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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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day two ❅ cause i’m mrs. snow, til death we’ll be freezing

don’t cry snowman, don’t leave me this way, a puddle of water can’t hold me close, baby

day one ❅ day two ❅ day three | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut + angst

notes: weeee yay day two!! touya + co go ice skating :) this, again, was not supposed to be as long as it is, but eh here we are!! | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), drug use, very rough sex, public sex, generally toxic relationships, size difference, tense family dynamics, reader’s probably a lil too obsessed with touya’s cum, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 8.3k

synopsis:

I’m only worried about you, you want to say. It isn’t your intention to put more stress on him, especially when being forced to spend nearly every waking minute around his blood siblings is evidently very difficult for him, but you don’t want him dead because of it, either.

“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.

But he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can feel it—in the air around you, radiating off your frame in thick waves that crash into him in the most pleasant way; in the way your soft fingertips stroke his cheeks, tracing his features with the utmost gentleness; in the way you gaze so tenderly at him, eyes sweeping across his face akin to the most compassionate caress.

It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

The wind howls gently, picking up swirls of snow and dusting it against the window, the snowflakes soft taptaptap’s echoing among the tiny bedroom. It’s grey but bright outside, the morning of December 22nd. Strands of hair stick to your cheeks and neck, chills erupting across your skin as you wiggle around beneath Touya’s heavy arm, laying across your waist in a loose grasp, your movements causing the blanket to slip from your clammy skin, a soft hiss spit through your teeth as the cool air of the room hits your heated skin. Touya’s got his head buried in the pillow, his torso laying half on top of yours, legs intertwined.

“Touya-nii,” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing a little in frustration as you struggle under him. “Niichan,”

“Mmph,” he emits an unintelligible noise in response, muffled by the pillow.

“Niichaaaaan,” the honorific leaves your lips in a whine, giving another weak shove at his arm. “Niichan, you’re so hot, I’m gonna melt,”

“Too bad. We’re not getting up yet,”

You whine again, your squirming becoming more vigorous. “But Touya-nii, I’m so thirsty! Please, my mouth is drier than the desert, I swear to God,”

“If you don’t stop acting like a brat, I’m gonna fuck you like a brat,”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

That gets his attention, fluffy head shooting up, white tufts tousled and standing on end, sleepy eyes squinting against the sudden light as he tries to glare at you. “Excuse me?”

The deep, rough lilt to his voice, heavy with sleep, makes your stomach flutter, blood rushing to your cheeks as you gaze at him.

Even in the morning, he’s stupidly beautiful.

“G-Got you up,” you giggle a little, reaching forward to run your fingers through his messy hair, smoothing it down in the process.

He deadpans, glaring at you for a moment, though there’s no heat in his eyes. You stare back, blinking twice, little fingers trailing down the side of his face and then tracing his jaw, murmuring about how pretty he is.

“Pretty, huh?” he finally sighs, a small grin spreading across his cheeks, head tilting to the side as your fingers travel down his neck, tracing the intricate black ink.

“Mm, very pretty,” you whisper to yourself, eyes zeroing in on his adams apple as it bobs with his chuckle. “But I’m still thirsty,”

He laughs again, rolling his eyes and pushing himself up completely, sheets pooling at his waist. “Fucking brat,”

It’s just past 9am, but the kitchen is empty. Touya carries you there, and even though you’re more than capable of walking by yourself, you snuggle into his neck, scattering gentle kisses across the scarred skin, head resting against his broad shoulder.

He exhales a sigh as you do so, and you can physically feel the tension leaving his body, a tiny bit more with each kiss you press against him.

A soft yelp hitches in your throat as he places you on the counter, cold marble stinging the bare skin of your thighs, Touya smirking at the sound as he wanders over to the fridge, rooting through it for a moment before turning back towards you.

“Water?” you make a face. Touya deadpans for the second time in fifteen minutes.

“You said you were thirsty, did you not?”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off shyly, hooking your ankles together and swinging your legs a little. “I wanted chocolate milk,”

“No,” he says instantly, slamming the fridge shut with more force than necessary, jars jiggling and clinking together with the motion. “Water first,” he uncaps the bottle and holds it out to you. “Don’t you dare start pouting,” he adds, when your eyebrows are beginning to knit together, voice stern. “You did not drag me out of bed at nine in the fucking morning because your mouth was drier than the desert just to pout when I give you water. You know you aren’t allowed sugar first thing in the morning, baby,”

You suppose he has a point, working hard to smooth your face as you take the bottle from him.

“M’sorry, niichan,” you murmur before taking a sip, gazing at him through your lashes.

He glares at you for another moment before a tiny grin breaks his face, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

“You’re really testing me this morning,” he mumbles as large hands pry your knees apart, wedging his hips between your thighs while hands curl around your hips and drag you towards the edge of the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist—an automatic reaction—ankles hooking again and holding him close, bodies pressed flush together.

Something’s still off, you can tell, evident in the way his head drops the moment you’re close enough, forehead resting against the crown of your head, exhaling.

“It’s not very nice, babygirl,” he speaks again after a beat of silence, calloused hands slipping under your—his, your mind reminds you—t-shirt, palming your hips. “Think you should make it up to me, hmm?”

And you want to, God, do you ever want to, want to kiss all of his sorrow away, want to pull those gorgeous broken whines and throaty moans from him, want to help him forget about whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply, to lock it out of his head, shoving it from his mind as his brain is filled with thoughts of you. But…

“B-But niichan, we’re in the kitchen,” you have to force the trembling words from your mouth, biting down hard on your lip to keep from moaning as his teeth skim along your neck, evoking a full body shiver.

“So?” his lips brush against your skin, nimble fingers dipping into your cute pink panties.

“Anyone could—could come in any second and—”

“What? Catch us?” he pulls back a little, smirking. “And?” sapphire searches your face as heat rushes to your cheeks, rushes shamefully between your legs. He snorts a moment later, pressing two fingers against your clothed cunt. “Exactly,” the word is just a huff of breath as he nudges his nose against yours. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I—”

“Don’t try lying,” he sounds bored as he cuts you off, fingers rubbing at your little hole through the damp cotton of your panties. “Your pussy’s very honest,”

And the broken whine that hitches in your chest is nothing short of absolutely pathetic, back arching and eyes fluttering as he begins flicking his thumb over your clit, keeping his touches light and fast.

“Yeah,” he breathes, the word bordering on a growl. “Of course you would. Bet you could cum from just this if Natsuo were watching, huh? Want everyone to know how easy you are for niichan? How much of a good little slut you are for niichan?”

“You planning on testing that theory out?”

Natsuo’s unexpected voice makes you jump, eyes snapping open and flying to his face as you choke on a gasp, Touya’s thumb choosing then to press hard against your swollen little clit, forcing an embarrassingly loud cry from your lips and paying no mind to his younger brother, who’s leaning casually against the doorframe with a smirk decorating his face. In fact, Touya doesn’t react to Natsuo at all—

Because he already knew.

“N-Niichan,” you nearly wail, burying your scalding face in his shoulder, nails digging into the smooth muscles of his back.

“Aww,” Natsuo coos, and he sounds genuine. “C’mon, don’t hide from me, sweetheart,”

“What, now you’re shy? When you were about to get off on the very thought just moments ago?” Touya’s patronizing chuckle vibrates against you, though his hands are on your back, petting you in smooth, soothing motions.

“Niisan, don’t tease,” Natsuo laughs, and you smush your face harder against Touya’s shoulder, whimpering a little as Natsuo’s voice gets closer. “I just figured if you two were gonna have a cheeky lil fuck in the kitchen, the least you could do is let me watch,”

Touya begins laughing again, starts to say something, voice abruptly cutting off. You stiffen, clinging to him, breath bated as you listen.

“Surprised you two were the first ones up,” Fuyumi’s voice floats through the space, tone clipped.

You peak out from over Touya’s shoulder, watching as Fuyumi fiddles around with their extremely expensive coffeemaker, a deep scowl etched into her face.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Touya asks lightly, sounding genuinely surprised, innocently curious.

“You know why,” she snaps, slamming her coffee mug down on the granite countertop and whipping her head around to glare at her older brother.

Touya chuckles and shakes his head, maintaining that he doesn’t, he swears, and if you didn’t know any better, if you couldn’t see the smug smirk on his face, the mocking amusement swirling in his eyes, you’d believe him to be telling the truth.

But Fuyumi knows him better than that, rolling her eyes and grumbling unintelligibly under her breath. Shouto chooses then to enter the kitchen, hair slightly mussed, looking a little like a white and red haystack atop his head, and Touya’s body goes rigid.

He yawns out his morning greeting, glancing around the room, mismatched eyes lingering on your bare thighs for just a second too long.

Touya notices, because Touya notices everything—especially when it comes to Shouto, cobalt eyes sharp and trained on his every movement—moving to shield you with his body as best he can.

“C’mon princess,” he’s mumbling as his hands force their way under your ass, hefting you up again. “Let’s go,”

And no one misses the way Shouto watches the two of you leave, the way his sleepy eyes focus on your ass—just barely concealed by the cotton panties, Touya’s hands providing more coverage than the garment does—then move down to his brother’s shameless erection, partially obscured by your body, inhaling a sharp gasp that everyone hears, that everyone knows what it’s in reaction to, that everyone ignores.

❅ ❅ ❅

Today’s activity is ice skating, Rei tells you as your exiting the cabin.

She looks excited, a smile on her soft lips, eyes bright as she pats your shoulder, and it makes warmth flutter in your chest, glad to see the events of yesterday haven’t completely dampened her mood.

“Do you know how to skate?” Natsuo asks you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I do,” you say proudly, looking over at Rei as you reach Touya’s car, sharing a grin. “Rei taught me not long after she and my father started dating,”

“Aw, mom,” Natsuo coos, looking over at his mother for reassurance. “That’s sweet,”

Rei hums, nodding as her eyes drift back to yours.

“Hold on a second,” she says as her smile slowly begins to dissipate, glancing from Touya’s hand on the handle of his car’s passenger door, to your face, to Natsuo standing by his own car a few feet away, brows knitting.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in the car?” his response comes out as a question, spoken slowly as he’s worried it’s the wrong answer, tilting his head a little like a puppy.

“There’s no need for you to take more than one car,” Rei says pointedly, her gaze darting to Touya, holding his eyes even though she was speaking to Natsuo. His mouth falls open to protest, but she continues. “The five of you will fit in one. We’ll see you there,”

Her tone is final as she turns away and gets into her own car, the five of you watching in silence as it reverses onto the road, snow and ice cracking and popping under the thick tires. Natsuo turns back to the group, a large, boyish smile on his face.

“It’s fine! We’ll take my car,” Natsuo’s eyes soften a little as he looks over at his silver Porsche, patting the roof affectionately.

“No,” Fuyumi responds immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Stone eyes fly back to her face, alarmed. “What! Why?”

“Because you drive like a lunatic—I refuse to ride in any car when you’re behind the wheel,”

Natsuo frowns as he rounds his car, coming to stand with the group. “Well your car isn’t here, since you came up with mom, so—”

“We can take Touya’s car,”

“No,” Touya nearly growls, the unexpected rumbling deep in his chest causing everyone to flinch.

“Why not?” Fuyumi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as she glances at her older brother. “I can’t think of any reason—”

“He is not stepping foot in my fucking car,”

Fuyumi’s eyes widen slightly, staring at him in disbelief, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding, or are you really that stupid?”

“Touya-nii,” you gasp softly, tugging on his arm a little and then hugging it to your chest. His voice drips with venom, sharper than a tungsten needle, and it makes both you and Natsuo wince, despite not being the object of his fury.

“Fine, Christ, I just won’t come then,” Shouto finally chimes in with a roll of his eyes. “Will that make you happy?”

Touya whirls around to face him, rips his arm from your grasp so aggressively, so suddenly, that it sends you stumbling backwards. Natsuo catches you quickly, righting you with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“You wanna know what would make me happy? You fucking de—”

“That’s enough,” Fuyumi cuts him off with a glare so fierce it sends chills skittering across your skin, regardless of the thick sweaterdress and heavy jacket you’re currently wrapped up in. Natsuo must feel it course through your body, because he pulls you tighter against him, fingers digging into your shoulder.

Touya’s eyes snap to his sister, raising an eyebrow as a terrifying smile spreads across his face. It’s a smile you’ve only seen a few times before, gleaming white teeth on display, angular jaw clenched tightly. It’s a smile that makes icy dread pool in your stomach, thick and heavy, and you try to press yourself closer to Natsuo, body flush against his side, partially hiding your face in his chest.

Still, Fuyumi does not waver. “You are an adult, Touya. For God’s sake, act like one! Shouto is not a disease—”

“Could’ve fooled me,”

“—that will infect your car! He’s your baby brother!”

Touya’s eye twitches at the term, painful smile stretching even wider. In the pale afternoon sunlight, those glinting white teeth look pointier than normal, and you whimper into Natsuo’s chest.

“My car, my rules,”

“Oh my God! Are you being ser—”

“Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Natsuo jumps in quickly, trying to keep his voice light. “You’re scaring our little princess, niisan,” he says, voice softer, a large hand rubbing your shoulder in comfort.

Touya spins around again, wild sapphire eyes finding yours, his face falling the moment your gazes meet.

Little fingers have tangled themselves in Natsuo’s jacket, clinging to him so hard the skin over your knuckles is stretched taut. Your entire body trembles as you blink hard, trying in vain to clear the tears rushing to your eyes. The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears, so loud you can’t hear what Touya says as he swoops towards you, eyes wide and worried.

“We’ll take my car, and Fuyumi will drive.”

Natsuo’s voice holds the same note of finality that his mother’s does, large hand still curled around your shoulder as firm stone eyes scan the three faces in front of him.

❅ ❅ ❅

Touya refuses to have you and Shouto in the back seat alone, and Natsuo insists that he sits in the passenger seat, to make sure Fuyumi doesn’t hurt his baby, he explains, which is how you end up smack in the middle of the oldest and youngest Todoroki children.

It’s cramped—they’re both too big to be in the backseat of such a small car—resulting in the three of you being squished together, your body packed in tightly—practically wedged—between theirs.

It’s nearly impossible to keep your thigh from brushing against Shouto’s, but you try anyway, leaning into Touya as much as you can. A strong, possessive arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers fisted in the material of your little sweaterdress, sapphire eyes hyper-focused on the way Shouto’s corduroy clad thigh keeps knocking against your bare knee with every gentle jolt of the car.

But when Shouto idly drops his large hands heavily to his lap with a sigh, long fingers splayed casually, just the very tip of his pinky resting against your thigh—well.

Touya sees fucking red, yanking your body away from his little brother immediately with a vicious growl caught in his throat, the movement so sudden and unexpected it has both you and Shouto gasping, heterochromatic eyes wide and alert as they snap to his eldest brother’s face,

He hadn’t even noticed. Truthfully, you probably wouldn’t have either if it hadn’t been Touya’s suffocating, overbearing presence beside you—engulfing you, causing you to be excessively aware of every miniscule movement, every jostle and touch and bump.

“Don’t fucking touch her,”

It takes Shouto another half a second before the realization hits him, eyes darting down to his thighs, finally taking note of the placement of his fingers. Then he’s scoffing, rolling his eyes as he huffs to himself, quiet and under his breath, something about Touya being absolutely ridiculous and childish and insecure.

Yet Shouto’s legs spread a little more every time Touya pulls you a few centimeters closer to him, ensuring that your thighs can never quite escape his, his strong muscles constantly nudging against yours.

It isn’t until you push your knee back against his, hard and purposeful, giving Shouto a sharp look, that this behaviour finally halts.

“Who’s being childish now?” you hiss, eyes holding his sternly, widening a moment later as if to say, Stop aggravating him.

Shouto’s face falls, lips tugging down into a frown as his gaze searches your face, head shaking a little. He opens his mouth—to apologize, you think—but is cut off by Touya’s immature snickering, his chest vibrating against your back.

“Fuck you,” he seethes instead, eyes narrowing and mouth snapping into a firm, unimpressed line.

“Watch it—”

“Play nice, you two,” Natsuo warns from the front seat. “I won’t hesitate to pull this car over and beat both your asses on the side of the road for everyone to see,”

“Okay, dad,” Shouto snorts as Touya simultaneously responds with, “I’d like to see you try,”

Nevertheless, Natsuo’s little warning does manage to shut them up for the remainder of the ride, Shouto crossing his legs, knees pressed up painfully against the door in an attempt to stop touching you. You’re practically in Touya’s lap by the time you arrive at the Ena Skating Rink at Crystal Park, seatbelt uncomfortably biting into your flesh through your clothing.

“I don’t understand why we had to drive an hour just to go skating,” Shouto grumbles just as Fuyumi turns into the parking lot, face set in a deep frown, eyebrows furrowed as he glares out the window. “There was a perfectly fine lake like, ten minutes from the cabin,”

“Shou, you sound like a petulant teenager,”

“Technically, he is a petulant teenager,”

“Not for much longer,”

“That’s right, your birthday’s coming up,” you say automatically without thinking, words slipping from your mouth as Fuyumi circles the lot in search of a parking spot. In the past, Shouto would’ve ignored such a slip-up, figuring the politeness of providing you an answer not worth Touya’s wrath, but now he turns to face you with a small smile, heterochromatic eyes almost twinkling, mask of irritability burning off his face in an instant.

“Yeah, in a few weeks,” he shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll be twenty,”

Do you have any plans?

The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, words frozen at the back of your throat as Touya’s hand curls protectively around you, strong fingers digging into your plush waist hard enough to make you wince.

But Shouto has become pretty good at reading you over these past few years, no longer needs you to voice your thoughts—the two of you have become accustomed to communicating through looks and expressions alone, to keep from sending Touya into an absolute rampage, to keep the both of you safe.

“Not sure what I’m doing yet,” he answers, keeping his voice light, though those mismatched eyes are sharply trained on your face, ready to analyze and decode whatever expression your features morph into.

This is the first time he’s ever verbally answered, though, and it hits you like a bag of bricks swung at your chest, the realization that this is something the two of you have built up together, something the two of you have spent years doing, working together silently, quietly, subtly, to keep Touya placid, something the two of you have been subconsciously doing to protect each other.

The thought inspires an odd feeling in your stomach, chest tightening with something akin to anxiety, something bitter and heavy rooting in the pit of your belly.

Touya saves you from having to answer, hastily unbuckling your seatbelt for you the moment Fuyumi’s finished reversing the car and nearly hauling you out before she’s even cut the engine.

❅ ❅ ❅

“You’re not coming?” you ask Touya as he slips your foot into a skate, beginning to lace it up.

Touya shakes his head. “No,”

“Touya never learned how to skate—refused to, actually,” Natsuo informs you, sitting down next to you on the bench and playfully bumping his shoulder against yours.

Tilting you head, you stare at him, a soft little oh slipping from your lips. Touya avoids your gaze, jaw clenching rhythmically.

“It’s for the best. He really shouldn’t be near any sort of blade for an extended period of time, not while Shouto’s in reach,” Natsuo jokes, though no one laughs, because it’s true.

Touya spends most of his time leaning against the boards, bright sapphire eyes trained on you, glued to you, cataloging all of your movements, each of your cute little giggles and soft little smiles, every hand on your shoulder or waist as it steadies you.

It’s hard for him to watch.

It’s hard for him to watch the way your eyes twinkle as Fuyumi speaks to you, the two of you gliding around the ice nonchalantly, hard for him to watch the way Natsuo pulls endless laughter from your throat as his gloved hands hold yours, pulling you along with him, hard for him to watch when Shouto appears beside you, slowing his stride to talk animatedly to you, the two of you absorbed in whatever discussion you’re having.

And yet, he can tell something isn’t right. Your eyes are twinkling, but they don’t gleam the way they do when you gaze at him. You’re laughing, but it isn’t as bubbly and pure as it is when evoked by him. You’re talking, but you aren’t wholly and completely captivated by whatever it is Shouto’s saying to you, gaze constantly drifting just over his shoulder, connecting with Touya’s.

Those ten little words from the night before echo through his mind again, and his molars grind together, but the look in your eyes, the way your face positively lights up when you skate towards him, past him, blowing kisses and giggling behind mitten covered hands, stomps them to little pieces, to dust, your fleeting presence blowing them away. He feels like he can fucking breathe again, each time you glide by him, resolve hardening a little more with every lap past him.

No, he knows he’s the best for you, absolutely is without a doubt the very best for you— and you confirm it with that loving, adoring, doting look every single time.

Despite this, he keeps disappearing intermittently, your heart sinking just a little bit more every time you look over to see him nowhere to be found, a sour taste settling on the back of your tongue. This is only the second day into the trip and you’re already terrified, knowing that he’s filling his nostrils with that fine white powder the moment he begins to feel his high fading, the moment he feels himself beginning to come down.

And by the third time he vanishes within a single hour, you decide you can no longer stand by and do nothing, say nothing—he’s gone for more than usual this time, an uneasy sense of dread flooding your body, making your limbs tingle as your heart begins to race, plopping down on the wooden bench and bending down to quickly unlace your skates. Your voice shakes as you tell the others that you’d like to take a short break from skating, claiming that your feet are sore, and that you’d like to rest for a while.

In actuality, you’re sure they all know what you’re doing, itching to go search for Touya, heart pounding painfully as several scenarios flash through your mind, but they say nothing, nodding with those polite smiles they all plaster on their faces any time something like this occurs.

The muscles in your thighs ache as you jog across the snow-dusted field, eyes frantically darting around the large open space in search for a man with ivory hair and azure eyes. Your feet take off the moment you spot him, an instinctual reaction, breath ragged and burning in your chest as you barrel into him, winding your arms around his waist tightly and burying your face in his strong chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he’s murmuring softly, arms encircling you and squeezing you against him, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “What’s going on, princess?”

Pulling back, your eyes study his face, stomach plummeting when you see it.

“Out playing in the snow again?”

Cobalt eyes narrow, Touya tilting his head in question as he stares at you. A frown mars your face, deep sigh leaving your nostrils without your permission, and Touya bristles. A tender thumb swipes across his nose, showing him the pure white powder it gathers.

“Slow down,” you say softly, gently, cautious eyes watching him carefully. “I don’t want a trip to the ER for Christmas,”

He holds your gaze for a moment, and you can see it, the blue fire simmering deep within them, but because it’s Christmas—and only because it’s Christmas—he blinks twice, extinguishing the flame to dull embers.

Chest heaving once, deep and heavy, he sighs out of parted lips, holding your hand to his cheek. Sapphire eyes close briefly as he nuzzles his face into your touch, and for a moment—just for a second—you think he’s about to apologize.

But that would be a Christmas miracle.

“Keep me in line,” he says quietly, shoulders slumping a little in defeat, a tiny sardonic grin on his lips as his eyes open again, searching your face. “Okay? Can’t let my best girl down on Christmas, now, can I?”

And although his shoulders are straining under the weight of this new responsibility—to try and restrain himself a little more, to not solely rely on the drugs to numb him to everything, to give up autonomy, power, to you—a weight feels like it’s been lifted off of yours, regardless of the fact that he’s asking you to control him, and you inhale deeply, able to breathe again.

“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.

It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side. The thought produces an inexplicable lump in his throat and he blinks hard, glittering eyes sweeping across your face before he seizes it, large hands cupping your jaw almost painfully as he pulls your face towards his, lips capturing yours in a crushing kiss.

Niichan! You try to squeal, muffled by his lips, Touya using the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, down your throat.

Traitorous as ever, your body melts into his only a second later, fingers latching behind his neck, trying to pull yourself closer.

“I need more,” he mumbles against your lips before pecking them again, eyes still closed. “I need more, baby, I need more right now,”

“Then take it,” you whine breathlessly into his mouth, echoing your words from the night before. “Take it, it’s yours,”

❅ ❅ ❅

It smells like damp rubber and stale snow, with a hint of year-old hard candy crushed beneath snow boots, releasing faint scents of artificial strawberry and orange.

The restroom is filthy, but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to pay much mind to the grime on the walls, or the flaky rust on the faucet—which is quietly dripping intermittently, covered in little droplets of condensation that gleam under the harsh florescent light humming above, tubes exposed.

The cement wall is cold against your bare skin as Touya rucks your dress up around your waist, hands under your ass supporting your weight as your legs wrap around him obediently, praising you for listening to him and never wearing pants, even in weather like this, because god, it makes everything so much easier, baby.

In the past, you would’ve been in a rush, positive you didn’t have much time before someone noticed your absence.

But your family is used to this now, completely unphased by the two of you disappearing for twenty, sometimes thirty minutes and returning with swollen lips and freshly fucked hair.

It’s not like they can say anything, anyway—it’s not like anything is going to stop the two of you now; it’s not like anything would’ve stopped the two of you before, either.

Despite this, Touya still doesn’t exactly take his time with you, large hands pawing at your breasts, your waist, your hips, fingers dipping into the elastic waistband of your panties just to let it snap back against your skin, reveling in the little yelp it conjures from you.

“Already soaked,” he sneers in your ear as two fingers skim over your lace-clad cunt. “Of course you are. I don’t know why I expected any less,” he huffs out a chuckle; a mean, harsh sound that ghosts over the shell of your ear before he captures it with his teeth, biting down hard and forcing a high-pitched squeal from your throat. “Because my baby’s such a Goddamn slut, isn’t she,” his lips are against your ear as he murmurs in that low, sultry voice, hot breath contrasting the cool air of the restroom, and you shiver violently.

“Only for you,” you whine out, already breathless.

And you’ll never get over how easily he knocks the air out of your lungs with just a few dirty words and prodding fingers, stroking your slit through drenched lace in a way that’s almost gentle, careful, purposeful, sure to keep his touches as teasing and not nearly enough.

Still, those three words have more of an effect on him than you would’ve thought, a possessive growl ripping from his chest as he grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh, the denim rough against your soft skin.

That growl in particular is your favourite, and you tell him so.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, pulling back as sapphire searches your face rapidly, wide and bright and alert with the cocaine rushing through his body.

“Makes me—” sharp teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, just above your shoulder, a loud gasp cutting you off and bouncing against the walls of the small room. “Makes me wet, niichan,”

He groans into your skin, tongue wet and warm and caressing the skin in little licks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he sucks, branding you with brilliant violet.

“What’s this? My princess talking so dirty without being prompted?” he pulls back to look at you, and you can see the amusement dancing in his deep, deep eyes, endless pits of cerulean smothering everything their gaze touches, almost voracious as they soak it all up, feeling like they’re sucking the very life from you in the most delicious way.

A pitiful squeak escapes your lips in the form of an answer, heat seeping into your cheeks. He’s mocking you—you can tell. Those three words uttered from your lips aren’t even that dirty, are nothing compared to some of the things that have come out of your mouth while you’re delirious on his cock, begging for his cum.

Still, you’re unable to find your voice, staring at him in an almost helpless manner, a little kitten in the clutches of a jaguar, claws beginning to close in on you, trapping you between heavy, sharp paws.

“Ah,” he smirks, eyes darkening dangerously. “Not so bold when niichan’s actually looking at you, are you?”

Front teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on it a little as you hold his gaze, feeling heat gush between your thighs, the symphony of your combined slightly ragged breathing ringing in your ears.

“Say it again,”

And you try—really, you do, lips separating as you try to force the words out, a nasty combination of frustration and shame eroding your chest, burning and acidic, then shaking your head a moment later.

“Just,” you whimper as you try to pathetically rock against him. “Please?”

“Nah, nah, nah,” he’s shaking his head, that stupid grin etched across his face, pulling back even more but keeping you up against the wall, hands still cupping your ass, hips pinning yours. “Niichan isn’t gonna fuck you now unless you ask for it,”

Your forehead creases with a deep frown. You usually ask him to fuck you, don’t you? “I alwa—”

“No, no, you don’t,” he says simply with a tilt of his head. “Niichan wants you to really ask for it this time,”

You blink rapidly in confusion. “I-I don’t understand,”

Little breaths are beginning to leave your mouth, speeding up with the racing of your heart, terrified to upset him. Yet he looks amused, looks like he’s having so much fun as he torments you.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos with a false pout, mimicking your own. “You’re not that stupid, are you?”

A little whimper leaves your lips, chin twitching, threatening to begin trembling as you shake your head at him, unable to find words. Heat floods your face again, little pinpricks under the skin of your cheeks, a physical manifestation of your humiliation as he tuts his tongue.

“I don’t know how else to explain it to you,” he shrugs nonchalantly, though you can feel his cock throbbing through the thick denim of his jeans. “Just ask for my cock, babygirl,”

Although oozing with patronization, his voice is soft, blown pupils gazing at you with so much love it’s nearly overflowing from his eyes, slender fingers kneading the flesh of your ass almost tenderly as he waits.

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really.

“I-I want your cock, nii—” you begin, voice fading as your eyes meet his unimpressed gaze, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say Really? That’s the best you got?

A fierce need to prove yourself, to make him moan again, to make his stomach tense from just your words alone, blazes in your chest, burning through your veins and giving you another surge of confidence.

