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spicysoftsweet · 4 years ago

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summary: gojo’s tired of you resisting him

warnings: home invasion, noncon, degradation, fem!reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a crumb for @mahitopegger i have no idea wtf happened. i didn’t edit this || reposted from sideblog (now deactivated) on 4/17/2021.

It was only after the soft click of your door, and the eerie silence thereafter that seemed to threaten to close you in, that you realized that something wasn’t quite right. Your eyes darted left, then right, and you kicked off your shoes slower than usual, setting them semi-haphazardly to the side of your entryway.

Even if you weren’t paranoid, you were still the type of person to double check, sometimes triple-check your locks on occasion before you left your home, and you did remember your key turning the right way just seconds ago.

Maybe you were overreacting - after all you lived in a relatively safe area, alone save for your cat with a propensity to mewl for food at all hours of the day. Ah, that was possibly the issue, the fact that your little furry friend hadn’t made his presence immediately. But he knew how to be quiet sometimes, and was fond of an early afternoon nap.

The sound of your keys clattering on your coffee table now seemed unceremoniously loud, like you were disturbing a religious service. In your own house.

Your heart started to race for just a moment, and you turned around quickly.

Nothing. No person, no ghost, no cat. Just you, a sudden sense of unease, and your rapidly beating heart.

Why were you so anxious?

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so unsettled for the moments in which you paced down your hallway, ears tuned to the soft footfalls of your presumably sleeping companion. You would have whispered its name but you didn’t want to wake up the needy little bastard unnecessarily.

It was only three paces in that you stilled suddenly, and the memory of the last time you’d felt this way suddenly struck vividly in your mind.

Clear blue eyes, bordered by long, pale white eyelashes. A smile, once easy and bright, with corners turned up far too high into malice.

You froze.

Was it him? Was Gojo in your house? He wouldn’t... would he?

Your last encounter had been... suboptimal, to say the least. You’d all but told him to get lost, that you weren’t and would never be interested, not after knowing who he was, what he was.

You needed a quiet, calm existence. Your imprint on the world would be measured. You had to stay away from bad omens like his.

But his reaction had been unnatural. He hadn’t given you a real response, just a smile, and you had felt just as unnerved then as you did now before you parted.

You were clearly still spooked.

But these nerves were just vestiges of your anxiety. Gojo knew how to take no for an answer. Of course he did.

He didn’t - you opened your bedroom to find the young sorcerer waiting for you, your cat comfortable in his arms.

“Ah! You’re back~”

Gojo didn’t move; rather, he continued to sit in his relaxed position, legs outstretched onto the bed, palm stroking softly at the soft orange fur. The soft purr of the docile animal filled the air with sharp contrast to your wordless mouth, opening and closing once in shock, and the frenzied beat of your heart.

He smiled before his eyes did, and shifted on top of your covers, getting to his feet. Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, as though he’d been lounging around your house the entire day... as though he lived here.

“W-what are you doing here?” You choked out.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his hold on the little creature relaxed, who remained for just a moment, mewing once before jumping off his lap, brushing by your legs that felt as though they would start shaking any moment, and then promptly sauntered out of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Satoru remarked, now sitting with legs criss-crossed on the bed, hair mussed and relaxed, and with affect as bright as a child on his first sleepover. He patted the space on the bed next to him, beckoning you to come sit. “Did you have a good day?”

“Gojo, please get out of my house.”

His expression darkened for just a moment before it returned to its natural cheeriness. He patted the space next to him again.

“You must be tired. I can make you something. Tea?”

Your feet were glued to the ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

“P-please leave,” you repeated, more wary this time. Your hands were starting to shake and you watched his eyes flicker to them, then back to your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He said, tilting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes bore into yours and you felt your stomach turn.

“Don’t you like my attention?”

“Satoru, please,” you continued, your lower lip wobbling inadvertently. “Please, just leave... I won’t tell anyone you came here, just... I can’t return whatever feelings you have, so just go.”

Your fists clenched and unclenched, but you still were so tense, planted onto the floor as though you were a sharp dagger thrust into vulnerable flesh. Why weren’t your feet moving? You should be running. Running as far as you can from this man who could just as easily become a monster if he so pleased.

As though he knew you’d already become powerless - not that it made a difference, the power differential was already so vast - he rose, walking towards you in an open, unguarded stance. He wasn’t afraid of you in the least. The very thought made your blood boil.

Once he stood before you, towering over your shorter, smaller frame, his lips pursed.

“Stop shaking.”

It was a command, given in an annoyed but direct fashion.

You don’t know why you eked out, powerlessly, “I can’t.”

“You weren’t this afraid when you were telling me to fuck off a couple days ago,” he noted. His hand rose to grip your chin, tilting your face to him. You don’t know when you’d started crying, but tears were now streaming down your face, warm and wetting his fingers.

“You’re crying? Where’s the sass you had then?”

“Please...”

Against your better wishes, his lips pressed to yours, and somehow then, your body remembered that adrenaline could also make you fight, and you did fight, thumping your hands balled into fists against his chest and his shoulders, as his hand gripped your chin tighter and his tongue forced its way down your throat. Once he’d gotten tired of your struggle, his other arm hooked around your waist, and he pulled you closer, pressing you against his body.

Your screams were muffled by his kiss as it grew deeper, and at some point, he’d decided on biting your lip painfully, drawing blood once he’d threatened you to shut the fuck up before he gave you something to cry about for real.

You remembered that the first time Gojo had kissed you, it had been soft and tender, nothing like this kiss that was violent and demanded submission; once his hand moved from its grip on your chin, it grasped your hair, fingers twisting and tugging to tilt your head back.

His lips left yours, now red and soon purple and blue, and made their way down your neck to mark them the same.

Every scream was futile, every plea for mercy fell on deaf ears.

At some point, you may have heard your cat meow for something... food? Out of sympathy? You weren’t sure, all you could think about were the painful hickeys on your collarbones and traveling down your bosom.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant. You yourself called me selfish,” he murmured, ripping the top part of your clothing with the nonchalance with which one would peel a banana. At the sight of your exposed breasts, he was like a man rabid, slamming you backwards into the wall without much regard for head injury. His left arm caged you in, while his right pressed painfully onto your breast.

He paused for a moment, and grinned salaciously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that~! You look so docile... it’s weird coming from you.”

To that, a fire renewed in your eyes, and you spat directly in his face. His lips curled again in satisfaction, barely reacting to the spittle dripping down his pretty features.

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

With a small chuckle, he jerked your face painfully to the left such that you couldn’t look at him directly as he took your breast into his mouth.

The idea of this bastard suckling on you, loudly, lewdly as though you’d belonged to him only made the churn in your stomach worse, but the desperate attempts to a knee to his chest were met with barely a resistance. Like he knew you couldn’t hurt him and it was only a matter of time until you stopped and succumbed to him.

The process was already happening - you could feel your nipples hardening and a new flow of heat in your panties. Your tears became more prolific - no longer fear, but rage, but the hand that kept you steady against the wall was impossibly strong.

Your head swam as a confused pleasure started to replace the pain and fear you were feeling. More clothing was torn off of you, more of your skin was marked and licked and sucked. Once your panties were ripped to shreds, he lay your now languid and fight-drained body against him, cooing appreciatively at the new helplessness, pumping two slender fingers up and down your wet inner core as he moved you from the hard wall to the soft bed.

You almost thanked him.

His fingers remained within you as he laid you down, but once he withdrew his touch as your pounding hazy head hit the pillow, he replaced them with the roughness of his tongue, penetrating you without the least bit of shame.

You let slip the moan you had been holding in in defiance.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.”

He continued to lick and you continued to mewl.

Once he’d tired of the taste of your cunt, he invaded your privacy in the most all-encompassing way possible, pushing every inch of a greedy, throbbing cock inside of you. As you cried from the stretch, he shushed you with a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your screams.

As if someone was going to help you. Maybe your cat would come and watch, but he’d found something else to do.

“I know it hurts but you’ll get used to it, I promise, babe,” he murmured, groaning slightly as he seated himself to the hilt. “There.”

He stilled and in the silence of the moment only punctuated by both of your soft pants, you remembered how to sob.

His nose crinkled, and he let out of a soft sigh, cock jerking impatiently inside you.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He mused, leaning against you so that his head rested in the softness of your breasts. He could hear your heartbeat that doesn’t beat for him... but rather it did, because he is the one making it quicken in some odd rhythm of terror and pleasure.

You didn’t speak because there was far, far too much to yell.

As though a timer had rung to mark the end of his empathy, he rose onto his hands again, sighing as he adjusted into the plushness of your walls that didn’t reject him as fervently as you did. He moved, shoving two fingers down your throat to gag your renewed protests as he thrust into you repeatedly.

The short gasps with every stroke only encouraged him, and the immense pleasure he found in the light of your eyes starting to fade into a placid dullness.

“You love me,” he informed you with every rut.

You didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure what this disgusting repetitive sensation bringing your body to climax was. You were no longer sure what he was even talking about, just that there was a warm thing pumping inside of you and fingers down your throat and pain everywhere else in your body, particularly your neck and shoulders and arms and breasts, and you were staring into precious sapphires littering the base of twin lakes.

“You love me,” he repeated. “I know you do.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #tw noncon #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo sm #not sfw #gojo smut #mae.drabble #mae.writing

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reginrokkr · 3 months ago

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It was only a matter of time until something happened if the man continued to pursue him. What Dáinsleif hadn't expected is the other's boldness at impeding his movement forward, careful as he was to not be in his way before. Albescent lashes flutter close as he exhales a silent sigh through his nose to relive some of the patience that is wearing thin. Sapphire irises open thereafter, and so he turns in time to see the man grunting as if he were trying to say something he possibly cannot communicate through normal means, perhaps out of understanding that there is a language breach between them.

But his understanding doesn't stop there, no. His understanding must've gone beyond for him to realize that where he was about to tread next was dangerous. And he's right: the path to Khaenri'ah is not without its dangers, as that implies abandoning the surface continent in order to wander in the abyss all the way to the kingdom. For those unskilled in battle it could be nothing short of a death sentence. For the understanding ones, something greater than just a possible loss in battle. The abyssal essence isn't one easy to get used to, being more a bringer of diseases to those sensitive enough or with an immunocompromised system.

◜I've warned you that it would be dangerous if you continue to follow me.◞ Although he didn't do anything to this man to feel this way, he feels bad for seeing him crestfallen like that. Doesn't he have family? Someone to belong with? Now that he's paying attention at his bare body, he can see glimpses of something shimmering he can't put his finger as to what it is yet. A pointy ear peeks from snow-like hair, drowning the lunarescent knight in a pool of contemplation. Perhaps the reason why he isn't wearing any clothes is because he didn't need any to begin with, wherever he grew up. But what does that make him? An adeptus? A yokai? A god? Dáinsleif sombers at the last thought, but he's soon to discard that possibility immediately. No, if he were a good he'd be capable of speech. He, on the other side, isn't.

I do not want to be alone.

