softened slightly as you watched the two men; it wasn’t their fault they were stuck in this war. Offering them a small smile, you took their orders and brought them their drinks, a little extra poured on top as a sign of goodwill.

“What’s up with them?” one of the men sitting at the bar asked you.

“Don’t know for sure,” you replied. “The whole squad came in earlier, asking for information. I get the feeling their commander is kind of a hardass,”

“Bet they just need to blow off some steam then,” the man said, and you nodded in agreement. With a sly look, the man glanced over at the troopers. “I’m sure you could offer them a much better way to relax,”

“You’re such a creep,” you deadpanned back, and the man laughed. “Besides, I don’t think clones are really my type,”

The door swung open with a clatter, and the orange-visored Commander stood in the doorway once more. You winced at the sudden loud noise.

“Is that Commander Hardass?” the man at the bar asked, and your grimace was enough to answer his question.

“Crys, Wooley, get back to camp,” the commander ordered, not even needing to raise his voice. The tipsy clones mumbled apologies and tossed a handful of credits on the table before shuffling out of the bar.

“What the hell!” you snapped at the clone commander. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“It was their turn for watch,” the clone said, sliding onto one of the unoccupied stools at the bar. The man you were speaking with earlier looked between the two of you, amused. “I’d like a drink. Corellian whiskey,”

“It’s after last call,” you lied.

“Since you won’t give me any information, the least you can do is give me a drink,” the commander said, taking off his helmet and setting it on the bar next to him. You stood there for a moment, simply taking the clone in. He somehow looked older than the other clones; perhaps it was just exhaustion from the war. His face was partially marred by a scar, but it only served to make him look more striking. It was the challenging look in his eyes, however, that made you pour him a glass of whiskey.

“So, you must be Commander Hardass,” the man at the bar said. You braced yourself for a fight, but instead, the clone just sipped on his drink, not even glancing at the other man.

“That’s Marshal Commander Hardass,” the clone replied. “But I much prefer to just be called Cody,”

“Well, well! We’ve got a big man in charge, here!” the man said, obviously inebriated. You glanced at the clock on the wall; it was probably time to start clearing everyone’s checks.

“I think you’ve had enough, hun,” you drawled to the man, taking his now empty glass away from him. “You should be getting on home,”

“Come on! I just wanted in on the fun!” the man protested, but Cody shot him a glare, and the man dropped credits on the bar and left without further complaint.

You went about your nightly duties of wiping down tables and clearing tabs, only having to break up one drunken argument before it turned into a brawl. By the time you were finished, the Commander was the only person left in the bar.

“Time to go,” you said, voice clipped. Cody looked up at you, still nursing his glass of whiskey. You couldn’t help but find yourself staring as an errant drop of liquid ran spilled over his lip and down his chin, trailing a path down his neck. You swallowed hard.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and chat,” he countered, as if daring you to throw him out once more.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” your reply was weakened by the slight crack in your voice as you watched Cody grip his drink tightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly in his throat as he swallowed the whiskey, and your eyes traced over the movement.

“No more little speeches?” he taunted you. “I even went so far as to buy a drink,”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about the guy you’re looking for,” you said, a hint of resignation in your voice. “And if I did, I have no reason to trust you,”

“Your lack of trust certainly isn’t stopping you from eye-fucking me from across the bar,” Cody countered, and you blushed bright red. So he had noticed.

“I think you may be misconstruing my looks, Commander,” you tried to regain your blasé attitude, but it was no use.

“No, I think I’m quite right,” he said mildly as if he wasn’t laying all your dirty secrets on the table for him to peruse. “For someone who hates the war, you sure do seem to want a big, bad soldier to put you in your place,”

You gave up on trying to act aloof: “Hating the war and recognizing a good fuck aren’t mutually exclusive,”

A gloved hand fisted into your blouse and pulled you over the bar, and Cody crashed his lips into yours with so much force you felt your teeth clatter together. As you melted into the kiss, you weren’t quite sure if you had won your little battle of wills with the Commander, but at the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

With surprising grace, Cody climbed over the bar and pushed you backward, framing your body by placing his arms on either side of you. He kissed you once more, less violent, but no less passionate. When you let out a soft whimper, Cody seized your moment of weakness and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm, cyare, look at you,” he breathed out, and you felt your face get hot at his praise. One gloved hand ran over the curve of your hip and up the side of your ribcage, before dragging up the side of your neck and gripping your chin between his fingers. “Absolutely at my mercy,”

As much as you were sure you looked the part of a good submissive, eyes glassy and mouth slightly agape, you refused to give him the satisfaction of having won so easily.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Commander,” you taunted, dropping one hand to press against his codpiece. He hissed at the contact, even though it wasn’t direct, and you smirked.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Cody said darkly in your ear. “Don’t get in over your head,”

“I won’t,” you replied confidently, mustering up all your strength to keep your voice even, despite the way one of his large hands was kneading the flesh of your waist. “I’m quite sure that you’ll be a mess for me by the end of the night,”

It was like you had flipped a switch in Cody’s head, and any sort of softness he was holding onto flew out the window. The hand that was gently touching your waist soon captured your wrist in a bruising grip, and he pulled you flush against his body.

“Is there somewhere more private that we can do this?” he asked, and you nodded frantically.

“I have an apartment above the bar,” you managed to stammer out.

“Good,” Cody said, grabbing his helmet and dragging you up the stairs by the wrist. You followed along but made sure to walk slowly, just so he’d have to put the extra bit of effort into getting you there. As you resisted, his fingers tightened slightly in warning.

When you had gotten upstairs and into the bedroom of your small apartment, Cody finally released your arm. He dropped his helmet on your dresser and pushed you back onto the bed, kissing you again. You whimpered as he slipped a hand under your shirt, cupping your breast through your bra.

“Cody--” you gasped between kisses, but Cody only smirked and pinched your nipple roughly. You cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain, trying to press into his touch.

“No, no. Address me with respect,” he said, and you whimpered as he looked down at you. One of his legs slotted between yours, and he held himself over your chest with his free arm. All you could think of was how he looked over you.

“Commander,” you said in a mockingly sweet tone. Cody growled and kissed you again, this time trailing kisses and soft bites down your neck and jaw. The hand that had been covering your breast was now toying with the edge of your shirt, and you pulled back to let him take it off. When your shirt was discarded, Cody made quick work of your bra, and you had to hold back a moan as he looked at your now exposed chest reverently.

“See something you like?” you teased, but the dark look in Cody’s eyes shut you up immediately. He looked near feral, as if he was trying to stop himself from lunging at you right then and there. Involuntarily, a grin started to creep across your face.

“Something funny, pretty girl?” Cody said, reaching out and grazing his thumb over one of your nipples.

“You just look so eager--ah!” you were cut off as Cody took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. You could feel him smirk against you as you continued to whimper, your breathy moans turning needy as he continued his work.

“You like that, sweet girl?” he teased, sitting back so he could watch your chest heave as you sucked in labored breaths.

“Cody, I swear if you don’t fuck me right now,” you said, but your threat had no force behind it. Nonetheless, Cody started to remove his armor, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re not very patient,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been known to be a bit demanding at times,” you said, pleased that you got what you wanted.

“The only thing you’ll be by the time I’m finished is a cockdumb little whore,” Cody challenged, and you swallowed thickly. He had finished taking off his armor and was now pulling his shirt over his head, and you tried to memorize the plains of his body as quickly as you could. The muscles in his abdomen flexed as he relaxed, and you couldn’t help but notice the thin trail of dark hair that crept down below the waistband of his blacks.

“See something you like?” he parroted back your earlier words. You nodded, and Cody smiled as he tugged you closer to him once more. His hands worked at the button on your pants, and before you knew it, he was shimmying the garment down your hips, leaving you in just your panties. With a gentle push, you fell back against the bed and Cody positioned himself between your thighs.

“You’ve soaked through your panties, pretty girl,” Cody said, tracing one finger lightly over your slit. You whined, trying to jerk your hips up for more friction, but he merely chuckled and placed an arm over your hips. “No, you’ll take what I give you,”

“Yes, Commander,” you looked down at him with glassy eyes, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over you was almost too much. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long, because Cody pulled your panties to the side and dove in, lapping up the wetness you had already created before wrapping his lips around your clit. Your mouth dropped open with your loud moan.

“For all your bravado, you’re quite easy to control,” Cody said, voice rumbling against you in a way that sent sparks flying up your spine. He was right, as much as you hated to admit it; the way he was working your body right now, you would’ve committed murder if he’d asked. His tongue traced lazy circles over your clit, occasionally dipping down to thrust into you for a moment, making you squeal.

“Ahh! Commander!” your moans were whiny, and you could almost feel Cody’s ego inflating as you writhed underneath him. Suddenly, he slipped one thick finger into you, and you clenched around it so hard that Cody throbbed in his blacks.

“That’s it, take my fingers. Have to prepare you for my cock, pretty girl,” he growled before giving your clit another teasing lick. A second finger joined the first, and you bucked your hips up to meet them. Cody laughed. “It’s so easy to make you squirm,”

“Don’t get smug on me,” you tried to scold him, but it came out as a whine. You could rapidly feel your orgasm approaching, and you tried to warn the man underneath you, but your words all turned into moans as you tried to form them.

“Come on, pretty girl, let go for me,” Cody ordered, and you did as he asked. Clenching around his fingers, you whimpered as he worked you through it. It wasn’t until you were too over sensitive to bear it that he finally pulled away.

“Holy shit,” you said dreamily, head still a little fuzzy from your orgasm. Cody kissed you once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Commander, please,”

“Please what?” he said back, and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what I want,” you said, trailing your hand down until you could rub him through his blacks. He groaned as you palmed him, and you smiled innocently.

“Ask for it nicely,” Cody teased. He was nearly as impatient as you were, however, and he was already reaching for the waistband of his blacks.

“Please fuck me, Commander,” you said, rolling your hips against his in an attempt to get some friction. Your shame had flown completely out the window, your brain now singularly focused on the man above you.

Grinning eagerly, Cody pulled off his pants and discarded them, and your mouth hung open slightly at the sight of his cock. You quickly closed it when you heard Cody snort in amusement, and pouted as he lined himself up.

“You still want this?” he asked, face so close that you could feel his breath on your neck.

“Stop teasing and just do it already!” your voice pitched up as he slowly pushed himself in. You could feel him stretching you, and Cody swore under his breath as he bottomed out.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned, rocking his hips slightly to let you adjust to the movement. You hooked one leg around his waist, trying to pull him deeper into you.

“Please, I’m not gonna break, Commander,” you gave him your best doe eyes, and Cody growled and thrust into you hard, pushing you up the bed slightly. He kept a steady pace, making sure to press his cock as deep as it would go with every thrust. He grabbed the leg that you had wrapped around his waist and pulled it up until it was sitting on his shoulder, letting him hit a whole new angle inside you.

Your whimpering turned into loud moans as he continued pounding into you, hitting the bundle of nerves inside of you that sent spots flying through your vision. Cody gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as he fucked you. His face was dusted pink from exertion, and his pupils were blown so wide that they nearly eclipsed the soft amber of the iris.

“That’s my girl, taking me so well. Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” Cody groaned, his grip on your chin tightening. “Want my pretty girl to feel good,”

“So fucking good, feel so big inside me,” you stammered, unable to think about much other than the way he was fucking you. Your back arched off the bed as Cody dropped your chin and trailed his hand down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it.

“There’s my little cockdumb girl,” he said, a tinge of admiration in his voice. “Taking me so fucking well,”

“Yes, please, anything!” your words were jumbled, but Cody seemed to know what you meant. His thumb worked faster on your clit, and you squirmed, trying to lean into the touch and wriggle away from it at the same time. Cody held you in place, watching your chest heave as he brought you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he said, and you did, a broken moan of his name on your lips. He fucked you through it, his thrusts getting erratic as you tightened around him. As you trembled with the aftershocks, you were able to see Cody pull out of you and jerk himself a few times, before spilling all over his hand and your stomach.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” you said. Your voice was still a little shaky, and Cody laughed at how fucked out you sounded. He swiped a towel from your attached ‘fresher and cleaned you off, before falling into bed beside you.

“Practice,” he said smugly, and you rolled your eyes. “So was I?”

“Hmm?” you mumbled sleepily, snuggling your face into the clone’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you comfortingly.

“You said I looked like a good fuck. Was I?” he said, kissing the top of your head playfully.

“Well, I’m not completely cockdumb like you said I’d be,” you said, a mischievous smirk on your face. Cody sat up, a wicked look in his eyes. A surge of arousal pooled in your stomach.

“Guess we’re not done, then,”

#commander cody #marshal commander cody #cc-2224 #commander cody x f!reader #commander cody x reader #commander cody smut #star wars #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #tcw #the clone wars #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars smut

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min-jpg · 3 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can you do they boys getting kidnapped but its Diluc, Childe, and Kazuha? Thank you!!💗💗

Note: I just want to point out that there's no actual reason on how I choose for the reader to beat up the kidnappers since part 1,, it's totally random as long as I'm trying out different ideas whatever fits ehe. Enjoy! 💖

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Kidnapped Genshin Boys x Fem Rich!reader pt.2

Part 1 (Kaeya, Zhongli, Xiao)

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Kazuha

Genre: fluff, established relationship, some woman kicking ass action, (TW: mentions of blood and violence)

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CHILDE

Your boyfriend would definitely try to go head-to-head against the shady group of people who abducted him. The gang accountable must be living under the rock for even considering one of the most dangerous Harbingers as their prey to carry out their schemes.

However, Childe learned that there would be ramifications if he tries to be rash without gathering solid intel first. Having no knowledge of your current circumstances and whereabouts troubled him to the core. They could have already sent out a corresponding group towards you and endanger you if he failed to listen.

Being wealthy is not a foreign concept to Childe as he is also a wealthy man himself. That said, the premonition of being a target for a ransom would not be unrealistic to him. For now, he is glad that he is the victim here instead of having to witness you kidnapped.

"You know, you could've asked me nicely for some money. I might just give it to you, instead of doing all this for my girlfriend's money." Despite being in a position far from desirable, Childe leisurely sat on the chair that he was bound to, crossing his legs. He was making small talks to push away the worst scenarios happening to you. Are you safe? Are you crying? Did they hurt you?

"I don't know who you are to be running your mouth, but you should value your life a little more." Their leader emerged from the group.

Childe's ocean eyes squinted as menace casts upon his pupils, his voice lowered, "Is that so? Ironic, because you guys seem to value money more than your lives."

The head stepped back slightly, "Enough with your empty threats! You should be aware of the current situation you're in. We're not fooling around here."

"I'm not fooling around either."

As sparks were thrown back and forth, you made your way in through the main entrance. Tapping the shoulder that belongs to one of the men, "Excuse me, I need to get to my boyfriend." Your fist sunk into the side of his face when he turned towards you. He collapsed on the ground with a few broken teeth and blood spewing out of his mouth. Moving on to the next adversary in your path, you fought with full faith in your abilities no matter how intimidating they were.

Soon, the leader and people further ahead finally took notice of it. You pave your way towards your boyfriend and eventually, both your eyes meet each other. Childe puffed out a breath of relief when he finally saw you, but also registering the fact that you just took down most of the men with your bare hands.

Kicking away the men who tried to grab you, you then waved enthusiastically at Childe, "Hey girlie, hold still." Rushing right ahead to the leader, you brought your arm near your face, elbow pointing outwards. The sharp edge from your elbow jabbed his throat, causing him to choke and lose balance.

As his reaction dulled, it was your chance to strike again. Thus, you gallantly overthrew their leader and the entire gang by yourself.

After helping Childe, he stood up abruptly and placed his hands on your shoulder with eagerness written all over the face, "I never knew you could fight so well! How about a spar with me right now?" Expect your boyfriend to continuously bug you to indulge in his rampant itch to fight anyone that comes across as a worthy opponent. Though, the real takeaway from this experience was the way your hair clings to your face with sweat as the adhesive and the triumph look in your eyes. It was a rather attractive sight to relish in his taste.

DILUC

Your boyfriend would be infuriated that crooked people like these exist, much less target him to extort money from you. Just another validation to add up on how incompetent the Knights of Favonious is, he thought. Someone will have to clean up their mess, that someone being him. What better way to do that than to follow them to their hideout to seek out the whole organization?

Diluc is renowned for being one of the richest men in Teyvat. Naturally, the group thought they hit the jackpot on not only holding him for ransom, but potentially garnering some money from him as well.

The only concern he carries is your wellbeing. Diluc fears that this incident will affect you mentally. His head started filling up with formulations on ways to resolve this matter without causing any uproar to guarantee your safety.

When the head was introduced to him, he gritted his teeth to suppress every ounce of his might to not reach for his claymore. Diluc still has to prioritize gathering information first regarding the gang. His patrons at Angel's Share are usually the ones providing him with promising intel of any evildoers, but some things are just meant to be obtained by himself.

"Is this the only hideout you have? Quite in a shambles, don't you think?" Diluc's eyes shifted around the dilapidated building, observing the surroundings to know his enemies better.

The leader rolled his eyes, "It wouldn't be so bad once we get some funding from you and your girlfriend." Diluc hummed. Judging from his answer, it is safe to assume that the organization is rather a small scaling one. Defeating them right now will result in uprooting the source once and for all.

As Diluc was about to do so, a lackey of the gang ran frantically towards them, panting labored when he reached and trying to catch his breath. "What is it?" The leader question.

"T-there's... there's someone." He pointed towards a direction with fear layering his voice.

"What? Why are you so scared?" They all glanced towards the spot.

"I swear there was a woman! I don't know who it is, but she took out some of our guys on guard outside."

In disbelief that a woman could have done anything so reckless, the leader trudged to said location. As it is a spot lacking light, the darkness and shadow made it challenging for him to pinpoint if anyone is there. When he moved closer, you crept out behind from his blind spot and kicked the back of his head, causing his head to spin. Your arm lunged forward, gaining a tight hold onto his nape. You put everything into pushing him, his forehead hammered down to the floor. Creating a loud thud, it gave him a concussion.

"Looking for me?" Your foot stamped onto his back, just making sure he stays down.

Everyone, including your boyfriend, had their pupils dilated at the scene. You sighed at the silence, "All of you just messed with the wrong couple." Lifting your foot away, you stomped forward without giving them a second thought. Your arms and legs are all warmed up for many rounds against your foes.

Diluc watched you from afar as you drove your way towards victory. Although he could step in to help, he admits silently to himself that he would like to observe you a little longer. Putting his trust in your calibers to carry you far, his eyes never left your brave figure.

Once you cleared the group, the next thing to do is checking on Diluc. Already unfastening the restrains himself, he walked to you, "That was well executed. Your abilities shouldn't be underestimated. Don't join the Knights though." He stressed the last remark, scoffing. You chuckled and held his hand to guide him out of here, "Thanks. Glad to impress you, Master Diluc. Let's go home."

KAZUHA

Your boyfriend is a rather hard target to impose on for their plans of kidnapping him. His senses are just too refined for an ordinary person to challenge. Basic tactics, such as overthrowing him with the element of surprise have proven to be futile. Thus, Kazuha will always be able to evade falling prey into their hands.

The only way Kazuha could have been kidnapped is through falsifying evidence of you being in a life-threatening situation. Although he has successfully saved his own skin, not the same could be applied to you. Feeling his resolve shaken, what other choices could he have? Prioritizing your safety is the most important thing right now.

Kazuha may have faced similar situations in the past when out in the sea, encountering pirates of other crew aiming for the Crux Fleet's fortune. Being in the position as a captive for ransom is new. He actually found it amusing, rather than having thoughts of blaming you. It is not your fault that you are blessed with wealth. It is the fault of the criminals.

"Ain't you that the kid who's with Beidou? You're part of her crew." The leader questioned his target, to which he was greeted by Kazuha's silence. "Tell you what. You're just like the rest of us. We want to be rich. How about you ask your girlfriend to bring some more money and we'll give you a share as well?"

Kazuha's face darkened, "I don't know what you've heard, but it must be really valiant of you to assume to worst out of the Crux Fleet and myself. I'd appreciate it if you cease lumping me together with criminals like you."

The Crux Fleet does put up with an infamous reputation amongst the Qixing. Perhaps the abductors concluded that Kazuha has a negative conscience just like them, as in upholding a relationship with you to have a taste of your assets. Still, if he tried to talk his way out of it, barbarians like them will never reach a mutual understanding with him. Kazuha shut his eyes, ignoring any further confrontations to preserve his energy as he contemplates a plan.

He was interrupted when he thought he heard your voice nearby, carried by the wind. The others around him did not hear it since it was just something only Kazuha could pick up. Applying full concentration, he managed to form what he heard, "Get out of my way, please, while I'm asking nicely."

Opening his eyes, he turned to stare at the entrance. As if on cue, the door swung open when you kicked it down, announcing your presence. Some men fainted below your feet.

The others instantly reacted by storming towards your direction to stop your advancement. You stood still in your position, taking a mindful deep breath. One thing you learned from Kazuha is to always remain cold-headed before engaging in a fight.

Kazuha wanted to get out of the restraints to rescue you, but instead, you started dishing out few moves against the men.

When you thought you finished with the remaining numbers, their leader was about to declare his victory, "I got you!" Encircling his arm around your neck in an attempt to strangle you, you huffed and grinned towards Kazuha to signal him you have it under control.

You elbowed his stomach and felt him loosen his grip when he winced. Making enough gap between his arm and your neck, you slipped away and swiftly kicked in between his groins. The color drained from his face and tumbled to the ground, passing out in pain, "Hmph, this is what happens when you touch a lady without her permission." You brushed away the hair from your face after an arduous fight.

Jogging towards your boyfriend, "Kazuha!" He brisked towards you as well and held you in his embrace, softly rubbed your nape, "You're giving me plenty of inspirations for a haiku after such a wonderful performance." Kazuha would appreciate you refraining from such a heedless approach next time. He was comforted to see you safe and knowing the threats were nothing more than to use you, his weakness, against him. After witnessing that, Kazuha will be slightly ashamed he even doubted you in the first place, so he trusts that you can watch out for yourself next time.

#childe x reader #childe genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc genshin impact #kazuha x reader #kazuha genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years ago

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Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

#exophilia #fae #fae/reader #fey #monster lovers #monster boyfriend #monster/reader

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

WC: 1728

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: mentions of sexual themes, alcohol consumption, past relationships

��

You and Laszlo had easily fallen back in your work routine during the first week back. His course load was almost identical to that of the previous semester, and so he didn't mandate that you come to classes like he had during the fall. Even so, you insisted on attending like usual.

Taking your seat at the back of the lecture hall you watched as he moved around the front while he spoke. You were supposed to be sorting through the information cards the students had filled out. Not much was actually getting done, as you were highly distracted. His right hand typically found home in his trouser pocket so as not to draw attention. But his left? You licked your lips. Of course you loved both of his hands, but with his favoring the left side you developed a certain affinity for the limb. Oh what his hand was capable of, you reminisced.

Your sigh must have been louder than you anticipated, as Laszlo’s eyes snapped in your direction. “Perhaps if you are bored you should keep your noises of displeasure to yourself,” he said with a quirk of his brow. His face held a look of annoyance, but his eyes told you otherwise. He knew exactly what you were thinking about based on the sound you made and it amused him to no end. You knew he meant nothing by the harsh statement. He did so to maintain his staunch reputation in front of the class.

Biting your lip you issued a “sorry, professor.” Even from across the room you could see the brief flicker of heat in his eyes at your 'apology'. To everyone else the encounter would probably leave them shitting themselves, but you knew better. Even a small success such as this was to be celebrated in your mind.

You had been hoping that you could push Laszlo to be a bit rougher with you sometimes. He would often restrain himself when you were intimate, but you had an inkling that underneath he was just itching to let go. By no means were you ever left unsatisfied, he made damn sure of that. You wanted to kick things up a notch; you wanted to see what he was capable of.

