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halfway-happyyy · 4 years ago

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Little Honey

good morning friends! here is a quick lil smutty blurb to get y’all through this fine Wednesday morning. Inspired by this little saucy ask someone sent in: Anonymous said: God can you imagine the jealousy seeing someone flirt with Alex like in real life? You knew this was apart of the job, apart of his life. But when a costar or interviewer is just shamelessly eye fucking your man in front of you, even after being introduced! Alex is of course the perfect gentleman. He excuses you two because he knows that look on your face. So to calm you both down he takes you in a closet and fucks you senseless 🤪

You could always feel his eyes on you.

It hardly mattered if it was from across a crowded room, or from a glimpse through the foggy bathroom mirror. His gaze had the all-encompassing power of making you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. And, perhaps to him you were.

“You’re staring at me.” You murmured as you swiped the tapered end of a pink lipstick across your bottom lip.

“Kind of hard not to,” Alexander replied.

You turned to glance at him, pursing your lips together as you did so to make sure the pigment was evenly applied. Tonight, he was clad in a lavish, navy blue suit; a black bowtie peaked out from the crisp, white button up shirt beneath it. His sandy hair was long now; longer than you had ever seen it before and you reveled in the fact that he had no intentions of cutting it any time soon. A beard had made an appearance during quarantine. You had been weary of it at first but thanks to the many times that it had scratched the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you had around to the idea and now you loved it. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?”

Alexander’s slow-growing smile broke into a full grin that made your stomach dip in the most wonderful way. “I’m sure she must have. But if you were seated where I was in this very moment, I imagine you would find yourself in a similar predicament.” He cleared his throat and clocked the watch on his wrist. “Done soon, kid? Our car is here.”

This would be the first time out with Alexander to an event in over a year and you could not contain the sheer excitement of it if you tried. You were elated to finally place faces and personalities to the names that he had spoken so highly of on so many previous occasions. As the vehicle glided to a halt in front of the theatre, Alexander squeezed your hand three times and exited his side to get the door for you on yours. Following him out into the balmy Los Angeles night, you could not help the nerves that had started to dance around in the pit of your belly as cameras flashed before you. No matter how many premiers, or award ceremonies, or other large-scale events you attended… you would never get used to the attention. After posing for a few photos together, and waiting while he had his own taken separately, you made your way into the brightly lit theatre together. Only once inside the comfort of the building did you allow yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. A massive, gilded clock on the wall above you told you that you were still forty-five minutes until show time, and you stole yourself for a round of inevitable introductions. You chatted warmly for a few minutes with the director of the film before he was pulled away in another direction, as promises of “We must trade stories again later!” reached you from above the buzzing crowd.

“Oh, Alex!” A female voice cried loudly, and you turned just in time to watch a woman you had never met before, wrap her arms around him. This was still normal territory for you; women had done worse things to him in your presence. But then she nuzzled her face into the hollow of his neck and sighed heavily and your cheeks instantly grew warm. While Alexander reciprocated the hug, he was unsure of where to put his hands, so he proceeded to awkwardly pat her back.

“Hello, Gianna.” He greeted her warmly and when she broke away from him, her hazel-brown eyes were alight with an intensity you had come to recognize well. Alexander cleared his throat and gestured to you. “There is someone I’d like you to meet,” He moved away from her to wrap a toned arm around your waist. “Gianna- this is my girl.”

She turned to you, the smile in which she had reserved for Alexander wilted only slightly as she took note of your unassuming figure.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name Alex has spoken so highly of these past few months.” You smiled and extended a hand towards her which she accepted begrudgingly.

“Isn’t it just?” She replied drily.

Alexander squeezed your hip reassuringly and jutted his chin out toward the direction of the bar. “Well, I will leave you ladies to it, hm? I think I see Tom at the bar- would you like a drink?”

“Yes, surprise me please. And whatever it is, make it a double.”

Alexander nodded his head and pressed a kiss to your temple before vanishing into the crowd.

Gianna watched him disappear and returned her attention to you, a half-empty martini glass clutched in her hand. “He’s so much sexier in reality, isn’t he?”

“I beg your pardon?” You blanched; eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.

“Alex. It’s really quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Suddenly you found yourself in awe of the audacity with which this woman possessed. With her flirtations and her impossibly cool cruelty- and the kicker of it all was that she really was simply stunning; you could not deny her that. Long, glossy brunette hair hung in perfect curls down her bare back, and a subtle accent that either belonged to somewhere in Spain or Italy colored her every word and you could easily see the attraction. You cleared your throat and managed a shrug. “Yes well at home, he’s just Alex. Still does the dishes. Still drools in his sleep occasionally. Rather a little boring, really.”

She levelled her gaze with yours and smiled coldly. “That may be less of his problem, and more of yours, no?” Taking a deep breath, you tried to scan the crowd for him. You finally caught sight of his impending figure at the bar across the room, deep in conversation with an older gentleman. She swilled back the rest of her vodka and smiled at you again. It was a Cheshire cat sort of grin that caused an unpleasant batch of goosebumps to rise in patterns on your arms. “You look like you’d like to leave, and I don't blame you, but before you do, I just have one question.”

“And what’s that?” You murmured, already regretting indulging her.

Gianna leaned close enough to you that you could smell the precise scent of the floral perfume on her dainty neck. “Does he fuck as good as he pretends to?”

You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way your arm vibrated in subtle anticipation of the smack that you so badly ached to deliver to her perfectly highlighted cheek. “Hm. An interesting question indeed. And unfortunately for you, one you will never get to know the answer to.” You turned on a heel and made your way for the bar, grateful for the thickening crowd and the dimmed lighting. Sidling up next to Alexander with a heavy sigh, you caught the eye of the bartender and waved him over. “A Stoli on the rocks with a twist of lemon, please.” You had already taken your first sip when Alexander turned to you, a small frown in place on his features.

“I hadn't quite had time to order your drink yet.”

You gestured to him with your almost empty glass. “Beat you to it, Skarsgård.”

“So, it seems…” He murmured. “You alright, kid?”

You giggled humorlessly; the memory of your most recent conversation fresh in your mind. “You know… I pride myself on being a generally un-jealous partner,”

“I do know that. It's one of the many, many things that endear you to me.”

You lifted your glass in silent cheers. “But that woman back there? What a cunt.”

Alexander's sparkly blue eyes widened in shock. “Gianna?”

“The very same.”

“What did she do?”

You winced a little as the rest of the alcohol singed the back of your throat like smoke. “It's not so much what she did… but what she said.”

He turned to you fully now, brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his gaze intense and utterly penetrating. “Talk to me, tell me what she said.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured with your glass to the bartender for one more. “She carries a torch for you Alex. Badly. And I can handle that…” You shrugged your shoulders. “Lord knows it's just one of the many things I signed up for. But you worked with her side by side for six months. You filmed very… intimate scenes with her. She doesn’t have to reach up on her tiptoes to hug you. I could go on.”

Alexander shook her head. “Kid, she couldn’t hold a candle to you.” He leaned ever closer to you, the heady scent of his cologne caused your mouth to water. “And between you and me, I like that you have to step up onto your tiptoes to hug me.” As he caressed a warm hand to the side of your face, you noticed an imperceptible change in the glimmer of his eyes when he reached for your hand. “Come with me.” His tone left little room for argument, so you downed the rest of your drink in one fell swoop and followed him into the crowd. He wordlessly led you down to a quieter area of the theatre and stopped in front of a women’s washroom. Checking that no one of importance was in sight, he pushed open the door and gestured for you to head in first, which you did. Once inside the privacy of the washroom, Alexander checked each stall to be sure that you were alone. He passed by you moments later to lock the door, an erection growing steadily in the crotch of his pants. Closing the distance to you, he patted the counter twice. “Jump up on here, baby.” Again, you did as you were told. He closed the distance between you, the sheer heat radiating from him caused you to shiver violently. You reached forward to palm the bulge between you, and the urge to have him inside of you was nearly all-consuming. “You feel how hard I am?” He asked, his voice already hoarse. “You can physically feel how badly I want to be inside your pussy right now, hm?” Alexander’s skilled fingers danced teasingly beneath your dress. They moved slowly up your leg, past the rounded curve of your knee, up over the silky softness of your inner thigh. “You know that only you can get me this hard, hm?” His fingers slowed when he realized you had gone panty-less this evening. “Not a single other person can do this to me, baby.” He runs a calloused thumb up over the wetness of your slit, stopping moments later to press firm circles into your clit. “Let’s see how fast I can have you falling apart for me, hm? Gotta be quick, little one.” With no warning, he inserted two thick fingers into your pussy and started pumping at a steady pace, his thumb pressing matching circles into your clit.

“Fuck, Alex…” It had hardly taken a while before he had you seeing stars behind the lids of your closed eyes. You could feel the familiar unraveling of pressure deep in your belly, the telltale signs of an orgasm near completion.

“Oh I know, baby…” Alexander groaned. “I know you’re close. I can feel you clench around my fingers. Now, are you going to come all over those, or are you going to come all over my cock?” You tossed your head back against the mirror with a dull thud, the answer to his question lost to the moan at back of your throat. “I’m just going to decide for you baby, you can’t even form coherent sentences at this point.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the base of your throat and nibbled into the soft flesh there, causing a muted cry to rip from somewhere far away. “Ah, ah, ah… you know the rules.” He whispered sternly. He pulled his fingers from your dripping heat and slid them into his mouth, sucking off everything you had to give him. He then unbuckled his belt and shimmied his boxers halfway down his legs, taking his erect cock into his hands, and jerking if off with the rest of your excess juices. You trembled as he lined himself up against your slick entrance, then wordlessly slid himself in to the hilt. “Christ almighty…” He groaned as he let you adjust to his sheer size. “No one could ever compare to you. Not ever.” You wrapped your legs around his waist as he drew away from you and slammed right back in. “Hold on tight baby, I’m about to wreck this pussy.”

“Oh my god, Alex…” You could feel a scream building at the base of your throat- and he could feel it too because a large hand fixed itself over your mouth as he plowed into you with reckless abandon. The familiar sensation of your approaching orgasm returned, and you could feel yourself clenching around his hard cock. “Alex, I…”

Alexander pressed a finger into your clit as he thrusted into you, the timing and pressure caused lightning bolts of pleasure to explode behind your eyes. “You’re going to come all over this cock right now, aren’t you? Give me a little honey, baby.”

You nodded your head fervently and whimpered loudly as you gave yourself over to the all-encompassing feeling of your orgasm overtaking your body.

“You’re going to take everything I have to give you like a good little girl,” Sweat beaded on his forehead and with a free hand, you reached up to push his sandy hair out of his eyes so that you could get a better look at them when he filled your pussy with his come. His normally bright blue orbs were dark now, his pupils dilated and blown over with unbridled lust.

As he slowed his rhythm down a bit, you could physically feel his cock throb and pulsate inside of you, and you moaned loudly.

He dropped his head to your shoulder and railed into you with such force, you feared momentarily that there might be some damage to the mirror or countertop afterward. “Oh, baby…” His hips stilled against your own and you felt him pour his release into you, the sheer feeling of being filled to the brim with his seed, utterly overwhelming. He waited a few blissful moments before pulling himself from you, and carefully tucked himself back into his boxers. Taking a few deep breaths, you watched him fix his suit so that it looked entirely as if nothing untoward had just taken place at all.

You hopped down from the counter and gestured to a stall. “Going to get fixed up quick. See you back out there in a few minutes?”

Alexander smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

When you emerged from the safety of the washroom ten minutes later, you were hardly surprised to find that Gianna had managed to seek out Alexander again. Though he had been able to keep his distance this time. Stealing yourself for what was about to happen next, you joined their conversation with a rather shit-eating grin. “Hello again.” You murmured once there was a break in the conversation. Gianna simply ignored you and was poised to ask Alexander another question. You closed the gap between her and gestured to his subtly disheveled figure. “Notice anything different about him? Go on and take a good look,” Gianna’s fiery gaze flashed to his slightly sweaty visage, to the deep breaths he was still taking, and to the afterglow that despite his best efforts, had still managed to set his skin aflame. “You see that don’t you, G? See how utterly fucked out he still looks?” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest in response, her glittery eyes shooting daggers at you. “He looks that way because he just had his way with me like an absolute champion. And even though it is entirely none of your business, I’ll let you in on a little secret anyway,” You got ever closer to her, the last part barely above an audible whisper. “Alex fucked me so good just now, that I’ll be feeling him between my legs for the next four days, at least.”

Alexander tugged gently at your hand. “We have to find our seats, kid.”

You offered her one last beaming smile. “Have a lovely evening, Gianna.”

#long hair alex is a mooooood #tw: public sex #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard imagine #smut #writing #drabble #alex sstuff

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spc4eva · 4 years ago

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Star-Burned: Chapter Two

Ngl, reader is well endowed in the breast department. hate me. trust me, reader is gonna complain about it later about her back hurting.

Paz fluff is probably my favorite thing to write. This fic is undoing me. Goddammit.

Word Count: 8,626

Rating: M (+18) oral sex m!receiving

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

Paz barely understood what was happening when he'd crash landed, falling out of hyperspace and being thrown around the hull of his ship like a tin can before crash landing. It was miraculous he'd survived with just broken ribs. An even bigger miracle that he'd been found.

You were a pretty young lady with more hair than should be humanly possible, a ray of sunshine, and so hilariously goofy that Paz was smiling beneath his helmet half the time as you trotted in with meals for him, eying him beneath your mop of hair --- which you often tried to manage in a ponytail, though ringlets would fall free and cascade into your face smattered with a constellation of freckles. That's why he named you Tranyc -- Mando'a for sunny or quite literally translating to 'star-burned', because you were the ray of sunshine on his day while he was stuck in bed healing. You were good company, easy to talk to, never berated him despite how much of a burden he was. Took him less than a day to realize you were on your own, running the entire moisture farm on nothing but cultivated crops and several cups of caf a day. And despite how often you fumble over words, you were smart.

There wasn't much to do and the highlights of Paz's day consisted of you spending time with him. You had piled all your holobooks near him, given him the remote for the television, and anything else you thought he might like while you wandered off to go make repairs and tend to your livelihood. You must've been tired. The farm was a fulltime job on its own and now you had to look after him. Paz felt guilty, because you'd not complained once, not asked him for credits or when he might be leaving. You were cautiously curious, but not impolite with your questions. Not many people would have chanced bringing a Mandalorian into their home, let alone a young woman on her own. That was what was different about you and maybe it had to do with Paz's sheer luck of landing on a relatively backwater planet where people weren't in fear of their lives constantly.

Paz had lucked out.

He hated feeling weak, being unable to walk on his own, but you were blissfully patient and kind, cracking jokes and making silly faces, telling him how he'd be good as new to start back up on hunting -- or whatever it was that Mandalorians did. And while he was eager to not have his ribs feel as if they'd been kicked in by a bantha, he was also ruing the countdown for when he'd have to return to his ship and leave you behind. Despite it being a few scant weeks, Paz liked you. Not just because you were pretty, but he found your demeanor relaxing. So when he managed to get to his feet to go to the kitchen and he saw your hair sticking out on the couch, he trotted over without an afterthought to check on you.

He hadn't been expecting to see your coveralls crumpled on the floor and your beet red facing eying him in horror. Originally, he'd believed you were hurt from when he'd fallen on you. After all, you were a small thing. Despite being lean from working the farm you were dwarfed by him. And when the blanket had fallen over... Paz's mind began turning, the gears clicking into place, the disbelief that the pretty ray of sunshine had been caught in the midst of masturbating. To the thought of him.

Until that point you'd been hospitable and courteous, it was the last thing he expected and dangling deliciously in front of him like a forbidden fruit. He more than owed you at this point. He owed you his life and getting you off wasn't really repayment. In fact, Paz had enjoyed it, thinking the situation was more self indulgent than selfless. You became putty in his hands, passing out from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. That brought a smile to his face -- well, there had already been a smile -- but it was bigger now.

He didn't mind cleaning you up and putting you into some more comfortable clothing, tucking you into the large bed that had obviously been yours. He had found discarded hair elastics under the pillows and a few socks that had been lost to the depths of the sheets. You had taken care of him, he could manage picking up your tiny form and putting you to bed. You didn't come around until morning when Paz was up in the fresher, still testing his weight on his aching chest.

"You can walk now," you popped your head through the open door, stating the obvious, but it made him smile that you weren't half as doleful as he'd thought you'd be after yesterday. "Um... I can make breakfast real quick and then there's something I wanna show you if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" Paz rumbled, he still couldn't wear his armor, the weight would be too much of a burden. "How are you feeling?"

Your face brightened with blush immediately, matching the hue of your flaming locks at the sheer mention. "G-good, th-thank you."

The moment he'd put you to bed, he'd staggered off to the fresher to relieve himself and the throbbing erection he had from going through his ministrations. Not that you needed to know that he had been wanting more. Yesterday hadn't been about him. The last few weeks you had doted your attention on him.

"Good."

You darted away, back in your usual attire which consisted of mechanic coveralls, boots, and a tightfitting short sleeve shirt in russet. Your arms were bared from the bicep down and you wore a pair of beat up leather gloves, hair cinched at the base of your neck with a straining scrunchie that fought desperately to contain all the curls which rebelled at being held against the back of your slightly too large overalls.

Truthfully, you were very nervous over what had happened yesterday and even more distressed that you had slept away the entire freaking day. The hardworking farmer in you was berating you with every step, unbelievable, you slept the entire day until breakfast. Now, when drifters had stayed and you had slept with them, you had woken up and prepared breakfast without an afterthought. There was no guilt, no twisting of nerves in your tummy, because you knew that what had happened was a simple arrangement of two lonely people breaking up the cobwebs. What happened with the Mandalorian should have felt the same, but it didn't. Only one man had stayed a few days and engaged in multiple trysts and by the end, he'd been asking you to leave behind the moisture farm to go adventuring with him. While that was a very... juicy prospect, you couldn't think about leaving behind the canyons you'd known your entire life. You loved it here, even if it was solitude and silence.

From the views up on the plateau where your farm was located, a bird's eye view of the spanning clay walls, billowing in waves of amber, brown, and orange. Your favorite days were the overcast ones where the clouds would sweep low and fringe the mountaintops with mist. That was during the wet season when the lowest parts of the canyons would fill with turquoise water from the rain. The only freestanding water you'd ever gotten the luxury of seeing and it was still a trip on your speeder bike since you lived pretty high up on the plateaus. Wasn't that time of year though, it was still the dry season and so you had to keep regular maintenance on the farm to suck every bit of moisture up.

You kept mostly grains on the farm, but had a few animals to include tip-yips which produced eggs. Otherwise, any greenery you had was produced in your greenhouse, utilizing misty puffs of water to keep it nice and humid inside. Without it, you certainly wouldn't have been getting enough nutrients to live out this remote. You would stock up on seed every six months and grow leafy greens, root vegetables, had a few berry bushes, and rhubarbs. They were genetically modified to have additional benefits, keeping you going and healthy. You loved checking in on them, standing in your little bubble of green, imagining other planets that looked just like it but instead of being in a little capsule -- the entire planet was green. That was hard to fathom, giving the landscape you'd grown up on, but so were oceans and you knew they existed.

Jumbles followed you out to the coop, drooling all over the dirt as you scolded him for getting too close. His head drooped and he stayed behind while you picked out some fresh eggs and threw fodder out for the tip-yips. You knew if you didn't keep the birds carefully locked up, Jumbles would gobble them all up. "Calm down. I'll give you some eggs you beast," you chided as you stopped in the green house to pick a few vegetables and fruit before going back inside. You'd never wanted more aside from companionship and to not be alone. You loved your farm so much and all the work you had put into it. You loved this dry, arid planet and the raw beauty you got to witness. But you weren't perfectly content.

You were lonely.

Paz was waiting in the kitchen at the table, which was funny, considering he couldn't actually eat with you. Humming to yourself, you put a pot of caf on and then frowned at 6PO, who wandered around aimlessly. "6PO please make yourself useful. Go sweep out the greenhouse if you can't decide on what to do," you sigh, the droid looking as confused as ever, before creaking out the front door.

"Where did you get that droid?" Paz asked curiously as you set a skillet on the stove and began heating it up.

"Found it," you shrug. "Wasn't in one piece, so I scavenged parts and put it all back together again. Some of the neural harnessing was missing, so the droid will never be complete unless I replace it entirely."

"You mean you reprogrammed it?" he actually sounded sort of impressed.

You rolled your shoulders again. "Yeah, suppose so. Wasn't too hard. Lots of trial and error... and caf." And time. During the wet season you had more time on your hands and so typically that's when you'd spend it on projects.

"How'd you learn how to do that? Droids are complicated pieces of tech."

"My dad taught me. He was an engineer, could run this whole place without even trying. Always knew how to fix everything," you gave a sad chuckle at the thought of your parents. You missed them so much. Maybe if they hadn't passed you wouldn't be half as lonely and feeling as if there was something missing in your life. "Studied on... Coruscant, I think? Before the war broke out. Round 20BBY he came out here with my mom and I because they wanted to avoid the fighting."

"And he taught you everything he knew," Paz assumed.

"Oh, well, I mean, probably not everything. He probably would have found a way to fix 6PO completely."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

The corner of your mouth quirked involuntarily and you stared down at the pan as you began sautéing the cut up tubulars. "We get a wet season here every standard year. The canyons are vast, mostly stone, and not porous. My mother was sick, so they had to make a visit to the city which is a 2 day trip on bike. Usually, we don't leave during the wet season. Too dangerous. But mom's condition wasn't improving and so my father decided the risk was worth it.

"In order to get to the city, you have to go through the canyons. This time of year, no big deal, but during the wet season? Can start raining without warning and when it does, the crevasses act as funnels, diverting water to the lowest point, which... you're catching my drift, right?" You glance up, not particularly fond of explaining how nature worked around here, especially when it had taken your parents from you.

"Flash floods?"

"Mm," you began cracking the eggs. "Can't outrun a flash flood. Not on a speeder bike. They drowned. So-" you drew in a sharp breath. You had rationalized this several times over. Never really talked about it, but it didn't make you cry anymore. This planet had been good to you. Better than most people could hope for when they settled on a farm. You knew that you were lucky because of that and you couldn't resent the planet even if it took your parents from you. "The Jawas found them a little while after that. They know us, we trade with them -- I still do -- and they brought my parents back for me. Despite what people say about them, they didn't ask me for payment."

"I'm sorry... was that six years ago?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, wiping your hands off and picking up a few eggs, cracking them over your massiff's eagerly waiting mouth. "Not your fault. Might be safe from raiders and looters, but it's a harsh unforgiving landscape. Sometimes you get too comfortable and forget about that. My dad knew the risks when he took my mother. They lived a good life, just wish they didn't have to go that way." You wish you hadn't been left alone.

"Where's the closest neighbor aside from the Jawas?"

"Hundreds of miles," now you were plating the food and grabbing mugs for the caf. "The canyons are the best place to set up moisture farms. The deserts soak up all the water from the wet seasons, but due to the stone around here, it's a lot easier for moisture to be trapped in the vaporators. However, they're remote and a lot of the plateaus are too dangerous to set up on because the foundation of stone is likely to crumble. Only about three farms in all of the canyons and this is one of them. We're the highest producers of water on the planet, especially during the wet season. 'Bout the only time I see starships since the city will come and pick it up."

You slapped Jumbles on the nose as he leaned over the counter toward one of the freshly assembled breakfasts, causing him to whine. "Oh shut it you baby," you hadn't even hit him that hard, just a little boop on the nose and he was pretending you'd wailed into him. "Drama queen."

You brought Paz's food over for him and went to grab your own. "I can go outside. A few things I can start on before we head out."

"Sit down and eat first," he invited, which confused you, because how were the both of you going to eat with the whole helmet situation. "If you sit at the counter with your back to me, it'll be fine."

Oh, well that went against what he said about only removing his helmet when he was alone. But... that also meant he trusted you. How many opportunities did you have to remove his helmet? The first day you probably could have if you weren't terrified of being shot. Until you'd gotten to know Paz better, he had been the big scary Mandalorian and not the patient and easygoing one you knew now. "Are you certain? I mean, it's not a big deal. I eat on the go all the time," you object kindly, not wishing for him to feel obligated to have you in your own kitchen.

"Sit," he insisted.

"Well, I mean-" you grabbed a chair, mostly talking to yourself when you muttered those words and pulled it up to the counter. Jumbles was drooling on your leg, looking at you as if you hung the stars, which admittedly -- was quite cute except for the fact that you knew he just wanted your leftovers.

"Where'd you get a massiff?" There was a click and a hiss, the helmet disengaging and being set on the table. You tried not to think about how easy it would be to turn around and finally get a look at him, focusing on your cup of caf instead.

"Kind of just... found him," you reveal, thinking about the day you'd stood toe to toe with the beast, your arms full of scrap metal, wondering if you were going to have to use the bacta shot after getting munched on by the creature. "Thought he was gonna try and eat me."

"It's wild?" Paz's voice was different, unmodulated. There was still the same warmth you were used to, but the lack of the radio static and translation from human to droid made your skin hot, little lances of static playing down your spine as the deep bass in its full glory.

"Uuuuh," you almost forget that you're eating, your egg falling off the fork and onto your lap. Jumbles gobbles it up before you even think about grabbing it. "Jee-uh-yeah. Started feeding him scraps, probably shouldn't have done that, and then he kinda just started listening to me. I read that on Tatooine Tusken Raiders keep them as hounds, so I thought that maybe they're just partial to bonding with sentient beings."

Honestly, you'd always been good with animals. An uncanny, unnatural, totally unexplainable ability you'd possessed since you were a kid and ran into a wild dewback and nearly pissed yourself. Instead of swallowing you whole, the dewback had palmed your hand and then trotted off. The canyons were host to a plethora of fauna, many of which were quite dangerous. Having Jumbles had actually saved your skin more often than not, as the canine was keen on keeping his source of food around.

"When they're raised from pups they are," Paz informed you.

"Oooh. Well, I found Jumbles when he was an adult," you gave the dope a fond pat on the head. He leaned into your gloved grasp and harrumphed contentedly. "Maybe he was already trained and got lost." Yeah, that sounded more logical than your weird animal whispering abilities. "He's been good. If not for him, I don't think I would have found you. He's the one who led me over to your starship." And that's when you realized something. "H-hey, Jumbles is living and your helmet-"

"I'm not worried about a massiff seeing me," Paz chuckled. "I'm not going to shoot your dog."