Glacial azures widen in surprise, then he turns his head left and right to see where the source of that voice comes from. No, that doesn't sound right— it was more as if it was some kind of... telepathy? An enhanced sentience of something he was unaware of until now? It is true that in his travels through the abyss or the Kingdom of Night, he has heard voices before, voices pertaining to other beings... their souls. But in this place, at this moment, there is nothing that suggests the presence of any— other than his.

But if that feeling came from him, why could he sense it?

Dáinsleif's eyes narrow in thought as he looks back at him, the man unable to look at him in the eye yet as if he has done something unpardonable. ◜You could feel it, didn't you? Then, why do you insist in following me still?◞ Another sigh follows, not out of lack of patience as he believed himself earlier, but out of frustration. Such is his heart, full of kindness for others that won't allow him to just leave and abandon him. Even less when there are suspicions about him feeling lonely. If his conjecture stands true and he isn't human, there is a possibility that those who he thinks are of his kin may have rejected him before. And yet he looks uncannily human, but he lacks the civilized factor that would allow him to blend in among other people. It must be sad, to feel like he doesn't belong anywhere.

◜What am I supposed to do with you?◞ He whispers next, thin eyebrows knitting in a visible frown. ◜Is it really worth it to risk your life to fate's injustice just to heal your heart from loneliness?◞ To a kingdom's civilization that may not be his cup of tea, at that. No matter how much he's grown to love Khaenri'ah, he is also aware that their way of living is vastly different than the one on the surface.

Never once was Léviathan interested in partake in human activity despite his passing observations when they got close enough to raise interest and curiosity in what they did. Part of him feels strangely saddened, the repeated rejection he felt from part of some of the vishaps too strong to ignore as the catalyst of what's making him follow this peculiar human. The longer the time within his vicinity, the stronger he feels the pull of closeness, of home that he doesn't quite understand. From what his memories inform him as well as his observations, humans are feeble, incompatible to holding a power of such caliber within them. But for reasons he ignores, this one human does— no, not only that. He could almost swear that he might be able to understand him in a similar manner that he can communicate with marine creatures.

It was a matter of time until he was spotted, yet another reason to believe this human isn't like any other. Despite his own perceptions of him, he's met with something he doesn't quite understand, but not all too unfamiliar all the same. The language he speaks somehow reminiscent of that which remains engraved in his memories, as if he has lived another life in the past— or perhaps these memories belong to someone else entirely, he doesn't know.

What little he can see from his mannerisms and demeanor, however, is that he's met with rejection to be followed. Again. But still, hope that he's accepted and that he wasn't as aggressive as those vishaps were leads him to continue following him.

I do not want to be alone.

Wherever the man goes, so does he to lands he hasn't seen before in this life, having spent most of it (if not the entirety of it) underwater. Fear of being rejected again permeates his heart, and so it manifests in darkened clouds hiding the sun. A chill runs down his spine, causing him to stop on his tracks as a dark feeling comes to his senses. Wherever this man is going, it is no place where survival can be expected. This isn't something he has lived personally, but vivid dreams of destruction and death still remain present in his heart and so that moves him to reach out his hand to grasp the other by the wrist.

Do not go there. It is dangerous.

Realisation dawns on him like a ton of bricks burying his body in an instant when everything that escapes his mouth is an inelegant sound, in combination with the fact that he doesn't want to mess up to be rejected again. Crestfallen, his grip weakens completely and so his arm falls by his side, draconic gaze glued to the ground out of shame and fear.

#seraphicus #◟༺✦༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος β: descensus in regnum tenebram┊kingdom of khaenri’ah.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ o σεραφείμ συναντά αρχέγονες ηχώ.┊aria of the primordial┊#◟༺✧༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊

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stephspurs · 3 years ago

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Hi besties!! here is the long awaited part 9!! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did whilst writing it!! a big thank you goes to @emwritesfootball for proofing this part & making sure its up to scratch for all of you lovely readers! Let me know what you think babes hehehe!! Love Always, Steph xx

Part 9. | nona parte

word count; 2006. writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Friday 13/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

The season kicked off in the middle of August and Amelia had been more than prepared for her first match in the premier league. She spent day after day analysing the players in the first team, introducing them to the magical world of rehearsed tactics. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for the brilliant girl; she had to learn how to implement the plays coupled with the speed of the game. But so far, so good. Chelsea have been winning and her plays have been working, the boys were getting the hang of it - no matter how apprehensive they were at the start.

Jorgi played a big part in demonstrating the success of the play, performing best in his midfield role to guide the game and direct the change in play to his teammates. By the time they had played a few fixtures, they had really gotten the hang of her approach to set pieces and began to put their trust in the young girl. They were starting to see results and wanted to keep the winning streak going while they could. The fourth fixture in the new season was one that Amelia was looking forward to, personally: Chelsea v Aston Villa, Stamford Bridge, 3pm kick off.

Jack and Amelia had grown closer and closer, FaceTime‘dates’ as Jack would call them, a weekly occurrence. She had spoken to him just as much as she had spoken to Jorgi - and they were still carpooling to and from Cobham together. Her friendship with Jack was full of easy conversation and flirtatious banter, teetering over the line of friendship but being that they were kept physically apart, the friendship line remained largely intact. One person that had drifted even further away from her, despite her believing that it couldn't be possible, was Ben Chilwell.

Every time she walked into a room that he was in, if he didn't have to be there he would immediately leave. Amelia didn’t understand what the problem was. Yeah sure, they were flirty together in Mykonos but they never crossed a line together, no matter how many times the wine went straight to their heads. If anything, she should be the one running away from him. She was the one who sent him a couple of messages here and there that he just opened. She spoke to Mason, Jorgi, Billy Gilmour - who was another one of the boys she had developed a strong friendship with - and all of them insisted they didn’t understand their friend's strange behaviour.

On the evening before the Villa match, Amelia was laying on the couch in her townhouse binge watching yet another docu-series on Netflix when her doorbell rang. This was strange, most people that came past the house these days had their own set of keys (her parents, her brother, Jorgi) or they texted to let her know they were outside. Her townhouse was three stories high, so if she was upstairs on the top level vacuuming the chances of her hearing the door were slim to none. Either way, she got up off of her loveseat and walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole - she lived in London, alone, she wasn’t opening that door until she knew exactly who was on the other side.

______________________________________________________________

“To what do I owe this visit, Benjamin?”

“Hi, Mils.”

“Wow, nickname basis already - I thought only friends called each other by their nicknames.”

“Did you think we weren’t friends?”

“Well, friends don’t treat friends the way you’ve treated me since the evening I left Mykonos.”

With a sigh, Ben looked down at his feet. I did feel a small bit of guilt for that one, but he deserved it. Continuing to find the cracks in the marble step of my door’s threshold more interesting than facing my expression, I took a step back and forced Ben to look up at me.

“Well, are you going to come inside? I’ve got the kettle on and a really good series going that I would like to get back to.”

With a charming smile, Ben took a step forward, took the door handle out of my hand and shut it behind him. Slipping out of his shoes, he followed me down the short hallway to my kitchen and pulled a seat out at the island bench.

“So, really now - why are you here? Nervous about tomorrow?” I questioned as I took two cups out of the cupboard and brewed one tea for him, one coffee for me. 3 years in Italy and coffee in the evening became the norm for me. It was my comfort drink.

“I’m here to apologise for the way I've been acting towards you for the past six weeks. I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I’ve been like this”

“Cut the crap Ben, you know exactly why you’ve been doing it. Now tell me the truth or, as far as I'm concerned, you never came here tonight and tomorrow we will be back to how we were yesterday - you running away from me and me pretending that it doesn't bother me. Even though all it does is bother me.” Not expecting that outburst to come out of me, and to be fair neither did I, Ben looked me in the eye and stayed silent, choosing his next words carefully.

“The first time I saw you, the night you told your brother off in the rec room at St. George’s Park, I thought you were the most determined woman I had ever seen in my life. Not scared of the 30 grown men who were very obviously all on the same side, literally. Then the next time I saw you, after the final match, how you comforted your brother when you were at the highest of highs and he was lower than low, I thought you had more compassion than every person in that stadium put together.”

“When you came to SGP again the next day and delivered the tactical analysis of the game you won, I thought ‘wow she is so intellectually brilliant’. And then when you turned up in Mykonos, all sunkissed and relaxed, sitting next to me and involving me in conversation with my pals but making me feel like you wanted my contribution...I remember it like it was yesterday. Amelia, you smiled at me and my heart did a somersault in my chest.”

“You shut me down outside the club that evening, and when we came back inside I caught the end of your conversation with Jorgi about Fede. Putting two and two together, I understood all that I needed to. The few days after that we carried on like normal. Then, you left and I didn't know if I would ever see you again to be fair. When you messaged me, I got too nervous to reply because I didn't know how to just be your friend. And then when I thought I had finally gotten through a day without thinking about my friend's little sister, you showed up at Cobham as my tactical analyst. I didn’t know what to do Mils, I don't know how to be just your friend when I've had nothing but unfriendly thoughts about you since the first time I saw you command that room of men you had never met in your life.”

The whistle of the kettle ringing out behind me is the only noise filling the kitchen. I’m staring at Ben; he’s staring back at me with nothing but truth behind his eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

“Benj, what you were feeling, what you are feeling is totally valid and I never want you to feel like you can’t share those feelings with me. You’re right, Mykonos changed things for me. What you were feeling was reciprocated, but Ben, I was going back to Italy. At that exact moment, I had no idea I would end up here. I thought I was enjoying a break before another high-intensity season in Italy. I wanted to kiss you so badly at the club that night, but I knew it would only hurt you. I’m used to being hurt, it's a feeling I've grown to expect. But you, you’re too pure to experience the kind of hurt that comes along with knowing you’re making a bad decision, but doing it anyway, because I wanted to be selfish with your heart.”

“Amelia, can I ask you something?” I nodded, holding my breath as I braced myself for the question poised behind his eyes. “If you were in the mood to be selfish, what would have come from that evening?”

“I can probably show you better than I can tell you,”

Walking around the island bench, I pulled the back of Ben’s chair slightly so he pivoted towards me. Standing in between his tracksuit-covered legs, I ran both hands up his arms until I got to his neck and finally beside his face. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled his face towards mine and our lips met. It was as soft as a butterfly kiss but as powerful as anything I had ever felt before. His hands wound around my waist and settled themselves on the small of my back before travelling down and giving my backside a gentle caress, forcing a laugh out of my lips and straight into his mouth. Pulling away slightly, so we both had a bit of breathing space to sort out our lightheadedness, Ben spoke his next words very softly.

“I need you to promise me something, Amelia.You need to promise me that you will stop thinking about my heart before your own. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and the decision to ignore you for these past few weeks has been one of the worst ones I've made in a really long time. But I did make it, and it was because I got scared, and I hurt you, and I am so sorry. The decision to come here tonight however, I feel like it more than makes up for that one very very stupid one”

“You’re such a smooth talker, Benj.”

“Say my name again, Mils, you don’t know what it does to me.”

“Down boy, your tea is going cold and I need to find out who killed Sophie in West Cork.Meet me in the lounge.”