He cleared his throat. Picking up where he left off, he began “as you can see, within psychology there is no single truth. No one theory that can fully or definitively explain who we are, why we are, or what becomes of us. That is why we must always ask of ourselves the purpose of our nature and our choices. This term will be a glimpse of seeking answers to our questions. In the meantime - you have a quiz on Monday for the parts of the brain and their functions. Do not be late or come with excuses, I do not give makeups often, if ever. Have a nice weekend.”

With that the young underclassmen all shuffled out to go spend their weekend most likely partying, rather than studying. You really couldn’t blame them, as this section of Introductory Psychology was in the late afternoon. As an undergrad you would have probably done the same on a Friday night.

Both you and Laszlo packed up your things from your respective areas of the room. Once the last student was gone he called out to you. “Sara and John want to meet up this evening, would you like to accompany them or do you have plans?”

“Will you be there too, or are you too busy with paperwork and stuff?” He had been complaining of having a list to work through this week with some new documentation requirement the university put out on the professors. You trek down the stairs to meet him by the front desk.

“I think it would be odd of me to invite you out in the event that I would not be there myself,” he quips back. His hand comes to rest on your side.

You hum in response. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

He chuckles at you, “you’ve spent every day with me.”

“You know what I mean.” Peering around to ensure no one was present, you lean up to give him a quick kiss. “What time do they want us there?”

He checks his phone for the text from John. “In half an hour.”

“Then we better get going before he hogs all the pretzels,” you crack.

The two of you made your way from the university to the old pub a few blocks down the road. Students didn’t come here often, as it was geared towards the older and less rowdy crowd. It was perfect for the four of you though. You had even gotten on with the owner, Cyrus, and his niece Joanna, who often worked the bar.

You sat in the booth next to Laszlo; Sara and John opposite you. The first 45 minutes or so were spent going over the events of the past week back. Eventually, the conversation slowed.

“I think I should get us another round. What do you say?” Sara asked the table. You slid out from your side offering to give her a hand with collecting the new beverages. Laszlo watched as you walked alongside her to the bar, laughing at something Cyrus had said to you. You always looked so beautiful when you were laughing.

“So…” John began, getting his attention. Laszlo turned to face his friend. “I heard a rumor.”

“You know I don’t put credence into such things, out with it John.” Clearly whatever he wanted to discuss he didn’t wish to say in front of your presence. Despite his words Laszlo did have some trepidation about the upcoming conversation. Could it be about you? Maybe you two weren’t being delicate enough with keeping the relationship subtle?

John looks over to the bar where you and Sara are still procuring the drinks. “Karen is in town.”

He relaxed at the turn of events. “Ah, yes. She is guest lecturing at the university while she conducts research of some kind in the city.” Laszlo is matter-of-fact in his response.

John studies him for a minute. He looks concerned. “It’s been what, four years since you last saw her? Or have you seen her yet?”

“I have not. Why do you ask?” He brings the near empty glass to his lips to take a sip of the harsh liquid.

“Well, Laszlo, I just mean that you two were serious for a long time before you moved out here. In fact I had figured you would settle down with her. You left her in Austria to come here, after all,” he explains quietly.

Laszlo cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see how that would be a concern. The dissolution of our relationship was mutual - she stayed in Vienna; I came to New York. We did not want the strain of attempting something long distance and we both came to the same conclusion on the matter. And it has been four years, John, as you so kindly reminded me. I have moved on and I am quite content now.” His tone was nonchalant.

He is happy. You were vibrant, and thoughtful, and he couldn’t say that he had felt this lighthearted in years. His years with Karen were wonderful, but in truth they didn’t compare to what he had now with you. For once he felt hopeful for what the future with you could bring. It wasn’t as strong a consideration with Karen.

John holds up his hands as if to defend his words. “I’m glad for that, truly. She’s wonderful for you and I can see that. I just worry that Karen’s presence might cause a resurgence of emotions or whatnot with you. Sara and I would hate to see things fall apart for the two of you after everything,” he gestures towards where you stand with her. “Are you going to tell her about Karen?”

Laszlo nods in understanding. “I appreciate the concern, John. But I assure you, I view Karen strictly in professional terms now. I look forward to hearing about her studies here as they could be illuminating for my courses.” He sees movement from you and Sara as you begin your return. “I do not see myself withholding information regarding my past with Karen, but I don’t know that I find it necessary to bring it up as of yet.” John’s nod is faint, as though he disagrees but isn't willing to say so. The conversation is cut short by you setting drinks on the table.

You all stay another hour at the bar. Laszlo’s thigh rests against you, his right hand atop your own leg. Occasionally you can feel the way his thumb lightly strokes you through your jeans. He makes it hard to pay attention to what Sara is saying to the group; little bolts of lightning shoot up your leg and to your core. When your legs clench Laszlo doesn’t seem to notice.

Aside from the growing arousal within you, the soft clink of the index finger of his left hand grabs your attention. A steady tap tap tap as he hits the side of his whisky glass. The movement brings you back to your thoughts during his lecture earlier, how the thick digits with their calloused tips drive you absolutely mad when they brush against your skin. You swallow.

This time Laszlo is aware of your state. His eyes shift to you from where he sits to your left. The two of you hadn’t had time or energy to be intimate since that night he took you to Delmonicos. The lack has taken its toll as you give him that look.

Abruptly Laszlo faces the others. “I would hate to cut our evening short, but I have more paperwork to fill out by Monday for the Dean. I would rather get it done so that I may enjoy my weekend. John, Sara.” He nods his farewell as he nudges for you to move out of the booth. You hold back your giggle at his insistent need to get home.

John looks slightly confused with the suddenness of your departure. A look of understanding comes over him with a whisper from a smirking Sara. With a wave the two of you leave into the cold January night.

Tag list

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#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl fanfiction

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dresupi · 3 years ago

Text

Only the Best - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis

for @highlyintelligentblonde

Rated T

“I’m not expecting anything from you”

Other tags: Regency AU

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

It wasn’t that Darcy was dreading her wedding, but she also didn’t know what she should be feeling at all.

Everything had happened so quickly, she barely had the time to get used to the fact that she was to be a wife before the wedding ceremony was upon her.

And there was the little detail about how she hadn’t even been consulted before being promised to James Barnes. She had always assumed she’d have some say in exactly who her lawfully wedded partner would be. But her mother had sprung it on her one morning in as nonchalant a manner as if she were telling Darcy that she wanted her to go into the town and purchase something from the dressmaker.

“Oh, and you’ll be married to James Barnes in a fortnight. He’ll be posting the banns this Sunday. You’ll go to live with him after.”

To say Darcy was confused was an understatement. She was to marry the neighbor’s farmhand? With no explanation whatsoever? When she begged her mother for more information, she was waved off, told to expect James to come calling and explain things.

Darcy’s father had disappeared into his study with a flagon of brandy and hadn’t been accepting any visitors, especially not his only daughter, so Darcy was left to pick up the pieces of her life without so much as a kind word from him.

It seemed so long ago, even though the nervous butterflies in her stomach told her it had indeed only been fourteen days and nights.

Fourteen days and nights of not speaking to anyone, refusing James’s calls, and contemplating running away, only to be caught by her father when she had reached the garden gate. He hadn’t stopped her, simply bade her sit so he could explain himself.

According to him, once he died, their estate would be entailed away to a distant cousin. Her mother would be at the mercy of Darcy’s future husband. And James Barnes was extremely well off. He’d take care of Darcy, and Darcy’s mother when the time came. If Darcy chose to stay and go through with it, that is.

She’d sat there beside her father for the longest, wondering if she could live with herself for abandoning her mother and concluded that no, she couldn’t. Sighing heavily, she looked at her father. “You might have explained all this earlier instead of hiding in your study like a coward.”

Most daughters wouldn’t ever speak to their fathers in the way Darcy just had, but most daughters weren’t like Darcy Lewis.

“I know this. I just couldn’t face you, knowing I’d ruined your life by not handling my money better.”

She sighed once more and patted his hand. “Mr. Barnes isn’t all that terrible.”

And so the matter was put to rest. With a few days to spare.

The dust had settled and the ceremony had taken place. Currently, they were driven to Darcy’s family’s estate for the wedding breakfast. They, being Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.

She stole a glance at her husband. He looked hard and cold. Out of place in his finery. She’d only ever known James as a farmhand. She’d no idea he actually owned the estate bordering theirs until her father had disclosed it to her a few nights past.

Along with the straight facts of the matter. The money was gone.

Well, the amount needed for a decent dowry, at any rate. Marriage to James Barnes was her first, last, and only option. If she wanted to keep herself and her mother off the streets, that is.

She’d scarcely left her room since her mother sprang her very short engagement on her. Not even to come down to meet with James before the ceremony. She’d been childish and nearsighted, not taking the fortnight before the wedding ceremony to get to know her intended.

He’d come around every night, settling finally for a letter, which asked for her hand formally. He had such lovely handwriting, it made her heart ache at how ugly she was being.

Darcy had sent back her acceptance straight away. Formal and perfunctory. But an acceptance nonetheless.

She especially regretted it all now since he looked stiff and uncomfortable. Perhaps as uncomfortable as she.

But that couldn’t be, could it? He was the one with all the freedom. She was the one who needed him. She stood to benefit the most from this.

Why had he even agreed to this in the first place?

He wasn’t plain by any standard. And if he were as well off as her father had stated, he could have any of the girls in the county.

It was a question that could surely have been answered if she’d bothered to meet with him before the ceremony.

Upon arrival at her home, or her parents’ home, she supposed, James was quick to help her down from the carriage amid all the guests clapping for them. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm or she wouldn’t have been able to walk back into her former home again.

She could scarcely eat her breakfast. Even though she was gastronomically inclined, everyone stopped her from eating with questions and congratulations. And manners dictated that she put down her knife and fork to receive each and every accolade. It was only proper. No matter how her stomach growled.

Tucking into a bit of lukewarm scrambled egg, she chewed and swallowed quickly as she saw someone else approaching.

Her mother’s friend, Baroness Katarina Zemo. Her husband, Baron Helmut had been the one to introduce her family to James in the first place. He seemed to think very highly of him. She supposed for someone who was titled as he, that was a good thing. James came with the blessing from the Baron and Baroness.

But just as she was about to address the baroness, James raised one hand. “Please. My wife’s scarcely had a moment to eat since we sat down. And I won’t have her fainting from hunger on our carriage ride to Paris.”

Paris? Darcy was surprised to hear that. But she supposed a honeymoon trip was customary. But one to Paris? Just how well-off was James?

Another question that might have been answered if she’d simply stopped being a child and accepted her intended when he called.

“Oh, of course,” Katarina said, sweeping into an empty chair across from the couple. “Continue eating, Mrs. Barnes. I won’t be offended if you attend to your nourishment in front of me. I simply wanted to speak with you both before you leave for Paris. To tell you how happy I am that this has happened for you.”

Darcy chewed hesitantly, but she was too hungry not to eat when bade.

James was the one who did the talking for her. “I’m sure you are, Baroness. Do tell your husband that I send my best regards.” His voice sounded flat despite the warmth of his words. Even flatter than before. Darcy was surprised to hear such snideness coming from someone she’d assumed to at least possess the barest minimum of decorum. Why that had been the only thing she knew of her husband. He’d always been cordial with her. Why she’d even venture to say that he’d been friendly on the few times they’d spoken.

“Oh, I will, Mr. Barnes. I truly hope the two of you enjoy your honeymoon trip. You must write us when you arrive at the hotel and tell us everything about your stay. Drop our names at the hotel and you’ll be treated like royalty. I bid you have a wonderful life together.” The baroness swept away as quickly as she’d come.

Darcy chewed on a bit of bacon, turning for the first time to her husband to speak to him.

“You were awfully rude to the Baroness,” she said.

James smirked, clearly amused. “So you can still speak to me. I had wondered.”

Darcy flushed, he was right, the first words she’d spoken to her husband beyond their vows, and she was reprimanding him.

“My apologies, I simply thought---“

“No apologies are necessary. You’re absolutely correct in your astute observation. I’m rude to the Baroness, but I think you’ll find me downright disrespectful to the Baron himself. Seeing as it’s his fault you were forced to marry me and that I had to take a wife at all.”

Darcy frowned. “How so? I thought certain you married me to keep my family from the poor house when Papa dies.”

“I’m happy I was able to find a mutually beneficial marriage, rather than having to impose upon some young woman with no other prospects.”

Darcy’s face burned, and she turned back to her plate. “With all due respect, I had other prospects.”

“That’s not a slight to you as a person, Miss Lewis. I simply refer to your lack of a dowry. I think you’ll find that you won’t be wanting for anything as my wife. What you lack in money, I can make up in spades. And I’m certain you will raise my social standing with your bright, beautiful nature.”

The words felt flowery, but coming from someone she’d only known to speak the barest of truths, it felt like more than words.

“It’s Mrs. Barnes, now,” she said softly.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t expect anything from you, you know.”

“Surely you’ll agree that I should take your last name,” she countered.

“Not that. Of course, you’ll have my name. I simply meant... I don’t expect anything else in the way of... marriage. You’ll have your own apartment to decorate as you will. You won’t have to expect me to come to visit you there.”

His meaning was implied, but apparent.

Darcy frowned and took another bite of egg, chewing thoughtfully before she answered him. “No one knows what the future may bring, Mr. Barnes.”

“It’s James now,” he corrected her, smirking in a cheeky sort of way. “And I mean it. You don’t owe me anything in that respect.”

She turned to look at him, his face in profile as he looked down at his own unfinished breakfast. Her eyes followed the fine cut of his cheekbones and jawline. At his lips.

When he’d kissed her at the end of their wedding ceremony, it had been very chaste. Of course, it had. But just at the end of their embrace, she noted something else. Something deeper. Something she could see wanting to pursue in the future.

Exhaling, she blotted at her mouth with her napkin. “I mean it as well, James. Don’t speak to the future and I won’t worry about owing you anything.”

James chuckled. It was soft and warm. A great deal more relaxed than his previous demeanor. “I wish only the best for you, Darcy.”

She studied his smile, even though he was talking to her and looking somewhere else entirely. He was truly a handsome man. “I’m fairly certain I’ve got it already.”

#Wintershock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis #Bucky x Darcy #Darcy x Bucky #Bucky/Darcy #Darcy/Bucky #my writing #orange #arranged marriage prompts #Promptober 2021 #highlyintelligentblonde

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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

Text

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (2)

Word Count: 1.8k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female + Princess!Reader, Teacher!Zhongli, mutual pining, fake politics, Zhongli POV

xiansheng - Chinese honorific translated to as “person born before another,” also used as a title to refer to persons of authority or skills; generally used to mean “teacher”

[Previous] [Next]

Zhongli’s duties as the Princess’ tutor, as spoken by the head noble-- a man who seemed to always have a sneer on his face-- was to fully and completely reeducate the Princess. He understands now why his room is so close to yours considering how they have asked him to spend the majority of your day with him-- and vice versa. You seem to take this schedule in stride, listening to his lectures with an apt mind and following whatever lessons he brings throughout the day, regardless of familiarity or novelty.

But you are quiet, and as appreciative as Zhongli is at a rapt audience, he knows you have more to say than what you are giving-- but he understands. Zhongli can’t imagine not having a moment of solidarity when the presence of others can be so oppressive in the face of grief. In the middle of his afternoon lessons, he excuses himself and allows you to have a break. He knows he has decided well when you shoot him a grateful smile and when he sees you deflate the moment he closes the sliding door.

“Has she not been raised as a Princess for her whole life?” He asks the noble politely as they walk down the long outdoor hallways of the palace. He had been called to meet up with him on his way to court with the intentions to review the Princess’s progress, only it seems as though the head noble had no intentions of listening. “Surely, there is no need for me to go so extensively into that sector of education," he presses.

The noble sighs. “Mr. Zhongli, with all due respect, the girl--” Zhongli can feel his brows raise at the lack of title used-- “...has never been properly prepared for the possibility to become the Empress. She was one of the last ones in line to inherit the throne, so no one thought she could amount to anything. Surely, you’ve seen the way she acts?” The noble lifts his round silk fan to his face, and Zhongli, despite all his efforts to not feel disdain for the callous noble, feels his patience wear thin. “It was such a surprise, you see, to all of us when that tragedy hit, but alas, she’s the only one left.”

“I see,” Zhongli replies coolly. “And so you would have me follow her and scrutinize her every action to make her fit to rule?”

If the noble took heed of his frosty tone, he does not react to it. Instead, he looks at Zhongli coyly from behind his fan. “I assure you, it will be best for both you and me to have her reeducated. To an extent.” The noble says, “I assume you know what I’m referring to? You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Zhongli. You come from a good family and know much of the world… but you could always, ah, possess more.”

“Knowledge is power, as I am sure you are aware,” he says, chuckling. Zhongli watches in silence as the noble walks away, waving a flippant hand. “Be sure to take care not to provide her with too much, Mr. Zhongli, and perhaps I’ll refer you to a different title someday.”

When Guizhong was chosen to become a lady of another country, Zhongli felt, for the first time in many, that perhaps there was more to life than a constant grapple for power and the legacy that it would lead. She had not wanted to leave as much as he did not want her to go, but he did not understand then that he held power in his mind and in his own actions to change the path in which his path would lead.

Despite his disdain for the lies and trickery involved with the power struggle, Zhongli knows he will keep his promise to his father to uphold his family honor. He has always been a man of his words, for he bound himself into fulfilling them as though they are contracts.

But as he watches the head noble disappear behind the court doors, Zhongli wonders if that is all he is capable of.

When he thinks of Guizhong-- when he thinks of you, who has lost so much and could lose so much more, he thinks that for how your world seems to be against you, he wants to be someone on your side of the ring-- despite how everyone pressures for the opposite. Zhongli does not know if he deserves it, but he wishes to have your trust. He has yet to know how to truly support you, but he wants to provide you the freedom of choice if he can-- even in the smallest of ways.

And so he gives you freedom in the only way he knows how.

“What would you like to learn about today?” Zhongli asks you the next day as the two of you walk quietly to the study room. He can’t help the smile on his face when you turn to him in poorly-hidden surprise. Despite how you may act in front of the nobles whom he knows has an ill-opinion of you as you of them, you cannot help the emotions that come to the surface. He thinks himself lucky, if he were honest, to know that he is at least in your favor enough for you to let down your guard to give him a glimpse of the Princess he had seen not a fortnight ago.

To this date, he has only seen you be as such with your lady-in-waiting, Amber, but he knows that in his presence, he has only barely scratched the surface to the depth of your relationship and personality.

“What would I like to learn about?” You repeat, looking out into the garden in thought. “I’m not sure,” you say, turning to him. “What do you want to teach me?”

Zhongli blinks. “Pardon?”

At his confusion, you laugh, and Zhongli cannot help how his chest flutters at your sound of joy, for how far off it seemed that you would ever express that again. Just when he thought he could not be surprised, you tilt your head and smile teasingly at him. “You and I both know that the nobles are the ones that have been controlling my schedule for the past week. I want to know what you would want to teach me personally.”

Zhongli feels his cheeks warm at the tone of your voice. “Princess, I--” His father would be horrified at his lack of composure, but Zhongli cannot afford to think of his family and their expectations when you look up at him expectantly without an ounce of impatience. He clears his throat and thinks deeply, much to your amusement, putting his hand to his chin. “I suppose… I suppose I could provide you the history of the glaze lilies that the garden has in abundance?” He says, watching as your eyes soften, “They’re quite remarkable-- able to bloom in a night and gone in the next, some even saying they possess a different scent if you sing to them.”

“I agree with them, whoever said singing to them creates a different scent,” you say, looking out into the garden by the bamboo where three glaze lilies lay unbloomed. “If you sing the Liyuen lullaby to them, it produces a very soft fragrance-- almost like baby powder.” You turn to him and smile. “They were my mother’s favorite,” you explain gently. “She always sang and picked one for me to keep in my room.”

Zhongli lowers his head in respect. “My apologies, Princess, I didn't mean to bring up such personal topics."

“No, no! Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, laughing. “It’s fine. It’s nice to think of something nice like that.” You brush your hair behind your ears, and if there was a nostalgic lilt to your voice, he does not throw attention to it. “I like it,” you say, “please continue. I’m curious about the glaze lily’s history.”

And what was Zhongli to do for the Princess if not to continue?

Zhongli doesn’t know if you have committed his every word to memory, or whether you remember anything in regards to the dates he provided (you are terrible with dates, he has found out, much to your embarrassment; but much like everything he knows of you, he finds it endearing). But he watches as you walk through the garden with him, the most at peace he has ever seen you, and he continues to speak.

And Zhongli lets his voice rid of the garden of silence, your thoughtful hums and soft laughter as accompaniment. Soon enough, though, the sun sets and the stars begin to shine, and Zhongli leads you to your room where you will be served dinner.

You thank him for the lesson, and he nods gracefully, his hand upon his chest. When he raises his head, you are still smiling at him. (He thinks abruptly that he would like to keep that smile on your face, if only for a moment, and the next words tumble from his mouth.)

“If you are looking for a place by the sea,” he says, remembering your words from before, “‘where the wind blows and the earth is clean,’ then I believe that I shall make our lesson on that the next time we find ourselves free.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide-- lips parted as though awestruck until they widen into the kindest smile he has ever seen on you.

“Yes,” you say softly, “that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

Zhongli lowers his head again in respect, swallowing at the magnitude of your magnanimity. “Of course, Princess.”

He expects to be dismissed, but instead he hears you ask, “Would you like to join me for dinner, xiansheng?”

Zhongli wonders how many times a person can bewilder him one day. “Pardon me?”

“I’m asking if you, Zhongli xiansheng,” you say with a now-familiar lilt of amusement, “would like to eat with the Princess.” You laugh when he stands, tall as he is, gaping at you. “You can say no. I won’t take offense. Promise.”

And he thinks to himself that as generous as you are to offer him the option to deny your request, he doesn’t know if he ever would have.

Dinner consisted of the finest foods: Peking duck, the freshest peaches of Fontaine, the grains of Qingce Village, and bamboo soup that would have put his personal chef to shame. It is custom of the Princess to sit from a table distant from him, but in the confines of your inner chambers, you sit right in front of him, placing dishes in front of him for him to try. (Zhongli has a feeling you would pile food onto his bowl if you could.)

He has the delight of not only enjoying the foods you have offered but also the sight of your smiling countenance for the remainder of that night. And for once, he feels as though he has taken the reins on his own life-- for the better.

(He only hopes he can keep holding on.)

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #sorry for the repost! tags r not workin w me #imperial drama au

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Text

I got a wonderful commission to share here today. I hope you're all ready for some ADORABLE shenanigans!!

MTMTE/Brave Police Crossover

The bots rescue an unusual group out in space, and make some unexpected friends.

"So, how are our new arrivals doing?"

Ratchet kept his voice rather low, but had little need to do so with the bots in question chatting away too eagerly to overhear him.

"Good, as far as they've told us." First Aid replied, looking over the notes on his data pad with an expression of still overwhelmed awe. These "Brave Police" truly were a marvel; earth made bots just as capable as any Cybertronian, complete with the ability to transform! Casting a glance back to the group, he had to pause at the sight of Drift chatting happily with them all, feeling as left out as everyone else did for the moment. Being the only one who had their particular earth language in his files, the ninjabot had been their translator from the moment of their unexpected arrival, though had quickly become amicable enough with the gathered group to start chatting away even when there was nothing to interpret. Noting that he technically had yet to speak to any of the new arrivals directly, First Aid amended his statement. "Well, as far as they've told Drift, anyway."

"We'll have a language download primed in just a few minutes, conversing will be far easier in short order." Ultra Magnus reassured the gathered bots from his monitor, finishing up the unexpected language program they had so sorely been needing. Despite the copious quantities of data they had on alien languages, not a single file on earth languages had been ready to go... Rodimus had been less than happy at the news. "A few minutes after that, the whole ship will have access, eliminating further language barriers."

"A few slow minutes!" the captain remarked in a huff, tapping his pede as he watched the loading bar crawl to completion. Casting a longing glance at Drift, he made no effort to hide the source of his impatience. "I should have been able to welcome these bots on board, I'm already late to the job!"