"I-I didn't say you were," you stammer, heart fluttering a little bit as you gripped one of the massiff's spines to comfort yourself. He could very easily shoot your dog. Did he want to shoot your dog? You didn’t think so, but you weren’t keen on losing him. "Just you said no living thing and then you'd only take your helmet off alone..."

"No living sentient thing," he corrected, his silverware clattering before the helmet clicked back into place. A tiny wave of disappointment washed off you, almost as if you were expecting to get a little more time with his raw unfiltered voice. "Thank you for breakfast. Good as always."

You blushed slightly at the compliment. It was just simple food, hearty enough to keep you going throughout the day. Standing up, you nearly whirled into the Mandalorian's chest as you went to retrieve his things for him. Catching yourself before you did, you offered an apologetic smile before frisking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for later. It was a sonic sink, you were very careful about how water was used. Only for food and growing plants.

Out by the front door you grabbed your outing belt, which had your blaster and a set of tools that you'd been using. Picking up the sack beside it, laden with a few canteens, ration bars, and holobooks you glanced back at Paz. He still didn't have his armor on, but he did adorn his belt with a vibro-blade and pistol. "C'mon," you told him, offering a small wave before striding out the front door and into the crisp, sunny morning.

Drinking in a deep breath of dry air, you gave a dizzying and pleased smile before beginning to talk. "Now, I told you that I borrowed your speeder bike to get us back up here. There was a bit of damage to it since it took a beating during the crash. Most superficial, which I managed to get the dings out of the metal and replace the exhausts which were nearly crushed. Probably needs a new paint job, but I didn't have any paint laying around," you explained, bringing him over to the bike. You'd doted a bit of time on it, because you knew bikes and it was easy for you to fix. Plus it was nicer than the one you had on the farm, so you'd been using it to go back and forth between the ranch and his starship.

Paz's helmet was craned down as he gave the bike a one over and your original pride began to fizzle out with each beat of silence. Finally, "You did a really good job. It... didn't take up too much of your time, did it?"

"Hm? Oh no, not at all. Bikes are easy, fixed plenty of bikes in much worse condition than this," you gave it a fond pat, relief flooding you that he wasn't upset that you'd fiddled with it. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you," you climbed on. "Hop on!"

Paz chuckled at your overexuberance, the way the bike looked much too big for someone of your stature. Afterall, it was his bike and so he'd gotten one that would fit his physique. Your arms were stretched upward to meet the accelerators and it was quite comical from the dopey, excited smile on your face to the way your legs barely reached the stirrups. He sat on behind you, edging up comfortably so that his thighs framed you.

"Might wanna hang on," you warned mischievously.

"What, this isn't going to be a leisurely ride?"

"The canyons look much the same when boxed in. Trust me, just hang on," you told him, feeling your cheeks roll was heated pleasure as strong arms encircled you and his pelvis pressed tighter to your backside. Oh, that felt really good, almost enough that you could lean back into his strong embrace and relax as you started this ride. But... No. You chased away the devious thoughts and tried not to fixate on the sturdy Mandalorian behind you as you revved the engine. It purred like a loth-cat, humming deliciously before you kicked off and started whistling down the hill and into the chasm that led into the canyons.

He wasn't expecting how quickly the two of you rocketed off. Arms tensing around you to prevent himself from sliding right off as gravity snared him, he let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't kidding."

"Tried to warn you," you laughed at him, shouting over the din of the motors that echoed against the canyon walls. Bowing your head ever so much, you went up another gear and stuck the wide turn. He grabbed on again, his chest now flush to your back as you dared to accelerate again.

"Where-" his voice was breathless in your ear. "Where did you learn how to drive like this?"

"Mom," you grin. "Dad was the engineer. Mom was the podracer."

"Kriff!" he cursed as you hooked the bike, reversed the thrusters, and then sputtered a sharp turn that should not have been possible except for the trick maneuver. During down time and on your long journeys to the city, you'd picked up a thing or two from your mother. Speeder bikes were easy compared to podracers, she'd tell you. Small, streamline, and capable of quite a few tricks if you understood the inertia, gravity, and capabilities of the machine you were on. Passing the signs out for the Jawas, you curved the halt, brakes slamming as the sideways turn kicked up clay sand and dust. He was still clinging to you even after you'd stopped.

"Did I frighten the big Mandalorian?" you teased, his vice grip finally relenting after taking a moment to realize that you stopped.

Paz's muscles were vibrating from the adrenaline filling him from helmet to boot from the ride. The last thing he'd been expecting from you, the little farmhand mechanic, were daring turns and hiking the bike up to full speed without as much of an ounce of panic as you tried to take a 90 degree turn. Even Paz wasn't as gutsy with a bike to attempt what you had done, but you'd stuck the turn gloriously and were laughing at him now. He hadn't realized that he could like you more, but you were filled with pleasant little surprises.

"Can you podrace too?" he countered as he let you go and you hopped down, springy, unaffected and brimming with joy. Your hair was scattered a bit, a few curls puffing loose from your scrunchie.

"Never tried, but can't be too difficult," you reply. Not arrogance or mock confidence, just... the comprehension of someone who knew a lot about machines and how they worked. "Now, come take a look. Gotta talk to you about somethings-" you padded away, leaving Paz to dismount and trail after you.

The ship still had a hole in the hull, landing gear squashed, but the supply crates had been moved back inside. For something that had crash landed, Paz was astonished how intact it appeared. The reason for his confusion was soon explained as you brought him inside and he saw that wires had been soldered off and repairs had been made.

"So, I've been heading out here when I can to make sure the thing didn't leak its fuel lines everywhere," you started, gesturing to the neatly arranged containers. "Now, I'm not a starship mechanic, but I have a few old holobooks and the manual that was laying around in here. I read up on them and was able to figure out that the fuel line was cut -- managed to fix that -- and the engines were running at 10% capacity after debris got sucked in. That's how the thing didn't explode on impact, the thrusters were still working enough that it padded your landing.

"Landing gear is shot. I don't have any lifts strong enough to hoist the ship up or the proper caliber of steel to fix the hull. I got the engines to bout 50%, so theoretically that should get you to the spaceport on the other side of the planet. Gonna be crunchy, don't know what's hiding underneath here. So you've got a few options -- try your best to get to the spaceport and the pay for repairs there, you can try to get off planet, though next planet over is Tatooine and you'd pay an arm and a leg for shoddy repairs, or we can try trading with the Jawas. They've got their sandcrawler which might have the capability of picking your ship up, but won't be cheap. Even with my connections they're gonna want something good."

Paz was flabbergasted and at a loss for words as he looked at the work you'd done on top of the farm, on top of taking care of him, and how candid you were about what solutions he had going forward. "How did you have the time to do all this?" he asked.

"Hm?" you were looking over at a few wires that needed to be routed properly. "Uh, lots and lots of caf."

No wonder you had passed out for over 16 hours yesterday. Additionally, you'd read dry holobooks on starships and for what? To help him? At this point he knew that you weren't expecting anything out of it. He'd not been to a lot of backwater planets, but he was beginning to realize that people like you were more common in these quiet remote locations, just happy to be helping. Why that nearly broke him right there, he couldn't say, but he was absolutely moved by your selfless compassion that you didn't even really acknowledge, because it was all so natural to you. A little gem in the canyons, hiding up on your plateau farming water.

"What do I owe you? Repairs like this cost a lot... you've saved me a lot of credits, Tranyc."

You were a little distracted, admittedly, your eyes finding the problems you hadn't remedied yet. "Owe me?" you repeated before finally looking back toward the visor. "You're my guest. Don't worry about it. Consider it a little bit of desert hospitality. There's still some work I need to do, haven't gotten round to it, but I figured you'd want to see your ship."

He didn't owe anything. How didn't he owe anything? Paz was shell shocked as you turned away, removing a set of pliers from your tool belt as you started working on the frayed wires that were getting on your nerves. People always wanted something, no matter how minute or simple it was and yet... You were fiddling along, pleased as a womp rat in sand you continued to chug along as if he weren't even there. And you'd learned how to do this in weeks? Taught yourself how to do it? Your parents had to have been smart and if your father studied at university on Coruscant -- you might've been modest about it, but that meant he'd imparted the same years of study into you while you grew up.

He knew how to make baseline repairs, how to weld, and keep the ship from falling apart. What you were doing -- he had no idea how to do. Truthfully, the gunship needed a lot of work before it was going to be good enough to leave the planet and you were correct -- parts were needed. Sitting on a storage crate, he placed his helmet in his palm and rubbed his aching ribs, trying to think of which path would be the best option. Going to the spaceport meant that he'd leave you behind. He also didn't know how much repairs were going to cost on this planet. Flying to Tatooine was just a bad decision all around, who knew if the ship could handle it. Then trading with Jawas... It would keep him around you for a bit longer and you knew the Jawas. He was bound to have something that they wanted aboard the Kote. He could also use a talented mechanic, but somehow doubted that you'd be willing to part with your farm.

The way you'd talked about your home, you were very proud of it and you loved the landscape. But still... all alone... he didn't like the thought of that. Even if this planet was relatively safe, what if the Jawas found your body in the canyon ravines?

He had been lost to his thoughts as you worked, the ship heating up in the midday sun. You'd flipped down the straps of your coveralls to work and that's when he noticed. A thin sheen of sweat decorated your arms, a few curls sticking to your face as you hunched over the controls for his cryo chamber. But that wasn't what attracted his attention. No, it was the swell of your breasts beneath the fitted shirt you wore, the perky mounds that were well sized for your slender form. The fabric left little to the imagination, mostly because you weren't wearing a bra. Why would you? You lived on your own and bras were awful, constricting things that made you even clammier on hot days. Plus they were stupidly expensive.

The coveralls usually kept them hidden, but with the thick panel of fabric cast down, Paz was staring. He'd been distracted by your lower half yesterday, but not his fixation was on the top. How could you look so good in just a tight fitting shirt that didn't betray any cleavage? He estimated that each would be more than a handful for him, the nipples pressing through the fabric and you didn't notice, completely unaware of the lack of decorum because you were a farmer and those sort of things probably didn't pop into your mind. Which was why he felt a tiny bit ashamed watching you, eying you from the protective mask of his helmet. Would you want him to touch you again? You had told him that you'd been getting off to him, but perhaps that was in the moment when he'd caught you.

Neither of you had broached the subject this morning, but nor were you being incredibly demure or shy. You were just being normal.

"Wanna toss me a canteen from in there?" you asked, pointing to the bag you'd dumped by the hole in the hull.

Paz tore his eyes away, glancing down, retrieving the requested item. Tossing it to you, you caught it and upcapped it, taking a few generous gulps and spilling some on yourself. He gritted his teeth as you wiped your mouth, the soft plush lips having been locked around the rim, the water seeping into your shirt. Your shirt. Dank farrik. Now he was staring again, hopelessly pressing his palms together as he tried to keep it together. Stars, he wanted more of you than just the bit of pleasure he'd brought yesterday, but it wasn't his place to take it. You'd already gone above and beyond in assisting him and so he couldn't just ask you to sleep with him, no matter how much he wanted it. That felt... wrong. Like a dirty, awful thing to request after he'd come to like you -- only utilizing you for your body in the end and not the company he'd grown fond of.

"Did you think about what you're gonna do?" you ask him, drawing his visor back up to you.

"The Jawas--" his voice was kinda hoarse, which made you tilt your head. "Might have something on here that they'd like."

A smile unfurled on your face, because secretly you'd been praying that he'd choose that option. Just stealing more time with the Mandalorian, despite the fact that he was stranded. You didn't want him to leave, but it was going to happen eventually, just like it did with everyone else who came here. Everyone left. Everyone but you and the animals. You were pretty sure you were gonna cry like a baby when the Mandalorian finally departed. "I can send 'em a transmission tonight. Probably will take them the better part of a day to get here, but they'll come."

"Thank you again," Paz insisted, but you brushed it off with a silly and overly dramatic hand wave.

"There's gotta be some kindness in this galaxy. 'Else it'd be a sad, miserable, hopeless place," you counter, springing back to your feet, dusting your gloves off animatedly. "Let's finish up in here and then head back. Got some work I have to do on the farm too."

Sonic showers weren't the best, but they were all that you knew. Aside from when the rain would billet down during the wet seasons, you didn't know what an actual water shower felt like. Either way, you needed to get the sweat and grime off of you by the end of each day, so you trotted out with your pajamas on and into the Mandalorian. You'd already contacted the Jawas and were getting ready to tuck in for the night when he caught you. "Oof, sorry... I-I didn't hurt your ribs did I?" Your eyes flitted to where his injury was immediately.

"I'm fine," he assured you, large hands butterflied against your sides where he'd caught you from doing too much damage by trolloping right into his chest. Big. His hands were big. So large that they covered your ribs entirely when gripping your sides. They lingered, the skin beneath growing hot and beginning to tingle. Then he removed them, as if he were worried about overstaying his welcome.

Your skin sighed where he released and you glanced up chewing your lip. "Um..." uncertain -- you didn't know where this was going, but why the hell not. What did you have to lose? He was stuck here until his ship was going to be fixed. "Yesterday--"

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have done that," Paz interrupted, launching your heart up into your throat.

"Wha-no, I liked it," you assured him, feeling courageous enough to take his hands in yours. Maker, you looked like a child, holding those large calloused palms in yours. "I... wouldn't mind more. I-i-if that's what you want, of course," you sputtered, cheeks sweltering and ears about to rocket off from the intense embarrassment you felt in suggesting such a thing. It'd been easier before. You could see the faces of your guests, gauge what they were thinking, see the lust in their eyes that you could give right back. They'd never stayed this long, never gotten to know you this well, and... you didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you felt a little horny with him around. But Maker, how was that not possible? He was an absolute unit, pure muscle, easy conversation, and had a voice that shattered your resolve like an earthquake.

"Would I want more?" he repeated slowly and your stomach sunk into the abyss, blood draining from your face. The leap of faith had been in vain and instead of swan diving into water, you'd hit stone. And then suddenly his hands were on your chest, driving the air from your in uncontrolled gasps as he squeezed. "Maker--" he cursed, vocoder breaking up as you almost melted on the spot. "So... you're so mesh'la. Had my eyes on you all day while you were working. You're such... a distraction."

He wasn't rough, despite holding onto your breasts, moving carefully over the fabric as he caressed you. In the past, your chest had been a fixation of other lovers because you were well endowed and you were accustomed to rough squeezing to the point where it was painful. It was almost as if most men just wanted to push them until they popped or just liked the pillowy sensation of squeezing and didn't care much for how it felt for you. They were bloody sensitive and you didn't appreciate them being manhandled -- except for right now, right now was good. Better than good in fact.

"Distraction? I'm the one doing all the work," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he palmed you and rubbed circles over your breasts, the nipples stiffening beneath the fabric and dimpling it. "While you just... just sit there."

"I'm still hurt," he didn't sound very convincing, maybe that wasn't the point.

"Too hurt to be doing anything too... arduous," you pointed out, humming as he gave another gentle squeeze. "Last night did you-- I sort of just--" passed out. Say it. You passed out and left him there with an erection. That couldn't have been too pleasant. To top it off with a cherry, he'd put you to bed with clothes on.

"I took care of things, mesh'la. You left me with some... good visuals," his thumb was circling your nipple, still separated by your shirt, the careful flicking making you shudder. Your entire body was reacting, legs weak and the same radiating heat vibrating between your thighs.

"Bu-ut it couldn't have been that great. N-not like..." you fell off, head lolling slightly as his hands flipped the hem of your shirt and began cruising the plane of your tummy, scratching its way to your breast. A hot palm met skin, a low moan echoing as he grasped you firmly, but not too hard.

"Stars, you're so soft," he murmured, pushing the shirt up -- higher and higher until your breasts were revealed to the air. "Maker, look at you."

The praise made your thighs clench together. They didn't usually talk. Not as much as Paz was, which was somewhat ironic considering he had a helmet on and was a mysterious Mandalorian and yet he filled your ears up as he roamed you. No, it was all typically rushed, frenzied, and to sate both parties. Honestly, the sate part was just the rutting, having to take your own hands to your clit while your past lovers plowed into you. There was no copious foreplay aside from a little making out and breast squeezing and while they'd called you pretty, it never really felt the same as the way as Paz's voice. The way in which he was breathy, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and that you'd been put on the planet delicately by the Maker himself. It made your heart rush, galloping forward, and it made you want him more.

"Le-let me," you found your hands, having been savoring his exploring before brushing the hem of his trousers. You had felt him, sort of, yesterday but you didn't actually know what was beneath the belt. From how tall and broad he was, you had an assumption of what was there. "Y-you're still hurt, s-so..." pitifully tinny, your voice was sliding away as you offered to give him something in exchange for what he'd done for you.

"Mesh'la... I-you have already done so much-" he protested.

"But yesterday--" you were whining now, hand coasting down more until you cupped his groin, feeling his length twitch. He was already hard. You weren't even undressed and he was already rock solid. "It'll feel better this way."

"Is... is that what you want?"

You nod, waiting for permission.

He couldn't say no. Not while your palm was between his legs and you were staring up at him with big, round, imploring eyes. In fact, he didn't think he could possibly deny you anything, removing his hands, the shirt falling back down over your spectacular chest. "I-Yes," he confirmed, drawing a shaking breath which made his ribs ache.

You undid the belt buckle, hands scrambling slightly from nerves before undoing the buttons. Coming down on your knees didn't really work, there was still too much of a height difference, forcing you to half-crouch as your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his boxes and untucked his manhood. Now it was your turn to be wordless. You had expected it, but expecting and witnessing were two very different things. He was massive, just the sight of him making your core twitch painfully, imagining trying to accommodate him, doubting that he'd even be able to fully sheath himself in you without pushing into your tummy. If he could even get in.

Ok, so when you had offered to do this you thought he would fit in your mouth. Doubt welled in your stomach and he must have noticed as you stared down his cock, brushing a hand over your loose hair. "You don't have to-" he soothed. But the challenge spurned you on, undaunted and a little over zealous to be honest.

"You'll tell me... what you like?" you had just flattened your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, licking like a kitten, lathing him before you'd attempt to take more.

His thighs shook and he gave a terse nod.

You weren't extremely experienced in this field. Just enough that you knew now not to bite someone. But this wasn't just 'someone'. You liked Paz a lot and wanted it to feel good for him. To chase away the pain in his chest and to show how much you appreciated what he'd done for you. Guys liked blowjobs, didn't they? That's why they were requested so much, you just assumed that he'd like it all the same, and honestly you wanted to become more intimate with his cock after feeling it pressed beneath your leg.

You ran your tongue along his shaft, trailing back around before leaving saliva. Your hand smoothed the wetness over him, pumping a few times over his length to help lubricate him. Then you made your first attempt, tongue over your lips as you pushed his girth into the damp chasm of your mouth. He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, which gave you the courage to take him deeper. The head of his cock met the resistance of the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering and jaw aching. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax your throat-" he managed gently through tight breaths.

Easier said than done, forgetting to breathe, your throat clenching, you were forced to pull away for a moment.

Spittle trailed down your plush lips, cheeks flushed wildly as you considered your next approach. You were a sight for sore eyes, Paz's own glued to you as you gasped for air. You'd bitten off more than you could chew, but he admired your undaunted commitment as you sank back onto him and closed your eyes, clutching onto his leg for balance. This time, you were able to take his guidance better, breathing through your nose before easing your throat. Your mouth was small, tight, and damp. With the accommodation of the back of your throat, Paz's hips bucked and a strangled moan crackled through the modulator.

"G-good. Fuck -- so good, mesh'la," he praised, beginning to move in tandem with you, fucking deeply into your throat. Your face was hot and wet, tears leaking out from your eyes at the sensation of your throat being stretched. The noises were wet and sloppy, punctuated by sharp hums as you tried to do well, to do what he wanted, to keep going -- but Maker, it hurt. Your attention was fixated completely on pleasing him, forgetting entirely about your own climbing heat, just trying not to clench your throat or forget to breathe through your nose. Then you dared it, reaching up and grabbing his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as he pushed into you. "Ahh- oh, fuck-- I'm going to cum. Do you want me to--"

You managed the smallest nod, squeezing him tighter as his thrusts rocked you, shattering almost all your resolve as you gagged. Ropes of cum splattered in the back of your throat, your lips suctioning to him as he stuttered to a halt, palm on the back of your head. His skin was like velvet on your tongue, slightly salty, but smooth and soft. Lavishing the last drops from his cock like precious water from the desert. In fact, it was more precious than water, more rare.

"Mesh'la... ohh," he keened softly, his hand spreading over your hair, petting you, brushing the curls from your face - which was wet with spilled tears, saliva, and a little cum. Releasing him from your sweet mouth, he brushed the white droplets from the corner of your lips, which you sucked off after it being offered. "W-what did I do?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You tried to talk, but your voice crackled in the back of your throat, so hoarse and quiet that you simply shut your mouth and blinked. Oh fuck. Had he broken your vocal chords? Panic began to seize you and you clutched his leg and offered a very broken, "UhhhmmMm."

He bent down, cupping your face, holding it between his palms as he took a good look at you. "I was a little too rough, wasn't I?"

"S'okay," fuck that hurt. Hurt to talk. Least you still had a voice.

"What do you want? Do you want me to--" His helmet was so close, almost brushing your nose as he looked at you. For a brief moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his eyes. What color were they? Brown? Green? Hazel? Maybe blue?

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. That had literally taken everything out of you and you just wanted a cold glass of water and to curl up in bed. "Water. Sleep?..." you had to swallow again, struggling to get the words out. "W-with you?"

"Just... that?"

Oh no, had you chosen wrong? Did he really want to play with you? Honestly, you were good. Just making him finish had been enough for you. Your legs and throat ached, it had been a long day. You offered a dejected nod. No one ever really cuddled with you and you assumed that he'd be warm, comfortable, and feel like a blanket of protection. You wanted to feel that, even if only just once. Having sex wasn't as important as this to you. Sure, sex with him would probably be amazing, but you didn't want to overexert him because you were being greedy. Despite getting it infrequently, you'd never gotten a good cuddle. Not since you were a little girl and curled up in your parents' arms.

"Ok, ok, mesh'la," he agreed, smoothing your hair again before pushing his helmet to your brow. The gesture lit your cheeks up and felt... strangely intimate. Cool beskar kissing your sweating skin, chasing away the sweltering blush and just a thin layer between you and the Mandalorian. It felt like a kiss, but it wasn't. So gentle and tender that you let it linger and closed your eyes. "C'mon, it's been a long day," he muttered, gripping you beneath your elbow and guiding you to your feet. Your bed was just a few paces away and you were already dressed for it.

Who would have thought that a Mandalorian could be this... kind? From all the stories you'd heard, you had half-expected him to be a broody tin can that barely offered you the time of day. But there was a man underneath, a man who had desires, who had feelings, and who could be delicate. He wasn't all blasterfire, beskar, and war -- he was still a man.

He put you into bed, leaving the room for a moment to get a glass of water. You smiled at his return, accepting the offered water, and gulping it down. Your throat ailed and your jaw was already beginning to groan in protest. But the water helped. Putting it down on the nightstand, the Mandalorian removed his boots and climbed into bed with you, just trousers and an undershirt. Offering an open arm, his impressive bicep being revealed from beneath the short sleeve of his shirt.

You snuggled forward, heart pounding solidly in your ears as you tucked into his side. Maker, you loved this, the way his arm coiled around you, planting against the small of your back before tugging you in tightly. It wasn't as if you didn't feel safe in your home, you always did, but this was different. You trembled slightly because you'd yearned for this proximity, not just a rush of passion, but what came after and the security of him. From the strength of his muscles, to heat of his skin to yours, and the smell of him so close. This is what had been missing. The last piece to the puzzle that was home, the rut in your belly and soul curling pleasantly as you melted into him. Please never end. But you knew morning would come and one day he'd have to leave like everyone else. And you knew that day would be soul shattering. Because once again, you'd be alone.

#paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla smut #smut with plot #smut with feelings #star-burned

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pandemilkbread · 4 years ago

Text

abashed ✩

eyes like sinking ships on waters

ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ✩ masterlist

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It was something that crept up so slowly it left Todoroki unaware, but he thought that was the best kind of love; one so natural you don't even notice.

[ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴢ’s ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs]

warnings: suggestive themes of smut, though only detailed at the last parts. read at your own discretion. not really smutty tho...

author’s note: i promised to upload this earlier, whoops, i apologize. hehe

ⓐ — ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ

ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ:

/əˈbaSHt/

adjective

embarrassed, disconcerted, or ashamed.

Warmth.

Warmth was the ray of light shining through the gray-like curtains at the peak of dawn, the heat amassed within the heavy blankets that covered skin, the hotness of pillows from where your touch lingered and left, with all the toss and turning in between; the very definition of warmth described the comfortable heat radiating from the arm wrapped around your stomach like a safeguard—

Cold.

Cold was the sweat dribbling down your forehead in sheer panic, the chilly breeze that encased your body as you quickly ripped the blankets off, the freezing temperature of the tiled floor immediately upon falling on your bare bottom soon after, cold and empty was your mind, connecting the images of what transpired the previous day— or night rather.

All you picked up were bits and pieces: bright lights, booming music, the smell of strong alcohol, a pop of a balloon… ‘Ah, yes.’ You thought, hesitantly. ‘The birthday party.’ Who knew an adult as yourself, who had the alcohol tolerance of a Viking from the late eighth century, could flat out collapse from drinking too much.

And God you wanted to throw up.

Besides wanting to spill out your guts onto the crystal clear floor—you cringed at the thought of whoever was supposed to clean the mess after, if you chose to do so anyway—there was a direr issue to address; which was… knowing where the hell you were, and who you were with.

You slightly inched yourself onto your knees and peered back at the comfortable blue sheets where he laid, fast asleep. Surprisingly, your fumbling did not wake the sleeping man. You assumed as much as you were knocked out from the liquor, he was in a similar state as well.

Sighing, you pulled yourself up only to be met with a painful ache on your upper thighs, forcing you to stumble on your backside. You hissed. ‘What in the world?’ Squinting at the dark splotches on your skin that darted from your lower thighs up until your upper stomach, a small part of you believed there were more sprinkled on your chest and neck. It forced one notion down your thick skull.