Gazing at him through your lashes, you pout a little more. “Niichan,” you whine out the honorific, back arching a little as you do. “Please, niichan, give it to me, I’m begging, my pussy is aching for your cock, T-Touya-nii—I need it filling me up, need it right now, f-feels so empty without you stretching me wide open,” the sentence fades off into a little whimper, but his lidded, glazed eyes, and the way his tongue runs along his bottom lip as he stares at you spurs you on, more dirty words spilling from your lips. “Feels—Feels wrong without your f-fat cock inside of me,” you nearly weep. “Please, niichan, make it right again,”

The gentle tremble in your voice only adds to it, somehow manages to make you seem so fucking innocent as you whine out such filthy words, and Touya can barely handle it, rubbing against your thigh, the repetitive motion of the denim dragging across your soft skin causing it to chafe.

“Fucking Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes slip shut. “I wish I had recorded that,”

A cute, shy little giggle bubbles up your throat, face still burning. “I-I can say it again, if you want, niichan,”

He laughs—a genuine laugh deep in his throat, paired with a smile that meets his eyes—and presses a chaste kiss to your nose.

“One day, I’ll film us,” he vows, and the thought alone makes your stomach swoop. “But now, niichan’s gonna make you feel right again, okay, princess?”

“Oh, please, please,” you’re whimpering, body quivering against him.

“Shh, niichan’s got you,” he murmurs as he fiddles with his belt using a singular hand, your tiny fingers wandering down between your bodies to aid him.

Shoving your panties to the side, the head of his cock presses against you, and you wince in anticipation of the stretch—the stretch you so lovingly begged him for, he reminds you, sapphire eyes soaking up every single one of your expressions as he pushes in; reveling in the way your shut lids tighten, face screwing up in pain as the softest little yelp hitches in your throat.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, abused cunt still sore and raw from the night before, from being fucked so ruthlessly less than twenty-four hours ago.

But you’re so wet, he breathes, rolling his hips slowly, stretching you little hole out just a bit more with each unhurried rock of his hips against yours. The wetness does nothing to stop the sting that accompanies his motions, though, reopening the tiny superficial fissures in your sensitive skin, quite literally tearing you apart, again, as your cunt yields to his girth.

“Niichan, hurts,”

“Yeah, baby?”

Little fingers curl in his thick sweater, and you whimper out an affirmative, head nodding lethargically against his shoulder.

“I thought you wanted niichan to fill you up?” he speaks as though he’s confused, a hint of condescension sown into the question, never halting his thrusts.

“I-I do!” you say quickly, head shooting up to gaze at him with glassy eyes, thick shield of unshed tears causing them to gleam in the harsh light. “I do,”

“Well then,” he smirks at you, hips pulling back, slow and controlled, before thrusting back in, sharp and fast, so hard it shoves your body up the wall, head whacking against the concrete with such force it sends agonizing pain shooting through your skull like lightning strikes. “Stop being a fucking brat, and take what niichan’s giving you,” he scolds over the piercing cry that falls from your lips, voice rough, deep, rumbling the way thunder does, buried in thick clouds on a humid summer’s day.

“Ungrateful little slut,” he snarls out, panting a little as his hips set a punishing pace, rapidly slamming into you, his jutting hipbones digging into the fresh bruises from the night before.

And you’re powerless to stop the noises you’re emitting, catching in your throat in time with his harsh thrusts, little mewls of niichan! and broken whines bouncing off the solid, cold walls, each one reverberating in his skull, forcing his hips to drive faster, harder, deeper.

But it’s fucking intoxicating, the way he’s pulling those needy little sounds from you as tears slip down your cheeks, pompously spitting demeaning words at you, sugarcoated in a thin, gleaming layer of praise. He’s a goddamn drug, words invading your mind and casting a thick haze over it, and during that moment all you can see is him, hear is him, taste is him—you swear you can feel him rushing through your veins, his heady scent of expensive cologne mixed with hickory campfire and a hint of Marlboros filling your lungs, the organs swelling painfully as you hold him inside your chest, trying to keep a piece of him close to your heart.

He stops to readjust your position, grunting as hooks an arm under your knee and yanks, ripping it from around his waist and forcing it toward your torso, your ankle nearly resting on his shoulder, his hand splayed flat against the dirty wall, using it as leverage. Your other leg clings to him, wrapped so tightly around his body that the muscles are beginning to quiver. Still, this brief pause affords you a much needed moment to catch your breath before his hips piston into you again, harsh, strong, fast, cockhead slamming against your cervix with each snap of his hips.

Each thrust forces another yelp to tear from your throat, your voice hoarse and raw, as he bruises your abused cervix, sharp spikes of pain shooting up your lower back and down your trembling thighs. He’s a watery blur at this point, eyes overflowing with tears, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders as you clutch him, arms beginning to ache from holding yourself up.

Tufts of white hair stick to his neck and forehead, clumped together with sweat. He’s almost whining out curses, slipping from between clenched teeth as his thrusts continue to pick up speed, although you can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, peppered with pitiful little sobs that leave your chest heaving.

“Look at you,” he gasps out, wild sapphire eyes searching your face. “So fucking beautiful, taking my cock so well,”

And even in such a position, inebriated from the potent combination of pain and pleasure and him, his praise still makes your heart soar. A little pink tongue darts out to wet your chapped lips, bitten raw by him and salty with your own tears. Strand of hair stick to your puffy cheeks, though you’re unsure if they’re coated in sweat or tears.

“C’mon, baby,” he nearly keens. “Want you to be a good girl and cum for me,”

And those two tiny, four letter words are the magic words, like they always are, your head nodding vigorously, incoherent babbling bubbling past your lips; yes niichan, of course, wanna be a good girl for you, touya-nii, the best girl, your best girl.

He gives you permission to touch your clit, swollen and aching from neglect, your fingers sneaking between your bodies to rub at it, pussy clenching almost immediately.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Yeah baby, just like that, milk niichan for all the cum he’s got,”

The praise, mixed with a direct command, has your fingers speeding up, moving in rapid circular motions, that cord of heat in your stomach coiling tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until it finally snaps, your little cunt throbbing as you gush around his cock.

He follows immediately after with a dark growl of your name, hips stilling as he finally cums, pinning you against the wall, cockhead pressed tightly against your sore cervix.

It’s thick, scalding, and copious, wrecked little noises getting caught in your throat as his cock pulses, filling you with endless spurts of cum; so much, too much, and you’re sure your womb isn’t nearly big enough to take it all, positive that it’s leaking out of you, running down your ass and down his balls.

You still haven’t caught your breath by the time Touya’s releasing you, hands firm on your hips as he places you gently on your feet, keeping you steady as your legs shake. You can still feel his cum leaking out of you, and you wish you had something better than your thin panties to keep it inside of you. With a pout, you tell him so, voice absolutely ruined as you wheeze out, “I-I wish I had a-a plug, niichan, to hold all of your cum inside me,”

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes twinkling as he gazes down at you, brushing his slender fingers through your sweaty hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

❅ ❅ ❅

You don’t remember much of the drive home, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids from falling shut. Touya’s half dried cum is sticky—now practically gelatinous—in your panties and the mere thought of it makes you whimper, wiggling your hips a little, trying to shuffle closer to him.

It makes you feel needy. It makes him feel wanted.

“Niichan’s here, baby,” he’s murmuring into your hair as he readjusts his arm around your waist, pulling both your legs over his lap, your side still pressed firmly against his. “Niichan’s here,”

A pitiful whine slips from your lips, little fingers curling in his hoodie as warm hands travel up your dress, kneading the supple flesh of your thighs. Fingers press into the bruises he knows are there without even having to look, smirking at the way you hiss, contrasted by the way your thighs spread just a bit more, giving him more room to work, to play. The pads of his fingers graze the tiny raised cuts that the rough denim of his jeans left behind, tracing the raised little scabs.

“Sleep,” he tells you softly. “You did so good today, such a good little girl for me, my best girl,”

And his voice is the most soothing lullaby, smooth like melted platinum and quiet enough that only you can hear it, undoubtedly drowned out to the others by the staticky car radio.

❅ ❅ ❅

The dark bedroom is bleary, as if you were gazing at it though a thick slab of glass, eyes scanning the room slowly, mumbling out something that’s unintelligible even to yourself.

You’re not exactly sure how you got here, sitting on one of the twin beds in yours and Touya’s shared bedroom, propped up against the tiny headboard like a doll.

Touya’s murmuring to you softly as tender hands find the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly, slowly, slowly, a low whine getting caught in your throat as your soft skin is exposed to the cool air, until he’s removed it from you completely. The clasp at the back of your bra snaps, and you want to tell him to be more gentle, this is your favourite bra, but you can’t seem to make your tongue move, the muscle sitting slimy and heavy in your mouth. Your vision disappears entirely for a second as something soft is slipped over your head, your body engulfed in the scent of hickory wood and Marlboro smoke.

Then large hands are all over you, maneuvering you onto your side then rolling you onto your back, gently prying your thighs open a moment later as he kneels between them, the springy mattress dipping with his weight.

“Touya-nii,” his name escapes your lips in a jumbled whine of protest.

“Shh, baby,” he hushes you, pulling your soiled panties down your legs.

Every muscle in your body aches, weighted down with fatigue from the long day, a few weak kicks—more of a fluttering of your legs, really—being all you’re able to manage in resistance.

“Hurts, niichan,” you whimper, through your eyelids are already falling shut again, exhaustion tugging at your consciousness gently.

“I know, princess,” he responds, and you’re just awake enough for the words to register, brow furrowing. His body heat disappears for a moment from between your thighs as he leans over to grab something, then returns, waves of comforting warmth rolling off of him.

Your body flinches ever so slightly as you feel something cold and smooth being spread across your swollen folds and puffy little hole. Cream, your mind supplies feebly.

“Niichan—”

“Quiet now,” he says, voice firmer than before. An order, this time. “Go to sleep, baby, and let niichan take care of this,”

Hot, tingling sparks blossom deep in the pit of your stomach, making your entire body buzz, like you’re high off him again, the sensation causing your chest to swell. This is what love feels like—Touya rubbing cool, soothing cream into your raw skin as he murmurs soft praises to you—you’re absolutely positive about it.

“I love you,”

The words leave your lips as a dreamy sigh, body finally relaxing against the mattress again.

He presses a tender kiss to your inner thigh, the soft skin a mosaic of crimson and violet from his previous ministrations. “I love you more,”

And that’s the last thing you feel, the last thing you hear as your mind slowly drifts into unconsciousness, filled with hazy images of a pretty boy with glowing sapphires for eyes and ivory for hair, of slim veiny hands decorated with the most magnificent black ink, the pads of their fingertips dancing along your skin, of a deep, sultry voice smoother than satin murmuring how much it loves you as lips crawl up your body—up your thighs, over your stomach and ribs, along the curve of you neck, until finally, they reach yours.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #dabi #AAAAH this was supposed to be posted last night but i fell asleep editing it after getting distracted by SOMEONE #anyway enjoy!!#i hope u all like it!!#whew two down three to go #technically two to go because part four is nearly finished ehehe #tw pseudo-incest #OH THERES ALSO SOME FORESHADOWING IN HERE EUEUEUEUEUEEUEUE #MARI KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

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LEATHERBOUND - Reader x Cassian - (I think I missed this request but I think someone req’d something similar) Reader is a librarian in Illyria when Cassian comes in asking for help finding something.

Cassian's favorite time of year in Illyria was the winter days where the sun was out. The winds were harsh enough to stun his wings, but the rays from the sun were warm enough for a perfect contrast. Not letting him freeze, but not letting him get too hot either.

The muddiness also became packed ice instead of the mess it had been over the summer. It was still messy in the more trafficked areas, but not nearly as bad. He couldn't hide the joy that rept into his heart at the sight of so many Illyrians taking joy in the season. Small winged children threw snowballs at passerbys from a ledge. A broad winged male scared them off with a flyover. Cassian entered the small shop, the smell of dust and worn carpet whirled around him. It was comforting in a strange way. It reminded him of being a child. Innocent and curiously exploring different shops at his home.

The bell above rang in a dull tone. He looked up and saw the shotty repair job on the ringer. Not exactly as it had been when he was a child, it seemed. "Stay right there!" You called from the back, putting away the stack of books you held. They clattered into the bin loudly. The sound of rustling made him curious.

"I'm just here for-" He called, starting to step further into the room. The books lined the short walls, and the stacks in the middle looked percaiously stacked. They were organized, but the bottom of the stack seemed stained. He doubted the resources for another bookcase were available.

"I know, just dont move. I just cleaned the carpet." You brought a towel from the front desk over and placed it beside the small outcropping of hard wood you had laid out for anyone first entering the store. "This is the last building in Illyria with carpets. I'd like to keep it that way." You said when the dark haired male gave you a pinched look. He bent and began taking off his boots. Boots that looked far too new for the likes of an Illyrian.

Watching him do so, you noticed the two Siphons on his hands. Then the one on his knee. Your head went fuzzy. What had you done to deserve a visit from the Lord of Bloodshed? He noticed your stare and gave you a wolfish smile. You didn't flinch away from it. The wind howled at the gaps in the stone, and you cleared your throat.

"So what do you need?" You asked, crossing your hands behind your back. Ready to be of service. Hopefully he wouldn't demand too much of your small store.

"You said you knew. So you tell me." He said with a sly smile. You stammered, sweat slicking your palms. "I didnt mean- We have several ah..." You looked away, at the different categories of spellbooks and history of Prythian. Shame fell in your gut at the bottom layers of books that made the stack in the middle of the room.

"I'm looking for a cookbook. One with Illyrian recipes." He stepped to the carpet, his dark socks immaculate against the worn pattern.

"Is the high lord a fan of home made treats?" You laughed at the odd request. Then covered your mouth, the embarrassment turned your ears red. "I'm sorry-" "No, its fine." Cassian chuckled, pulling a book off a shelf. It was of the first war, and was bound in dark leather. "He does. But the book isn't for him. The high ladies sister, actually."

The one of hellfire and stone or the one that seemed to be a ghost? You dared not question him. "A solstice gift?" You asked, showing him over to the small cooking section you had obtained over centuries. They weren't of much use in Illyria, but the few travelers found them fascinating.

"Yes, she's had a rough year." His voice was somber, but the hope still lingered in his eyes.

You let the words sink in. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, his presence was warm and welcoming, actually. As if he was putting off a vibe of 'I'm safe.' You handed him a complete cookbook full of basic recipes and baking. The cover was so worn the title was unreadable. Dark spots stained the inner pages, you knew because you'd borrowed the book several times. "We all have." He flicked through it for a moment, smiling. His teeth were immaculate, and a bit extra pointy on his canines. The sight of them sent a thrill through you.

"I recommend the sweet dough. It's spice free, the only thing you need for it is pine needles and sap." You flicked the pages to one you had bookmarked. The opposite side was full of different types of cakes to make with minimal ingredients.

"I'm too familiar with it." He laughed, shaking his head. Some fond memories from long ago lingered there. He could recall the scent of the bread with full accuracy. The way it the needles would char on top of the dough if there were too many.

"How much do I owe you?" He pinned the leather under his arm and pulled a satchel from his pocket. Your heart raced at the glimpse of so many gold coins there.

"Ah- it'll be Twenty silvers." You said, embarrassment coating your tongue. He didnt even look like he was carrying and silver. He eyed you speculatively. "Twenty silvers for a full book?" He asked. You nodded, trying not to wring your hands. He fished a gold coin from the pouch and held it out to you. "Let me get you some change... it may take a second." You fumbled to the desk where you kept your coin inside a spellbound box.

"Dont worry about it. I'll be back another time." He called, setting the book on the floor to pull on his shoes. "Lord Cas-" You began to protest.

"Just Cassian." He corrected, grunting as he pulled on the boots. "Call it a tab." He winked and eyed the ripped, hole filled curtains of the front window. How they swayed in the breeze that drifted in from the rocks.

"I'll be seeing you." His eyes scanned you, and you nodded. "Be seeing you." You said back, your mouth dry. He was intimidating in the ways you'd never thought of. Not in a scary way, but in a sly way that made your heart race. The bell over his head dinged hollowly as he exited, shoving the book into his backpack. You tried not to stare as he left.

+ The Solstice party was a success as it normally was. Nesta kept to herself in the corner with Amren while everyone else exchanged gifts. Elain's eyes lit up at the book, and she hugged Cassian with heart. "I'll be making you something tomorrow." She promised. Cassian felt the flicker of cold over him and shot Az a look. They glowered at one another.

Rhys leveled a look at both of them that got them to straighten up. Feyre handed out mugs of hot cider. Mor brought around a bottle of liquor to mix with it. The night was warm with friends and joy. Besides the cold corner where Nesta sat. Cassian did his best to ignore it. As did everyone else.

He was nearly the last to leave. The cider had effected him more than he thought. But it warmed his insides against the cold wind of Velaris. He wrapped his wings around himself to shield from the cold. He thought of the librarian who had given him the book. His mind drifted to the rest of that day, how Devlon had even seemed cheerful.

He wondered if you were doing anything, if you had any family celebrating with you. If you had a mate that spoiled you. His heart kicked up at the thought of it. He hadn't noticed a ring...or any tattoos to signify a mating bond. He couldn't recall much else. He had been stunned by the beauty and simplicity of you and your shop. He couldnt remember if you had wings.

The frustration ate at him. He had to know more. He needed to know if you had a good solstice. He made a plan. "It would be good karma" He told himself, entering one of the several shops on the way to the townhome. His excitement made it nearly impossible to sleep that night. + "Happy solstice." A voice called from the front door. You hadn't heard the bell chime.

You rushed to the front, making sure that the carpet hadn't been ruined. The curtains whipped from the wind outside. The enormous Illyrian shut the door with a firm gentleness that made your heart race. His hands wrapped around a small wooden box. Well, it was small in his hands.

"It's the day after solstice. Happy late solstice." You corrected, striding over to him and giving him a look about the shoes. They looked incredibly clean. "You still need to take them off."

"I know. You need to open this first." He forced the box upon you and stooped to begin unlacing the boots. "What-"

"Just open it." He stood and followed you to the counter. Heat flooded your cheeks, you hadn't gotten him anything. Not that you could afford it, or even knew what he would want. "Why did you get this?" You asked, trying to hide the tension in your voice.

"So you dont have to cook that sweetbread again." He said with a grin, staring at you. At how your hands delicately removed the lid from the box. Then at your stunned reaction at the waft of spices that spilled from the box. "Cassian-" You breathed, utterly speechless.

"I have a request too...So you can't say its too much. It's for me too." He went to the shelf where he'd gotten the cookbook for Elain. "Make us these, and we'll call it even."

"Cassian... I'm not a cook. I dont bake." You laughed when he pointed at the spice cakes in the book. "Maybe ask the sister-" You pushed the box toward him, the heaviness of it screamed 'expensive' to you. Guilt marred the joy of receiving the gift.

He pushed it firmly back to you, locking eyes. He noted the way you tensed at that stare. He eased, trying to ignore the scent mixing with the smell of leather and spice. "I want you to make it, using these." He patted the top of the box.

You debated with yourself. The male carried around more gold than you'd ever seen. And he wasn't worried about it. You figured if it was a gift then he genuinely wanted you to have it. You sighed and took the box, placing it under the shelf beside your bag. Your wings pinched at the movement.

You ignored how his eyes lingered on your scarred members. You were used to it from some males, but never one as important and high ranking as him. He shook himself and refocused, pulling himself out of the rage he was feeling at the sight of your ruined wings.

"Any other requests?" You sighed, feigning annoyance. His toothy grin made your stomach do flips.

#acotar fic #reader x cassian #acotar #cassian

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vnderoos · 4 years ago

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potions and prats ✷ draco malfoy

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language word count / 2.7k

masterlist in bio ↴

Y/N HUFFED UNENTHUSIASTICALLY as she and a couple other Slytherins were the last to filter into Slughorn's lesson for the day and she dropped her leather bag on the floor beside her seat. Daphne Greengrass, her potion's partner as of late, flashed her a close-mouthed smile. She hadn't noticed it when she'd walked in, but Professor Slughorn must've brewed a potion for the day, because the whole room was filled with a familiar smell. "I reckon we've got an exciting lesson today," she hummed to the brunette as she took a seat beside her.

Daphne shrugged her shoulders and tucked a lock of her shiny, brown hair behind her ear. "If we haven't, at least it smells nice," she countered. "Like lemon and broom wax and steak dinners almost," she elaborated and she slumped against her hand, which was propped up on the table.

At that, Y/N's eyebrows knitted together, because that was not what she smelled. The room was flooded with the smell of pine trees, amongst other things, but those were the clearest to her. "What? Daph, that's completely—" she started to protest, to voice her confusion, but Professor Slughorn stood up from his desk and made his way towards a table in the center of the room, silencing all conversation as he did. Perhaps his lecture would clear up her confusion.

"Alright, everyone. I trust you're all doing well this afternoon," he greeted as he situated himself for everyone to see. Nods of agreement rippled through the classroom and he did the same. "Good, good. If you'll all do me a favor and gather round, please," he instructed, motioning towards the opposite side of the table with his hands, his fingers breaking through the steam from the potion that sat on top of it. Y/N and Daphne shared a curious look, before the two of them followed the rest of the class and stood up out of their seats. They joined the rest of the students in front of the table. "Can anyone tell me what this potion is?" Professor Slughorn questioned after everyone had settled in, and he eyed them all in anticipation. When nobody spoke up, he chuckled once. "This," he hummed, gesturing to the cauldron on the desk, "this is amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world," he explained. "Sound familiar to anyone?"

Y/N's eyes drifted from Slughorn to the steaming cauldron as his question, because it did, in fact, sound familiar to her. She remembered reading about it in a book, which she'd long forgotten the name of, that she'd borrowed from the library in one of her previous years and she'd found it a little peculiar. She swallowed thickly, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was feeling inclined to answer, but when nobody did, she let her hand creep upwards slowly.

"And what do you know about amortentia, Miss Y/L/N?" Professor Slughorn asked, folding his hands in front of him as he encouraged her to speak and she smiled awkwardly.

"Well, like you said, it's the most powerful love potion in existence, and regardless of its title, it's unable to create actual love, only obsession. For that reason, it can be dangerous, because someone who holds a deep infatuation with another can be unpredictable," she explained, her eyes flickering around at all of her classmates. Some of them seemed interested, and others were looking elsewhere, but when her eyes landed on Draco Malfoy's, his direct eye contact made her shiver. Merlin. She averted her gaze quickly. "Supposedly, it smells different for everyone, too, as it's made to remind them of the things they're most attracted to, even if they're oblivious of their fondness for said things," she continued. Her eyes wandered over to Daphne, who was looking at her with raised eyebrows, probably realizing that the smell she'd described earlier was unique to her.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she fell silent, waiting for Slughorn to continue his lesson, but before he could, Malfoy interrupted. "Fancy telling us what you smell, Y/L/N?" he asked, a smirk settled in on his pale pink lips, and she shot him a cross look. "That mean it's someone foul?" he added teasingly and Blaise Zabini chuckled softly from behind him.

She was about to tell him to bugger off, because Professor Slughorn piped up. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," he hummed, completely oblivious to the fact that Malfoy had only been pestering her, and he gestured towards the potion. "Why don't you come up and give it a sniff?" he asked.

She nodded at him with a smile and she advanced towards the table, throwing Malfoy another nasty look over her shoulder as she did, but he was entirely unfazed. She turned her attention towards the cauldron sitting on the table top and she leaned over it. The potion had a pearly shimmer to it and steam spiraled up out of the container. She closed her eyes to keep from getting distracted as she drew in a deep breath. She nodded and turned back towards the class. She started, pinning each scent to a memory in her brain, and she swallowed. It sort of smelled like the air after a day-long thunderstorm and old parchment, with hints of pine and expensive cologne. Her eyes darted towards Draco almost immediately, knowing that his smell was too distinct not to recognize, and her stomach dropped. He was looking back at her just as intensely, and he cocked an eyebrow. She tore her gaze off of him and spun back around towards Professor Slughorn. "I don't smell anything," she lied.

"Well, that's impossible. You must smell something," he explained, but she shook her head.

"Nope," she said, not unaware of a cold stare driving holes in the back of her head. "Nothing."

"That's quite peculiar," he said. "Anyone else want to give it a go, then?" he asked, and on Y/N's way back to her place beside Daphne, she didn't miss the way that Draco's eyes followed her every step.

✷ ✷ ✷

The rest of the day had come and gone since Slughorn's lesson and Y/N and Daphne had spent their time in the library, letting the sunlight fade and the students scatter. It wasn't until their curfew had nearly rolled around that they found themselves entering the Slytherin common room once again. "I didn't want to ask in front of everyone in the library, but who smells like lemon and broom wax?" Y/N piped up, her eyes adjusting to the soft green light of the dungeons as they walked in.

Daphne's eyes widened slightly and she grabbed Y/N's arm, stopping her in her tracks. "You've got to promise not to tell," she hummed, the girl's brown eyes darting around the room to make sure there was no other students in earshot. Y/N lifted her hand up and made a zipping emotion across her lips, turning an imaginary key and casting it aside. "I'm not sure yet, but I think it smelled like Blaise," she muttered quietly, despite the fact that everyone seemed to have been tucked inside their dorms already.

"No way," Y/N blurted, the boy in question flickering in her mind. "That explains the steak dinner thing, then, too," she added, referring to the way he'd taken Daphne to Hogesmeade to grab dinner that past weekend, and she laughed.

"Yeah, I just don't know if I should tell him. Maybe he smelled me, too, you know?" she speculated.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh, he so did," she affirmed. "He couldn't keep his eyes off of you all class," she explained and she smiled slightly at the way her cheeks flushed red.

The girl shook her head softly, hopeful, but still in denial. Daphne's eyes fluttered over Y/N's shoulder and her eyebrows lifted. "You know, speaking of staring," she muttered, lowering her voice and jutting her chin out to the right of them. "Draco looks like he's trying to set you on fire with his mind," she teased, bringing her fingers up to her temples and narrowing her gaze dramatically.

"Salazar, we don't need to make ourselves so obviously aware, do we?" Y/N hissed softly. She grabbed both of Daphne's wrists and shoved them down quickly, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm that Draco was, in fact, glaring at her.

Daphne was giggling quietly to herself. "I knew he was going to want to talk to you eventually," she hummed triumphantly, tilting her chin up with confidence.

Y/N shot her a look. "How could you possibly—"

"You're gonna tell me that you don't know he fancies you?" Daphne cut her off, careful to keep her voice low, and Y/N's eyes blew wide. "I'm not buying it. He never leaves you alone," she elaborated.

"Are you crazy? I would welcome that, if it were true, but he hates me."

"He doesn't seek you out everyday to talk to bug you because he hates you, you git," Daphne said. "He doesn't even do that to Potter. I think he'll take any attention he can get from you," she explained, crossing her arms over her chest, and Y/N glanced back over at Draco.

Her eyes locked with his and a shiver travelled down her spine. Her lips parted and she turned back to Daphne. "You think he knows I smelled him?" she asked in a whisper, nerves starting to settle in her stomach, because now, all the times she'd caught him looking at her in class were starting to make sense.

Daphne shrugged. Her eyes darted back towards the blonde. "I think you're about to find out, though," she said. "I'll catch you back in the dorm and I expect to know everything," she added in a rushed whisper and Y/N barely had time to register that her friend was leaving, before she turned around and bumped straight into the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment.

A small gasp left her lips when her chest crashed against Draco's and her hands lifted up to his shoulders steady herself, while his grabbed onto her waist lightly. Her eyes trailed up to meet his, as deep and blue as ever, and her heart was beating so quickly, she thought it might explode. "'M sorry," she muttered, pulling her hands off of him and taking a few steps back out of his own grip when she realized the position they'd been in.

Draco didn't acknowledge her apology, he only ran a hand through his hair and shifted his gaze to his feet. "I know you lied to Slughorn," he said. His voice was lower than usual, lacking the attitude that normally came with it, and she felt her stomach flip.

"What?" she asked, taking a couple more steps backwards when he started to advance forward, but she didn't get far before her back hit the cold, stone wall. There was no escaping him anymore as his eyes met hers again, so close to her that the tips of their shoes were nearly touching, and he blinked at her.

"Your amortentia," he told her, though she'd already known exactly what he'd meant.

"My amortentia?" she repeated quietly, hoping she could buy herself enough time to say something—anything—that might get him off of her back, but she was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate when all she could smell was him, him, him. She silently cursed him for being so close to her. "I didn't smell anything, I—"

She couldn't even finish her sentence before he cut her off, slamming the palms of his hands on either side of her head and trapping her between his arms. "For Merlin's sake, quit lying," he hissed, his face only centimeters away from her own at that point, and her lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows furrowed as she practically gaped at him, wondering why the situation had intensified so quickly. "What did you smell?" he snarled.