"Complaining will not make this go any faster-"

Even Ratchet had to chuckle at Ultra Magnus's expense when the monitor suddenly pinged to notify them it was finished, but Rodimus wasted no time rubbing it in, practically fist pumping only for a moment before diving in. Downloading the program at impressive speed even for him, the captain booted up the new language straight away, leaving everyone else to catch up as he hurried over to their guests.

"Hey everyone!" he greeted happily, loving the thrill of a whole new manner of speaking. The Brave Police perked up at the sound of their primary language, which Drift had referred to as "Japanese", with the aforementioned bot looking especially pleased. Smirking at his friend in particular, Rodimus addressed the whole group as the bots behind him finished up installing the program. "Am I coming through loud and clear?"

Drift smiled, but looked to the blue mech that had identified himself as the head of their team. Even if he hadn't, however, Rodimus could tell by the way he jumped up and saluted that the bot in question was a natural leader. "Very clear!" he said enthusiastically, offering a hand to shake with impeccable manners that almost seemed to be made all the more charming by his boundless enthusiasm. "Though we've already met, I would like to personally introduce myself and thank you for the rescue."

"Not a problem! We were in the neighborhood, you know?" Rodimus replied, finding things infinitely easier now that the two could talk directly. As the rest of his own team caught up behind him, with Magnus giving him a pointed look of disapproval, he allowed the earth based bots to speak freely at last.

"I'm Deckerd, and these are the other members of the Brave Police." said the police bot, looking to his assorted friends and opening the floor for them.

"I am McCrane." a reserved but friendly mech said, giving a very polite nod of his helm as a greeting. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

A far more brightly colored mech, of a similarly solid build, gestured eagerly to himself. "I'm PowerJoe."

"Call me Dumpson!" a bright red mech announced, flexing an arm to show off his impressive strength. Rodimus had no doubt the bot would be very popular at Swerve's, and almost didn't notice the source of the next introduction from a sparsely lit corner.

"Shadow Maru."

Drift looked immediately impressed at the stealthy mech's skills, but before he could say a word the next member was speaking up quite emphatically

"I'm Drill Boy!" he said from atop a medical berth, kicking his legs eagerly and bursting with so much energy one might actually miss the soccer ball positioned in his chassis. Every bot present mutually wondered if it was a design or an actual functional ball, especially Rodimus, but the topic was minor enough to be filed away for the moment. A red and white mech spoke up next, his tone so flat Rodimus immediately knew Magnus would have a new friend by the end of the day.

"Duke."

At last, a lightly colored bot chilling on an open chair spoke up, lazily offering a playful salute as he introduced himself. "I'm Gunmax, baby."

Rodimus knew, straight away, he had found his own favorite amongst the group. At least, this bot would undoubtedly be the one he related to most. Behind him, a grumpy presence cleared his vents and spoke up.

"I'm Ultra Magnus. Now that we are all acquainted, I believe it is time for some more in depth explanations-"

"Come on, Mags! These bots have been through enough!" Rodimus said, patting the much larger mech on the arm and ignoring the look of frustration it got him. Perhaps there was residual impatience from the language delay, but he had no intention of sitting through anything he didn't feel like. "Besides, I think we established the basics well enough. You guys are from earth, right? Human constructed?"

"Yes. We were in space to foil a criminals plot. We were successful, but had it not been for your rescue, I fear we would not have made it home." Deckerd replied, calling back to the shell of a space station they'd been rescued from. Evidently some human had invented a kind of interstellar travel for nefarious purposes, been stopped by the Brave Police, but not before managing to get them all incredibly lost. Looking to the floor, the police cruiser continued a little awkwardly. His request was wrapped up as a tentative statement. "That is... we are still hoping to return home."

Rodimus smiled, hoping to get the group comfortable eventually by being as welcoming and laid back as possible. Clearly they weren't accustomed to calling their own shots. "To earth? Hey, not a problem! It's a stone's throw from here... on a cosmic scale."

There was a small groan of exasperation, and Drill Boy hopped off the table, pouting like a sparkling. "Aww, do we have to go back right away?"

"Drill Boy-" Deckerd admonished, turning on the spot to face the younger mech but never getting a chance to finish.

"I agree with him, boss!" Dumpson affirmed, making their poor leader's face turn to mortification as he was quickly outnumbered. Power Joe affirmed the sentiment, gesturing to the medical bay that had awed them when they'd first arrived.

"Yeah! We've only heard rumors of beings like us, yet now look where we are!" he said, recalling their impossible wonder at furniture their own size being *everywhere*. The Cybertronian presence on earth had never been especially heavy in their home country, and with official information at a minimum, their rescue had been a discovery for both sides.

"We certainly can't overstay our welcome!" Deckerd countered, blushing as he tried to compel his fellow officers to comply. Far too polite to share his own desire to stay, the police bot flinched as Gunmax piped up, offering his usual level of laidback snark in a single retort.

"Then let's just stay until we're no longer welcome!"

"Everyone-"

"Hey, no worries!" Rodimus said, stepping in to rescue the poor leader before an argument could break out. Endlessly amused by what he was seeing, the captain was quite confident he spoke for everyone when he offered an extended stay. A quick glance along mostly affirming looks told him as much. "You guys are welcome on the ship while we chart a relaxed course for the blue marble, sound good?"

Deckerd flushed again, looking down and kneading his hands together as he replied. "We wouldn't want to impose-"

"No imposing here. Magnus, Drift, can you relay a message to earth so these bots can call home? Ratchet, any chance you can synthesize some fuel for them out of what's in stock?" Rodimus said, putting an arm around Deckerd and speaking quickly so there'd be no time to argue. There was thankfully no resistance, as Magnus appeared too resigned to offer any. Ratchet, however, had a quick request to make before anything else could proceed.

"I'll need access to... diagnostics. Our anatomies differ quite considerably, so if I'm going to offer care, I'm going to need more information." he said, likely recalling how shocked he'd been upon first scanning them and discovering no sparks. Not to mention their use of earth fuel over energon, or how they lacked transformation cogs, and that was to say nothing of their unfathomable processor design... It had been the first time he'd experienced surprise in the medical bay in a long time.

Deckerd nodded politely, gesturing helpfully to himself as he did so. "I can share my own, doctor. Theirs are based on mine."

"There, we all good?" Rodimus said, guiding the group of new arrivals to follow him out the door. He could tell these poor bots were unaccustomed to a world designed around beings like them, and thus he wanted very much to show them what they were missing out on. Plus, they deserved a bit of fun after everything they'd been through. "In the meantime, how about a tour?"

"Yes! Yes please!" Drill Boy replied, hopping right beside Rodimus and nearly bouncing on his spot. The enthusiasm was almost infectious, and the captain couldn't help but puff up as he pinged the doors to open.

"Alright, let's go!"

The entire group followed in short order, even the most reserved of them looking curious as to what awaited them. While the antics reminded him of sparklings, Rodimus had to remind himself they were incredibly young, so the comparison technically wasn't too far off. Considering that, he felt he owed them a good time. Drill Boy made that easy, at least, hurrying beside him with wide and amazed optics.

"Is the whole ship this big?!" he asked as they stepped into the hallway, turning in circles as he tried to absorb the entire space at once. Deckerd stepped forth to explain the actions of his teammate, though he was clearly quite impressed himself judging by the delighted smile on his face.

"Only our office is built to accompany beings of our size." he said, giving the Cybertronian pause as he considered living in a world designed for much tinier beings. Earth had seemed okay while visiting, but suddenly the thought of living there seemed... cramped. Judging by how these bots were marveling at a mere hallway, he wasn't wrong. Did the humans just expect them to squeeze through everything all the time?

Gunmax joined Drill Boy in appreciating the change of stretching out his arms high above his helm and looking quite pleased at how he didn't even come close to the ceiling. "This is way better! There's elbow room to spare!"

"Look! We can fit through all the doors!" Dumpson announced, standing beside a random doorway to emphasize how his bulky frame could easily slip inside. Rodimus had to fight the urge to chuckle at the sight, especially with how delighted every one of his charges appeared at the idea. Several even tried the comparison for themselves with multiple individuals beside a single frame. When they finally did go back home, he'd have to leave them with a parting gift of Cybertronian door technology. Perhaps even some blueprints for a building in their size were due.

"Hold up!"

A familiar voice made him stop and turn on the spot with a delighted grin.

"Drift!" he called out as his friend hurried up behind them, looking just as excited as Rodimus felt. The Brave Police looked equally delighted by the return of their initial interpreter, especially when he was offered a spot on the group. "Wanna help me show these bots around?"

"I'd love to! Magnus is handling the transmission message." he said, looking to their guests with a helpful smile as he explained what that meant. Not that he wanted to assume anything, but interstellar communication didn't seem to be amongst their skills. "You guys will be able to call home when we're done."

"Boss will certainly be relieved to hear we're all safe." Deckerd said, looking like the news had taken more than a little weight off his own shoulders. Exactly who their "Boss" was hadn't been specified, but from the sound of things they did admire and care for whoever it was. Which was good, because if there was even an inkling the humans weren't treating them well... Rodimus had his thoughts cut off by a polite question. "If I may ask, where did you learn to speak Japanese?"

"When I was on earth I spent some time in Japan." Drift replied happily, recalling how he'd explored the country and added the native language to his database to better understand what was going on around him. Thankfully he had kept it despite leaving earth behind, or these bots wouldn't have had a way to communicate their medical needs. Considering how flabbergasted the medics had been... that was an immeasurable blessing. "I've still got a number of other languages saved up, more for the memories."

"Can you speak English?" Duke said, surprising even his cohorts with the question. Looking a little flustered at the attention, the surprisingly shy bot quickly clarified with an addendum under his breath. "It was... the first language I was programmed for..."

"I'm pretty sure most bots who have been to earth can speak English, learning a language isn't too hard for us as long as we have a download pack for it." Drift explained helpfully, and Rodimus had to stifle a smile at how his friend appeared ready to take the bot under his nonexistent wings. Ultra Magnus might have some competition befriending this one, it seemed.

"Hey, what's a "Swerve's?" Drill Boy asked, pointing ahead and totally oblivious to the conversation they'd just been having. The bright neon lights on the wall and the bots hanging about gathered the attention of the entire Brave Police, and in an instant Rodimus and Drift shared a knowing look of anticipation. Hopefully, this would be the most fun their guests had ever had.

"The best place on the ship to unwind, make friends, and knock back a few drinks." Rodimus declared proudly, gaining the attention of the bots outside the bar as he did so. While the news of the "Earth made bots" had traversed the entire ship several times over, no one had seen them yet, and thus there was an immediate buzz of excitement. Rodimus hoped they were all ready to become very popular in a short stretch of time.

"Drinks? For real?" Gunmax said, quickly moving to the front at the mere mention of the word and looking absolutely ecstatic. "About time, I'm parched!"

"But we don't consume the same types of fuel!" Deckerd reminded them all, looking uncertain and perhaps, a little hopeful to be wrong. While he didn't actually know the ins and outs of their differences in fuel consumption, Rodimus knew there was a bot who would, and was banking on him to have already crafted something.

"Let's see about that." he said, somewhat obscure on purpose as he guided the group past Ten. Each one appeared to go through a cycle of intimidation to confusion when the big tough door guard said his single word and welcomed each of them with a wave. The inside of the bar was buzzing already as they squeezed inside, the newcomers optics going wide as they beheld the incredible activity thumping away to the music. Chatter only increased as their presence was noted, but Rodimus made it clear the group was with him and on a mission. He didn't want to unleash them to the chaos without loosening them up a bit.

"Hey Swerve!" he shouted over the noise, clearing enough space for everyone to gather beside the bar. The barkeep pretended to have just heard him, despite clearly having been watching them all from the moment they came in, and he stepped right up to the counter with a glowing visor. Clearly, he'd been waiting for this.

"Need something, Captain?" he greeted, still playing coy and acting as if he wasn't buzzing with excitement for the new arrivals.

Rodimus, ever the sport, happily played along. Having ensured the whole ship had access to the language file, and allowing everyone interested to download it at their convenience, he spoke so that their guests could easily overhear the conversation. "Not me, but do you have anything for some travelers from earth?"

Before Swerve could answer, Drill Boy secured a seat at the bar, grabbing an empty drink and holding it up as the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. By the sparkles in his optics it might have been.

"Deckerd, look!! Everything is our size, even the cups!" he exclaimed happily, sitting up haphazardly on the stool as if he'd never had a place to sit in his own size. Technically speaking, he'd only ever had the one, so this might as well have been life changing.

"I've got more than cups, I've got some mixes for you to drink out of them!' Swerve declared proudly, producing a bottle of oil based liquid that astounded the gathered bots. Having only ever had fuel for practical purposes, the very idea of consuming for fun was resulting in some beautiful expressions of surprise. Loving the reaction, Swerve explained his process with well deserved delight at the accomplishment. Dark, iridescent liquid that shimmered at the smallest movement was poured into waiting cups as he did so. "I looked at your usual fuel formula and made a few tweaks that should make it taste a lot better. What do you think?"

While each bot took their cup and drank with varying levels of bravery, there was still undeniable curiosity from every one of them, even the most cautious. Dumpson, Power Joe and Gunmax knocked theirs back like a shot while Duke, McCrane and Deckerd sipped politely, the rest falling somewhere in the middle as Swerve held his metaphorical breath. Thankfully, the results came in with incredible speed.

"Fuel can taste this good?!" Drill Boy shouted, finishing off his entire cup in a rush and leaning over the entire bar in a desperate search for more. "Please tell me you made enough for us to take home!"

"No wonder Gunmax always drinks it, this is amazing!"

"It never tastes like this, this is something else!"

"Is this why the Boss always drinks so much?! It can be this good?!"

Rodimus and Drift couldn't back some good natured laughs at the reactions, quite happy to have introduced the bots to some much needed fuel and a fun time at once. Swerve, looking like he was overwhelmed with pride and genuine emotion at the compliments, had to regain himself before opening another bottle.

"I made plenty! Plus, I can make more!" he said, pouring more glasses for his new group of fans as the rest of the bar quickly fed off the growing celebratory energy. "As much as you want while you're here!"

"Hear that, everybot?!" Rodimus said above the din, taking advantage of the segway to set the newcomers free to mingle and hopefully befriend a few more bots. He could already see a few potential takers now; Tailgate appeared to be bursting with questions, and First Aid had reappeared to do the same, not to mention Ultra Magnus and Ratchet were stepping inside... The whole ship had to be present, and thus he made sure to be audible by everyone as he issued a statement so informal it could hardly be called a command. "The Brave Police will only be with us until they have to return to earth. In the meantime, let's show them how to have fun, Cybertronian style!"

A hearty cheer rose up, and by the natural fusion and fission of social groups, the earth bots were soon surrounded by eager and curious Cybertronians acting like long lost siblings.

Rodimus was vaguely aware of a tap on his shoulder, and while he expected to turn and see Magnus, Deckerd appeared rather sheepish as he held a partially drunk cup in both hands. Speaking just loud enough to be heard, he asked a question the captain hadn't actually prepared for. "If I may ask, what is this "Cybertron" I've heard referenced so often?"

The query was unexpectedly heavy, but he answered regardless. "It's our home planet, and-"

Before he could finish, Deckerd appeared shocked by the mention of " planet", as if something had finally come together in ways he struggled to process. "There's truly a whole planet of beings like us-you?" he said, betraying the source of his wonder in a single misspoken word. Rodimus felt his spark, something he had to remind himself the other bot didn't share, ache a little in sympathy for the bot. One could hardly tell they were of different worlds, but for all the problems of Cybertron, it was clear to him who had the advantage. The Brave Police didn't have an entire species of their own, and their time here had undoubtedly made them a bit more aware of that. It only made Rodimus all the more determined to give them a good time.

"Yeah! It's a little rough right now, but once we clean up a bit you'll be welcome to visit." he said, noting that plenty of friendships would be made today to help that happen. Drill Boy was showing off tricks to a whole team of bots, Gunmax was competing with Dumpson and Power Joe to down shots, McCrane was having a conversation with Cyclonus as Tailgate watched with a glowing visor, Shadow Maru was actually chatting with Ravage, and Duke was indeed hitting it off with Ultra Magnus. There was no shortage of enthusiastic camaraderie to go around. Primus, he merely had to blink and there was a transformation speed contest, his shipmates awed at their shared ability to transform...

"I'm certain it will be fun." Deckerd said as he surveyed the minor chaos with a chuckle, optics warming with delight at his team having so much fun beside their newly discovered companions. Rodimus wanted to tell him that it would be more than fun. The Lost Light was wonderful, obviously, but there was a whole galaxy out there to explore! Hopefully he'd be able to convince them all to come on some future trips when they slung by earth again in the future. Maybe they weren't durable enough for meteor surfing, but they'd undoubtedly appreciate theme parks, virtual reality hubs, and the countless bars that lined the stars.

"I promise it!" he said enthusiastically, putting an arm around the other bot like an affectionate big brother. For all of his reserved traits, the police bot chuckled at the gesture. Beaming as a monitor and microphone in the corner caught his optic, Rodimus guided the other mech through the crowd, speaking over the noise as he gestured with excitement.

"Now, while we're still sober enough to appreciate it, let me introduce you to bot sized karaoke!"

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #transformers lost light #lostlight #idw #tf #ll #my writing #kofi commission #commission #commisions open #brave police j decker #brave police #rodimus prime #deckerd

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musicallisto · 4 years ago

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Hi, Clara!! First of all, congrats on your 800 followers, that's awesome! I'm so happy for you 😊😍I want to participate in your sleepover by requesting a ship (🍨 vanilla milkshake) for the MCU, please! I prefer boys, but I don't mind being shipped with girls. I'm INFP-T (if I remember correctly) & Hufflepuff. I love hanging out with friends & doing anything creative: writing, drawing, playing guitar and piano, singing, doing puzzles... I also love fiction, so (1/2)

he I like reading, watching shows and movies, playing videogames and I also enjoy anime. Personality wise, I'm pretty shy at first but I'm pretty passionate so if I start getting along with someone chances are I'll tell them all about my hobbies and the things I enjoy. I find myself becoming very talkative with people I feel comfortable with. I'm quite bubbly and humorours, and I love making people laugh. I always try to be kind and friendly. I guess that's it! Thank you so much, sweetie! 😘💕(2/2)

Hi Trish! thank you so much for your kind words - I’m so glad to have you as a mutual and friend on here. you’re an amazing person as well as a brilliant writer, and I love reading your words each time I come across one of your pieces. I hope you enjoy your vanilla milkshake - I considered other characters, namely Steve Rogers and Monica Rambeau, but I think I’ll stick to my first idea, the one and only Wanda Maximoff!

From the moment you meet, Wanda is quite taken by you, and she can’t figure out for the life of her why exactly, to the point that it almost infuriates her.

You are so sweet and imaginative, so full of life, creative and optimistic... in a way, you belonged perfectly with your team of Avengers, while also being the least insufferable of them to Wanda at the beginning.

She can’t comprehend how you can be so cheerful and ... happy when the world is so miserable and your mission as an Avenger has inevitably led you to fight terrifying foes and witness death and carnage.

She comes from a history of trauma and destruction - and she has never truly recovered from it, partly explaining her pent-up rage at everything and everyone. How in the world can you consciously choose peace?

She can’t help thinking you would have gotten along very well with her brother, and the thought plunges her deeper in her grief.

However, she soon finds out you’re pretty pleasant to work with on missions. She may have joined the Avengers a little bit begrudgingly, for lack of a better place to go after her brother’s demise - and no anchor to cling onto in the depths of her despair -, she still recognizes, albeit reluctantly at first, that you are a kind, capable, and nice person.

Despite your shyness, you always make it a point to include Wanda in team activities. The Avengers are a close-knit family, and she is part of it now, whether she likes it or not - so you’re certainly not about to let her have lunch brooding on her own.

And, to be honest, even if she keeps brooding for good measure but this time surrounded by the team, she can’t help feeling moved by the gesture, nor can she suppress the small smile that creeps on her lips at your silly antics and banter with your friends.

After a few months, Wanda accepts to open herself back up to friendship and fraternity, slowly letting her guard down. You spend more and more time together, and she truly appreciates your company.

When you make her laugh for the first time, you practically beam and run to tell Tony.

“Tony! Tony, you’ll never believe what happened!”

“What, you managed to lift Blondie’s big hammer of doom? And you didn’t even wait for me?”

“What - No! I made Wanda laugh!”

He doesn’t understand your particular excitement - and you don’t understand how jaded he is by the news.

Wanda, on the other hand, is trying her darn best not to blush by how cute your enthusiasm is, especially since it’s just for making her laugh...

But, surely enough, it doesn’t go entirely unnoticed.

“So, Scarlet Witch, huh?”

(Natasha points at her crimson cheeks, arms crossed over her chest and face unreadable save for a hint of amusement.)

“... Hush.”

Wanda definitely doesn’t look as aggressive as she would have wanted.

She loves reading everything you write, admiring everything you draw, and listening to everything you play. She admires your creativity, and wishes she’d had the opportunity to explore her own imagination in her childhood.

Watching you play videogames or paint is a welcome escape from her problems, and a head-first dive in the comforting, illusory world of the infancy she could’ve had with her brother if the picture hadn’t been torn by war.

She even finds herself daydreaming of what a future with you might look like.

She never thought of the future before she met you - only the past... and only the dark parts of it.

It’s arguably one of the best things you’ve brought and taught her - the ability to look ahead, and to look forward.

And right now, all she’s looking forward to is spending a day out somewhere with you, away from the city and away from the wrath of the world; maybe at the beach or in an immense field. If the weather is clement, you might even have a picnic.

And she’ll get to admire your beautiful, careless, and contagious smile all she wants.

Maybe she’ll even reciprocate it, sincerely, if the timid Sun in her heart calls for it.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

#always-imagine-a-dream #800sleepover #ship request #mcu #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff headcanons

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

Text

“The displeasure was mine.”

hoseok x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 1.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This is Hobi and Petal/reader’s first meeting and well Petal is not impressed. But also, she’s intrigued. And secretly fond. But mostly annoyed. And Hobi is just happy and fond and he enjoys teasing her and yeah, it’s fluff but also idk what it is. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

IT was just a comment. Or a question rather. It shouldn’t have set you off the way it did, but the way it was asked, with complete lack of knowledge of who you really were and a total misunderstanding of your personality, it was… annoying.

Maybe it was also the way in which he asked the question. Stringing the words together through that sunshine grin he’d been flashing to everyone since he arrived.

More likely than not, it had everything to do with the fact that you had a shitty day and weren’t in the mood for partying, but had promised your friend that you would make an appearance, and was instantly reminded of that the second you tried to back out from coming. That was probably to blame.

But this man, irksomely handsome and optimistic, and for some reason on a mission to cheer you up, just had to ask you the question that was now grating on you as you mustered a tight smile in response to his bright one.

“Why are you so serious?”

That was it. That was all he asked.

You stared at the man for a total of three seconds before giving him the tiniest forced smile, knowing full well it relayed your annoyance.

“Do I know you?” You finally asked, the man’s eyes widening as he slowly shook his head.

“I believe this is the first time we’re meeting,” he replied, a bit more nervous than his initial question to you. He sat on the arm of the sofa that was perpendicular to the loveseat you were seated on.

“Right,” you nodded a couple times. “So why are you asking me about my mood as if we’ve met before?”

The handsome man simply stared at you for a split second before his smile widened once more, his almond-shaped eyes turning to crescents with his unflinching cheerfulness. “Well, I’m Hoseok,” he told you, holding a hand out to shake.

Scoffing at him, you looked down at his hand before meeting his gaze again. However, you noticed the knowing expression on his face as he took in the slight curve up on your lips that unwelcomingly appeared on your own face.

“Hoseok,” you repeated. “You’re the idol.” You had heard about the man before through your mutual friend who went to school with Hoseok. He cocked his head at you in excitement that you’d heard of him before. “You have an idol look,” you noted, the man giggling at the comment. Why did his laugh have to be so cute?

“What does that mean?” He asked curiously, the smile still planted on his features, not quite as wide but equally as bright.

“Handsome,” you shrugged, watching how that smile morphed into a boastful one as he shot you an arrogant look. Oh jesus.