A few hours had passed and it was nearing 10pm, well past Amelia’s bed time, but Ben was still sitting on her couch, feet on the table (despite her telling him to remove them) and arm around the back of her shoulders.

“Chilly, I don’t want you to think I'm not interested in you because I so am, I just don’t want to rush into anything. What I left behind in Italy was complicated and heavy; I'm still trying to learn how to exist without him if I'm honest. I want you to just give me the space I need to grow into my own here in the city, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it's okay, Mils. From what Jorgi has told me about Fede, I can understand why you want to take it slow now. But please, don’t call me Chilly. My friends call me Chilly, and Mills. I thought I made it clear before that I don’t want to be your friend.”

“To me, you’re Benj. Thank you. Wait - what do you mean what Jorgi has told you about Fede?”

“I may have asked a couple times about you, and for the record, he is team Bamelia.”

“Bamelia? That is the ugliest word I have ever heard. Never use it again.”

“How can it be ugly? It's mostly your name, and nothing associated with you could ever be considered anything less than beautiful.”

“Stop being so smooth Benj, you’re going to make me blush in a minute.”

“Good, can’t wait to see how you could possibly look even cuter than you do right now.”

“That’s enough Benjamin.”

“Okay I’m done now.”

Part 10. | parte dieci

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thedevillionaire · 3 years ago

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Where The Heart Is

So first there was this lovely scenario by @stealthy-sneezing and then I received this insanely flattering prompt from @you-dont-look-so-good and only, uh...three weeks later (LOL, speedy turnaround is an unreliable thing in these parts, I'm afraid) here's my attempt at a little fic based around it. --- Kia doesn’t greet him with her usual kiss good morning as she joins him in the kitchen; she does not, in fact, acknowledge him at all as she passes by. What sleep she’d managed to get had been restless and broken, for a start, and she’s still more than a little out of sorts over last night’s…

Fight?

She’s reluctant to use the term, even to herself. But there had nevertheless been some tensely exchanged differences of opinion, whatever term she gives it. They hardly ever argue and it weighs on her heavily, disproportionately.

She busies herself with breakfast-preparing activities, pointedly avoiding the dining bench where her bonded sits wrapped in a plush burgundy dressing robe and an almost tangible aura of bleariness which suggests that he didn’t sleep particularly well, either.

And there’s no question that he’s…not sounding his best.

Cerberus takes a sip of his steaming coffee, sniffles sharply and rubs his nose with firm frustration against the itch that’s been bothering him since waking, flicking his gaze momentarily across to Kia in a cursory attempt to ascertain her mood.

She very deliberately looks away.

Maybe, she thinks with more than a touch of snippiness as he sniffles again,you should have come home when you said you would. It’s totally possible to delegate sometimes, you know. Like, just once, even, maybe? And while she doesn’t Mindsend him her thoughts, she certainly wills them into the aether. Just a touch.

It’s not even about being late, though, she continues internally, making her point to herself with conviction as she peers into a second cupboard for the blackberry spread she can’t seem to find, I don’t care if you’re late, really, it’s about promising me for the third time this week that you wouldn…

The hitch in his breath severs her sentence momentarily but she doesn’t intend to…

“Huh-TSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s own breath catches a little, too, although she keeps her focus resolutely fixed on the cupboard’s interior; she does not want to engage right now and she’s not going to…

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHHhuu! hh-hhH… Hh-AAHTSCH-uu!” Rapid and forceful, urgent, an increasing desperation evident, and she chances a peripheral glance at Cerberus, her ability to concentrate on anything else hijacked into a weighted anticipation almost as singular as his, despite her not wanting to…

A deep inhalation scissored and insistent, a frozen expectant moment and he gives in again to the maddening itch twice over. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-hh-TSSCHH-uu!” Several sharp sniffles follow; he excuses himself reflexively, habitually, another sniffle following in short order, accompanied by a faintly exasperated sigh and snarlwhispered fuck’s sake.

“Bless you,” Kia says quietly, downplaying her usual heartwarm tone a touch but she doesn’t have it within herself to not acknowledge him. And she can’t help the twinge of concern she feels – or indeed any…other sort of interest – but she doesn’t want her resolve to weaken any further. Not yet, at least.

I’m still mad at you. Stop it.

He nods a perfunctory thankyou for the blessing; she hasn’t turned around so doesn’t notice.

The blackberry spread seems determined to remain unfound and she decides that muscat will do, or whatever’s in this jar, she thinks it’s muscat, it’s not important, really, whatever, does she even want toast, she just needs to…

The sound of a hurriedly claimed fresh succession of tissues being pulled from the box, and her focus dissolves anew.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu!”

And she can sense the expectation of recurrence in his shaky not-quite recovery, his breath unsettled, irregular, and god getting breakfast should really not take this much effort, maybe she’ll just have a cup of tea, this is ridiculous, and from the urgency of gasped inhalation she knows doubtless that he’s going to…

“Huh-AHSSCHuu! Ah-TSSCH-uu! Goddamn it, what the hell is…” Another series of sniffles follows and Cerberus blows his nose, wetly and ineffectively, and with no pause save for a suddensharp gasp, stifles a further sneeze immediately thereafter. “HXTchu! Ugh…” He groans and coughs convulsively from the effort, pushes disarrayed midnight from watering eyes, and growls an undertone of vexation. As if this morning wasn’t uncomfortable enough already.

He coughs again and clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, wipes his nose several times, and sniffles again.

“Bless you,” Kia says again, only this time the words come true, sincere, empathic. There’s a resignation in her bonded’s voice that she’s unable to ignore, and her brow creases – something is clearly wrong, and her residual anger over yesterday’s events begins to fall aside in the face of genuine concern, and now she turns to face him.

He sighs heavily as his eyes meet hers. “I, um… *snf!* I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me.” Well, you are, but… She closes the cupboard door, leans back against it, any remaining thoughts of breakfast forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“I have n…” His breath catches, but with controlled if shaky exhalation he manages to fight off the urge and stay on course. “I have no idea. Just can’t seem to… *snf!* Can’t seem to stop.” He looks at her with an expression somewhere between irritated chagrin and cautious detachment. “It’s alright. You don’t need t…to… hpt-XCH!” A quiet groan as Kia blesses him again and gently tells him not to stifle; he nods in agreement with her point as he returns to his own. “You don’t need to worry,” he finishes tiredly, taking another handful of tissues and blowing his nose again.

“Huh. You know,” Kia says, “I was actually trying not to, but… I don’t know, you’re not exactly making it easy or something.” She sighs quietly, not unkindly, and crosses the distance between them. “Okay, though, for real. What’s going on?”

:Karmic debt, perhaps?: Cerberus Mindsends, and offers her a darkly rueful smile as he vaporises the latest clutch of used tissues. “You didn’t secretly burn birchbark in here as revenge for last night, did you?” The sniffle following is intentionally pathetic; he runs an index finger along the underside of his nose and glances at his bonded with eyebrow arched in enquiry.

“Oooh.” Kia shakes her head, narrows her eyes at him as if in consideration, and smiles wryly. “You sure you want to give me ideas like that today?”

Cerberus manages a brief chuckle before his focus dissolves unstoppably stolen, relentless urgency returning and he capitulates to cresting need posthaste and absolute – powerful, emphatic, desperate. “Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Gods! *snff!*” With a deep sigh, he pushes ebony heaviness from his eyes again, looks up to meet his bonded’s gaze in dishevelled and somewhat hazy self-deprecation. “And thus my brilliant plan to be as unobtrusive as possible this morning continues its wild run of success,” he remarks dryly, claiming a new couple of tissues with purposeful emphatic flourish and another sniffle.

And the last of Kia’s resistance falls away, her heart melting, any remnant vestiges of irritation and indignance cracking, fading, and none of it is important anymore. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, gentle, kind. “You know, I do still love you even when you’re totally wrong about stuff and it’s all your fault,” she adds playfully, then rolls her eyes with a light scoff and affected exasperation. “Wow, I really did mean to be mad at you for a bit longer than this, though.”

She smiles at her bonded, open and affectionate, and Mindsends him a tenderwarm :Bastard.:

Cerberus laughs quietly, sardonically, and wipes his nose. “Well, I’m certain I’ll not be coming home late tonight, in any case.”

Moving to stand behind him, Kia strokes a gentle hand through his hair, touches a kiss to the top of his head as he leans back into her embrace with an enervated soft hum of pleasure.

“Maybe just…maybe just stay home today, sweetheart.”

---

#I've never been asked for a prompt before and I really hope I've done this right #sorry about the three week delay #I'm not one of those amazing receive prompt produce fic writers #I had to veer from the prompt in a couple of places due to who Cerberus is as a person #He's...specific about certain things #my writing #my OCs #other people's ideas #cerberus and kia #cerberus #cerbia #supernatural soap opera

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17wishbones · 4 years ago

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Will fix GIF quality later. I had a better one but, for whatever reason, it wouldn’t update or save the post! //sad face

But here it is! This one is a nice one, I think. And it’s got a tasty lemon at the bottom. As always, thanks for reading! Next chapter will be out in a couple of days. :> - - - - - - - -

CHAPTER IV: BLOOD AND BONE

On missions, you both kept it professional. Your first objective was always to save any humans in danger. The second was killing demons on sight. Third was seeking out the 12 Kizuki and Muzan.

Your eyes wouldn’t lead you wrong. With time passing, his aura trailed in a thin line. You slowly followed the trail. You needed your nerves calm and your anxiety dialed down to a 2.

“You got this, _____!” Rengoku cheered behind you. “Just concentrate. I have your front and your back!”

What a pleasure to have him on this journey back to Osaka.

“Nn.” You didn’t quite approve of doing what you were about to. ‘I haven’t done this since Lord Ubuyashiki took me in.’ You returned to that same alleyway from last time and where wandering eyes wouldn’t be on you. ‘This saved me from being killed many times. I survive on instinct thereafter.’ You gently gathered a bit of the aura in your hand and licked at your palm.

Your vision blurred as your brain scrambled to make sense of what it was seeing through this vile taste. You heaved seconds later with beads of sweat dripping down your forehead.

“What did you see?” Rengoku helped you up.

“Doors. Many doors. To… a different place, beyond our reach.”

Rengoku looked at you with concern drawn on his face. “Were you able to see past it?”

You swallowed hard as you tried gaining your senses quickly. “Yes. These hallways never end. They go on and on and…” His aura was honestly the worst. His aura made you sick to your core. “There’s a biwa demon lying deep within, and a corral of Lower Rank Kizuki.” You swallowed again and closed your eyes, as a figure formed in the center. “He must meet with them there. And even to them, he is menacing and dangerous.”

“We should push forward!”

You grabbed for his wrist, shaking your head vigorously. “No!”

“Sunflower?”

“If we were to invade by ourselves, our lives will be cut short. Just like--” doors opened and out came an arm of teething flesh! An upward slash crippled the large arm, splitting its burning flesh in two. “Flame Breathing. Second Form. Rising Scorching Sun.” You jumped out of the way, but this arm went on the offense towards you both. Both of you breathed in.