First, you were naked. The bareness of your skin provided neither protection from the cold breeze coming from the air conditioner, nor the heat radiating from your cheeks in embarrassment. The pain from earlier, and the bruises that enveloped your skin were two of the many testimonies of your late night endeavor.

You groaned. In truth, you weren’t the type of person to be hooking up with a stranger, no— scratch that, you were never the type of person to be having sex at all, and with a stranger nonetheless. Frankly, the only time you were close to doing the deed was with your boyfriend of a year and a half, whom you broke up with months ago, and it did not end well.

Let’s just say, he had a ‘technical difficulty’ with putting on a simple condom; leaving the touch starved you, furious as he suggested to do it otherwise without it. And the night was cut short. ‘A great night forever encased into my memories.’ You mused.

Back to the crisis at hand, your eyes shifted to the human unconscious on the bed, the sound of small breaths reached your ears. You prompted yourself onto your knees then leaned your upper body on the bed, a small blush dusted your cheeks as you glanced at the man.

‘Great.’ You breathed. Over 126 million people in Japan and you slept with the one person you’d rather not see again.

Your fingers gently swiped the strands of red hair covering his closed eyes. Breathtaking. Even while asleep he managed to send your heart into a frenzy, and brought shivers down your spine, and reignited the little speck of hope you had left, one you thought had blown out years ago, only to reemerge stronger than ever.

Oh, god, you hated hope.

You propped your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you continued to play around with his hair. A part of you hoped the beautiful stranger, not-so unfamiliar anymore, woke from his slumber— a sort of wakeup call and signal for you to get going. Another, cruel part, wanted him to stay asleep, a somewhat impossible wish; and you wished, you really wished, this was a dream.

If it was one, please, please, please, you wanted to crawl back under the covers, just for a few minutes.

You pinched yourself.

Once, then twice, then thrice.

Maybe seventh times a charm?

You massaged your temples. If it were a dream, you would have awaken by now. Then, you were not in a dream, and this was real. And if it was real… you can afford to be a little selfish. So you sat up from your spot and leaned forward, brushing your lips against the top of his forehead.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

Loud enough to satisfy your wants, but as quiet as the passing breeze, rendering it nonexistent.

You could always shuffle back into the sheets, you know you wanted to; bask in the warmth of the bed, so soft and cozy; pretend reality did not exist, yes, in another life this apartment was your home; and the notion of walking in shame was all fiction, you were abashed.

You sighed, sounding more like a mix of a hiss and a groan.

It was time to go. There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens. Simply, you are an adult. Yet, the years of being humbled at college, forcibly awoken by the harsh realities of adulthood, and the gruesome jobs at the hospital— could not diminish your fairytale dreams and hopes, by now reverted back into one intense form.

Your high school crush on the one and only, Todoroki Shouto.

Something that had shrunk to the size of a pea, had somewhat grown into a bowling ball, all in the span of ten minutes and by all means, it would continue to grow bigger. You were sure of it. The plausible solution?

Running out while you still had your mind, heart, and spirit intact. Oh, yes. The very same went for your embarrassment and shame: behold, the little youngling had initiated her very first hook-up for all the world to see! ‘Technically anyone awake by seven’ you presumed by looking at the light from outside.

Grabbing your discarded clothes, you walked to a room, closer to a closet than an actual bathroom, and put them on. Now that you were fully dressed, the whole idea of sleeping with your high school crush was unbelievable.

A prank? You rolled your eyes. No one would go that far to prank someone as unimportant as you.

…Would they, though?

Your mind wandered back to the mix of silver and red asleep in the bedroom. Was he the type of person to sleep around with anyone he wanted?

He can, though. You thought. Then again. He did not seem like the type to do so.

You ruffled your hair in front of the mirror, sliding your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth out the tangles.

Is it possible? Perhaps you never slept with him in the first place? Maybe, your lower pain was the symptoms of a forthcoming period, or maybe the bruises on your skin were the scars of an epic battle fight sequence in the bar, or maybe the person sleeping on the bed was never Todoroki Shouto and you were delusional.

Putting it that way, the lame excuses sounded more ridiculous than reasonable.

The door opened with a click, and you winced at the sound, your fingers quickly twisted the knob to prevent any more unnecessary noise. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced at the person laying on the bed. For someone considered one of the nation’s top heroes, Todoroki slept pretty peacefully while a stranger used his room to her volition.

What if I was a villain, hm? You grumbled. One slit to the throat and you’d be a goner.

The exact moment you thought about assassinating (not that you would actually do it, you were a hospital resident for heaven’s sake!) the peppermint boy stirred in his spot, forcing you to freeze. The blankets shifted downwards to reveal the bare skin of his chest, littered with splotches of dark blue, and you gaped.

His neckline gleamed with love bites, his collar taking the brunt of all the kisses, and the chest area had a trail of kisses all the way down to his lower stomach, where the blanket laid comfortably— ‘did I do that?’ you breathed.

This close, you were this close to pulling all your hair out in frustration. Last night must have been the best night of your life and you couldn’t remember a thing! The whole thing was unfair!

You shook your head. No time to dwell, time to go! And go you must before the object of all your teenage fantasies woke up. Eyes scanned the room for the last item of your possessions, the shoes you wore.

You scoured under the gray sofa to the side of the bed, then softly shifted the blanket on the floor, it was not in the bathroom where you changed, the carpet showed no sign of the footwear, and you remembered really wearing shoes to the party. ‘So, where is it?’

After searching for what seemed like twenty minutes, you plopped down on your knees in front of the bed. ‘Maybe Todoroki knows where it is?’ A stupid suggestion, why would a sleeping man know the location of your shoes? He was not psychic; and if you did not know the place, how on Earth would he know?

But that did not stop you from asking either.

“Good morning, dear. Happen to know where my shoes are?” You joked.

It was barely a whisper, a joke for your ears only; a gag really to soothe yourself during moments of distress. He was not supposed to reply, you weren’t expecting a reaction either, so you slumped. If you could handle three back to back shifts at the hospital without a break, you can handle walking out of this damned apartment without shoes.

By the shine of the bright light outside, and knowing it was a Sunday morning, there should not be a lot people to gawk at your unruly appearance. If you were lucky enough to hail a taxi in three minutes, all before the early joggers on the street gushed about your lack of footwear, you would be safe from the impending embarrassment.

Maybe, you could take a pair of slippers from the apartment? The hero will never know, and if he did, what kind of rich hero would search far and wide for a woman who stole his flip-flops? It was just some slippers! ‘All right, do it!’ You dared.

Just as you were about to stand up, a warm arm reached for your neck— the base of his palm wrapped around the back of your head, compelling your chest to rest on top of the bed. Mismatched eyes of gray and turquoise stared back at you—your stomach jumped, and you gulped, God was it that hot in here?— rather groggily, the corner of his lips smirked.

“Have you tried the shoe rack outside?” Todoroki murmured.

One blink, two blinks, three blinks. You hissed in realization. ‘Of course! Who brings their shoes inside?’ You had to be the dumbest drunk to have ever lived, you weren’t drunk right now per se, but, the alcohol must have done something to your brain. It was strong enough to make you forget simple Japanese customs, you wanted to smack your skull.

Eyes peeping at the man, you diverted your gaze sheepishly, the intense stare he had made you bashful, slightly making your insides churn and almost making you a spluttering mess. You glanced back at Todoroki, and tilted your head.

“W-Were you awake this whole time? I-I thought I saw you move…” You admitted.

He loosened his grip on your neck and rested his palm on your shoulder. “You were not exactly quiet,” he then traced tiny circles on your collar. “Falling off the bed…must have hurt, are you all right?”

Your face swiftly turned three shades darker. ‘He was awake!’ The moment you woke up in shock and slammed your bare ass on the floor, he was awake! ‘Naturally! He’s a god damned hero!’ Obviously, who wouldn’t stir awake from the loud smacking sound, and your cry of pain?

You squinted at the smirk on the corner of his lips. ‘He’s teasing you!’ He was awake this whole time… then, he must have felt your lips on his forehead, and heard the ‘good morning’, and the fumbling for your shoes, and the swipe of your fingers, and you playing with his hair, and everything else!

How was it possible to be this abashed? Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire, oh fuck, it had to do with his stupid little smirk, his stupid intense gaze, his stupid hold on you as if you meant something to him like—like you meant the world to him.

Oh, how your stomach kneaded at the thought.

“I’m… fine.” You snatched his hand and placed it on the bed.

By the way he looked at you, you reasoned out he was waiting for something. Gratitude for the night before sounds way too conceited, he did not seem like a narcissist. An apology for taking too much of his time and space sounded too sad, your heart ached and hearing him jab it with regrets would hurt.

What else was there to remember? God, did you puke into his suit, or clothes, did he want you to pay for his dry cleaning? You cringed, goodbye self-esteem.

“…I’ve never done this thing before, you know?” You spoke. “Ah, I don’t really know what happens the morning after…” Blushing, you pinched your fingers, a nervous habit. “I’ve… I mean… I watch those shows and… I know someone has to walk out after and seeing this isn’t my room, I have to walk out. Yes. Me.”

His face contorted, confused. “Why do you have to walk out?”

The whole purpose of walking out was to signify the end of a session, like you would tell him that. Basically, the room was unfamiliar territory, therefore, not your apartment. Who else would walk out if not you?

“This,” you gestured the room, “is your apartment. Not mine. Why would you walk out of your own apartment?”

“Yes, I know.” Todoroki said, matter-of-factly. “But, why?”

“What do you mean ‘but, why?’ Why? Me… and you… we aren’t even a thing! We just happened to—“ You pointed. “You! This is all your fault! If you just pretended to sleep and continue doing it, we wouldn’t have this awkward exchange in the first place!”

“You asked where your shoes were.”

“I didn’t actually think you were going to reply!”

He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms. You heard the sound of a crack followed by a soft groan, and his feet perched on the ground, right in front of where you stood. The sleepy man placed his chin on his closed fist, while his elbow laid on the top of his now crossed legs.

Todoroki sighed. “You did not answer the question. Why do you want to leave?”

There were a hundred reasons to leave. He was a top hero, a celebrity in the eyes of his followers, an untouchable God by his multitude of fangirls. You believed it was impossible to stay with someone like him, your ego would not allow it.

A part of you was scared. If you stayed, the chances of talking about what happened increases. Staying meant realizing you really slept with him, and in a way reconfirmed your feelings that you might actually stand a chance. Maybe your feelings were worth it, maybe he would give you a chance, and maybe your impossible love was never impossible at all, maybe—

“It’s— It’s… not proper…” You conceded. “You’re… you! And I’m me! I barely even know you and in all honesty… I don’t really remember what happened last night. I’m sorry, it’s better if we pretend this never happened.”

He paused for a while before answering. “Why? Do you hate it that much? Do you want to talk about it?”

You clenched your hands. It was infuriating how easily his words planted fantasies into your head. The way he phrased the sentence drove an idea down your throat. ‘Did he want you to stay?’

“The thing is… I don’t remember. Do you?” You replied.

“Of course…” He took a quick glance at your face, almost looking for something, before staring back at the curtains. “Are you married?”

‘Married? Married!’ You gaped. You could not begin to comprehend why he asked such a question. Did he think you were running away because you had someone waiting at home for you? Or did he ask because he tied the knot with someone else? God… did you sleep with a married man?

You don’t recall him being married. “No! I don’t have a ring on my finger…”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He added.

Oh, you breathed. Was that the reason why? Was he asking all these things because he felt inclined to know whether the woman he slept with had someone waiting for her at home? He was minimizing the potential of a possible scandal. You sunk at the thought. “Ah, I did… But that was months ago.”

Do all hook ups have these morning questionnaire sessions? Or was this a top hero only session, to reduce the possibility of a hot and spicy front page article on the tabloid? Oh, maybe he felt guilty. You glimpsed at the man, his eyes closed in ponder.

You were never one to snitch, and something like this was a secret that would never leave your lips, until, well… you were six feet down under. You deflated yet again, presuming after his barrage of questions, he would send you out the front door.

“If it is not because you are married, not because you are taken, not because I did something wrong…” He began. “Then… stay.” His arms wrapped around your waist, while he leaned his forehead on your stomach.

Faint, you were going to faint. You heard it right, didn’t you? He said ‘stay’, not ‘leave and never come back,’ not ‘forget this, go,’ not ‘get away,’ he told you to stay. You died and went to heaven, didn’t you? Was it possible for someone like him to want you? Even if it was just for a moment, you wanted to succumb to the feeling of being loved.

Your face heated up, and your hands unconsciously reached for his head, dragging your fingers slowly between the locks of his hair. “…Are you this touchy with all the girls you sleep with?”

Right off the bat you tested the waters, almost grimacing at the implications. Why you formulated such a simple sentence into something with a double meaning, you never knew.

“No. Just you.”

Great. The issues with double ended questions. What did ‘just you’ mean? Did he sleep with a lot of women, and you were the only one he cuddled with so far? Did it mean something else? You had to pry further, not that it mattered whether he slept with other people.

“So… do you sleep with people this often or…?”

He scowled. “What makes you think I take anyone I see to bed?” Todoroki swiftly twisted you around, facing your back, and pulled your body to his lap. “…Only you.” He mumbled.

Ah, you instantly felt relieved. Though, the reassurance only managed to disorient you even further. What happened at the bar? What conversations happened during the hours of the party? What did you say to make him interested? Was he really interested? Maybe, by the way he was holding you right now, his body language proved he was.

Your stomach stirred at the close contact, pulse racing as he settled one hand on your thigh while the other swaddled your waist. “…Do you really not remember?”

You wanted to recall as well. “I don’t… sorry.”

He sighed in defeat. “All right.”

His breaths caressed the back of your neck, sending goosebumps all over your body. You shook your head and forced yourself to breathe, breathe in, and out, in and out, in and— were you being cuddled by the Todoroki Shouto on his fucking bed, why me? Out of all the women in this world, Japan rather, why would he be wrapping his warm arms around you— breathe out!

Everything was so confusing, so perplexing, so—a prank! ‘Ha ha ha, good job everyone!’ You mused. ‘Time to reveal yourselves, you assholes!’ Your list of ‘bastards who pissed you off for a living’ had hundreds of guys. The idiot from work, the bartender near your apartment, your next door neighbor who played rock music at 3 in the morning, stupid Monoma who fucked around at the hospital.

You sighed. One more time, one more phrase of reassurance. Just one more. And you’ll stop asking.

“Hey, hey… Todoroki?” You nudged him with your head, gently. You heard a soft ‘hm’ and continued. "Are you really Todoroki?”

He paused. “…Shouto.”

“I know who you are,” You hummed, a smile flickering your features. “I mean, is it really you? You’re like this… cool hero. A celebrity, really. And I’m just… sitting on your lap, in your room, in your apartment, wherever this place is.”

His grip tightened on your waist. “Who else would I be?”

“Monoma trying to fuck around and fuck up my feelings.”

“Ah, trust me, princess. I would not let that happen.” His so soft voice, sent shivers down your spine. “…Do you really not remember?”

Knock out! He called you ‘princess’, princess, princessprincessprincess. Such an endearing word for a stranger, oh but you love it so. You took a double take, the word was very familiar. Very familiar. It was difficult to pin point a certain time or place, but…

You pinched his ear. “Why do you keep asking? Was it that good that you can’t stop talking about…?”

“We talked about this right before I took you to bed and you—“

“You know what,” You spluttered. “Never mind! Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

The tips of your own ears tinged red, you could feel the heat. Learning more of what happened last night made you squirm, …it will flow back eventually. You hoped. Learning about it from the man himself made you embarrassed, super embarrassed. Knowing he was the type to be nonchalant about everything, he might describe the whole night without any reservations.

Feeling braver, you wiggled yourself into a position that had your legs wrapped around his waist and your head rested on the crook of his neck. Cloud nine, you sighed. This is what cloud nine feels like.

You closed your eyes and listened to the beats of his heart, the rhythm pulling you quicker and quicker into the sensation of sleep. As long as the man himself told you to stay, you shall indeed stay, God, you wanted to stay.

Eyes moving under your lids, one memory emerged— and boy did it send your heart tumbling. You yelped in reaction, eyelids immediately snapping open.

“Hm?” Todoroki asked, certainly with a teasing tone. A fraction of smirk was displayed on his lips. He had sort of an inkling of what happened.

“Nothing, nothing.” You deflected, snuggling your head back into the crook of his shoulder, a way to hide your forthcoming blush.

Warmth was his breath on your neck, trailing kisses down your collarbone, as his teeth lightly nipped the base of your throat. Your head blanked at the pleasure, the heat, the excitement— and only he, calling your name pulled you out of your drunken stupor, though the words he muttered afterwards sent you into a crying mess.

“…I love you.”

#todoroki shouto #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha todoroki #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #shouto x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #eyes like sinking ships on waters #todoroki shouto x you

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cornfields-and-bad-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

All the kings men

@sorcererinslytherin asked for more Geoff,Gavin,Michael content so I decided to dive a little deeper into the kidnapping scene from this piece.

Summary: A look at events from Michael and Gavin’s points of view.

Word count: 1,622

Warnings: Mention of blood and violence.

Rating: PG-13

It was Lad's Night, and the boys were having fun. Michael, Gavin, and Jeremy were enjoying themselves at some little bar tucked away in an alley, the bartender didn't seem to mind their rowdy behavior as long as the money kept coming, and the other's in the bar seemed to know not to start anything with them. It was a perfect night, unfortunately, good times don't last forever.

Jeremy had called it quits shortly before midnight while Michael and Gavin decided to wait until the last call. Once last call came and went the two men were left to drunkenly make their way home, leaning on each other for support the duo stumbled their way down the street. All of a sudden a dark van pulled up beside them, the side door swinging open to reveal a small group of men. Jumping out the men lunged for Michael and Gavin. Being outnumbered, and highly inebriated the two lads were quickly subdued. The last thing either of them remembered was the interior of the van.

Michael was the first to wake up, his head ached and the lights overhead hurt his eyes, he tried raising his arm to shield himself but quickly found that he was bound to a chair.

"I think you'll find my men did a thorough job of tying you up." A voice called out from behind him.

A man soon appeared before Michael, he was a greasy looking man, older with thinning hair and a rounded gut. He reminded Michael of an old Marlon Brando. A cigar managed to hang from his lips even as he spoke.

"You and your friend have been out for a while now." Suddenly Michael could hear his phone ringing, the man laughed. "Your boss is getting worried, he and your other compatriots have been trying to reach you two."

Behind him, Michael could hear Gavin begin to stir.

"Oh, looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake."

Gavin mumbled a bit as he tried to move, but soon enough he came to the realization of what was going on.

"Michael boy, I think we're in deep trouble."

"You don't know the half of it." Another voice called out from somewhere in front of Gavin.

A tall man in a black turtleneck leaned against a table, on the table was an array of weapons and other implements of torture. The man smiled menacingly at Gavin. Standing up straight he came around the table, picking up a blade, and made his way towards the two men.

"Mr. Cunningham has given me permission to work my magic on you two." He twirled the blade in his hand.

Gavin pulled at his restraints.

"Gavin? What's going on? I can't see." Michael asked frantically.

"What's going on is that Tucker here." Mr. Cunningham gestured to the other man "Is going to have a little fun with you before the real work begins."

Tucker ran the blade across Gavin's cheek, cutting into the skin ever so slightly making him wince, and made his way around in front of Michael. Pushing the blade into his arm he quickly pulled it away leaving a shallow cut, a short yelp of pain escaped Michael's lips.

"What do you want from us?" Michael glared at Mr. Cunningham.

"It's not what I want from you, it's what I want from your boss. You two are just leverage." The man chuckled, turning to leave he stopped and looked back a final time. "Remember Tucker, I need them alive. Otherwise, do what you want to them."

"With pleasure sir."

It was nearly 6 am when Mr. Cunningham returned, Michael and Gavin looked rough, they'd be cut, stabbed, burned, and much more. Their clothes were torn and they both had trouble keeping their heads up, let alone their eyes open. Their breath was ragged and wheezy, blood, sweat, and tears stained their bodies. The two had clearly been through hell, meanwhile, Tucker stood nearby calmly watching with a sickening smile on his face.

"Now," Mr. Cunningham began, "I think it's time we called your boss."

Using Michael's phone the older man made the call. Michael and Gavin could faintly hear Geoff's voice, the two perked up, Mr. Cunningham just laughed.

"You can call me Mr. Cunningham. You've probably figured this out by now, but I have something of yours, two somethings to be exact. Say hello boys." He held out the phone in the direction of Michael and Gavin.

"Geoff, Geoff help! Please for the love of god!"

"Help, help us! Please Geoff hurry!"

The two yelled over each other.

Mr. Cunningham spoke into the phone once again.

"Oh Mr. Ramsey, you're not the one with the upper hand here, you don't get to make demands. If you want your boy's back you're gonna have to do as I tell you, or else."

The man pulled a gun from his belt and aimed at Gavin's foot, pulling the trigger Gavin cried out in pain.

"Fuck you, goddammit you asshole, you're gonna pay for this." Michael thrashed about a new wave of fight surging in him.

Mr. Cunningham scoffed and turned away from the men, disappearing through a door as he discussed ransom demands with Geoff.

"You really think your boss is gonna come for you?" Tucker laughed.

"What are you on about?" Gavin questioned.

"Do you really expect him to care? From what I hear you two haven't been on the payroll very long, just a month or two. In this business, you can't afford to care about guys like you."

"Guys like us? What the hell does that mean?" Micheal demanded.

"Grunts, henchmen, nobodies. You're not special, you're just an employee, you're replaceable."

With that Tucker walked out the same way Cunningham had gone.

"You don't think he's right, do you, Michael?"

"No, no Geoff will come for us. I'm sure he will." Michael wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, Gavin, or himself.

Michael and Gavin sat alone in the room they'd woken up in for a long time, they were tired and exhausted from torture and the sheer mental toll of it all. The men weren't sure how long they'd been sitting there, their best guess being four hours, their hope was dwindling. All of a sudden one of the doors burst open. At first, the two men thought it was Mr. Cunningham or possibly that Tucker guy. But quickly it was discovered to be Geoff, Jeremy, and Alfredo.

"Michael, Gavin!" Geoff rushed toward them the other two following behind scanning the area.

"Geoff, thank god." Micheal exhaled.

"Took you long enough." Gavin joked weakly.

"Jesus Christ, what did he do to you?" Geoff slowed down as he approached the two men, checking them over as he reached out hesitantly. Geoff cupped Michael's face gently, tilting it up to get a better look. Michael winced, causing Geoff to pull back.

"The place is clear." Jeremy came up behind Geoff, who turned to look at him and Alfredo.

"Radio Jack to pull up close, then help me get them untied. And be careful, they're in bad shape."

As carefully as they could the three men freed Michael and Gavin from their restraints. Gavin had completely passed out by the time he'd been freed so Geoff carried him out while Alfredo and Jeremy helped Michael to walk. Getting the two men into Jack's car, they took off for the penthouse where a private medical crew was waiting.

Both Michael and Gavin were out for the rest of the day, their wounds were treated and pain killers had been administered. Geoff stayed close to both the men as they rested in bed, late into the night even when Jack urged him to sleep he remained.

Gavin was the first to stir this time, waking up early the next morning to find Geoff asleep between the two beds that had been set up for him and Michael.

"Geoff?" His voice was hoarse.

At the call of his name, Geoff woke up.

"Huh? Gavin? You're awake. Thank fuck you're awake." He placed a hand over his heart.

"Of course I am, you're not gonna get rid of me that easily." he laughed.

"Don't joke about this, I was really scared I was gonna lose you two."

"It's all in a day's work isn't it?" Gavin seemed genuinely confused.

"I'm still allowed to worry about you, I care a lot about you, Michael, too. I care about everyone in this crew."

"Yeah, but I mean, we're not really special are we? Just some nobodies you found on the street. You could have easily found two new replacements." Gavin's tone was suddenly very sad and dejected. He looked away from Geoff to stare toward the end of his bed.

"Gavin." Geoff took him by the hand, pulling his attention back on him, "I don't know what's got you thinking like that but it's not true. You and Michael are irreplaceable, you're not nobodies you're my friends, more than that even you're like family to me. Everyone in the crew is, no exceptions." Geoff's tone was serious.

"Really?"

"When you and Michael didn't come home, I nearly lost my mind with worry. I didn't know if you were even alive, it nearly made me sick to think something had happened to you. So I don't want to hear you ever doubt you're importance ever again, and if I need to prove it to you I'll do whatever it takes."

"No, Geoff, I-I believe you. You mean a lot to me too." Gavin smiled

"I'm glad."

Geoff stood up and leaned in to give Gavin a kiss on his temple.

"Rest up now, you and Michael have a lot of healing to do."

#fahc #fahc michael #fahc gavin #fahc geoff #Achievement Hunter #writing #my work #fan fic #tw blood #tw violence

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un-cadavre-exquis · 3 years ago

Text

past and forever (arthur/eames)

originally posted to ao3.

Like all good things, it starts in Paris.

It’s late July and they’ve just finished a job; the extractor and architect have both flown off to god-knows-where, and Arthur and Eames (arthurandeames and eamesandarthur) are passing a bottle of vodka between themselves in celebration. Eames thinks vaguely that it might be around three in the morning, but he can’t be bothered to check.

They are sitting on the bedroom floor of Arthur’s ridiculously large flat, and of-fucking-course Arthur owns Parisian real estate in le premier arrondissement, and Arthur is at the moment drunkenly ranting about the superiority of cashmere to merino wool. Eames is struck, as he has been countless times before, with the realization that Arthur is exquisite. He says so, and Arthur frowns petulantly at him but blushes a little all the same.

“I could kill you with my left pinky,” Arthur mutters.

“Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Last-Name-Redacted,” Eames smirks. “Pass the bottle?” Arthur does, fingers lingering the barest fraction of a second too long against Eames’. And Eames thinks, too drunk to stop himself and not drunk enough to forget it in the morning, This is home.