“You think I’m handsome?” He asked, raising his eyebrows slightly, relishing in the compliment.

Looking at him with a judging expression, you looked away from him to scan the rest of the room. “Looks aren’t everything.”

As he chuckled in amusement you rolled your eyes, looking back to him. The annoyance you felt toward the man probably had nothing to do with Hoseok himself and everything to do with your poor mood, but suddenly it felt like your heart was pounding against your chest out of irritation. It had to be irritation.

However, despite the bothersome presence of the dude who seemed to be the actual embodiment of the sun, you found that your eyes were drawn to him. Before he approached you from across the party, you’d been watching him conversate with the other partygoers. It seemed like there was a spotlight that followed him across the room.

You had watched how he made the rounds, chatting with anyone and everyone, making it his goal to evoke laughter from them all. His bright enthusiasm appeared to be an act of service, as he tried to leave each individual happier than when the conversation first started. He seemed to get a high from entertaining the party. Like he wanted people to like him, or felt like it was his duty to provide cheer everywhere he went.

“Are you at least going to tell me your name so I know who had the complete displeasure of meeting me?” He joked, the comment nearly earning a genuine chuckle from you, but you held it back, instead just letting your mouth spread into a smile. “Ah, she smiles.”

“Occasionally,” you joked back. “Displeasure, I like that,” you added before telling him your name. “And yes, the displeasure is mine,” you smirked. Looking down at his hand, you realized he was still holding it out for you to shake, the smallest of breathy laughs leaving you. “Wow, you are persistent.”

“I’ll just leave it there, no pressure,” he told you, and you couldn’t help but smile a little longer.

“What’s your stage name, Idol Hoseok?” You suddenly asked, not even sure why you asked the question. Why did you care?

Twitching his head to the side quickly, he smiled at you. “You know,” he started, “I’m more than just an idol.” Though the words were said in a lighthearted tone, it felt as though they were cloaking a sentiment that may have touched on a bit of the man’s vulnerability. In fact, the overall cheerful demeanor, as genuine as it appeared, also seemed to be a mask or a shield of some sort, keeping people at a distance from the man underneath. As annoying as he was, he was intriguing.

“Mhmm, of course,” you told him dismissively.

Letting out a light chuckle, he shook his head. “J-Hope. That’s my stage name,” he told you.

“Oh, fitting,” you told him genuinely, completely understanding the name. Anyone who met Hoseok for even a few seconds surely understood why ‘hope’ was part of his stage name.

“Yeah?” He asked, acting just the slightest bit cocky once again. “Are you feeling more hopeful right now?”

“Mmm,” you hummed in feigned thought. “I’m hopeful this conversation might end soon. Does that count?”

Again, the man had the audacity to flash you that literal sunshine of a smile. “Well, hope is hope,” he told you through the smile. The comment once again had you letting out a small breathy laugh as you fought a smile, nodding at him. “Did you know that you are a very pleasant person to be around?” he asked teasingly.

“Yeah, it’s actually one of my stronger qualities,” you told him sarcastically.

“It must be right up there with friendly and approachable,” he joked back, making you once again have to hold back a laugh.

“Exactly,” you nodded. “That’s usually how people describe me.” Hoseok stared at you for a moment with a… fond smile. Why did he appear fond?

“I’m sure,” he said simply, giving you a small smile. “You know you’re allowed to have fun at these things, right?”

“Who said I’m not having fun?” You questioned while cocking your head to the side.

“Well, your face,” he told you through a small smile.

“Ok, but like I pointed out already, you don’t even know me,” you reminded the man, his eyes immediately widening in panic.

“No, I-”

“You can think whatever you want about me, Hoseok,” you interrupted his scrambling for an explanation for his comments. You’d heard all the comments before about you being stuck up or moody or boring, Hoseok wouldn’t be the first or last to person to have that opinion of you. He was just one of the first who actively tried to cheer you up, and for some reason, the endearing sentiment of that action was angering.

“I don’t have an opinion-”

“Also, I don’t need you to try to cheer me up,” you added, glaring at the man. “I’m quite content in all my moodiness.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I offended-”

“No, don’t apologize,” you shook your head. “It’s fine, I just think you and I don’t really complement each other very well,” you told him bluntly, the man’s eyes widening in surprise.

“Well, maybe I beg to differ,” he commented, you letting an annoyed smile toy on your lips as his mouth curved into a smirk, almost as if he was accepting a challenge.

Pulling your eyebrows together in confusion at his expression, you stood up to leave the party you didn’t want to attend in the first place. “Thanks for the frustrating but slightly entertaining conversation, Hoseok,” you prepared to bid him farewell. Reaching your hand out, Hoseok giggled at the gesture, placing his own hand in yours. He squeezed your hand, the feeling of his warm soft hand against your own causing your heart to race once again. Um, what the fuck?

“Nice to meet you,” he told you with that infuriating smile that you couldn’t look away from.

“The displeasure was mine,” you replied, the man laughing once again, his mouth wide open as he let the amusement flow through him freely. Annoying. And definitely not just because it was way too cute for someone you were supposed to be irritated by. Pulling your hand from his, you took a step away from him before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe if I’m unlucky enough I’ll see you around again,” you smirked.

You were met with his smile once again, as cheerful as ever. It seemed as though he knew he could get under your skin by being overly bubbly in your presence when you were throwing nothing but insults and unpleasantries.

“Already looking forward to it,” he teased, you rolling your eyes before finally walking away.

Hoseok watched as you crossed the room, walking up to your friend and telling her something, probably letting her know you were heading out.

He observed you as you smiled brightly at the mutual friend, adorably scrunching your nose as you giggled at something she said. A feeling of affection as well as a jealousy settled in his chest. You were stunning, cute, and surprisingly warm, but he wanted that directed toward him.

Scanning the room one last time as the friend talked to you, Hoseok smiled and gave you an arrogant head nod when your eyes landed on him. Blinking a couple times at him with a judging expression, you looked away from him, Hoseok chuckling to himself on the arm rest.

Continuing to stare at you, unable to look away, he watched as you hugged the friend and made your way to the front door. Just as Hoseok was about to look away from you to direct his attention to the partygoers who all seemed a bit less interesting after meeting you, you surprised him by looking back one more time.

With your eyes locked on one another’s, Hoseok gave you a small genuine smile as you resisted the urge to smile back. And with that, you left the apartment, but you stayed firmly in Hoseok’s mind.

And he didn’t think you’d ever leave.

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detectivecarlosreyes · 4 years ago

Text

In Case of Emergency (Ch 10/10)

Ao3 | 2.9/21.4k | Buddie | Status: Complete

Prev. Chapter

Chapter 10: What’s Next: The Epilogue Eddie and Christopher have a plan to ask Buck to move in, Buck gets his closure and Chris goes to camp. Set in the end piece of 3x18: What's Next.

As with all the other micro steps they had taken in the relationship up until this point, each one had to be approved first by Chris, because Eddie never wanted to overstep his son’s comfort, and this was no different.

“Bud, would you be okay with me asking Buck to move in with us?”

“Isn’t he already living with us?”

“Kind of, I know he stays over a few nights a week at the moment, but this will be a little different. It’ll mean he won’t have his apartment anymore and will live with us all the time instead.”

With understanding now shining in his eyes, Christopher was on board with the idea immediately bouncing in his seat, “Ohhhhh, okay!”

“So that’s a yes? You’re okay with him moving in?”

“You asked me ages ago if it was okay if he could stay over sometimes. It will be better with him here all the time.” And then he added, as sassily as a 9-year-old could, “Besides, I like it when he’s here, Bucky is a better cook than you.”

“Oh, so we’re being cheeky now, are we?” Unable to let the slander stand he descended upon Chris with a grin and attacked him with tickles, leaving peals of laughter echoing throughout the house in its wake.

Eventually, when the giggles subsided, he told Chris his plan and left him with the important job to decorate the small cardboard box that he bought the other day that they would present Buck’s house key in and make it official.

Now he just had one more thing to do before everything was in place.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

In some ways, Buck had felt like he was still reeling from that moment he first saw Abby after all that time apart. Even now, it seemed as if after finally getting that long overdue sit down with her, that it didn’t seem like it was enough, maybe nothing they said ever would be.

Sure, he was glad to see her happy and had found herself again while she travelled, he could never begrudge her of that after the years she had with her mother. It just would have been nice to get some communication about where she was at wit the relationship. If she had been honest about it when she knew she wasn’t coming back anytime soon he would have been fine with it, because at least then he wouldn’t have felt so strung along, feeling like him waiting wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t worth coming back to.

The fact that though she was sorry for the way he found out about it all, she didn’t actually apologise for how their relationship ended; or more specifically by not actually explicitly giving him the courtesy of breaking up with him. Despite not wanting to harbour any grudges over it he knows it will probably always leave a bitterness to the relationship.

It wasn’t until after he walked away, leaving her on the park bench did he realise why the conversation left him lacking. His part in the relationship was never an important factor to her, not once in her explanation did she seem to consider what she did would affect anyone else but herself. And really, that was the crux of the relationship, it had revolved around her and her needs leaving the relationship unbalanced.

Eddie was right though. Seeing her again, getting that closure, it was something that he needed to finally tie up that frayed, loose end and allowed him to close the book on the chapter in his life once and for all, no longer questioning what went wrong.

It made him realise how lucky he was now. Having found himself in the best relationship he’s ever been in. One that left him and Eddie as equals borne out of mutual love and respect of one another that didn’t leave one more important than the other. They were partners in more ways than one, feeding off each other and becoming each other’s anchors.

As he walked away with Eddie on his mind as he left, he sent him a quick text saying he was going to stop at their favourite bakery and picking up their usual on his way home.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, Buck breathed a sigh of relief, happy to put the day behind him and just be with Chris and Eddie. Getting out of the car, with the bag of freshly baked goods in one hand and his keys in the other he makes his way to the door, fumbling to find the house key only to find it missing.

With a frown he knocked on the door, feeling silly not having his key on him. Eddie was quick to answer looking almost bemused by the circumstance and opened the door wide. Stepping inside, he touched a kiss to Eddie’s cheek as he passed.

“I think I lost my key? But I swear I had it yesterday, I-I can’t imagine how it could have fallen off the key ring.” He offered the explanation as to why he was knocking on the door, something he hadn’t done in some time.

“Don’t worry about it, we can just get another one cut,” Eddie responded lightly and Buck could hear Eddie’s footsteps following him after closing the door, trailing him to the kitchen.

“How did it go?” Eddie asked him gently, changing the subject as he placed his hand over his own still holding the bag of baked goods that he sat on the kitchen bench.

He sighed another relieved sigh before smiling at him, comforted by his tact, “You were right. It didn’t go exactly how I thought it would, but I’m glad I saw her, I needed the closure.”

“That’s good, I’m glad you got what you needed.”

Before he could elaborate more on what else he realised from his meeting with Abby, the clatter of crutches interrupted them and Chris all but crashed into his side, wrapping his arms around his hips.

“Buck! You’re back!” Gasped Chris before turning to his dad excitedly, “Can we give it to him now?”

Buck looked between Chris and Eddie quizzically and only became more confused upon seeing Eddi’s face light up, seemingly unable to deny his son’s request. “Alright, we can give it to him now. Why don’t you go get it.”

“Okay!” And then he was gone, moving as swiftly as his crutches would allow back in the direction of his room.

He turned back to Eddie, feeling very much out of the loop, “Eddie? Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Annoyingly all the response he got in return was Eddie’s smiling eyes and him saying that he would just have to wait and see. Buck rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement at Eddie’s answer but held his tongue in favour of waiting for whatever he was told wait for.

He didn’t have to wait long, with Chris re-entering the room at a hurried pace carrying a small blue box. Buck watched as Chris slowed to a stop in front of Eddie to which Eddie, bent over and whispered something in his son’s ear.

He knelt down when Chris turned back to him, much like when Chris gave him that card at his welcome back party at Athena and Bobby’s all those months ago.

“What’s that you got there, bud?”

Chris just grinned his excitable goofy grin that Buck loves with all his heart and held out the box to him. Buck looked between Chris and the box outstretched in his grasp and took it delicately. Upon closer inspection of the box Chris had just handed him, Buck realised that it wasn’t just blue. It had been hand decorated with a blue marker around the sides, with the drawing of a house adorned on the lid.

With a sharp look between the two Diaz’s, he lifted the lid on the box to find a key resting on a pillow of white crepe paper that he knew was leftover from one of Chris’s class projects that he helped to construct. His key. The one that Chris insisted that they paint the thumb end of, so everyone knew whose key it was, was the same blue as the ring that he had attached to Eddie’s key to his own apartment.

“This is my key. I thought I lost it. What are you two up to?” He asked even though he was already putting the clues together, but he wanted a verbal confirmation of what this gift represented.

“Did you want to ask him Chris?” Eddie asked, moving to stand behind his son with his hands resting atop his shoulders, clearly as excited as Chris was about what was about to be asked.

“Bucky, will you move in with us? O-officially.”

Buck couldn’t stop the sting of happy tears prick at his eyes or keep the wide grin that threatened to split his face. “It would be my honour to move in with you.”

Opening his arms wide, he invited Chris for a hug who instantly fell into his chest wholeheartedly. Looking up over his head, Buck looked at Eddie’s glowing face and reached around Chris to take hold of his wrist to drag him down and make the hug and them complete.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Waking up the next morning, Buck revelled in the domesticity of the moment, sharing the bed with the man that he loves; In the place that he could confidently call home without any further hesitation even though in his mind he’d been calling it that for some time. Everything was perfect and felt so, so right. He knew that nothing had really changed considering that he had been practically living in the Diaz household but it felt different, there was a permanence to it now.

He watched as Eddie slumbered, a much more peaceful and restful version of the man than what he used to be when they first started sleeping in the same bed, no longer on high alert on their days off. Now, Eddie woke sluggishly uninhibited by expectation, knowing that there was no hurry to awaken while Buck was present beside him.

At some point, they left the comforts of the bed and migrated to the kitchen, where Chris would join them from the living room have been watching tv while he waited for them to wake. In the kitchen, he would begin preparing them a cooked breakfast, a common occurrence for when they have the luxury of having a morning together while Eddie moved around him to make the coffee.

With May’s graduation party in the afternoon, they eventually got dressed, doing their best not to dress too similarly but still end up deciding on the same colour scheme. And then, as with the last few gatherings they had been to, the three of them arrived together at the Grant-Nash household in Eddie’s truck.

And with that happiness that came with the day before, Buck found him celebrating and being even more affectionate and open than usual, riding on the excitable energy of everyone around him. Through it all he did eventually find himself seeking out Bobby, remembering what he said on the train and didn’t get the chance to address it in his office after the fact.

With the din of the music at their backs, he joined Bobby on the deck, hands in his pockets, “Hey, um, I just wanted to apologise, f- for the train.”

Bobby just waved away the apology with a shake of his head, “Look it’s alright, we both got a little hot. You doing okay?”

A grin took over at his face as he turned to Bobby, thinking about the previous day, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good.”

With his thoughts on Eddie and Chris, he corrected himself, “Actually, you know what? I know I am. I’m moving in with Eddie and Chris, they just asked me yesterday.”

“That’s great news Buck,” with that, Bobby offered his hand in congratulations before pulling him in for a hug. Buck sunk into it finding a parental comfort in the embrace and feeling like everything in his life was finally falling into place.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

And so, with him now living with Diaz pair, it was time for him to start the process of ending the lease to his apartment. He had a month to pack his things and sell what furniture he would no longer need, which was most if not all of it.

Boxes were gradually transported between the two locations with Chris helping with the packing and unpacking of the small bits and pieces that he had which decorated the apartment. Chris became the deciding force of what he should keep, even if he didn’t think he needed to keep them and helped find a home for them in the house, wanting to make the space his as much as theirs.

They only had a couple of weeks with him though, before he set out for the long-awaited camp, leaving a card with the two of them as they saw him off, decorated in hearts and stating simply:

You are going to have a Great Time.

Love, Christopher.

Eventually, through their days off, they had the last of his clothes packed in a bag and the last box was sealed, with the last of the bigger items from the bedroom finally sold and ready to be picked up by the buyers in the following days.

“I can’t believe this is it,” Buck said, sitting on the floor of the now empty apartment, Eddie sitting across from him finishing sealing the box, having let himself into the apartment like always only a couple of hours ago with a new roll of packing tape.

With the box sealed, Eddie propped his elbow up on the box before him, resting his face in his hand with a soft smirk playing on his lips, “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“Absolutely not. Never in a million years.” He breathed, finding himself staring love-struck into Eddie’s eyes. They sit like that for longer than was necessary, faces only a couple inches apart and bodies separated by the box between them.

Eventually, he broke the silence huffing a chuckle to himself, reminded of something Eddie once said.

“What?” Eddie asked good naturedly, a laugh bubbling on the words as he spoke.

Buck propped his head upon his hand, mirroring Eddie, “Are my eyes twinkling like the stars, Eds? Cause yours right now are shining like the sun, they do that when you’re happy, did you know?”

“Oh my god!” Groaned Eddie, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment, “That was so long ago, Buck! I can’t believe I said that, and honestly, I had I hoped you wouldn’t remember.”

“How could I forget!” Buck quietly exclaimed, bemused by the flush creeping up Eddie’s neck and warming his face, “You were far too cute saying whatever you were thinking, Mr astronaut. I’m surprised that you remember though, you were still so far gone at that point.”

“Don’t remind me, that was still the weirdest hangover I’ve ever woken up to. Not to mention the fact that you not only took off my boots for me, but you also plugged in my phone, set an alarm and left a message explaining what happened.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to sleep the day away or wake up confused, let alone do it all while still wearing your boots in bed!”

“Even back then when I was just your friend from work, you cared that much,” Eddie mused, wonder in his eyes.

Buck shrugged bashfully, “I just did what anyone one would do.”

“The fact that you think that--” Eddie shook his head, “The way you care about people is just one of the things I love most about you.”

Eddie groaned as he stood up, stretching his legs before stepping around the box and reached down to him, “Now, come on, it’s time we finished up here and take these boxes home.”

With a soft smile on his lips, Buck placed his hands in Eddie’s and let him haul him to his feet. They took the last of the boxes home, leaving the apartment completely empty, and unpacked them, and 3 days later they were dropping their apartment keys off at the realtor, making it well and truly final.

It was strange to think that all that time ago when they first gave each other their key that they would end up here. Using them rarely for that intended reason of it being an emergency key before their use quickly evolved into something more intimate. That the key to their home was no longer used for emergencies but became an extension to their hearts instead.

And to think that Buck marked the day that the Diaz’s asked him to move in and mirrored it exactly a year later using a similar box that they presented the key in, having re-commissioned Christopher to reprise his role of decorating another one. except this time, it didn’t have a key but a very special ring instead.

Buck barely got the question out before Eddie was already saying yes.

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twomanyideas · 4 years ago

Text

The Way To A Man's Heart - Chapter 2

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Next:

Chapter 2

The hotel was fancier than Natsu remembered from their previous visit with Happy, Erza and Lucy, but he wasn’t all that concerned about it. Stuff like that had never mattered to him. He was much more worried about the line of people waiting to get into the restaurant. He’d been about to complain about it, but he never got the chance.

“Relax, Pyro. We have a reservation, remember?”

Right. And he was thankful for that. Outside of the unexpected train ride, this dinner had been a godsend. The perfect solution to what had been shaping up to be an uncomfortable situation.

Natsu loved his guildmates; they were his nakama after all, but they were too damn nosy for their own good. It was bad enough that they’d already made Gray’s life miserable by encouraging Juvia’s antics despite his constant rejections, but now it seemed they’d set their sights on him.

He knew he should have expected it, but he’d hoped that they would have interpreted his lack of romantic interest in Lucy for what it was. Instead, they’d decided he was oblivious, and encouraged her as well.

Natsu loved Lucy dearly. He just wasn’t in love with her, but he didn’t want to hurt her by telling her that. He’d kind of hoped she’d get bored by his lack of response and move on to someone else. Someone like Loke, who was clearly crazy about her. But that hadn’t happened yet, and even worse, he’d overheard Mira telling Cana that Lucy planned to make her move that night.

He’d jumped at the chance to escape the guild. A night full of food and drink was just what he’d been in the mood for, and the prospect of hanging out with Gray intrigued him.

He followed Gray to a podium, where a hostess greeted them. That already was a big change from the places they usually ate. The hostess verified their reservation and handed them off to a server, who led them down a dimly lit hallway and into a small room.

“Your table isn’t ready yet, but this is our lounge,” she announced with a smile. “It’s not as noisy as our main bar, and you can still enjoy a drink while you wait.”

She gestured towards the lounge’s bar area and left. Music played softly on the room’s music lacrimas, and along with the usual bar stools there were several sofas that looked more expensive than Natsu’s house, contents included. He decided the bar stools were probably safer.

The lounge had large windows, giving them a splendid view of the ocean.

“Oh wow, this is great!” he exclaimed, watching the people on the beach enjoy the warmth and beauty of the setting sun. Everyone looked like they were having so much fun, and there had been so many stalls to check out. He longed to go join them.

When was the last time they’d been able to do anything fun?

“Yeah,” Gray agreed. “Maybe we can check it out after we eat? Mavis knows I won’t be able to get you back on the train after that.”

Natsu hated to admit it, but Gray probably had a point. They took their seats, and the bartender walked over to them.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” she asked politely. “Yeah.” Gray pored over the wine and cocktail menu he received. “Could we get two of those magic drinks?” “Excellent choice, Sir. Two Magic Wonders coming right up.”

Natsu’s stomach rumbled as the smell of food wafted over to them, causing Gray to roll his eyes at him. Gray got the bartender’s attention again and added, “Can we get an order of your spiciest appetizer too?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender put their order in and continued to mix drink orders.

Gray got up and patted Natsu's shoulder, “There, don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Hey, where you going?”

“To take a leak.”

He walked off and Natsu watched him go, amused to notice his friend had kept his shirt on for once. It felt almost unnatural. His eyes lingered briefly on Gray’s broad shoulders, traveling down his back, and before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself staring at Gray’s ass and thinking about how nice it was.

“Oh, and try not to destroy the place while I’m gone.”

Gray turned around then, a teasing smile on his face which turned into a wink when he noticed Natsu’s eyes on him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Natsu spluttered, his cheeks red with indignation, or at least that’s what he told himself, refusing to acknowledge for the moment that his best friend had caught him checking him out. Gray’s parting chuckle irritated him even more.

Stupid Ice Princess. Like he couldn’t be left alone for five minutes without getting into trouble. What did Gray think he was, a Vulcan in a pottery shop?

But seriously, what in the world had possessed him to do that?

It had to be Juvia. He cursed her for his sudden awareness. Ever since she’d joined the guild it had been Gray-sama this and Gray-sama that, until the guy’s name lingered in the air, working its way into Natsu’s brain like some kind of annoying hypnotic suggestion he couldn’t escape.

Yeah, that had to be it.

He went back to staring out the window while he waited for Gray to return.

0-0

Gray entered the restaurant’s bathroom, closing the door behind him quietly and checking the stalls to make sure they were empty before he allowed himself to react.

“Yes!” He pumped his fists in the air in celebration, smiling so widely he barely recognized himself in the mirror.

He had a chance! Natsu had been checking him out, and that had never happened before. At least, not that he’d ever noticed.

Feeling more confident that this plan might actually get him somewhere, Gray did his business, his head up in the clouds, filled with possible dream scenarios about how the evening could go.

You've got a little something there. Oh, it's me! Nah, too corny.

That sunset looks beautiful, doesn’t it? Not nearly as beautiful as you, though. Ugh… too sappy.

There had to be some smooth move he could make, something not too in-your-face yet still obvious enough even the Flame Brain would get it.

Well, whatever. He had Natsu all to himself tonight, with an enjoyable meal ahead of them and the beach to look forward to after that. He'd think of something. For now, he’d start small. Maybe he’d offer a compliment. Everyone liked those. Right?