“Flame Breathing! First Form! Unknowing Fire!”

“Flame Breathing. First Form. Unknowing Fire.”

You and Rengoku blitzed in sync, damaging said arm until it retracted back through the doors. “Just like that.”

Rengoku caught you before your knees buckled. The aura was lingering in you. It wouldn’t be for some time for it to leave you. He wasn’t going to waste time on asking if you were going to be alright or not. He wasn’t about losing you here. “To the streets!” Rengoku dashed with you tossed over his shoulders, coming out where the crowd passed them by, looking at the both of you weirdly. “We have to return as quickly as possible!” Rengoku tried whispering to you as he set you on your feet. “I can carry you if you are unable to walk!”

You shook your head. “It will lessen in pain over time. Let’s head back as you suggested.”

“Right!”

You and Rengoku made the long trip back to the Demon Slayer HQ. You had one hell of a piece of information to tell Ubuyashiki as you didn’t even expect to come across anything this useful. And you won’t forget staring into the depths of moving flesh as it tried devouring you.

Being a Demon Slayer was not for the weak and weak willed. You survived due to momentarily gaining instincts to attack and live, but it was to Rengoku that you both got out alive.

You were certain now, more than ever.

Aoi gave Rengoku a hand by setting up your futon as well as preparing some tea in order to help you recover at the Butterfly Estate. She had never seen his eyes downcast and his brows so close together as he held you in his arms. “Please, take care of my Sunflower,” he spoke at a reasonable volume, “I shall be back in the morning.”

You tugged at his haori to gain his attention. “Warm me as you usually do.”

“With pleasure.” He pressed a warm kiss on your forehead and squeezed your hand with reassurance. “Goodnight, Sunflower.”

He left you with a sirene smile on your face and love in your heart.

The night grew lonely without your presence and it made him feel that he shouldn’t have left you there, but he wanted to be home with Senjuro whenever he returned, but what kind of husband was he going to be if he left his wife by her lonesome? He lied on his futon, conflicted while trying to go to sleep.

“I’ll just go back now!”

“Go back where now?”

The room warmed as your healthy presence surprised him. “Sunflower!” He didn’t waste a breath as he embraced and kissed all over your face. “You’re feeling better?”

“Much better!” You laughed. “I haven’t done that in a long time so it’s due to make me sick, but I didn’t think for that long. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay! I didn’t want to leave you alone so I had decided to make my way back to you.”

“But then we wouldn’t have any privacy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and drew him into a kiss. As each slow and soft kiss progressed to lip sucking and tongue exploration, Rengoku unbuttoned your uniform while you untied his nemaki (sleepwear).

You trailed your fingers up from his Adonis belt to his neck. You lifted his head up and kissed him from his jaw to his ear. Your lips made a pathway over his chest, his abs, and to the tip of his erection.

“Let me service you.” Rengoku’s body flushed red when you began taking him in your mouth.

“That’s good, Sunflower.” His groans and hands in your locs always turned you on, but they paled in comparison when he looked down at you with lust filling those gorgeous eyes of his.

You held steady at his hips, sucking him sloppily, the way he liked it. You wanted him wet and ready when he entered you. You knew the moment he started stroking into your mouth that he was ready.

It took everything in you to not let him pump his worth down your throat, though you’d swallow with glee. You let him free, staring at your hard work before getting his nemaki and spreading it down on the floor. He needn’t ask as you got down on your hands and knees and looked back at him. “I heard this was a good position for…” you blushed. “You know.”

“My Sunflower is so thoughtful!” He leaned over you with his erection rubbing between your thighs and his hands roaming up to your breasts. He rolled his thumbs over your nipples as he sucked and bit on your left earlobe. He then kissed from your shoulder, down the middle of your back, and to your hefty cheeks.

He gently pinched and tugged your nipples which had you moaning lightly and grinding up against him. He grinned with excitement as he erected himself upright and positioned the tip at your entrance. “You have an amazing back. You know that, Sunflower?” He began praising. “Your legs are strong, thick and yet smooth, soft.” His fingers roamed down your sides and thighs. “I love the way your body looks and feels.”

Ever since he saw how others treated you, he found it his life’s mission to compliment you as much as he could, to show that the girl he saw was extraordinary.

Whenever your gaze fell upon him, he could feel your love and admiration for him every time you two were together. Your energy was unrivaled. And whenever you needed that shoulder to cry on or advice, Rengoku couldn’t help but love how much you relied on him to see it through to your success. It was all worth it to get to here, and speaking of. . .

You lowered your upper half and spread your legs open so that he could dive deep into your waterfall. “Show me how you feel about me, Kyōjurō.” If he could praise the way you looked down below, you’d never hear the end of it, but it wasn’t for here or now. Definitely after the wedding, though!

He groaned once he pressed a well-positioned stroke within you, feeling the walls inside form around him as they always did. He had to have you.

Rengoku grabbed unto your hips and thrusted into you like this was going to be the last time. “I love it when you call my name,” your fingers clenched tight as his strokes echoed out into the hallway, “When you moan,” your lips quivered, “When you scream,” a few soft “ahs” escaped your parted lips as he kept a strong and steady pace, “I love it all!’

He made his intentions clear as he hiked up one of his legs and sped it up. “Nnf! Nnf! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Right there, Kyōjurō!”

“Just like that?” He let up for a moment as he drew back, before plunging down to the base, hearing your voice cry out into the night.

You crumbled first, what with your body shivering from the pounding Rengoku put on you. He put passion into everything he did, with one of them being sure he took care of you first, but you wanted that feeling inside you, too. “Please, fill me.”

He did just that, his body shuddering as he filled your opening, a creampie. Rengoku gazed at your blissful expression with a smile. “My beautiful Sunflower.” - - - - - - - - - Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku x you #rengoku x reader #kny fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic

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moonlit-han · 4 years ago

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love letters ↠ han jisung

genre: high school au, coffeeshop au, fluff, romance, humor pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 2.6k warnings: mild swearing request: yes a/n: hi anon who requested this! i couldn’t resist making this a coffeeshop au, too, heheheh~ enjoy!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

Oh….

Your locker looked slightly different today.

It was festooned with ribbons, little pictures of cats and, inexplicably, squirrels, star and heart stickers, and glitter. There was even a card dangling from the knob. You stood stock still in front of it, trying to process the tableau? creation? mess in front of you. There was only one person in the entire school you knew would try something like this. And, here he came down the hall, a wide grin on his face.

“Han Jisung, did you do this?” you demanded as he approached. Shouldn’t a senior have more dignity than this?

“Do you like it?” Jisung replied, leaning against the lockers beside yours.

“I’m not sure what I think, but I know that it’s now practically impossible for me to get to my locker.” You tried to push some of the decorations out of the way. “Why did you have to do this?”

“Did you at least read the card?” Jisung asked hopefully, pouting a little.

You cursed him for looking so cute when he pouted, then mentally shook yourself. “No, I didn’t. And it’s almost first bell, so if you could move? Please?”

Jisung’s face fell, but he moved away slightly. “Aw, come on, princess! Can’t you read the card while I’m still here?”

“Jisung, please leave me alone, will you? It’ll be hard enough getting through all this stuff as it is.”

Jisung laughed lightly, giving you a fond smile that was completely lost on you as you struggled with his decorations, then strolled away into the crowd of onlookers who, by now, were used to his outrageous displays of affection for you. “Remember to read the card, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder.

You let your head fall against your locker and got a face full of glitter for your trouble. Damn it, Jisung, you thought as you hurriedly tried to wipe the glitter from your forehead. Then, after a two minutes of wrestling with the Jisung’s additions to your locker door, you managed to retrieve the books you’d need for the day.

In your first class, a couple people gave you strange looks because of the remnants of glitter on you, but no one said anything about the locker decorations. It would only be a matter of time, though, you knew. At lunch when your best friends found you, they gently teased you about “lover boy.”

“How many times has he done something like that this year, Y/N?” Irene asked, smirking at you.

“This is the fourth,” you muttered, looking down at your food. “Two other letters, too.” You could feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“He really is insistent, isn’t he,” Mei commented, shaking her head. “Aren’t you at least annoyed?”

You were silent for a moment as you chewed. “No, amazingly not annoyed. I guess I’m just indifferent?” you lied. In reality, you kind of liked how much Jisung tried to get your attention, but you were going to make him work for your affection. But not too much because that would be mean.

“Like hell you are,” Irene laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “You’re into him, aren’t you.”

“I’m not!” you insisted. “Really!”

Irene and Mei just gave you disbelieving looks, but continued eating their lunch all the same.

When you went back to your locker that afternoon, Irene and Mei in tow, the ribbons and such were gone, but the card… The card was slipped through the crack between the frame and door of the locker, and fell to the floor when you opened it. Receiving cards from Jisung was nothing new, and you didn’t mind much because he was never creepy about it. Sighing, you retrieved the card and opened it.

“What the hell?” Mei coughed, the scent you knew Jisung wore wafting up from the card-stock on which he’d penned his letter. “Did he really have to do that?”

You just shrugged and leaned against your open locker to read.

Y/N, oh beautiful Y/N!

How could I ever write anything as beautiful as you are?

Your eyes sparkle like the glint of sunlight off a puddle that has just a bit of oil in it—you know, so it’s like a rainbow? Your voice is as melodious as the song birds that wake me up in the morning. And your words… They’re like acupuncture needles: relieving of stress and pain but capable of just the same.

I wish to present my heart to you, to simply give it to you like a flower. But alas, I cannot as that would be messy. I would give you my service were I a knight and you a lady, or put myself in your power like a human subjugate to a vampire. Because, all that I do is to win your heart, your wondrous, wondrous heart!

Dearest Y/N, I’m like a volcano of love for you—erupting with love and affection all over the place. I hope my words don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, since I wouldn’t want your words to become anything short of honey.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

You stood there for a moment, trying to keep a straight face as your friends burst out laughing and exclaimed at how cheesy Jisung was. They weren’t wrong. But— Jisung had really written all that to you, and beneath the slightly strained metaphors and verbosity, you could tell that his feelings were true. You playfully shoved Irene, who was now trying to wrest the card from your hands.

However overblown Jisung sounded or dramatic his displays were, you knew he was a good person. You couldn’t be mad at him, especially when he was just so damn cute. Quickly stuffing the letter into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder and said goodbye to your friends. They called after you that they’d also erupt all over the place with love for you. You just rolled your eyes.

As you scuffed your boots through the small piles of snow that had drifted into the walkway and buried your face in your scarf, you could still faintly smell the perfume Jisung had added to the letter. It wasn’t that bad, after all, and the spiciness of it reminded you of the feeling when you’ve settled down with a good book under a thick blanket. You could definitely get used to it.

↠↞

Ah, February. As soon as the first day of the month arrived, you were wary of what Jisung might decide to do on any of the days surrounding Valentine’s Day. But, you barely saw Jisung. That in and of itself was odd, since you had two classes with him that semester, including Western Literature from 1750 to 1920; but it was odder still because he usually made a point of talking to you once every day, if not more. You’d never admit it to anyone besides your raccoon plushie, but you found yourself disappointed every time he didn’t talk to you or wave or flash one of his ridiculous smiles your way in the halls.