Which perhaps does not bode well for Eames’ psychological well-being, seeing as he has witnessed Arthur kill a man twice his size with a plastic spork. Arthur is, well, Arthur. Half of dreamshare is terrified of him, the other half wants in his extremely well-tailored pants. Arthur, who once lived through his best friend throwing herself off a building and still managed to pull Dominic Cobb out of the deepest pits of despair, Arthur, who is dangerous and deadly and oh-so sharp around the edges. Arthur, who Eames is madly in love with.

(He blazes incandescent and hotter than all hell. So bright that it hurts to look at him sometimes. Red-hot, don’t get too close.)

The thing is, Eames has loved Arthur before dreamshare was anything more than a fleeting idea in the collective minds of the US army. Before he began to hide his youth under bespoke Tom Ford and permanent hair gel, before the Cobol clusterfuck, before the Fischer job. Eames has loved Arthur since the first time he laid eyes on him in a dimly lit bar in Paris, fresh out of some ultra-classified government program, jaded and caustic and looking like he wanted to light a fire and watch the entire world burn to ashes.

Which is to say, Eames has loved Arthur since he first knew how to love. And Arthur has just stopped talking and turns his head and the first strains of daylight filtering through the windows catch his face just so, and he is so beautiful; a modern day Adonis. Drunk and loose and happy, perhaps as happy as he has ever been and ever will be. Eames suddenly can’t breathe; his throat seizes at the ephemerality of this moment— come morning Arthur will yet again be buttoned-up and frowning and hiding his misery behind the barrel of a silenced Beretta 92FS.

And really, it’s okay that Arthur doesn’t love him back and never will. Eames came to terms with that long ago.

It’s October now, and Eames is so alone. Sure, he has Yusuf, who texts him a cat picture everyday, and Ariadne, who calls sometimes to check in on him, but he is so alone. He has not heard from Arthur since that time in Paris, when Eames woke up cold and hungover and in an empty bed. He learned two things during that job: one, that the Russians don’t fuck around when it comes to alcohol, and two, that it’s time for him to let go of Arthur. He’s growing a little too old for unrequited crushes.

(It’s anything but a crush, his love burns a hole straight through his chest and sends fire through his veins.)

So Eames trawls bars and clubs at night, burning through slim, dark-haired boys who absolutely do not look like a certain pointman-criminal-killer-thief. He fucks them and forgets them. None of them are beautifully deadly and none of them carry thirteen different concealed weapons at any given time and none of them are Arthur.

It’s December when Arthur, burning like a goddamn supernova, shows up at the door of the London flat Eames has been staying in for the past month with a brand new bullet hole (Medium caliber, Eames thinks) in his thigh and a deep cut (serrated knife) across his shoulder. He smells like cordite, sickly sweet, and something darker, blood and steel and rage. What can Eames do besides open the door wider to let him in and watch as Arthur wordlessly lowers himself onto Eames’ sofa?

Arthur stays. He stays after his wounds heal, after his scars begin to fade, after he starts to lose the tension in his shoulders and the fury in his eyes. They start to take jobs now, always together, arthurandeames and eamesandarthur once again. Barrel against temple, one, two, pull the trigger. They’re something of a package deal, Rio to London to Tokyo to Paris. The best of the best. You want someone to disappear? Hire Arthur and Eames. You want to steal something? Hire Arthur and Eames.

You want a secret? Well, they are the best at that.

But they spend their days with their veins weighed down by Somnacin and desperate dreams, always looking over their shoulders for angry marks or turncoat clients/extractors/architects.

“How do you feel about a vacation, darling?” Eames asks Arthur, a few months in.

So they stop taking jobs and start to move around, safehouse to safehouse, dropping aliases left and right, but always together.

(They avoid Germany like the plague, though, the polizei are still unreasonably upset over a very small incident that maybe involved a couple bombs. And a helicopter.

And possibly the Prime Minister’s Aston Martin.)

Beaches and forests and skyscrapers at night. And Arthur must know how Eames feels. He never says anything, just smiles that brilliant, beautiful smile and says frighteningly domestic things like could you pick up some milk today? Or we’re out of eggs, want me to buy some more?

It’s agonizing and wondrous and Eames has never been more content, but he can’t help the way he dreams of Arthur and watches him (the line of his throat and the cut of his suits) and still wishes for something more.

(It’s not enough, never enough. In the same room yet worlds apart at the same time.)

It’s July again, and they’re in Mombasa. Yusuf is out on a job, so they’re staying in his flat with his morbidly obese cat. Arthur found a shady off license somewhere in the city, no doubt through his truly impressive criminal connections, and brought back a bottle of vodka. At least Eames thinks it’s vodka; it’s a murky hue and tastes a little like Satan’s asshole.

“Just like old times,” is what Arthur says as he shoves the cat off his lap and cracks the bottle open.

They are on the road to well and truly sloshed when Arthur says, out of nowhere, feigning offhandedness, “You know I’m a little bit in love with you, right?”. Eames chokes on his sip of maybe-vodka, and says, “What?”.

Arthur just smiles (brokenly, he looks fucking shattered, and Eames would do anything to put his pieces back together) and says something along the lines of “I know you don’t feel the same, but I had to tell you. I just- I couldn’t-”. And Eames stops listening about then because, what? Something inside him aches when he processes what Arthur just said, and really, how can Arthur be so oblivious? Eames can only laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that.

Arthur’s face closes off, goes cold and empty; the fire is shielded behind icy eyes. “I see,” he says, and stands up to leave.

“Wait, no,” Eames catches his wrist, still laughing. “You don’t understand, darling. ‘I don’t feel the same way’? Are you- and I mean this in the best possible way- stupid?”

“What the hell do you mean,” Arthur says, feelingly, slumping onto the bed.

“Arthur. Darling. I’m in love with you. Arse over tits in love with you. Have been since, god, well, forever.” Eames says this soberly and very quietly, but it rings deafeningly in the silent room. Arthur’s mouth opens. Closes. The best pointman in the business, assassin and messiah and thief all at once; sharp, collected Arthur, speechless.

“We’re a couple of dumb bastards,” he manages eventually. “You- really…?” Eames doesn’t answer. He stands and steps towards where Arthur is sprawled across the bed. Sits on the edge of the bed. Presses his lips carefully to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, feather-light.

Arthur is the kind of motionless that only comes with years of training, but when Eames’ breath ghosts across his cheek, he reacts, lightning quick. He flips them over, straddles Eames’ waist, and slams their lips together. As far as first kisses go, it’s probably the best Eames has ever had (and ever will have). Hot and dirty and wet, tongues and teeth and teeth and tongues. But it’s undeniably sweet all the same.

And it feels like coming home; they melt into each other, as easy as breathing, like the last puzzle piece fitting into place. Arthurandeames and eamesandarthur.

(Forever, Eames thinks, this will last forever and in the end we’ll go up in flames and die holding hands.

Immortal until death takes us both.)

#YES I KNOW IT'S 2021 AND I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT INCEPTION #time is an illusion #inception #arthur x eames #fic

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venxmedina · 4 years ago

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hellllo family :~) guess who’s baaaack !! it’s chelly, with my sassy little babie venice, whom i love very much and hopefully you do, too !! she’s a fun one to go out with, will flirt with you, takes up dance studio time whenever she can, and isn’t afraid to voice her opinions. i’m so excited to get her back into the swing of things, since i am bringing her back from a smol hiatus !! like this or shoot me a message if you’d like to plot :pleading fc: :~)

— && guests may mistake me as ( camila mendes ), but really i am ( venice medina + cis female + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 3/31/1995 ). i am applying for the ( housekeeper ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 213 ). i should be hired because i am ( charming & witty ), but i can also be ( cunning & dramatic ) at times. personally, i like to ( go shopping, attend dance classes & practice self care ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

okay before this gets waaaay too long lmfao here’s a TL:DR of venice, her pinterest board, and her connection page

venice is a spoiled rich girl who mommy & daddy never really paid much attention to except when it came to succeeding in life and she responded to that by partying and being a wild child tbqh, resulting in her parents cutting her off and forcing her to take on a real job at the malnati. she’s returning after her grandfather passed, which essentially turned into just another instance of her parents controlling her life and not trusting her to take care of herself or the medina family name. she’s resentful of them bc they never rlly believed in her and instead treated her more-so as a pawn to advance their family's position which is a lil dehumanizing as a daughter and she's now determined to prove them wrong and actually make something of herself. her parents put her into ballet classes from such a young age and although most of anything they made her do has mostly been tainted now, dance is the one thing that's stuck and brings her so much joy and purpose so she still takes classes & is in search of a permanent partner to compete with. she’s more than just a pretty lil rich girl, like she does have a heart ( kind of a big one but lowkey tho asdlfj ), but she's also got a bit of an identity crisis now that she's fully on her own and not under the influence of her parents or with the comfort of her brother, and that's ... different. kind of a cold bitch, but she’s charming and sociable and has a good heart but she’s guarded and afraid of getting hurt.

here is her pinterest board & her connection page <3 i’d especially love some hookup buds, a dance partner, childhood enemy, one night stands, fake relationships, fiesty friends, frenemies, and just about anything tbh :~)

tw: drugs & alcohol mention, neglect, death

*:･ﾟ･✧･ who am i?: the medina family fortune was founded during the gold rush era in which the family immigrated from brazil and were talented metal-workers who could turn such raw materials into works of sheer beauty. jewelry, picture frames, gold plated toilet seats and architectural elements alike - everyone in hollywood wanted something made by the medinas. their prominence never weaned, either. throughout the decades, the family fortune has amassed well beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and therefore money is barely to be considered to the medinas despite them still understanding the value of a dollar earned. given the diversity in which the wealth is spread, and the investments that it has been used to make, it is obvious that they are a family of considerable wealth making up the upper class. their high-rise in the upper east side really says it all. this was the world that venice was introduced to, and quite frankly, it was all she had ever known. her guarded building was as much as she was allowed to venture out into for many a year, where the doorman was a babysitter and mrs. winters’ dog a few floors down was a friend. of course, there were a few other kids in her building whose parents were either fond or jealous of the medinas, so until she went to school venice did get to socialize with kids her own age too. her older brother, lucca, was one of her biggest saving graces. he was one of the only people in her life that truly gave her the time of day, and as much as it pained venice to be constantly overlooked by her parents in favor of lucca, he was her best friend. for all intents and purposes, he was the only medina who made her feel like she even had a family, and if there's anyone she's more loyal to than anyone else, it'd him. but per her education, venice attended private schools in the city throughout her life, even being tutored by some of the most highly reputable and paid retired teachers in the entire state for extra attention. getting a proper education was more important to her parents than it was to venice, so she put in the minimal effort needed. it wasn’t as if she was ever going to be given a failing grade, and it wasn't as though an A on a paper was going to garner her parents' attention for long ( if at all - it was what was expected of her ). the girl knew of her influence and the power her family held from an early age. whatever she wanted, she got, and that was the precedent that had been set from infancy. whatever would get her to stop whining, that’s what she got.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ attention to detail: half of the battle for venice, though, throughout her life, was garnering her parent’s attention. her father was a proven, accomplished businessman who was often out of the state or city to tend to whatever firm needed his attention. her mother was a socialite who was more concerned with keeping up the image of a perfect household than actually tending to one. it wasn’t that there was a lack of love for her, from her parents, it was just rather that care was seldom expressed when venice so desperately needed it. she had spent more time with nannies and tutors and tennis instructors than she did her own parents, and that left a vacancy in her heart. naturally, her relationship with her brother was one that she worked on every day; they were thick as thieves and everyone knew the medina siblings. but, she couldn't follow her brother all day for the rest of her life, and as much as his love helped fill some of those voids in her heart, it wasn't always enough, either. she sought out their attention in so many different avenues. whether that be through ballet dance recitals, throwing temper tantrums if she wasn’t getting her way, leaving notes on her mother and father’s pillows … venice really tried all of it. and sure, she would occasionally get some kind of attention in return, but it was usually fleeting and uninspiring. they favored lucca in just about every aspect, and expected him to carry on the family name, line, and company so in a lot of ways - he took precedence. and this wasn’t dissimilar to the experiences of some of the people she called her friends at the time. her parents were busy people who didn’t have much time to deal with the handful of a daughter that they had.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ to be needed: this is where much of venice’s neediness has stemmed from. she truly does seek out those who are more likely to give her attention, to feed into her, even though she has been taken advantage of time and time again over the years. it’s not something she is even consciously aware of, it’s mostly just something that happens. or at least that’s how it started out. even to this day it can be difficult for venice to understand what a mutually beneficial relationship looks like, but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of learning. for a long time, the people who wanted to be in her life also wanted access to the lavish lifestyle that follows her. this often meant that so many of venice’s ‘friendships’ were hollow, and merely existed to the benefit of the other person. it took awhile before venice started to realize that all of the trips she took people on, the random shopping sprees, the VIP bottle service, the ‘borrowed’ gucci and hermes - it was all for nothing. it wasn’t until she graduated that all of this dawned on the girl, but it did. and while she still feels that aching need to be surrounded by others, to be validated in some way, she is far more guarded now and protective of herself; she isn’t just going to be used by anyone ever again, and that lesson is one she holds very close to her heart. which she’d personally describe as a cold one if only to protect it.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ reckless abandon: but … speaking of, like so many of our favorite little rich girls, venice has always been a rebellious one. it started when she was a sixteen year old who had access to her own limo and could go wherever the hell she wanted. she had met plenty of other affluent sons and daughters of her parent’s pals by that point, and they had their own sort of ‘code’ amongst them. she started experimenting with drugs and alcohol at an early age and since it was what everyone else was doing, it allowed her to be a part of the club, and that’s what she was searching for. it warranted attention from the paparazzi, from these other so-called ‘friends’ of hers. her beach house in the hamptons was her playground every weekend during the summer and it was good she had a maid service on speed dial because after her friends were through on a sunday night, it was necessary. she'd grown to essentially need a bottle of titos if she were going out or a few bumps to get her through a night, and it was incredibly unhealthy, but it was one of those staples that made her feel better. even for a little. even in fleeting moments.

when she was graduating from her private academy and just turning 18, the need and desire to escape her family's imposing pressures and lack of care grew deeply. she knew that she wanted to escape to the west coast, and after spending far too many weekends jet-setting all over the country, the dry heat that filed the arizona air was appealing to her. she was miles away from her parent's, but still close enough to the beach and access to all the funds she could ever ask for. she was a party girl who barely attended classes and it was her family name that mostly got her through the couple of years that she even attended. she spent most of her time shopping, getting high, and drinking all night long. perhaps what was the most shocking was the relationship venice found herself in. he was a football player, older, undoubtedly gorgeous, and one of the kindness people venice had ever met ... up until meeting mason, she had basically only been surrounded by people who wanted to use her and didn't genuinely give a shit about her at the end of the day; they were in it for themselves, and mason was the exact opposite. he considered her, was far more mature than most of the people she'd ever spent time with, and she latched onto that breath of positivity and openness that was mason davis. even till this day, her relationship with mason was the longest one she'd ever found herself in, and to put it simply: she fell in love and she fell hard. some of her fondest memories were cheering him on at every game, celebrating the wins, and introducing him to anyone she could who was in the professional scene because she believed in him more than anyone else. he was unlike anyone she'd ever met before and cared for him more than she could understand; he was her first true relationship, someone who deserved to be her one and only, and while it terrified her how much she felt for him, she thought it was all reciprocal - so what was there to worry about? well, the night to worry came. and it was when mason broke up with her - supposedly, with his graduation date coming, he wanted to spare her the hurt ... but, in reality, all it did was shatter the girl's heart at twenty years old and it's never fully recovered since.

it didn't take long for venice to go off the deep end after the breakup ... being at the university of arizona was way too much, and every memory that used to bring her nothing but happiness was tainted. every ounce of personal growth that she had worked on seem to vanish overnight, and she was just angry, and hurt, and it was like all of those moments her parents made her feel like she wasn't enough - they were right. and still ... she needed home, to go home, to be surrounded by people who she was familiar with and who she knew would let her lean on them ... even if there were only a couple of people back home who'd comfort her, even if it was just lucca, she needed to go back to the city she knew like the back of her hand. even to be surrounded by people who'd pretend to care about her just for a night in her lifestyle. so she put in a transfer application to NYU, and yet again, it was her family name and pedigree that got her into the school. and attending NYU ... well it wasn't much better and when she first started at UoA. she’d hook up with anyone who she deemed interesting and the next night she was onto someone new. she was almost desperate in getting over mason in the only way she knew how ... getting under someone else. and she did a whole lot of that. everyone knew who she was on the party scene and you either hated venice or loved venice - but no matter what, you knew who she was. and that's how she survived her last two years ... making the rounds, living it up, partying and relying on her favorite substances .. it wasn't good, and it wasn't pretty, but it was what she knew best and that's what she reverted to at the time.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ riptide: anytime she could garner his parent’s attention with her reckless escapades, it was a win. that’s what she wanted. she wanted their attention, no matter what way she could get it, and there was something extremely fun in the process of getting it. but as she got older, her parents stopped caring as much. they knew venice wasn’t making healthy choices, spent too much time partying and out all night rather than studying, that she probably was crying over for something or someone, but that wasn’t what they were most concerned with. no, they were more concerned with the tabloids and the family’s reputation - that’s why they weren't paying venice any attention while she was away at NYU. they’d threaten to cut her off and that she would no longer be apart of their family if she continued to act this way in public. whether it was in a headline or on social media, she was being filmed and photographed acting out and being a truly spoiled brat which wasn’t the image that her family so desperately sought to protect.

*:･ﾟ･✧･this is growing up: it has been a true emotional rollercoaster between venice and her parents - constantly struggling to support their daughter and ‘set her on the right path’ versus venice’s ‘devil may care’ attitude. so many of her parents threats have been empty, and she had never truly thought that in all of their attempts to get her to be the picture perfect daughter that they wanted that they’d cut her off and force her to fend for herself. but, that’s exactly what happened. after graduating NYU with a degree in marketing, venice figured that her parents were get her in to one of the top agencies in the city and she would be able to live out her life with the top dogs like her father had. and for a long time, that is exactly what her parents had promised her. but then her graduation came and it was just after that she had pulled her biggest stunt and had stripped down on top of the bar at one of her parent’s fundraising events during a drunken stupor. that was truly a turning point in her relationship with her parents, considering just how badly she embarrassed them at their own fundraising event. and truly it all stemmed from that desire to be seen by them, by anyone, to be considered at all. the most they were concerned with when it came to venice was where she was going to be working and later living. they didn’t care that she was depressed, covering it up with partying and alcohol, that she wanted their love to be expressed and to feel as though she belonged to a real family. and she’s always known her life is wonderful compared to so many others, and there is guilt that comes from that, too, but still she couldn’t stop herself from acting out when she needed attention the most. and that is when her parents ultimately decided to cut her off - freeze her accounts, reposses her car, and force her to get a job that would actually put her back into the real world.

*:･ﾟ･✧･out here on my own: and really, that is how venice has ended up in chicago in the first place. the medinas are friends with the malnatis, and they agreed to take her on as an employee through the employee housing program and to ( most importantly ) get her away from mommy & daddy and out of The City. it’s the first time in her life where she’s without friends, money, or any sort of support. honestly, she feels quite abandoned by her family, as she looks at it like they got sick of dealing with her so they shipped her off elsewhere to be someone else’s problem. the resentment is there, and now more than ever venice is determined to show her parents that she doesn’t need them or their money, that she’s going to be capable of being on her own and working a medial job like being a maid without crawling back to them. sure, she’s going to hate cleaning up after people when she used to have a nanny who would tidy up her own place, as she truly has been spoiled, but she’s determined to grin and bare it before going back home. besides, so much of her life has been focused on gaining their attention, approval, to be validated by anyone, to be seen as something more than just a pretty face with a fat bank account … and while she hasn’t always helped herself to be seen in any other light, she’s consumed by the idea of doing so now. this is the first time in venice’s life where she isn’t under her parent’s thumb. where she isn’t constantly under the influence of some substance. where she isn’t doing something insanely foolish or unhealthy to try and gain the favor of someone whos approval requires chasing. she’s really just getting to live within her own skin, be herself and figure out what that looks like.

after working at the malnati for a handful of months, it was a family emergency that landed her back in new york ... her grandfather had passed, the true patriarch of the family, and that came with a lot of 'passing of the guard' within the medina family enterprise. it meant funerals, and meetings with lawyers, and memorial services, and rekindlings with her brother, and public appearances, and making statements and being interviewed for magazines, and it was then that venice had truly learned of her position in her family. while her grandfather had left her stock options in her name when he passed, and plenty for her to be able to live comfortably off of for the rest of her life, it was so written that it was contingent upon her father's disbursement of the stocks when he deemed she was so fit to handle them. so it was even in death, her family did not trust her enough to be able to handle herself. she was still considered reckless, unreliable, and unworthy of holding a stake in medina international ... while it wasn't anything new or surprising to venice, it still hurt just the same. because she'd spent the past year working on herself, away from the pressures of being a medina, separated from her family and essentially disowned by her own parents and even still, she found herself at their mercy once more. it would come at no surprise that she decided to leave it all behind her once more ... which is why she's returned to chicago, not as a guest at the malnati, but as an employee. as someone with aspirations and desires to move up in the world, once more on her own, once more with a heart she's nursing from lovers she's had to say goodbye to, once again without the support of her family, and furthermore with the wrath and persistence only a medina can procure.

*:･ﾟ･✧･it’s a new dawn: she still gives into her pleasures, whether that be sex or art or dancing, all of which she’s never been able to kick but she manages them well and enjoys them all the same. she is still a good time, someone fun to be around, and is always willing to get the party started no matter where she is. she’s kind of done it all, and while some of that has been left behind now that she’s got some different focuses in life, venice knows what makes her feel best and doesn’t want to deprive herself of that, either. she’s currently obsessed with her taking dance classes and is constantly updating her instagram followers on all that she can show them when she’s in the studio. after taking ballet classes for most of her life, she is quite good and likes to indulge in those, but her latest passion has been in salsa and hip hop. it’s not only a great workout to keep herself in shape but she likes the way she feels when she’s doing it, too. and piano lessons were big in her household, as her parents wanted her to be educated in the arts too, so she’s kept a keyboard lying around her things in case she ever feels a spark of desire to mess around on the keys.

*:･ﾟ･✧･it’s a new day: mostly, venice is a guarded gal who loves to have a good time and will absolutely give anyone a hard time when they deserve it. she’s dramatic, to a fault, and she knows it and could not care less. to quote, “i am who i am, and if you don’t like it then there’s the door.”. she’s loyal to the people that she decides she wants to have in her life, but will be very cautious about those she doesn’t trust right away, which can stem from some kind of experience of her own judgement since she does tend to operate off of preconceived notions of people until proven otherwise. and despite being crass, she can also be rather charming, and is a sociable person at her core so she will be willing to strike up conversations with whoever - but whether the conversation goes well or not is another thing. her ultimate weakness though is pretty people, as she is attracted to both men and women, and likes to engage in all kinds of relationships with anyone she thinks is attractive and interesting. so if she starts flirting with you, she has every intention on getting to know you one way or another. in truth, venice has a good heart, and it’s simply masked by a lot of vibrato and insecurity. her biggest fear is not being enough, and that’s so much of the reason why she’s never really tried to be anything. but since being cut off, and repeatedly cast aside by her family, she’s found this rejuvenated sense of desire to prove everyone wrong - that she is worth a damn, that she can work her way up the ladder and break out into the ‘real world’ on her own, that she’s enough.

also if you got this far honestly thank you asdkfalf i do not deserve you lmfao this has been a journey and if you had to suffer through all the typos i’ve likely made, i owe you <3

#malnatiooc #+ ( introduction * . )#here we go :~)

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riverboundao3ff · 4 years ago

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Riverbound, Chapter 10

Your name is POLYPA GOEZEE, and you almost killed your moirail, a jadeblood, and Tegiri’s coworkers all in one go.

Never before have you fucked up a job quite this badly; not just because you didn’t kill any of your targets but because you could have lost them all over again. They disappeared, and they were dead and gone and there was nothing left for you to do but take job after job to try and make ends meet, to fill the jagged, bleeding hole in your bloodpusher that scraped away at you one little piece at a time. It could have been a thousand nights or a thousand sweeps that this carried on, and then--

And then they were underneath you with the point of your blade coming down at their chest.

They were right there.

If you had killed them and Tagora and Stelsa, you know that you would never be able to look Tegiri in the eyes again. How could you, when the one troll you ever really trusted would know that you’re a mercenary, a friend-killer?

You try to not think about that too much.

There is, however, a bit of comfort in knowing that you’d be finally tracked down and culled for killing so many trolls at once. Maybe you’re just a coward, but whatever.

You come back to yourself in time to hear the alien laugh at something. They’re leaning against your side on the loungeplank you’re both relaxing on, pretty head thrown back against your collarbone as they try and muffle their snorting in the sleeve of their hoodie. The heat of their body grounds you to reality like an anchor.

Unfortunately, they’re laughing because of that damn jadeblood-- Lanque, was it? Ugh. He’s gonna be a problem, you just know it. He looks at your moirail with a fondness that doesn’t belong anywhere near his smug bastard face and he looks at you like you’re a piece of shit. Granted, you are definitely a piece of shit, but so is he and sooner or later he’s going to learn that Polypa Goezee doesn’t fuck around when it comes to her quadrants.

“-- And then this kid hands me a sword, except it’s not really a sword because it’s so shittily made that its corporeality is, like, barely hanging in there, and I’m able to hold it! I still have no idea if the thing was existing in multiple dimensions at once or why I was able to actually wield it, but still,” the alien explains fervently, gesturing around them with their hands. “One of these days I’m gonna take you guys to meet my human friends. It’ll be totally chaotic.”

“You have near total control of time and space, and you’re excited because you can hold a sword? No wonder you and Kalbur got along so well,” Tagora scoffs.

“Gor-Gor, it was the most incredible piece of shit sword I’ve ever laid eyes upon. To only describe the encounter with words is hardly doing it justice,” they shoot back.

There it is again. Apparently, your moirail has superpowers.

The story they told about what happened to them was horrifying enough, and you can see as clear as night how much it’s affecting them. When they talked about certain things, like that orb-headed god, they just… caved in on themselves. The light went from their beautiful alien eyes. Their pulse spiked and didn’t go down until they were almost done talking. How they were resting against you, chatting happily with their other friends, was beyond you. You are barely processing anything right now and the horrorterrors know you’ve already been through hell. You have been through hell, and you came out stronger, tougher, meaner, and a deep-seated hatred in your belly for the world that tried to kill you as a child.