Gray washed his hands, and after giving himself one last pep talk, he headed back to the bar. As he walked, he tried to remember a joke Loke had told him earlier. It had been a little crass, but he was sure Natsu would find it funny. Gray could almost hear Natsu’s laughter ringing in the air.

Yeah, just like that.

It took him a second to realize he hadn’t imagined it. As he got closer to the lounge, he could hear Natsu’s laughter loud and clear, and Gray thought it was the best sound in the world. A smile spread across his face, only to be wiped off immediately at the sight that greeted him at the bar.

More specifically, at the sight of the barstool he’d left behind, which was now occupied by none other than Sting Fucking Ew-cliffe.

He’d only been gone for a few minutes. Where had Sting even come from?!

Gray clenched his fists, fighting off the urge to grab the Sabertooth Master by the collar of his shirt and pull him out of his seat. But as much as he’d like to do something like that, he knew it was a bad idea. If he was a jerk, it would piss Natsu off and that would be the end of their evening.

Instead, he plastered a smile on his face and approached the two dragon slayers.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, hey, you’re back,” Natsu said as his laughter died down. “Sting told me a joke.”

Sting offered Gray a half wave, looking unexcited to see him. The feeling was entirely mutual.

“Well, it was nice of you to stop by to say hello but don’t let us keep you.”

“Me? Nah, I’ve got time to spare. Our table isn’t ready either.” Sting casually rested his arm on the bar and turned to Natsu, “I’m surprised to see you guys here.”

Great. This was going to be awhile. Gray decided he might as well sit down and begrudgingly claimed the vacant stool on Natsu's other side.

“Our table?” He looked around, trying to spot anyone he might recognize from Sabertooth. “I don’t see anyone else here. Did you get stood up?” “Of course not! He’s just late,” Sting said, sounding pretty sure of himself even as his legs bounced on the edge of the stool and his eyes darted in the direction of the hallway they'd come in from.

“Stood up? So you’re on a date?” Natsu asked, pouting in disappointment and giving Gray a mini heart attack for a second until he added, “I thought maybe Rogue would join you.” Sting promptly stilled, staring at Natsu and blinking rapidly. “Uhm... Rogue is my date.”

Natsu laughed heartily, “Good one, but seriously, is it anyone we know?”

Gray winced, almost feeling sorry for the guy. Definitely not what you wanted to hear, especially not from someone you looked up to. With any luck, Rogue would get there before Natsu’s obliviousness destroyed Sting’s confidence any further. Although, he had to admit that would be fun to watch, too.

“Why wouldn’t it be Rogue? I mean, you and uhm-” Sting looked over at Gray, eyes narrowing in concentration and fingers snapping before he shrugged his shoulders- “him don’t strike me as dating either, but here you are.”

“Well, but aren’t you the Twin Dragons? I thought you guys were brothers.”

Brothers?!

How the hell could Natsu think that? Sure they were called the Twin Dragons, but they looked nothing alike. They even had different last names, for fuck’s sake.

Gray could only stare at him in amazement. He was in love with an idiot. Might as well say he was moronsexual.

Sting spoke up before Gray could call Natsu out.

“That’s just our team name, stupid. Do you really think I’d date my brother?”

“Do you really think Gray would ask me out on a date?” It started out as a chortle, but Natsu soon burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Gray no longer thought it was the best sound ever.

“Why wouldn’t he? And I mean, look at this place-” Sting gestured at the fancy decor and the expensive furniture in the lounge- “It doesn’t exactly scream just friends, does it?”

Natsu shrugged, a faint smile still playing on his lips. "Nope, that’s not what happened here. I just overheard Gray talking about having a reservation at an all you can eat restaurant as part of a job reward and invited myself along."

It seemed his and Loke’s plan had worked a little too well. Gray desperately wanted to ask Natsu what he would have said if he had asked him out, but he wasn’t about to do that in front of Sting.

“You got a reservation as a reward? Man, I wish I’d seen that job.” Sting looked at Gray, eyes wide in disbelief. “I had to make one 3 weeks in advance!”

3 Weeks?!

Gray had no idea this place was that popular, and he wondered what strings Loke had pulled to get the last minute reservation. And more importantly, what he would ask for in return. He’d better make the most of it.

“Do you think Rogue will like it? It's our first date, so I wanted to impress him.” Sting looked around the lounge, suddenly eyeing the place with a look of dread.

“Um... sure,” Natsu said, “It has an awesome view of the beach and, you know, there’s food.”

“You’ve just described every restaurant in Akane,” Gray pointed out. Then again, he was pretty sure with restaurants, Natsu didn’t pay attention to anything outside of the food.

Natsu shrugged. “Where are our appetizers and drinks, anyway? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

Gray silently agreed. He was hungry, and he’d really like for their date to start, minus the interloper.

“What about me? Do I look okay?” Sting stood up and turned around, eyes wide as he awaited their judgment.

“There’s something different about you. What is it?” Natsu muttered, tapping his chin with his finger as he studied Sting.

“Well, for one, he’s wearing an actual shirt.” Gray said with a frustrated sigh. This was not how he had envisioned their date going. What was it going to take to get rid of this guy?

Actually…

“You look fine, dude. Might have overdone it a bit on the cologne, though.”

“He’s not the only one.” Natsu scrunched up his nose. “You both smell like one of the Trimens.”

Gray bit back a retort, but Sting went into a panic, grabbing a napkin from the bar and scrubbing his neck. “Fuck, I knew it was too much. Does this help any? It doesn't, does it? I should clean it off.”

He bolted out of the lounge, dodging a few other guests who were being guided to their table, and shouting a “be right back” over his shoulder. Just as Gray had hoped he would.

“Take all the time you need,” Gray called out after him cheerfully, reclaiming his original seat because… well, he’d had it first.

“Well, that was something.” He said, glossing over that minor act of pettiness. “Didn’t think we’d bump into anyone we knew.”

“Hey, you think they'd be down for a fight later?” Nasu asked, punching his left fist into the palm of his right hand.

“Of course not. They’re on a date, moron. Do you really think they’d want to do something like that?”

“I would.”

“On a date?” Gray challenged, although he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. This was Natsu, after all.

“Yeah, why not? Aren’t you supposed to have fun on dates?”

Gray couldn’t really argue with that, and fighting with Natsu was always fun. He was about to suggest they spar later when he spotted the bartender coming their way.

“Two Magic Wonders, and some Firecracker Shrimp to whet your appetite,” she announced, arriving with their drinks and appetizer and setting them down before them. “Apologies for the long wait, we're fully booked tonight so we're a little backed up.”

Finally!

“I think they’re broken,” Natsu complained, examining the drinks with slight disappointment, “they just look like two glasses of plain water.”

Gray had to give him that one. This wasn’t what he’d expected from the so-called magically infused cocktails either.

“The spell is still unfinished,” the bartender explained. “You need to wrap your hand around the cup and focus some of your magic energy into it. It doesn’t need much-”

Gray could tell Natsu had stopped listening. Before she'd finished her sentence, he'd already grabbed the cup in his hand and set it on fire.

“Natsu!”

"Sir!"

He ignored the protests from both Gray and the bartender, keeping his attention on the glass, which had begun to shake in his hand. The liquid bubbled and turned bright red, and then it shot up like a failed potion, right into Natsu's face.

“You idiot! Do you ever think?!”

So much for not insulting him.

“Geez, relax, will ya? A little thing like that isn’t gonna hurt me,” Natsu pointed out, evaporating the liquid easily, as Gray had seen him do so many times. The bartender breathed an audible sigh of relief, wiping the remaining spillage from Natsu's drink off the bar with a cleaning rag. “I’ll be right back with another drink,” she assured them before moving to another section of the bar, where she restarted the mixing process.

“You’re still an idiot,” Gray grumbled, making Natsu laugh in response.

“Well, you know what they say, it takes one to know one.”

Gray opened his mouth to answer, but Natsu quickly changed the subject.

“Why don’t you try it then?”

“Gladly.”

Gray focused a small amount of magic on his hand and wrapped the glass in a thin layer of ice. As soon as he did so, bubbles sprouted from the bottom, rising to the surface and forming a vortex that spun until the liquid had changed color from clear to the vibrant blue of glacier ice. Vapor rose from the liquid’s surface and transformed into small snowflakes that gently floated back down into the drink.

“That’s so dainty. Precisely what I’d expect from an Ice Princess,” Natsu snickered. “I bet mine’s gonna be way cooler.”

“I just hope the restaurant’s still in one piece by the time you’re done.”

Gray took a small sip, swishing the contents around in his mouth and closing his eyes.

The liquid was cold, so much so that it sent a small but welcome shiver up his spine. Hints of chocolate and peppermint danced on his tongue, reminding him of when he’d lived with Ur and Lyon.

Their training had been intense, but on days when she’d been pleased with their progress, Ur had made him and Lyon hot cocoa that tasted much like this. She had made them responsible for crushing the candy mints, and they would bicker about the best way to do it as Ur laughed at them from behind the stove. He could almost picture it, and rather than cause him the usual grief, the memory made him smile.

He opened his eyes to find Natsu watching in rapt fascination, his curiosity just about bursting out of him.

“Well? What did it taste like?”

Gray didn’t answer right away, still caught up in his memories. It took him a while to even register that Natsu was staring at him, focusing on his lips as if he’d never seen them before.

Gray thought of how to describe it, and suddenly he knew. “It tastes like winter.”

And just like that, Natsu snapped out of his trance, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “Ooh, me! I want to try winter!” Gray covered his drink with his hand, fixing Natsu with a glare that screamed at him to back off.

“Come on, don’t be so stingy! I don’t have a drink.”

“And whose fault is that? Besides, I don’t know where your mouth has been. No way I want that in my drink!”

Natsu pouted, but soon mischief crept into his eyes. Before Gray could consider what that could mean, Natsu had already grabbed his hand. Gray’s heart beat faster, not sure where Natsu was going with this, but excited just the same. Natsu’s tongue darted out, licking a stripe across the palm of Gray’s hand while maintaining eye contact.

Holy shit!

“Now you do,” Natsu grinned, looking quite pleased with himself even as Gray struggled to come up with an appropriate reaction. He took advantage of that, grabbing Gray’s glass and taking a sip.

“What do you know! Your magic actually tastes good, kind of like peppermint hot chocolate.”

Gray looked away, not wanting Natsu to see just how much his little stunt had affected him.

“So, uh, what were you thinking about? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

“My drink tasted like the hot cocoa Ur used to make for us,” Gray said, relieved to be back on more comfortable ground.. “I hadn’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Why didn’t you just say that, you dumbass? I wouldn’t have pushed.”

“Yeah, you would have.” Gray chuckled.

Natsu tried to deny it, but he must’ve known it was a stretch, so he laughed along with Gray. “Okay, yeah. I would have.” He grabbed a Firecracker Shrimp and chewed on it. And for the second time since they’d arrived, Gray caught him staring out the window. “Another Magic Wonder,” the bartender returned with Natsu's drink. She'd also brought a fire extinguisher, and was trying, but failing, to hide it subtly under the bar.

If Natsu had noticed, he didn't seem to be bothered by it, focusing only on the glass in front of him.

“Don't overdo it this time,” Gray reminded him.

Natsu furrowed his brow in concentration, coating his glass in a small flame and anxiously watching the liquid change color again. It slowly turned that same intense red from before. Instead of the vapor from Gray’s drink, there was a plume of smoke that transformed into a bright flame that remained lit.

He eyed it for exactly one second before drinking all of it down in one gulp.

Gray had expected Natsu to react in some over the top manner. To yell, or go on about how his drink was superior, just like his magic, but there was only silence. That wasn’t exactly true, though. Now that he was paying more attention, Gray could see that Natsu’s eyes were teary.

“Natsu?” Gray put a hand on his arm, worried by the uncharacteristic change. “What’s happening?”

“I’m fine, it’s just- it tasted like Igneel’s fire,” Natsu sniffled, hugging the cup to his chest with reverence. “It’s been so long since I last tasted it and now it’s all gone.”

Oh no! Natsu looked like he was ready to cry. That wasn’t supposed to happen on a date! Gray panicked, not knowing what to do or say to make Natsu feel better. He looked at his drink, still sitting on the bar, and considered offering it to him.

Idiot! He won’t want your stupid drink after tasting Ignel’s fire. Oh, of course! How dense could he be? He could order him another one.

“Don't worry, I’ll get you another one.”

Gray scrambled out of his seat after glimpsing the bartender serving a customer at the other end of the bar.

“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, determined to fix this slight glitch in his plans.

He waited as patiently as he was able for her to finish.

“I need another Magic Wonder.”

“Sure, I’ll put in an order, but it’s going to take a while. We’re very backed up.”

“Isn't there something I can do to speed it up?” He thought of the jewels in his pocket. “I can pay extra if that helps.”

“Sir, I already-”

“Please? This can literally make or destroy my night.”

The bartender glanced over at Natsu, who still looked despondent, hugging the empty glass to his chest. Her expression softened slightly. “Alright, I’ll do it just this once. Stay right there.”

Gray nodded, tapping his fingers on the bar as he waited. A couple sat next to him blocking his view of Natsu but he dared not move, worried the bartender might decide to give the drink to someone else.

As soon as she returned with his order, Gray turned around, almost dropping the drink he'd shamelessly begged for when he saw his bar stool once again occupied by someone who wasn't him. Any relief he might have felt that it wasn't Sting this time was overshadowed by dismay at seeing Rogue talking to Natsu, leaning in ever so slightly and nodding in sympathy.

Oh, come on!

He all but stomped his way back over, still careful not to spill any of the drink, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get another for quite a while.

“You’re in my seat,” Gray informed Rogue, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.” Rogue got up and moved to stand on the other side of Natsu.

“Here you go,” Gray said, placing the fresh drink in front of Natsu before reclaiming his seat.

He watched as Natsu put the glass he had been holding on the bar and stared at the new drink with something akin to awe. He cupped his hand around it and let out the barest flicker of magic to complete the spell.

“Are you okay?” Gray asked worriedly, not used to seeing Natsu act this way.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to waste any of it.”

The way he said that made Gray feel like he was intruding, so he turned his attention to Rogue, who still stood peering into the dim corners of the lounge.

“You’re looking for Sting, right? He’s in the bathroom,” Gray informed him, frowning as he realized the Sabertooth Master had been gone for quite some time. “Come to think of it, he’s been in there a while.”

Rogue looked heavenward and sighed. “Great. I hope he's not munching on the paper towels again.”

“Seriously? That’s disgusting!” Gray pursed his lips in distaste.

“Meh, he’s eaten worse things.” Rogue shrugged, taking a seat next to Natsu.

To Gray’s slight surprise, he in no way looked like he was about to go on a first date. As far as Gray could tell, Rogue looked just about the same as he always did, contrary to Sting, who had obviously dolled himself up for the occasion like a teenage girl.

Gray leaned back so he could see past Natsu and study the shadow dragon slayer better, wondering if he was about to deal with another nervous wreck. But Rogue showed no signs of being anxious. If anything, he looked tired and frazzled, which Gray guessed made sense. The guy was late, probably just rolled off a train.

“Is something wrong? Was this your seat too?” Rogue frowned at him, realizing he was under scrutiny.

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m just surprised. The way Sting was talking earlier I thought you’d be more into this,” Gray said, turning his attention back to Natsu.

He seemed to have calmed down, although he appeared to be in deep thought while staring at his drink. Gray supposed there was a first time for everything. He’d give him a few more minutes to snap out of it. It’s not like they could get anywhere until they were either called to their table or Sting got out of the damn bathroom.

“This? This what? You mean the restaurant?”

“He means Sting,” Natsu said, joining the conversation when Gray least expected it.

“What about Sting?” “If you don't like him, just tell him. He's your friend. You should be honest with him about how you feel.”

Rogue flinched so hard he almost slid off his seat. “I- What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Gray began to suspect that Rogue was as clueless as Natsu as to why he was there.

“Rogue! You made it!” Gray, Natsu and Rogue all turned towards Sting’s voice, which could somehow be heard over all the other noise. He walked toward them in quick steps and Gray brought his hand up to his mouth to cover up the laugh he couldn’t contain.

Sting’s shirt was covered in wet spots. His hair, which had been styled in perfectly gelled spikes, had flattened into bangs, and there was a long piece of toilet paper attached to one of his shoes.

He’d gone to wash off some cologne, but had returned looking like a survivor of some bizarre bathroom battle, and somehow he still reeked of cologne. But you wouldn't know it from his beaming smile.

Sting walked up to Rogue, reaching into his pocket and pulling out... something Gray couldn’t make out at first because he shoved it at Rogue with such speed that it became nothing but a blurry shape.

“Here, for you.” Sting said, placing what looked to be a small box into Rogue's hand.

“What’s this for?” Rogue said, breaking away from the mess that was Sting, to glance down at the box.

“Open it.”

Rogue slowly slid the elastic bow off and opened it. Whatever was inside caused him to jerk his head back toward Sting with wide eyes.

“Oh.”

“Do you like it?” Sting stared at Rogue in a way that Gray recognized, with a face full of hope and hearts in his eyes.

“I-I uh,” Rogue stuttered, looking back and forth rapidly between Sting, Gray, Natsu, and the lounge. “Give me a minute...”

“You know, I‘m thinking Rogue didn’t know this was a date.” Natsu whispered in Gray’s ear, which was to say he’d blurted it out in a voice loud enough to make his ears ring.

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do,” Natsu nodded, the obvious sarcasm flying straight over his head. “I kinda feel bad now. Maybe we should have told him.” Gray stiffened, Natsu’s words along with the advice he’d offered Rogue earlier echoed through his head. No matter how the thought caused his stomach to twist itself into knots, he knew he’d have to be honest about his intentions at some point. Natsu was his friend too, he deserved as much. “Is that true?” Sting’s shoulders slumped upon hearing the less than subtle conversation between them. “But I asked you and everything.” “Yes, I realize that now,” Rogue said, sounding a bit snappy, which Gray couldn’t blame him for. He gathered himself quickly, though, taking a deep breath and getting up from his seat. “Come-” he grabbed Sting’s hand and led him to a sofa that had just opened up when a couple was called to their table. Gray took another sip of his drink, mirroring Natsu, who he could tell was focusing his ears on the Twin Dragons’ conversation. Under any other circumstance, Gray wouldn’t give a damn about how that would unfold, but the possibility of having a heartbroken Sting join them for the rest of the night changed things a bit. He nudged Natsu, raising his eyebrows in silent question. Natsu didn’t answer, still listening, but if his expressions were anything to go by, it was not going well. Fuck. Please. This can’t be happening… Curiosity getting the best of him, Gray peeked over his shoulder. Sting looked positively dejected, and the visible part of Rogue's face looked no better. “Well, this is awkward.” Gray turned back to Natsu, not sure if he’d be able to watch that train wreck in his current situation. Would his night end like that, too? “Yeah,” Natsu sighed, but then he perked up and started laughing. “Actually, I think they’ll be fine.” “Oh-” Gray absently grabbed a shrimp and began eating- “Good for them.” “Uhm, Gray…” “Hmm?” Gray grabbed another and chewed lazily, not realizing that Natsu might’ve been trying to warn him until he felt his lips and tongue burning with the heat of a thousand suns. He swallowed what was still in his mouth in one go, sending the burn down his throat now as well, and broke out in a violent coughing fit. The blazing heat spread through his entire body fast, setting his skin on fire and causing sweat drops to form on his face. Whose stupid idea was it to get the spiciest appetizer?! Oh, right, that would be him. God bless his icy drink. He gulped it all down, only half hearing Natsu’s rambunctious laughter.

“Who the hell deemed this safe for consumption?” he gasped, fanning at himself in a sorry attempt to cool down.

“Someone who's not an Ice Princess like you,” Natsu snickered, holding out a shirt that looked awfully familiar.

Damn it! How did that happen?!

Gray grabbed his shirt and put it back on before anyone could complain, calling on his magic to help cool himself down.

Natsu shook his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Pervert.”

“I can’t help it!”

“I know, Ice Block, I know.” Natsu finished the last of his drink and set it back down on the bar, his eyes straying back to the window for a full minute before peering back at Gray.

“Listen, I know this was a big part of your reward and everything, but do you mind if we take off?”

“You want to go back home?” Gray was crestfallen. He’d thought they were having a good time, outside of the unexpected drama.

“I didn’t say that, but it’s hard to sit still when I know that’s waiting for us,” Natsu said, pointing at the beach. “I’ll even pitch in since it’s my idea.”

Gray thought about it. This restaurant had been Loke’s idea and as far as he was concerned it had already served its purpose. If Natsu would rather go to the beach, then they’d do that. It was bound to be more fun. Plus, this way, if Natsu reacted badly to his confession, he wouldn’t have to worry about property damage.

As much.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Wow, that was easier than I thought. That shrimp too much for you?” Natsu taunted.

Gray ignored him, focusing on finding the bartender so he could close their tab. Luckily, she was heading towards him. He was just about to address her when a voice spoke up next to him. “Hey there! Can I get two of the Magic Something drinks?”

“Yes, of course,” the bartender assured Sting. She turned to Gray. “I believe your table should be ready any minute. Would you like anything else?”

“No, thank you. We actually won’t be needing that reservation after all.”

“Alright then, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“You’re leaving?” Rogue asked, appearing by Sting’s side. “But you haven’t even eaten yet.” “We passed a ton of food stalls on the way here,” Natsu said, already sounding excited by the prospect. “Besides, the food they serve here is too spicy for the Ice Princess.”

Gray glared, “Oy! That shrimp was the spiciest appetizer they had.”

Rogue rolled his eyes at the exchange, “You two sound like a married couple.”

"Well, you kinda look like one," Natsu laughed, pointing at the necklace Rogue was now wearing. A thin silver chain with a crystal pendant that was identical to the one dangling from Sting's ear.

"Oh, shut up," Rogue huffed, clutching the piece of jewelry as his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink than Natsu's hair.

“I’m glad things worked out,” Gray said, mostly to be polite. He winced as he heard people scream in panic as they witnessed Natsu drying off Sting’s clothing with his fire. He could almost hear the bartender rushing to the extinguisher. Why didn’t the idiot ever think?

Yeah, going to the beach was probably for the best.

"Me too." Rogue eyed the spectacle warily. "Sorry you got dragged into that."

“Yeah, it was… something.”

“He means well.” Rogue smiled apologetically, but his eyes were soft with affection. "Oh. That reminds me, can you thank Natsu for me? He was right."

“Now there’s something you don’t hear every day.”

Rogue snorted into his hand, looking less tired than he had when he'd just arrived. "Alright. Get Natsu out of here before-"

Whatever Rogue said after that became inaudible when the screams increased and were almost immediately joined by the loud hiss of the fire extinguisher.

At a loss for words, Gray and Rogue watched the chaos of scattering guests, the bartender frantically trying to extinguish the fire, Sting inhaling the massive gust of white powder blasted at him, and a loudly cheering Natsu.

"... Just get him out of here."

“Good plan.”

Gray hurried over to the two dragon slayers, not about to give Rogue another second to reconsider his life choices. He grabbed Natsu by the arm and pulled him back towards their seats so he could pay for their tab.

“It’s on the house, please just go!” The bartender waved him away, looking like she was on the brink of having a complete meltdown.

“Thank you.” Gray took out his jewel pouch and placed a large tip on the bar, wanting to make up for some of what they had put her through.

Natsu, oblivious as ever, thanked her and waved blithely even as Gray dragged him out of the lounge.

They had almost reached the exit when Natsu shook off Gray’s arm.

“I can walk on my own, you know.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

They left the restaurant and walked through the lobby in silence until Natsu started giggling.

“The look on the bartender’s face when Sting ate that powder!”

Now that the restaurant was safely behind them, Gray couldn’t help but join in. Soon they were laughing so hard they had to hold on to each other to keep from falling down, earning them curious but mostly annoyed looks from the other patrons.

#fairy tail #gratsu #stingue #gratsu & stingue #other #fics #update

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morganaseren · 4 years ago

Text

Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

So because there seemed to be interest in the idea, I decided to expand on the second prompt on this list of AUs I made for Bethany and my Niamh Cousland.