At the end of the first week, you received another letter, also slipped into your locker. This time, you waited until you got home to read it. The letter was far more staid, with none of the extravagance or hyperbole of the other one; no whiff of perfume graced the card-stock, either. Jisung was straightforward, expressing that he found you attractive and even apologizing for being so outrageous in his attempts to woo you. You read the last lines as you curled up in bed.

I hope the depth and sincerity of my feelings are plain to you and that you can at least accept them, if not return them. I would be blissfully happy if you did return my feelings, but I hold no expectations for you. Please know that I admire and adore you, Y/N, light of my heart.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

As you read his words over and over and over again, unable to tear your eyes nor thoughts away, you realized that, yes, you did return his feelings. You hadn’t quite internalized that, but reading his sentiments had certainly put things in perspective for you. If you didn’t give him some indications of your mutual feelings soon, you could quite possibly lose Jisung altogether.

I admire and adore you…..

On February 13th, you decided to treat yourself to a nice tea and a snack at a local coffeeshop. You knew it would be fairly busy, but didn’t mind; sometimes, the bustle of people was a welcome change from your usual, studious existence.

The smell of baked goods, coffee, and cardboard met your nose as you opened the door, letting a blast of warm air out onto the street. Carefully, you made your way into the line that snaked through the small shop, and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversations around you. That plan, however, did not work well. You enjoyed taking in all the sounds around you far too much to ignore something as integral as conversations. Person by person, the line moved forward until you were one away from the counter.

And, of course, your phone buzzed just at that moment with a text from Mei. You quickly responded, but didn’t notice that the person ahead of you had been helped.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up to see none other than Han Jisung standing behind the counter, looking just as shocked as you felt.

“Oh! H-hi, Jisung,” you stammered and shoved your phone back into your pocket, embarrassed.

“What would you like today?” Jisung asked politely. You could tell he was trying to remain on his best behavior, as he was at work.

“Could I have a scone and an Earl Grey tea, please? With just a little cream. Thank you!” you chirped, glad that your nervousness over ordering food hadn’t taken hold of you today.

“Sure, thing,” Jisung smiled. “Just pay and one of us will come find you with your order.” Then, because he clearly couldn’t help himself, he winked at you.

You shook your head, your mouth quirking up at the corner a little, and moved over to pay for your food. Since the cafe was more than a little crowded, you chose one of the few seats open by the window. There, at least, you could look out onto the snow-dusted shops and people watch if, and when, you became bored with your homework.

Shortly thereafter, you felt a presence next to you and found Jisung poised to place a steaming mug of tea and your scone on the high table in front of you.

“Here you are,” Jisung said, voice warm and kind as he set the food in front of you. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. Enjoy!”

Before you could say anything else, Jisung had turned and slipped away through the maze of occupied tables and chairs. Thoughtfully, you took a minute sip of your tea and sighed. It was delicious as always, and the scone was just as good, too.

An hour later, the cafe had nearly emptied but you were still there, nursing your tea. Perched at the table in the window, you could simply soak up the last of the afternoon sun as you worked on drafting an essay for your Literature class. It was the perfect arrangement—the cafe owner didn’t mind if you stayed there for a long time, and you had a place in which you could peacefully work while remaining energized.

Beside you sat the plate with your half-eaten scone on it, and the mug of tea. Absentmindedly, you reached for the mug and brought it to your lips to take a sip. You frowned when no tea met your lips. Before you could so much as move, Jisung was beside you.

“Hey, I noticed you were close to finishing your tea, so I made you another,” he said as he exchanged one mug for another. “It’s on me.” You stared at him, and he shifted self-consciously. “And, um, make sure to check under the mug, okay?”

“I— Thanks, Jisung,” you said, surprised at how gentle your own voice was. “I will.”

Jisung smiled at you before returning to the counter where a new customer had just arrived. You looked after him, amazed that he’d noticed you were coming down to the dregs of your tea. Lifting up the mug, you saw a small, folded piece of paper stuck to its bottom—it looked like receipt paper. Knowing what you’d find when you unfolded it, you carefully detached the paper—the letter—from the mug and read:

Dear Y/N,

I don’t want to keep acting like a gaudy peacock around you. I’m sorry. I know it must make me seem a bit…insensitive or outrageous or something like that. Someone I don’t want you to think I am, I guess.

You are incredible, intelligent, beautiful, kind, and caring. In short, the loveliest person I’ve ever had the honor to meet or know.

I hope… Well, you know. You must know.

All that is to say: I love you.

- Jisung

You reread the letter once more, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes as what felt like all the tenderness in the world welled inside you. Turning round in your chair, you looked to the counter where you saw Jisung nervously looking at you. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hope, the worry, the passion, everything made your breath catch. In something like a trance, you slid from your chair, still clutching the note, and made your way to the end of the counter where Jisung stood.

Taking a deep breath, you said to the shift manager—if their badge was anything to go by—“Could I speak with Jisung outside for a moment? It’s a matter of the heart. I hope you understand,” then grabbed Jisung’s hand as the shift manager nodded. Jisung did not protest as you pulled him outside with you, the cold air hitting you both like a hammer.

You didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand as you turned to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes that were so dark that they seemed to lead to another world. You knew now that you’d gladly travel to that other world. Jisung’s lips parted slightly as he prepared to speak.

“Jisung,” you breathed before he could begin, “your letter… All of your letters, really… They’re everything to me. This one,” you held up the small piece of paper in your hand, “in particular, is perfect. And, I do know.”

Jisung didn’t wait for you to say anything else. He drew you toward him, one hand coming up to gently brush over your cheek as the other held your waist. Then slowly, so slowly, leaned down to brush his lips against yours. He was hesitant, as if he expected you to turn and run, but when you didn’t let him pull away as you locked your lips with his, Jisung knew that all his fears were unfounded. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Jisung cupped your face, kissing him back like you wanted to memorize the feel and taste of him. Again, you were overwhelmed by the feelings you felt and clutched Jisung tighter, making him smile against you lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he hugged you to his chest. “You really are the light of my life.”

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writingsfromhome · 4 years ago

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Bad Timing IV

A/N: To all the soft hearted crybabies requesting it: here’s part 4 to dry your tears from part 3. Thanks for all the interaction with this series, you guys are the best! <3<3<3<3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

I take my coffee to the little patio in the backyard of my childhood home, breathing deeply. It was a couple weeks since the traumatic incident at the bank, the one where I nearly died and found a way to live again. The higher ups practically begged me to take paid leave, I had a feeling they just didn’t want me to take anything to court. I’d told them I would take the month, and knew I would hand in my resignation thereafter. I enjoyed my job as much as the next person but it was too much for me. It felt like closing a door on a chapter of my life that I wanted to move on from.

And now, I could truly relax, I wasn’t running away from anything for the first time in my life. After everything that happened in that small restroom at the back of the bank, Harry and I came to a peace. And I’d only moved on from there.

“You’re up early,” my dad comes into view, a cup of tea in hand. “Your flight doesn’t leave until tonight right?”

“Yeah, just thought I would appreciate the views before I go back to a city,” I move my feet off the chair so he could sit.

“You can come here anytime.”

“I know,” I wrap my hands around my mug. “Coming here it just...reminds me of mum. And it’s hard...”

“This is how I stay connected to her,” he pats the table between us. “She loved this place, her garden and those darn birds she fed all the time.”

“You feed them now,” I look to the birdfeeder filled lovingly to the brim with seeds.

“I do it because...” he says quietly. “It’s what she would want.”

I think about my mum, what she would want. It hurt when I thought about how she left me, married and happy in love. And then how much hurt I went through, always wishing she was there. In some way I know she knew--wherever she was. But I wish I could hear her, I wish I could have a love like she had.

“So, when do I get to meet this new boy of yours?” My dad asks.

“Dad, you know his name’s Alec.”

“I would if I met him, put a face to the name.”

I roll my eyes, my dad was a bit overprotective after everything that’s happened in my life. I think he felt guilty in a small way, him and Harry always got on--we teased them about their bromance. He was just as blindsided as me. But I’d told my dad everything that happened the first night I came over. He hadn’t judged, just listened, hugged me tightly, and left to make me a cup of tea. That was the most expressive my dad got.

After Alec took me back from from the hospital, I asked him to stay. And he had stayed since, making it official from casual to dating. It was scary but life was too short to hold back I had learned. I had to hold onto a good thing when I had one.

As for Harry, he hadn’t called me since that day he visited me. I’d left him a couple texts--when I was discharged home, and again to ask him how he was doing a week later. He’d sent a thumbs up and that was it. I thought we were okay, but he blew me off even when I tried to call him. It hurt a little, but I’d been so busy packing and getting on, that I let him be for now. I would wait until after visiting my sister to find out where his head was at.

H’s POV

It’s been nearly a month since I walked out of Y/N’s hospital room, and we’d just about tied all the lose ends from the case. The only thing about it all that lingered on my mind was Y/N. I missed her more than I had all these years apart, but I sat in the ache of wanting. It was time I catch up to the consequences of my past actions. I turned to writing, starting again after years of thinking I no longer had a passion for it. It felt freeing.

She’d texted me, called me too. I tried not to respond even though everything in me wanted to pick up the phone and ask her out to dinner, invite her over for a movie, ask her if she wanted to take my car and drive out somewhere like we used to after exams in uni. But I let her be, imagining that she was happy somewhere. With Alec, or whoever she wanted to be with.

The last thing I expect, is for her to be standing outside my station late Thursday night.

“Y/N?” I almost don’t recognise her. Gone was her stern bun and smart suit. Strands of her hair frame her face, like a piece of art on display. She has on a loose jumper and tights, a bum bag strapped across her chest that she roots through for something.

“Harry!” she drops her hands. “I’ve only been waiting here for...20 minutes, when your receptionist said your shift ended?”

“I had to finish up some paperwork. Why didn’t you call me?.”

“It’s not like you would’ve answered.” her hands on her hips, attitude dripping from every inch of her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You look different,” I dodge the topic.

“I know,” she zips up her bag. “I had the month off, officially resigned today. I have absolutely nowhere to be. So I’m looking the part.”

“It looks good,” I say truthfully. She looked relaxed, like the Y/N I used to know. “You quit your job?”

“I had enough of that bank,” she shrugs. “I went to see my dad for a bit, and visited my sister. She’s doing well.”

“Ah,” I was glad she’d taken a break. She was glowing. “Seriously Y/N, you look really good.”

“You,” she points her finger at me. “Are not allowed to say things like that after ghosting me. I thought we...came to an understanding. You left me again.”

I open my mouth to say something, but her words hit me. She was right, I’d left her again. Fuck.

“Yeah,” she crosses her arms when I go speechless. “You admitted to your mistakes, apologized, and then left me. How do you think that’s made me feel?”

“I thought it was best if I left you alone,” I walk out of the way from the entrance and she follows me to my car, parked in the lot. “I just wanted to give you space--a chance at being happy.”