Y/N shot him a look of disgust. She didn't understand why he was being so aggressive about the whole thing, but she didn't appreciate it, no matter how hot it might've been. "I told you. I smelled nothing," she growled, lifting her hands up. She was about ready to shove him away from her at that point, but he let out a frustrated sigh and let his head hang forwards instead. She flexed her fingers in midair, fighting the urge to card them through his hair as the smell of his shampoo really tested her boundaries, but she let them fall back to her sides.

Draco pulled one of his hands off of the wall and ran it over his face. "Bloody hell, Y/L/N, did you smell me or not?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been before, and he tilted his head back up to meet her eyes again. When he did, it was like all of the breath in her lungs was stolen away.

Maybe Daphne was right. Maybe he didn't hate her. "Why would it matter if I smelled you or not?" she questioned.

"I walked in and the whole room smelled like you," he admitted. "I didn't realize what it meant until you talked about it," he told her, and her eyes searched his for any tell that this was all some sort of sick joke, but he looked more sincere than she'd ever seen him before.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and her stomach did a little leap at his confession. "You smelled me? That's awfully sweet of you," she hummed, all the wrong sorts of tension having faded away, leaving only the good to float about between them. Y/N reached up to brush the backs of her fingers over one of his cheeks, but he caught her wrist in his free hand instead.

Draco gave her a dead stare. "I'm going to ask you once more before I drop the topic altogether, did you or did you not—"

"I did," she caved, cutting his sentence short, and she watched the way that his expression instantly softened. He released the hand that he'd caught in his own, his face still scrunched up a bit, because it was Draco, for Merlin's sake, but she touched it hesitantly to his cheek. Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise when his skin felt warm against her fingertips, proving that he wasn't completely reptilian, and she let it slide down his jaw softly. He seemed to lean into her touch, before she let it sit loosely on the back of his neck. "It smelled of rain, and parchment, and entirely of you," she whispered and his eyes swam around in hers.

"Why'd you lie, then?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Y/N shrugged. "I think I panicked," she admitted. "If I said what it smelled like, I was worried everyone might've known my feelings for you," she explained.

Draco nodded once and he leaned forward, his face inching closer to her own. The hand that he had on the wall curled against it and his other hand came up to cup her face. Y/N turned her head to press a kiss to the front of his wrist and he tilted her head to the side, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone and leaving a trail up her neck. "Were you ever going to tell me?" he questioned.

A grin spread across her lips and she shook her head softly. "Couldn't have my sworn enemy knowing I had a soft spot for him, could I?" she quirked and his lips tilted up into a half-smile.

"Sworn enemy, huh?" he asked and he placed a kiss against the corner of her mouth. "To be honest, I always thought we were flirting," he hummed and she looked at him in disbelief.

"You act like a prat and you call that flirting, Malfoy?" she asked through a slight chuckle and he laughed. "You're unbelievable," she told him. "But I'll take it, so guess," she told him and he pressed his lips to hers again, pulling her closer to him by her waist and keeping her pressed against the wall.

He only broke the kiss to mutter an, "I'd hope so," against her lips and she smiled against his mouth, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair.

↴

author’s note / just a little hp tiktok inspired mumbo jumbo hehe

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy tiktok #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #Tom Felton #tom felton imagines #tom felton x reader

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meltwonu · 4 years ago

Text

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ night verses ✦

this chapter pairing; sub!mingyu x succubus!reader

genre&warnings; sub!mingyu, ceo!mingyu, succubus!reader, blowjob, restraints(non-penetrative tentacles), (whiny baby mingyu), choking, dirty talk, (a little service top mingyu for ya too), mingyu has a praise kink and we all know it!!!

notes; yes... I did imagine Bad Clue GoSe Mingyu for this one.... 👀👀 hehe~ and also mingyu’s been a tease and knows we seem to like ceo!gyu and we ALL know this bitch has a praise kink, he makes it way too obvious dkjfhdskf LMAO 😆(also I'm curious how many of you have gotten curious about the song lyrics so far...) Thank you for all the love and interest, as always! Stay hydrated and I will see yall tomorrow!! 💕🎃👻

word count; ~2300

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

i stand alone when i’m with you;

i’m a tangled twisted fool

draw me into your world;

make it all go away.

Mingyu leans against the mahogany table in his study, glass filled with whiskey as he sighs.

His eyes flit over the various work documents and contracts spread across the wide table, lips pressing into a firm line.

He really hated working off the clock.

Rounding the table, he takes a seat back in his expensive office chair as he spaces out momentarily; wondering what you were up to since it was Halloween night. He takes a sip of his alcohol, thoughts of you flooding his mind. You had mentioned the last time he saw you that you’d be 'busy’ on Halloween and now he was regretting being so holed up in his office with work.

In actuality, he hadn’t seen you in what had to have been two weeks, now that he thought about it. He’d been so swamped with work that he hadn’t even had a chance to indulge, much less take care of himself.

Mingyu lets his mind wander; mental images of you underneath him pressed into his bed making him sigh dreamily.

He really did miss you.

“Oho~ If it isn’t Mr. Kim working hard on Halloween night~” His eyes dart over to the double doors to his study as he sets his glass down onto the table top.

“How--”

“Aww, c’mon Mingyu! What did I tell you last time?”

Right. You probably knew the second he even started thinking about you.

“I thought you said you’d be busy tonight...”

“I had some free time ‘n thought I’d check in~”

He takes in your appearance, noting the way your horns seem to be extra sharp and the way your crimson eyes seem to burn an even darker shade than usual.

You make your way over to him, hip propped against the expensive wood as you reach for his glass. He watches you take a sip, eyes fixated on the way you lick your lips. His mouth parts in a quiet whimper, “I--fuck I’ve missed your mouth. I’ve been so busy I--I haven’t even had a chance to take care of myself. Can we…?” Giggling in return, you step closer to him, watching the lust pool in his eyes when you tilt his head up to meet your crimson stare.

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Kim~”

Mingyu hates relinquishing his power to anyone; it’s in my nature to be on top, he says.

And on most days, you let him.

“Ngh, fu---fuck, can you p-please just--”

He tugs against the tentacles keeping his wrists bound above him, hips thrusting up towards your face. “This f-fucking sucks!” He whines. “I hate t-this!”

You shoot the male a grin, sitting up in between his legs as you watch him squirm. “I told you, it’s my night so we’re trying something different, Mingyu. And anyway, look at how hard your cock is getting.” He glances down; hazy eyes honing in on the tentacle wrapped around his shaft.

You had never played with him like this before. Not that it was a bad thing.

He watches the precum leak from the head of his cock as the wet appendage moves up and down his shaft. “Doesn’t it feel good, ‘Gyu?” He nods in response, “It’s… d-different but… good. I just, my---my arms...”

Leaning back down between his legs, you let the tentacle unwrap itself from his cock as you replace it with your tongue. You lick a strip from the base to the head before you wrap your lips around him and hollow out your cheeks.

“Oh, f-fuck!” He cries; weak sobs on his lips as you tease him. You slowly sink down onto him, taking more of his cock into your mouth until you start deepthroating him. “Please, please, please…” His head is fuzzy, thighs trembling and you’d just only started.

Mingyu’s just a little confused, but he chalks it up to you and your sexual energy on a night like tonight.

You hum around him; relishing in the way he squirms and whines at the vibrations that shoot up his spine. And ever so slowly, you bob your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue on him. He tries to buck his hips up to make you take more of him, but you quickly pull off of him in an instant.

“Oh, Mingyu~ You’ll want to behave for me or else I’ll really drag it out. Would you like that? You haven’t cum in 2 weeks and I can make you wait longer~” You tease, watching as the panic floods in his eyes.

“No! No I--I’ll behave, I promise…”

Smirking, you take him back into your mouth as you let a tentacle travel up his torso. He watches in mild confusion but he’s quick to throw his head back against the pillows when it starts teasing his nipples. “Fuck, what t-the fuck…” He cries out.

And despite your slow torturous movements, Mingyu already feels himself on the brink of an orgasm as his heels dig into the sheets. “Ngh, please--I--I need to cum…” Murmuring, he notices you don’t make a move to stop.

The sensations become too much for him, your mouth on his cock with the strange appendages teasing his nipples and he finds himself unable to speak, much less warn you when his orgasm hits him out of nowhere. You start deepthroating him at the same time, moaning around him at the way his cock throbs in your mouth and down your throat.

Mingyu feels weightless, body tingling as he rides out the high.

But it doesn’t last long, as you pull off of him; lips covered in cum and spit. “Look at you, ‘Gyu. Aren’t you a sight?” You teasingly giggle, taking in his disheveled appearance.

“Mmh… fu--fuck…”

He feels his arms go slack, tired eyes peering up and noticing that all the tentacles have gone away. “I--” A blush paints his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever c-cum that quickly…”

You lick your lips, wrapping a hand around his cock again. “Aww, hope you saved some cum for me, baby boy. I still haven’t gotten what I wanted and you already came down my throat!” You jokingly pout down at him as he winces at the sensitivity when you squeeze his cock.

“C’mon, fuck my cunt, Mingyu.”

He feels his cock throb in your hold, nodding shakily as he moves to get up and switch places.

You rest your head against the pillows as you spread your legs for him. “You’re so shy like this, Mingyu~ Cat got your tongue?” The blush on his cheek intensifies as he slots himself between your legs. “N-no, I’m just…”

“You’re just, what? Used to bossing me around and using me like your cute ‘lil toy?” You bring a foot down onto his cock, pressing into it as he groans. “Mm, but Mingyu’s gonna be good and be my toy for tonight, right?” Laughing lightly, you lift your foot from his cock as he wraps a hand around himself again.

“Ye--yeah… I’ll be g-good…”

He positions his cock at your entrance, noting the way his hand seems shaky. “‘Gyu~ Don’t make me wait~”

Mingyu starts to slowly sink his cock into you, biting his lip to hold in his noises. Fuck, he really did miss you.

“Ngh, fuck you’re so big, Mingyu, I--I missed your fuckin’ cock…” He feels his cock throbbing between your tight and warm walls; cock head snug against your cervix as he waits. “C-can I move?”

You could get used to this side of Mingyu.

“Of course you can, baby boy. Now, fuck me like you mean it since I haven’t seen you in 2 weeks.” Mingyu nods feverishly as he draws his hips back and slams his cock into you. A mewl cuts through the air and he finds himself being coaxed by your sweet voice to make you feel better than he’d ever made you feel.

I need to stop being so selfish, he thinks.

He starts a moderate pace, putting his pleasure at the back of his head as he focuses on yours. “D-do you feel g-good?” Mingyu asks.

You clench around his cock in response; eating up the way he whines. “Mm~ Does my cute ‘lil ‘Gyu wanna hear me praise how good you fuck me? How good you fill me up just right? How your cock was made for my pretty ‘lil cunt. Or maybe how well you eat me out. Y’know, when you use your tongue on me, lapping up all my wetness ‘til you can’t take it anymore and need to fuck me into the sheets.”

“O-oh, god…” He cries, hips pistoning into you even quicker.

“Mmh, you’re so cute, Mingyu. You’re always so good at being on top, being the dominant one. But you’re better suited like this, y’know? Submissive to me, asking for permission to fuck my cunt like a good boy.” You like your lips; crimson eyes dancing up to Mingyu who meets your stare with his own lust filled pools. “You’ll beg me to cum too. Won’t you?”

He nods, “Y--yeah…”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence; the sound of his cute whines enough to keep you sated as he starts doubling his pace.

You start moving your hips to match his movements, a grin on your lips when you can tell he’s trying his best to stave off his orgasm.

“Mm, bet’cha wanna cum, huh? I can see it all over your face~ But you’ll be good and you’ll wait. You’ll make me cum on your cock, get it nice ‘n wet. Then you can cum in my pussy, fill me up ‘til it’s spilling out of me and then I’ll sit on your pretty face while you eat the cum out of my soaking pussy, right Mingyu?”

Mingyu lets out a guttural moan, eyes momentarily rolling to the back of his head at the thought alone. “Yes, god, fu--fuck, please, let me…”

“Make me cum then~”

His quickens his pace, hips losing rhythm as he tries to throw you over the edge. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles on the nub as you moan out. “Oh, fuck, baby, more!”

It takes a second for Mingyu to feel the appendage reappear; a shiver rolling down his spine when he feels it traveling up his back. “Wh--what…?”

It slowly wraps around his throat, adding a slight pressure as Mingyu lets out a choked sob. “Please, please cum! I--I don’t know h-how long I can, hah, h-hold off… Please…”

“Mmh, beg me more, baby boy. Let’s hear it~”

He starts rubbing harsher circles on your clit; thrusting into you hard enough to make your body shift up further and further towards the headboard. “Ngh, fuck, please---please cum… I wanna f-feel you get my cock wet ‘n I wanna---wanna eat you out wh--while you sit on my face a-and use me to get o-off on…”

It takes a few more erratic thrusts from Mingyu before you’re cumming, toes curling behind his back as the tentacles wrapped around his throat tighten just enough for the lightheadedness to settle in.

“Fuh---fuck, you feel so good!” A small tear slips from his eye as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock and he opts to grind against you instead as you ride out your orgasm.

“Oh, god, Mingyu, fuck me more!” The grip on his throat loosens as he takes a deep breath. “Please--Please, can I c-cum? I need to c-cum so bad, please… I don’t c-care if you don’t, hah, let me cum all night, just---please!”

You laugh airily, clamping down hard on his cock. “You’re so cute when you beg~ Go ahead, Mingyu. Cum for me, baby boy. I wanna feel your cock throbbing while you fill me up~”

Thank you’s roll off his tongue in a jumbled mess and he’s quick to fold you into a mating press as he chases his orgasm. The tentacle wrapped around his neck tightens up again just as he feels the tension about to snap.

His hips stutter and a choked sob bubbles past his lips not a second later; his hazy eyes watching the way yours twinkle when his orgasm finally washes over him.

“Ngh, fuck, your cock is throbbing inside my fuckin’ cunt, filling me up so much with the cum you saved up for me, right baby boy?”

He nods shakily as he grinds into you, eyes pooling with unshed tears at how good he felt. “G-god, yes, ah, fuck, I---I saved my cum up just for y-you…” He whispers out.

The lightheadedness makes Mingyu feel extra good; fingertips going numb at the amount of new sensations his body was experiencing.

The tentacle disappears again once his body starts to go slack and Mingyu’s stuttered breath makes you grin. “You seem to have enjoyed my ‘lil friends, huh?” The blush on his cheeks run up to his ears, biting his lip as he slowly rests your body down; cock still snug between your warm walls.

“I---I didn’t hate i-it…” He mutters.

There’s a beat of silence as the two of you stay in that position and you quickly raise a brow at Mingyu who stares back at you. “Is there a reason you’re keeping me plugged up with your cock?”

“Wanna… wanna eat you out while you sit on my f-face…” Mingyu gulps, “But--but I don’t want the cum to s-spill out…”

You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head at the taller male. “Fuck, you’re so cute! I’m glad I showed up tonight. I wouldn’t want to have missed this!”

His lips press into an embarrassed smile; shy eyes avoiding your teasing stare.

“I’m glad you came too.”

#sub!mingyu #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt fic #seventeen fic #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #monstermash!svt #mingyu #sub!svt #sub!seventeen

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tmnt-veelicious · 4 years ago

Text

Across the Stars - Ch.17

*crawls out of a hole* HOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLYYYY FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-

Yes. I am alive.

Yes I had a rough patch of life over the last few months.

And jeeeeesus, I think I wrote the beginning of this chapter like 3 times....

BUT IT’S HERE. AND I’M SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG. At least the next chapter will be interesting and will introduce some new characters!!! I am definitely feeling the writing juices flowing~

First Chapter -> HERE Previous Chapter -> HERE Next Chapter -> SOON

''I think this neighborhood suits you,'' started April as both women were comfortably seated at a table in a cozy café. Vee couldn't help her quiet chuckle, crossing her arms as her eyes ventured to the large window that offered a view to the street. ''I think it does too..., but I'll be so far from everything. Mostly far from Donnie. He's downtown and I'd be uptown...'' ''It's not so bad! You know these guys can travel fast and they know the city like no one else.'' True. A small sigh escaped the artist, her attention back to the other. She was glad the reporter had answered her call. Vee confessed feeling stupid for her sudden departure and her attitude, but April had been quick to waive those away, answering that all that mattered was that her friend was safe. The only thing left to do was to move forward. Harlem seemed like a nice place. It was mostly known for its nightlife and its jazz influences, to which Vee felt drawn to. Maybe she'd have opportunities up here, who knows? Her train of thoughts came to a stop as a waitress got to their table; a lovely african american woman adorning a dark afro like a crown. Vee did admire her style, noticing her septum piercing and her 'au naturel' look. It didn't seem like much, but so many people could ever inspire the artist, and that was the beauty of living in New York. As the orders were taken and the women left with coffees in hands, proper discussions could finally start. ''So...starting a family?'' started Vee. ''Since when were you two planning that little adventure?'' April's smile was soft: ''We were talking about it for several months, but only recently did we really start to properly consider it.'' ''Even with both your lifestyles? … You wouldn't be the most 'typical' and 'calm' family.'' ''I don't think that should stop us, or anyone. … It's something we both want, Vee, and we're ready to work for it.'' ''I'm not saying the opposite, don't worry!'' quickly reassured Vee. ''… I guess I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around that idea. I never really thought about having kids, so the thought process kinda escapes me.'' ''Oh?'' the reporter slightly cocked her head to one side, curious. ''I don't want to say I'm surprised, but still am nonetheless.'' The other woman seemed amused: ''There's so many things I have yet to accomplish.... Getting a child is the least of my worries right now. I guess I just don't really feel compelled at the idea.'' ''In that case I can understand,'' added April with a soft smile. ''It's only natural that you'd want to advance your career and get more stability, I get that.'' The conversation paused as their food arrived. But as soon as both were left alone again, the reporter couldn't help squinting a little, now curious: ''Although.... do you think you could ever have kids with Donnie?'' Vee almost spat her coffee, her thoughts suddenly rolling at a franctic pace. She frowned, reminiscing all those times they had sex without any protection. ''I, uh... I'm not sure,'' frankly answered the artist. ''I've never really thought about it, but now that you mention it, I should verify with him.'' ''I think it'd be in both your interests to set things clear. At least you'll know where you both stand in this...'' ''Yeah … that's for sure.'' What if he wanted kids? Could it be possible? At least for now her cycle had been steady and normal, so there was no fear regarding that. And the relationship was still in its early stages – it was too soon to think about that! Oh, those thoughts would plague her mind for the rest of the day, she knew that... ''Anyway, enough kid talk,'' said April, thankfully interrupting Vee's thinking. ''I wanted to discuss apartment and furniture with you.'' ''What, you wanna know how I'll decorate my fortress of solitude?'' playfully commented the artist. ''Oh come on now...'' ''Just kidding, just kidding, don't worry. What's on your mind?'' ''Since I'll be moving in with Casey and he pretty much already has everything in terms of furniture... I was thinking about giving you some of the stuff we have at the apartment. Fridge, oven, whatever you need.'' The artist lightly frowned. ''Wait... give? April, I can't just receive without giving in return. Tell me your price and I'll gladly give you so-'' ''Vee, please,'' gently cut the reporter. ''… I know I'm putting you in a difficult situation and things can turn expensive. I want to help in any way I can, plus you can always repay me in other ways. Don't worry about it. I've given it some thought and I'm at peace with that.'' And the artist was absolutey thankful. Knowing she didn't make the best of incomes, this help felt like a miracle. … Just thinking about all her future expenses was enough to make her head spin, but at least with Donnie's help – and now April – she knew she could get a good footing and proceed without immense struggles. ''Also,'' added April, ''I know you don't have the best of conversations with your parents regarding your choice of living in New York, so I wanted to ease things up by giving you a good headstart and make them less worried.'' Vee softly sighed, although showing a small smile. She knew the brunette had heard some bits and pieces of conversations ever since she moved in. Even if the dialogues had been in French, it was not hard to notice the argumentative nature of those calls. ''I, uhm … it's been almost a month since I spoke to any of them, so there's nothing to worry about for now,'' said Vee. ''Is everything alright?'' ''The less I talk to them, the better! So, yes, everything is fine,'' tried to reassure the artist. April seemed good with the answer, but there was no denying that for Vee to avoid her family, it would probably blow back to her face in a nasty way. But today was not the day to think about such matter. Breakfast done and over with, both women were now on their way to visit the apartments. The first one proved to be a complete disaster; mold found in the bathroom and under the kitchen sink, only two windows and barely any natural light coming in, a broken wardrobe door in the bedroom. The landlord didn't seem like the most caring person either, insisting that he'd get the needed repairs done once a new tenant would move in. ''Those things have a cost, you know?'' he would say. … And this apartment will be a hard pass, you know? Vee couldn't believe that she got fooled by the advertisment online. It seemed so nice... At least the second stop was promising. The lot was at the top floor of a five story high building. The entrance was a small hallway that had one door to the left which gave to the bedroom (with a window!), and a door to the right that gave to the bathroom. The end of the hallway gave to an open area to which the left part was planned for a living room, and the right had space for a kitchen, the area delimited by a side hall that gave enough surface for an extension of the counter tops. Some windows gave enough light into the place, as well as a nice view on the street and buildings around. Plus, the living room windows were tall and large enough, one being an entryway to the emergency staircase outside the building. It was perfect. *** Her step was light as she made her way back to the lair, the greatest grin plastered to her face. She did it! Well … almost! But it was at least a first step in the right direction. Her first point of interest when she arrived was Donnie's workspace, but she found it empty, instantly bringing a small frown on Vee's features. Maybe she should check the garage next? Her attention snapped when she heard a sharp sound – a can being opened. Turning around, she slightly jumped as she spotted Mikey nearby, an orange crush drink in his hand. '' 'Sup?'' ''Jesus, Mikey, you gave me a mini heart attack,'' she breathed out. ''Oops, my bad,'' he said, taking a sip. ''You lookin' for Don? He just got out on patrol with Raph.'' ''… Aren't you guys supposed to lay low for a while with the Purple Dragons and Foot Clan situation?'' The orange clad one shrugged: ''Going out on patrol doesn't mean we're looking for them, you know? We still gotta look out for the bad ones on the streets. Plus, going out in small numbers attracts less attention.'' ''Huh... touché,'' admitted Vee. ''I guess the good news can wait, then.'' ''What good news?'' The artist's grin was back: ''I might have found a new apartment! The landlord just needs to do a credit check and then, if it's all good, the place will be mine.'' The terrapin's smile was soon as big as Vee's: ''Yo! That's awesome! Where is it? How big is it?'' The woman didn't wast any time to grab a blank sheet of paper and a pencil laying around on Donnie's desk, already starting to sketch the layout of the apartment. Deep in her explanations, she did not notice Leonardo now standing near, trying to take a peek from behind. ''What's that?'' he asked. Vee slightly jumped again, already on the lookout for the leader. ''JEEZE, what's with you guys scaring me tonight?!'' Leo showed an amused smile, arms crossed before him as he took some pride in that comment. ''I'm an excellent ninja. Getting to scare you means I'm doing a good job.'' ''Alright, don't get too cocky.'' She briefly sighed, next bringing the paper to clearer view. ''Behold, this is probably my next apartment!'' The blue clad mutant took some seconds to observe the layout, pensive. ''… There's quite some windows in there. I'll have to get Donnie to secure the place so no one can spot you and get in.'' ''Leo! Chill!'' faintly laughed Vee. ''I don't even completely own the place yet. Plus I'll be on the fifth floor; I'd like to see anyone get in other than by the emergency staircase or the entry door.'' ''I'm sorry I am cursed with the leader plague. I always have to think many steps ahead.'' Vee's smile was soft: ''Don't worry, it's appreciated. But now it's time to celebrate! There's no place for worry tonight!'' ''Now we're talkin'!'' added Mikey playfully, rubbing his hands together. ''… Watchu wanna do?'' The artist left her paper back on her boyfriend's desk, a smug smile now showing on her features. ''Donnie and I do have a little secret stash of red wine, and I fully plan on going through one bottle tonight.'' ''Hell yeah!'' Mikey was now nudging his brother's arm with his elbow. ''Care for a drink as well? Come ooooonnnnnnnn.'' Leo was squinting, trying to appear severe, but it didn't take long for him to conceed with a grin, his posture relaxing. ''Alright. Just one.'' *** Vee was delightfully surprised to learn that Leo also had a taste for red wine, happily sharing her bottle with him – and of course he did take more than one drink. Meanwhile Mikey had opted for beer, some cans already resting in the fridge. It felt good to kick back and just be happy, living in the present and have no worries. But soon celebrations took an interesting turn, Vee definitely inspired by her luck and feeling a little bold. An idea came to her mind as Mikey was showing her some stuff he was hoarding, especially when it came to hair dye bottles. She had always wanted to try a new hair color... It didn't take long before everyone was set up: Vee sitting in a chair with a towel over her shoulders, hair in layers. Mikey had ''borrowed'' some of Donnie's latex gloves (used for when he was tattooing), already at the task of applying the chosen color. Meanwhile Leonardo was sitting nearby, keeping company and enjoying the show. ''It's gonna look dope as fuck,'' commented the orange clad turtle, hair dye brush in hand as he was spreading some color. ''I'm kinda nervous about it, though,'' added Vee. ''Last time I did something to my hair, it was only some blonde streaks here and there. … It's my first time going full on with a non-natural color.'' ''There's never nothing wrong with going wild once in a while,'' said Leo. The artist threw him a glance, somewhat amused. ''Says the guy who seems to overworry a LOT about anything.'' ''Hey, I have my moments, alright,'' chuckled the leader, next taking a sip of wine. Mikey tsked; ''What, your last wild thing was to shorten your training time or somethin'?'' ''Nooooo, I-...'' Leo lightly frowned, his lips forming a thin line. A sharp sigh left him as he confessed: ''I asked Mikasa out.'' Both Mikey and Vee's gazes were now locked on him, their smiles wide. ''Finally!'' let out the woman. ''How did it go? Is everything good?'' ''Spill the tea, bro!'' chided in Mikey. Leo's smile was shy, carefully choosing his words. ''We're still figuring some things out, I guess? It all started when we got to you both at the Maneki Neko... I brought her back to her apartment and we kissed. … I dunno how to explain it, it just felt right at that moment.'' ''So far, so good,'' commented Vee. ''What's next?'' ''I'll admit that I chickened out after that,'' continued the leader. ''I just didn't know yet if I was ready to get into some sort of relationship. I was a douche and I didn't say or text a word to her after a couple of days.'' ''You're a fucking dumbass,'' added the other turtle, slightly scolding as he parted some more layers of Vee's hair. Leo raised his glass a little: ''On that I agree, BUT! I kicked my own ass and finally got back in touch with her yesterday. I explained the situation to her and she agreed to meeting up and talk about it a little more. … I'm just-'' His eyes met Vee's, somehow pleading. ''How can I know she really likes me? For crying out loud, how did you know you liked Donnie?'' The artist couldn't help her laugh, surprising both mutants. Leo didn't really know how to react. ''Did … did I say something wrong orrrr?'' ''No, no! Good gosh, no!'' tried to rectify Vee, calming her laughter. ''Oh jeeze, Leo, you and Mikasa are just so freakin' adorable. …. Would you believe me if I told you that she kinda asked me the same question a while ago?'' The blue one showed a smirk, amused: ''Welp, I won't hide that I had a smiliar conversation with Donnie as well.'' ''See!'' pointed the woman. ''Dammit, you two. Mikasa likes you, okay? You guys … all four of you, there are people who're gonna like you and even love you for who you are, no matter the fact that you're mutants. Damn, get that drilled in your heads, alright?!'' Mikey couldn't contain a chuckle: ''You're pretty straight-forward when you get some drinks in you, Vee.'' ''I only speak the truth without reservation,'' she added, taking a sip of wine. She savored her beverage for some seconds before speaking up again: ''But to answer your question, Leo, I knew I liked Donnie when everything felt comfortable. I mean … whatever I would say or do, I knew it wouldn't mind him. … His presence is like a never-ending warm hug around me. I feel true, I feel seen...'' Her eyes got back to him. ''And if you feel like you can be your true self around Mikasa, then I say that it's worth a shot.'' ''I'll take your word for it,'' replied Leo, smiling and slightly lifting his glass in cheer. *** Hours later and Donnie couldn't be any more glad to be back home. Patrol had been pretty boring and tame tonight, but at least he got to spend some time with Raph, which was never a bad thing, at times. Hanging his gear for the night, he then proceeded to his workstation, only to frown a little once he spotted a sheet of paper with some sort of layout draw on it.