Since Bethany is a Circle Mage in Niamh’s canon verse, I really wanted to experiment with Bethany in one of her other potential routes We don’t talk about the ones where she died not long after escaping Lothering or down in the Deep Roads. Like, what are you talking about? Lalala~ and see if I could work together a happier ending than what the games canonically gave her.

Like most of the AUs I’ve already written about though, this is just a snippet into the verse, so it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, and the pacing isn’t on par with my main fic. However, there are still 50+ pages for your reading pleasure! Depending on reader interest, I’ll be more than happy to write more about this or other AUs once OtSttCA is completed.

Disclaimer: Any section written in present tense beneath the Read More contains notes or scenes that I’ve yet to expand upon properly.

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

This whole thing takes place sometime after Bethany becomes a Grey Warden and continues on through the years-long breaks between the Acts of DA2. The epilogue will be set sometime after the Trespasser DLC is completed.

Niamh is the Grey Warden who Morrigan chooses to do the Dark Ritual with, and through the obvious use of magic, Kieran is conceived. Because of this, Niamh’s sister Saoirse escapes her otherwise canonical death and gets to be happily married to Leliana.

Because of their mutual respect for one another, and the fact that Niamh went through the trouble of finding Morrigan through the events of the Witch Hunt DLC (she was worried about her friend and their son), she and Morrigan remain in close contact and co-parent Kieran together. Their relationship is often mistaken as a romantic one though.

Bethany eventually falls in love with Niamh over the years, but because she believes the other woman is in a relationship with Morrigan, she keeps her feelings to herself. As such, this is obviously going to be a slow burn romance much like OtSttCA.

Bethany only confesses (albeit by accident) when Niamh nearly dies during a darkspawn ambush when the two woman accidentally find themselves trapped down in the Deep Roads.

There’s a romantic kiss out in the rain along with a semi-NSFW scene later on, which explains why the Read More is in place beyond the fact that this is already super long despite the fact that it’s unfinished...

They both go off in search of the cure to The Calling not long after the Kirkwall Rebellion, and they both eventually get married sometime after the Trespasser DLC with Divine Victoria (spoilers: it’s Leliana) officiating their wedding.

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

“You’re originally from Ferelden, no?” Stroud asked, drawing Bethany’s attention from where she’d been listlessly staring at the cobblestones as they walked away from Amaranthine’s sea port.

The city itself seemed to be thriving with fishmongers and traders of all kinds rattling off their wares to passersby. Save for the workers carrying about lumber and other building materials, one might not have even believed that Amaranthine had suffered its fair share of woes during the onset of the Fifth Blight or the consequent, mysterious darkspawn attack upon its walls nearly a year later. Still, the denizens of the arling were ever a hearty people. For whatever hardship befell them, they continued to persevere.

She supposed she couldn’t bring herself to be too surprised by that.

The Storm Coast had spawned some of Thedas’ most fearsome raiders once upon a time, and they had proven the bane of Orlais in the rebellion that had spanned over half an Age. For the empire’s trespass upon their freedom, they had fought back with a ruthlessness that matched the raging waves of the sea that was as much a home to them as the land. In the face of such an unsympathetic enemy, they depended on one another to see themselves and each other through to another day. Such faith eventually earned them the liberation they had long sought against Orlais.

Bethany could still see evidence of such camaraderie in the way the people greeted one another so whole-heartedly, stopping to make conversation or help with the transportation of wares. It was such interaction that she’d miss in all the time she’d been away.

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

Still, in the two years since she’d left it, she was finally back home, but Bethany knew it was yet another decision she hadn’t had a say in. She hadn’t agreed to returning to Ferelden any more than she had agreed to becoming a Grey Warden. Her jaw clenched, remembering how her sister had simply handed her over to them even when faced with the proposition that they’d likely never see one another again.

Was it really so easy for you to leave me behind, Sister? she thought bitterly, and perhaps upon sensing her melancholy, Stroud changed the subject.

“I realize it seems a rather abrupt choice in returning you here, but what I seek is far too dangerous for someone so new to our way of life to accompany me with,” he explained. “I’m meeting with the Warden-Commander of the Fereldan branch so that I might share some information in the event that things go awry. Their group is smaller than the ones seen across Thedas, but no one can deny their efficiency.” Stroud spared a small chuckle at that. “A bit like your sister and her crew, I suppose; I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable in such a setting.”

It had been a thoughtful suggestion; Bethany knew that. Still, she couldn’t help but sigh. She had always felt that the individuals whom had made up her little social circle were more Emrys’ friends than they had ever been hers. Her older sister had the type of presence to draw anyone to her with her rakish charm and absolute battle prowess.

…which was the exact opposite of her.

As an apostate, it was far easier to stay out of trouble by being unobtrusive. If she gave the Templars no reason to suspect her, she wouldn’t be taken away from her family and the quiet life she had always known. Yet, for all her trouble—and for all her desperation to abide by the rules of a society that had long hated mages like her—she had found herself alone anyway.

Bethany sighed as she looked down at the blues and silvers of the brigandine and tabard of her outfit that signified her status as a Grey Warden. Even with her staff openly displayed across her back, she supposed she no longer had to fear being turned into the authorities. Save for a few curious glances, no one so much as batted an eye at them.

She wasn’t entirely convinced this new life was better than the one she’d left. She could have dealt with the ever-present uncertainty in Kirkwall and the endless, interpersonal squabbles of their ragtag group than spending the remainder of her years surrounded by strangers and fighting darkspawn.

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

“So that’s Velanna. She took over as Archivist for our branch when the Warden-Constable was promoted to her current position by our Commander,” Nathaniel said as he took Bethany and Stroud through a tour of Vigil’s Keep since the fortress’ respective Warden-Commander and Warden-Constable were currently out on business.

Their latest stop was a library filled with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves and even more that lined the walls of the chamber that consisted of three separate levels. It was impressive, and Bethany was half-convinced she could have spent an Age in this room alone and never be able to read the entirety of its collection.

At Nathaniel’s commentary, she spared a cursory glance at the woman writing intently at one of the tables furthest away from them, paying little mind to her audience. As was typical of most elves, Velanna was a slight woman. Her hair was a shade of blonde so pale that it was nearly white, but there was a surliness in her pensive expression that gave Bethany pause. It was something that suggested the other woman didn’t welcome the company of others easily, and she seemed to have been proven right by Nathaniel’s words.

“Don’t mind her if she’s a bit standoffish at first. Velanna’s usually that way with everyone until she starts warming up to them,” he assured.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She didn’t really like humans all that much to begin with—hardly a surprise considering how terrible some of them were toward her former clan. Truthfully, I think the only people she really respects are our commanding officers—the Constable mostly though.” He spared a soft chuckle at that. “Granted, the Warden-Commander could lead a damn army from one side of Thedas to the other, but only her sister has the type of negotiation skills that could somehow end up with a High Dragon allied with a sheep of all things.”

“Probably a good thing,” said Varel—the Keep’s seneschal. There was amusement in his dark eyes as he stroked his beard, which had long grown grey with age. “Actually succeeding in getting the Warden-Constable angry is a terrifying sight to behold.”

“Please don’t remind me; I still have nightmares from our first meeting…” Nathaniel muttered with a shudder.

Bethany found that curious, but before she could begin to question him, she saw how he blinked at further movement inside the library. She followed his gaze to see that a dark-haired, dwarven woman had entered through one of the side entrances, carrying two, steaming mugs. One had been set before Velanna, who whispered something quietly, but both of Bethany’s brows rose when she saw how the elf’s cheeks quickly reddened by the kiss that had been pressed to them by her latest visitor.

“Ah. And that’s Sigrun there—another one of those few, honored individuals who Velanna won’t immediately snap at,” Nathaniel remarked humorously.

The tour then continued elsewhere with the party entering the Mess Hall. While neat and tidy, it would have otherwise been unremarkable were it not for the lone dwarf snoring loudly atop one of the tables—an empty cask by his side. Bethany and Stroud shared bemused glances while Varel only cursed next to them, running a weary hand down his face.

“I told you we needed better locks for the cellar if we’re to keep Oghren away from the wine stores,” Nathaniel deadpanned.

Oghren grumbled nonsensically in his sleep before promptly rolling off the table and right onto the floor, loudly overturning more than a few chairs in the process. Despite the fall, he continued to doze away, and his snoring only seemed to grow in volume. They then watched as the poor seneschal wearily hauled the dwarf back to his quarters before he could cause another incident in front of their guests.

“…well, that was Oghren,” Nathaniel muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary sigh. “Quite the interesting fellow, that one. With him, you’ve pretty much met every Warden in the Keep save for—”

He was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hallway.

“I told you that I’m more than capable of walking on my own!” protested a feminine voice, irritation evident within it.

“Says the woman who was nearly side-swiped off a cliff by an ogre,” came the deeper timbre of another woman’s amused reply.

Unlike Nathaniel or herself, the latest arrivals didn’t seem to bear the typical, Fereldan accent or even Stroud’s Orlesian one from what she could tell. Bethany could hear how some of the vowels lilted somewhat as they spoke.

“It didn’t really give me any choice in the matter,” was the dry response. “It was either stand before its charge or risk the family in the wagon being swept over the edge instead.”

“I was hardly questioning your bravery, Sister. The people in that caravan certainly wouldn’t, but perhaps leave the more death-defying stunts to those of us with the armor to handle it, hm? I shudder to think what our brother or Aunt Eithne (writer’s note: pronounced Eth-Nah) would say once they find out about this...”

“Perhaps that you were lazing about while I was doing all the work as per usual.”

“Hey!”

Two women appeared in the doorway of the Mess Hall then, and Bethany was startled to find that one of them rivaled her older sister in both height and size. She was a warrior through and through if the impressive greatsword over her shoulder and her overall physique was any indication. Her mane of hair was the color of pale wheat, the length of which was held in a braid that trailed down half her back, and her eyes were a deep, stormy grey. The woman she was carrying—her sister, according to their conversation—was much slighter in comparison.

Rather than sharing in the warrior’s blonde-haired looks, hers was a stark, raven-black. The loose curls trailed to roughly chin-length with a longer fringe that covered one of her eyes—the color a whisper of smoke than the darker grey her sister had. The woman’s arms were also crossed over her chest as she regarded her sister—deeply-unimpressed—before her features cleared at the sight of their visitors.

“Ah. Stroud. Glad to see you and your companion made it across the Waking Sea safely. We weren’t expecting you both for at least another day, or we’d have sent an escort to meet you at the port.”

“No need for the trouble. The winds were kind during our voyage, Warden-Constable,” he said before tilting his head in concern. “Although it appears we’ve arrived too late to help you both. Has the darkspawn presence been more troubling as of late?”

The warrior whom Bethany deduced to be the Warden-Commander merely snorted. “They’re not as plentiful as they were a year ago thankfully. With Niamh’s and Velanna’s respective magic, our branch here has slowly been sealing any access tunnels we’ve come across, but our enemy may just be as awful as vermin with how they manage to reappear in other areas.”

“The incidents have been isolated so far as we can tell, but they’re capable of disrupting travel all the same. On that note…” The Constable trailed off as she turned her gaze toward the Warden who had been showing them about the Keep. “Nathaniel, we have guests from the caravan mentioned earlier. As it’s getting rather late, Saoirse and I decided it was best not to press our luck by letting them travel so soon after the darkspawn attack. Could you and Varel direct them to the guest quarters? We’ll arrange an escort for them to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.”

He pressed a fist over his heart respectfully as he bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Wonderful. Now—”

“Now we get you back to your quarters so that we can tend to your injuries,” her sister interrupted, cheerily grinning when it led to the other woman scowling outright, as if she had been reminded of her current position.

“And I’m more than capable of walking there on my own. Put me down!”

“And risk you further injuring yourself? What type of sister would I be if I were to allow that to happen? Now then!” The Commander directed a smile Bethany’s way, and she jerked in place at the sudden attention. “You’re the latest to join our Order, aren’t you? Stroud mentioned you were a mage. I don’t suppose you know any healing magic, do you?”

“Oh.” Bethany blinked. “Um, well, yes. I have some experience with it.” She had tended to her sister’s and their friends’ injuries often enough back in Kirkwall.

“Excellent. Would you mind tending to Niamh here as best as you can while I go find Velanna? I’m pretty sure my sister fractured a few ribs in that fight earlier.” She chuckled. “And don’t worry if she gives you any trouble; she has a history of being a terrible patient,” she added, earning a pained grunt for her troubles when the woman in question elbowed her sharply in the chest.

---

And before Bethany knew it, she found herself alone with the Warden-Constable in her quarters.

She was trying not to blush at the sight of the woman reclined against the propped pillows at the headboard of the bed. Modesty didn’t seem to be an issue for the other mage. Without another word, she had undressed—with a few occasional winces here and there as the movement pulled at her injuries—and was now bare from the waist up, save for the bindings around her breasts.

Bethany couldn’t help her own wince when she saw the livid bruising that covered the right side of the woman’s torso. It almost looked like the trunk of a tree had been slammed against it if the abrasions and bits of bark embedded into the cuts were any indication.

And she kept insisting to try and walk on her own with an injury like this? she thought in absolute disbelief before delicately pressing the tips of her fingers against the bruise. Despite being as gentle as possible, it still drew a sharp hiss from the Warden-Constable, and Bethany jerked her head up to see the other woman’s clearly pained visage.

“Sorry!”

“No, it needs to be done. Keep going,” she insisted even as pale eyes closed themselves to focus on breathing in and out evenly—albeit with some difficulty.

With permission given, Bethany laid her hand out over the woman’s side, drawing her magic out with a silvery-blue light. From there, she began sounding out the extent of the Warden-Constable’s injuries by feeling where it burned hottest beneath her palm—an indication of how bad the damage was. There was always a tickling sensation that spread out to her fingertips whenever she gently coaxed broken bones back into place. It was akin to puzzle pieces slowly sliding back together before she could encourage them to heal, and she waited for the pulsing waves around them to fade into a dull echo before focusing on the next fractured bone.

As for the bruised muscles surrounding them, they were far easier to deal with. Bethany poured magic beneath the skin in gradual increments—droplets of rain spilling into a cup one by one—until she felt the burning heat simmer down to a more bearable ache. She continued the process, slowly sliding her hand along the woman’s side until the patchwork of blues and blacks which had covered its expanse faded into a yellowish tinge and the superficial cuts had closed themselves. Bethany pulled away then with a satisfied smile.

“What song was that?”

Bethany blinked, turning her gaze up to see silvery eyes staring at her curiously. “Hm?”

“You were humming something while you were healing me.”

“Oh.” She felt heat gathering along her cheeks at the revelation. “It’s an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. When my father first taught me healing magic, I used to hold my breath while I was performing the spell, but as you can imagine, it’s not a very sound idea unless you want both an unconscious healer and patient.” Embarrassed laughter spilled out of her then as she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “After a time, I learned that humming a few songs was useful in reminding me to breathe.”

“I see.” The Warden-Constable smiled, looking a great deal more relaxed as she reclined further against the headboard. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The Warden-Commander walked in then with Velanna in tow, and the warrior seemed surprised to see her sister still in bed. “Did you actually manage to get her to stay there the entire time?” she asked incredulously.

Bethany blinked in confusion at that since her patient had otherwise been well-behaved. As it was, she could only nod tentatively, causing the other woman to grin openly.

“Hah! Well done! I didn’t expect Stroud to send me someone who could cow her into submission.”

The Warden-Constable’s eyes narrowed then. “It was not my hearing that was damaged in that fight, Saoirse. You would do well to not make such comments before me,” she deadpanned, and despite the threat, it only drew hearty laughter from her sister, who soon drew her attention back to Bethany.

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

She shifted uncomfortably, having grown too used to her surname being used to refer to Emrys, but she nodded all the same. “I’d prefer just to be called Bethany if that’s alright.”

“Ah. Understandable. Can’t tell you how many times my sister and I both answered ‘yes’ in the same room whenever someone called out for a Warden Cousland.” She smiled. “In any case, welcome to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens, Bethany. We’re glad to have you with us.”

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

She sends letters home every now and then, but they’re usually only addressed to her mother. They’re never really long—just enough to let her know that she’s alive and well. Although Bethany realizes it’s a petty thing, she doesn’t ask about Emrys or send her anything for that matter. She’s still angry and resentful that her older sister managed to escape their adventure down into the Deep Roads unscathed while she got cheated out a future, leaving her to a life of killing darkspawn until the Calling finally takes her into the abyss of death.

Melancholy is ever her constant companion, but eventually, she gets paired with Niamh for missions, who teaches her much about their duties as Wardens over the months, which takes them all around Ferelden. They deal with darkspawn sightings and document areas where they’ve sealed off underground routes into the Deep Roads with earth-based magic, hopefully preventing them from returning so regularly to bother nearby provinces.

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

"Do you regret it?" Bethany asked one night as they sat by the campfire, watching as Niamh effortlessly flicked a hand to control the size of it just as a strong wind passed beneath the rocky overhang they'd taken shelter under. "Being a Grey Warden, I mean?"

Niamh paused, giving the matter some thought. "There are worse things to be, I suppose." She shrugged. "For a time, I hated the idea of being a mage because it took me away from my family. However, my being a Grey Warden was likely the only thing that saved me from being slaughtered with the rest of them when Howe plotted his coup. It likely also saved me from dying at the hands of my colleagues in Kinloch Hold when one of the Senior Enchanters overthrew it with blood magic and his followers.” She looked over at Bethany then. "Truthfully, I enjoy being able to see more of the world than through the cage the Chantry kept me in. I like the experience of being a part of it even in the moments that people dislike most."

Niamh held a hand out past the edge of the overhang, casually catching droplets of rain in her palm. Bethany watched as a slow smile spread across her features at the sound of another crash of thunder, and she couldn’t help how her own heart seemed to quicken upon seeing that serene expression.

"Our lives are more finite than they ever were," Bethany said distractedly, knowing all Wardens had only a few decades at most after their Joining.

"They are," she conceded. "That’s why I intend to make the most of it." Niamh's expression then turned sheepish as she turned back toward her. "I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No," she admitted, but as mellow as the other woman was, she was hardly surprised. Niamh had a way of remaining positive despite everything else life seemed to throw at them. Bethany smiled in spite of herself. "It was an honest one though. Thank you."

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

If not darkspawn, they deal with brigands out on the road or aid people across the countryside. To Bethany’s surprise, their help is openly requested sometimes when they reach a new town or village. Following the Blight, the utter bravery of the Grey Wardens had earned them Ferelden’s deepest respect. Thus, despite the fact they’re two mages traveling about, their regalia draws easy admiration and conversation alike.

It’s admittedly an odd feeling to have as a mage: to be wanted.

Bethany slowly grows to enjoy it though, especially when she can help with her magic so openly without being reviled for it.

Sometimes the jobs asked of them are simple enough: deal with a band of thieves, rid the area of rabid animals encroaching too close to farmland, helping out with some odds and ends around the village, etc.

Given that Niamh is a veteran of the Fifth Blight, Bethany also ends up learning a lot of survival skills from her during their travels together. She’s endlessly amazed by how the other mage utilizes her magic in combat and with other tasks such as hunting or fishing.

Bethany’s understandably shocked when she realizes that Niamh knows how to shapeshift, often scouting the skies as a raven to search for any nearby danger or roaming the wilderness as a sleek-looking, black wolf to hunt for game. It’s an unexpected revelation, especially since the other woman admitted to having been a part of the Circle most of her life before being recruited as a Warden.

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

While Anders had been a benevolent healer, offering his skills to those most in need, it was his restless anger—an almost blind righteousness—over the plight of mages that gave Bethany pause.

Merrill was sweet in comparison, of course, and Bethany never minded talking with her even if there were the occasional cultural gaps that led to amusing misunderstandings at times. Still, the other woman held an interest in blood magic that Bethany wasn’t entirely certain she was comfortable with. After all, she had grown up hearing about the dangers of such magic from the Chantry. Then again, Andrastian religion also denounced who she was as a person as well, which was depressing in its own right…

While Niamh’s aptitude for elemental magic alone is impressive, Bethany is certain the woman’s shapeshifting draws upon some form of ancient or arcane magic—something well outside of the Circle’s teachings. It draws her curiosity endlessly. As such, Bethany asks her about the skill one day. Niamh just smiles, idly toying with the wooden ring that sits on a cord of black leather around her neck, revealing that a former companion taught it to her.

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

“What?” Bethany exclaimed when Saoirse revealed how she was able to survive the slaying of the Archdemon. “You’re telling me that she and Niamh were able to…” She trailed off, trying to fight the blush burning across her face as her mind began imagining the possibilities of how such a conception was possible.

“You know, I thought to ask Niamh the technicalities of it once, but given she’s my baby sister—and obviously lacks the essential, uh, tool for the matter—I just decided it was best not to pry,” Saoirse answered dryly. She idly waved her hand about. “I don’t care to learn about her intimate life any more than she cares to know about mine,” she added before the corner of her mouth lifted into a lazy grin. “But for all intents and purposes, Kieran is my nephew, and Morrigan’s very much family now despite her protests to the contrary.”

“And he has the soul of an Old God?” she asked quietly as she turned to look at Kieran and the two women who were his parents.

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

He was doing some type of weird jig in front of the baby, who was currently in Morrigan’s arms. Unfortunately, the erratic, uncoordinated nature of it did nothing to amuse him or his mother. Seemingly uncomfortable by the sight, Kieran gave an unhappy whine before reaching out toward Niamh, little fingers grasping repeatedly in her direction. Morrigan transferred him easily into the other woman’s arms when it was clear she wouldn’t mind holding him, allowing her to dryly berate the dwarf while Niamh comforted their son.

“So Morrigan says, yes,” the warrior answered with a shrug. “I originally turned down her ritual because I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent life to such a fate, but I can’t be mad at the result. I still have Leliana because of it, and I can see how much Niamh adores both Kieran and Morrigan.” Her smile softened. “She has a piece of the happiness that I always wanted for her—something Niamh felt she could never find in this world, terrible as it is for mages at times.”

Bethany couldn’t help but agree at the latter sentiment.

Looking at the three of them, they certainly did seem like a happy family. Still, Bethany couldn’t help but feel some small pang of envy. While she had discovered that Niamh could draw just about anyone into easy conversation with her, she was rather private about her personal life. It wasn’t until recently that Bethany discovered she was even in a relationship—let alone one involving another woman. She had no issue with the idea or with Morrigan for that matter. The other mage was well-matched with Niamh on the basis of intrigue alone, but…

Bethany bit her lip.

After all those long months together with Niamh, she couldn’t help but feel—

Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized sharp, golden eyes were staring at her over Niamh’s head—as if somehow reading her thoughts. Morrigan was tall for a woman of Fereldan origin, but not nearly as much as Saoirse. With her dark hair and pale skin, she was as bewitching as she was powerful—her magical aura a fount of seemingly endless, wild energy. Bethany almost felt like prey beneath the other woman’s gaze, and she averted her own nervously.

Thankfully, Morrigan made no comment about it, but Bethany did wince when she heard her suggest turning into bed early to Niamh. She and Kieran had arrived relatively late in the day after all, so they were no doubt tired from their travels. Niamh gave no objections, and they soon headed off to the woman’s personal quarters.

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

She was no stranger to infatuation. Her attraction to Leliana back in Lothering was a testament to that fact. Granted, it was also somehow deeply ironic that her commanding officer was now married to the same lay sister who had since gone on to become the Left Hand of Divine Justinia.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but think the Maker enjoyed toying with her in subtle, annoying ways. In any case, like with any other infatuation, she would just have to wait for the one she had on Niamh to run its course.

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

During one of her occasional visits, Morrigan left Kieran temporarily in the care of Niamh to follow up on a magical lead involving some of her arcane research. As they weren’t needed outside of Vigil’s Keep for anything, Bethany also got to watch over him as well, and as she did, she brought up a question that she had long been curious over.

"You said you started the ritual with Morrigan when you were already a Warden, weren't you? I thought Wardens became barren after the Joining though?"