She scoffs, leaning against the driver’s side door. “Thought it was best for who, Harry? Who are you to define my happiness? It would’ve been nice just to hear you were doing okay!”

“I’m sorry!” I stumble for another excuse but I come up with none. “The truth is, seeing you with Alec that day I...it was hard for me. I couldn’t be around you like that.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I...” I look at her, looking at me expectantly. She was a woman with an agenda, she had come here looking for answers and wasn’t going to leave until I gave them to her. “I want you to be happy, all that shite. You can’t do that with me around. And it’s hard for me seeing you with someone else...I can’t stand to be in your life like that. Where I’m just...your ex.”

“So you’re saying, it took me nearly dying for you to realize?” Her eyebrow quirks up.

“In a way,” I huff. “It just, took me being around you to remember what I left, when we ended things. It also made me realize the mess I left behind-”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for yourself,” she calls me out like nobody else could. It makes me laugh nervously and she takes it the wrong way. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious! I’ve felt sorry enough for the both of us for years. And maybe Y/N from a month ago would’ve wanted you to suffer a little bit, but not anymore. This last month...I’ve just felt so free and happy Harry. I get what you mean now, I get it. And I’m alright.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you Y/N.”

“Yeah, I mean I get it, but you did go about it in the worst possible way-”

“I know.”

“I’m not done,” she pushes my shoulder. “Anyway, just because you did some shitty stuff, you don’t deserve to suffer okay? Move on. Onward. Not backwards.”

I’m taken aback again when she pushes herself off my car and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I slowly envelop her into me, savoring the feel of holding her even if it’s just for a moment.

“You deserve happiness,” she says in my ear. “If that means ghosting me, I won’t fight it. You just...have to let me know.”

“That’s not called ghosting,” I say as she separates herself from me. I want to pull her back but I stuff my hands in my pockets.

“Potato potato,” she waves her hand. “I should go. Just...take care of yourself Harry.”

Y POV (1 year later):

“That’s wonderful news,” I smile at my client who gathers their materials back into their portfolio. “I’ll have my assistant forward the contract over tonight. I look forward to working with your team.”

I shake hands and watch them leave the room before collapsing into my chair. I knew starting your own business was hard, but this last year was a bumpy road. I’d started my own consultation business, and only had two clients. This was my first big-deal contract I’d signed; I was promised two whole years with this team!

I reach for my phone to tell Alec, but I remember we weren’t talking. Well, I wasn’t speaking to him--he’d told me last night before my big meeting that he’d been offered a promotion at work. But the catch was it was in the Edinburgh offices “which works out perfectly for us! Your sister lives there, we can visit them often...what do you think?”

I’d been so angry then. Firstly, he’d sprung the news on me the night before a big day, and second he’d already made the decision for us. I was so angry I’d just gone quiet, and told him I had a big meeting the next morning.

My fingers itch though, to tell someone. My fingers hover over Harry’s name.

Every since I confronted him last year at work, he disappeared again but not completely. He texted me a few times, once on my birthday, another during a heat wave in the city asking me if I wanted to grab drinks. I wasn’t available and he hadn’t really texted me since. I knew he was a phone call away, and he knew the same of me. Yet neither of us ever picked up the phone to call each other. I wasn’t sure why, but we were still giving each other space.

Well fuck it, I think. I call him and he picks up on the fourth ring.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Uh no--hold up, wait. Not you...Sorry Y/N give me a second.”

I bite my lip, he could be at work, I should’ve texted him.

“Hey,” Harry’s tone is different now, softer and the background noises quiet to almost nothing. “Sorry it was so loud in there, we’re celebrating a birthday--Serena, the receptionist you remember?”

“Oh yeah,” I have a vague picture of her in my head. “Don’t let me keep you from the festivities-”

“Why did you call? S’no big deal, I’m not a big cake person anyway.”

“Ooh, cake? Eat a slice for me, I don’t get enough sweets living with a health nut...” I trail off realizing who I was talking to.

“I’ll save you one if you swing by?” Harry suggests after a beat of awkward silence. Another second passes as I consider what he’s asking: he wanted to see me.

“Uh, okay! You don’t have to ask me twice,” I grin, a strange bubble of excitement making it’s way through me. “My office is actually not too far from your station. I’ll walk it.”

“Your office? Where are you these days?” Harry asks as I slip my bag over my body and head out the door. I was exactly an 8 minute walk from his station--I’d mapped it when I found the place cheap online.

“I’m renting a whole office! It’s all very professional--I mean it’s like, one and a half rooms..oh and I have to share the toilets with the whole floor-”

“That’s good, so there’s no way you’ll be caught dead in there if you’re sharing it with the floor,” I hear the laugh in his voice.

“That’s a very insensitive thing to say,” I scold him.

“It’s been a year, c’mon Y/N.”

“We almost died!”

“We weren’t going to die. You’re alive right now!”

“Thanks to a really bad detective and a toilet seat,” I say and relish at the sound of Harry’s laugh on the other end of the line.

“That’s not how you thank someone who saved your life,” Harry finally says when he’s done laughing.

“You didn’t save my life, I was never going to die in the first place remember?”

“Touche,” he laughs. “Get over here faster, I want to see your face.”

“I’m trying!” I speed up. The background noise grows louder on his side again and he apologises. “S’alright. Anyway I just called cuz I had good news and nobody to share it with immediately.”

“Tell me.”

“Long story short, I started my own consulting firm! Finance advice--stuff like that, and I signed my first long-term contract! With an actual client not just for like, a project! I’m-” I squeal, I couldn’t help it. “It’s such a big deal for me I’ve been struggling just breaking ever since I started up.”

“Y/N I’m getting you the whole bloody cake for that,” Harry says. I finally turn the corner to his station, nearly jogging at this point.

“Only if Serena doesn’t mind.” I joke.

“In that dress, who would mind,” he says. I pause on the street, he could see me. I squint but he’s nowhere in sight. And then there, he steps out from the steps and waves. I don’t bother taming the smile on my face and neither does he.

“I see you Detective,” I shout.

“I saw you first!” He shouts.

In an instant we’re rushing towards each other, bodies crashing as I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze hard. It felt like a reunion.

“How did we go this long without seeing each other,” I say when we pull apart. “I’ve actually missed you.” With the closure between us and no baggage weighing our memories down, I’d actually begun to feel nostalgic about Harry every time I thought about us--usually the friendship, not quite the marriage.

“I don’t know,” Harry pulls me close to him again. “I think we gave each other too much space this time around. We’ve got to find a better middleground.”

“I think we’re standing on it.” I joke.

“Hey, Styles!” A voice calls from the entrance. “Stop snogging your girl and come back in here. Serena’s wondering why you’re running away from her big day.”

“I’m not snogging anybody,” Harry calls back. “And I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Bring her with ya, we’ve got plenty of cake!”

Harry looks down at me and I raise an eyebrow. “You think they’ll let me have more than a slice?”

“I’m their commanding officer, I can tell them to let you have as many as you want.”

“Lead the way,” I grin, half excited to see Harry and half excited for the baked goods. Harry grabs my hand and leads me in. Unfortunately, enough people recognize me from the bank heist that Harry has to explain we’ve known each other for a while. Fortunately, enough people remember me to ply me with sweets to make up for Harry screwing up my case. I have zero complaints and celebrate the day with free cake.

H’s POV

My phone vibrates with Y/N’s text, she was here for lunch. Ever since she called me a couple weeks ago and we decided we couldn’t live without staying in contact, we tried to pop over for lunch whenever we could. It felt like old times. Being Y/N’s friend again was what I was missing out on. I was finally living the version of my life that felt right. I had a bounce in my step, I felt happy when I woke up. Even my officers teased me, trying to allude that I was getting some until I threatened them with paperwork. But I was brighter at work too.

I text Y/N that I would be a few minutes more, and when I finally go into the lobby to meet her she’s having a conversation with Serena.

“Man of the hour,” Serena says as I walk up. “Your girl’s here.”

“I can see that, thank you.” Serena insisted on calling Y/N that despite telling her multiple times we weren’t together.

“Serena was just telling me all the wild things she got up to for her sixty-fifth,” Y/N winks at Serena. I didn’t want to be part of that conversation so I drag her by the arm out of the station.

We walk in silence towards a small sandwich shop around the corner from us. I grab her swinging hand to catch her attention, and she gives me a small smile before turning away. But she keeps her hand in mine.

She’s unusually quiet, and I wait until after we’ve ordered to broach the subject. Before I could, she blurts out: “Alec's got to give his final answer today.” I nearly choke on my sandwich. She’s told me her predicament last week when I noticed she looked upset and wouldn’t let her be until she told me. I was gutted, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to go.

“I...that means, hm.” I gather my thoughts--and all my emotions too. “Have you decided if you’re...moving with him?”

“I dunno, this is an amazing job offer. I could be closer to my sister too but...I just don’t know. My life’s in London, my new practice too. How can I leave it all?”

“That’s tricky,” I say even though deep inside I was relieved it sounded like she wasn’t going. “Couldn’t you just move your practice there? Travel to London when you had meetings? You could always stay with me if you needed.”

She huffs, there was more she wanted to say but she keeps it in. I push her to open up. “It’s just, he sprang this on me a couple weeks ago and he just expected me to follow him. I love him, I do. But that’s asking a lot! It’s only been a year or so, and it’s nice to know he’s serious enough about me to want me to go with him. I just...”

“And we only just reconnected again,” I try to sound lighthearted but when she looks at me I can tell she knows I feel more than I’m letting on.

“Can you imagine?” She raises her eyebrow. “If I told him I’m staying because I just reconnected again with my ex...”

“Ex-husband makes us sound older than we are.”

“We are old,” she puts her sandwich down and sighs. “You wear orthopedic shoes Harry.”

“I won’t take offense to that,” I look down at my shoes. They were comfortable on the job. “So...I’m not factored into your decision at all? Whether you want to stay or not?”

I see the emotion in her eyes; she was conflicted. “I dunno,” she finally says.

“Don’t let me hold you back,” I say even though I wanted to beg her to stay. “You love him right? Maybe you should...”

She stares ahead, her face falling. I knew Y/N’s face before a cry, so I reach my hand out and clasp hers over the table. She squeezes my hand once before removing it, I felt like I did something wrong.

“Anyway,” her face brightens up again, though the look in her eyes stays. “I watched that new movie you recommended and it was awful...”

She changes the subject swiftly, and I don’t object. I didn’t know how to tell her to stay without being selfish, and I didn’t know how to tell her it was okay to go and act like I was telling her the truth.

But near the end of my shift, the evening receptionist buzzes me she was letting my girlfriend through. I don’t bother correcting her.

“Hey Y/N!” one of my officers calls out to her when she walks into the floor. “We’re all planning on throwing you a party.”

“For what?” She stops by his desk. I notice Detective Cole eyeing her, before joining in.

“He actually has a life now, he’s usually a lot more bossy with us.”

Y/N turns to me, eyebrow raised. “I’m afraid the party’s a little premature. But I’d never say no to cake.”

My heart sinks, she was going. I watch her walk towards me and she notices my expression, the smile is gone from her face by the time she reaches me.