By the looks of it, it seemed to be an apartment, the gears of his mind running as he also recognized Vee's handwriting. ''Bro!'' His attention snapped, suddenly realizing that he had been deep in thoughts. He turned to the source of his calling, then noticing Mikey with a big smile on his face. Donnie didn't have time to say anything that his brother spoke again: ''I have the immense pleasure to present to you the world-premiere revelation of Vee 2.0.'' He did some theatrical gestures before bowing and backing out of view in a comical way, finally giving view to Vee who had been hiding behind him. The purple clad turtle's eyes grew wide as soon as he noticed the artist's new hair color. Teal. A lush dark green color that reflected so well when exposed to any lights. ''Whoa! That's so cool!'' blurted the tall terrapin, already approaching the artist. One of his hands was still holding the paper, but his other one couldn't stay put, gently taking some strands of Vee's hair and having a closer look at the color. He couldn't erase his grin, his eyes scanning every inches. ''You should thank Mikey, he's the one who did most of the work,'' informed the woman. The tall terrapin did throw a glance towards his brother who was still nearby: ''No wonder it's perfect. There's always a positive outcome to any of his projects.'' ''Aww, thanks bro!'' added the orange clad mutant, somehow surprised, yet glad to hear such compliment. ''So … you like it?'' asked Vee with a timid smile. ''Like it? I love it!'' answered Donnie, his gaze meeting hers. ''It really suits you. … Any specific reason for that change, though?'' The woman had noticed the sheet of paper in his hand, taking it in turn and pointing the sketch she did. ''If all goes well, this little lot will be mine.'' Donnie's happiness was renewed: ''For real?!'' A simple nod from Vee was enough for him to lift her off the ground in an embrace, unable to stop himself from spinning around a little, obviously feeling overjoyed. Relief also washed over him, knowing how the whole process was stressing the artist – and himself as well, there was no lying there. ''You did it, baby,'' he gently said, loud enough for only her to hear, nuzzling her as he came to a stop while still hugging her. ''Almost, but yeah. Let's hope for the best...,'' replied Vee in the same tone, her arms gently coming around his neck. ''Get a room, you two!'' piped in Raph's tone, playful. The couple looked his way, the red clad terrapin making his way to Mikey. ''Come on, let's give these two nerds some space. Ya wouldn't want to catch their cooties.'' ''Hah! You're just jealous!'' added Donnie comically, next suddenly hurrying to his room, Vee still in his arms and now laughing. Raph was rather unimpressed, a sharp exhale of air leaving him as he glanced from the running one back to his younger brother. ''…. The day I'll be jealous of that bean pole, assume that I'm delirious or somethin' like that.'' *** It wasn't long before they were found in bed, exchanging everyday clothing for comfortable wears. Donnie was laying first, Vee next nestled in-between his legs, her back against his form. The artist was not finished, drink-wise, so she shared some more wine with the terrapin, a screen mounted to a telescopic arm brought over them so they could watch any videos they desired. It was during moments like this that Vee felt at complete peace, loved, and the happiest. The warmth that invaded her could only confirm that she was at the right place with the right person. And yet the same question kept repeating itself in her mind since her conversation with April. ''Donnie, are we compatible?'' she asked in a shy tone. The mutant slightly frowned, his gaze still on the screen. ''Define 'compatible','' he asked. ''Can we procreate?'' His body and muscles suddenly tensed. Both were now staring at eachother, not giving a damn about the video anymore, the turtle trying to find his words. ''… Uhm, well, no. I don't think so. … Wh- Why are you asking this?'' Vee shrugged: ''Well, we've been having unprotected sex and I don't take any contraceptive pills. I'm just curious.... How can you be sure that we're not?'' He sighed briefly, his thoughts running a hundred miles per hour. The video on screen was still going on, the subject suddenly a blur. But that didn't matter. ''First of all, we're not the same specie.'' ''Ok then, why can tigers and lions create ligers? Why can donkeys and horses create mules?'' ''Because to their roots, they are the same. As for us, we come from two different branches. I'm a reptile, you're a mammal; there's a huge spacing inbetween us. Plus, I'm suspecting the mutagen has something to do with it, as it mostly prevents us from contracting human diseases, amongst other things.'' Vee crossed her arms, diverting her gaze, slightly feeling uneasy as she circled her drink slowly and pensively. ''… You do make sense. … I guess I was mostly biased by the fact that you do present humanoid features.'' She felt one of Donnie's hands to her cheek, bringing back her attention on him. ''… Did you want to have a child with me?'' he asked in a hushed tone, forever soft. Vee suddenly blushed, frowning a little. ''No! I mean- uh. Based on your explanations, no. Also I'm not ready for that and it's too early in the relationship to know. I- shit, I dunno,'' she blabbered. The terrapin's smile was soft, amused by her reaction. ''Hey, don't worry, I was just asking! … I guess I'm just wondering too if you ever wanted one. If that was the case, I wouldn't want to prevent you from doing so...'' ''What? You mean you'd let me hook up with a human guy only so I can get banged up?'' questionned the woman, confused, as she sat up straight and was still looking at the other. ''Hell to the no - yuck. The whole pregnancy shebang doesn't appeal to me anyway.'' ''Adoption is also an option,'' added Donnie, matter-o-factly. ''That's pretty much this family's case!'' ''For sure, and I think it's very admirable, but raising a child is still a huge deal in itself.'' She sighed, timidly rubbing the back of her neck. ''… Sorry I brought that up, I was just curious. Ever since I spoke with April, it has been bugging me. I'm really not ready for that chapter in my life and I don't think I'll ever be, but I wanted to know your opinion on that.'' Donnie rejoined her, one of his arms snaking around her form. He was softly nuzzling the top of her head, keeping her close. ''Whatever you choose or decide, I'll always stand by your side, loving every moments – every seconds - spent with you. We build our own happiness, and that doesn't mean it has to imply a child in the future. … As long as you're happy, so am I.'' ''I know. … I do feel kinda weird for not wanting a child though,'' mumbled Vee. ''Hey,'' intervened the mutant. ''You're not weird, believe me. Having a child is not an obligation. This is your body, your choice, and I will forever respect it.'' ''Oh, you better,'' smirked the artist in return.

#chapter #writing #tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #fanfic #fancharacter #oc #selfinsert #donatello x oc #donatello x selfinsert

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wincestisasincest · 4 years ago

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The Green Book (Thorin’s Company x Reader, Part 3)

Hey gang! Wow, it has been a long time. I actually had the draft on my desk top for a really long time and just never got around to post it, because my life has been really crazy, but she’s back! I’ve already started the draft for the fourth chapter, so ready yourselves! Thanks so much for your patience : ).

Summary: (Y/n) falls into Middle Earth. Shocker. Somehow, she gets recruited to join a party of dwarves on their kinda crazy mission to reclaim their home of Erebor.

Part: 1, 2, 3

Tags (let me know if you want to be added to the list!): @stuckupstucky, @dianaarelyfernandezgarza97, @alexloveskili

Words: 2188

Warnings: None I think...? I mean (y/n) is kinda a pussy in this chapter and Thorin is... himself so just be aware of that

Finally gaining my footing, I drew myself to my feet and regained my surroundings in the middle of the hazy afternoon.

I used the reflection on the phone to observe myself. My (h/c) hair was an absolute tangled mess, with leaves, small twigs, and even a few pebbles here and there. I mussed it with my hand before lightly parting it, like I would do every morning. Of course, I still looked terrible, but something about fixing hair always makes people feel better.

I looked at my chin, where a massive bruise had planted itself, no doubt from the rather aggressive pushing and shoving from the trolls. Additionally, my legs and arms had been littered with small cuts and bruises that had just now begun to sting and make themselves noticed. Great.

The next order of business was to find the Company. Admittedly, I was highly uncomfortable with the idea of meddling in a familiar tale. I touched on it earlier, but, reader, the tales of Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf the Gray, and all of their adventures in reclaiming Erebor were, in fact, very common tales from where I come from. So common that they are read aloud to children every night. However, no one actually believed them to be true, for dwarves, hobbits, and wizards, along with every race except human, do not exist in the world where I come from.

I would expand on this further, but I imagine that whoever reading this has many of the same questions as my dwarf companions will ask later in these many tales, so do be patient.

While we are taught as children that it is bad practice to mess around with things that are already set in stone, we are also taught that cops are good and that “because” is a valid reason for anything, so I ignored that advice.

They may be my only chance to ever see civilization again.

Catching up with them was very easy, as, while they are quite business oriented, they travel very slowly. They had spent a long time searching in the caves of the trolls that had been killed earlier, and even longer packing and preparing for the journey ahead. Dwarves are tough, that’s for sure, but they are also very methodical, and do not like to be interrupted when they have already begun something.

Like a stalker (which I guess I technically was), I peaked out at their company from behind a tree, wondering when exactly my entrance should be made. They were apparently wondering something similar.

“I say we should look for ‘er.” Fili posited.

“I second the lad.” Dwalin piped up. Oh dear, that dwarf was so intimidating up close. Even though I was noticeably taller than him, he could take me out with a single swing of his axe, no questions axed asked.

“If she wanted our help, she would’ve come back and gotten it by now.” Nori remarked, to which Thorin sternly nodded. He was right. I did need their help, and I was back to get it. Gold digger life. (A/N I’m so sorry for removing the immersion, I would just like to apologize for all of the Gen Z shitposting in this. Feel free to tell me to knock it off.)

Gandalf and Bilbo were there. It was a moment I recognized, when Gandalf introduced Bilbo to his now famous blade, Sting. I realized in that moment that literally any point in which I decided to emerge would be interrupting something. I quickly swallowed my pride and decided to reveal myself.

��Uh, hi! I’m back.” I had absolutely no idea what to say. They all turned to face me, though at this point I was used to being gawked at. I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t make me feel a little bit dizzy, though.

I waved awkwardly, supporting my red canvas backpack over my shoulder. No one was saying anything.

Gandalf lifted his every curious head up and eagle-eyed me from across the clearing.

“Miss (Y/n)! So you have decided to join us.” It felt supremely unnatural to have him say my name. He crossed the way to approach me, leaving a rather disconcerted hobbit in the dust.

“Uh… yeah. I guess I have.”

“Wonderful! However, I’m afraid that I only offer my acquaintanceship to ladies whom I know more than their name. After all, it is only fair, since I’m sure you know mine?” No one bothered to interrupt the wizard, who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was doing the same thing to me that he did when he first met Bilbo outside of his hobbit hole.

“Ummm, yeah, you’re Gandalf the Gray. And I guess, uh,” I breathed in deeply, realizing that, whether I tell the truth or lie, I’m going to sound extremely pathetic, “I’m (f/n) (l/n), but you can just call me (f/n). Uh, I’m human, I guess, and um, I don’t really know where I am right now. I’m kinda lost, I guess.”

“Where do you hail from?” Damnit, damnit, I had no idea how to answer this.

“Ummm… really not from here. Like, so far that you probably haven’t heard of it.” His expression deepened a little bit. He was not playing as much as he pretended to. A somewhat scary reminder of the actual investment in the protection of his friends that it was easy to forget that he had.

“Try me.”

“(Hometown name).” I answered back, with a fair amount of fake confidence. He furrowed his brow and pondered slightly, while everyone else remained completely puzzled. Of course, they had never heard of my hometown either, but the were far less travelled then Gandalf, and simply resolved to not seem outwardly ignorant.

“You’re right, I suppose. I never have been there,” he paused, and no one surrounding him, myself included, was exactly sure what that pause meant, “But, how does one from the mysterious land of (hometown name) get so far from it?”

“I’m not sure. I truly have no idea how I got to this place. One day it was life like any other, and the next thing I know I had woken up about to be eaten by a troll. I swear, I don’t know.” I added that last part, because I was serious, even if it sounded like I was completely making it up as I went a long, and doing a very poor job at that.

“No need for swearing, I believe you.”

“Well, I do not.” Thorin Oakenshield entered the ring.

“She wasn’t talking to you, dear Thorin.” Gandalf may appear spacy at times, but his sharp wit never left his side.

“No, that is true, though perhaps she should’ve been, considering that I am the leader of this company.” I found it strange that, though he was arguing about me, Thorin had not yet dared to look me in the eye.

“A leader who was too afraid to approach a frightened young girl alone in the forest?” My face twisted into a bit of a displeased expression. I thought I had hidden my fright well enough, and I was practically an adult.

“She appeared far from frightened. While you were not there to see it, she was the one who confronted the troll head on, even when he was threatening her. And that thing that she can do with her eyes! I do not believe that she is as innocent as she appears.”

“Perhaps then, dear Thorin, all the more reason to have her accompany us for some time being. Perhaps,” he turned to me briefly before returning to the conversation, “we shall discover some more hidden skills that may be of surprising use.”

I’d never felt so painfully passive in my entire life, just watching two people argue about what was to happen to me while pretending like I wasn’t even there. Did I even want to accompany them? To this point, I just wanted to go with them to Elrond’s house and then see if there is any aid there. Of course, it helped that Elrond’s house is basically an all-expenses-paid vacation, and particularly accommodating to lost souls.

It became frighteningly clear that whatever separate visions they had of what was to become of me in their mind, neither of them were what I wanted.

“Are ye hungry, lass?” A finger poked my side. It was Bofur, a slightly more comforting sight. Though the two continued their bickering in the background, I diverted myself from the conversation slightly to face him.

“Um, no, I think I’m okay, I-“ my stomach growled.

Bofur smiled understandingly.

“Well, we got lots o’ food if y’ever change your mind.”

“Mahal, where did you get that?!” Kili yelled from the side. It appeared that I was now up for grabs by anyone who wanted to talk to me, as Thorin and Gandalf walked off.

“What?”

“That!” Kili pointed a finger at my chin, which I stroked thoughtfully, realizing that he was taking note of my large, now splotchy bruise that almost appeared to be a poorly shaved five o’clock shadow.

“Oh, this? It was from the troll, I think. It wasn’t there before.” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully again before giving him something of a lopsided smile. He appeared quite amused at the concept of large bruises.

“Lad, it’s considered polite to introduce yerself before askin’ a lass about ‘er wounds.” Balin remarked from the side, winking at me thoughtfully.

“Ah, yeah. Apologies. I’m Kili, at your service, miss!” He playfully bowed. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I already knew all of their names, so I just passively watched as the introduction ritual took place, feigning mental notes as though it would be a struggle for me to recall them later.

I “met” Fili next, as he always tried to one up Kili with the showmanship, then Bofur, who introduced his family, Bifur and Bombur. Dwalin and Balin respectfully bowed, which felt way more gratifying than it should. Dori, Nori, and Ori introduced themselves together, followed by Oin and Gloin. Finally, the smallest member, Bilbo, appeared to have the most practiced bow, and politely introduced himself. I nodded.

“(F/n) (l/n) at yours.” I recalled the response to the standard greeting from the book, while doing a mock curtsey. I was still wearing jeans.

“I have to admit, it’s been a while since we’ve seen a lass, or anyone for that matter, in these woods.” Balin chatted curiously.

“I can only guess as to why.” The sarcasm was the first thing that I had felt natural saying in a while.

“Perhaps the giant trolls?” Ah, yes. Sarcasm was something that the dwarves were not yet used to. I nodded at let it pass.

The group held their breath and Gandalf and Thorin returned, a tacit agreement among them to let Thorin do the talking. He stepped forward.

“Very well, (y/n) of (hometown name). You will be permitted to travel with our Company until you may be returned to some area of safety, though I must warn you against doing anything that may inhibit our quest.”

I nodded, silently agreeing to the terms that had been placed before me. He grunted, and returned to packing for the journey ahead.

“You must tell me more about this (hometown name) when you get the chance, Miss (y/n).” Gandalf added.

“I’d be glad to.” I smiled, lying through my teeth. Part of me wanted to begin planning for when I would eventually have to lie about where I came from, but the other part of me simply had no idea what to anticipate.

I recalled my red canvas backpack, knowing that it was filled with things so far from this time that it would be disastrous if they got in the hands of any of my travelling companions, even someone as wise as Gandalf. I recalled my familiarity with their tales, knowing that, no matter how honest I was, I could not reveal to them that I knew the end. I recalled the death of Thorin, Fili, and Kili, the abuse of Bilbo, the psychological torture of Thranduil, and everything unfortunate in between.

Perhaps I was better off dying in the forest alone.

“Miss (y/n), you may walk with me if you like? We are both quite out of place in this company.” Bilbo cautiously approached me, his small voice easier to focus on as the rest of the Company began to leave me alone to pack for the time being.

“I would be honored, though I’m afraid I am not a terribly experienced traveler.”

“Then we shall make fine company, Miss (y/n).”

“Oh, you can just call me (y/n), no ‘Miss’ needed.”

He appeared somewhat startled, and on the verge of insulted.

“Oh, no, no, it’s just that the ‘Miss’ isn’t very common where I come from. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I hastily added, trying to fix whatever mess I had started.

“You really do come from far, don’t you?” Now he seemed to be observing me. I nodded.

“Yes. It’s going to be a long way back.”

***********

So we finally start the shenanigans, though I must warn you that this is only getting started. As always, feel free to shoot me ideas as to what (y/n) has, or perhaps even a pairing. I’m considering also making this one a choose-your-own-adventure in terms of pairings, but that would take a lot more work, so if y’all have a specific one let me know and I can just write that!

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scribomaniac · 4 years ago

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One Step Ahead Ch 9: Family Matters

“Now it’s your turn to listen,” Aelin told him, her eyes burning into him like blue fire. “Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

Rowan stared down at the ring in his hands, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He couldn’t detect a trace of a lie in her voice, but she’d be good at lying. She’d have to be, in their line of work. The ring felt cool against his skin. Clean too. If there was a poison on this ring, it had rubbed off long ago or was near untraceable.

None of this made sense to him. His mistress was many things, but kin killer? And those tears she had cried for him earlier . . . those had seemed so real to him. Still believing Arobynn of someone similar to be behind all of this, Rowan resolved himself to see it through. If He could gain more information then he’d figure out who was responsible. And if he could do that, if he could reunite Maeve with her long lost great niece—the only family she had left—then he’d be Maeve’s champion, a hero.

Something inside Rowan’s chest fluttered at the prospect. A hero, just like she always thought him to be . . .

“Okay,” Rowan nodded, his green eyes trained onto her blue. “I’ll hear you out.”

Tension unfolded from Aelin’s shoulders like ice breaking off a glacier. Flexing her hands, breaking them out of their curled form, the assassin nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

Silently, the two packed up their camp and returned to the car. Aelin drove her way through a dark and narrow path with only the towering trees of Oakwald to accompany them. After several minutes where not a word was spoken between them, the forest opened up and a great manor came into view. The manor was grand, to be sure, but time had taken its toll on the building. In some parts the roof was coming apart, showing holes into the interior, and in others the glass of the windows looked so unclean they were pitch black. All the foliage which must have at one point in time been beautiful and cared for had overgrown and begun to creep up the brick walls, swallowing the manor one leaf at a time.

“Where are we?” Rowan asked when Aelin turned off the car.

“Somewhere safe. Now come on. They’re waiting for us.”

The inside of the manor wasn’t much better off than the outside. The entry hall and rooms beside it were dark and cold. Cobwebs grew a plenty and Rowan knows he heard some critter moving down the hall. But as they walked further into the home, Aelin led him to a door outlined with a warm light.

Adarlan’s Assassin gave the door a series of knocks, a code signaling to those on the other side that they were in safe company. A double knock returned Aelin’s and then it opened to reveal a young man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes and a scar tearing through his eyebrows and running down his cheek. His eyes flashed from Aelin to Rowan. His distrust of the Cleaner was obviously apparent in the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, but he still moved aside to let them in.

Inside the room was much better kept than the rest of the house. There was a fire burning in a grand fireplace, an expensive, but worn, rug on the floor, and several comfortable looking couches and chairs. Most of which were already filled. Carefully taking in his surroundings, Rowan was surprised to find, once again, Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall. He blinked at them slowly, trying—and failing—to think of some way to link the two of them and Aelin together.

Unsurprisingly, Aedion was lounging across the room. He was so slumped down in his seat it almost looked like he could slide off at any moment. Rowan wouldn’t be fooled though. If necessary, Aedion was ready to spring into action the microsecond he was needed. The white haired man wondered where the rest of his gang were. Since he didn’t see their bikes on his way in, he assumed they were guarding the manor and keeping watch for any unwanted visitors. Prowling in the dark like a pack of rabid wolves.

Next to the leader of The Bane sat the Faliq girl, which was curious. Her sharp eyes were trained on him, watching his every move. Remembering what she said earlier, about never missing her mark, he made himself a mental note not to keep his back towards her.

There were three other people in the room. The first was the young man who opened the door for them. He stood by the fire, behind a winged back chair which seated a frail old man. Rowan assumed this was the owner of the house.

And finally, sitting across from the fire on a sad looking fainting couch, a pillow clutched in his arms, was Athril Dearst.

Shooting Aelin a look, one that said—what the actual fuck are you playing at—Rowan found himself standing so close to her that he could easily spot the ring of gold within the blue of her eyes.

Staring right back at him, her determined gaze answered him, What I have to.

Explain, Rowan demanded, not looking away even when he heard Athril stand.

Sighing, Aelin nodded. She looked over Rowan’s shoulder at Athril and said, “You start—you’re the one that set this all into motion, after all.”

Athril nodded. He looked at Rowan, then away, and then, as if he’d found a bit of courage deep within himself, locked eyes with Rowan and began, “Right. Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s an election year.”

He waited for the Cleaner to nod.

“The polls weren’t looking great. There wasn’t a lot of public interest and when that happens it could go either way come Election Day. My campaign manager and I thought it’d be best to find something, a cause, to bring the people together and catch their attention.” The Wendlyn District Attorney cleared his throat, “So I decided to look into cold cases, and there was one that caught my eye. It was out of my district, but Terrasen’s D.A., welcomed me in with open arms and agreed we could share in any of the spoils closing such a notorious case would bring.”

Rowan caught Aelin’s eye and she nodded, confirming he meant her family’s murder.

“So I put pressure on the police to reopen the case, which led to,” Athril trailed off, looking towards Westfall to pick up the story.

Sitting up straighter, Chaol looked at the room with wide eyes. He looked alarmed by the prospect that he’d have to address the room. “I found it,” he got out, “the ring. It,” he looked towards Faliq who nodded encouragingly to him which was . . . interesting, “had fallen into a vent beside his night table.” Westfall shrugged, “I guess no one looked there the first time around.”

Aelin snorted, “More like they were bribed not to.”

Rowan nodded at that, though who had bribed the police all those years ago, he was still unsure.

“That’s how we got involved,” Havilliard spoke up, clapping his friend on his shoulder. Westfall sighed quietly before relaxing back into his seat. “Chaol brought the ring to light and the news traveled up the channels and into my ears so we,” the prince of Rifthold’s lips split into a sly grin, one that hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface, “began exchanging conspiracy theories.”

“We thought for sure the ring belonged to Adarlan’s Assassin,” Westfall sat up again, his confidence growing, it seemed, now that he’d had time to think about what he wanted to say. “We thought this was the missing piece needed to finally pin it on her, but we quickly realized we were wrong.”

“How?” Rowan asked. The only way he’d been able to rule out the possibility of it being Aelin was because he knew her age and that the time line couldn’t match up. For anyone who didn’t know the famed assassin wasn’t even twenty, it’d be a natural assumption to make.

Both Westfall and Havilliard turned to look at Faliq. The young woman shrugged, “They were talking about it in my bakery, so I set them straight.”

A beat passed, and when Rowan kept his green eyes locked on the dark haired woman, she continued, “I’d already met Aelin at that point—knew her as Celeana, I mean—and knew she couldn’t have made that kill.”

Rowan nodded, though he had a few more questions, like why would Westfall and Havilliard take a random baker for her word, and how did she prove it to them? He still didn’t know how the sons of two powerful men had become friends with such a notorious member of the Underworld, but he had a feeling that information would come to light soon enough.

“Once Nesryn told me about the ring, I knew I had to act fast,” Aelin told him, her hip cocked and her hand resting on it as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “If I knew, that mean Maeve knew too, or would know soon enough.”

Following her train of thought, the white haired male said, “So you stole it before she could.” Aelin gave him a wide smile, one that showed off an awful lot of teeth and was surely meant to set him on edge. However, all it did for him was send a spark down his spine.

Still, this didn’t explain everything. Cocking his head at her, he silently asked, And this group? How’d this all happen?

For once, Aelin answered him aloud, “After our meetup in the bakery, I got Dorian, Chaol, and Nesryn to convince Athril to come here.”

Which was smart, considering Maeve would more than likely take him out to ensure no one kept sniffing around the Galathynius case. But no, Rowan reminded himself. Maeve wasn’t responsible for this. Nothing anyone had said had properly condemned his mistress. He needed more information if he was going to convince Aelin properly.

“I have to say,” Athril sat back down on the couch, grabbing for the pillow, “having these two,” he jerked his thumb at Havilliard and Westfall, “pick me up was a wise choice. I thought she,” know his thumb was aimed at Faliq, “had come to carve out my lungs.”

“That’s just her face,” Westfall said quietly, earning him a pillow to the face courtesy of Faliq. “What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Aelin said pointedly, giving Westfall a very tired look, “once we had the ring, we sent it out for testing.”

Rowan hummed, pulling the ring out from his pocket. “You said it was poisoned.”

“The interior, to be specific,” Athril pulled a briefcase out from underneath the couch and took some papers out. “There were only trace amounts left by the time we found it. The rest was absorbed into Orlon’s skin. Based on what Dr. Towers said, it wouldn’t have taken long for the poison to do its job.”

“What’s the name of the poison?” Rowan looked back over to Aelin, “If we know the name and the ingredients that could help us find the real killer.”

Aelin raised a delicate brow. Really buzzard? Her expression asked. Still trying to defend your mistress?

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Westfall, of all people, told him. Rowan would have thought his participation in this conversation had ended, and yet he continued on as if he himself was the expert on the poison. “It’s an unknown. We have a breakdown of the ingredients though,” he nodded at Athril, who stood and handed Rowan several pages worth of data. “They’re very rare, which is good, and should help us narrow down the suspects. In fact, it already has.”

“Have you ever been to Valg, Rowan?” Aelin asked, moving over to stand before the fire and warm her hands. The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stood up, knowing that Aelin ever acted nonchalantly like this when she was at her most dangerous, when she had something up her sleeve.

Rowan hadn’t ever been to Valg. There was no reason for him to, considering what a crap hole the place was. It was full of empty buildings, the hollowed out husks of addict-addled bodies, and rusted over pipes. There was only one reason people ever went there and that was to die.

With her back to him, Aelin continued, “It’s a horrible place, run by three brothers who care nothing for it besides whatever money the junkyards and desperate bring in. But it does have an interesting collection of foliage that are renowned for their toxicity.” Turning around to face him again, Aelin’s face looked like it had been cut from marble, betraying none of the emotions Rowan was sure were raging through her.

“Why are you telling me this?” It was nothing new to the Cleaner. The King brothers, Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan, were well known by the world for their brutal business practices and known in the Underworld for their vast supply of drugs and poisons.

“I’m telling you this,” Aelin said slowly, taking in a deep, slow breath, “because all of the ingredients in the poison originate from Valg and because of Maeve’s connection with it.”

Rowan frowned, trying to connect the dots and finding he couldn’t. There was no connection between Maeve and Valg. Silently, Rowan told her so.

Shoulders dropping back, Aelin stood up straighter. Rowan felt as if a stone dropped into his stomach, knowing he was about to be proven wrong.

“Maeve was married before, did you know?” Aelin cocked her head to the side, almost inquisitively. “It was only for a year or so, but it was legal. Apparently it ended in fire and brimstone, but I’m sure Maeve wouldn’t call it a complete loss.”

Athril handed him another piece of paper. It was a copy of a marriage certificate.

“Look at the names, Rowan.”

He did, and what he found there took the air right out of his lungs. Orcus King. Maeve had been married to Orcus King. Orcus King, the mastermind behind all the poisons produced in Valg. If Maeve had been married to him, had gained knowledge of his formulas and ingredients, then it’d be easy for her to . . .

“I need some air,” Rowan shoved the papers back into Athril’s hands and stormed out of the manor. There was a chill to the night, a welcomed sensation to combat his burning skin. He was going to be sick. Maeve was vicious, he always knew that—she didn’t become a mob boss by being nice, he knew that—but this was her family. Family was everything and she just—if Aelin was right then she just threw that all away.

Rowan closed his eyes and found a pair of chestnut eyes staring back at him. The wind carried the sound of a laugh, warm and infectious and familiar. Bile rose up Rowan’s throat. He’d give anything to just—and Maeve had thrown—he was going to be sick.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice broke through Rowan’s thoughts, through the laughter and the bile, and brought him back down into himself.

Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan turned to look at Adarlan’s Assassin. Standing before him now, Aelin looked so small and vulnerable, but she was looking at him as if he looked the same.

Opening her mouth, Aelin was about to say something else but Rowan cut her off, “I’m in. Whatever you need me to do.” He swallowed down the last remnants of the bile and resolved himself, “I’m in.”

#one step ahead #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #athril #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #nesryn faliq #ren allsbrook #aedion ashryver #rowan x aelin

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heart-eye-harrington · 5 years ago

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the last midnight ~ chapter one

Summary: Every aspect of Prince Steve’s life is mapped out with one objective in mind: become king when the time comes. With the help of a friend, he escapes for a taste of freedom for a day. As he explores the village, he sees the baker’s daughter telling stories to the village children and is enchanted.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none I can think of, brief mention of death but nothing more than a line.