"Hm. That's the assumption, yes," Niamh said as she idly waved a stuffed griffon over Kieran, delighting the baby instantly as they laid on the floor together. "I’d been a Warden for a little over a year at that point. Perhaps it was still soon enough that infertility hadn’t affected me yet, or the spell did something to compensate for it."

Bethany just nodded as she looked over at the two of them. "I see bits of you in him."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough. "There's his sweet nature, the way he seems far too clever for his own good at times, and how his eyes light up whenever he smiles or laughs."

Niamh chuckled, flattered over the assessment. "Morrigan and I are always arguing about it. I see more of her than me in him, but then she retorts that he’s retained my love of sweets and just about every known creature in existence." Her smile widened when tiny, grasping hands finally succeeded in pulling down the stuffed griffon in her hands, and Kieran wasted little time in snuggling the toy to his chest with a pleased hum.

"Do you regret not being able to see him whenever you wish?"

"Sometimes," Niamh answered, "but Morrigan’s mother…" She trailed off with a frown even as she ran a hand affectionately through her son’s hair. "She’s powerful, and she’s hurt her before. I can understand her caution. I’m willing to go years at a time without seeing them if it means they’re safe."

---

Morrigan eventually returns, and she takes Kieran with her to hide and do magical stuff as Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor in Orlais as per canon.

Several months pass.

Although Niamh had professed to understanding the need for her little family’s relocation, the distance means that visits from them are now few and far in between. Bethany can see how much the other woman misses them and how she worries about their safety. She often catches Niamh distractedly playing with the ring on her necklace, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

As if anticipating that, Morrigan does send letters to Niamh every now and then, and Niamh’s entire expression lights up every time she receives them, learning how the other woman and Kieran are fairing in Orlais along with how their son continues to grow by leaps and bounds.

She cannot fault the happiness Niamh has found with Morrigan, but it also serves as a constant reminder of what life will never offer to Bethany.

Eventually, it gets to a point where Bethany grows resentful of their relationship because her own feelings for Niamh are just so strong by then. It causes her to lash out at Niamh one night in camp, angry with how calm and positive she always is despite knowing they all have a death sentence over their heads.

---

"What world do you live in that you see it through such an idyllic lens?! You can wax poetic about this life all you like! I never asked for this! I never asked for the darkspawn to steal what little I had from life only to be made the gatekeeper against the very things I despise most in this world!"

And Niamh was quiet for the longest time, having stopped mid-sentence over Bethany's sudden tirade. As the silence continued to drift over their camp, so too does a veil of sudden cold air, and Bethany realized far too late that she’d crossed a line with the other woman.

"No one does, really," Niamh admitted at last, the warmth gone from her voice. "Save for Saoirse and my brother, I lost most of my family, but the terrible thing was that it wasn’t even darkspawn that killed them or even the Blight. It was just one man’s petty greed for what he felt was owed to him. He pretended to be my family’s ally for decades, and under the cover of night, he used his men to slaughter nearly the entirety of my bloodline. My parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew… He was only eight when it happened, you see. Oren wanted to a warrior like my siblings. He was trying to defend his mother with one of those wooden swords young boys tend to play with, but against the likes of Howe’s men...” She clenched her jaw. “They gutted him just like everyone else."

Another pause stifled the air between them even as Bethany stared at Niamh, horrified.

"Darkspawn are terrible, yes, but they’re not always as terrible as people," Niamh said, eyes narrowing as she looked into the fire. "We can be so far worse. If I'm at all patient, it's because I try to be kind in a world that offers so little of it. I want to believe it can be better than it was before. I want this to be a better place for our people, but I also want to ensure that tragedies like that never happen again. That the people caught in the middle—victims of simple circumstance—don’t have so suffer. If it means I must be a Grey Warden in addition to a mage, then I accept it. To do otherwise damns them as much as me."

With that, Niamh then gracefully rose to her feet and headed back to her own tent, leaving Bethany alone at the campfire.

The rest of their journey back to Vigil’s Keep passed without much conversation between them despite Bethany’s attempts. Niamh only said enough to give a suitable answer, but she never offered anything more beyond it. A vault door had seemed to close behind the cool grey of the eyes that had long enraptured her, offering little warmth. It was clear Bethany was no longer privy to the other woman’s innermost thoughts and feelings

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

She still hunted when necessary so they didn’t starve, and as was long part of their agreement together, Bethany continued to cook whatever game she caught. Other than that, however, Niamh offered no friendly greetings in the morning when they woke or any words that allowed her to wander off peacefully into the Fade as she slept.

Bethany didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them.

---

When they finally return to Vigil's Keep, Saoirse is confused by how quiet and despondent her sister seems to be. Given how amiable Niamh normally is, she has a right to be concerned.

She pulls Bethany aside one night to ask what happened since they normally get along so well, but Bethany and Niamh haven't even spoken a word to one another since their return.

Bethany ruefully explains the situation, but she doesn't reveal the actual reason why she lashed out to begin with. As such, Saoirse just assumes it was just the usual stress of being a Grey Warden.

---

"Ah. It happens to the best of us, really. Here." Saoirse handed Bethany a tin box. Something Orlesian, according to the script on it. "Leliana’s currently away on business in Val Royeaux, but she sends care packages out to me whenever she can. This one's for Niamh though. It's tea," she explained with a laugh. "She loves this stuff more than anyone else I know."

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Oh, Niamh’s too well-mannered to outright ignore someone,” Saoirse insisted with a brief snort. “If anything, she becomes more… Well. ‘Distantly-polite’ as my wife would describe it. Besides, I have it on good authority that she never turns down a good cup of tea.” A lazy, conspiratorial grin played on her lips then. “Especially if there’s a spoonful or two of honey in it.”

That eventually culminated in Bethany making tea for Niamh that evening, who had been locked away in her office as of late. Bethany was still nervous despite receiving permission to enter the room, allowing her to face the woman who she hadn’t seen in nearly a fortnight. Concern grew within her when she saw the shadows beneath Niamh’s eyes—a familiar indication that she had been working far too hard. She watched as Niamh struggled to blink the exhaustion from her eyes as she regarded her, but she otherwise said nothing, simply waiting to hear what Bethany required of her.

“I’m sorry," Bethany said at last, contrition clear in her voice. "This isn’t the life I would have wanted for myself, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were merely trying to help.” She held out the still-steaming mug of tea in her hands—the very thing Saoirse had convinced her would make for a suitable peace offering. “Here,” she offered with a tentative smile. “If you’re going to be working through the night again, you should at least drink something.”

For a time, Bethany believed the other woman was just going to remain silent. It would have been well-deserved given how terribly she behaved the other week, but then Niamh reached out to gently take the mug from her.

"Thank you," she said at last, the ice slowly melting behind those wintry eyes, and as they did, Bethany could feel the vice around her heart gradually unhinge itself in relief.

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

Niamh and Bethany are back on the road again, especially after several reports of wandering darkspawn near the outskirts of a town.

As expected, however, Bethany's longing toward Niamh is still there—constant as an evening star. Even with the taint of death coursing through them, Niamh’s aura emanates with so much life—like a forest in winter, cool and refreshing with the scent of pine buried beneath its depths, waiting to burst into spring’s lively greenery with just the barest spark of magic.

It fascinates her.

She often wonders if such single-minded focus is a side effect of the Joining other than the enhanced physical strength and the ability to sense darkspawn. She feels a hunger that is never sated, a thirst that is never parched, and also…

Amber eyes wander over to where Niamh is disrobing to bathe in the nearby river, and she catches sight of the elegant play of muscles along her back before she studiously turns her gaze away. She feels the way her face burns even as she feels something else stir in her veins.

---

While still traveling, they get attacked by some hapless bandits, and while the two women aren't hurt, they manage to lose one of their tents to a stray grenade.

They end up sleeping in the remaining tent together, but it’s small, and they huddle together inside it for warmth against the pouring rain outside.

Bethany is surprised when she unexpectedly wakes up in Niamh’s arms—one is around her waist, and the other is curled behind her shoulders—which pull her closer in sleep. Sometimes she’s amazed at just how warm the other woman is, and although she knows she should pull away to avoid any awkward conversations in the morning, she can’t bring herself to do so. This is probably as close as she’ll ever get to the intimacy she desires with Niamh, and while the moment won’t last forever, it’ll be one more memory she can cherish—something no one else can ever steal from her.

Idly, Bethany listens to the rain outside—now a gentle pattering instead of the rage of a growing storm—falling against the material of the tent, and the sound is so rhythmic that she begins to doze off again.

---

Sometime after that, they receive a letter from Stroud, who requests their assistance with a matter out in the Free Marches. Saoirse stays behind to oversee things at Vigil’s Keep, which leaves Niamh and Bethany to travel across the Waking Sea with Nathaniel as additional support.

They arrive in Kirkwall several days before the qunari invasion begins in full, but not long after they do, Nathaniel’s reconnaissance around the city reveals something terrible:

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

Bethany is understandably upset, but Niamh and Nathaniel do their best to comfort her. They end up holding a small wake in honor of Leandra.

By the time they manage to rendezvous with Stroud, the qunari invasion has already begun, and they’re caught in the middle of it, leading to the Wardens running into Emrys Hawke and her companions.

Emrys obviously wants to talk to her little sister, but Bethany is resistant to the idea since her emotions are still riding high with the news of their mother’s death and the ever-present resentment regarding how she was made into a Warden without her say so on the matter.

Niamh recognizes Bethany’s tension and politely tells Emrys to leave the matter be for the time being. There is little point in having a conversation if one half of the party isn’t ready to have it after all.

Running on adrenaline, the warrior objects and tries to push her out of the way, but Bethany retaliates immediately on Niamh’s behalf. She presses her hand against her sister's chestplate and essentially shoves her back several steps, momentarily forgetting her Warden strength. Both Hawkes seem surprised by the ease in which she can do that.

---

“Bethany?” Emrys uttered in confusion, especially as her sister outright glared at her.

"You do not accost Warden-Constable Cousland that way!"

“Wait… ‘Cousland?’” Emrys looked over to the woman in question, taking in the obvious staff situated across her back. A wolf’s head ornament adorned the top of the weapon in exquisitely-sculpted silverite, and her eyes slowly widened in realization, remembering tales of the mage who could bend the very heavens to her whims. “Wait, you’re the Storm Wolf of Ferelden? Sister to the Hero of Ferelden?”

The woman merely gave a long-suffering sigh in response. “I suppose I was being too optimistic in assuming Leliana’s tales would’ve lost their weight this far past Ferelden’s borders…”

---

Despite the chaos ravaging itself across Kirkwall, the Wardens can’t stay to help. As such, they’re not there to see the end of the invasion. It isn’t until Bethany returns to Ferelden with the others that she receives a letter from Varric, saying that Emrys nearly died in her duel against the Arishok.

While Varric takes the time to mention that Emrys is recovering, and that her bravery led to her becoming Kirkwall’s Champion, the idea that Bethany had nearly lost the very last member of her family is so shocking that she's left inconsolable one night.

---

"I was such an absolute wretch to her before we left, and she nearly died afterward!” she wept when Niamh came to check on her in her room. “She’ll never forgive me!"

The other woman’s eyes are sympathetic as she held her in her arms. "Don’t be so sure."

"How can you say that?" Bethany demanded as she looked up at her, eyes red and swollen with grief.

"I’ve seen the way you talk about her, Bethany. The memories stir up more than just hurt within you,” she explained. “They light your eyes up with joy in remembrance of them. I’m sure she misses you and wishes things had gone differently. She wouldn’t have bothered sending all these letters to you otherwise over the years.

"My siblings did the same when I was still in Kinloch Hold, where I often wondered if my family had forgotten all about me. There were times I feared my being a mage would have meant their love for me would have gone away, but it didn’t. I received letters from them all the time—sometimes over the most asinine things like Saoirse’s warhound tossing bits of her armor into the pig pen." Niamh rolled her eyes, but Bethany could see the fondness in her gaze before they refocused on her.

"Your sister has asked for nothing in return even in the times where you never sent word back. I won’t tell you how to resolve this. You were right in saying that no one truly asks for this life, but I believe she only had the best of intentions when she entrusted your safety to Stroud. Trust in that if nothing else, and if you still find the matter wanting, tell her so." Something sad and brittle lingered on the smile she shared with her. "The what-ifs hurt more than the reality of things at times. No one deserves that."

---

Niamh helps to cheer Bethany up over the course of several weeks.

They’re off in a nearby town, investigating more sightings of darkspawn, and Niamh goes downstairs to pay the innkeeper for breakfast while Bethany packs up some of her belongings to continue their journey. When she reaches for her staff, she blinks, startled to find an ice flower blossoming on the end of it. She stares in surprise at the door the other woman had left through because there’s no way someone else could have done this.

It's almost like something out of a scene from one of those romantic tales Leliana used to tell her back in Lothering. She had thought them nonsense at first—that surely no one actually did such sweet things in real life—but now…

Bethany gently brushes her fingers over the beautifully-conjured petals and leaves, feeling the cool aura radiating from them.

Now she’s not so sure.

---

During their travels, they’re ambushed by darkspawn, and in the middle of the fighting, the ground manages to crumble beneath both women’s feet. The fall is long and painful as they slide down an old mine shaft, and soon they find themselves down in the Deep Roads. Unfortunately, it's an area they haven't charted yet, so they have no idea where they even are.

They have rations from the last time Niamh hunted and smoked some game, but they know it won't last forever. They can feel the press of darkspawn everywhere against their senses, and it's difficult to get any real bearing down in the tunnels because of it. The ambushes are sporadic throughout the days as they try to find their way back to the surface. They have taken to sleeping in brief shifts so they’re not caught unaware.

One fight lags on long enough that they have to retreat, but their enemies lead them right into the lair of a broodmother.

Bethany has never seen something so hideous in all her life, but when she turns briefly to Niamh, she’s disquieted to find the other woman looks more terrified than she's ever seen her. She barely has time to think over that before the darkspawn attack them again, but now they have the broodmother and her various tentacles to dodge as well.

The fight rages on for quite awhile, long enough that Bethany voices the thought they might never see Vigil's Keep again.

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

"No!" she repeated firmly, glaring as she lashed out with an arm, incinerating an advancing line of darkspawn to their right. "I am getting you out of here! I swear it!"

You.

Not us.

What are you planning, Niamh? Bethany couldn't help but think worriedly.

Then she felt the sudden rush of magic—causing Bethany to almost stumble in place at the overwhelming sensation—as Niamh’s aura manifested itself more tangibly in an array of colors. Blinding arcs of lightning and lines of roaring flames raced across her form, and Bethany could see her own breath forming in rapid, exhausted puffs as the temperature inside the entire cavern seemed to drop even as the stone walls rattled ominously from the breadth of absolute magic being conjured.

The power of it was soon unleashed as Niamh slammed her staff end into the ground, allowing countless rays of energy to simply explode from her body. They radiated out like spectral hands of vengeance, and the cries of the darkspawn were nearly drowned out entirely as utter destruction rained down upon them. Each blast hit like deafening peals of thunder, and the echoes of them spanned for several long heartbeats, leaving Bethany’s ears ringing even after everything eventually fell silent.

As the dust and debris finally settled from the turbulent winds, she could see the other mage leaning heavily upon her staff, utterly exhausted. Each breath she took seemed to be a laborious effort, but Bethany watched as those eyes remained keenly alert to their surroundings, waiting to see if any of the darkspawn she had laid waste to would try and attack them again. They both tensed upon hearing the low, wailing groan of pain, and they looked to the far side of the cavern to see the broodmother still alive—albeit barely.

While already repulsive, it was now a macabre mass of flesh, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Niamh’s attack. Bloated skin bore severe burn marks, and entire chunks of flesh were missing. One of the broodmother’s arms had been severed completely, but the heat from one of the elemental attacks had unintentionally cauterized the fat stump even if Bethany grimaced upon seeing the pink-tinged bone that still protruded from it. The broodmother’s entire form seemed to slump back with what they assumed was her final breath, but then the sudden sound of earth breaking behind them alerted them far too late to a final danger.

Bethany turned her head just in time to see a lashing tentacle sprout from the ground, and her mind barely registered the sight of it before she heard the frantic call of her name along with warm hands pressing against her side.

"Bethany!"

As if time had slowed itself, she watched in horror as Niamh pushed her out of the tentacle’s swooping path, but in doing so, the other woman took the brunt of the attack entirely. Niamh was sent flying into one of the naturally-formed pillars of the cavern, impacting it hard enough that it broke at its center, raining rubble down upon the mage resting eerily still at its base until she was buried beneath it.

Bethany’s eyes remained fixed on the sight even as she shakily rose to her hands and knees. An overwhelming sense of disbelief overtook when her longtime partner didn't emerge at all out of the stone pile. In fact, there's a terrifying lack of anything in that direction.

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

Distantly, she could hear the half-dying moans of the broodmother somewhere beyond her peripheral vision. Although Bethany was all too aware of how dangerous her current situation still was, all she could feel was a staggering rush of absolute rage building inside her. It seemed to grow with every beat of her heart until she could hear it pounding inside her ears—a drumming sound of accusation over the fact that she had been powerless to help someone dear to her yet again.

It was her anger that gave birth to the sudden burst of power—whether a second wind or simply a dying gasp, she didn’t immediately know—but Bethany whirled to face the grotesque beast, magic already gathering within her hands. With an infuriated cry, she pressed her palms out, and she felt the immense displacement of air around her immediately as she summoned enough force magic to take up almost the entire space of the cavern. The pressure of it proved too much against the broodmother, and Bethany watched impassively as its enormous body was flung toward the far wall with enough violence that it was reduced to a grisly splatter of darkened blood, pulverized bone, and putrid meat.

With its death, Bethany felt the presence of darkspawn waiting beyond the cavern retreat even further, as if afraid of tempting her fury. Safe from any immediate threats, however, she wasted little time in rushing over to where she last saw Niamh. She used her hands and magic to try and dig her out beneath the rubble, but when she found her, fear took hold of her immediately when she realized the other woman wasn’t breathing anymore. Desperately, Bethany tried to use her healing magic in an attempt revive her, but to her utter dismay, the chest beneath her hands remained impossibly still.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. “No. No! You can’t be dead! Niamh, get up!”

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

Despite her best efforts, no matter how much healing she tried to force through the other woman’s veins, Niamh didn’t respond. As each minute continued to pass by in silence, Bethany began to wonder what she’d have to tell Morrigan if she ever made it back to the surface, let alone the little boy with Niamh’s kind smile. It would be such a terrible thing, she knew, informing them the woman they loved died trying to save her.

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

Leaving before she even got the chance to give her goodbyes.

Bethany withdrew her healing magic and began conjuring lightning beneath her hands instead—the same way Niamh had taught her once upon a time—desperate for anything that could attempt to shock some life back into the other woman. Niamh’s body jolted with each burst of power, head lolling about along the dirt, but she still remained impossibly beyond Bethany’s reach—perhaps now wandering past the Fade and into the Maker’s embrace.

At the thought, her anguish soon gave way to anger.

“Damn you, you selfish wretch!” she shouted as she pressed her hand over the woman’s sternum with another pulse of electricity. “I never asked you to try and save my life! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to just leave me here when I never had to chance to tell you everything! Not when you don’t even know I love y—”

Just as she went to jolt the other woman again, Bethany felt a hand firmly wrapping itself around her wrist.

Shocked, she looked up toward Niamh's face, especially as she heard a very weak cough. The other mage hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she saw how the still blue-tinged lips began to move—too soft for her to hear anything. Bethany lowered her head to listen more closely and soon heard a quiet question.

"...are you alright?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and fresh tears began to fill Bethany's eyes again in spite of herself.

Even after everything they had both suffered through, Niamh's first concern had still been solely for her.

With a shaky breath, she carefully curled herself up against Niamh’s form, crying silently even as she rested her hand against the other woman's stomach to continue and apply weak, healing magic.

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

Bethany didn’t pick her head up off the floor, but there was little mistaking Morrigan's distinct voice. Saoirse’s own followed soon after.

"I owe you my thanks for this, Morrigan."

“Thank your sister; I would not have been able to find her were she still not wearing the ring I gave her years ago.”

A weary chuckled greeted the mage’s words. “Ever the sentimental woman, my little sister…”

The sound of heavy footsteps treading closer caused Bethany to look up, and she could see Saoirse kneeling down next to them. The warrior’s face was worn with stress, but there was nothing but relief in her eyes as she saw them both together. "It appears I owe you my thanks as well, Bethany." She jerked her head up then, shouting out an order. "Get a litter for them now!"

"But I'm not nearly as injured," Bethany protested, drawing her hand away from Niamh’s body self-consciously, especially when Morrigan appeared and began to take over healing and stabilizing the woman’s condition with fresh magic.

"No," Saoirse admitted even as her lips lifted up into a tired smile. "But you and I both know what a terrible patient my sister is. I’ll be depending on you to make sure she behaves herself if she wakes up during our trek back to Vigil’s Keep.” She gently clapped a hand over Bethany’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“Warden-Commander—”

“No. Niamh and I have lost enough in our lives. It would have hurt me to lose her as well.”

---

Niamh remains unconscious for several days as she recovers back at Vigil's Keep.

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

Despite the other woman’s position as a member of Orlais’ Imperial Court, it seemed Morrigan returned to Ferelden after receiving a frantic letter from Saoirse, saying that Niamh and Bethany had been missing for several days following a routine mission.

As mentioned in the previous section, Morrigan gave Niamh a ring, which would allow her to find her were she ever in danger. It proved especially useful when Niamh and the other Wardens were imprisoned in Fort Drakon, where Saoirse essentially put her foot in her mouth and ruined their attempt to sneak Queen Anora out of the estate she had been held captive in.

I believe the ring is only canonically available if a player is in a romance with Morrigan. However, I’m headcanoning that because she held Niamh in such high esteem, she gave it to her anyway.

Kieran is also present at Vigil’s Keep because there’s no way Morrigan was leaving him behind in Orlais. He’s about five years old at this point, and he’s grown to inherit both his mothers’ looks. A crown of dark, loose curls sits atop his head much like Niamh’s, and he even fashions a forelock like hers, which hangs in front of his right eye. His gaze is a piercing shade of gold reminiscent to Morrigan’s own. As a possessor of an Old God Soul, he’s also begun to speak cryptically at times, which is understandably jarring to those around him.

Bethany happens upon one such conversation by accident, and she immediately pauses in the doorway when she sees Morrigan and Kieran standing at Niamh’s bedside.

“Sire was caught within the paths of the Fade, Mother. She heard the voices of old ghosts calling to her, but she didn’t follow them.”

Morrigan indulgently runs a hand through her son’s hair. “Indeed; she did not.”

“She missed them though, but she still returned to us.”

“Of course. Why would she desire an eternity without you?” she asked with a fond smile, causing Kieran to giggle.

“That’s not why, Mother! Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She would have missed the Sunshine too much. She’s been following her warmth for years. It would have hurt her to be without it.”

Kieran’s words pull at Bethany oddly, but she soon pushes them out of her mind and quietly walks away, feeling too much like an intruder upon the small family.

Thankfully, Niamh regains consciousness not long afterward, and everyone is understandably relieved by this news.

As per usual, however, Niamh proves herself to be an exceedingly stubborn patient, but perhaps wanting to set a better example for Kieran after her near-death experience, she remains in bed for the duration of her recovery. The other woman doesn’t seem to mind too much, especially given that her son continues to keep her company, telling her of the various odd things he’s seen around Orlais and the even odder people.

After several weeks under Morrigan’s watchful eye, the witch begrudgingly says that Niamh's okay to begin light duty around the Keep, relieving the other mage immensely. She goes out herb-gathering, an excuse just to get out of the fortress, and Bethany volunteers to go with her.

Things are quiet between them for a time as they begin picking up elfroot to place in the shared basket between them. Their conversations as of late haven't been of anything too substantial. A good thing, Bethany thinks, considering her feelings for her and how close she’d been to revealing them. Soon, however, they're caught in the middle of a light rain shower, and Bethany says they should head back. She begins to lead their way out of the forest when Niamh’s words stop her in her tracks.

---

"I was waiting for you to say it again, you know."