Your moirail is soft and gentle, and yet they survived.

… The both of you are going to need so many piles.

But you know that won’t be happening until later. The moons are going down, and tomorrow you will be going on a resistance mission against the Alternian Empire. It doesn’t seem real.

You wave absently to Stelsa as she takes her leave, with Lanque doing the same not long after. He tries to get your moirail to come back to the caverns with him, pulling out all kinds of excuses like “The kids will miss you,” and “Aren’t all of your things in Lynera’s study?”

“Go ahead, dude, I’ll see you soon. Tell the others I’ll be back tomorrow,” the alien assures him, the pair leaning against each other as they walk Lanque to the door.

The jadeblood hums reluctantly. “Be safe.”

“I wouldn’t make my moirail sleep rough,” you tell him coldly.

Lanque gives you a nasty look over the alien’s head before smiling down at them. The second he strides out the door and shuts it you release a long, low hiss that has Tagora cowering in his rich-boy office chair.

Your moirail does a double-take. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Just tired.”

Tagora purses his lips and makes a big show of not meeting your eyes. You flash him the hilt of one of your blades.

“Oh… kay,” they mutter, clearly confused but willing to give it up. “Ready to head out?”

You feel a smile tug on your lips. “Yeah.”

Something in your back clicks when you stand and your forearm is still aching like a bitch from when Bombyx nearly ripped it off, but your mood lightens considerably when the alien thanks Tagora profusely for letting everybody hang out at his hive, leading the way to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Good day!” they call back as they bounce down the stairs.

“Call me if you need anything!” he yells back from his office, eyeing you shrewdly over the rim of his mug. “And don’t die.”

You roll your eyes and quickly catch up to your moirail. They bump their shoulder against your arm, and you thread your fingers through theirs. It’s like they never disappeared, like the last six perigees were nothing but a bad dream.

There’s a lump in your throat that refuses to go away.

“So…” they mumble, not looking at you. Their shoulders are hunched up ever so slightly. “What have you been up to?”

The question is so absurd you make a noise that’s half-laughter and half-crying. “Well, you know. Um. Taking jobs. Wandering around, seeing what the city has to offer.”

“That’s good,” they encourage.

“If I’d known there was a… resistance faction in Thrashthrust, I would have had a lot more to do. People ought to make fliers if they want others to join their clubs, you know,” you joke.

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s the perfect place for it.”

You huff in amusement. How are they so good at this? “Your friends are… interesting.”

“Dude, you haven’t seen much yet. Wait until you meet Ardata. She’s a Grubtuber who tortures people in her basement.”

“Why would you make friends with somebody who tortures people in her basement?”

“Well, she tortured me in her basement, and then we had dinner together.”

“I-- what the fuck?”

“We had a long talk about her life choices and what it meant to be a highblood in Alternian society. Then we hugged and she let me go once I promised we could hang out sometime.”

“Why do you insist on hanging around those kinds of people?” you demand. You can’t believe your own goddamn moirail just casually mentioned they were tortured in the cellar of some highblood monster.

“In my defense, I’m kind of a dumbass.”

“Kind of?” you splutter, and you can’t help but start laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. They join in, swinging your joined hands back and forth as you two make your way over to the teal part of Thrashthrust. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to tell Tegiri everything about what was going on, but he did deserve to reunite with his friend and fellow anime nerd.

The look on his face when you let yourself and the alien in is worth more than any cull bounty. Dogdad, formally known as Tadashi Inu, usually so stoic, goes absolutely apeshit and almost takes your moirail to the ground when he jumps up on them, whimpering with delight. You dodge around the pair, mostly to avoid Tadashi’s tail wagging at terminal velocity and tackle Tegiri in a hug of your own.

“Surprise,” you giggle.

“Polypa,” he gasps, squeezing you tightly, before exploding in laughter and dragging you over to the alien and Tadashi. The four of you collapse on the ground in a heap, with Tegiri screeching demands as to how the hell his long-lost friend is alive and well and Tadashi barking up a storm.

“Shinjirarenai! I thought you were dead! I thought--” He quickly rubs his eyes under his glasses, which you graciously pretend not to notice. “Just… how?”

“It would take a lot more than death to break up the Eastern Alternian Fine Animated Art Appreciation Society!” your moirail sings, throwing their arms around Tegiri’s neck. He hugs them back, a rare, shameless grin lighting up his face like the moons.

“It’s a hell of a story,” you summarize. “You could make a whole anime out of this alien’s life, I swear. Absolute insanity.”

“You can say that a-fuckin’-gain,” they yawn, thunking their head down on Tegiri’s side. You can tell that they’re at the end of their energy cycle. Their movements are just a bit slower than usual, and they look ready to pass out right on top of your poor tealbood friend.

“What happened to you? Anata o mite! I can feel your bellow-sac enclosures through your clothes!” Tegiri exclaimed, shoving them off him and furiously patting the alien’s sides, making them squeak.

“Tegiri, I’m fine, dude. I’m just a little underweight. It’s been… rough,” they say, not meeting his worried gaze.

“Hmph. Well, I’m making food, and you’re going to eat it! All of it!”

With a whirl of his trenchcoat, he storms off to the kitchen. The hive is soon filled with the sounds of pots and pans banging, followed by a delicious smell that makes your acid tubes wiggle in anticipation.

The rest of the morning is spent talking, watching anime, and eating yourself into a coma. Your moirail falls asleep pretty quickly, so you and Tegiri cry a little by yourselves as you retell their story to him.

“All we can do is support them. Help them fight their inner demons. We all have them, after all,” Tegiri states. He grips the sheath of his sword for comfort. “Some more than others.”

You nod. “Always.”

:::

Tegiri is long gone when you and your moirail wake up the next evening, which doesn’t surprise you given his class schedule.

“Probably a good thing, too,” you mutter to the alien as you pull your pants back on. “‘Giri would shit a brick if he knew what the rest of our social lives entail.”

Your moirail is still sprawled out on the loungeplank, also devoid of pants, their pale skin glowing silver in the light of the rising moons. “I wish he’d join us. Can’t he see that the system hurts him, too?”

You shake your head. “He’d rather fall on his own blade than admit anything’s wrong with Alternia. He’s always been that way, and he probably always will.”

They don’t say anything, but you can practically feel their thinkpan going at a thousand miles an hour as they get dressed.

The both of you stop at a breakfast place on the way to the hideout to grab some food-- or, rather, you did, since your moirail needs to stay out of crowded public places for the time being. Walking down the street would be fine, since this is Alternia and people mind their own business, but anything else is a possible risk.

Fifteen minutes until the drone cycles start.

The abandoned building isn’t hard to find, even without the address. Turn right on Slitgullet Street, walk on down a few blocks, and boom, there’s the drone factory. Behind it is half a dozen warehouses and an alleyway. A hill rises up to meet a stretch of woodland, and at the crest sits a run-down heap that probably used to be part of the factory.

“That thing looks like it’s going to come down at any moment,” you hiss.

“Well, if it starts to go, I’ll just zap us out of there,” your moirail promises.

“About that…” You pause, wondering how to bring this up without it sounding like you think your beloved friend is lying. “So, you really do have powers? You can teleport?”

“Yep!”

“So how come you didn’t just teleport us here?”

They tilt their head, looking thoughtful. “I can teleport to places I’ve never been before, sure, but it’s a complete shot in the dark as to where I’m actually gonna end up. We might have ended up on top of the roof, or ten feet in the air, or somewhere inside that could be dangerous.”

“Oh, okay.” You’re not sure about their human units of measurement, but you get the idea now. Teleporting is risky. Got it.

The two of you trudge up the hill to the building and wiggle your way inside through one of the many holes in the walls. It’s dusty and gross, and cloudy moonlight streams down through the holes in the roof, lighting up the wreckage littered everywhere. Judging by the smell, something or someone had recently died here.

“I can’t see,” the alien mutters, grabbing your arm.

“Not much to enjoy. It’s gross in here.” You carefully guide them around the debris as you make your way towards a less messy part of the building. “Tell that jadeblood boy of yours that next time, I’m picking the hideout--”

“Tell me what?”

You bite your tongue when you see your moirail’s eyes light up as a tall, lean figure slinks out of the shadows, followed by three more silhouettes. Two of them you recognize as Tagora and Stelsa, but the girl in the gray jacket is new.

“Hi, guys! Ready for crime?” they ask, before their brows furrow. “Wait, where’s Daraya?”

Lanque shakes his head. “Bronya grounded the four of us. I’m the only one who managed to sneak out.”

You snort. “Holy shit, you’re a grown-ass man and you still get grounded?”

“Listen, I certainly don’t ask to be treated like a wiggler, so shut it.”

“Does your head jade let you speak like that?”

Lanque’s lips peel back to reveal those dagger-sharp fangs of his, and your arm pangs in response. Before you can get ready to fight, your moirail is standing between you two with their hands braced against both of your chests.

“If you two can’t learn to behave, I’m zapping the both of you right out of here,” they state.

“Tell your moirail to keep her mouth shut--”

“I will, Lanque, as long as you don’t attack her. Polypa, cut the crap. Please. Thank you.”

“Fine,” you agree, glaring at Lanque as you step back.

“Anyways…” Tagora sighs, rolling his eyes. “Polypa, this is Tyzias. Tyzias, Polypa. She’s sort of our leader.”

“Hi.” Tyzias nods to you. She’s not much bigger than Tagora, and she looks like she hasn’t gotten a good day’s rest in half a sweep. Her white button-down is about two sizes too big. There’s a noticeable smear across the left lens of her glasses, like she’d grabbed them in a rush.

“Hey,” you say. This chick is the leader of a rebellion? Huh.

“Okay, so you guys basically came up with the whole plan last night, so yeah. Our mutual friend here is gonna teleport in, place the bombs in all five sectors of the factory, and get out. Since you’re going along, you can provide an extra set of eyes to make sure you guys aren’t caught.”

Tagora hands off the backpack to the alien, who nods and shoulders it without complaint.

“This is where you’re headed.” Tyzias whips out a map and points to an area circled in red, with five circles of blue within. “You have four hours total to find the control rooms, plant the bombs, and skedaddle. There won’t be too many workers there, but you still need to be extremely careful. Avoid the security cameras, obviously.”

“Got it.”

“Yep.”

Stelsa checks her timeteller. “In ten, nine, eight…”

You take your moirail’s hand, and they squeeze it tight. You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Is this even going to work?

“Five, four, three…”

Your moirail’s eyes shut in deep concentration.

“... two, one.”

It all happens in a beat of your bloodpusher. At the end of Stelsa’s countdown, your surroundings disappear into a perfect void. There’s no light, no sound, no sensation save the human’s hand clasped firmly in your own.

And then you’re somewhere else, facing a wall with some sort of stain on it.

You blink. “I… well.”

Your moirail squeezes your hand again before letting go. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You really do have powers.”

“Damn skippy.”

You don’t know what that means, but then there’s footsteps coming down the hallway adjacent to the one you two are in. You grab your alien and pull them forward into a doorway. Above your head is an airway cover.

Perfect. With a grunt, you crouch down and leap up to hook your claws into the grating. It only takes one tug for the left end to come loose. Just as you hear the footsteps round the corner, you reach down, grab your moirail, and drag them up into the airway pipe with you.

Huffing, you close the cover behind you. “I think we’re on the first floor.”

“I could have just zapped us up into the vents, you know.”

You grin at them. “Yeah, but that’s less fun.”

They smile and roll their eyes. Shit, you missed them so much.

“Can you move us into a different part of the airways?” you ask.

“Yep. Hang on.”

Space folds around you again. The both of you are now somewhere else in the pipes. It doesn’t look much different to where you guys were before, but now you can hear voices below. Two of them, to be exact. Right behind you is another airway cover, so you turn around to get a better idea of what’s going on.

“... Tune out channel XC-DR so I can connect the…”

“No, try the other one, dumbass--”

Computer room? you mouth to your partner, who purses their lips. Then, their eyes widen when you bring out your daggers. They shake their head frantically, distress making them reel back.

Your moirail is soft, and you love them for it, but you couldn’t let that stop you now.

“Showtime,” you whisper, and then you kick the cover off and fling yourself into the first thing that moves.

#homestuck #hiveswap friendsim trolls #hiveswap #pesterquest #mspa reader #the guardian #c10 #riverbound #showtime bitches

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landofpetrichor · 6 years ago

Text

Cardan’s Tears

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Pairing: Jude x Cardan

Words: 3490

Summary: “His hand goes up to my cheek, looking at me with eyes so dark my head gets dizzy. When the screams start, I accept sleep. Eyelids fluttering close, feeling the sting of my injury worsening. My body goes slack in Cardan’s arms. His voice echoes in my head. Everything disappears, yet I still hear Cardan’s call for help. Soon, that fades too.”

Tagging: @mintyvina thank you for the kind messages!

Moving through silk dresses, I gaze at every corner of the room. The grand ceiling so high it makes my neck ache, glancing up at it. I count every guard again and check the servants position another time. At last, my eyes draw themselves to the one everyone else is staring at. It’s unfair how he can sit and look bored but still radiate a beauty humans tend to wish for. And wish I had, as a child. But for now, I observe, see our differences and leave it at that. Jealousy of looking like sculpted perfection has passed long ago.

My eyes leave Cardan when Ghost comes rushing to my side. I turns my head to look at him, and see his face stricken with panic.

"I might have seen someone suspicious," he informs me, a wild glint in his eyes. "I'll alert the guards. You go protect the king."

He doesn't have to tell me twice, because I'm on my way to Cardan before I've heard his last sentence. Grabbing my sword, I take it out of its scabbard. I gather my dress in one hand and start to sprint. In the corner of my eye, I notice someone. A dark figure, with a crossbow in his hands. I'm at the steps up to the throne, my heart in my throat. No one but me has noticed him. The music and laughter filling everybody's senses.

Cardan’s eyes are on me already, brows furrowed, and my name on his lips. All I can think is taking the next step, one foot in front of the other, dashing through the crowd. I'm standing in front of Cardan when an arrow protrudes my skin and flesh. Making an opening, allowing the red to soak my dress, to drip down on the golden floor. My hand goes to my shoulder, as a reflex. The touch making me gasp from the sheer pain.

My head is getting foggy, and my blood-covered hand searches for something to hold on to. I end up smearing Cardans neck leaving a red trail from his ear to his collarbone. Grabbing his shirt, I choke when pain flashes through my injured shoulder. Cardan has gone eerily still, his eyes wide and open, mouth gasping for air like he can't breathe. My knees give out, ending up in Cardan's lap, my head on the blood mark I made on his neck.

His hand goes up to my cheek, looking at me with eyes so dark my head gets dizzy. When the screams start, I accept sleep. Eyelids fluttering close, feeling the sting of my injury worsening. My body goes slack in Cardan's arms, his voice echoing in my head. Everything disappears, yet I still hear Cardan's call for help. Soon, that fades too.

---

When I wake up, I need to wait for my eyes to adjust to the weak lighting. My shoulder aches from the movement of turning my body, until I stop. At the edge of my bed, I see Cardan. Chaos rattles my ribcage. I'm glad that's where the heart resides: in a cage. That's the place it deserves if it's going to start beating faster. Because of that one person, it shouldn't be beating faster for.

His hunched back makes his usually loose white shirt stretch. It's strange seeing him so distressed, with his hands on his forehead for support, and elbows resting on his thighs. Enjoying the quietness of it all, I don't say anything. His presence calming me down. He isn't hurt by the looks of it. The thought makes me relax back into the pillows. I note the number of them is more than usual, and how comfortable it is. Refusing to think of Cardan having anything to do with this, I tell myself it must have been the healer or a servant.

My throat closes off when something shimmers down Cardan's face. The light from the candle making it glitter, almost like gold. I watch the shining stream of wetness and imagine myself wiping it away. He is so quiet, I can't hear if his breathing is ragged or not. Judging from his shoulders movement, it's the former.

I’m shocked, struggling to get air to enter my lungs. But I guess I still have an ounce of alertness in me since I reach out a hand to his strong back. When he turns stiff, my vocal cords finally begin to work again. I whisper his name, my voice rasping from lack of use and sleep.

He continues his silence, the shadows of his face moving from the flame’s sway. But he sits there, as still as a statue, carved by the workers of beauty. I rise a bit from my sitting position, grimacing from the effort of it. Yet I move my hand across his broad shoulder up to his face and cover his hand.

"Cardan," I coax, louder this time. I grab ahold of his hand and guide it to my lips. I don't know what I'm doing, but it unnerves me, seeing him like this. His tears making the cage that holds my heart, open up a bit. I kiss his knuckles twice, but he takes his hand away. His expression hasn’t changed, but when my breath hitches from the pain of following his hand, he flinches. I haven't let go yet. Wanting to, or rather needing to, hold him in some way.

Everything turns to ice, our hands still in the air. I swear that even the candle’s flame has gone as still as us.

Cardan drags his hand out from my grip, as slow as possible, afraid to hurt me, and I let it fall to my lap. There are more tears streaming down his face, but he turns to the other corner of the room. I'm not able to see more, already seen too much. When he rises and wipes away the tears from his cheeks, there is a part of me that wants to tell him to stay. I consider ordering him but refrain from it.

I put a bigger lock on the cage holding my heart, I throw away the key in the mess of my thoughts and feelings. But when he walks out, the hand in my lap itches to reach out for him.

I hide both my hands under the cover, and lie down, eyes already closed. Darkness brimming my vision. Desire brimming my heart.

---

A week goes by too slow, for my taste. For what seems like the tenth time in half an hour, my hand takes the glass from my bedside. My whole body uncomfortable, while I gulp the water down. I gaze around the room yet again for something to do. The desk is empty, save for my sword lying across it. It's supposed to be in my hands while I train, had someone not shot me with a crossbow. Alas, things are not going my way as of the day I was born.

The knock on my door startles me out of my stupor. I sit up straighter. “Come in.” The doors bang open, and the Bomb comes in. I can't help but think her nickname suits her even when she isn’t blowing things to pieces. She smiles when she sees me, and rushes to my bed.

“How’s your injury going?” she asks and refills the water in my glass with a jug. I sigh.

“I am perfectly fine. Stop treating me like a child. You know I have better things to do than sit in bed all day.” I push away the glass she tries to offer me. “There’s a meeting soon, and I will go. You can’t stop me this time,” I tell her.

With my mind clear, I push my way up from the bed. Bomb opens her mouth to protest, but I put my hand on her shoulder and look down at her. The look on my face must have been desperate enough for her to sigh and give in.

“Do you need help to bath and get changed?” she asks. “Not to be rude, but someone might think you rolled around in dirt. Then decided to bang your head against-,” I cut her off by throwing a pillow at her.

“Let’s just hurry,” I say. When I take the sword off the table and hold it in front of me, both mine and Bomb's lips curl.

“I guess the Queen is back,” she chuckles. My grin widens.

---

The walk to the great hall feels like it takes forever. What if Cardan has done something stupid during the week of my absence, that Ghost, Roach or Bomb haven't found out? Their reports have been brief, without any struggle to inform of. The only real thing I found out was that the intruders a week ago now have their new homes in the dungeons.

But still, I worry. I can’t get to the meeting as fast as I like, every second ticking away. I'm not having everything under control when I should be. Anyone could be lurking around each corner, and it’s my job to see them before any severe damage is done. My shoulder injury is better than having Cardan killed. I try to keep my mind off him every time his name pops up in my mind. He always seems to pull me in somehow. But how does one clear the mind, when the mind is idiotic for even having such thoughts in the first place?

The two guards at the door glance at each other when I stand before them. They don't seem to want me inside. I would have thought they were new, had I not known better. These particular guards have been handpicked by me, to guard the High King. My eyes narrow at them, and I lift my chin a notch, to look more in command.

“Let me in. The king has requested my presence,” I demand. The lie slipping out of my mouth as easily as air.

The shorter guard lifts an eyebrow. “The High King has specifically told us not to let you in, Jude.”

I’m tempted to reach for my sword. Keeping my hands by my sides, I try to tell myself I don’t want to hurt the guards. It’s Cardan who’ll feel my anger soon enough. His schemes annoying me as much as ever. I should have commanded him when I first woke up to not cause trouble, but I guess I was distracted by his tears. Too distracted by his vulnerability.

Once, he opened up about how his family never wanted him. Showing a piece of vulnerability. But he was drunk, in his eyes, there was a daze. When Cardan had cried at my side, that was different. Gone was the fog of liquor, replaced by something deeper. Something so strong, and usually so hidden, I was scared to touch upon the matter. Too distracted, by his true feelings.

“Open up, or I will make sure you’ll spend quality time with the new prisoners,” I hiss. My patience is running thin. I put my hand on my sword, for emphasis.

Both of them startle as if electrified and move for the handles of the big entry. Light pours into the hallway, making a bright path for me to follow. The meeting has already begun, seeing as everyone is seated at the long table.

Not everyone turns to look at me. Many already in too deep discussions to care about someone entering the room. But there is a set of eyes that seem to burn right through me. Like he has always been able to do, no matter how much I don't want to react to him. At the head of the table, on a striking throne, sits the bane of my existent. High King Cardan, with his crown, angled on his disheveled hair. His gaze shifts away from me, too soon. I fight the urge to shake my head to rid myself of the thought of him. But my eyes betray me, noticing every inch of him, every sharp angle, his jaw, his lips, the clenched hands.

“You must have heard of how a subject of mine, should obey me,” he informs as if talking to the whole court. But I know the undercurrent anger is angled towards me.

“Of course. Though, I have never done anything of the opposite,” I reply and tilt my head in warning. If he continues, he will feel how much I want to obey him. He tilts his head at me in the same fashion, a smirk on his lips.

“Come here, Jude,” he commands. I take a step closer, but he isn’t patient enough to wait.

“When your sister was green-gowned by Locke, did it ever occur to you how stupid you were for not knowing?” My cheeks flush, on my way to the chair. The display of my humiliation urges him to continue. “You must remember his attention on both you and your sister. Do you like the attention?" he spits out. "Does it make you hot all over? I’m quite interested in answers, Jude.”

His clever way of speaking, of twisting truths and questions to his liking, doesn’t sit well in my stomach. Every gaze in my direction itches like a rash. I hate that he succeeds in making me seem inferior. It's clear to me, though. He isn't interested in answers to the particular questions he asked. He could, in fact, mean any answers to any question. I try not to think of his clever tongue anymore, forcing my own tongue to the roof of my mouth. I will not allow myself to show any kind of reaction to him or any other being in this room.

When I'm seated right next to him, I grin, my chin high. Cardan’s gaze wavers and my own hand goes to the sleeve of his shirt. I straighten out creases that don’t exist, just because I can.

“It’s a special talent of mine, to get attention from people I don’t want.”

His flinch almost makes me feel guilty.

The rest of the meeting I keep my hands to myself, speaking out only when necessary. I comment about some military hassle, or on the signing of treaties with other kingdoms. But Cardan never utters a word, sitting in somber silence.

It seems he wanted to play but chose the wrong player.

---

I can’t help but feel tired, sitting at my desk, with a big pile of papers before me, the meetings always making me exhausted. While I yawn, a knock startles me. I’m not expecting anyone, but it’s pretty obvious who’s behind the door. Finding myself wanting to reach the door as fast as possible. I calm my beating heart, and blurt out: “It’s open.”

With my head down at my documents, I can’t see him walk in. But I hear the ruffle of his clothes, his swift footsteps. I look up, my gaze going to his tired face. Cardan ends up standing behind me, dragging his hands down my arms. Goosebumps appear like a trail from his touch. The effect he has on me will never seize to both amaze and scare me, at the same time.

Cardan's arms hug my shoulders, his chin coming down to rest at the crown of my head. I don’t even try to stop him. My dizzy head, not making rational choices.

“I ordered no one to let you in, Jude. Why do you always make everything so hard?” he murmurs. “Is you resting from an injury, such a struggle?”

“It’s you who makes things hard Cardan,” I sigh, laying the weight of my head back on his chest. “I may be human, but I’m not fragile.”

His head goes down to my neck, his lips trailing down.

“I hate you for making me want you so much." On my burning skin, he leaves small kisses. "I can’t stop thinking about you. Your body, your lips, you devil girl,” he whispers against my collarbone, his breath hot.

I put my hand on his cheek to bring him up. I need to stop him before things spiral. Cardan has a different idea, wasting no time in making sure our lips find each other. It’s not a peck, and it’s not a chaste kiss. It is heat itself, a flame burning between us. A flame so intoxicating, I suspect we’ll forget to stop for air.

I stand up, our lips still locked, and my hands in his hair, fingers grabbing his opulent curls. Cardan lifts me up, my legs by instinct closing around his waist. His steps take us to my bed. We’re a mess when he pulls away and lays me down. Our hair chaotic, our lips swollen, chests heaving. He towers over me, the glint in his eyes too much for me to bare. I put a hand on his chest.

“That’s enough,” I force out. I don’t want it to stop. I want him to kiss every part of me. “Do you really want to do this with someone who hates you?” The words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to hide how fast my heart is racing.

His face turns pained, not hiding anything anymore. The glint in his eyes disappears, and all I see is a raw pain. I almost think he’s going to object when his mouth opens. But all he does is sigh. I didn’t know the sound of air passing through lips could sound so devastating. He lies beside me on the bed, with the crook of his arm going over his face.

“Can’t you show me even a tiny bit of love. Do you want me to beg, Jude?" He takes a deep breath. "Because I will if that will work."

"Don't be ridiculous"

"Do you need to make another bargain? Lie to me, say you love me, say you’re mine, and I swear we can add another year to the bargain,” he rambles, voice shaking.

Cardan sounding desperate is not something I thought would happen. It's not easy, sorting my thoughts and separating them from my feelings. If I agree and do as he wants, I will have more time to figure out how I’ll make it until seven years have passed.

I look at him, and I hear my heart thumping in my chest. My dilemma whirling in my head. Although, the hardest thing to admit is: I will not be telling Cardan any lies. We aren't good for each other, because one day, we will crush everything we've built. It will all end in chaos. So I can't have him know my feelings.

But I need to make sure my plans don't go to waste. Am I fearing the future, or am I insane?