Author’s Note: Hi! I am so excited to start this series! I hope you’re doing well! ♡

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The kingdom was something out of a handcrafted storybook. Every color was vibrant, as if hand-picked from a painter’s pot. If you squinted, you could see brush strokes in the setting sun and in the blooming flowers. The ink traced castle stood strong set upon the watercolor village.

As with any art, what you see is up for interpretation.

For the King and Queen, it was a fantasy. They lived in a beautiful palace filled with only the most beautiful objects. Everything had to be perfect, as anything less than was not up to standard. Of course, the funding had to come from somewhere, so they heavily taxed the village.

Their desire for perfection was even realized in their child. They had a son, a future king. They made sure to instill that idea into him from the moment he was born. They picked an excellent name for him, one fit for a future king. Prince Steve he was called, a name which meant crown and victorious. He was destined for a life of power and perfection, and the King and Queen made sure his potential was realized in the mold they created for his life. Anything that didn’t fit into this mold was not allowed. If it wouldn’t make him a great king, his time wouldn’t be wasted on it. Perfection or nothing.

The village saw their kingdom in a different light. They saw beauty as well, but in different ways. Because of the high taxes, value was placed on people rather than objects. Houses and clothes were plain, but they didn’t need to be anything but.

Your family’s bakery was the beating heart of the town. Leisure spending was nearly impossible, so the townspeople often splurged on baked goods. The small store was never empty, wandering eyes and feet carrying rumbling bellies always lingered. People would come in to get their bread, but they stayed for you and your pastries.

It was no surprise that the secret ingredient in everything you made was love. The bakery was warm, not only because of the hot ovens but also your friendly smile. You knew how lucky you were to wake up with a full belly while so many customers came in with pleading eyes. You made your prices as low as you could under the tax, but when even that wasn’t enough, you tried to offer something else.

It all started when a mother and child came into the store. You greeted them with a smile, which they returned. After a few minutes, you look up from your work station to see the mother counting her coins. With keen eyes, you’re able to see she only has enough for a loaf of bread and milk. Her sad eyes travel to her daughter sat before a glass case, not the only thing between her and the blueberry scones. Your heart breaks at the scene before you. Something stirs inside, guilt maybe, but there is nothing anyone can do to change the village’s financial situation. Not you, not the mother, no one besides the King and Queen. But there is something else you can give the child.

“Have you heard of the princess and the pea?” You learn over the counter, getting more to her eye level. The girl’s attention leaves the case in front of her and is pulled to your story. With a simple shake of her head and a curious smile, you begin to weave the tale of a poor girl who had nothing and her strange sleeping arrangement. The little girl was enchanted, the mother grateful for a distraction from the expensive sweet. Before the young girl knew it, her mother had bought her bread and the story was finished. All were left with smiling faces.

Word of your good deed spread to all the parents of the village. They all started bringing their children with them to the bakery to escape to the fantastical worlds in the stories you created, giving their kids a sense of wonder and excitement to distract from the pricey sweets when pockets were light. Your stories became so popular you began to tell them in the town square, sitting on the ledge of the fountain, drawing large crowds of children. You were lovingly dubbed “Fairy Godmother in Training”.

⋆★⋆

Dawn’s soft golden light washes over the vastness of Steve’s room. On most days he would still be sleeping away, dreading the moment a maid would come in a throw open the curtains, but not today. He was currently pacing his grand bedroom, waiting. Just before his patience wore too thin, a secret knock comes to his door. He cracks it just enough to see the familiar smirk on his visitor’s hidden face. Once he ushers them inside, they remove their hood.

“You sure you want to do this Steve?” her question to the prince was the last reassurance she needed to go through with the crazy plan they had concocted. If anything were to go wrong, the King would have her head, but they both knew the consequences.

“There’s no one else I trust more than you, Robin.” Steve’s words are sincere. The two had grown up together within the castle’s walls. When the head of the royal guard’s wife passed away, he and his daughter were permitted to live in the castle. Steve and Robin became fast friends, finding their way in the royal world together. Robin became her father’s apprentice, and Steve his father’s. The shared many of the same hardships, which was the common glue that connected them so well. The one exception was that Robin could leave the castle walls whenever she pleased, while Steve never had, until today.

Robin shrugged the ragged disguise onto Steve’s freshly made bed. She made sure to bring hooded cloaks for them both, no need to bring any unnecessary attention to Steve or the sword she wielded in case she needed to step in to protect him. Her hand instinctively rested on its hilt as she watched Steve tug the billowy white shirt over his head. Once he secures the cloak’s clasp around his neck, he gives Robin a little spin.

“So”- he lifts the hood, chuckling - “how do I look? Just like any other towns-person?” Robin tries to bite away her smile.

“Yeah, you’ll blend in just fine. Now come on, your parents are going to be back from their visit at sundown. I want to give you as much time outside as possible, which I can’t do if you’re gonna twirl around all day.”

Steve groans at her reminder for the reason for his parents’ absence. They were off visiting a neighboring kingdom to marry him off, trying to woo any princess with a heartbeat, not taking his dreams and goals into account at all. After being treated this way his entire life you’d think he’d be used to it, but he never was. It always left a sour taste in his mouth.

Robin was quick to lead him out of the palace through the old servant’s tunnels. They had long forgotten, abandoned, but were once the only way servants could move about the castle. Robin and Steve had discovered them one day when playing hide and seek.

Once outside, the began their walk to the village, which was made more bearable with the rising sun tinting the sky warm oranges and golden yellows. Despite going over the plan a million times, Robin still found herself comforting Steve’s fears and answering his questions.

“What if we see a dragon?”

“Steve, we aren’t going to see a dragon.”

“But, what if we do? That’s not in our plan.” He had a smug look on his face, knowing he a popped a hole in her airtight plan. Robin brings pinched fingers to rest between her furrowing brows, eyes screwed shut in annoyance.

“Okay, fine. If we see a dragon, we seek shelter. I know a cave not far from the village. If worse comes to worst, you have your sword and I have mine. We fight our way out. How’s that sound?” She tilts her head his direction, eyebrows raised, expecting another smart-ass response.

“Fair enough. I do like showing off my sword skills.” He takes it from its sheath, flipping it around once before taking a playful stance, inviting her to do the same. She scoffs, and just as her hand reaches for her weapon, she scans her opponent and realizes something. His shoulders are more tense than usual and breathing a bit more shallow.

He’s nervous.

Of course! She feels like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Steve has never been out of the castle walls and with each step is getting further away. He’s out of his comfort zone, and maybe he’s stalling or trying to play fight to distract his nerves. She needs to reassure him that everything will be fine.

“While you do know your way around a sword,” -she bows, gesturing to herself grandly -” you’re welcome, I don’t think you’ll need it. The village is quite calm and peaceful. People go about their lives and have no need for fighting. And, we won’t see any dragons.” She gives him a reassuring pat on the back. The corner of Steve’s lips tugs up as he puts away his weapon. “Alright, lead the way o wise leader”

When the grassy meadows begin to meld with cobblestone, the pair use the transition as a signal to lift their hoods. Robin’s head peaks out more than Steve’s, as the penalty for her being recognized is significantly less than the prince’s. Plus, having two mysterious hooded strangers walking around would probably draw suspicion.

The sleepy village is slowly waking, stretching its tired limbs before starting the day. The cobblestone streets slowing start to fill with groggy shoppers. After a few apprehensive moments and brushing of shoulders, Steve allows himself to relax and take in the sights.

People smile at one another, asking about their family’s well being and the weather. Shudders open to reveal storefronts and attendants fixing their window displays. Florists arrange their fresh flowers, shoemakers polish buckles, the barber dusts off his chairs, and seamstresses smooth out any creases in the selected dresses. This is the first time Steve has seen the people he has the honor of calling his subjects, and it fills him with an overwhelming sense of pride. They are nice people, and he hopes he’s worthy of his title.

The closer Steve and Robin get to the town square, the louder it gets, and the more their interest is peaked. Children are squealing and giggling, sitting down in front of the water fountain. They seem to be under a spell, obviously enchanted by something. As the pair gets closer, they see they’re enchanted by someone, and quickly fall under the spell too. They settle into the back of the small crowd and watch, mesmerized.

“The prince clutches the damsel close to him as they run from the tower, shielding her from any danger” you’re crouched down, hand-gestures low to lure your audience in. “They bob up and down to avoid the traps the prince discovered on his way in to rescue her. They turn the corner only to find—” you jump to your feet and up to the ledge of the fountain, loose flour remaining from this morning’s baking floating into the air from your apron like pixie dust. Raising strong arms to your sides, you flap them like mighty wings. —“a mighty dragon flys into the air, determined to keep the princess in her tower.”

Steve chuckles under his breath, nudging Robin. “See, told you there might be a dragon.” All she can do is shake her head and turn back to see you shrink down, softening your body along with your words. This was your favorite part.

“Before fear grips the prince, the princess holds his hand. In that moment, he knows she’s his true love, and that he would fight any creature to keep her safe, for the touch of a hand cannot be altered by magic. No magic spell can mask or mimic the way a person’s hand makes you feel.”

The girls swoon. while the boys raise their arms. Imaginary weapons gripped tight, they begin to fight with one another, pretending to be princes and dragons. The girls squeal, either running away from the chaos, or rushing in to join the boys in battle. Either way, it’s obvious that you’ve lost your audience, ending your daily story for the day. Jumping down from the fountain’s ledge, you wipe the sweat from your brow. You scan the crowd for any little lingering eyes still interested in your story, but find a new set of eyes you’ve never seen before.

The world stills for a moment. No loud children, no negotiations from merchants, not even chirps from birds can be heard. It’s just you and the beautiful mysterious stranger. Small beams of sunlight break through the shadow cast by his hood. You’re able to make out the freckles that speckle his neck and climb to his cheek. His eyes are a bit harder to read. The light can’t seem to catch them as much, but when it does you feel weak to your knees. They’re curious, excited, but also anxious. Before you can try to read more, find more of the clues he was dropping, you’re called back to the bakery.

“Robin? Who was that?” Steve’s voice is hushed, not from the worry of being exposed, but wonder. His words pull Robin from her own daze, as he seems to fall deeper into his.

“I’ve never caught her real name, but I’ve heard the kids call her a fairy godmother in training,” a cheerful smile reaches her eyes, watching Steve scan the square for the mystery girl. She’s able to catch you making your way to the glade, a large bucket in each hand.

“Hey, prince charming, twelve o’clock. I think our storyteller may need some help. Why don’t you catch up with her, and I’ll get us something to eat from the tavern.” Steve’s brows knit together, not really following. This wasn’t in the plan.

“Are you sure?”

“Not really, but I trust her. If anything happens I won’t be far away. Now hurry before I change my mind.” Steve nods, wide eyes shining with joy. Robin gives him a final nod of approval and he’s off, practically skipping down the street. She let a laugh fall as he disappeared around the corner of a store.

You huff, frustrated with the prospect of the long walk ahead of you. Someone from the palace would be arriving in the morning for the King’s order. They always insisted on using “the most perfect water”, which meant a long walk to the waterfall. It wasn’t all that bad, the birds sang their serenade through the tall trees. You’re so distracted by their song you don’t realize someone is following you until they call out to you.

“Excuse me? Would you like some help?” The voice, though unfamiliar, is soothing. You turn around and are met by your mystery stranger, but this time, his hood is down. You’re surprised it was able to conceal his mop of wavy hair. His face was kind, as were his eyes. The strangest sense of security fills your chest. The heat makes its way to your cheeks, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide it.

“Thank you” you accept his offer timidly, extending one of the buckets to him. He takes it with a shy grin, and the two of you continue on your journey. There’s a comfortable silence for a few moments as you steal looks at one another. Light breaks through the tree canopy, occasionally catching the most beautiful light on his and your features. You have the strangest sense that you’ve seen him before but quite can’t place your finger on it.

“Do you often find yourself alone this deep in the forest?” his question seems to come from a place of concern, nothing malicious within miles of his thought. You laugh a bit,

“I’m not alone, I’m with you, Mr.?” you stop for a second, realizing you never asked the nice young man his name. It’s his turn to laugh

“You don’t know who I am?” you look at him with a puzzled expression. Fumbling for his words, still not believing this is true, that he’s able to get away from the castle without the worry of being caught, he answers, “I’m Steve”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, where do you live?”

“At the palace.” He stumbles again, not wanting to lie but knowing he can’t tell the whole truth. “My father is teaching me his trade.”

“You’re an apprentice?” Your question is full of curiosity and excitement.

“Of a sort.”

The conversation continues even after you reach the waterfall and journey back, just barely able to see the village in the distance. Talking with him seems like second nature, neither of you needs to force anything, new topics easily flowing from one to the other. You’re even able to tease one another on how you need to waddle to carry your heavy buckets without spilling the water. During one lull in the conversation, you think back to his life in the castle and grow more curious about what exactly he does.

“Do they treat you well in the palace?”

“Better than I deserve, most likely. And you?” you think for a moment,

“They treat me as well as they’re able” sadness tries to edge its way through your words. Despite your efforts to hide it, Steve can easily read the slight shift in your tone and stride.

“I’m sorry” his words sincere. You smile at the notion but are sure to reassure him

“It’s not your doing.”

“Nor yours either, I bet.” you smile at his kindness.

“It’s not so bad. Others have it worse, I’m sure. We must be thankful for what we have and help those less fortunate, in any way we can.”

“Like with your stories?” you nod,

“Yes, like with the stories. Hope is one of the best gifts you can give someone. Seeing how people’s faces light up, all worries washing away if just for a few minutes, it’s the best feeling in the world and the least I can do.”

“Well, that’s very honorable and kind of you to do. You can see how much it means to everyone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Steve”

Blushing smiles are exchanged, and it’s a tender moment. A tender moment that’s cut short by yells through the trees.

“Steve? Steve? Your High-” before Robin can finish and let his title slip, he calls back to her.

“Robin! Robin, I’m here. And it’s Steve. Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Well, we better get a move on if we want to be back by sunset, Mr. Steve.” She smirks, holding out a roll and jug for him she got from the tavern. He takes it in his free hand and looks back to you. You make grabbing motions for your bucket back, which he hesitantly returns. You send him a comforting nod. He was kind enough to carry it this far and you were appreciative for that, not upset that he had to leave now. He’s able to read that all from a scan of your face. His gaze can’t linger much longer as Robin is already walking away. He turns for a few strides as he tries to catch up, but stops short.

“I hope to see you again” charm and delight practically radiate off of him.

“And I, you,” you respond with a charming nod. He flashes you a goofy yet sweet grin before turning to chase after Robin again. He manages a few backward glances your way, his boyish laugh echoing throughout the woods. Even after just the brief exchange, he had fallen hard under your spell, and you under his.

You hoped to see Steve again soon.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fic #royal au

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gascon-en-exil · 5 years ago

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I'm genuinely curious about your "Black Eagles most to least favourite" list.

Here you are.

#1: Hubert

Could there be any other? I remember back when there was a promo introducing the house retainers (well, Lorenz for the Deer) and everyone was saying that Hubert looked so obviously evil that there had to be some deeper explanation, that someone who took design cues from a two-dimensional villain like Fates’s Iago couldn’t possibly be Edelgard’s retainer. Then the game came out, and we all realized that Hubert was exactly as advertised and then some: a cold and calculating murderer and war criminal with his fingerprints all over almost every terrible thing that happens over the course of the story, as comfortable with chloroform and a razor as dark magic and down to perform unspeakable experiments on innocent civilians to turn them into war machines and then backstab his co-conspirators because he will suffer no rivals for his title of the Most Evil Man in Fòdlan. And yep, he looks like Dracula and Severus Snape had a one-night stand and their mpreg love child went to an anime convention...but when Ferdinand looks at Hubert he sees Mr. Darcy and the Phantom of the Opera and Edward Cullen/Christian Grey, and soon enough that snake in Hubert’s breeches will be singing quite the aria indeed. You do you, Ferdinand.

Ok, I’ve already rambled at length on Hubert’s bisexuality and the interesting things it reveals about both him and his two primary love interests, but I do also have to admire the sheer audacity both of Hubert as an incel/Nice Guy-flavored romantic false lead for Edelgard who never had a serious chance because of the self-insert fantasy and of the decision to follow that up with a trope-laden queer romance that perfectly counterbalances Hubert’s attraction to Edelgard and puts Ferdinand firmly in the place he was destined to occupy by choosing to side with the Empire. It’s nearly as outrageous as just how casually evil Hubert gets to be, as well as the immense potential for dark humor that lies with that. You have to bend over backwards to say that Hubert isn’t unapologetically, irredeemably evil, and if you try there will be significantly more fans just waiting to tell you that you’re wrong - myself included. He’s the Manfroy to Edelgard’s Arvis but so much than that, and I look forward to the point in the CF postgame where he effectively takes over the Empire in true evil chancellor fashion and unleashes the full extent of his horrors upon Fòdlan. He somehow got even better in the DLC too despite being absent from CS and getting no new supports, because the Abyssians in CF just can’t stop talking about his nefarious antics down there. I just can’t get enough of how good this guy is at being bad, and I love that FE gave us exactly what was advertised here.

#2: Ferdinand

Now here’s a case of the opposite, where what’s on the packaging didn’t prepare me for what was to come. If I remarked on Ferdinand at all during pre-release it was only to think that he might be part of a Christmas knight duo with Sylvain since the game looked like it wouldn’t have one of those. Early on there wasn’t much else to be said about Ferdinand; he was like Claude in that his popularity ran off a meme (except just the one rather than several), and in appearance and personality he was basically Lorenz with less ridiculous hair. But then came his supports, and his post-timeskip look, and suddenly Ferdinand blossomed into the subtext-laden fem with very bizarre taste in men - see above - that he could have only dreamed of being if he’d stuck to such well-trod ground as the Christmas knight archetype. We learn of his love for opera, his complicated relationship with his father, his worship of the hot mess diva Manuela and how he learned swordplay specifically to imitate her roles on the stage, and - yes - how some backhanded compliments and expensive gifts of tea turn him into a blushing Regency heroine. It all casts his unusually rote romances with women in a performative light (as opposed to Lorenz who is similarly performative but seems genuinely interested in the marriage market), to say nothing of his one-sided rivalry with Edelgard that brushes against jealousy over Hubert’s devotion to her more often than against romantic attraction to her, and that toys around with gendered behavior in a manner complementary to Edelgard’s own bucking of the gender status quo.

And while not to the same extent as Felix, I do appreciate that Ferdinand has two distinct arcs depending on the route - and unlike some who feel that one or the other detracts from his character as a whole I personally find that they complement each other well. In SS and if recruited to AM and VW he makes the hard choice to oppose his homeland, spending the timeskip waging a solitary battle against the Empire with his private militia and then joining back up with Byleth’s army at Garreg Mach because he knows Edelgard is in the wrong even as it pains him to depose the Adrestian emperor and leave his own status uncertain...not to mention fight Hubert, which merits a curious boss conversation as well as some extra lines in SS (plus the infamous Huge Hole™ remark that I will never stop referencing because it is hilarious) that, while not elevating Ferdibert anywhere near the level of Dimidue in terms of cross-route canon endorsement, nonetheless are suggestive of something deeper between them that exists even if they find themselves on opposite sides of a war. In CF by contrast Ferdinand gives into his craving for the title and holdings that Edelgard has just stripped from his father and embraces nationalism and his long-held ideal of what the office of the prime minister should to do as a means of justifying the Empire’s conquests. Of course in the process he also succumbs to Hubert’s, er, charms(?) and becomes the charismatic bureaucrat who is presumably saddled with the task of putting a positive spin on the Empire’s dystopian atrocities while Edelgard and Hubert do all the actual work...and Hubert does all the actual actual work, which includes a lot of murder and kidnapping and all manner of other things that he doesn’t share with his pretty lover and about which Ferdinand quickly learns not to ask. Two Jewels of the Empire, indeed.

#3-4: Edelgard and Dorothea

I go back and forth on these so I’m not going to bother putting them in a definitive order, particularly because I like them for very different reasons that are difficult to compare. For Edelgard, it would be most accurate to say that I enjoy her potential much more than her execution; she gets some meaty material to work with as a lord and as the driving antagonist of the whole game outside of CF, and while I still prefer Micaiah for female lords there’s something darkly satisfying about her need for control and domination and her utter refusal to compromise or remain stagnant...except where Byleth is concerned, and Edeleth drags her down so badly that it would be painful if I cared more about that type of strong female character. Had the game axed the self-insert obsession (even if that meant axing her bisexuality along with it) and focused on her experiences during the Insurrection as the source of her worldview and motivations I’d be inclined to like the final product far more, because that’s a hell of a lot more in line with what she actually does and conveniently also maps to the life of a real world ruler with whom I’m relatively familiar and whom history regards in appropriately ambivalent terms.

Dorothea on the other hand is someone I can relate to on a more personal level, mostly as a sex worker. She’s similar to Primrose from Octopath Traveler, both of them prostitutes and playing coy with the implications of the RPG dancer class archetype, although Primrose hits a few more of my buttons for being former nobility and being motivated by revenge. Then again, I fully understand Dorothea’s anxieties about growing old without a man to take care of her, even if she loses me (and Yuri picks up from where she leaves off) when she dips into lesbianism as an alternative option. She’s got her ups and downs for me - I love that she brings up incest kink with Caspar as opposed to this series’s usual outright incest, while I love less her strange Ferdinand supports that are suspended oddly between friendship and romance and...something else undefinable - and I don’t have much to say on her life as an opera diva except that it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that she’s been turning tricks on the side and even got a sugar daddy to pay her way into the academy. Theatre and sex work have always gone hand-in-hand like that.

#5-7: Linhardt, Caspar, and Petra

This is why I couldn’t make up a list like this for the Lions or Deer, because most of their students would be in big clumps like this. I have no strong opinions on any of these characters; they each have their moments, but not enough to elevate them to where I actively like them or drop them down into real dislike. I suppose you could say I’m disappointed by how Caspar and Linhardt are visual allusions to Ike/Soren who do absolutely nothing else with that similarity except eloping in their paired ending...which is preceded by virtually nothing in the way of real chemistry. If I enjoy them for anything in particular it’s Linhardt’s wit and Caspar’s occasional bouts of emotional vulnerability, like his mini-arc in AM where he has to deal with his feelings surrounding Randolph’s death and then later gets an apology from Dimitri for it.

Petra is awkward all around as the game dances around her delicate political situation, and I also happen to agree with the VA who (if I recall) thought the character should have some sort of accent but wasn’t allowed to do one. (If anyone is wondering, based on her last name and Brigid being an island nation I headcanon it as a Celtic-derived culture, but as with my personal reading of Dedue and Duscur I know that doesn’t play well to the fandom at large). All in all Petra feels like a more self-aware rendition of the exotic swordswoman archetype begun by Ayra in Jugdral, but there’s clearly still some work to be done on that front.

#8: Bernadetta

Ugh. With apologies to @capriciouscorvid for explaining how even unintentional disability representation can be taken as a positive, I just don’t see how Bernadetta’s character could possibly be considered a good thing when she’s so grating in almost all of her supports and most of her story and exploration presence outside of CF. All the screaming and high-pitched pronouncements of impending death get very old very quickly, and the part where she’s meant to be romantically appealing in her neediness and isolation is as lost on me as it would have been had it stemmed instead from a massive rack. Her supposedly sympathetic backstory doesn’t help much either, as it leaves me mostly with the thought that her father is an idiot because his methods obviously did not make her suitable to be a good wife. I also don’t care for how she’s one of several characters used to soften Jeritza (and that the way she does so is I think rather insulting to people with social anxiety, to liken it to a compulsion to commit murder), or even worse that people point to her Hubert support to try and say that he’s not such a bad guy and they’d be total besties just like Ferdinand and Dorothea (another pairing that doesn’t exactly scream BFFs). I mean, really....

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Black Eagles

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iamleavingthisfandom · 5 years ago

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it’s almost Valentine’s Day and I’ve just been writing soft and sweet stuff, so here, have some porn. rated E. mirror handjobs, lingerie, and sweetness between 40yo reddie can also be found here on ao3

Eddie stared at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over smooth silk that ended just above his hip.

It wasn’t the first time he wore lingerie. Richie and he both dabbled with panties from time to time and it wasn’t all that new a kink for either of them. He knew he liked wearing red-colored silk and satin stuff (that being the only ones they had tried, but he liked the way they looked against his skin). He felt sexy like that. But this was the first time he ever put on stockings or a garter belt with suspenders to support them. Needless to say, it was interesting. He found them in what he assumed was Richie’s present to him for Valentine’s Day. Not that he tried to look for the present, but on February 14th (and suspiciously not a day earlier) Richie hid a box with his name on it in their shared closet. It wasn’t that difficult to find. And then he got too curious, so he opened it. And then he got too curious again, so he put it on. And the rest, as they say, is history. Eddie looked and looked in the mirror, fascinated by the stretch of silk over his tan skin. The cloth hugged him tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination, but that was a reasonably familiar sight. What was new was the red lace of the garter belt that ran across his stomach with suspenders hanging down. What was even newer was the soft fabric of stockings clinging to his legs all the way up to his thighs, accentuating every curve and muscle. “Found your present?” he heard from the door, making him whip his head around and stare at Richie. He was leaning against the doorway, watching him. His tone wasn’t teasing as Eddie half expected it to be; it was quiet and gentle, almost breathless. Eddie smiled when he noticed that Richie couldn’t take his eyes off of where the garter belt wound around his midsection. “Yeah. Sorry about that,” he didn’t sound sorry and he knew that perfectly well, but Richie didn’t seem to mind his chuckle if him biting his lip and closing in on Eddie was any indication. “Couldn’t wait.” “I’m glad you didn’t,” Richie breathed out just as he reached Eddie and leaned down to kiss him, towering over him and pulling him into a kiss with a gentle but insistent hand on his chin. If Eddie was interested when he saw himself in the mirror, by then he was half-hard. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s back, pulling him even closer and having to bend his neck further back, but being able to cling onto the fabric of Richie’s T-shirt as their tongues slid together was definitely worth it. They parted with a small gasp from his own lips as he felt Richie’s hand glide over the outline of his cock. “Worked up already?” he could hear Richie’s grin, but he was focusing on the tingly feeling of the hand against him that he could feel through the soft satin, eyes closed to bask in it. “Yeah,” he smiled, licking his lips when he felt Richie pull back a bit. He opened his eyes to find his boyfriend looking at him with an intensity that almost made him shiver. “I want to jerk you off in front of the mirror,” Richie spoke up, biting his lip for a moment. Eddie blinked and, well. “Yeah, let’s do that.” Richie smiled in response and walked him back to the bed. He spun them around and sat down, but when Eddie went to sit on his lap facing him, he shook his head. “No, I want you to face the mirror.” Eddie bit his lip and turned around, settling back against Richie’s chest. He never imagined being able to watch himself in the mirror like this would be a big turn-on, but here they were. “Look at you,” Richie had so much awe in his voice that Eddie couldn’t catch his breath. “You look so pretty in these.” Richie’s hands stopped on Eddie’s thighs first, covering them almost entirely. He pushed them open, arranging Eddie as he would have him. That was always a big thing for Eddie, more so when Richie was rough and fast with it, but this worked, too. Richie pushed until Eddie’s legs were hooked outside of his own, the knees between his thighs holding them in place. He couldn’t help a quiet gasp at the friction of the denim of Richie’s jeans against his skin, a stark contrast to the softness of silk. Richie paid it no mind and lightly ran his fingers over the lacy tops of the stockings, letting them delve under the lace a little. Richie’s eyes met Eddie’s in the mirror after Eddie’s harshly drawn-in breath and he gave him a smirk. “Do you like being all dolled-up for me?” he pressed a sweet kiss under Eddie’s ear. Eddie had to swallow before answering. “Yeah,” it sounded rough even to his own ears, but Richie didn’t seem to mind. He trailed his hands up his legs to trace the outline of the garter belt with one and press the other over Eddie’s cloth-covered cock, rubbing it slowly. If he continued at this pace, Eddie was pretty sure he was going to die before he even got to come, but there was something sweet about taking things so slow. “I like it, too,” Richie said quietly, pulling the garter belt aside a little and letting it go for it to snap back into place. Eddie closed his eyes and went to lean his head back as he rolled his hips into Richie’s hand, but Richie stopped him with a whisper into his ear, “No, sweetheart, I want you to look how you pretty you look when you get off.” Eddie looked up again, watching Richie’s hands that looked impossibly large against his own body. The one that wasn’t currently obscuring the view of his crotch, traveled up Eddie’s front, stopping to circle his nipple gently and make his breath hitch before continuing its path upwards. He watched as Richie’s thumb traced his lower lip, which finally got Eddie to look at himself. Not even five minutes into it, and he already looked a mess. His flush went from his cheeks all the way down his chest and he was breathing heavily, his hips rolling lightly into Richie’s hand. That was when Richie dipped his hands under the elastic that held up the panties, finally closing his hand around Eddie’s cock. He sighed in relief, even as Richie continued talking. “So sweet like this for me. Did you imagine what I would do when you put them on?” he nodded. “Did you think about the last ones we ruined when we got too worked up and couldn’t wait?” He did. The expensive underwear ended up torn on the floor, but he also came four times that night, so he was not going to complain. Eddie was about to hum his agreement when Richie’s two fingers were resting against his lips. Without any hesitation, he opened his lips and moved his head to take the fingers into his mouth. His eyes met Richie’s in the mirror and he saw Richie bite his lip. And then he also felt Richie’s hard cock nudge against his ass. The temptation to tease him was too great, so Eddie grinned around his fingers and sucked more into his mouth. That was when Richie increased the speed to his strokes, his hand still kind of dry, and it only just started to hurt in that great way that had Eddie slump back against his chest and take it as he let out a quiet surprised whine. “I think you should keep the set on for dinner tonight. Just imagine sitting there and eating your two-Michelin-stars sushi while you’re wearing this slutty little number under your suit. But then I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. Maybe I should blow you in the bathroom, where anyone can walk in and hear the lovely sounds you can never keep back?” Even Richie’s fingers in his mouth couldn’t get him to cut back his noises. Or maybe they made it worse as he watched them move in and out of his lips at an unhurried pace in the mirror, leaving a mess of spit down his chin. They barely got into it and he already looked wrecked, his cock and Richie’s hand visible in a clear outline under silky cloth and a small wet line across his stomach where the tip peeked out from the panties. And the idea of Richie on his knees, sucking him off where they would almost without a doubt be heard, got him to move his hips roughly in and out of Richie’s grip as he got louder, all soft grunts around fingers on his tongue. “Or would it be better if I teased you all night but wouldn’t touch you until we came home? You know you’ll be whining the whole way back like you always do, and when we’re finally here I can take my time with you. Maybe I won’t even take the panties off, just pull them aside to fuck you while you’re still wearing them. Just think how your pretty little hole will look, dribbling my cum all over this expensive silk.” At that point, Eddie couldn’t hold back if he tried. With a long groan, he threw his head back and bucked his hips into Richie’s hand and came, covering his stomach and chest. His head was resting on Richie’s shoulder and he was trying to catch his breath when he felt a thumb swirl through cum on his chest. Then Richie was nudging his thumb between his lips. Too relaxed to even think about it, Eddie parted his lips and sucked the thumb in, licking off the drop of cum on it, looking at Richie from under his eyelids. Richie was watching him intently with a small smile, and then he pulled out his thumb out of Eddie’s mouth and leaned in to kiss him. He deepened the kiss, no doubt tasting cum on his tongue, “Well, I believe that’s two presents you gave me,” he smiled up at Richie when he pulled away. “And I haven’t gotten a chance to give you yours.” “Aw, Eds, you got me a present?” Richie was horrible at playing coy, but Eddie wasn’t complaining when he was pulled into another kiss. “Yes, but I’m afraid it’s not quite as fun as these two were.” “I’m sure I’ll love it.” Oh yeah. Eddie was pretty sure Richie was going to love the ring hidden in a small velvet box in his suit jacket. He just needed them to clean up before they went to their dinner reservation and then to the quiet rooftop of the same building where he arranged everything. If anyone told him even a week ago he was going to pop the question while wearing panties and a garter belt under his fancy suit, he would have laughed his ass off, but sometimes things work out in a funny way.