Bethany looked over her shoulder in surprise to still see Niamh standing in the middle of the clearing, her gaze expectant. “What?” she asked nervously.

"When I nearly died, I heard you say something… significant to me,” she revealed, causing Bethany’s heart to pound as she stared at her in disbelief. “However, when I recovered and you never repeated those words again, I thought it might have been little more than a fever dream of mine." Niamh's smile turned sad then when Bethany said nothing else to her words. "Perhaps it was after all... I’m sorry. I’ve made this rather awkward then, haven’t I?” She took a few steps closer, reaching toward the basket of herbs Bethany still held in her hands. “Here, let me—”

But Bethany just let it drop to the ground before she reached out to grab the collar of Niamh’s cloak. The other woman seemed taken aback, but before she can even begin voicing a question, Bethany pulled her forward to kiss her desperately in the rain, swallowing her gasp of surprise.

As far as first kisses went, it was a touch awkward as their teeth clicked together, lips mashed between them. Bethany felt a moment of panic as Niamh pulled back, but before the urge to run away in mortification could overtake her, a warm palm pressed itself against the back of her neck, keeping her in place. There was the brush of knuckles as they ran along her jaw, and Bethany was just able to catch the silver of Niamh’s eyes before all thought fled from her mind upon feeling the soft press of the other woman’s mouth on hers.

Bethany followed into the easy guidance being offered, and they both soon settled into a comfortable rhythm that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed with giddy delight, and her hands reached out to hold onto Niamh’s hips, helping to ground herself there, as their kiss continued. There was a soft sound as Niamh sighed contentedly into her mouth, as if she had been waiting just as long for this moment between them.

The thought seemed almost too impossible to comprehend, especially when she knew Niamh was committed to someone else. As such, Bethany pulled away first despite the sound of protest it caused. Despite her resolve, Bethany was reluctant to pull away from Niamh entirely, so she settled for gently leaning her forehead against the other mage as they panted quietly in the rain.

"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, practically speaking the words against Niamh’s lips. "It wasn't my intention to interfere with your relationship with Morrigan."

As close as they were, there was little mistaking the clear confusion in the eyes across from hers. "'With Morrigan?'" Niamh repeated. "What does she have anything to do with us?"

"But… I thought—” Her brows drew together in consternation. “Aren’t you both together?"

"What? No," Niamh answered, almost amused by the idea. "When we laid together for the ritual, it was an agreement of mutual benefit meant only for that night. She's not—Well." An exhale of breath escaped her in the form of laughter. "Morrigan's admitted she's not interested in women—or anyone, really—in quite that way, but none of the male Wardens with us at the time dared to lay with her even if it meant sparing us all from death. She trusted me, and I her. I consider Morrigan one of my dearest friends, and we share Kieran together as a result of that night, yes, but we are certainly not bound together as others seem to believe."

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

What Bethany had been feeling, what was now possible between her and Niamh...

She couldn’t help but smile as she finally realized she could have a bit of the happiness she’d always wanted for herself.

---

So everyone knows that they’re a couple after that.

Niamh becomes more overt in the romantic things she does for her—the very same things Bethany had thought were the woman simply being thoughtful. She finds out that Niamh had apparently been interested in her for awhile and had actually been ready to confess her feelings a few years ago, but their first argument, where Bethany had accused her of being too idealistic, had stemmed the thought immediately.

Niamh had been understandably heartbroken by the words, which was why she’d had been so despondent for weeks following the incident, believing Bethany had no romantic interest in her whatsoever. The apology in her office later had restored their friendship, and while Niamh had been disappointed it likely would never evolve into anything more beyond that, she was still determined to be a good friend to her if nothing else.

Bethany’s completely exasperated at the idea that they could have been together long before now, but she realizes it was likely better this way.

She had needed time to get over her anger and resentment regarding her life as a Warden.

She needed time to get past her guilt and the complicated thoughts regarding herself and her faith.

And she needed time to grow into herself and discover who she was as a person.

She’s grateful that Niamh’s been so kind and patient over the years, and Bethany finds great joy in the new facet of their relationship together.

They’ve kissed and been involved in heavy makeout sessions around Vigil’s Keep—much to the exasperation of their colleagues—but barring the incident that led to Kieran’s conception, Niamh’s been celibate for years, and canonical dialogue in DA2 reveals that Bethany’s pretty much a virgin. As such, she’s understandably very shy and nervous about the whole thing. However, she knew every part of her would be in good hands with Niamh when they finally reached that point.

Their first time together takes place several months after their first kiss, where Niamh tries her utmost to make it a memorable thing for them. She takes Bethany to a grove they frequent together outside of Vigil’s Keep for a midnight picnic. The moon is full, and the skies are clear, revealing an endless sea of stars. Little fireflies dance over the surface of the lake while they sit on the grass along its shore.

It’s a casual reminder that for all their hardship, life goes on and finds a way through a magic all of its own.

They stargaze for and handfeed each other little bits of food in between kisses, but soon things start getting a little more heated. Niamh gently tugs Bethany onto her lap, who follows willingly, settling her knees on either side of the woman’s hips. Bethany takes some initiative of her own, pushing at Niamh’s chest slowly until she lowers herself against the grass, and then…

---

Bethany’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Niamh’s features haloed by the soft glow of the little fireflies. Normally pale eyes had darkened at their edges with both pleasure and interest as she regarded her, leaving Bethany flushed, especially as she realized she doesn’t quite know what to do from there on out.

Perhaps having sensed that, Niamh reached up to gently run a thumb along the corner of her mouth, and Bethany barely resisted the urge to press her lips against the pad in a kiss as slim fingers then went to cup her cheek gently.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Niamh reassured as she brushed a few strands of Bethany’s hair behind an ear. “I quite like kissing you.”

But Bethany did want to.

She knew Niamh had more experience with sexual intimacy, and she worried she couldn’t be able to compare against the woman’s past paramours. There was no expectation in those starlit eyes however. Niamh was as relaxed as she had been when they first started, and Bethany knew she would have been more than content to lay with her beneath the stars if that was all she desired. She was always considerate with her feelings, never pressing her to do more than she was ready.

Thus, Bethany knew Niamh would be patient with her during their first time together.

“If I asked, would you show me what to do?” she whispered tentatively, and she watched as the corners of those lips turned up into soft smile.

“Always,” Niamh answered, gently tugging Bethany’s hand toward the buckle holding the front of her leather and steel-riveted brigandine closed. “Here. Help me out of this first please.”

From there, Bethany quickly realized it all wasn’t quite as simple as the tawdry novels Isabela used to loan her made it out to be. Nothing really prepared for the warmth of the flesh beneath her fingertips as she gradually disrobed her lover of the layers that made up their Warden regalia. Fortune favored the bold, she knew, and she experimented by pressing kisses against skin as more was revealed to her. She smiled against Niamh’s sternum—pleased—when she heard the exceedingly rare quiver in her voice.

As promised, however, the other woman continued to give suggestions on what types of touches would best give pleasure, but she also allowed Bethany to set the pace of whatever she felt most comfortable with. With each encouraging whisper against her ear, each caress and rock of her hand became more confident. When Niamh shuddered beneath her for the first time—the barest hint of magic curling against her own—as she reached her peak, Bethany was convinced that she had never felt more triumphant.

And she didn’t think she had ever felt so unfettered when Niamh later returned the favor by kissing a line of fire down her bare body. Those mist-grey eyes never left her own gaze though. Bethany had long known how attentive the other mage could be. As their lead tactician, there was always a studious quality in how she approached anything set before her.

Feeling the full magnitude of that attention focused solely upon her, however, was another matter entirely. Niamh stared at her as if she had hung the very moon and the infinite tapestry of stars into the night sky. It was like she was her very reason for drawing breath, and the thought of that brought forth a stunning wash of emotions over her as she saw the clear reverence in those eyes—so much so that she couldn’t help the tears beading themselves across her lashes nor her soft, surprised exhale of laughter when Niamh leaned up to gently kiss them away.

It was only when she assured her lover that she was ready to continue that Niamh returned to her exploration. The woman was committed to learning every part of her, gauging every physical response—the touches that made her moan breathlessly or sigh in contentment with the press of lips against her skin—before reacting accordingly. She felt that dedication most vividly as a warm mouth settled between her thighs and began working itself thoroughly there.

Bethany couldn’t help but break eye contact with Niamh as she threw her head back against the cool grass, lost to the new but pleasant sensations coursing their way through her body. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, especially as the almost overwhelming heat of a tongue pressed itself flat and lapped languidly at her.

After a time, it felt like she was freefalling, and she blindly reached out toward Niamh. One hand sank itself easily into the tousled waves of raven-black hair, but with the other, Bethany found slim fingers gently intertwining themselves with her own. There was strength and reassurance within the warmth of that grasp—a steady tether to ground her—even as Niamh continued with her ministrations, quickly unraveling the foundations of her world.

Were you the answer this entire time?

Were you the one whom my heart was always waiting for?

Bethany found her answer just as her climax crested over her.

---

The next scene takes place several months after Niamh’s and Bethany’s first time together but just before the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Niamh heads over to Amaranthine to see her aunt, Eithne Mac Eanraig, since she's the Arlessa there.

Now, here’s where I’m veering off from canon.

Per the events of Awakening, the Warden ends up becoming the Warden-Commander, and for their services during the Fifth Blight, Vigil’s Keep along with the entire arling of Amaranthine was given to the Grey Wardens. The fortress and the territory originally belonged to the Howes, but after Rendon Howe’s betrayal, all titles and properties were stripped away from them. As such, the Warden-Commander would also become the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Per my headcanon though, Saoirse felt that she couldn’t tend to both her duties as a Warden while also ruling over the arling. Thus, she suggests to King Alistair to let her aunt oversee it instead.

While Eithne is technically my own creation, it was canonical that Eleanor had three siblings prior to marrying Bryce Cousland. All the children of Bann Fearcher Mac Eanraig—also known as the Storm Giant—were exceedingly skilled raiders although Eleanor was the most infamous of them. Still, I headcanon that Eithne’s own prowess allowed her to take over as head of the family and their impressive fleet after her father’s death sometime before the events of DAO.

I also headcanon that the Mac Eanraigs and their fleet proved instrumental during the Fifth Blight, allowing desperately-needed supplies to travel to the country without fear of them being intercepted by pirates. When the reconstruction of Ferelden began in full following the defeat of the Archdemon, Eithne opted to expand the services of her family’s fleet, offering to escort any incoming and also outgoing cargo ships. This allowed trade to flourish in Ferelden since the threat of piracy was reduced greatly against the might of the former raiding family and their respective crews. With goods being consistently transported and received, it led to the otherwise pricey import and export tariffs being lowered significantly.

It expanded the influence of the Mac Eanraigs considerably to say the least, and while they were of minor nobility compared to the Couslands, the family was already well-respected for their long connection to the Storm Coast and their role in the Fereldan Rebellion as well as the Fifth Blight.

As such, no objection was given by Ferelden’s Bannorn when the Mac Eanraigs were consequently raised further in nobility by the decree of King Alistair and Queen Anora, allowing Eithne to officially be named Arlessa to the city of Amaranthine.

---

"Aunt Eithne," Niamh began, walking into her office, "may I have access to the castle's forge?"

The older woman was sat behind her desk, looking through various reports when she glanced up at her. Kind, weathered features warmed instantly. "Ah, there's my wee Storm Pup," she said as she rose to her feet to meet her. "You know you’re welcome to anything within the castle, lass. I take it that blacksmith of yours is being stubborn at Vigil’s Keep again?"

As per usual, Niamh found herself looking up at her aunt as she rounded the edge of her desk. While her late mother Eleanor had been roughly her own size, the Mac Eanraigs as a whole towered over most people with their intimidating height and broad-shouldered frames—traits that Fergus and also Saoirse inherited as they grew into adulthood. In her youth, Niamh remembered that her Aunt Eithne had also possessed her mother’s pale blonde hair, but it had since turned silver with age and was now kept in a neat braid that dangled in front of her right shoulder. She imagined that Saoirse would likely resemble their aunt greatly in looks over the next few decades.

…provided they find a cure against the Calling first, of course.

Morrigan’s arcane research had turned up several possibilities, but the latest one she’d found seemed especially promising. Still, Niamh put the thought from her mind momentarily to answer her aunt’s question.

"You and I both know Master Wade won’t allow anyone to go near his forge. He’d pout for weeks on end before we could convince him to resume work again,” she said dryly before shrugging. “Just as well, I suppose. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. What I have in mind is more of a personal project."

Dark grey eyes blinked. "Oh?" she intoned curiously.

"It's... Well." Niamh shifted from foot to foot, a tad nervous to put her thoughts into words. "I'm making matching torcs for Bethany and I, so—oof!"

No sooner after she had stated her purpose did Niamh unexpectedly found herself drawn up into a crushing hug by her aunt, who lifted her clear off her feet with the force of it.

"Haha!" Eithne crowed with delighted laughter as she twirled her about. "Wait until I tell your uncles about this! Why, it’s been ages since we’ve had a wedding in the family!"

"We had one a year ago for Fergus and Olithia," Niamh corrected hoarsely as she tried to wriggle out of her aunt's grip to little avail. Corded muscles built over a lifetime at sea ensured the woman’s strength was nigh unbreakable. "And there was another for Saoirse and Leliana before that."

"Details, wee niece, details," she brushed aside when she placed Niamh back on her feet again, placing large hands over each of her shoulders with a grin. "Honestly, I was half-convinced my ashes would be scattered across the sea before I saw my last niece be married off! Dermot!" she called out loudly beyond the walls of office to her second-in-command, leaving Niamh wincing from the sheer volume of it. "Break out the casks! We’re celebrating tonight!"

Niamh merely sighed, somehow glad that Bethany was currently away from Vigil’s Keep with Nathaniel to tend to a matter out in another seaside province. There was no way she’d be able to surprise her with a proposal otherwise.

---

Bethany didn't know what to really expect when Niamh took her out to their favored grove, but then she was offered a… necklace of some sort. It was thick and sturdy but exquisitely-crafted. It formed an incomplete circle, but there was no clasp holding both ends together. As she took the necklace into her own hands, she found there was a certain pliability to it as she stretched the space between the twin, silverite wolf heads open a bit more.

"I spent weeks getting the details just right," Niamh admitted. "The hardest part was finding the perfect bits of citrine to match your eyes," she added, pointing to the small, gemstone orbs held in the maw of each wolf.

"You made this for me?" Bethany asked, awed.

"Yes. It’s a custom from the maternal side of my family. They’re generally gifted to those of status or individuals who have achieved great deeds. The more bands woven together designate one's importance." Niamh's expression turned somewhat sheepish then. "I don't think it needs to be said that I think highly of you."

Bethany looked at the thick braiding and saw that there were at least five bands wound together in a cord and then welded together.

"I..." Niamh wet her lips briefly, as if caught beneath sudden nervousness. "I realize marriage is usually just a matter of settling titles and heirs, but I believe you know by now that my family tends to eschew commonly-held norms. As such, I would consider it a great honor if you were to become my wife. As for anything official—a wedding for instance—we needn't concern ourselves with it right away. Not if you don't wish to certainly." Silver-colored eyes rolled themselves. "Honestly, my family uses any type of excuse available to throw a celebration. They’ll likely still drink the night away, knowing that I’ve finally settled down with someone."

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh at that. "They were that invested, were they?"

"Before you, they had a tendency to think I was more married to my duty within the Order, and I can’t say that were not wrong in thinking so."

"And that’s changed?"

"Well... I was managing day by day as well as any of our comrades, but I won’t lie in saying that there came a point when you were all I could ever think about in the many moments in between."

It was… quite the confession.

In an instant, all the stories her mother had ever told her of romance paled in comparison to this moment.

"Yes," Bethany said at last, watching as the ghostly-grey eyes across from her widened, but there was little hiding the hope building within their depths.

"Yes?"

"Yes to the—" She stumbled a bit over the word. "—torcs, you said?” Bethany asked in clarification, earning her a nod along with a very relieved sigh. “I don’t want a ceremony.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the thickly-braided necklace. “At least not just yet, but I like the idea of the promise these contain.”

“You would like to have your sister here when the time comes,” Niamh deduced understandingly. “Very well.”

“You can wait?”

A very warm smile burnished beautiful features that she had long fallen in love with so many years ago. “A Chuisle Mo Chroí,” she began, voicing an endearment that never ceased to make her heart flutter, “for you, I would gladly wait a thousand Ages and more.” (Writer’s note: A Chuisle Mo Chroí is phonetically pronounced Ah Khush-lah Muh Kree and means “Pulse of My Heart.”)

The words earned her a heartfelt kiss of gratitude. If Niamh noticed Bethany was trembling, she said nothing of it. In fact, they both had little to say at all as they slowly lowered themselves to the grass and surrendered themselves to the night and the promise of everyday thereafter.

---

The Kirkwall Rebellion still happens in this verse, and because Saoirse's busy butting heads with the higher-ups at Weisshaupt, she sends word to Niamh, asking her to go to Kirkwall to provide Leliana backup if things get bad. Bethany is concerned as well about the well-being of her sister Emrys, and she asks to go with her. Niamh, of course, can't really deny her anything, so they both take the fastest ship across the Waking Sea.

---

"There you are," Bethany declared when she managed to come across her sister and her companions despite the chaos around them. She settled her staff over her back, walking through the tangle of defeated Templars around her to meet them. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I'd almost feared you were dead."

Emrys hadn’t expected Bethany’s presence in the city, but she’s beyond elated to see her. At her words, the warrior merely preened. "As if they'd be able to best me. And, uh, what’s this about 'we?'" Emrys asked, confused. “Did you bring the other Wardens with you?”

“Just one.”

As if attuned to her thoughts, Niamh made her entrance then by Fadestepping through a handful of Templars—who had arrived on scene as backup—freezing them in their tracks. She and Bethany had momentarily split up to try and cover more ground in search of Emrys.

Bethany arched a brow at her sister while gesturing toward her lover with an emphatic wave. "You remember Warden-Constable Cousland, don’t you?"

Emrys had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she recalled their last meeting, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she regarded Niamh. "Oh. Yes. Uh, about the last time we met—"

But Niamh seemed amused more than anything, waving aside the apology graciously. “Bygones, Champion. No need to worry yourself about the past. My sister’s a warrior as well; I’ve fared worse on the rare occasion."

"In any case, Sister, if you need help, we’ll gladly give it."

“Really?”

“Yes. I…” Bethany swept a bit of hair behind her ear nervously, but as Niamh settled alongside her, offering her wordless support, she continued on. “I wanted to apologize for what happened down in the Deep Roads and for how we parted the last time I was here. You saved my life, but I couldn’t see past my own anger back then. I’m sorry,” she whispered, contrite. “I should have said it long before now. You’re all I have left of our family, so if you need help against the Templars, say the word.”

Emrys looked beyond thrilled at the prospect of having her at her side again. “I’m certainly not going to turn away help now of all times, but…” She shot a look of confusion over toward Niamh. “I thought Wardens weren’t to involve themselves in political matters?"

The other mage merely sighed. “While true, that follows a line of policy that my sister and I strenuously object to, especially given the matter involved here. She and I will deal with the leadership at Weisshaupt later if need be." Slim shoulder shrugged themselves then. "Of course, even if my sister-in-law weren't nearby, Bethany wanted to help, and that was good enough reason for me to be here."

Emrys’ dark brows rose at the claim, and she immediately turned a searching gaze over toward Bethany, who couldn’t help but turn her own away, flushing somewhat.

"Yes… Niamh and I are a bit of a package deal these days."

Unfortunately, the minor shift in movement allowed for something else to be revealed, and Isabela took notice of it immediately as her eyes darted toward the area of her neck just beneath the collar of her uniform.

“Wait… is that a torc?" she asked, brows raising, impressed.

“A what?" Emrys asked, flustered, especially when she saw the matching one that Niamh was also wearing.

“It's a little bit of tradition from my mother’s side of the family,” Niamh explained. “They’re beautifully-crafted pieces of jewelry, but they can be as symbolic as rings, especially in the ceremonial sense."

"'Rings?'" Emrys parroted with a choke. “‘Ceremon—’” The warrior paled instantly as she realized the implication, shakily pressing her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself when she began swaying in place. “Oh, Maker’s breath… I think—I need a moment,” she murmured, and Bethany watched—concerned—when Emrys practically folded in over herself, working to catch a breath. After a time, Emrys’ comically-wide blue eyes turned over to Niamh. “You’re married to my baby sister?"

"Engaged, technically," Niamh answered, blinking owlishly at her reaction. “I proposed to her before we left Ferelden."

---

Annnnd then Saoirse shows up because she got worried about Leliana, and she and Emrys get along like peas in a pod. They’re exceedingly competitive with one another though...

---

“Hah!” Saoirse crowed, grinning smugly at Emrys as she rested the flat of her greatsword along her shoulder. “Is that the best Kirkwall’s Champion can do? I managed to neatly cleave my opponent in half.”

Emrys merely scowled, matching pace with Saoirse as they marched toward The Gallows. “Only because I helped! Besides, that strike wouldn’t have held against him if he had a shield as well!”

“Yes, it would have!”

“Lies!” Emrys scoffed. “It would have been caught halfway through the shield before you would have been able to reach his armor!“

“Not with the proper leverage it wouldn’t have!”

As they argued heatedly about sword techniques, Niamh and Bethany shared a long-suffering glance with one another before moving on ahead of their respective sisters.

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

Eventually, this all culminates in that huge battle at the end of DA2, where Meredith is defeated. As per canon, it becomes clear that it’s no longer safe for Emrys and her companions to remain within the city without eventually facing possible repercussions from the Chantry. As such, they begin scattering to the winds not long after the end of the rebellion.

---

"You could come with us, you know," Emrys suggested.

Bethany looked over to where her sister stood next to Isabela, ready to board the ship that would take them to Antiva. Emrys’ expression was almost painfully hopeful, but Bethany knew it wasn't meant to be. Although she had resented it once upon a time, she had a duty to the Wardens, and she would not easily abandon it. She said as much to her sister.

"No. Niamh currently seeks a cure that affects the lives of every Warden."

"A cure for the Calling?” she asked, surprised. “Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. She is easily the cleverest person I’ve ever met though. If there is a solution, she will be the most likely one to find it, and I will not stand to be apart from her."

"I see.” Emrys rubbed the back of her neck, shoulders slumping somewhat. “So… this is goodbye again."

It was admittedly a bittersweet feeling, knowing that this had been the first time in years they had seen one another and it would likely be several more yet before they would meet again.

"For now,” she answered quietly. “You have your life, Sister, and now…" She glanced over at Niamh, who was talking to the captain of a ship heading back to lands far to the west—ones that had never been touched by the Blight, according to Morrigan. “I have mine.”

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

“That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? Just to know that you were happy.”

“I know that now." Her smile turned more genuine as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Emrys, hugging her for all she was worth. "I wish the same upon you always. Safe travels to you and Isabela, Sister."

---

And as mentioned in the bullet points up above, they spend several years traveling abroad. Some days are harder than others as they meet their fair share of challenges, but Niamh and Bethany support each endlessly through it all.

They both return to Ferelden several years after the Trepasser DLC when they’ve found a cure for the Calling. With the taint purged from their bodies, they’re guaranteed the long life that would have otherwise been denied to them. As such, Niamh and Bethany finally get married—torcs gleaming bright—as Leliana as Divine Victoria officiates the wedding.

---

And that’s pretty much it.

I have about 20 pages of random scenes I’ve yet to elaborate on for this AU, including one for the huge battle at the end of DA2, so while I don’t see it as being nearly as long as OtSttCA, it’ll likely make for quite the lengthy read when I finally get a chance to work on it properly.

Still, if this verse interests you, leave me a like, a comment, or just swing by my inbox to tell me your thoughts! Until next time, readers! Take care!

#dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #female warden/bethany hawke #female cousland/bethany hawke #fanfic #my writing #OTP: In Search of Silver Linings #lee's au ideas #if bioware's too much of a fucking coward to write any version of Bethany a happy ending then i'll write all of them!#we respect bethany hawke endlessly on this blog!

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