I make the hardest decision I've ever made in my entire life.

I climb on top of him, my hands resting at each side of his head. His arm moves away from his eyes, shock coursing through him. Pulling my leg over so that I’m now sitting on him, I lean down, towards the pulse at his neck. Dark pupils following my every movement. I kiss him there, and under my lips, I feel his heartbeat quicken. When I put my hand in his hair, his breathing becomes ragged. Cardan’s hands grab my hips, dragging me closer. Biting down on his flushed skin, I feel his nails digging into me.

“I love you, Cardan,” I whisper. He stiffens, heat rising from his body. I follow the crook of his neck, up to his lips. “I’m yours, Cardan,” I continue, murmuring the words. Feeling his breath catch, I press my lips to his, my tongue seeking entrance. Kissing Cardan is what I imagine jumping from a high tower feels like. Falling through the sky, to my bitter death, is a good comparison.

My lips travel up to his cheek, where I meet something salty. I kiss the trail of his tears and stop to tell him how much I love him. How much he means to me. It's a mystery how I can say it with ease, after trying to hide it for so long. Cardan’s tears don’t stop. There comes more, in fact. He weeps.

“I can't take this. You don’t understand how much I want you" he stammers out between sobs. "How much I need you, Jude. Not these lies.”

“I’m not lying,” I whisper, knowing full well he won't believe me.

He shakes his head, turning away from me, not being able to handle his own request. I lay down at his side, and all I can do is hold him. While I stroke Cardan's hair, I also whisper of my love. His cries don't stop.

I find myself thinking back on how cruel he used to seem.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

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hansolutelyinlove · 6 years ago

Text

Flowers in the Window

Pairing: Florist!Seungcheol x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: like two swear words?

You are going to kill somebody.

At least that's what Seungcheol thinks the moment you walk past the flower shop he works at, the same time that you walk past every day. Except instead of walking out of sight, you turn and head straight towards the door he's looking through, your fists clenching and releasing out of what Seungcheol thinks is sheer anger. Breaking out of his stunned staring, Seungcheol starts with a small gasp and looks around to find anything, anything that might make him look like he was working and not gawking at you, who is now swinging open the door with a purpose that Seungcheol is unsure of . Busying himself with cutting the stems on the white daisies in front of him, Seungcheol listens to the heavy clunking of your boots as you make your way to the cashier desk. As you speak the first few words, for some reason Seungcheol finds it hard to look at you, so he resorts to continue with his work.

"I'm really sorry to bother you but do you have any towels?" you huff, "This car drove past me and splashed a puddle all over me and now I'm soaked and honestly really cold an-" Seungcheol silently nodded his head and stood up, cutting off your rambling. You stand there dumbfounded, a little shocked at the bluntness of the man's actions and curious if he's actually going to the back to get you a towel, or if he chose to go there to ignore your request. Deciding to wait a little longer to see which of your theories comes true, you take a look around the shop you entered.

You walked by this place twice every day; on the way to work and coming home. Despite never walking into the small shop you never failed to notice the yellow paint chipping on the boards lining the door, or how gardenias, your favourite flower, were always in the big window facing the street. This shop has been here as long as you can remember; you distinctly recall the store's sign being painted on as you walked with your mother down the street when you were eight years old. Not much has changed since then, the small green-painted building bright as ever against the beige concrete that plagues the rest of the downtown area, the white door is chipped and creaks every time it's opened by a new customer, but there are always a new set of flowers surrounding the entrance so that onlookers can see the shop's talent in taking care of flowers. Frankly, this shop is adorable and you can see why it's still doing so well after all of these years.

Now that you're inside you realize just how much work this shop must be. In every surface possible within the small area there are pots of flowers accompanying the top, every colour that you could imagine. Even hanging from the ceiling you see plants whose vines twirl around the chains and fall down closer to hang around your head or even tickle your face. You were pretty sure that you could only name two or three of the types of flowers, discovering new ones that you didn't know existed, but were beautiful in full bloom. You rounded the store from the counter at the back to admire the flowers in the display window. This pot was full of healthy white petals, the buds in full bloom; each petal wound around one another in the center, fanning out as the flower opened up more. Bright green leaves surrounded each bud, making a full bouquet of flowers; whoever tended to this obviously likes their job a whole lot. You lift your head from the display to look out the window, and you see the chaos of your city and it is then you realize just how quiet it is in the shop, and you think of it as a mini paradise from the concrete that is your city. You should come here more often, you think, your apartment could use a plant or two.

A small clearing of Seungcheol's throat finally shakes you out of your thoughts and you wonder just how long he's been standing there before he hands you a towel, "Sorry I took so long," he chuckles, "Most of our towels are covered in dirt from the flowers". He still wouldn't look you in the eyes but you smiled and thanked him, dabbing off the water that soaked your pants. "I'm sorry to take you away from work, I have to compliment you though, this shop is beautiful,". He smiles at your comment and you realize maybe you won't be coming back just for the flowers. "Thank you," he laughs, "although you really should be complimenting my mother, she's done most of what you see around the shop, I just help around so she can have her days off". A family run business then, you think to yourself.

The conversation dies after that but Seungcheol desperately thinks of something else to say to keep the pretty girl in his shop. Despite his hard thinking, you hand back the towel softly thanking him for the kindness, and he watches you walk past the gardenias in the window, his favourite, and leave the shop.

It takes Seungcheol ten minutes to realize he didn't even ask for your name.

Two weeks later and you're sitting in your office chair. It's Friday evening and you just finished your shift two hours later than your normal work days permit, but your boss needed paperwork filled out last minute and you were stupid enough to not sneak out early like everyone else did, leaving you to be the only one stuck shifting through a seemingly endless stack of papers. You can feel your wrist ache after setting down your pen and you silently swear to yourself that you will sneak out five minutes early every day if it means avoiding paperwork for the rest of your life. You grab your coat and bag, drop the papers on your boss' desk, and walk out of your building to start the walk home.

Seungcheol finally finishes counting the deposit for the day and closes the shop's safe. Doing a quick look around he checks if the flowers are okay, watering a few when their leaves are slightly wilted. He really does enjoy his job, although slow on some days, he likes to deal with customers who take the time out of their day to buy flowers for a loved one, or to cheer up the mood of another person in their life. He knows that buying flowers isn't as popular as it used to be when he was a kid, helping around the shop when there would be a line up out of the door every day. Still, putting his heart and soul into something he loves makes him happy. With that thought he turns the light off in the shop, walking out into the slight chill of the evening and locks his shop up for the night. Just as he was about to walk away, he spots you walking towards him, seemingly on the way home.

"Hi."

You whip your head up at the greeting to find the handsome florist you met a couple weeks ago. He looks a little worn out, maybe from the busy day or just exhausted from tending to flowers all day but you can't help but melt at his still warm smile as he looks at you. "Hey," you smile, slowing down to talk to him, "fancy seeing you here!". You cringe at your words as you're standing outside the shop his family owns and it is obviously not fancy at all that he his standing outside his own store. He laughs despite your bad joke, you blush at his smile. "Which way are you walking?" "I'm going towards the river," you respond and his face lights up. "are you walking that way too?" Seungcheol only nods at your question, stepping to the side and dramatically sweeping his arm to gesture to the sidewalk in front of the two of you. "Lead the way," he answers with the biggest smile. A slight blush warms his cheeks, embarrassed by his own actions. Miraculously, you don't notice or if you do, he thinks, you're too nice to not say anything.

The walk home with Seungcheol is shorter than you wanted, getting to talk about anything and everything that you can think of. Walking half the speed you normally do, you look over to Seungcheol who has his hands shoved in his pockets. He's looking forward so you hope he doesn't notice as you admire his features. The florist is undeniably handsome, even you can admit that and you wonder just how lucky you were to have him walk you home.

Seungcheol takes the lack of conversation to silently thank every higher power that exists that allowed him to finally meet the pretty girl who always walks past his shop. He hopes that the gasp that passes his lips is small enough when he realizes, "I don't believe I ever asked for your name,"

You stop upon hearing this and you giggle, because, you had been so worried about the cute boy from the flower shop that you never even asked for his name. So you give him yours. You watch as his lips form your name again, and you think to yourself that your name has never sounded better coming from anyone else. Seungcheol thinks that it's fitting for such a pretty name for a pretty girl, but he just doesn't have the guts to tell you.

"You can call me Seungcheol," he smiles, and the two of you continue to walk down the path towards the river.

Walking home with Seungcheol should've made you nervous; his face and body are handsome enough to turn heads and this is the first time the two of you have had a real conversation. Despite all of this you find that you're relaxed, laughing at the corny joke he just told, the biggest shit-eating smirk you've ever seen on his face. You can't help but swoon every time his smile brightens up his face, the way his eyes scrunch up in an adorable way that makes you question just how old he is.

The topic of his flower shop is brought up and you learn a few things as you listen to Seungcheol talk; he started working when he was just 5 years old, helping to water the plants and sweep around the shop. The shop itself is owned by his grandfather and mother, but his mother has been having health issues so he's been taking care of the plants while she takes some time off.

"Flowers are honestly most of what I know," he admits, "I never went to university despite my mother's protests because I knew this is what I wanted to do. The hours are long because it's just me and my mother worki- well, just me right now you know how it is- but it doesn't matter to me because I love doing what I do and in turn I'm supporting my mother and possibly my future. I've always been happy working with flowers and plants and learning how to take care of them better, and I've never doubted that decision."

You hum in response as Seungcheol finishes. You find yourself envying Seungcheol in that moment, wondering if you've made the right life choices for your happiness. You admire the way he is so passionate for his work, having to start so young but still have the same love for it all of these years later.

Eventually your street turns into view, and if you notice the slight weight on your chest, you don't acknowledge it. You stop walking and Seungcheol walks a few steps before turning to look for you. "This is my street so," you look down at the ground. Despite being so talkative along the walk, suddenly you're too shy to look him in the eye, "thank you for walking with me, it was really nice to get to know you Seungcheol."

Seungcheol's lip twitches upward at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and all of a sudden he doesn't want you to go. He slowly walks towards you and takes something from the back of his pocket. He silently takes your hand in his and you notice just how soft they are. You haven't been this close to him all day and even though he's just holding your hand, you're finding it hard to breath, eyes locked on his facial features. You notice his dark eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks as he looks down into your hand, teeth biting into his bottom lip in a nervous habit you assume, but can't stop and look how it makes his lips a dark blush. You snap out of your gaze when you realize he's places something in the palm of your hand.

A bag of Gardenia Seeds.

He takes your other hand and places it over the bag of seeds, smiling as his warm brown eyes finally meet yours. "Take these with you," his smile grows wider, "I noticed that you were always looking at the flowers in the window whenever you walked past." Standing dumbfounded, you watch as he starts to walk away from you, hands once again shoved in his pockets. He calls your name over his shoulder and turns to walk backwards, "Stop by the shop if you need help planting them, I know a thing or two about flowers".

And so you do.

#seungcheol #scoups #svt #seventeen #scoups svt #svt imagine #svt writing #svt scenario #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #seungcheol/reader #scoups/reader #svt oneshot #seventeen one shot

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illyriandreamer · 6 years ago

Text

Heal Me Chapter One

She died down there, the sex, blood and tears ruined her. A mask she was too afraid to take off. She needed to heal and he knew that all too well.

Elvie of the Night Court, was the first daughter. And everything she did was for her family’s survival. Except she didn’t care about her own.

Azriel/OC {Mature Themes/Content}

Time had meant nothing to me for a while now, I don’t know how long I was in her clutches that afternoon, all I was to her was a slab of meat to please herself, to give her power. I only wished that I could mist her right in front of me, her body turn to atoms underneath my fingertips. My powers were fleeting, there was no possible way to carry out my dream of turning her to dust or shattering her mind to the extent so she couldn’t wipe the dribble off her own chin.

These were the thoughts that kept me sane while her hands caressed my body and violated my pale skin. She would smirk to herself as she tasted me, thinking that my body was reacting to her touch. It was the thought of her death that kept me slick between my legs. I glowered at her as if she was the only person in my life.

After my tongue had bought her to the edge multiple times that day I was released. I felt sick to my stomach and did she know it. That was her goal when my brother or I were whoring ourselves in her bed. She took everything we had and made it hers. To tear and create the little puppets that she loved so dearly. Amarantha liked to think she had control over us, and maybe me and Rhys were the only ones here that weren’t. This was a means to an end

I picked myself up off her satin sheets, picking up the sheer black veil gown she forced me to wear to her bed. She came up behind me and ran her fingers through my hair and shivered at her touch. She wrapped her fingers in my waist left waves. I wanted to tear away not caring if clumps of black hair went with it. She seemed to have some twisted obsession with pulling on my hair in bed

“My beautiful girl.” She whispered in my ear. “You’re so good at serving your queen.” I closed my eyes forcing a smirk and turned to face her. I gave her a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Always.” My voice was not mine own, a mask. A mask that I wore in front of her, the hewn city, that I once wore in the presence of my father. I took a slow walk out of her suite, thinking about scrubbing my skin raw to get rid of her scent. I slammed the door behind me and leant against the wall. I wanted to scream, and shake, tear down the vile court she had built. I was being watched and I turned to the right of the corridor to see the filthy Attor staring me down. Its black eyes clung to the shape of my body. I needed an outlet and that creature had sent me over the edge.

I marched forward at the beast ready to use what I had to tear it limb by limb, not caring what Amarantha did to me for it. The few measly parts of my darkness that I had control over reached out as I boiled over. Graciously from no where my brother put a hand on my shoulder and shielded my exposed body from sight. His eyes raging violet he turned to the Attor with dictation in his voice.

“Why don’t you find somewhere else to fester. Unless you need to lose an eye for looking at Higher Fae like dinner?” The Attor didn’t dare to respond to Rhysand as he scrambled away on his beady little legs.

Rhys pulled his tunic off his body and put it over my head, I slipped in my arms and welcomed the comfort of fabric to my thinned paled body. Rhys pulled back my hair tied it back with a piece of leather from his wrist. I stood there and let Rhys look after me, because I knew that it helped him. When things came to their end, when we had a way out of this, Rhys needed to be okay and id just heal when I could.

“Did you get some sleep?” I asked as he guided me towards me room. People kept their heads down as we walked by. Both of us stood straight and wore our masks.

“Enough to keep you safe.” He kissed the top of my head.

My brother ran me a bath as I sat on the edge of the bed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see the stars from the house of wind. I wanted Cass to hug me tightly in the morning. When I woke up in the night I wanted Az to be there hiding in the shadows. Rhys came into view and leaned against the door frame.

“I’ve ran you a bath. I’ve left some of my clothes in there, to try and get off the smell of her. But you’ll have to dress again for tonight.” Tonight, I don’t think my body could take even being around her even if it was around other people too. “No sleep actually. I’ll take care of her.”

“Rhys.”

“You’ve tired her out. It will just be charm.” He kissed my head. “For Velaris.” He whispered.

“For our dream.” I whispered back, and he left me to it.

I soaked in the bath for what seemed like hours, not that I cared. The water went cold and it wasn’t until Nuala and Cerridwen came to my room. I was silent as they helped me into the clothes that Rhys had left me and made me get into bed.

“High Lord gave us strict instructions you’re to rest tonight.” Nuala told me as she tucked me in like a child. I rolled my eyes as Cerridwen gave me a glass of wine.

“Do you miss him?” I asked the twins, my mask dropping in front of the half wraiths. “Tell me whose orders are better. Humour me?” I asked.

“The Shadows.” Nuala told me and walked to the door.

“The Shadows.” Cerridwen smiled as I took a sip of wine. She took the goblet and set it down for me. “Sleep well, my lady.”

Sleep was something that I wanted and yet feared. She was in my every dream, she was in my every waking moment. I couldn’t escape her. It felt like those hours before. The touch in my dreams felt just like I was awake. And so did the pain and punishments. As I slept I knew Rhys was receiving one or she would wait for me and terrorize us both, pull our subjects in front of us and torture them to the point of death and not even then could we help.

Rhys told me to sleep. I didn’t get much of it, I woke up drenched in sweat. I picked up the goblet and forced the wine down my throat. To give me a buzz of any sort to stop feeling so broken. I climbed out of bed and I couldn’t smell her on me anymore. Rhys’ tunic had done its job. I pulled open the wardrobe and pulled out a soft silk dress. I ripped away the night court fabric replacing it with the navy blue high neck dress. I had no under garments, Amarantha liked to have easy access. I wanted to be sick at just the thought. I rested my hand on my aching stomach, I was hungry and I glanced at the doors. If I wanted to eat then I needed to leave the safety of my room. I brushed my hair through and pushed it back with a diadem.

I looked down to tie up the ribbon on my heels and when I looked up I jumped back at the person who was in mirror opposite. Today she had called my beautiful, but my eyes were hollowing, the tanned skin that ran in my blood was grey. The high cheek bones that anyone would die for was because my body was starving myself, of love, happiness, flying, and the stars. I was dying. I was not the same girl that walked in arms with her brother, followed by their court of nightmares. I could not seem weak. I had to seem like I was still that girl at least in front of her.

I walked to the ‘throne room’ passing a number of other courts people of the way, the mask of strength and power, and bitch wore on my face. As I came close to the high stone doors they opened to a girl bloodied and bruised dragged out by two guards. I looked closely at the girl. She was human, and I felt sorry for her pain. I wanted to reach out and take it away. I rested my hands in front of me and walked again into the throne room.

There she was bright red hair and a tight red dress with red lips. Everything red for blood and power. I strutted towards her wearing a smirk and bowed gently at her then blew her a kiss as if I was the happiest girl in the room. She nodded at me and then I was free to walk towards Rhys.

He was sipping wine in the corner of the room surrounded by a few nightmare court people. When I walked over they stopped talking. Rhys was leaned against the wall with one hand in his pocket, he smirked as he sipped on his wine.

“Shoo.” I flapped my hands at them and they scurried off like mice leaving me and my brother in private. I took his wine off him, if I got drunk enough maybe it would be easier tonight. “Who was that girl?” I asked him. Rhys looked pained when I mentioned it.

“The girl from the Spring Court. She came back for Tamlin.” He answered. I looked at the body of Claire Beddor. Welts and all.

“I thought Claire was his human girl.” I frowned at him and he shook his head. I crossed my arms. “Rhys.”

“I thought she gave me a fake name, when the Attor turned up with a girl.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I knew it wasn’t her. I lied to her said it was, now she’s come to claim Tamlin. Break the curse.” My heart stopped for a moment.

“We’re going home.” My voice cracked.

“Not until she completes three tasks of her choosing.” He pointed his chin towards the bitch lounging on the throne. I looked back at Rhys.

“Think she can?” He nodded with a smile. A real smile on his face for once.

“Not without a helping hand.”

“Rhysand!” Amarantha called him over. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Lucien needs to help her heal. Go tell him.” Rhys whispered. I nodded as he brushed past going over to red haired witch.

Things were beginning to change around here. Amarantha seemed to be on edge, even worse than the weeks leading up to the end of Tamlin’s 50 years. Everyone under the mountain could feel the change in her. That she was suddenly threatened by a human girl, maybe not realising this herself.

I shoved the glass into the arms of someone walking by and swayed my hips over to the broken soul Lucien. This girl better be worth it.

I tapped Lucien on the nose of his fox mask and trailed down to his lips where he grabbed my wrist and stared me down with his golden eye. I smirked.

“Id like you to unhand me now.” I asked sweetly. Keep the mask I told myself. He let my hand drop and drunk more wine. Seems like he was drinking to forget.

“What do you want Elvie?” He snapped.

“Me?” I placed my hand on my chest and feigned shocked. “What makes you think I want anything from you foxy?” He just stared at me. Fake it Elvie. “Okay, okay you got me.” I put my hands up in the arm at him. I leaned closer to him so my whisper would carry to his ear.

“What you’re going to do is simple. Guards change every three hours. So just before change over youre going to visit that little human girl, and you’re going to help her as much as you can. Do you hear me? I shouldn’t have to ask twice, youre quite fond of her too right?” I leaned back. Lucien nodded at me taking another sip. “Good foxy.”

I walked away leaving him to drown in his self-pity. I had enough of my own.

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magziraphale · 7 years ago

Text

A Winter’s Night

A little Gradence fic inspired by this song. Should really have been done a few weeks ago but life is life.

The lamp is burning low upon my table top,

The snow is softly falling.

The air is still in the silence of my room,

I hear your voice softly calling.

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two,

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winter's night with you.

He’s been staring at this report for a full half hour now. The words seem to blur past, his gaze becoming unfocused and when he looks back to the page he recognises nothing. He should really give it up as a bad job but sheer bloody mindedness has always been a prominent Graves trait. A small warm weight brushes against his leg accompanied by a plaintive meow. He smiles.

“Hello menace.”

The black and white furball blinks up at him with huge dark eyes, solemn and elegant. Persephone had been a gift from his sister, Gwen, who was of the constant opinion that he was turning into a lonely old man, and since she couldn’t visit as often as she both of them would like, she had left him a companion. He had protested at first but it took all of three days for him to be utterly enamoured with the creature, who had simply decided that Graves was her human whether he liked it or not.

She oscillated between being an aloof, magnificent queen and an absolute shit, and he adored her for it. Gwen had laughed until she cried when he told her the cat’s name was Persephone - “Percy and Percy! Does your ego know no bounds?!” He had made a point to call her Seph from then on.

Seph decided that her human was not paying her sufficient attention and began to climb up his trouser legs to perch herself on his lap. She was still blinking those huge eyes. Graves had an uncomfortable flash back to that morning, another set of dark, feline eyes staring at him. It was a tragedy that they didn’t stare out of a healthy, full face like Seph’s.

Fuck, I’m even seeing him in my damn cat.

He had a feeling that Credence would love Persephone, with the fascinated way he glanced at the crowds of pigeons on the street or the little secretive smile that came out when people walking their dogs passed by him. Graves had a sudden image of Credence curled up by the fire, Seph purring away on his lap, warm and safe and with that slow creeping smile allowed to stay. He reached out to pet Seph with a hand that trembled ever so slightly, the ache in his chest that he’d carried all day splitting into something sharp and piercing.

Merlin, but he hoped the boy was at least inside.

The next morning he found himself retracing his steps to the alley they had met in the day before. He waited as long as he could, wishing he hadn’t taken the healers’ advice to stop smoking. It would at least give him something to do with his hands. But there was no sign of the boy. Fuck, he couldn’t afford to stand around all day.

He pulled one of the loose bricks out a little from the wall, slipping a letter he’d finally written the night before in case of this very eventuality. At least he knew Credence could read, the boy had been rather adamant about that when he’d asked.

“I may not be educated, but I am not slow, Mr Graves.”

That brief flash of fire, of defiance had made him smile. The boy was so much more than he appeared.

The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead,

My glass is almost empty.

I read again between the lines upon each page

The words of love you sent me.

If I could know within my heart

That you were lonely too,

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winter's night with you.

Credence wasn’t expecting Mr Graves to be in the alley so long after their usual time, in spite of the traitorous thump of his heart. He was an important man with better things to do that be at the beck and call of a nobody. Some days Credence wondered if it was all a dream, that he’d wake up and find that Mr Graves did not know him, or worse, did not exist at all.

It was Credence who started it, leaving little notes whenever he was able to hide some scraps of paper. He burned with shame at his clumsy letters when Mr Graves wrote back the first time, his script neat and curling on thick, textured paper. But Mr Graves never seemed to mind, if he even noticed, always reassuring him that he read and enjoyed what Credence chose to write to him.

There was a scrap of paper in the wall today. He could feel his heart speed up again - even if it wasn’t the same as having him here, breathing the same air, feeling the warmth of his hand on his shoulder, Credence treasured the words the man wrote. He kept the notes hidden in one of the floorboards of his room, only taking them out when everyone was asleep to read the words over and over, even though he’d already memorised most of them. It wasn’t the same as seeing the ink on the page, knowing that he’d written these words, left something physical and real. Credence doubted the man truly meant the words as they might be understood, the depth of familiarity and affection, but he didn’t care. They were his and he hoarded them as a treasure.

“My dearest Credence-“

The feeling in his chest swelled as he read greedily, a sparking pressure that he sometimes felt might devour him. He’d let it.

Credence tucked the paper into his shoe when he was done, much less likely to be found there. But the words of Percival Graves played over and over in his head, and they kept him warm as he stood out on the main street and the snow continued to fall.

It was another two days before he saw Credence again. On the nights in between he had read the boy’s words out to Seph as he studied the note - a scrap from one of their horrid flyers - and was at once filled with joy and worry. The weather wasn’t getting any better, if anything it was turning colder, every drop of moisture turning to ice in an instant. Sleep came slowly, if at all; the price of his cowardice.

The surge of warmth when he saw the boy hunched in the alley was incriminatingly familiar. In truth, he’d feared he was too late, the winter sun already below the New York skyline.

“Credence.”

A jolt before the huddled figure relaxed slightly. “Mr Graves,” his voice was all but a whisper.

Graves tried to smile. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for the letter.” Those dark eyes flickered up to meet his own, but the face was paler even than usual, the red lips chapped and sore, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes.

“You’re welcome, sir. I got yours as well, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” In recent days the boy had never been so silent, opening up gradually as a cautious bud. “Credence?”

“Hmm?” The response seemed dragged from his body. Graves couldn’t help but put a hand to his forehead.

“Credence, are you well?” Hells bells, Graves, of course he’s not well, fucking look at him. The boy’s head was damp with sweat but so cold. He leaned into Graves’ hand with a hum.

“I’m- I’m fine, Mr Graves, just tired ’s all.” And his words were starting to slur. Fuck.

The choice was never really any choice at all.

“Hold on to me for a moment, let’s get you someplace warm.”

Seeing Credence on his living room sofa felt much like dreaming. But in his dreams the boy had never had that sickly grey tinge to his skin, had never had red slices along his hands cracked and reopened from the cold that he’d had to heal before giving him honeyed tea with Pepper-Up potion. Persephone was watching them both from her seat on the windowsill, taking the scene in with dark eyes.

“I have a pot of soup on for when you’re done with the tea.”

“Thank you Mr Graves.”

“Please, call me Percival?” He hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, but the boy smiled just a little in response.

“Thank you, Percival.” Hesitance and boldness both. Hardly a wonder that Graves was gone for the boy.