#reddie #reddie fanfic #writing tag #notsfw

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writeintrees · 4 years ago

Text

Carter Part 3 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of.

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: opioids, concussion, torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

5256 of 15060 words total

part 1, part 2, part 4

He wakes again with pain clawing at his back. It is a slow and rude awakening of tossing and turning and not being able to keep his legs still. At least it is light outside. He can tell by the diffuse glow coming in through the shuttered windows. He decides it is no use trying to sleep longer and rolls out of bed.

He smiles at the sleepy morning feel to it all. Light is slanting in, soft and warm down the hallway. When he rounds the corner he sees Emille sipping coffee on the couch. Their hair is pulled into a messy bun on the top of their head and they are wearing reading glasses.

When they see him their eyebrows furrow. “You alright? Thought you’d be sleeping in.”

“Yeah just… pain.” He shrugs.

They set down their coffee. “You want me to get Joao to take a look at it?”

“No. It’s not an injury.” He doesn’t elaborate and is grateful that they do not ask any further. He keeps his eyes down so he does not see the puzzled look on their face, gears tuning behind their eyes.

He goes into the kitchen and pauses, not knowing if he has free range of the space. The last thing he wants is to overstep some boundary. He glances back at Emille but they are typing a text on their phone. Hesitant every step of the way he goes to make himself tea. “Hey, is it alright if I use a peppermint tea bag.”

“Yeah totally. I doubt Naji would mind.”

That gives Carter pause. Naji was very... to the point yesterday. He is not sure if she likes or trusts him and he is afraid to do anything to jeopardize his chances. There is a considerable pile of peppermint tea bags though so he chances using one. He settles near Emille at a right angle between the couches. He pulls his knees up to his chest and bites his thumbnail as he looks around the room. There are some maps with colored push pins embedded into the wall. At least he knows he is still in the city. Those assholes knocked him out when he was kidnapped so he had no idea how far they had taken him.

Naji emerges next. She stops to stifle a yawn before rolling into the kitchen. With practiced ease she takes a travel mug out of the lower cupboard and fills it to the brim with coffee from the pot. She takes her place beside Emille’s couch, staring into the middle distance as she sips her drink and lets the caffeine diffuse into her veins.

Her newly sharpened eyes lock onto Carter. “You able to tell us now how you’re caught up in all this shit?”

“Yeah- um, I guess?”

“Great.” She leans forward, her cup cradled between her hands. “You really don’t know who it was that took you?” He shakes his head and she sighs. “But you saw the Sweitzer Vase?”

Emille stiffens. “Wait, you did?”

“Why does everyone care so fuckin’ much about some vase?”

“The coalition hired someone to steal it in Botswana.” Emille says. “They had made a deal with a billionaire that he would join them in exchange for the vase. But now it’s gone missing and everyone’s clambering for it. UPM to keep it out of the coalition’s hands.”

“What is the UPM anyway? And this coalition thing? I still don’t know what is going on.”

“Alright. I’ll try to give you the elevator pitch. UPM stands for the united protection movement. We try to give everyone a chance no matter their employment, ability, etcetera. Think mutual aid but more large scale. Basically everything the coalition is against. Shit where do I start with the coalition? They are kind of an alliance between some of the higher powers in the city. CEOs, billionaires, the police chief, you name it and they have their fingers in that pie. People who just want to compound their power and who get away with whatever they want. They have these hitmen on call to do their dirty work who hole up at that building where we first met. If anyone dares to disobey these powerful people, they sic those thugs on them. If renters dare start to rise up, if there’s another shipment in the human trafficking trade, those are their go-to guys. So yeah, the coalition is an extremely corrupt power that pulls the strings in this city, but their influence reaches far past state lines.” They conclude when they see the stunned expression on Carter’s face as he tries to let that all sink in.

“So, the Sweitzer Vase?” Naji asks, turning toward Carter with an impatient expression.

“Yeah, shit- okay. Well, my bosses were being all hush-hush about this one shipment. They get that way about higher up clients though so I didn’t think much of it. Then I saw the garish thing and thought it was an art dealer or something, you know? I packed it up and brought it to the korean district. A man met me outside the address and he fit the profile: he had this expensive vibe about him, you know? So he signed off and had a lackey pull the crate out of the van. Didn’t let me even touch it. Then two nights later some guys come into my apartment and chloroform me. And I wake up tied to a chair and they want to know the whereabouts of that stupid vase I’d basically forgotten about by then, we do so many shipments a day after all.”

“And did you tell them?”

“No, I didn’t give them shit. I don’t think I even confirmed I was the one who delivered it. They were assholes.”

Emille is grinning. “Hell yeah.” They lean over to fist bump him.

“The man, what did he look like?” Naji is rubbing her chin.

“A little shorter than me. Nice navy suit with gold filigrees. He had dark skin. Gold eyeliner. Light eyes, maybe hazel? He wore black leather gloves and had his guys show him the vase before he signed.”

“Did you catch his name? Maybe you could read his signature?” Her attitude is less accusatory than before and has changed into something more relaxed. She seems almost curious.

“No, sorry. My bosses would have the actual paper.”

“That’s alright. I’m almost certain that it was Mister Gareth Kodua.” She motions and Emille hands her one of the folders scattered on the table. “The korean district is basically coalition free. We’ve made a deal with the people there. So the address you went to is almost certainly planted by somebody else. I suspect Mister Kodua intercepted, maybe bribed your bosses. But now we know the vase wasn’t switched out somewhere along the way. Someone got to it first.” She starts reading through the file.

“There are other people who want the vase but want nothing to do with the coalition. Don’t like what they stand for.” Emille adds between typing away on their phone. The room falls back into silence, this time the kind of silence that falls during study halls, full of purpose.

Except Carter is not included in that purpose. He feels strange sitting and watching the two work. He misses having his phone if only for something to do with his hands. He gnaws at his thumbnail to stop himself from picking at the bandaids.

Joao shuffles into the common space. He runs his hand through his bedhead. “Mornin’”

“Another art dealer has the vase.” Naji says without preamble.

His eyes widen. “No shit.” He comes over and sits between Emille and Naji, leaning over her to see what she is looking at. He lets out a low whistle.

Emille looks up from their phone. “Orion has confirmation. Mister Kodua was on 3rd ave eleven days ago. Then seen bringing something up to his penthouse.”

“His security is good. I’m worried about who his buyer might be though. The coalition has too much to lose with such a major donor.”

“I’ll go make breakfast.” Joao stands. From how he casually excuses himself, Carter gets the impression that this type of high-pressure conversation is a regular occurrence here. “Any allergies?” He asks Carter, who shakes his head. Joao stretches his arms above his head, showing off how much of a bean pole he is. Carter laughs at himself for being frightened of him yesterday.

“We need to have a word with Mister Kodua. Make sure that the vase won’t be intercepted again.” Naji says half to herself and half to Emille.

They go back and forth between the two of them, Carter barely understanding half of what they are saying. They keep reaching for more papers and spreading them out between them, pointing at different points.

The sizzle of butter and smell of pancakes emanates from the stove. Carter stands and leaves without either of them noticing, the two too engrossed in their planning. Joao is humming as he ladles more batter onto the pan.

Carter refills his mug with hot water. He uses one hand to idly bob the teabag up and down. “They always like this?”

He looks over his shoulder. Emille and Naji are quibbling over some details, their voices slightly raised. “Yeah. But they get shit done. I just leave them to it.” He smiles and goes back to flip the pancake with a satisfying flick of his wrist. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

Joao turns his gaze onto him. He puts one hand on his hip. It would look more intimidating if not for the floral apron he is wearing. “You are so not alright, are you kidding me? This isn’t some empty question. I actually want to know -- as your nurse -- what is happening in your mind and body. How’s your pain?”

“It’s okay.” He is met with a glare but there is not much heat behind it. “Yeah it hurts but it’s fine if I don’t do the wrong thing with my abs. Or move my neck wrong.”

Joao shifts the plate of pancakes towards him. “Here. The meds are better when there’s something in your stomach. You haven’t already taken one this morning have you?”

“No. I still have the extra from last night anyway.”

“Shit. And you were able to sleep through the night?”

“I’m fine, really.” He mumbles. “I don’t like how they make me feel. Do you have any celecoxib or something though? My prescription is at my apartment.”

“Sure I can get something similar. I need to give you another once-over though to make sure you don’t have too much internal bleeding.” He cocks his head. “Why were you on that?”

“Costochondritis. So the rib pain is fine. I'm used to it already.” He says with a smile. He has a dark sense of humor around all this. He has to or else he would drown in it.

Joao does not seem to find the humor though. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds rough.”

Carter quickly backpedals. “No it’s alright, really. I’m not complaining. Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“Dude you’re fine. If you’re gonna stay with us I should probably get a full medical history from you anyway.” Stay with them? Carter feels his eyes grow wide. “Don’t sweat it. Really.”

Carter nods numbly. He watches another pancake get set onto the plate’s growing pile.

“Do me a favor and take another pain med with breakfast? Even if you can cope, a lot of pain can make you tense up and move abnormally and can slow down the healing process. At least take them today?” Carter stares down at his cooling tea. He has yet to drink any of it. “Okay I think that should be enough. Bring the plate out to the table?”

The dining table is low and has three chairs around it. Carter hovers awkwardly, wondering if he should step away. Emille has disappeared, presumably to get their sister. Naji rolls over to the dining table and only then does the height of the table make sense. It has been well used with various stains and coffee rings across its surface.

Joao comes over with five plates then drags over a folding chair for Carter. “Sit. And take as much as you want to eat, I can always make more.”

Carter obeys. Getting down to the seat still hurts, but he has found a way to move that does not make his vision spot with the pain of using his abs. When Naji glances at him from across the table, it no longer feels accusing and like he is unwelcome here. Her attention slips off of him and onto fixing her plate, not waiting for the others to be seated. Carter hesitantly reaches across and begins loading his own plate up as well. Tasha and Emille emerge from one of the other bedrooms, bumping into each other as they walk.

It has the informal atmosphere of a daily household, or at least what one is supposed to be like anyway, although Carter does not have the best basis for that. Emille pops into the kitchen to get themself a glass of water then plops back into their seat. They kick their legs up onto Tasha’s lap, who squawks and playfully shoves the socked feet off. Joao stifles a laugh which ends up coming out as more of a snort. These four are clearly family.

Carter cannot help but smile as he takes it all in. He eats his pancakes quietly, then slips out to grab his last pill and washes it down with the stale half-glass of water. The haze sets in unpleasantly and he has to focus to walk straight when he goes back towards the common space.

The table has been cleared and is once again covered in papers. Naji is moving things around to set up. Carter hovers at the end of the hall, wondering if he should stay out of earshot of their secret organization meeting. He has no sense of where to be or what to do in this place. No one has told him what they expect of him yet so he defaults into staying out of sight and out of mind as much as possible. Joao makes that difficult. And Emille now, apparently.

“Carter, you comin? You’re a part of this too.” Emille calls, waving him over.

He hesitates, glancing around the table. He fidgets with his shirt sleeve.

“At least for now.” They say, meaning ‘for as long as you want’ but Carter interprets it as ‘until we are done with you.’ He sits anyway.

Tasha seems mostly alright. She is a little slow when asked a question, but that is something Carter knows intimately. Between medication and pain and brain fog it can be difficult to pull thoughts out from the muck. Turns out that she does have a few broken foot bones and one of her fingers. Joao has them splinted and wants her to keep off them but she insists she is fine. Joao throws his hands up with a huff while exclaiming how “no one listens to me here so what’s the point in even keeping me around?” Tasha wraps him in a hug until he relents that he is a valuable part of the team.

Naji has Carter, Tasha, and Emille update the schematics of the coalition building. It only needs a few tweaks. Carter has to close his eyes and backtrack through those hazy walks through the building. Tasha seems similarly iffy on the details. They get it down more-or-less where they slept and were tortured. Tasha remembers a few rooms that she passed by. Carter is impressed, he barely remembers even being dragged up a half-flight of stairs. He was not expecting to get out of there so there was no reason to remember it.

Turns out they had known about that building for a while. It is the coalition headquarters. It took a year to find a flaw in their security: a shift change that left fewer guards and gave them an opening. They had gotten one of their own people in there to distract and to give Emille the passcode.

Carter feels responsible for them burning their opportunity at getting into the building. He has to remind himself that they were not there for him. Emille went there for Tasha, that is it. It is a lucky break that they broke him out at all. He would still be slowly dying of blood loss and infection if not for them.

A fiercely protective feeling surges through him. He does not want to lose these people. They do not feel the same but he will soak up every moment he can get with them before he has to go back to being all alone again.

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

His back is aching something awful and he cannot stop wringing his hands or bouncing his leg, both of which hurt his injured skin and muscles. Even with the tips of his fingernail-less fingers covered, every bump brings those injuries back to the forefront of his mind. He is worried he is distracting the others, jostling Emille who is sharing the couch with him. “Does anyone have a heat pack?”

“Yeah, I got you.” Tasha sets down her water glass then half-jogs down the hall. There is the sound of her splint hitting the ground every other step as she comes bounding back. She stops in front of the couch and holds the rolled up heat pad towards him.

He plugs it into the wall and settles it against his lower back. It quickly works to ease his muscle pain. Tasha plops down between him and Emille, who grumbles and bats their hand at her distractedly.

“Hey.” She says. She smiles more with her eyes than her mouth. There is blood caked along her lower lip and her cheekbone is swollen and splotched purple.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m worse for wear but Joao says I should heal nicely.”

“That’s good.” Silence falls over them. Carter does not know how to talk to Tasha. He is pretty sure this is the first time they have spoken one-on-one.

“Okay, real talk, I need to interact with someone who won’t avoid all that coalition torture shit.”

He smiles. “Yeah. I totally get that.”

“Not the best vacation I’ve ever had.”

Carter snorts. “Oh my gosh. That’s right, it was surprise time off from work for me too.”

“Guess I must be a workaholic then because I kind of missed this place.”

“How’d they nab you?”

“I was staking out the delivery address -- the actual delivery address -- and when the shipment didn’t show up they got kind of… angry.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. The person who tortured me wouldn’t stop asking me questions even though I didn’t know shit. And they wouldn’t shut up!”

“God, her monologuing was more torture than when she used her instruments.”

“I know right! My person was so annoying. Are there comment cards? We should go back just to give them constructive criticism.”

“Oh my god.” Emille says.

“Hey, we’re the traumatized ones here, we get to say what’s alright to joke about.”

As they continue talking, Carter finds he has met his match in terms of dark humor. She is able to joke with him about all the fucked up shit that happened to them. He thinks that she would react well if he ever slips and jokes about his other issues.

They keep each other company as Joao gives them each a once over. Tasha clenches her teeth as he has her move her hands and feet. She then goes on to tell embarrassing stories about the others while Joao presses against Carter’s belly and Carter fights the urge to throw up or cry out. Laughing helps to distract him. At least until he laughs so hard that he is doubled over in both delight and pain. She eases back on the humor at that point.

His chest feels lighter after that. Dinner goes by with less anxiety. The feeling that Naji hates him has since faded. As soon as he revealed his information she welcomed him into their operation without question. It helps that their enemy tortured him for a week without him breaking. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

In the middle of the night Carter wakes in pain. He gives in and takes another pain pill. It is easier to sleep after that.

He wakes slowly on the second morning. As much as he hates the feeling of being drugged, it is nice to get rest for once. It has been long before he was kidnapped since he got a full night’s sleep. He takes his time to rouse and lazily rolls out of bed.

When he looks back, his heart drops. Spots of blood have seeped into the white sheets. His face flushes with dread and fear. He forgets everything else and leaves, watching himself walk down the hall from a little behind himself and to the left.

Emille is at the sink dealing with dishes. Carter must have missed breakfast. He walks in and stops awkwardly to the side, refusing to make eye contact with them. He attempts to psych himself up and still the pounding of his heart. The faucet turns off and he can feel their eyes on him. Panic flutters in his chest and his hands are sweaty as he wrings them.

He can barely get the words out as he stares at the floor. “Sorry, I think- I got blood on your sheets.” He cringes then quickly adds on, stumbling over himself. “I can buy you replacement ones though. Shit I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to!”

“Pfft. Apologizing for bleeding on shit? Are you kidding? You’re fine, that’s what bleach is for.” They give him an easy smile that tells him honestly that it is alright. He is relieved. “Here, help me dry.” They hand him a dish towel and a wet plate.

He takes them and tries to return the smile but it is fragile. He busies himself with drying and lets the motion soothe him. He puts the plate into the open cabinet.

They have another ready when he looks back. But instead of letting go when he takes it, they resist and it forces him to look at them. Their eyes are searching and they cock their head at him. “Who taught you that you don’t have the right to take up space?”

He laughs, delightfully surprised by the directness of the question. No one has ever given a shit about these things before. Everyone has just edged around the trauma, pretended it was not there. Emille gives him a confused smile to go along with his laughter. He is breathless when he replies. “My mom mostly. She was a real asshole.”

“Was?”

“Probably still is. I moved cities and blocked her on all social media. Cut myself off from my whole family. Guess I’m the black sheep of that family but fuck if I care because I’m not part of it anymore.”

“That sounds like a hard but really good decision. I’m proud of you.”

They say it so nonchalantly, like they have not just sucked the air out of Carter’s lungs. He gapes at them but they continue scrubbing at a dish. He does not know if they are averting their eyes purposefully but he appreciates it. “Thank you.” He says, his voice small.

Emille hands him another plate to dry. “You’re the one who did the work. Seems to me like you should be thanking yourself.”

Once they finish clearing the pile of dirty dishes from the sink, Carter rifles through the refrigerator. He finds some frozen sausage and combines it with the tupperwared scrambled eggs to make a breakfast burrito for himself. Not long after he starts in on a book he has borrowed from Tasha does Joao insist on doing another physical exam.

A whole ass exam, walking up and down the hall on his heels and tiptoes and everything.

“How am I looking, nurse Joao?” He asks as his eyes follow said man’s finger.

“No signs of a concussion anymore.” He clicks off his pen light. “Lie down so I can palpate your abdomen.”

Carter does so and tries not to flinch too hard when fingers press into his bruised ribs.

“Sorry. Just a little more.”

He tilts his head back and tries hard to focus on the ceiling. It is painted black and has metal buttresses along it. Much more pleasant to look at than that of the torture room, for several reasons.

“Okay. All done.” He pulls down his shirt and sits up. Joao is looking at a clipboard. “Have you had any surgeries?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m making a chart for you. I can’t go making medical decisions for you without all the information now can I?”

“You don’t want to deal with my complicated medical history. Believe me.” Carter gives a self-deprecating smile. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough so I’ll save you the trouble.”

“If you insist.” He says, clearly not convinced. He caps his pen and sets the papers down. “Then if I’m not going to be your nurse right now I might as well be your friend. How do you spend your time?”

“Huh?”

“I find it to be a kinder question than what you do for work, especially because so many people are unemployed or have incredible hobbies on the side.”

“Um. Not much. Work kind of takes everything I’ve got. Then I watch Netflix until I can sleep. I cook a little, I guess, does that count as a hobby?”

“Yes, definitely! Do you have long hours?”

“No, just…” How does he explain this without divulging all his health shit. Dealing with the pain and fatigue takes up so much time that he can barely keep up. He shrugs. “How do you spend your time?”

“When I’m not patching up this lot, I run errands for UPM or I offer medical services to the community. We have connections all over the city so I’ll coordinate with a couple others in UPM and we book up a weekend.”

“Wow that’s good on you. I wish I volunteered.”

“It’s not in everyone’s capacity though. And there’s no shame if you aren’t up for it. You shouldn’t give up more of yourself than you have.”

Plans start coming together. It is much more complex than Carter would have thought to organize all this. They have contacts who will help to cover their tracks: clearing video feeds and giving them loaner cars. They have to switch out Emille’s license plate which goes by with practiced ease. Then the more mundane things like shipments coming through for the cooperative. UPM deals mostly with mutual aid in the community, it seems, bail funds and food and clothing. Fighting in the small ways consistently and in the big ways whenever the opportunity reveals itself. Like intercepting a vase that could seal the fate of fascism in the area.

Carter is sorting files into alphabetical order, hoping that could help with how often someone sifts through them, frustrated that they cannot find the one they are searching for. He has taken up one of the couches to himself while the others rifle through the storage room or scribble at the dining table turned work table. Joao and Emille are out doing some errand. Carter has lost track of the plan so many times that he has given up on knowing what is going on.

Sorting the papers is kind of relaxing, and it helps to soothe the feeling of uselessness as he eats their food and uses their medical supplies without paying them back. He sighs and picks up another crinkled pile.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Naji says as she rolls into the room. She reaches into a pouch on her chair and pulls something out with a rattle. “Joao told me to give you these.” She hands him an orange pill bottle.

It is the anti-inflammatory he had requested. He gapes at the bottle. He had thought he would not get this prescription without going back to his apartment. “How do you all get your medications? With you being off the grid, it’s not like you can get a prescription without being found right? Or are you anonymous enough that it’s fine?”

“Joao has a hook up for medical supplies. There are doctors around the city that are part of the cause. It’s their contribution to UPM. Also gets me some top notch doctors for my health issues.”

Carter nods. Previously he had thought it would be impossible for him to stay here, just the stuff of daydreams, what with his appointments and medications and having to earn money to support himself. But these people seem to manage being off the grid just fine.

It takes a few hours of phone calls, but Emille says they are good to go full steam ahead with meeting Mister Gareth Kodua. They take that and run with it, making plans and coordinating while Carter feels useless on the couch. He tries to read a book but he is on his third attempt at this paragraph when Joao’s voice pulls him from his own head.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Huh?”

“You said you can cook. Want to show us your skills?”

“I said I cook ‘a little.’ I don’t think I’m good enough to make food for other people.”

“Can’t be worse than when Tasha set the kitchen on fire that one time.” He says, purposefully loud.

A voice comes from one of the bedrooms. “Hey! That was one time! And it was just some stray oil.”

He smirks. “So, you up to the task?”

“I’ll give it a shot.” He surveys the random ingredients in the kitchen and an hour later has some taco makings laid out.

“Sorry it’s not much.”

“Are you kidding? This is really good!” Tasha exclaims, mouth full of her third taco.

The others join in to give him praise unanimously. He is a little overwhelmed, but smiles secretly to himself, proud to have contributed to the light and happy atmosphere.

Naji puts a map down, weighted by her water glass and the napkin holder. “Here is where Mister Kodua lives. His security is tight so we will notify him of our approach and people will come down to greet us and give us access to the penthouse through the elevator.”

They start quibbling about who should go. Emille of course, since they are the one who set this all up. Without them to vouch for the group, their meeting would be on shaky foundations. Tasha wants to contribute to the conversation but everyone agrees they do not want her on the first mission since the last one went south. They each settle who is and is not going until only Carter is left. He is surprised they turn to him, or even remember he is here at all.

“I can come with.” He manages. “Just in the car, I mean. And you guys can drop me off near my apartment. I live on the west end.”

“Okay.” Emille says. Their voice sounds almost disappointed.

He must be imagining it though. There is so much he does not understand around here. Why would they want him to stay?

next chapter

#writeblr #writing #oc #original story #milo's stories #hurt/comfort #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibro #pain

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theincompetentgenius · 5 years ago

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Hello 😄 Life generator is totally awesome idea! I already love it and would like to request one for Arcana world. I hope it won’t be too much of a problem, and thank you in advance ❤️

I’m a big science nerd, especially good in math, hungry for knowledge, with unsatiable curiosity. But at the same time, i radiate dumbass energy. Most of the time i’m silent, because i don’t really know what to say, since my mind is tv static. I enjoy creating, my hobbies are singing, drawing, painting, scupting, embroidery and other forms of crafting. But i really don’t have any creativeness on my own. And i lack in artistic skills, but i substitute it with persistence. I’m really patient and can go over one place hundreds times until i’m satisfied, and i’m never giving up on any wips, they just wait for their turn (..same about people, even if have no contact with them anymore i still consider them as friends, i don’t cut ties). Even if they pile up and there’s probably no way to finish it up in one lifetime. Damn, i wish i was immortal. There’s so many knowledge and skills to learn, and art to consume and create in the world. But i don’t really have any passion or hiperfixation, i’m just all over the place, a jade of all trades and master of none. Most of the time is spend resting, on internet, because i run out of energy far too quick, especially physical and social. The problems of being contained in a body that wants to rest at all costs xd Physically i’m really weak, even though i work out regularly, my super low endurance doesn’t improve. I’m so quickly drained and need to recharge that for long so it looks like i’m lazy. Basically i’m never bored, but i can get frustraded when i’m wasting time.

I’m pretty open and honest person and have no brakes, i overshare whenever i have occasion (as you can see xD). I’m not hiding my emotions, except showing that someone hurt me (because i’m too proud to do that if that was meancingly, or i don’t want them to feel bad if it wasn’t). I’m friendly, very empathetic, eager to help if approached. I can easily put myself into other people’s shoes and always try to understand where others come from, their reasoning. And i care about others’ well being. But i’m quite a hermit, i barely have any social needs, and never approach people first. I’m fine on my own. Since i can remember, i only lived inside my own world in my head. Being around people is nice too though, but i’m pretty socially clueless. I don’t really experience loneliness, unless i miss certain people. And that happens super rarely too, i don’t get that attached to even closest people. But it happens, i can get really attached.

I can get anxious and uncertain around people, because i don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, cross boundaries or face any sort of negative consequences. But i don’t care what people think of me n my actions, especially if i don’t know them. Social norms are only chains. There’s no reason to follow them. I prefer my order of doing things. Order is really important to me, i need it for my things, my actions, my plans. My free time is dictated by algorithms i make, that get more and more complicated with each update. Most of the time i’m in neutral state, pretty apathetic. Emotions can be easily triggered, but die as fast and i go back to the state of nirvana. I rarely get stressed and don’t care too much about issues, life always works out in one way or another. That’s why i’m chill, patient and calm.