“I told Alec I would try it out, 6 months. See how it goes...I can see my sister more often, help her out with my niece...” It sounds like she’s coming up with excuses to justify herself to me.

“That’s...” my words get stuck in my throat, the lie was too big to get out. “Your sister will love that.” I settle with. I take her hand and walk her out to a more private hallway. “When do you leave.”

“Two weeks,” she bites her lip. “I-I’m gonna miss you Harry. We just got into a flow and-”

“We’ll still talk.” I pull her in, I couldn’t bear to watch her face fall apart in front of me. And I didn’t want her to see my own face crumbling. I tuck her under my chin, “We’ve got phones, and you’ll be in London sometimes for work right? We won’t be like before, we’ll still talk.”

I know she can feel my heart racing, and I want her to know what she was doing to me because my mouth can’t seem to tell her. I hold her for a little longer, and when she goes, I know my unit won’t be throwing any parties for her in a while.

Three Months Later:

I’m in bum mode by 8pm that Friday. I’d had a long week, a tough case with no breaks and finally had an evening off so I changed into sweats the second I got home, taken a hot shower and washed the week off.

The knock on the door surprises me. The peephole doesn’t distinguish who’s outside, a hood covering their face. I decide to open the door, to find a teary Y/N hundreds of miles from home.

“Y/N-”

“I wanted you to tell me to stay.” she says to me immediately. Her tears continue dripping onto her cheeks. I stare in confusion, wondering for a moment if my lack of sleep had caused me to hallucinate her.

“Wha-”

“When I told you about the move...you told me I should go. I wanted you to tell me to stay Harry! I thought you would’ve told me to stay.”

I move aside silently, so we weren’t having a conversation where my neighbours could hear.

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know!” she throws her bag, coat, and phone down on the floor in a heap. “You just were! I thought when I told you, you would say-”

“I didn’t want to tell you what to do with your life based on what I wanted! I thought I already established that!” Suddenly we’re arguing.

“You never had an issue before!”

“Well look where it lead us,” I move away from the door and back to where I was previously relaxing on the couch.

“A country apart!” She’s hot on my heels. “Didn’t you want me to stay?”

Some part of me is still completely confused what was going on, but Y/N’s fiery frustration overflows into my cup and an invisible force pours it down my throat.

“Yes. Yeah! Of course I wanted you to stay!”

“So why didn’t you say that?” She cries.

“I was trying not to be selfish!”

“Well you just pick the worst times to be selfish!”

“I never said I was good with my timing.” I mumble.

“Don’t treat me like-like some fragile porcelain Harry!” Y/N gets right into my face. “I’m not! I’m different, I’ve grown from that fragile place. I don’t need you walking on eggshells around me, I just want you to be honest!”

“When am I not honest?” I shout back.

“You haven’t been honest with me for months! Just say what you feel Harry, stop bloody holding back all the time! I just want the real you!”

“Fine!” I explode. “I love you Y/N! I love you so much it physically hurts me to be near you and not be able to hold you. I want to be able to kiss you like I used to, I want to go back in time and warn myself to get it right! I want to tell you how amazing you are and how sorry I am every day. I can’t! We’ve both got our own lives! I’m not being dishonest I just don’t want to fuck with your life again! I’ve accepted that I’m nothing more than an ex and your best friend!”

That stops her in her tracks. Her chest heaves as she swipes at her cheeks, and then she pushes her hands into my chest. I stumble but catch myself. She pushes me again, big tears rolling down her cheeks, and I stumble onto the couch. She turns and paces to the door and back.

“What are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Edinburgh?” I finally ask the question I should’ve asked the second I saw her.

“Sure,” she throws herself onto the seat next to me and buries her face in her hands. “I...I didn’t want to be there. I just had to leave, and I couldn’t stand my sister going on about what a catch Alec was. How I should feel lucky. I had to get away. I never should’ve left London...I just thought maybe Alec was my chance at a fresh happy future, and you told me to go so I thought you didn’t want me to stay. But I fucked up there too, and I just had to go. And I came here with nowhere else--I can’t even live in my own home for three more months...”

She trails off. It was a lot of information to process. I don’t know how long we stay on the couch like that, a foot apart in silence.

“Everyone I know will probably think I’m just an idiot for coming here of all places, but this was the only place that made sense because I--Harry I think I...” She glances at me. “I...”

“I know,” I say after she struggles to say what she wanted to say. But I knew.

“But I feel so guilty, I’m doing to him what you did to me...it’s not fair.”

I didn’t think about it like that, I realise. But this situation was more complicated than that, I tell her. We had history, she’d moved to a whole new country for him, he must know somewhere Y/N didn’t actually want to move. But the parallels between her situation and ours are clear as day. I don’t know what to say.

“Stay the night,” I put a hand on her thigh. She doesn’t move it off. “Get some sleep, when you wake up tomorrow, make your decision. You know how I feel...and you know how you feel.”

“You’re right,” she lays her hand on top of mine. I thread my fingers through hers and hold on. Her puppy eyes tear me apart, I want to gather her in my arms and kiss her misery away. But I don’t want to add to her guilt.

“Let me get you something to eat, you’re probably hungry.” holding her hand was getting painful. I leave her alone in the living room, so she could collect herself. If someone told Harry three years ago this was where I would end up, he would’ve laughed in their face.

Y POV:

I couldn’t believe I did that, I think as I sit on the 5 hour ride back to Edinburgh. I felt untethered yesterday, after arguing with Alec all week because I was just miserable when I wasn’t in London. My sister’s pressure to be happy with what I had, I felt like I had no one to turn to who would understand me. And that had driven me into Harry’s arms, the train ride there fueling my frustration and anger. It had accidentally exploded in Harry’s direction when I got to his place but I was glad for it. He’d told me how he felt. And it was complicated as hell for me but somewhere deep inside, I knew where this was leading.

When I get back home to a worried Alec, we sit down and have a hard conversation. It breaks my heart leaving him, but after one last night together I pack most of my things and head to my sisters. The irony isn’t lost of me, hers was exactly where I went to when Harry and I split.

My sister tries to be supportive but I by the time the three months are over, I feel suffocated with her overprotective nature, and the full house she lived in.

“You’re just going to do what you want to do aren’t you?” She asks the day she drops me back off to the station. I’d spent the rest of the three months at hers--I couldn’t go back home to my house anyway and something about going back to London for another man felt wrong. I’d seen Alec a few times in those months. The last time was last night, we’d shared a few drinks and maybe some kisses. But it was a final goodbye last night, heavy but final.

“I don’t want to be a bad person,” I say. “I just don’t want to feel stuck somewhere because I feel bad.”

“You’re not a bad person,” my sister brushes my hair behind my shoulder as she hugs me tight. “I love you. Mum would be so proud of you for following your heart, you always did play it too safe.”

“I guess my rebellious phase just came a little late.”

“Ever since you met that Harry guy, you quit your stable job and haven’t been the same since,” she wags her finger at me like a stern maternal figure. She breaks character when she laughs and hugs me again. “M’gonna miss having you here. The kids loved having their aunt around.”

“I’m sure they’re happier having their play room back.” I joke to cover up how sad I felt leaving them too. Even though most days felt like we were walking all over each other, it felt like growing up in our small childhood home again; a nice reset before I headed back to London.

The train ride goes by quickly, and I settle back into my home over the weekend, getting my furniture out of storage and cleaning up after the last tenants. I’d been gone only 6 months but the second I walked through the door, I knew I was home again.

Letting Harry know I was back makes me nervous so I put it off for the week. I show up at his flat the following Saturday, wringing my hands as I wait for him to answer. I didn’t even know if he was home.

“Y/N,” a shocked voice says as I turn to walk away. Harry studies me as I stand awkwardly in his hall. “You’re back.”

I hear what he doesn’t say: you never called me after you showed up three months ago. and what happened to you?

“Hey,” I brush past him into his flat, fiddling with my jacket as he locks the door. “I’m back in London.”

“I can see that.” He eyes me. “Alone?” He asks, and again I hear the words he doesn’t say.

“Alone,” I smile. “I just needed...time to figure things out. I’ve been staying with my sister.”

“Full house?” He says, knowing it before I had to say it.

“So full,” I laugh, and just like that everything is okay. He takes my jacket from me and hangs it in his closet, like he knew I was going to stay a while. “There were too many mornings when I woke up to my niece just staring at me, waiting for me to wake.”

“Aw, they must miss you now.”

“Yeah,” I follow him through to his living room. I remember the last time I was here, sort of embarrassing looking back. “I was missing London though. And...you.”

He looks up. “Are you-”

“Harry,” I swallow what I need to say. His gaze is laser-sharp and it’s slightly intimidating to admit something like this. I’d given my heart to him before, and here I was giving it again after I’d spent years healing from what he did to it. It felt right, but also foolish. I guess love would always feel a little foolish.

“Y/N,” he says after I don’t say anything.

“So,” I walk up to where he stands near the window, the afternoon sun illuminates his handsome face. I reach up to touch it, no longer able to keep my hands to myself when he was so close. My breath catches as he closes his eyes against my palm, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

“Y/N,” he keeps his eyes closed, like I would disappear if he opened them.

“I’m finally home,” I tell him, feeling the familiar lump in my throat as my eyes tear up. He opens his eyes then, they’re also pooling with unshed tears. It makes me laugh; he arches a brow. “We’re both here, in each other’s arms finally and...we’re crying.”

“We’re not a very typical pair, are we?”

“Nothing typical about us.” I say and he chuckles, kissing my wrist. My heart stutters in my chest.

“You’re either crazy or just incredibly forgiving, giving me a second chance at this.” Harry says outright.

“It’s us I’m giving a second chance to,” I slide my hands up, locking them around his neck.

“D’you think we’ll get the timing right this time?” He whispers as he lowers his face.

“We better,” I keep my eyes on his mouth, the one I’ve thought about kissing for the last three months. And then, finally, his lips are on mine and I nearly cry out of relief having him in my arms. Harry, being my Harry again.

His hands clench the fabric around my waist as he pulls me closer to him, his lips leave mine and he kisses my cheek, my jaw, my temple, before he crushes me to him.

“Harry I-” I couldn’t breathe, but my strained voice gives that away and he lets me go. I’m surprised to see the tears now trailing down his face. “You’re crying,” I swipe at the fallen tears.

“I’m just so happy,” he takes my hands off his cheeks and clasps them against his chest. “Y/N I’ve only dreamed of this, I didn’t think the universe cared enough about me to let me have this reality.”

“You and your poetry,” I smile.

“I guess you’re my muse,” He pulls me back to him, this time in a sweeter kiss that lingers. Tears pool in my own eyes as my heart tries to process the enormity of emotions I was feeling. “C’mere, I just want to hold you.”

He leads me to the couch and I lay down next to him. We take in each other, face to face, the grins reflected on both of us is impossible to wipe off.

“I love you Y/N, to the sun and back.”

“Isn’t it the moon and back?” I ask.

“Sun’s further out,” he smiles like he was expecting the question. I laugh, he kisses the tip of my nose and pulls my leg over his, his arm snaking around my waist so I’m snug against him.