He healed his wounds as best he could, put soothing cream on his face. Credence’s eyelashes fluttered with every touch of his fingers, which looked so large and uncouth next to the delicacy of his features. He left the boy to rest by the fire while he went to prepare some food. Before you go too far.

When he returned, he found his heart healed and split anew. Credence was kneeling on the rug by the fire, stroking careful fingers through Persephone’s fur. She lay still and purring under his gentle touch, blinking huge eyes up at where Graves stood frozen by the soft expression on the boy’s face. As close to joy as he had seen. He wanted to turn and walk away, not to intrude on their peace; he wanted to freeze time and never look at anything else. The spoon rattled against the bowl and Credence looked up. But his joy did not fade, rather it grew, a smile spreading like the fire’s warmth.

“I think your cat likes me.”

Graves lowered himself to the floor next to his two favourite people. He passed the soup to Credence and pulled Seph into his lap, who settled once again after a brief disgruntled murmur.

“Her name is Persephone, though I usually call her Seph. And she definitely likes you.”

Credence looked torn between continuing to eat and returning to petting Seph.

“I’m glad. She’s beautiful.”

Seph stretched, preening as if she understood she was being praised.

“You both are.” He realised the moment the words left his mouth and cringed. Credence’s eyes were wide with shock, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You don’t mean that.”

Graves sighed. “Oh, I do. I shouldn’t have said it, but there’s nothing more true. You are beautiful, Credence, outside and in.” He put a hand to the boy’s trembling ones, steadying him again. His eyes were damp but a small smile was threatening. Perhaps all wasn’t lost.

They sat together quietly. Eventually Credence shifted - towards him, not away, and what a miracle - laying his head softly, hesitantly on Graves’ shoulder. Graves thought he might cry, squeezing his eyes shut as he reached an arm around the slim body to hold him.

“The snow is prettier from in here,” Credence whispered.

“When you’re well and rested, I’ll take you out back with a warming charm, and we can watch it fall from the sky.”

“But- but I have to go back, Mr Graves.” Wetness dripped from the boy’s face, and Graves had had enough.

“No you don’t. I’ve been a coward, Credence, and I’m so fucking sorry. But you’re never going back there. Will you stay here with me Credence?”

Those gorgeous dark eyes were looking right through him now in shock, searching out any hint of a lie.

“And do what?” he finally asked.

Graves pressed a kiss to his brow, watched the snow fall outside the window. He was right, it was beautiful.

“I don’t know Credence. For now? Watch the snow. Breathe. Pet Seph, as I highly doubt she’ll permit anything less.”

A breathy laugh as the boy reached to stroke her soft fur again. He nodded and laid his head back down on Graves’ shoulder.

“I would like that. Percival.”

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two,

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winter's night with you.

And to be once again with with you.

#gradence #fic #my writing #gravebone #fluff #winter #song fic #percival graves #credence barebone

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chokememrstark · 7 years ago

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The King’s Lover // Angstmas Day 1

Words: 3367

Summary: Sam has been the king's lover for many years already and even though their relationship is a secret and forbidden, he loves Lucifer with all his heart. Even when he realizes he is pregnant and makes the most difficult and painful decision of his life, his love stays the same. He doesn't realize that this decision is what is going to destroy everything that was ever important to him.

king!lucifer, servant!sam, mpreg, character death, heavy angst, emotional hurt, little comfort, angst angst angst, secret affair

Note: With this, let us start Angstmas! I hope you enjoy the angst.

Tagging: @shebahda @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @spnyoucantkeepmedown @wearemykingdom @brieflymaximumprincess

If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

Read on AO3!

When Sam noticed the bulge under his nightgown he was mortified. He never thought this could happen - it was so very rare that a man got pregnant, it just never crossed his mind. His first instinct was to go to Lucifer and tell him, but that thought very quickly turned into a heavy stone in his stomach. No, he couldn’t do that. Lucifer was the king, their affair wasn’t only forbidden, but had the potential to damage his reputation, even cost him his crown that would then fall to his brother Michael, who would surely ruin this kingdom forever. Sam loved Lucifer with all his heart and he knew that their feelings were mutual, but he just couldn’t do that to him.

So, instead of sharing the news with his lover, Sam decided to leave. It was the hardest decision of his life, but it was the only one he could think of. There wasn’t much he took with him apart from the clothes he wore, but taking anything else from Lucifer felt wrong. They had been very happy together, that was enough of a treasure to keep, or so Sam hoped. He did take two things, however; the small golden necklace with the blue crystal Lucifer had gifted him three years ago when they began their relationship and the ring with Lucifer’s sigil engraved into a black stone, which Lucifer had once jokingly referred to as a symbol that Sam was his and his alone. When he left in the middle of the night, hiding in the shadows of buildings to not be seen, eventually making his escape unnoticed and silent.

Leaving the man he loved so much was nothing Sam was proud of, especially not without a word, but he knew that it was for the best in the end, as he didn’t want to be the reason Lucifer lost his throne and had his life destroyed. Sam never stayed in one town longer than he could without anyone recognizing him and eventually made it to the neighbouring kingdom, where he gave birth to a healthy little boy he named Damien. Despite promising to himself that he would give his life for the boy, however, it was Damien who died in his arms four years later after falling ill, something Sam never recovered from. He even sold the necklace from Lucifer to pay a doctor to help his son, but there was nothing he could have done.

After Damien’s death, Sam fell into a crippling agony. His loss was more than Sam could take after already losing Lucifer and now left him wandering around aimlessly. He barely ate or slept and kept talking to his dead son when he did, blaming himself for his death in the most torturous ways. It was a pathetic life he was pretending to live and every day he simply prayed that he would drop dead and that is would be over. This went on for almost a year and by then, Sam looked like a ghost of himself; pale and grayish skin, big dark circles under his eyes and the beauty that had been there only a few years ago long, long forgotten. Maybe that was the reason no one recognized him when he was imprisoned by guards for stealing bread. They threw him into a cell where Sam simply curled up as much as he could, refusing to speak even a single word.

They left him in the cell for almost a week, ironically supplying him with bread and water so he wouldn’t starve, before eventually someone entered the cell to check on him. The guard that came in was rough and brutal, grabbing Sam’s face and pulling him around to look for any markings of criminals they were looking for. Sam just let him, he didn’t care if they hung or beheaded him, everything was better than this life. The guard kept going, throwing Sam around like a ragdoll before he eventually stopped dead in his actions and grabbed for his hand.

A few moments nothing happened, then Sam was dragged out of the cell and into another, where the guard questioned him again and again about where he stole the ring from, but Sam didn’t answer. He simply shook his head and pressed the hand with the ring against his chest in fear they would take away the last thing that he had from his lover. Eventually, the guard gave up and left Sam alone, who crawled into one of the corners to make himself as small as possible again.

The next time someone entered the cell, the steps Sam heard were hesitant, almost cautious. He didn’t move, but listened closely to the mumbling a few feet away from him, waiting to be grabbed and thrown around again. The touch on his shoulder that followed, however, was gentle and careful, which made him curl up even more for some reason. Sam didn’t want to know what would come next and when he heard the word that was whispered in disbelief, his heart felt like a cold stone dropping into his stomach.

“Sam?”

He had not heard this voice in five years and it brought back painful memories, immediately causing his eyes to water when he was finally turned around to face the man behind him. There, not a day older than when he had left in the middle of the night, carrying his child, was Lucifer. Sam couldn’t protest or even move when he was pulled into the king’s arms, nor could he stop the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to be here in the arms of the man he had betrayed so horribly, but there was no way out of it.

Sam didn’t really realize how it happened, but he was led out of the cell just minutes after and brought into a carriage, Lucifer by his side and giving commands to the carter. It all felt like a strange dream that made his body numb and cold, despite the thick cloak Lucifer wrapped around him and his arms holding him tight. Sam didn’t understand the words the king was whispering or really felt the way his fingers touched his arms - for Sam there was just this dull ache that filled him completely.

When they arrived at the castle, Lucifer brought Sam into a warm and big chamber - not the one Sam had stayed in years ago, this was one for the royal family members - and ordered several maids to help Sam clean up and get dressed in something other than the ragged and dirty clothes he was wearing. As the maids did their job, Lucifer told Sam he would get him food and wine so he would regain his strength soon. Again, Sam barely listened and he just let the maids do what they had to do, uncaring about the way he looked or was presented. He still didn’t know if this was real or not, but someone the thought of this not being a dream hurt much more.

Eventually, the maids left and Sam sat on the bed with clean clothes - a simple shirt and trousers - and washed hair. His arms wrapped around his stomach, the former lover of the king was scared of how the other would react when he came back. He had never felt so guilty and miserable before, knowing that his secret would soon be revealed and he had to tell Lucifer the truth about what had happened.

Lucifer came back shortly after, another servant following him to put a plate on the table next to the bed before leaving the two alone. Only now Lucifer stepped closer to the boy on the bed, kneeling in front of him between his legs and cupping his face tenderly.

“Sam… where have you been?” Lucifer asked quietly, wiping a few stray tears off Sam’s pale face with his thumb. “I tried to find you for so long.”

Sam wanted to answer, wanted to apologize or just say anything, but he couldn’t get a single word out. His throat was so tight that he could barely breathe, more tears running down his face and making it impossible to even see Lucifer. The king accepted his silence, however, and pulled Sam back into his arms and off the bed. They sat there for a long time, Lucifer holding Sam tight on his lap and Sam simply overwhelmed by his emotions and sadness, crying against his robes and clinging to them in sheer desperation. From time to time, Lucifer would brush over Sam’s head and place gentle kisses on his skin, which were followed by promises of how he would never let him go again and how he was safe and how he wasn’t mad or angry.

That night, Lucifer tucked Sam in himself and sat by his side until he had fallen asleep and long after that. In the morning, Sam was alone, but there was a sealed letter on the nightstand addressed at him. Carefully, the young man sat up and took the letter. It was, very unexpectedly, a promise that Lucifer would come back soon and that he hoped Sam slept well. It spoke how much the king had missed him and while Sam believed this to be true, the knowledge that he didn’t know half of the truth was eating him from the inside. The letter was signed with ‘in eternal love, your Lucifer’, which made Sam tear up once more. He hated himself for all the crying and this time wiped the tears away himself, determined to not ruin the letter with his tears.

Sam ate a little of the berries on his nightstand, but only enough to get rid of the pain in his stomach, before he pressed the letter to his chest and rolled to the side again, almost immediately falling back asleep. It felt like he had not slept at all over the last year, so it was not surprising that his exhaustion was intense. Some time later, the brush of a familiar hand on his had woke Sam up slowly.

“Did you sleep well, my dearest?” Lucifer asked warmly and pressed a soft kiss on Sam’s forehead.

Sam sat up slowly, nodding at the question. He looked at Lucifer cautiously, the letter still pressed to his chest and feeling utterly lost.

“You don’t have to be scared, Sam,” Lucifer promised him, a hand taking the boy’s. “I am so glad to see you alive, I feared you were dead and that I would never see you again.”

“I…” Sam’s voice cracked immediately, his throat tightening again at the mere thought of words, but he knew he had to say something. And he wanted to. “I apologize… I didn’t mean to worry you…”

Lucifer’s face lightened up slightly when he heard Sam’s voice, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he caressed his hand.

“Don’t apologize, please. I’m just happy to have you back, I don’t care for anything else.”

Sam tried to smile, but there was no way to force his face to obey. An icy hand clutched around his heart at Lucifer’s words and the memory of the reason he left.

“I love you Sam, please never doubt that,” Lucifer continued, taking Sam’s hand tighter into his and covering it with the other. “I will never stop loving you and nothing could ever change that, I promise.”

“What if…” Sam sniffed, cursing himself for his inability to speak properly. “What if I did something horrible… something unforgivable?”

“Nothing you did can ever change my feelings for you,” Lucifer assured him again.

The king leaned closer, almost towering over Sam before bringing their lips together in what felt like a life-long dream coming true for the boy. Despite his anguish, this touch he had missed for so long took some of the pain in his heart away from him. Lucifer’s arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, lifting him up a little and pressing them together. It felt like the kiss lasted forever and somehow Sam wished it would have, because when Lucifer pulled back it was as if he was losing him all over again.

“My beautiful Sam,” Lucifer coed, brushing over the boy’s cheek gently. “I missed you so much, you have no idea. I thought you would not love me anymore and wanted to leave, I never dreamed of finding you again.”

“No… Lucifer, no…” Sam whispered and shook his head, unable to find a way to explain. “I didn’t stop loving you… I never did, but I couldn’t stay… you don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Lucifer promised and pressed another kiss on his lips. “You’re here, it’s all good. You have all the time in the world, now you need rest and sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Lucifer,” Sam mumbled and leaned into the touch on his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you have to know that…”

“I know, Sam, of course. It’s all good, I promise.”

Sam knew it wasn’t all good, but he didn’t tell Lucifer. He was overwhelmed to be back in Lucifer’s arms and that he said he wasn’t angry with him, but he knew that he would be if he told him the truth about his absence. Right now, however, he didn’t have the strength to tell him. Not yet. He knew that he would have to eventually, of course, but for a short time he just wanted to not think about it.

Over the next two weeks several doctors checked on Sam to see if he suffered from any injuries or illnesses, always closely watched by Lucifer’s eagle eyes so that no more harm would be done to his boy. Physically, Sam was healthy, even though he was malnourished and weak - nothing proper food and care would not fix though. Lucifer was pleased to hear this and made sure that Sam had everything he needed in order to recover. Whenever he could he was beside his lover, whispering love affirmations and showering him with affections and kisses. He noticed that Sam was hesitant and still scared, so he never went any further, but he took every chance to assure Sam of his love, which surely helped the boy heal somehow.

One evening, however, when Lucifer didn’t come to him at the usual time, Sam got a little worried. He didn’t leave his chamber normally, only once Lucifer had taken him to the gardens so he could catch some sun, but he still remembered the castle from his time here, so he was optimistic to find him. Sam sneaked through the corridors, towards the king’s chamber, when he heard noises from behind a corner suddenly. he held his breath and peeked around it, hoping it would just be some of the maids he knew already. What he saw in the candlelight though made his heart stop as soon as he realized what he was witnessing.

It was Lucifer, but he wasn’t alone. A beautiful and ravishing looking woman had her arms wrapped around him, kissing him passionately, almost devouring his face with her mouth. She was shamelessly making out with the king, not muffling the sounds they made in the slightest and Sam could see Lucifer’s hands on her too - roaming her slender body under the corset she was wearing. Sam felt ice cold, as if someone had just ripped his heart out of his chest, and things got much worse when the woman suddenly locked eyes with him over Lucifer’s shoulder. It was clear that she knew Sam was watching and that she enjoyed it, even kissing Lucifer harder while keeping her glare at him.

Sam couldn’t handle any more of this. He covered his mouth to not make a sound and fled the scene, basically running back to his chamber and slamming the door shut behind him. Only now he allowed his tears to fall as he crawled under the covers of his bed, wrapping the blankets around himself as tight as he could while sobbing into the pillows unrestrained. He didn’t think he could ever feel so hopelessly crushed again. Lucifer had spoken about undying love and how he would never stop loving him and in the same breath he already had a woman to come back to every night. Sam felt nauseous just thinking about them and once again just wished he would just die so this nightmare of a life would be over finally.

When the expected knock on his door came a few minutes later, Sam curled up even more instead of answering and pressing his face so deep into the pillows that barely a sound was coming from him anymore. Lucifer came into his chamber as always, sitting at the edge of his bed.

“Sam? What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” He sounded genuinely worried, which only made Sam feel even worse under the sheets.

“Go away,” Sam said, his voice broken and thick from the tears. “Just go back to your whore and leave me alone.”

He knew that his words were harsh, but he didn’t care at the moment. He was hurt and felt betrayed, as if he was just a toy to be kept for some entertainment. Over all these years Sam had never taken another man - or woman for that matter - because his heart solely belonged to Lucifer and he had truly believed this feeling was mutual. Now he realized how naive this belief was.

“Sam, I can explain,” Lucifer sighed and laid a hand on Sam’s back, who immediately jerked away. “It’s not what you think, you have to listen to me, please.”

“How is it not what I think?” Sam huffed and sat up angrily. “I saw you! I saw her eating your face and you enjoyed it, don’t lie to me. And she knew I was there!”

“You’re right, but I don’t love her, you have to believe me. It’s just a relationship for convenience, nothing more.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care for me, Lucifer,” Sam mumbled and turned away from the king. “You’re not obliged to care for me, you never were.”

“Stop it with this nonsense,” Lucifer said and grabbed one of Sam’s hands, forcing him back around. “I don’t pretend to care for you, I do! Lilith is just show, nothing more. My father forced me into a relationship with her so he can get his precious heir to the throne, this isn’t about love, it never was.”

“Heir… to the throne? Does that mean she’s…” Sam’s voice died before he could finish his question and when Lucifer nodded, he thought that his heart would explode inside his chest. He broke out into tears, clinging to Lucifer like a drowning man and completely losing himself. Lucifer didn’t know what happened, why Sam suddenly acted so awfully destroyed, but he held him the best he could, trying to soothe him to no avail.

For Sam, the world had just ended. He had lost the love of his life, their child and everything that ever meant anything to him and now there was a trophy wife that carried Lucifer’s child - a child that would be born and would survive and that wouldn’t die from a preventable illness in the arms of the one that loved it most. It was just too much to handle for Sam, he couldn’t stop crying even though it felt like he was dying and he wanted nothing more than that. He knew that their child would have never had a chance to be anything but a servant’s illegitimate bastard, but it wasn’t fair that he had to die when he was a child of love and this child, which was not, would live. Now, more than ever before, Sam felt the blood on his hands, knowing that he was the one who had taken their son’s life in the end, without anyone but him even knowing of his existence. He had murdered him by running away, by being unable to help him when he needed him the most and didn’t even have the strength anymore to tell Lucifer about the child he lost without knowing it.

#samifer #sam x lucifer #sam winchester #spn lucifer #angstmas #myfics #angst fic #i hope you enjoy this first fic of this week #i surely loved writing it #sorry if you find any mistakes - these were all unbeta'd bc they are meant to be a surprise for everyone #still #enjoy the angst ^^

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arianakristine · 7 years ago

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Title: Between the Shadow and the Soul, Chapter 8 Note: Another that is unprompted, and another guided by a picspam.

She is practically vibrating, her whole body reacting in anticipation as she sits at her vanity. Her makeup is done, softly applied and accentuating her features. Her dressing gown covers her outfit, a pale blue dress as light as air. Teena and Constance are at her sides, fussing over the styling of her hair. It is in big loops, thick and spiraled, and the crown of her head is teased into a temporary bouffant to be fashioned appropriately around her tiara later.

“You look beautiful, Highness,” Teena gushes. Teena is perhaps twelve, participating today as part of her begging to learn the trade from her sister. She is sweet and earnest, though she tends to bother the near-unflappable Constance from what she can tell.

Emma smiles at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“And the dress! You will be the talk of the party,” she continues, beaming.

“Indeed she will be. It’s her highness’s birthday,” Constance says flatly, but smooths down a curl with care.

Emma bites down at her lip, excitement buzzing through her. Her birthday.

“There is to be an absolute feast! Everyone shall attend. There is already a mountain of presents arrived. You should see all the finery! And I am sure you will dance with the handsomest of princes,” she sighs wistfully.

“Hush, now. You need to get that side even,” Constance snaps.

Emma blushes slightly and twists her fingers into the robe. A fair number of royal families are to attend, she knows, and she is sure to be expected to look to a few of the ones her age. Of course, her parents do not push suitors on her. Quite the opposite, in fact; they are content in keeping her as a youth instead of the adult she is for as long as possible. Nonetheless, she anticipates spending much of the party on her feet, twirled around from noble to prince to noble until she is dizzy with it.

But that isn’t why she blushes. She blushes because a certain garrison is due to arrive at any moment, bringing with them a knight whose soul knows her own better than she.

She cannot wait.

It hasn’t been a long absence this time. A quick squash to a protest more than a rebellion. They even brought Jiminy to explain rather than use any force. But any time he is absent her heart twists and aches. It hasn’t rained in days, and she needs to know that they can sneak away a few more times before the storms begin in earnest.

Teena’s brow furrows as she brushes a curl straight and redoes it to fit Constance’s standards. “It’s a good thing the garrison has arrived,” Teena muses. “The castle will have enough protection for all your guests and you.”

She freezes and tries not to let her reaction show over her features. “The garrison … they’ve arrived?”

Constance nods. “Just an hour ago, Highness. They were quite weary, but were a full three hours ahead of schedule. They are preparing for the party as well.”

She trembles slightly, anticipation creeping up her spine. “Is that so,” she says softly.

Constance pulls away first with a quick nod. “Your hair needs to set for another hour, Your Highness,” she determines, then pulls back the length of the strands so they aren’t in her way. “Do you wish me to fetch a book from the library?”

“No,” she says and rises. She pulls off her robe, the twinkling of the filigree on her dress shinning in the daylight. “I need some air.”

Constance opens her mouth to protest, but then snaps shut.

Teena’s eyes grow wide. “But Highness! Your pretty dress!”

She chuckles and steps out on tip toes. “I can wear a pinafore. Is that sufficient?”

“Quite right. I will get you one and determine which of the guards are available to you,” Constance says quickly, tugging on Teena’s arm to drag her out as well.

Once the door shut, she smiles to herself. An hour. It will have to be sufficient.

Some minutes later, she returns unaccompanied and leads her downstairs. Constance fits her with a cotton apron, fitted over her skirt in such a way as not to sully it. Once she is prepared, she doesn’t hesitate to open the doors to the garden wide. She steps in bare feet out onto the palace steps, dry leaves crunching along her toes.

In the distance, she sees him as he leans against a column.

His back is turned to her, shining armor wrapped around his body. His hair is longer than usual, catching in the wind. When he turns, his eyes are soft on hers. He offers the barest hint of a smile. “Your Highness,” he greets with his usual informal bow.

She can’t help but beam at him, smile wide across her face. “Sir,” she acknowledges, dipping lower than even he did.

He steps forward. He must’ve only just had minimal time since his arrival, his face pink from a quick wash and beard only half groomed. He hesitates in front of her and looks down at her bare feet. “You were in a hurry, I think,” he murmurs.

She nods. “I didn’t want to wait to see … the sun,” she teases.

He ducks his head, smile hidden. “I will wait for you to find some shoes, then,” he says.

She pulls her boots from the second step behind her and turns to him. “You’d assist your princess, wouldn’t you?”

He gives her a sharp look but it doesn’t prevent him bending to strap the boots on. It also doesn’t prevent his lingering touch over her skin, careful enough not to alert anyone watching from the windows and yet provocative enough to make her shiver.

“Let’s go,” she breathes once he is finished.

He nods and then abruptly steps back, head inclined. She stiffens and turns, finding her mother at the top stair.

Queen Snow is exquisite in a deep red dress, intricate detail in gold along her neck and waist. Her peppered hair is swept up and out of the way, though like Emma not finished for the event. She is grinning, pride brightening her whole being. “Emma,” she says, and places her hands to her mouth. “Oh, darling, you look lovely.”

Emma presses her lips together. She is aching being so close, but she still manages to smile at her.

Her mother steps down the stairs and hugs her close. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, mom,” she answers, hoping it isn’t as stiff as she feels. She feels the panic tweaking at her, wondering if she’ll be sent for some big birthday speech from her parents prior to finishing her look instead of the walk. His presence feels heavy at her back, and she desperately wants to at least touch him before the party.

“Don’t be too long, now? And don’t make too big of a job for the girls later, okay?” Snow insists instead.

She gives her mother a real smile back, relief weakening her knees. “I am properly attired,” she says. “And my guard has helped with my boots so I won’t become muddied.”

Snow turns her eyes to her companion then, and her smile becomes strangely distant. “Oh, good. Huntsman, I know you will watch her with a keen eye.”

Emma just barely tosses him a knowing smile, and pulls out of her mother’s embrace. “I will see you later, then?”

“Indeed. You should see the mountain of presents, Emma. Of course, your father and I’s is a bit more extravagant. I think you’ll be pleased!” Snow says with a wink.

She is, of course. But as she bids her mother farewell and follows her knight into the woods, she already knows which present she enjoys the most.

They reach the trees after a few paces. They do not have time to reach the true forest, so instead are in the secluded parts of the palace gardens. The wall and nearly all the castle is hidden at this vantage, and appears almost like the vastness of the place he grew up in. It is empty of people at a busy time such as this, quite luckily so. The creek rushes musically to a small pond with a school of koi swimming in its depths. She sighs and dips to rest her fingers in the water, watching the droplets sparkle in the autumn sun. She needs to touch something, her skin itching, and she isn’t quite sure if they have pushed themselves deep enough into the woods yet.

“You are lovely, Emma,” he muses, accent soft and lilting.

She looks up. He is leaning against a tree, the light silhouetting him in its aura. She reaches out to him and he takes it, curling his fingers around her own. “I’ve missed you, my Graham,” she whispers. Are they far enough away?

He shudders and pulls her standing, and his lips capture hers before she has a moment to worry. He is aggressive, pulling her close, consuming her, and she moans at the sheer force of it.

Just as her lungs finally scream for air, he breaks the kiss. He hugs her close instead, burying his face into her neck and fingers sinking into her back. As always, he is able to express what he feels without ever saying a word.

As he uses a thumb to caress her spine, she pulls back just slightly. She looks upon him gently, hands flitting over his cheeks. “Different, this time,” she murmurs, a question in her tone. If anything, she is usually the one guiding the first encounter, desperate for him after an absence. He usually is more tentative at first, letting it build and steady before taking over.

He presses his forehead to hers and shakes a quick denial that anything is wrong. “Just gossip,” he says and pulls her closer by her waist.

Oh. She’s heard some of the gossip even the men privy themselves to. Celebrations only strengthen this. Everyone has their opinion on who she should pair herself off with, and she has no doubt that the regiment would have no shame in how they vocalize their own.

She captures his lips, slow and intense before parting. “You know me. You know you are my home,” she whispers to him.

His blue eyes shine as he looks down at her, and he bumps their noses affectionately. “Eventually, you will need to choose,” he reminds softly, wrapping a curl around his finger.