I love cute and pretty things, sweets, plushies, hugs, cats. When it comes to nature, sure i like it and it is interesting, but i don’t really like being close to it because of bugs. They’re yucky >.> I’m hesistant about a lot of stuff and super cautious about things that could cause physical harm, which i guess makes me a coward. And i don’t enjoy travelling. I mean it is okay, but doesn’t spark any emotion, besides maybe knowledge seeking. Instead, i’m big fan of magic and powers. Not that boring stuff like astrology, but rather like you k'now, superheroes or wizards things. Wish that kind of stuff existed irl, and wish i had it all, just like with irl skills xd Also i’m really, really picky eater.

Thank you for your interest in the world of The Arcana. You will be reborn into your new life shortly. The simulation will begin in 3…….. 2……. 1……..

B A C K G R O U N D

Your mother had left you in front of the doorsteps of a poor orphanage when you were only months old. She felt that she was unfit to take care of you because she was not financially stable, but she could only hope for the best for you. Fortunately, you were left at the hands of caring and understanding individuals who supported you through your childhood. However, your scattered interests in the arts, sciences, and magic had left many people confused. They couldn’t wrap their heads around the concept that a young girl could explore such complex concepts, but that never mattered to you. Your interests were in your newfound magic. While you wouldn’t practice magic in public, you would use it when necessary or convenient. Yet these few moments caused panic within your town. You were becoming too smart, too powerful, and too curious. The townsmen felt threatened by your mere presence, so they banished you from the city under the pretense that you were a “threat to their well-being.” Yet you never saw the bursting potential buried within you.

F R I E N D S

Julian

Now that you had been kicked out of your hometown, you had absolutely no idea where to go. There weren’t too many cities near your own and you weren’t sure if you had enough supplies to last you through your entire trip. Although you were sure that you could find a small village nearby, you still felt the need to check over your supplies to prevent excessive spending. The fact that you had to travel through the heat didn’t make things any better.

You aimlessly wandered through the leafy forests, hoping that the direction of winds, clouds, and the sun would give you some indication as to where you were. Unfortunately, you had crossed the same dead lizard five times. You were moving in circles. A sigh escaped your lips as you trudged through the forest. Your mind had gone blank and you couldn’t think of a plan to get yourself out of this mess. Your calm demeanor was wearing thin as all your plans had begun to fall apart. The thought of blasting yourself into the sky with air magic had crossed your mind, but you knew that you were incapable of landing safely.

In the midst of your thoughts, you bumped into a tall, brooding figure. You instinctively elongated the vines from the plants, preparing to attack whatever was in front of you.

“Don’t hurt me with those vine things! I’m just a traveler!” A man with cooper hair and an eyepatch yelled.

You did a quick lookover and dropped the vines from your grasp. The man let out a sigh of relief and scrambled to his feet. He looked back at you and collected his things. Although you did not want to speak to him, he probably knew the jungle better than you and was your possible ticket to getting out of this mess. You mustered the courage in your chest to call out to him.

“Wait! I’m sorry that I shot those vines at you. I thought you were a monster, but that’s beside the point. Do you know where we are?”

He looked around with a suspicious glance. “I have a general idea. Can’t you use your magic to get yourself out of here?”

“If only I could, then I wouldn’t be wandering around with a loaf of bread and a flask of water.”

The stranger let out a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. How did you get stuck in this place?”

And so you told him your story and your woes as an exile. You looked away, expecting him to make a rude remark but he chuckled and shook his head.

“Maybe we’re not so different, Magician. I happen to be an informally-exiled doctor for murdering a Count.”

You raised your eyebrow. For a murderer, he was rather friendly. Before you could ask any more questions, he told you his story (or whatever he remembered from it). There seemed to be many holes, but you were fairly entertained by them.

“Is Vesuvia close by?” You asked.

“Yeah, just a little down south. I’m going there to get some answers about myself. Are you going to join me?”

Other friends: Nadia, Muriel

R O M A N C E

Asra

Once you arrived at Vesuvia with Julian, the two of you went separate ways. Not that any altercation had taken place, but Julian was more focused on uncovering his past while you needed a place to stay. So you went about, searching for possible adobes for shelter. They were either too expensive or in terrible quality. But you didn’t give up, there had to be something you could find.

As you passed through the unfamiliar streets, you looked for possible places to sleep for the night. The pillar looked too stiff, the grass was too moist, and sleeping next to a building would hurt your back. Things were looking rough for you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder. You spun around to see a handsome young man with fluffy, white hair and a soft smile. “You look a little lost and I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Are you new here?”

You let out a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I’m just looking for a place to stay. Do you know any place that’s inexpensive but sanitary?”

The man placed his hand on his chin, presumably to think of an answer to your question. After a moment, he responded. “You can stay at my place for the night. It’s not big, but it has a cozy feel to it.”

You shook your head. ��You’re too kind, but I can’t infringe on your privacy like that. After all, you must have better things to do than help a random vagabond.”

“Well I used to be a vagabond myself, so I know the pain of wandering around with no place to go.” A snake slithered from his sleeve and cocked its head. “See? Even Faust thinks you should stay over.”

“You’re too kind!” You were about to accept his offer, but a new thought crossed your mind. What if he was trying to lure you to his home for dangerous reasons? There was no way to verify that he wasn’t a kidnapper or someone with ill intentions.

The stranger noticed your sudden discomfort. “If you’re worried about ill intentions, that was probably the furthest thing from my mind. How about you I show you around Vesuvia instead? If you feel more relaxed, you can stay at my place. But I’m not pressuring you if you don’t want to.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“By the way, my name is Asra. Shall we get started on this tour?” The two of you wander through the colorful stalls of the city, examining the golden trinkets and wooden toys. There were racks of fruit neatly organized based on size and color with shelves of pastries next to them. Asra bought you a few desserts despite your protests. Although most products were overpriced, there was a rustic charm to them all.

By the end of the tour, you felt more comfortable around him. The two of you had spent the time exploring and talking about anything and everything. You even told him about your exile from your hometown. As he heard the story, he placed his hand on your shoulder.

“You know, I’m a magician too. If you ever need help with anything, just let me know.” He gave another one of his angelic smiles.

“Thanks. I think I’m mentally okay, but I do need to strengthen my magic.”

“I have an idea to fix that. Would you like to become my apprentice?”

F I N A L F A T E

Originally posted by autumncozy

You had taken Asra on his offer to become his apprentice and ended up staying at the shop for convenience purposes. It didn’t matter because most of your time was spent with Asra to improve your magic. Although you claimed to not have an affinity towards any type of magic, Asra would say that you were the best at everything you attempted. With each practice session, you grew better and more skilled in your magic. It was only a matter of time before the apprentice had become the master. Asra was amazed at your progress, but you weren’t so confident in your own abilities. There was always room for improvement in your eyes.

Word had spread that another talented magician had entered the Vesuvia, but that never bothered you. If they could accept Asra, there was no reason for them to mistreat you. Not everyone was as biased and prejudiced as the people of your hometown, yet you were cautious when performing your magic in public. When you did, you were surprised when receiving compliments and paid jobs from the public. And to make things better, Asra was always there to help.

Soon, the two of you felt that the shop’s business wasn’t doing too great and decided to close it down. After all, it gave you more living space so it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Instead, you came up with the idea to teach other aspiring magicians so they would not be stranded like you were. At first, Asra was unsure since he wanted to live alone together in a cottage further north from the city. But when you made the compromise to teach magic only during the summer in a remote location, he couldn’t refuse. He’d still have you all to himself during the spring, fall, and winter. Well, as long as Faust didn’t steal you away from him.

As time went by, you went on to train some of the most powerful magicians in the following generation. Some had gone to save other countries from treacherous monstrous while others had become the monsters themselves. There was regret harbored in your heart for you could not have the one who turned towards the dark path, but some people could not be saved. Nevertheless, you will be remembered as one of the pioneers of magic; it’s influence spread across the globe

T H E E N D

#I'm so sorry about the uglyass emojis #idk how tf they got there #plz dont kill me #life simulation #submission #the arcana #asra #julian

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deeeelightfuldee · 3 years ago

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surveyss 014.

The person you had the strongest feelings for dies, do you care? I would be devastated. Absolutely devastated.

Is there something you’re happy about at the moment? I am excited to use my pool tomorrow. I’m happy I will be having mama marias tacos this week. I’m excited for my birthday weekend.

Do you want someone dead? Definitely not.

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to? No, can’t say that I do. The only two that I would have been curious about.. one I know was married (may still be? I’m unsure) and the other passed away while we were close. So, no.

Have you ever fed or taken care of a stray animal? SO many times.

What is something you tend to worry about? Grad school.

What is something you do that is unhealthy? Probably just my phone habits.

What is something you do that is good for you? I don’t speak poorly about myself to other people.

What last caused you to force a smile? When kile left me a message on snap saying he thought about me all day. It was maybe the first ounce of relief I’ve had in a while.

What was the last video game you played? Was it fun? ACNH. It is always relaxing to play.

What is something not many people know about you? That I’ve been assaulted.

What word describes your basic style? Classic.

Have you ever been told you were going to Hell? Oh sure.

Have you ever rejected a guy, only to have him push the issue by asking “why?” and insisting that you just need to get to know him better? Yes.

Is there something that you believe everyone should do and you can’t believe that some people don’t do it (e.g., recycle or go to the dentist regularly)? Respect the time of others.

Regarding the last good choice (healthy choice, kind choice, selfless choice, etc.) you made, what was your real motivation behind it? I wanted to lighten someone else’s load.

What is something that you have had to practice at to get the hang of it? If you can’t think of anything, that’s okay, what’s something you are currently practicing at and trying to master? Having good posture. I used to have crap posture but I changed that when I started school.

Have you ever gone to the store to buy something, like a video game, when it came out at midnight? Not for myself, no. I have gone with a friend to get something.

Regarding the last novel you read, was there a romance included? If so, was it central to the plot? Yes there is, but I’m not finished with the novel. Going to read it again tomorrow in the pool

Have you ever done relaxation meditations or listened to relaxation guides or positive-thinking/healing recordings? I did in school for a class. It was nice

Do you have any interests that are also often shared by children? Coloring, switch, kids movies. I think a huge reason why my nephews/niece are so close to me is that I put in concerted effort to be interested and up-to-date on what they like.

Is there something that could be a solitary activity but you really only like to do it with other people (e.g., watching movies, playing video games, etc.)? Eating out, shopping.

Are you satisfied with the interior design or decoration in your home? Or do you think it needs a total home makeover? I love my room. Kile and my family really spoiled me last year in allowing me to get a room makeover for my birthday. I feel as though I shouldn’t have this stuff now that it’s all Kile’s. I am OK with our house decor, but it isn’t my style per-se.

Is there something that you’d like to own but you can’t find it anywhere? If not, can you a remember a time when you wanted something? Did you ever end up finding it or did you eventually stop wanting it? Yeah a pair of teva’s that I can’t find. My perfume that is always out of stock.

Who makes you smile the most? So for the loooooooooongest time it would be Kile who would just say these sweet, kind, loving things to me that just made me feel like a total queen. That all stopped real abruptly the week of graduation. Since then I’m relying basically solely on myself to smile. It isn’t that I don’t smile, I’m just retraining myself on this.

What piercings do you want/have? Just each ear. I wanted second holes and my cartilage but those never last.

What's your favorite website? google prob..

Do you own a fish tank with fish? currently? no. have i before? yes.

Do you like the movie 300? never seen it.

Do you pop your knuckles? I dooooo

Do you have Photoshop?

heck no, its expensive lolol

Do you use tinypic or photobucket? I remember tinypic but I don’t use either.

What’s your favourite song from the 1980s? I’m not sure if I could choose

How about the 1990s? I hate having to narrow it down.

Have you won anything recently? Uhhh, no not that I’m aware of. OH yahtzee.

How often do you make Excel tables? What for? Never. not if I can help it.

What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild? a bunny

Are you always available or online? Uhhh, always? no. I used to be. I’ve noticed that without Kile, I just don’t really have a reason to be by my phone all the time. I’m learning to get better about leaving my phone at home.

Do you have dietary restrictions? Or do you just eat what you like? gluten free. dairy free (though I’m bad at following this)

Do you prefer gold, silver or steel jewelry? Or no jewelry at all? So my preference is silver, but gold looks better on me.

Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what? lol Bob’s burgers. right now I’m into my old classic movies that have male character personalities that I long to have a relationship with.

If you dye your hair, do you do it yourself or go to a salon? I haven’t been to a hair salon in sooooooo long. One day when I have money I might start to take care of my hair again. I always felt so good about myself.

If you have any, do you like your in-laws? No in-laws.

Would it bother you, if your partner had cut contact with their parents? It would be dependent on the reason. For example, I’m not close to my father but I think the reason is very valid. If someone cuts ties with their family over something stupid, that might be concerning to me.

Have you ever wondered whether you were adopted? Haha, well my parents definitely didn’t have money for that and I’ve seen photos of my mother at the hospital with me, very clearly with a post-partum physique. But I do not resemble my family so that was always concerning lol.

What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe? knowing someone else’s life is made better because of you

Have you ever grown a berry bush? Nope.

Have you done something new to your hair recently? I am about to chop it. I went brown again.

Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? I do not find myself feeling anxious hardly ever.

One thing you’ve experienced that you thought you never would have? losing kile

What was the last thing someone said to you that kept repeating over & over in your head? the boys kept saying how this was the most memorable holiday they’d had.

How often do you have late nights out? Not often. Errrr.. when I do, it’s because I want to go out on my own and just be alone.

If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive? I would prefer to work from home given the chance, but I’m not employed at the moment.

If you had the ability to change the weather, what would you change it to right now? A good thunderstorm, but to be honest then I would need to go cover the pool. So, as it is right now is fine.

Is there something that you really need to do, but can’t seem to get motivated to do it? Continue to go thru all my belongings. I’m just allowing myself time to be sad, grieve, mourn, move on.

Most disturbing movie you have ever seen? probably gremlins.

Has a life goal or dream ever come true for you yet? If yes, what is it? If no, do you think you’ll achieve it? I was accepted into my all-time dream schools. I was into honor societies I could never have imagined. I’ve traveled alone.

Have you ever had food poisoning? Yup.

What are you listening to? sleepless in seattle

Do you think there will be a WWIII? I don’t think it would surprise me, necessarily. There is so much hate evident around this world.

Has anyone ever asked you if you were emo? loooooooool. no. I smile all too much.

Has someone ever liked you that you never thought would? Mhmm, to the point where I questioned the legitimacy.

In all honesty, can a person be too nice? Kill ‘em with kindness. I think boundaries are important but I’d rather be hated for being overly kind, than to be unkind.

Has one of your friend’s boyfriends ever tried to cheat on them with you? I had a friend in HS who had a boyfriend who tried to grab my butt but I did not go for that.

Is mental abuse really as bad as physical abuse? absolutely.

Do you shop at Sephora for make-up? I am not wealthy.

Zelda: Twilight Princess or Ocarina of Time? I didn’t play either.

Do you own a rosary? no.

If you were homeless, how would you cope? I would go to one of those shelters and just work with the leaders to find a job and section 8 living.

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bffhreprise · 4 years ago

Text

Best Friend For Hire Reprise, Entry 379

After our plane landed, I allowed Vito to carry me through the city, not wishing to slow him and his brothers down. I knew I could just ask my niece, but her method of traveling still didn’t sit quite right in my mind. There should be some distance traveled, not an instantaneous arrival without the travel! That girl never made anything simple.

When we arrived at James’ estate, he was already outside to greet us—even I could see that from here, but we stopped just short of crossing into the yard for a few seconds to examine the magic between us and him, quite unsuccessfully seeking its purpose. James had left just enough of his spells visible to act as a warning for anyone who could see magic, but even with my relatively unique gifts, I couldn’t feel enough of the spell to take a guess at its purpose.

“James! So nice of you to invite us.” stated Vito after setting me down and slowing down enough to allow our entrance together. He smiled and bowed as he spoke. “Might I inquire as to the nature of these spells around the yard?”

“Simply things to assist with our privacy and the decorations for today. You four are always welcome.” replied James without a hint of pride or mockery in his words. He really did see the spells as simple.

“Excellent. Zachary, mind seeing that my things are mailed here? Might as well move while the offer is good.” teased Papak with one of his disturbingly toothy grins. He grinned like that on purpose, of course, but he really couldn’t help that his natural form was so far removed from human. Ignoring the enormous wings, he was still at least twice as tall as a man should be, his head was enormous, his mouth was still too big for that head, and his long arms ended with hands so large that he could pick any of us up in one of them with ease. He really did resemble a gargoyle more than a vampire not of his lineage.

Feigning surprise as he looked up at his elder brother, Zachary said, “Sorry. My things were mailed last week. They should arrive soon. I’d have sent yours as well had I known you were interested.”

“Oh, good. Ariadne and I will finally have some peace.” claimed Vito, smiling at his brothers. He turned to me and asked “Any thoughts on how we should remodel things?”

I gave the idea some thought before telling him “I’m sure my niece would love to see Papak’s rooms turned pink and decorated as her second suite for visiting. We would, of course, have to make sure everything is fit for a princess for her to be satisfied. Maybe sell off whatever they leave behind to cover the expense.”

“No. I’ll live there for another thousand years before I have her defile my rooms with pink.” insisted Papak with obvious determination.

“Going to fight her on that point?” I inquired, pretending to be innocent in this matter.

“Well…” he started, looking around for help—or possibly checking if Aaliyah were nearby with how he glanced toward her condo. His gaze suddenly fixed on James as he asked “James, where is your lovely wife? We came bearing gifts! They’re stored in Ariadne’s head, but we each thought them up ourselves.” He almost reached over to tap my head, but had quickly withdrawn his arm before continuing the motion, not wishing for my niece to tease him.

As troublesome as my niece was, being her relative could be very amusing.

“She’s finishing some work at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll be around soon. Though she has considerably less now that Godric has taken over, she still has more than a reasonable amount.” explained James in a resigned tone. Then his smile returned and he said, “Come, join me around back. I want to show you what my friend did by accident, so you can see why I’m seeking Ariadne’s instruction for her.”

He started jogging back there, so we followed, even after Papak picked up the pace to race ahead of us and steal James away. I involuntarily slowed a little as I caught sight of the obvious change to the backyard. Though small compared with the mansion, the keep appeared quite sturdy and shouldn’t be counted as a small building anywhere.

“She did this by accident?” I asked when we caught up to James. I was already using my magic to explore it and found that the keep extended underground as well.

James nodded, saying, “From what I was told, she was struggling to find words to explain her idea to Emma, and this happened.”

“That is impressive.” I admitted, continuing with my examination. “Seems she destroyed some tunnels with her own.”

“I’m certain you can see why I thought a little extra instruction was in order.” he told me, absently motioning to the keep.

“Yes, I would say she has talent, but something this size should never be an accident.” commented Vito. “Tell me, does Rai…”

James moved far faster than I could’ve managed, covering Vito’s mouth. In explanation, he said, “Sorry, but if you say her name, she might well notice, given that the weather is nice.”

“Really? I find that to be even more impressive.” replied Vito with a hint of surprise.

“Yes. I have absolute faith that she’ll become truly extraordinary in time, but even now—with her still scared of her own power—she’s remarkable.” insisted James, glancing upward at the keep’s walls.

As I admired the amount of detail Raine had put into this structure, I assured James, “You know I’ll try to help. For now, why don’t you and I get out of this sun while the trio admires the rest of the fort. Portentia wouldn’t happen to be around, would she?”

“I took the liberty of securing her day once you sent notice that you could come. Cosette’s been anticipating your visit as well, so she’s probably with her too.” he replied, turning and leading the way to his home.

Vito, Zachary, and Papak caught up to our slow pace after running around the keep for a while. When we reached the nearest doorway, the door opened to reveal a short, pretty girl with voluminous blonde hair and a somewhat confused expression.

When she caught sight of James, she exclaimed “James! How are you?”

“Hello, Noelle.” he replied. Then he introduced the rest of us to her. “Noelle is my newest hire.” he explained. “She’s still getting her bearings. What brings you out here, Noelle?”

“Uh…” started the girl as question marks appeared all around her head. They were illusions and slightly transparent, but the girl didn’t seem to even be aware she was doing it. Those quickly switched to an illusion sitting over her actual features, attempting a poker face.

I started examining her with my magic, and my heart went out to her. This poor, poor girl couldn’t have much of a short-term memory. Even standing here, trying to figure out why she was here, her brain was losing information. She was obviously part fey, but a type I hadn’t known when they were around. If only I had seen the source of these powers, I might be able to help her.

“Feeling hungry for that tart you saw Dejon eating?” questioned Mila from the hall’s speakers.

“Maybe! That sounds right.” Noelle replied, nodding and smiling.

“Just follow the lights to the kitchen.” instructed Mila. “You know you can always ask me for help.”

“Of course!” exclaimed Noelle as she took a step. Seeming to remember that James was there, she turned and said, “Catch you later, James!” Then she continued on her way.

“Sorry.” stated James once we were inside and Noelle was beyond hearing us. “Mila allows her to wander at times when Noelle seems to have a purpose in mind.”

“Doesn’t seem like she’s all there.” commented Papak.

I spun to jab him in the chest with my finger. “Don’t you dare say a thing about that poor girl.”

“What!? You all saw…” he replied, looking for support from his brothers.

“What’s wrong with her?” questioned Zachary.

“Nothing, according to Aaliyah. Noelle was simply unfortunate in how her fey heritage affects her memory.” explained James.

“That is certainly one way to put it.” I agreed. “The way her magic passes through her mind must help keep her happy, but parts of her brain get altered by it. She wasn’t even doing any of that on purpose.”

“What did you see?” questioned James with genuine curiosity.

I stared at him for a moment before I realized that he wouldn’t have been able to see the projections. What I had taken for illusions at first, had been projections directly into our minds, an ability that couldn’t touch James. “I suppose there are even downsides to your abilities. The moment tarts were mentioned, they seemed to float around her head with heart signs.”

“Before the tarts, I had the impression she was trying to have an unreadable expression to cover her confusion, but the overlapping image didn’t quite keep up with her movements. Would not using her magic help her? I’m sure you could seal it.” suggested Vito.

I shook my head, wishing I could manage. “My niece could. She won’t, but changing what I’d need to change in Noelle’s brain might well alter her personality completely. Might’ve been a mercy when she was still a babe, but I won’t make that choice for her, not with her being at least a teen now.”

James nodded and said, “Nineteen. Dejon’s going to try to help her remember certain things she really wants to remember using his magic.”

“Could work for short periods.” I agreed, silently hoping his power would work better than I expected. Not willing to dwell on an impossible issue, I asked “Mila, where’s Portentia hiding?”

“Great Auntie, she’s in the billiard room, doing trick shots against Cosette.” replied my grandniece.

I nodded and started walking down the hall with the others following me. Unable to resist the urge even a couple steps, I asked Mila “How’s your sister doing?”

“Exactly as Mother wishes, but I don’t have direct access to the womb, only able to bring up images as the screen is engaged.” she explained.

“I’ll just have to visit and look. She’ll let me.” I replied confidently. “I am almost curious what my niece is thinking, but I still have more common sense than to go down that rabbit hole.”

James smirked but wisely chose not to comment. He was the one person in the world I couldn’t threaten with my niece, but she wouldn’t interfere if I gave him a piece of my mind either. I sighed again as my thoughts went back to Noelle. I hated feeling helpless, but this was probably the best place for her in the entire world. James would look after her.

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 8 years ago

Note

My birthday is May 16. I would love a fic that features Age!Gap Everlark with Katniss 5 - 10 years older than Peeta. M or E rating. Thanks for running this fabulous web site.

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @ldyglfr62! Your gift - the penultimate offering from everlarkbirthdaydrabbles, was written just for you by @xerxia31. We hope you enjoy!

When Irish Eyes are Smiling

rated M, for language and adult situations.

It’s not completely unexpected, but it’s still a shock to see it. Thick, expensive card stock, pale pink with roses and their names embossed in gold.

Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, along with their families, request the honour of your presence at their wedding…

I’m happy for them, I truly am. I’m just still kind of shocked that after nine years together, it took Gale less than three months to marry my replacement.

It’s not like I thought Gale and I would ever marry each other, even if our friends all expected it. And our breakup was completely mutual. But that he moved on so fast is kind of a slap.

“You should go on vacation,” Prim says when I phone to tell her the news. “That way, you can skip the wedding without looking like a jerk.” Trust Prim to cut right to it. Because she’s right; even though Gale is my oldest friend, I’d rather rip out my intestines with a fork than watch him marry the woman of his dreams while all of our mutual friends look at me with pity.

“I can’t go sit on a beach somewhere by myself,” I groan. “That’s even more loser-ish than going to my ex’s wedding stag.” But the wheels are turning. I do need to get away, and not just from the wedding. I could use a break from my entire pathetic life. “Maybe I could go see Effie?” I mumble. My late mother grew up in Ireland, she moved to America before I was born to marry my father. Her sister still lives near Dublin, and is always asking me to come see her. It’s been a long time since my last visit.

A fabulous deal on the flight seals it. Since I’m a freelancer, there’s no one to arrange vacation time with. I can work from anywhere that there’s an internet connection. My neighbour agrees to check my mailbox periodically, and my friends all understand.

o-o-o

I arrange to stay six weeks with Effie. The first week passes in a haze of jetlag, lumpy pillows, and daily afternoon tea on her garden-gnome-and-flower-strewn patio. It’s calm, quiet.

Since I’ll be gone over my birthday, Prim insists on paying for a week-long bus tour of the Scottish Highlands for me, both as a birthday gift, and as a break from my aunt. “Better not be one of those singles tours,” I grumble as she details everything over Skype while I sit in Effie’s formal living room, surrounded by creepy porcelain dolls, a pair of lace doilies protecting her mahogany table from my computer. Prim’s in med school in Seattle, I haven’t seen her since Christmas, and I think she feels guilty about not having been there for me - in person - when Gale and I broke up, no matter how many times I tell her that I’m fine about it. But since Effie is already driving me crazy, I don’t put up much of a fight.

“Do those exist?” she asks, and on my shitty laptop screen she looks pensive. I can tell she’s wishing she’d thought of looking for one. “Wild and Sexy Tours. Huh. I wonder if I can change it…” She starts clicking away on her keyboard and I balk.

“No, geez Prim, this is fine, great really.” The website she’s linked me to shows small tour buses, catering mostly to elderly vacationers. Just my speed.

“Have you met anyone over there yet?”

“Sure, Effie’s friend with the strange beard came by for cocktails yesterday.” Prim’s face screws up.

“That’s not what I mean, Katniss. Have you been out to the pubs at all? Or gone to a rugby match?” At my shrug, she groans. “Dammit, you’re too young to be spending your time holed up with Effie’s antiques. You need to get out there, meet people, date.”

“I’m not really ready for that,” I tell her, and I can see by the way her expression changes to pity that she thinks I’m still hung up on Gale. I don’t bother correcting her. Gale and I should never have been more than friends, we both knew it, but being together was easy, like a comfortable pair of jeans. I’m not in love with him, I really never was. But I’m not anxious to put myself out there just yet. Or maybe ever. Because Gale’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. At not-quite twenty-seven, I have no experience dating at all.

“Just promise me you’ll talk to some of your tour mates at least,” she says sadly. And I promise, because I can never tell my sweet sister no.

o-o-o

Edinburgh is a confusing mess of streets and hills and hilly streets and more freaking hills, and by the time I find my way to Waterloo Place, where I’m supposed to catch the bus tour, I’m late and in a panic. When I see the little red bus still at the stop, I’m almost weak-kneed with relief.

“‘Bout time you showed up, Sweetheart,” the driver grumbles, grabbing my backpack and tossing it unceremoniously into the back. I climb on board, and my heart sinks. I’m too late to have gotten one of the single seats, and am now going to be stuck sharing. There are only two empty seats, one on the bench in the very back, between a young woman with spiky hair and a serious case of bitch face and a man who might be a professional football player; the other right behind the driver, next to a startlingly handsome man, who glances up at me through a mop of ashy blond waves, and smiles shyly.

I hope Blondie isn’t a talker.

o-o-o

Blondie is a talker.

His name is Peeta Mellark, and he fills the first hour of our drive north with mostly one-sided conversation. But I find I don’t mind all that much. He’s Irish, from a village on the Irish sea, and his gently lilting accent is much nicer to listen to than the rough Scottish burr that our driver barks as he points out one thing or another along the route.

“You know a lot about Scotland,” I finally say.

Peeta smiles wistfully. “My da used to bring me here, when I was small. We’d walk the hills and sleep in the heather.”

“How long has he been gone?” Peeta lifts an eyebrow, but I know I’m right. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the same expression I wear when I think about my own father, whose death when I was just a kid marked the beginning of the end of my idyllic childhood.

“I was seventeen when he passed,” he says quietly.