She pulls out of his arms and turns, hands brushing over her arms. She feels frustration climb inside her before she turns back. “I have chosen,” she says stubbornly.

“Emma.”

She shakes her head and sits by the pond again. “I do not have to pick from these suitors. I could rule on my own,” she insists.

“You could,” he offers and steps forward, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of her neck. “You are more than capable, Princess.”

There is affection in the title, though the reminder of it makes her wince. “But they wouldn’t like it,” she says hollowly.

“They wouldn’t like it,” he agrees.

Her parents, with their true love and strong friendship, do not like the idea of their only child being alone. There are political reasons to her getting a partner as well, but they are more concerned with her finding someone to share her life with. Someone to lean upon when the crown feels heavy. They would not be content with her pretending to be alone for years, not truly.

What she wants is to be able to tell them about him, about who her heart and soul already recognizes. But it is not ready, not time. Especially as he has already committed treason long ago with that first kiss, and it has only compounded from there. She needs to find a way to present him in a manner they will accept him easily, and she doesn’t know how that’ll be done just yet.

She swipes her eye before the tear has a chance to crawl down her face and ruin her makeup. “Can we—not now, please, Graham.”

He sits next to her and cups her face in his hands. “I am sorry,” he whispers and kisses each cheek gently. “Not a worry for today.”

She closes her eyes briefly, basking in the attention. “I need more time with you,” she commands.

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I cannot keep you to myself today, my Emma.”

She finds herself smiling back again, the possessive word calming the unrest within her. “Too busy today, I know.”

“But I am glad I was home in time to wish her Royal Highness a happy birthday, at the very least,” he says with a soft kiss.

She sighs pleasantly as she pulls back. “It was a successful mission, then?”

He nods; she sees the change in him almost imperceptibly. He is the advisor more than the lover in these moments. “They were only uninformed. A small village, one that was unaffected when she was in power. I only had a small group go with Jiminy to make a statement to them.”

She puzzles through it a bit. “They weren’t followers to the Usurper?”

He shakes his head. “No. They understood it to be that Regina’s rule was an improvement for their village than what they have now.”

She frowned deeply. “Who is spreading the rumors that life was better with her, then?”

His cheek twitches. “Isn’t there better things to discuss on this day of celebration?”

She tilts her head to the side. “I think of nothing better than to figure out the best ways to rule as I become another year closer to that time.”

Twenty-eight. That is their compromise. If her parents remain as well as they anticipate, she is expected to take a role in the day-to-day ruling when she turns twenty-eight. Something she’s fought for, tooth and nail, for the better part of the last seven years will now come to be not because they heard her but because people thought a coup was possible due to her ignorance.

It hadn’t been her parents’ idea, unfortunately. Instead, it was the neighboring kingdom’s worries that sprung the idea. King Thomas’ lands are small, but they sit at a passage connecting their little seaside kingdom to the vaster lands of the Enchanted Forest. From there, they had the vantage of hearing the stirring of a plot, one that showed just how vulnerable Emma was in not knowing her coming role.

Her studies have intensified, the background of diplomacy and politics for now. But in a mere three years she will actually be let into the real parts of the picture, shown a piece of that darker world she only sees through his lens at the moment. Will see her kingdom as it truly is, the good and the bad. It is a step, at least, to the days when she will rule on her own, when her parents retire some three decades from now.

Even that first step seems distant at this time, years away still. She knows, however, how quick those will come since she both fears and anticipates it in equal measure.

For it means she still has those three years to find a way for them as well.

His chest falls heavily with a breath and his brow furrows. After a moment he forces a smile. “You are a better future ruler just for caring, you know.”

She traces a path in the dirt with a lone finger and breathes out slowly. “I hope that will be true. For now, though, please: tell me why they think the Usurper is better suited.”

He shrugs helplessly. “There was no information to be found from them. They were all too young to have lived through her reign, and it seems it was mere rumblings from other lands that gave them the pieces to believe it so. They think because she struck fear into the nuisances of today, the thieves and the beggars, that she had better control of the kingdom. They thought she was a true and unfairly maligned queen.”

She brushes a hand over his heart, then up to the scar on his jaw underneath the scruff of his beard that she knows of but can’t see at this moment. “Does it ever anger you to see them talk about her like that?”

He sighs and tangles their fingers. “It infuriates me,” he admits hoarsely. “Insanely so. That they believe there was more strength in her rule …..”

She recoils and shivers. “Ruling through terror, more like.”

“Yes,” he says, and he looks pained a moment.

It takes her a moment to remember that the Usurper used him to help in inciting that fear. She cups his jaw a little more fully, fingers splayed across his neck and cheek.

He tremors, his cobalt eyes haunted. “They do not understand what it was like. And they don’t understand how things can truly be better. When you show them, Emma, they will understand what strength a fair ruler has, what she can do to help us all.”

She kisses him, hard, insisting. He coaxes her into a softer kiss, sweeter, and she lets him take control. “I’m sorry,” she says simply when they part.

He shakes his head. “No, Emma. You need to know.”

She hesitates and nods. She does, and she truly believes she does. But in asking, she can see the pain it digs in him to remember. It hurts that she cannot protect him from the past.

“And, my love,” he continues, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. “I know how well you will rule when it comes time. You are outstanding, and I will watch with pride as they all come to see that in you as well.”

She blushes. “I will be all the better with someone like you at my side,” she says boldly.

“Emma,” he warns.

She stares right back, stubborn. “You will let me keep trying. Especially today.”

His lashes flick across his cheek and he surges forward, firmly pressing his forehead to hers. He says nothing, not to deny her or encourage her. She knows that for now it’s the most she can wish for. He doesn’t like to heighten her expectations, even if she wishes she could raise his.

He wants this for them, she can tell, even if he doesn’t believe they will get it. She will take comfort in that, at least.

“I wish we had more time,” she murmurs, and buries her face into his neck. The cold metal of his armor rests on her chin, and she sighs. She wants so badly to be skin to skin with him again, but she dares not attempt it now.

He must feel her desire as he slips his fingers over her bare arms, carefully touching her and waking her every nerve. He touches her brow with his lips, a whisper of a kiss. “We’ll need to get you back soon.”

She nods. Preparing for a walk and speaking with her mother has shortened the hour to mere moments. She knows she can’t be too selfish. She has gotten to touch him as she wished, gotten to feel his lips on hers again. She has guests arriving from all across the lands, all for her birthday, and they expect her presence.

But it’s also her day to celebrate, and she wishes so much that she could celebrate with him.

He leans in to kiss her one more time, taking the time to drink her in slowly. She feels ignited when they part, and she presses her lips together earnestly.

“Tomorrow?” she asks hopefully.

He nods, dark blue tracing the planes of her face. “Yes. I can help make that so. Just so long as you are not too tired from tonight, my princess.”

She quirks a smile. “For you? Never too tired, Graham.”

He adjusts her hair and smooths a thumb around the line of her lips, removing the smudge of her gloss. In seconds, she is sure she looks as if nothing transpired. He nods thoughtfully, and gives a half smile. “You are ready, then?”

She smirks and reaches to brush her lipstick from him. “I suppose.”

His face looks weary all of a sudden, dulled and disappointed. He stands and helps her rise as well. His mouth is a firm line until he nods sharply. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, mostly to himself.

Heat warms inside her stomach, excitement replacing the disappointment.

They are met at the palace steps by two of her lady’s maids. “Your Highness,” one of them says with a bow. “Constance has said that your hair should be ready, if you are finished.”

She raises her chin and nods. “I am sure the guards will have much to prepare. Sir Knight, I won’t keep you any longer,” she dismisses, and can’t even bear to look at him.

He disappears without a word, and she is led up the staircase to her rooms again. The whirlwind of preparing is quick, comparatively.

As expected, her party is opulent. The receiving, dining, and ballrooms are decorated in silver and red, glimmering and striking. It contrasts and complements her pale blue and silver gown, especially as her family and many of the guests are in reds and blacks.

She sticks out, as she is meant to.

Her parents dote on her, the nobles flatter her, and she is, as predicted, led from one waltz to another over and over again. It is exhausting, and she longs to be out of the confines of the rooms.

She finds herself laughing as she dances with her father though, his broad smile contagious.

“You can’t be my little girl, could you?” he teases. She can practically count the rhythm of his steps, the 1-2-3, 1-2-3, in his own voice.

She shakes her head, continuing the jest. “Must be someone else you’re thinking of.”

“Hmm,” he ponders, and twirls her around. He looks her up and down, inventorying. “I do think there is something familiar in there.”

“Is that so?” she asks.

He nods. “I vaguely remember a tiny thing with those same curls stepping all over my toes at one of these events.”

She can’t help but laugh at the memory. “As I remember it, you made me dance on your feet.”

“Is that what it was?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“I’ve always been graceful,” she says and whirls to prove it.

He raises one brow. “My dear, if there is anything you inherited from your mother and I, it was not grace.”

“Well, it was twenty-two years ago. Perhaps you’re losing memory in your old age,” she teases back.

His nose wrinkles and he dips her back. “Oh, fine. I suppose you are ours. That wit is all me.”

She giggles and hugs him, letting him guide the steps.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says and kisses the top of her head.

“Thank you, daddy,” she preens. She misses this kind of ease in their interactions, such comfort missing as of late.

He steps back as the song ends and bows. He leaves with a wink, revealing another royal behind him at the ready. She fights not to lose her smile and readies for the next dance.

She feels eyes on her as she spins, and looks behind her partner’s shoulder to find him on the edges of the party. He is half hidden behind the colored curtains. He is groomed more exactly than he’d been earlier, hair tamed and beard trimmed. He isn’t in armor anymore, either; meant to blend into the party, he is in a tailored black coat of rich fabric over a white silken shirt. His eyes are dark and soft and fond in the candlelight. His gaze is directly on her, wistful and perhaps a little envious, yet proud.

Her confidence leaps just as her heart does. She is smoother in her movements, and her eyes close as she imagines him in the viscount’s place. She could almost wrap memories into her fantasy, a hand pressed lower than the one just below her shoulder blades, the one at her hand more intimately laced. She imagines being able to hold him close in the company of everyone around them and her eyes mist.

She is sure to clap as the song ends, blinking rapidly as she watches the band. When they clear, she sweeps her gaze over the crowd. People have gotten into a fair state of inebriation already, she finds, even if it is only just dusk. Even her partner’s eyes are a little fogged, looking for a more eligible partner as soon as they are finished.

She declines a next dance from the duke politely offering. The crowd is buzzing with laughter and conversation, everyone’s focus on each other and somehow not her. She is pleased, to say the least, when even as the guest of honor she is able to slip away onto the more secluded terraces without anyone following her.

Anyone but him, at the very least.

She never is unaccompanied as the heir, but she knows that if the rest of the regiment is aware that a captain is keeping close eye on the princess they will not be bothered by any more guards. And since the guests are busying themselves well, they should have a brief moment of peace.

She sighs and leans onto the rail, not bothering to look back at him. She feels the warmth of his presence already. “It’s to be a long night,” she comments.

She hears him shift against the pillar. “It’s still early, to be sure. Your guests seem happy,” he agrees.

She turns her head, eyes raking across the striking look he has. He looks like he belongs: at the castle, at the party, at her side. Heat sparks in her stomach and she suddenly can’t wait for the next day. “Do they?” she asks, distracted. She pulls her skirts up and sits on the steps to the garden, spreading the length of the fabric out across the stone. “Sit with me a moment?”

He hesitates but complies. “Not here,” he warns lowly, sure to push against the other rail in reminder.

She nods and squints into the last of the light. “I just want to enjoy the view with someone I love for just a moment.”

He opens the button on his coat, letting it fall open as he relaxes. His eyes close. “I’m glad I am able to enjoy this with you, then.”

She leans her head against the railing and looks at him closer. “You appear exhausted,” she comments.

He hums an agreement. “It was a long trip in this morning. I made them leave before dawn.”

She considers that. “So you could be here?” she asks in a whisper.

He smiles and cracks open his eyes to look at her. “It is her Highness’ birthday. She and her guests need the protection.”

She grins and reaches forward to tug her hands through his curls. “I am glad to have the extra bodies for this detail.”

He sinks into her touch and lowers his head onto her skirt. His dark hair is a pretty contrast to the pale color of her dress, and it is strange and lovely to see him such an intimate state of vulnerability. “I’m listening. I’ll let you know if someone comes,” he murmurs tiredly.

“You won’t fall asleep?” she teases, brushing the strands away from his face.

He shakes his head. “I cannot. Too much is at stake.”

His tone is serious and she sighs at it. She’s not completely sure if he means their secret only, or also the potential dangers of a lavish party so soon after another protest. She knows they will only be able to spare a few moments, and that this will be the most at rest he will be at for hours. She looks back to the curtains blocking their view of the party and hopes that they remain undisturbed long enough for him to refresh. He works too hard, she thinks. “I know, my love. But relax for now. Please.”

He blinks up at her and twists to stare. “I have time with you. This is enough.”

She leans down and dares to kiss his face, softly patterning his skin. “I love you.”

He threads his fingers in the loose curls around her face, his face in gentle repose. “Happy birthday, Emma.”

She melts into his touch, soft and tender. Suddenly he stiffens and rises, pulling away to the other side. She swallows thickly and looks up, a few beats passing before Granny Lucas pushes through the curtains.

The elderly woman looks between them a moment, and then her wrinkled eyes crinkle further. “Princess, they are bringing out the cake.”

She nods, glancing to him a quick moment before rising. “Thank you, Granny.”

“You don’t want to spend much time away, anyhow. People will begin to wonder about you,” she warns, and then disappears back into the party.

She looks up at him from her place on the stairs, and can feel the disappointment stretching across her features. “Reality again,” she breathes.

He frowns slightly, but reaches down to take her hand, smoothly picking her up to him. For a second, they are chest to chest before he distances himself. “You have a kingdom waiting to lavish you in the attention you deserve,” he reminds.

“Not jealous?” she asks, thinking back to the kiss in the woods.

His lashes flick down and his lips tweak up at the edges. “I know you will allow me to give you your attention tomorrow, Princess,” he says shyly.

She beams at him a moment, heart swelling.

He pushes her to the curtains. “Enjoy, Your Highness,” he whispers.

His acceptance sets her at ease. It’s all she needs to be able to gather strength for the rest of the night’s spotlight.

And enough to keep her hopes alight another day.

#gremma #gremma ff #graham humbert #emma swan #gremma appreciation #between the shadow and the soul

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lastbluetardis · 7 years ago

Text

Under my Skin

This was inspired by this prompt on @doctorroseprompts.

Ten x Rose, Soulmates AU, ~2600 words

John had been traveling the world for years, looking for his soulmate, the person who bore the other half of his soulmark tattoo. He eventually gives up and plans to have his soulmark covered, when it finally completes itself.

AO3

John had been anxiously waiting for his soulmark to appear all day. It was his eighteenth birthday, the day a person received half of a tattoo that would never be complete until the found the person—or persons—that bore the other half.

While he knew the soulmark wouldn’t appear until his actual birth minute, he kept glancing at his arms and legs, hoping to see a flash of ink. But it wasn’t until 11:49 that night that the skin above his heart seared white-hot, and John knew his soulmark had appeared.

He eagerly stripped off his shirt as he ran to the bathroom, ready to inspect his soulmark. But he was confused and disappointed when his soulmark was an odd, amorphous blob on his chest. It was in the shape of a triangle, if a three-year-old had attempted the triangle. The corners were rounded, and each of the sides were slightly concave. If John squinted, it kind of sort of had the outline of one of those fidget-spinner things that exploded into popularity recently.

Inside of the awkward triangle-esque shape was what appeared to be a detailed tattoo of a rose. The petals spiraled outward with beautiful detail and precision, and despite it being inside of that shape John didn’t quite have a name for, he thought it was a rather lovely tattoo. Now, to find the person with the rest of it.

Maybe then it’ll make more sense as it what it’s supposed to be, John mused to himself.

And so John began looking for his soulmate. Knowing that it was incredibly rare for soulmates to be living in the same country, John immediately packed a bag and wandered to the airport, and he boarded a flight at random.

His first stop was Germany, and he spent a few weeks there, traveling and sightseeing, but mostly looking for the person who would cause his skin to pinch and burn, indicating his tattoo would be as complete as his life would become.

Germany was a bust, though, and after three weeks of touring the country, John hopped on another plane.

Again and again, John wandered the globe, looking for his other half. He called home to his friends to check in every couple of weeks, but with no parents and no job, there was very little that tied him to that damp little island he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life.

He found odd jobs to help pay his way through his nomadic lifestyle, because he didn’t want to burn through his inheritance money too fast. How humiliating would it be to find his soulmate, but be utterly penniless and homeless?

He eventually made his way through the entire European continent, but he was still alone, and still only had that weird mass of a triangle on his chest, and nothing more.

But that was okay. He didn’t expect it to be easy, or quick. Nothing in life was easy or quick, and he didn’t mind expending his time and effort to find the person who would be his other half.

He celebrated his nineteenth birthday in Japan, watching the cherry blossoms bloom and staying with a family who cooked him the biggest birthday dinner he’d ever had.

His twentieth birthday was spent in Africa, where he spent the day by himself, hiking and exploring.

He was in the Americas for his twenty-first birthday, and he spent it at an American bar, where he was finally old enough to buy himself a drink in the country.

Three years. Three long years he’d been looking, and yet he was still no closer to finding his soulmate than he’d been when he’d left London the day after his eighteenth birthday. Maybe it was time to give up. He’d visited every single continent, and almost all of the countries within each continent, and yet he was still alone with that stupid rose within a blob on his chest.

After spending another three months in North America, John finally decided it was time. He’d already had to tap into his savings account, which he had been trying to avoid as much as possible. And his cousin had just phoned to tell him she was getting married, and that she would traipse across the pond to drag him to her wedding, so he might as well come on his own volition.

“All right, all right,” he’d conceded, “I’ll be there, Donna.”

“You’d better,” she snarked. She was quiet for a few moments, then said, “Still no luck?”

The softness of her voice made a lump well in his throat, and he swallowed it down.

“Nah,” he said, infusing cheer into his tone. “But I still haven’t visited all of the countries in the world yet! Still got plenty to see. They’ve got to be somewhere there!”

He had ended the call soon after, not wanting to hear any more of the pity in her voice. Donna had happened upon her soulmate at an airport by sheer luck. She was leaving for Egypt and he was off to visit family in Italy. They’d decided to get a coffee before their flight left and they’d got to talking, and when they shook hands before departing, they’d each dropped their drinks when they felt their arms burn with the completion of their tattoo.

When Donna had called him a few months ago to tell him her good news, John had tried to be happy for her, but he knew his enthusiasm had fallen flat. It wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to find his soulmate, his best friend, and to spend the rest of his life with them. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently it was, and John’s spirits were as low as ever as he got on a plane bound for London.

The wedding was beautiful. Donna was as radiant as he had ever seen her, and John really was happy for his cousin.

After the wedding, John decided to stop traveling. What was the point, anyway? He could travel for the rest of his life, and there was still no guarantee that he would find his soulmate. He was just fated to die alone, and be one of the poor, unlucky sods that went their whole life without ever knowing their soulmate.

That prospect depressed him, and to take his mind off of his eternal loneliness, he enrolled himself in uni, taking classes in physics and astronomy as he did his best to ignore his incomplete soulmark. He didn’t need a soulmate, he told himself. He could find happiness and completion in other parts of his life.

The years continued to fly by. John finished uni at the top of his class, and he went on to further his education by working towards a doctorate degree in astrophysics. He had friends, and had even dabbled in dating, but nothing ever lasted longer than a few months. There was never a spark, it seemed, no matter how much John willed there to be one. But he knew that spark would only come if he met his soulmate, but by now, John was sure his soulmate didn’t exist.

He hated soulmates. He hated the entire institution of it. Why would he be given a sign that his other half is out there somewhere, but not be given any help in finding them?

He grew to resent the ink on his chest. He hated that his soulmark looked like nothing, and he hated the sight of roses, and he hated that he had wasted so much of his time and money looking for someone who he would probably never meet.

A few weeks before his twenty-eighth birthday, John decided he’d had enough. He was sick of seeing his incomplete soulmark every day, and he was sick of the reminder that he had failed in finding the one person that was meant for him. He never wanted to see that shape or that rose again.

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, John took in a deep breath and stepped into the tattoo shop across the street from his flat.

A little bell dinged above the door, and the shop’s only occupant—a blonde woman—looked up. She was younger than he expected. She barely looked old enough to be out of school. But she was extremely pretty, and just John’s type, and he found himself walking closer.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’ll be with you in just a mo’. Just finishing up. You here for a tattoo?”

“To get one covered, actually,” John said, wandering around the little shop. The walls were covered with drawings of tattoos, and he suspected that was what the woman was working on.

“Oh?” she asked.

“Yeah, I have a tattoo on my chest,” he said. “And I want to cover it up with something.”

“Can I see it?” she asked, setting her pen aside. “So I know what I’m working with.”

John nodded and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his soulmark. The woman sucked in a sharp breath, and went pale enough that John feared she might pass out.

“Why-why do you want to cover it?” she asked faintly. “Isn’t that your soulmark?”

“So what?” John snapped defensively. He had already had to endure his friends’ disapproval when he told them of his plan to cover up his soulmark. He didn’t want to hear it from this stranger, too. “It’s stupid anyway. It’s not even a real tattoo of anything.”

“Because it’s incomplete,” she argued.

“As it has been for the last ten years,” John said coldly, beginning to get angry with this girl. “Besides, the whole idea of soulmates is just mad. I don’t need someone to complete me. I’m perfectly fine on my own! And if you’re going to be such a cow about covering it, I’ll go somewhere else!”

“No, don’t!” the woman begged, and she staggered up from her chair.

She stumbled over her feet, and John immediately reached out to steady her. As soon as his hands touched her bare forearms, a burning, aching pain stabbed at his chest, making his fingers dig into his woman’s arms. She whimpered, and she reached up and pressed her fingers to her chest, rubbing at the skin below the fabric.

John’s head felt dizzy as the pain receded as abruptly as it came.

He was still grasping the tattoo shop worker’s arms tight enough that his knuckles were white, and he let go immediately. Her skin was red in the shapes of his fingers, but he was too busy looking down at his bare chest to verify what had just happened.

Please, please, please, he begged, and he felt weak with relief when he saw his tattoo had changed. Above the triangular blob that had been there were four neat little ovals, each with a comma-shaped spike at the tip. Inside those ovals were more perfect little roses.

“Oh!” the woman gasped, and she unbuttoned her own blouse to expose her chest.

Just above her left bra cup was the same shape, but looking at it properly instead of upside down, John realized it was the shape of a paw print. A wolf’s paw print.

“You… you’re my… we’re…”

“Do you still think your soulmark is stupid?” she asked, her voice quivering with nervousness.

John shook his head desperately, willing her to believe him.

“No,” he whispered. “No, it’s the most beautiful soulmark I’ve ever seen. And it’s on the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Oh, God. I’ve found you! I’ve really found you!”

John swept up and wrapped his arms around the woman whose name he still didn’t know, and he crushed her tightly in an embrace. All of the anger and frustration and heartache he’d felt over the years seemed to melt away as he held his soulmate in his arms.

“You were so rude to me,” she murmured, even as she held him just as tightly.

“I know,” he said, hating himself and wanting to go back in time and punch his past self in the mouth. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ve just been so angry and disappointed, but that’s no excuse for me to talk to you—to anyone—like that. Please forgive me, love. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. Please.”

The woman sniffled and giggled into his shoulder.

“My name’s not ‘love’,” she teased, pulling back to look at him.

Her eyes were red and watery, but she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. They were a gorgeous hazel and had little flecks of gold in them, and they seemed to shine from within as she smiled at him.

“Well,” he drawled, “seeing as I don’t know your real name, I had to use the next best thing.”

“Rose Tyler,” she said. “My name’s Rose Tyler.”

“Rose Tyler,” he repeated, letting the name flow through him and warm him from the inside. “Rose.”

He chuckled then brushed his fingertips across her soulmark, and around the rose within the paw print.

“I should’ve known,” he said.

“Well, assuming your name isn’t Pawprint,” she said with a tongue-touched grin, “there’s no rule that your soulmark has anything in common with you or your soulmate.”

“Are you saying Pawprint isn’t a good name?” John pouted. “I think it’s a fine name. Had it my whole life. Was planning on passing it down to my children one day.”

Rose snorted. “Not to my children, mate.”

John giggled giddily, and said, “No? Shame. I guess we’ll just have to give them the name John, then.”

“John,” she repeated softly. “As lovely as Pawprint is, I think I like John better.”

“Me too,” he said happily.

They both slipped into silence for a few moments, still basking in the joy and surprise of having found each other. John was absently tracing Rose’s soulmark, and as he ran his fingertips across the toes of the paw print, he asked, “You knew straightaway that I was your soulmate, didn’t you?”

Rose nodded. “I’ve had those toes on my chest for a couple years now. When I saw the pad of the foot on your chest, and the rose inside it, I knew.”

“I never knew what my soulmark was,” John admitted. “I thought it was just some silly shape. Or that maybe my soulmark was broken or something. That’s what I told myself when I hadn’t been able to find you.”

“You said ten years,” Rose whispered, sounding heartbroken. “I’m sorry you’ve had to wait that long when I only had to wait for three years.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” John said firmly. “We’ve found each other, and that’s the important part.”

Rose nodded, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck again. John shivered when her bare torso met his. Her skin was soft and warm, and it seemed to make his skin tingle where it pressed together with hers.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you earlier,” he whispered. “I really, really am.”

“I forgive you,” she said in his ear. “On one condition.”

John pulled back to look her in the eye.

“Anything,” he said earnestly.

A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes and she smiled at him again with that tongue-touched grin as she said, “You buy me chips.”

John blinked.

“Chips?” he repeated, sure he heard her wrong.

“Yep,” she said. “Chips.”

A slow smile spread across John’s face, and he leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead.

“All right then, Rose Tyler,” he said. “One great big basket of apology chips, coming up.”

He quickly buttoned up his shirt and watched her do the same before he reached out and wiggled his fingers. She threaded her fingers through his, and stepped close to him so she could hug his arm to her chest as he led her out of the tattoo shop and into the busy London street beyond.

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #au #soulmates #soulmates au #my fic

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