“You miss him.” It’s not a question, I can see in Peeta’s eyes. He nods. But any further discussion is cut off by our first stop on the tour.

Though it’s a bus tour, it turns out to be a fairly active one. We make multiple stops all along the route to the Highlands, exploring an ancient cathedral, touring a distillery, even visiting a heritage village. And as what appears to be the only two people travelling alone on the tour, Peeta and I end up spending most of the day together.

It’s… nice. He’s sweet and interesting, and it’s refreshing to talk with someone my own age.

When we arrive at Inverness, our stop for the night, I realize that Peeta and I have been assigned to the same bed and breakfast, along with the linebacker, whose name is Thresh, his girlfriend Rue, and our driver, Haymitch. That’s going to make keeping to myself that much more difficult, I realize. Then Haymitch arranges for the whole group to eat together at a pub on the river. I want to say no, that I’m too tired or some other excuse, but somehow I get sucked along anyway.

I hate being forced into group situations, but Peeta, seeming to sense my unease, sits beside me and acts as a bit of a buffer between me and the throng, not speaking for me, but deflecting attention when I get overwhelmed.

And it’s compelling to watch him interact with the others. He’s so friendly and well-spoken, so intelligent and insightful, easily moving between discussing the differences between American football and Gaelic rugby with Thresh, and the impact of Brexit on tourism in the Republic with the South African lawyer seated at the next table.

And though I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about Gale, it’s impossible not to compare him with Peeta. Gale has always been sort of closed minded; conversation with Gale is only possible on the narrow range of topics he cares about, and generally involves either a recitation of his opinions with no room for dissent, or a re-living of his glory days. But Peeta is so thoughtful, I watch him absorb and consider everyone’s viewpoints, watch his reflect back intelligent discourse in a way that feels engaging and exciting, not like a firestorm. I can’t help thinking that maybe Prim is right. Maybe I do need to spend time with people my own age instead of feeling like I’m still stuck in highschool with Gale.

o-o-o

The sun rises ridiculously early in Inverness, and the curtains in my room are barely translucent. By five-thirty, I’ve given up on sleep entirely, and decide to sneak down to the common lounge, where the wifi signal is better.

I’m surprised to find I’m not alone. Peeta is already there, dressed for the day and facing the large plate glass window, beyond which the sky is streaked in pink and amber. He doesn’t hear me at first, and I can see in the reflection that his usual easy expression has been replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I decide to steal away, to leave him to his musings, but he catches the motion and turns, the faraway expression resolving into a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says.

“What are you doing up so early?” I ask. There’s an empty teacup on the windowsill, he’s clearly been here awhile.

“I’m a baker,” he laughs. “I’m used to the pre-dawn wake-ups.” I grin, I heard him mentioning his business over dinner, and I’m curious about it.

He makes me a cup of tea, and another for himself, and as we sit together in the early morning hush he tells me about the bakery he owns in the tiny coastal village where his family has lived for generations. The picture he paints of his bucolic life there makes me ache, my own empty, tetherless existence in sharp contrast to his certainty. It makes me realize how stunted my growth has been, having wasted all of that time with Gale. Playing things safe instead of living.

I’m ready to live.

o-o-o

Our tour guide, Haymitch, is gruff and grouchy, but he seems to know all of the hidden gems of Scotland. As we head to the Isle of Skye, he makes frequent stops to walk nature trails with stunning waterfalls, to show us multiple off-the-beaten-path lookout points, and we even spend a glorious hour searching for shells on a Carribean-blue beach. But in the mid afternoon, the bus starts to make a strange noise. And as we pull into our next stop on the itinerary - the enchanted-sounding Fairy Glen - it comes to a shuddering halt.

“Ah shit,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Well,” Peeta murmurs in my ear. “There are worse places to get stuck.”

He’s right, this place is utter magic. As a group, we explore the strange rolling hills and mini lochs of the glen, walking the concentric rings and pressing coins into cracks in cave walls. Peeta is half mountain goat, I swear, practically jogging up the steep hills, gently teasing me as I lag behind. My laughter, unfamiliar but free, echoes all around.

And eventually, Peeta and I end up in a little meadow-like depression at the bottom of one of the hills. I haven’t felt so free since I was a kid. I’d love nothing more than to lie in the grass and watch the clouds float by; when I say so, Peeta pulls off his sweater and spreads it on the ground, tugging me down to lie beside him, my head pillowed on his arm.

I must drift off because the next thing I know, the patchy blue sky has clouded over completely, and Peeta is sitting beside me.

“Peeta, you should have woken me,” I say, rubbing the sleep crud out of my eyes.

“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “You’re beautiful, scowling or not.”

Something flutters in my chest, but I push it away. I don’t have room for that in my life. Instead, I nod towards the notepad in his hands. “What’s that?”

He tilts the paper towards me. It’s not writing, like I’d assumed, but a drawing. A sketch of a sleeping girl. My breath catches at the image on the paper. It’s me, clearly, and the talent in the pencil lines is mind-blowing. But it’s more than that. The girl in the picture looks softer, calmer, like all of her worries have been cast away. Peaceful. No, not peaceful… content. I haven’t been that girl in a long time. “This is incredible, Peeta,” I whisper.

“I have an eye for beauty,” he says, and it should sound cocky, like a come-on line. But from him, with those earnest blue eyes smiling, it just doesn’t.

Haymitch comes stomping into the clearing, greasy handprints marring his kilt. “Bus is fixed, git your arses on it,” he grunts.

Peeta gathers his sweater and notepad, and we trudge back to the bus. The tour continues in near silence, but it’s a good quiet. A comfortable quiet. Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulder and I find myself leaning into him as he strokes my hair. It’s uncomplicated and intimate. And though I’ve never been a cuddly person, I love it.

Our last stop is a trail that winds around a glassy Loch. The whole group is subdued, introspective maybe. Or maybe just hungry. Peeta and I lag behind though, enjoying the calm.

We emerge from the cover of the trees into a patch of yellow flowers, glowing in the sunlight. “Gorse,” Peeta answers my unasked question. “It’s everywhere at home too.”

“They smell fantastic,” I sigh. “Coconutty. Like the beach.” He chuckles, but when I reach for the golden flowers, he grabs my hand. I scowl.

“Thorns,” he says, delicately moving the blooms aside to show me that what I thought were flat leaves or needles are actually sharp spines. “Beautiful on the outside, but nasty underneath.”

“Just like me,” I say absently, but his brow wrinkles.

“No, Katniss,” he says. “You’re not like the gorse. You’re a bluebell.” I roll my eyes, but he continues, so earnestly. “Bluebells are shy, unassuming. Most people hardly notice them.” He leads me with a gentle hand on my lower back to the shady part of the hill. Only when he points them out do I realize the bluebells are in full bloom here. “But they’re strong and resilient, stubborn even. And once you see them, you can’t tear your eyes away from their beauty.” I turn to face him, but his hand doesn’t fall away, shifting instead to trace circles on my hipbone.

I want to scoff, to dismiss his words as the polished pick up lines of a player. But I can’t. As I stare at him, utterly speechless, he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I lean into his touch, and he smiles, just the barest lift of his lips. Sweet and hopeful. Before I can even consider what a terrible idea it is, I lift up on my toes and kiss him.

It’s a gentle kiss, but the desire that flares in my gut from that brief touch is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t kissed a lot of guys in my life, a handful back in highschool, only Gale after that. But no kiss has ever before felt so electric. I need more.

It’s clear he agrees, because almost as soon as I press my lips to his again, he takes control, one huge hand cupping my cheek, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. Exploring me thoroughly. I can’t hold back the little noises that escape me, and he groans softly in response.

I lose all sense of time and place, gripping his shirt, kissing him with a passion I wasn’t certain I was even capable of. It’s only when I hear the rest of the group heading down the path towards us that I pull away, reluctantly.

Peeta’s eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded, pupils fat. “I have wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” he whispers.

We don’t talk about the kiss, but for the rest of the day Peeta holds my hand. Even through dinner at a quiet little restaurant right on the harbour, he plays with my fingers, looking at me with something like adoration.

When we get back to our B&B I’m not ready for the evening to end. But there are other guests in the common lounge, playing a raucous game of cards. “Would you like to come to my room?” I ask, then immediately feel heat climbing up my cheeks. “Just, uh, just to talk a while longer.” I can’t meet his eyes. I’m incapable of flirting, or of communicating at all, really. Yet he follows me unquestioningly.

We sit side by side on my bed, talking. But there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before, a crackling awareness. I don’t even know who makes the first move, but one minute we’re talking, the next I’m sucking on his tongue and his arms are pressing me tightly to him.

Kissing Peeta here in my quiet room is even better than on the nature trail. Free from distractions, I can let my hands wander, trace the firm musculature of his shoulders and arms, feel the pull and flex of his back. He unravels my braid and runs his fingers through the locks. “Beautiful,” he whispers against my lips.

We kiss and caress, hands becoming more bold. It’s when he lays me back on my bed, the hard length of his body cradled by my own, that I begin to panic. “Peeta,” I start. “I really like you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at my face. Then he smiles fondly. “But you’re not ready,” he says, and I’m shocked that he anticipated my words. “I know,” he says, and there’s no anger, he doesn’t even look disappointed. “We won’t do anything that you don’t want to,” he promises.

“Could we keep kissing?” I sound all of thirteen, pathetic and immature. But he doesn’t laugh at me.

“I’d like that,” he says.

We kiss and touch, chastely, fingers on napes and cheeks, tangled in hair. Making out like teenagers. Like the teenager I never really was. And eventually we fall asleep wrapped around each other.

o-o-o

I expect the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all. When I wake up, he’s still there, lying beside me, awake and smiling contentedly. He kisses me, just lightly, before retreating to his own room to get ready for the day.

We tour two different castle ruins, climb down (and back up) a gorge, and check out dinosaur fossils. He’s gently affectionate through it all, holding my hand, kissing my cheek, but never demanding anything else.

But I tug him into my room and my bed again that evening. And again he kisses me to sleep.

o-o-o

Gale’s wedding day falls on the fourth day of the tour. I’m cranky, and Peeta notices. He asks me what’s wrong but I brush him off. But even in the face of my moodiness, my pique and my - as Haymitch says - ‘slug-like charm’, Peeta is patient with me. Willing to take whatever little bits of myself I offer. And it’s that acceptance that prompts me to open up to him. In fits and starts over the course of the day as we walk and tour and explore, I tell Peeta about Gale, about the wasted years, about the holding pattern I’ve been in since we split.

He listens attentively, neither judging nor offering platitudes. But his quiet support means the world to me. “Do you still love him?” he asks as we sit on the dock in a quiet harbour town, watching the seabirds circle and dive.

“I never did,” I confess. “But after so long, I don’t know how to move on.”

When we return to the B&B, I again tug Peeta into my room. But this time I know something has shifted between us. Our sweet, chaste kisses rapidly escalate. And though Peeta tries to slow us down, tries to be a gentleman, I want more. And after a few attempts, he gives up on the idea of reining us in, surrendering to my demands and my searching fingers.

Our clothes fall away, until I’m down to my bra and underwear, and he’s only in shorts. He stares at me in awe, as if I’m something exotic instead of plain Katniss Everdeen, far too bony and wearing threadbare panties. And though I’ve only ever been naked in front of one man before now, I don’t hesitate to reach behind me to unhook my bra. But Peeta stills my hands. “Are you sure?” he asks. “We don’t have to…”

“I want to,” I tell him.

When the cotton falls away, he shudders. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “You have no idea, the effect you have.”

“Show me,” I whisper. And he does. In his arms, I get what might be my first taste of real, raw passion. Sex with Gale was fine, good sometimes. But never like this. As I shatter, and shatter, and shatter again, everything I think I know about myself is turned inside out, and I am changed forever.

It’s fucking terrifying.

o-o-o

The last day of our tour is quiet, too quiet. The weather is unsettled, the group members tired. Even Haymitch has lost his sarcastic edge. Leaves me too much time to think about Peeta, sitting next to me. Playing with my fingers and humming in contentment. Too much time to panic.

How can I say goodbye to this man? This man who has opened my eyes and my heart, who has shown me the barest hint of a life I never even knew I was missing out on.

What choice do I have?

It’s pouring rain when we pull into the stop at Waterloo Place, and in the soggy pandemonium of luggage unloading, it’s easy for me to grab my small backpack and slip away unnoticed. I get into the first available cab and am whizzing up the Royal Mile within moments.

I don’t look back.

o-o-o

I love Effie, I do, but sometimes I just need to get away. There’s a coffee shop near the rail station that’s a perfect escape, it’s outside of the touristy area and the patio is a great place to people watch.

A swarm of men in sharp black suits rounds the corner, heading straight towards me en route to the train. Slim-fit wool trousers cling appealingly to athletic bodies before spilling downward in perfectly pressed lines to where polished black shoes click on the cobbles. It takes a moment to realize that, no, the swarm of outrageously attractive men sauntering in the spring sunshine are not, in fact, men at all, but boys. Irish schoolboys - fifth and sixth years by the looks of them - splendid in their crisp white shirts, perfectly tied windsor knots and shiny shoes. I shake my head at myself. Leering at a bunch of teenagers? I’m too old for that. In my defense, they’re much better dressed than any of the men I know. I mean, I assume Gale wore a suit to his wedding, but it would have been the first time. Even when he dragged me to his senior prom, he wore a dress shirt open at the collar and a leather jacket.

I bet Peeta wears crisp suits like these, though.

And just like that, my mood falls again. I miss him. I miss him so much. I’ve spent the past five days lying to myself, trying to make myself believe that the week we spent together was no big deal, a little fun, a lot of great sex, nothing more. But my heart, the frail, foolish thing, is singing another song. I miss him. I feel his loss acutely, despite only having known him a few days. I know I made the right choice, leaving him on that rainy Edinburgh street. His life is here, and mine, what’s left of it, is in Philadelphia, I guess. There’s no chance of a future for us. And no sense mooning over impossibilities. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about hiring a car and driving to the coast, just to see him one last time.

It’s the melancholy that’s making me see things. In the middle of the group, a golden head stands out. For a split second, I’m sure the broad shoulders and narrow waist attached to them belong to Peeta. But it’s impossible, these are school children, Peeta is back in his hometown, living his life. But the crowd shifts, and I can see his face clearly, blue eyes shaded by lush golden lashes, the smattering of faint freckles that kiss his sunburned cheeks.

And I drop my teacup.

The clatter catches his attention, his head swivels until he meets my eyes. I’m helpless to look away from the myriad of emotions that play across his handsome face. Surprise, relief, joy and anger. But I’m sure my own face reflects only a single sentiment.

Horror.

He says something I don’t catch to the people he’s with, then changes course to walk purposely to where I sit, frozen and mute, heart pounding so hard that I feel light-headed. He covers the few yards in long strides. The sun catches his hair, crowns him in gold as he stands above me, a wide smile curling those sensual lips. “Katniss,” he says, in that molten sex voice that I hear in my head every time I touch myself. The soundtrack to my every recent fantasy. The lament of my regrets. “I didn’t know you were in Dublin! I thought you’d gone back to America! I’m so bloody happy to see you! You were gone so fast after the tour, I didn’t get your number, and you’re not on Facebook.” He’s reaching for me, and my body instinctively reacts, warmth pooling low in my gut. Which is what snaps me out of my stupor. I jump from my chair, angling myself so that the narrow café table is between us.

“Katniss?” His brows furrow in confusion, his hands dropping to slide into his pockets. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re in school?” It’s barely a whisper.

“For another week, yes,” he says, still looking puzzled. As if it isn’t a big deal. A big fucking deal. He’s a child!

“You didn’t tell me you were so young.” I’m not certain I say it out loud until Peeta’s face twists, like he’s tasted something unpleasant.

“I’m eighteen,” he says. “I’ll be nineteen next month.” Eighteen! As if seeing him in that school uniform wasn’t bad enough, the confirmation that he’s a just a kid, that he’s almost nine fucking years younger than me makes my stomach lurch. “Is that a problem? For the record, you never asked.”

“You’re a child!” I say, much more loudly this time, and his frown deepens. “I’m… shit, I’m a pedophile!” Peeta’s jaw tightens, and an angry flush streaks up his neck. He grabs my arm, not hard but not leaving me much recourse, and walks the two of us away from the patio and around the corner of the building, into a quiet alley.

“Knock it off,” he hisses, and for a moment I feel like a naughty child being chastised. Which just serves to piss me off, I’m the grown-up here! I wrench my arm away from him, and back up, crossing my arms in front of me. But the alleyway is narrow and I’ve only moved a step before my back hits the wall. He steps forward, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to feel the tension that radiates from him in waves. “I’m an adult, Katniss,” he says lowly, his words skating across my lips as he leans in. “Old enough to drink, to vote.” His next words brush against the shell of my ear. “Old enough to fuck you senseless.”

A full-body shudder rips through me, equal parts arousal and revulsion. He’s a child! I took advantage of a child! I push against his chest and he takes a single step back, still in my personal space, but giving me enough room to clear my head a little. “I’m, fuck!” I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m nine fucking years older than you are!”

“Eight,” he says, “and so what? Doesn’t change how I feel about you, or what we have together.”

“It’s wrong-” I start, but he’s having none of it.

“Bullshit! We’re both adults.”

“You lied to me!”

“I did no such thing,” he snaps, but I’m pissed now.

“You told me you owned a bakery on the coast!”

“I do!”

“You’re a child!” His jaw tightens again, I can see the anger in his stormy eyes. Anger and hurt.

His hand reaches for me and instinctively I draw back, but he simply slips my phone out of my pocket. “What the fuck?” I sputter, but he’s already unlocked it and apparently messaged himself.

“Where are you staying, Katniss?” he asks, handing my phone back. I want to tell him it’s none of his business, but I just can’t. The pain in his eyes compels me to tell him.

“My aunt has a house in Clontarf,” I grumble. Peeta nods.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he says.

“What? No, that’s not a good idea Peeta.”

“Please, just do this one thing for me. Then I’ll leave you in peace.” The pain in his eyes is shocking. Guilt eats away at me. It was cruel, I know, sneaking away like a thief in the night. I can see how much I’ve hurt him. He takes my silence as acceptance. “Meet me here tomorrow morning,” he says. “Half eight. Wear a jacket.” Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the alley.

o-o-o

I fight with myself half the night and all morning. I’m not going to show up. He’s not going to show up. I owe him a chance to explain. He’s a fucking child! By the time I make it to the café, I’m an absolute mess.

But an absolute mess wearing mascara and a cute top. I’m a hypocrite, on top of everything else.

Removed from the cold horror of discovering I’d been cavorting with a schoolboy, I have to admit to myself that seeing him again ripped down the walls I tried so hard to construct around my feelings for him. Damn him! Damn him for being gorgeous and sweet and Irish and a toddler!

He pulls up only moments after I arrive, riding a smallish motorcycle, blond curls sticking out from under a black helmet. In jeans and a leather jacket, golden stubble glinting in the thin morning light, he’s even more impossibly handsome. But it’s clear he hasn’t slept well, his wary gaze is ringed with faint purple. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he says softly, pulling off his helmet. I don’t bother to tell him that until I got off the bus, I wasn’t sure either. I simply shrug. He dismounts; I pretend I’m not checking out his ass in those snug-fit jeans. But he merely pulls a second helmet from his saddlebag, handing it to me without quite meeting my eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

“Put on the helmet, Katniss, then get on the bike.”

“Don’t you have a car?” I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, and Irish streets with their too-narrow lanes, cobbles, and the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side issue are scary enough in a vehicle with four wheels. His lips twist.

“No. Let’s go, we have a long ride ahead of us.”

It’s madness, but I do as he asks.

I sit stiffly behind him, trying to put some distance between us, but as soon as the bike is in motion, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. And having him again cradled between my thighs provokes the most confusing rush of emotions. This is such a bad idea. Such a fucking bad idea.

We don’t talk as he pilots us out of the city, we simply can’t. The rush of wind makes that impossible. But from time to time as we pass through the suburbs, then out into the countryside, he’ll squeeze my knee to catch my attention, pointing out an old tower or a ruin, or just the way the sun catches the gorse on the mountainside, making the world glow in sunny yellow. In spite of what I’ve learned, he seems like Peeta, like the man I met in Scotland. He feels like comfort, and like home. When he points of a patch of bluebells clinging to the side of a hill, my heart hurts. I stop fighting with myself and lean into him, my helmet-encased head resting against his broad back, his warmth soothing me. He squeezes my hand where it wraps around his ribs. Acceptance.

About forty-five minutes later, we drive into one of those quintessential Irish postcard villages, narrow medieval buildings crowded along the street - though here they’re painted in lush pastels - colourful bunting zig-zagging across the road and cars parked haphazardly everywhere. He circles a statue of what appears to be a young fisherman, then heads down an impossibly narrow alleyway, parking the bike in a tiny courtyard.

When he offers me his hand to help me off the bike, I take it gratefully. My legs are like jelly, and not just from the ride. He holds my fingers just a little too long, smiling wistfully. Then we rid ourselves of the helmets, and he leads me out of the alley, to stand in front of a building. It’s tall and narrow, like most of the buildings here are, but unlike most, it has an enormous plate glass window facing the street. The building itself is painted turquoise, and Mellark’s is spelled across the front in swoopy gold letters. “Welcome to my bakery,” he says softly, and with a hand on my back he ushers me inside.

The interior is even more charming than the exterior, and for a moment I can only gawk. Polished wood floors, pristine glass cases displaying a decadent array of goodies, and paintings on every wall that feel familiar. But none of that really means anything, does it? He’s in school, it’s clear that this isn’t really his bakery. It probably belongs to his family, and he works here on school breaks.

I turn my attention to the people working behind the counter, three of them. They smile warmly at me, but right away their expressions change as they catch sight of Peeta. They seem to stand a little taller, attempt to look a little busier. “Peeta,” one of them calls out. “We weren’t expecting you.” Well of course they weren’t, it’s Thursday, he’s supposed to be in school.

In school. Ugh. What am I even doing here?

“Just popping in for a bit,” he says with an easy smile. “Have a little business I need to attend to.” He heads towards a swinging door that separates front shop from back, but pauses with his hand on the frame. “Coming, Katniss?” Three heads snap to me in surprise, and I can feel my cheeks burning as I follow Peeta into a small, but modern industrial kitchen.

Here too, the workers stop and straighten, as if they’re trying to impress Peeta. It’s subtle, but I notice it. He greets each warmly by name. And I quickly realise that it’s not fear that makes them all snap to attention. It’s respect. Inexplicably, all of these people seem to respect him.

But it’s not really that inexplicable, is it? He carries himself with a confidence that goes beyond boyish ego. I can’t reconcile the businessman in front of me with the eighteen year old schoolboy I saw yesterday.

Peeta leads me to a small, windowless office at the rear of the building, and gestures for me to sit. Before I’ve even gotten comfortable, one of the women from the front shop has appeared with a pot of tea and a pair of cups. “Thanks, Dell,” Peeta says genuinely. The woman beams at him, then backs out of the office. I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “Hang on,” he says. “She’ll be back again.”

He’s right, she reappears a few moments later with a plate of food. I haven’t been able to eat since I saw Peeta yesterday in Dublin, and my stomach clenches painfully at the yeasty, cheesy scent wafting from the treats. “You call me if you want anything else,” she says, and Peeta promises he will. With one last wink in my direction, she leaves and this time Peeta closes the door behind her.

“What was that all about?” I ask, trying not to be obvious in my coveting of the buns. He notices anyway, and pushes the plate in front of me.

“Irish hospitality,” he says absently as he pulls the bags out of the teapot. He knows, even without me ever having said anything, that I prefer my tea weak.

I know all about Irish hospitality, know that Delly would continue bringing us more food and more tea and just generally fussing if Peeta hasn’t shut the office door. But this is different. “Not that. The weird way she was looking at me. She… she winked!” He glances up, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face before the sadness creeps back.

“I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he says. I wrinkle my nose at the implication of that, I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m somehow special or because, as a freaking child himself, I’m the first ‘woman’ he’s been with.

“Why have you now?”

“Because I want you to see me. To see that I am exactly who I said I am. Now eat your bun,” he says, nudging the plate again, “while I tell you about my father.”

My heart breaks again and again as Peeta paints a picture of his life. The only child of a single father, he had a typical childhood right up until his father got sick. Terminal cancer. The man spent all of his remaining time preparing his young son to take over the bakery that had been in the Mellark family for generations. At only fifteen, Peeta traded rugby for accounting, friends for responsibility. He even spent his transition year working full time at the bakery, learning the ordering system, studying food safety compliance.

By the time his father died not quite two years ago, Peeta was running the bakery himself.

He has an uncle who deals with the day to day while Peeta finishes school, something he’s doing because he promised his dad he would. But Peeta is the owner, and the one in charge.

It goes a long way to explain his maturity. He hasn’t been a child in a long time. On the face of it, the story sounds unbelievable. But I know what my eyes are telling me. What my heart is telling me. He may be younger, chronologically. But he’s the one with his life together. While I haven’t really grown since high school, his life has leapt light years ahead.

I sit in silence, picking at the cheese bun - which is incredible but which I can’t really enjoy - feeling like a pile of shit. The office door opens. An older man strides in, clapping Peeta hard on the shoulder. “Peet,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you today! Glad you’re here though, I have those contracts for you to sign.”

“That’s great, Dalton,” he says, taking the proffered papers, his lips moving as he skims the words. But then he frowns. “The wage is wrong,” he says, pointing.

“They’re students,” Dalton says dismissively, and Peeta’s jaw tightens. It’s fascinating to watch, even if I don’t fully understand.

“That’s not how we do things here. I pay everyone a living wage.” Peeta stands, moving around the desk to take my hand, pulling me out of my chair. “When you’ve redone the contracts, leave them on my desk. I’ll pop in later to sign them before I head back to Dublin.” And with that, we walk out, leaving the older man behind.

We walk down the narrow cobbled street towards the waterfront, weaving among the tourists, past the harbour before finally stopping at an overlook right at the edge of the village. Peeta sits heavily on one of the empty benches, and drops his head in his hands. I lower myself beside him.

“You’re a good boss,” I say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between us. He doesn’t look at me.

“The bakery is more than just a job,” he says. “It’s my father’s legacy and my future. I have eight employees who directly depend on me, not to mention the suppliers and lorry drivers and pubs who benefit from my business too.” He lifts his head to look out over the water, and the weariness I see in his face speaks to a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Yet he’s uncomplaining.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“I’ve never lied to you, Katniss. I might be younger than you thought, but I am exactly the man I said I was, exactly what you saw in Scotland.” Wary blue eyes meet my own. “Can you say the same?” My breath catches. It’s a valid question.

Katniss Everdeen is quiet and closed-off, reserved to the point of unfriendly. Difficult to get to know. Resistant to change. That’s not the woman who spent a week adventuring through the Scottish highlands. That woman smiled more, laughed more. That woman tried new things. That woman opened her heart, if only just a little. I shake my head, and his drops again to stare at his lap. The real Katniss Everdeen is the one who left this kind, gentle man standing on an Edinburgh street in the rain, without a backward glance.

Right now, I don’t like the real Katniss Everdeen very much.

He sighs. “My age isn’t really a problem, is it Katniss? It’s just a convenient excuse. You took off before you knew.” He’s right. When I really search my heart I know that the age gap between us is just a number. In many ways, in most ways really, Peeta is the more mature of us. The one with his priorities straight, with his shit together. Our ages don’t matter at all.

After what feels like an interminable silence, he asks, “Why? Why did you leave without a word? I thought there was something between us. Something real.”

“There is,” I whisper, startling myself with my honesty. He glances up at me, confusion in his expression, but also a heartbreaking flicker of hope. “You’re right,” I tell him. “I was a different person in Scotland. And… and I think I like that person better.” I swallow hard. “I like who I am when I’m with you.

“Then what’s the problem, Katniss?” The hint of frustration in his voice threatens to put me on the defensive.

“Your life is here, Peeta! And I live three thousand miles away!”

“You’re here now,” he says.

“For four more weeks,” I say, and sadness creeps in as I realize that I don’t want to leave him again, that even pissed off and hurt and, yeah, young as he is, just his presence makes me feel alive. “And then what?”

“Why do we have to figure that out now,” he asks. “Why can’t we just take it day by day, see where things go. Live without a plan, without a safety net.” He reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands, and my eyes slip closed. “Live, Katniss. Be the woman you want to be.”

What’s left of my defenses melt away as he kisses me so softly it’s like a dream. My hands wrap around his wrists, holding him in place. Keeping him with me, at least for the moment.

I know the only thing really standing between us is my fear.

“Okay,” I whisper, the words hanging, fragile and afraid, in the space between our lips.

“Yeah?” he smiles. And at my nod, he kisses me again.

I’ve wasted so much time living in complacency, afraid of change. But this feels like a second chance. An opportunity to grow and mature, instead of staying safely stuck in the past. And the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta beside me as I step into the unknown.

—–

#Everlark birthday drabbles #ldyglfr62 #xerxia31

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