“What am I gonna do with you Styles,” I brush one of his curls back.

“You’ve got forever to figure that out,” he says simply. My heart races at the thought. We’d bungled the first round we spent together, but after all these years apart I had a feeling that we really would have forever this time around.

With all the emotions fluttering inside of me, all the baggage unpacked and out of sight, and Harry’s loving expression looking back at me; I believed in us.

1.5 Years Later (H’s POV):

The house is quiet when I get in--it was half past 11 and I knew Y/N was probably asleep. I texted her a couple hours ago I would be home soon but time had slipped away as I worked. I hoped she wasn’t upset.

I move stealthily through the hall, eventually making my way to our bedroom where she lays sleeping. She’d left the lamp on beside her, and I move around to her side so I can close it. I notice the open book beside her--she fell asleep while reading it again. I set it down on the drawers and tuck her hand into the covers, the subtle diamonds on her finger glows yellow under the soft lamp light. Just looking at the engagement ring sparks a rush of love for the woman before me.

Y/N had surprised me a couple months ago when she proposed to me. We’d were dating again for almost a year and a half--this time it really felt like we’d gotten the timing right on our relationship. We were happier and more in love than we’d ever been. During a candlelit dinner one night, she had pulled a chair up beside me and presented me with the ring and an ultimatum.

Apparently she’d noticed that I was always on edge--like I was waiting for her to realize that she didn’t actually forgive me for all the awful things I put her through. And she was right, but it wasn’t until she said it out loud that I realized it was an anxiety I had. I was waiting for her to realize she could do better than me--leave me the way I left her. But she proposed to show me she wasn’t going anywhere, and she showed me her own ring her father gave her--her mum’s ring.

I was blown away by her observant love, again, how she knew me better than I knew myself. I reassured her I wasn’t going anywhere either, not now or ever. And we decided we didn’t want to set any dates, we were taking it slow. Being engaged was a promise and that was all for now. I wanted to live up to Y/N’s standard, give her and her family a reason to trust me again--not only would they kill me if I ever did anything to her, but I’m pretty sure my own family would kill me too. They were over the moon when they found out we were giving it another go.

“Harry?” Y/N mumbles as I slip under the covers a little while later.

“Sorry for coming home so late,” I whisper. “I got a bit carried away with the case.”

“What’s new,” she shifts to face me, the moonlight from the windows barely illuminating her face. “M’just glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” I pull her towards me. Home, it was this house we’d moved into last year. But mostly, it was this beautiful woman in my arms who opened her heart to me despite everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky. I tell her that.

“S’not luck,” she mumbles. “The universe--our stars are finally aligned.”

“My star was pretty dim, I’m surprised yours found it.” I tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her temple. “You found it by luck.”

“No. Your star’s always burned the brightest in my universe,” she tucks her face into my neck. “Even when I didn’t want it to be, it was still noticeable.”

“You outshine me in every way in mine,” I lean away so I can hold her face close, resting my forehead on hers. “I love you so much.”

She smiles in the dark, and leaves a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I love you, and I’d love you more if you came home on time.”

I chuckle, “I’ll try. Tomorrow.”

“Mhm,” she says sleepily. I’d let her sleep, I think as I pull her leg over mine and hold her against my chest. Even though I hated coming home by the time she was asleep, finding her in our little safe space, and being able to hold her close as we fell asleep was my favourite part of the day.

***

The day is nearly over but the paperwork on my desk says otherwise. I sigh and slump in my chair, this was the worst part of my job.

I begin filling it out, and I’m not even halfway through when the phone rings. Serena’s on the other line, “Styles, your patient fiancee is here for you. I don’t think she’s staying patient for long though.”

I tell her I’d be out, smiling as I put down the phone. Y/N was making sure I kept my word from last night, and I would. For her, I would get in extra early tomorrow just to be sure I had the evening with her tonight.

“So when do I get the invitation to the wedding?” I hear Serena say as I walk out to the lobby. She’s putting on her coat to leave and Y/N’s bundled up herself. “And then when do I get to see the mini Styles’? I better be around to see them!”

Not many would, but I notice the slight tension in Y/N’s shoulders at the sensitive topic. I step in.

“You’re worse than my mum,” I tell her. “And she’s actually going to be the grandmother.”

“We just want to see our babies’ babies before we bite the bullet!” Serena shrugs, walking out from behind the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow Harry, Y/N it was lovely seeing you as always.”

We wave her off, and then I wrap my arm around Y/N and we walk out to my car.

“That’s the first question everyone continues to ask me,” Y/N says as we walk. “When the date is.”

“Does that bother you?” I check in.

“A little, but only because it leads to even more questions when I say we haven’t set a date.”

We get into the car, and I ask her the other question I wanted to know: “And the baby thing? Does that...bother you?”

She turns her body to look at me, tilting her head as she tries to read me. “It doesn’t...does it bother you?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I’m happy where we are. All that stuff can...come after. I’m just-I’m happy with you.”

“Good talk then,” she grins. I can’t help but lean over for a kiss then.

“Well I don’t mind the baby making part,” I tell her. “But I think the actual babies can wait.”

She pushes me away as her cheeks flush like we hadn’t been dating and married and dating again for over ten years. “Sometimes I think you’ve just got one thing on your mind.”

“Yeah,” I say as I start the car. “That’s you.”

“Is that what distracted you so bad when you were working on my case? Because you were totally distracted and we almost died-”

“We were never going to die!” I say over her--this was a common topic of conversation between us.

“I was going to bleed out and die!” She tries to speak over me.

“Oh now you were going to bleed out? You were never dying!” I shout even louder. And we keep going for most of the way home until Y/N catches sight of a dog at a crosswalk and begins to coo at it through the window.

“Maybe we should get a dog,” she starts on another of our reoccurring topics. I sigh, ready to launch into why we should wait. And that’s how the rest of the ride home goes. Not that I minded, I could discuss the same topics with her over and over for eternity.

“You’re just threatened by a dog,” Y/N continues as we park and head up to our front door. “Because then my love would be split between both of you.”

“Yeah sure, that’s it.” I roll my eyes at her silly reasoning. But I still grab her hand in mine and kiss it as we walk in. My stomach flutters when she gazes at me as the door closes behind her.

“I’m going to wear you down soon,” she says as she takes my coat from me. I take them both out of her hands and leave them in a heap on the staircase, kissing her so she stops talking. She smiles against my lips, knowing that she was wearing me down, and I’d give her anything she asked for. Anything to make her happy. I loved her infinitely.

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phantompearlsalt · 4 years ago

Text

Sour Cherry, Chapter 11

Aaaaand we’re back at it again folks with top!Kuvira ft. some fun ~bedroom accessories~ and other naughty acts 🤭 So of course, this is a very NSFW / Explicit chapter (a lovely combination of smut and fluff)! I’m glad I was able to post it before the week officially ended for me, as I will be going back to work tomorrow and that will affect my writing schedule. So be on the lookout for a post I’ll make later tonight with some updates! As always, feel free to check out the chapter on AO3 <3 Thank you for the continued love and support — y’all are the best!

Republic City is coated in a fresh layer of evening mist. With your arm looped around Kuvira’s, you gleefully watch as the shop lights reflect off the pools of rain and cast a magical glow across the roaming paths of concrete and stone.

Though it has stopped raining since you finished dinner, you feel the occasional drop land on your cheek or nose and every so often Kuvira will flick them away with her thumb. She smiles in a way that’s almost not a smile at all but to you it’s the most radiant expression in the entire city. The air is crisp, making your hands shiver, but it’s easily overlooked when a simple glance from Kuvira rouses a delightful warmth that starts in your toes and rises to your cheeks.

Today Kuvira insisted on giving you the best possible day she could in celebration of six months together. Between the lovely laziness of a morning spent in bed, an afternoon reading with pauses for naps, and a fantastic dinner at Republic City’s most popular spot for southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, you couldn’t conceive of a more perfect itinerary.

As you walk back to your apartment, you can’t stifle the intermittent giggles that bubble out of your mouth. Each time Kuvira will glimpse in your direction and pull you tighter against her body, eventually lifting her arm so it wraps around your shoulders instead. You lean your head against her and breath in her fresh, earthy scent. The pedestrians that come your way become nothing more than ephemeral flashes of movement because all you see and feel are Kuvira’s fond expression and her fingers folded over your shoulder.

When you finally make it to the door, Kuvira graciously opens it for you as you slip your shoes off. After securing each of the locks, she stands behind you so she can slide your coat down your arms and hang it on the rack. Before you can take another step, she brings her mouth to the back of your neck and presses a tender kiss at the tip of your spine.

The sensation of her lips made cool by the wintry air outside is a startling contrast against your skin and you twitch before melting into her touch. “Why don’t I make us some tea and you get ready for bed?” she murmurs. You turn around to cradle her face in your hands, pushing away some stray hands of hair that hang over her eyes, and bring your face close so you can press your lips together.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, kissing her briefly and relishing the residual flavor of puff pastry that glazes her mouth. She struggles to pull away from you completely, wrapping her arms around your waist to draw out the kiss for a few extra moments, before reluctantly breaking it and making her way to the kitchen.

You step into your slippers and pad over to your room, stretching your arms high above your head and sighing when your joints pop in response. Down the hall, you can hear the clutter of a pot hitting a stovetop and mugs clinking together as Kuvira sets about brewing your drinks.

By the time you are cloaked in your evening robe, tucked beneath Kuvira’s favorite olive comforter, she walks in and carefully places the mug between your palms. You notice she changed in the bathroom, now donning a loose black shirt with matching pants. An inviting aroma of ginseng wafts from the steaming cup and you are quick to take a tentative sip. “You would’ve made a great tea shop owner,” you tease over the rim. Kuvira shoots you an unimpressed glance before sliding into the bed beside you, pressing her toes against your shins.

“I don’t have that natural predisposition for customer service,” she sniffs. “Six months later and you still don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your mug on your bedside stand so you can turn around and bring your face close to Kuvira’s. “And you still can’t warm up to my dazzling sense of humor,” you huff. Her mouth cracks into a doting half-smile. “I wouldn’t say that,” she insists. “You have your moments. Maybe you just need to brush up on your comedic skills.”

You gasp theatrically and bring your hand to your forehead, falling backwards in a flourish. “My heart! I ought to punish you for such a flagrant stab to my ego,” you bemoan teasingly. Kuvira's arm lurches forward until it wraps over your waist and she’s pulling you against her side.

“That sounds awfully severe for something so inoffensive, don’t you think?” she hums, angling her face down so she can caress her mouth along your jaw. You sigh and twist a hand into her hair, undoing the already loose braid that hangs against her shoulder. “Maybe I can let it slide just this once,” you respond. You flick the metal clip to the ground where it lands with a gentle clang. Kuvira responds with a promising drag of her mouth up to your earlobe where she nips at it, making you jump against her body.

“Now what shall I do to express my gratitude for such benevolence?” she murmurs into your ear. You hum thoughtfully, rubbing your fingers against her scalp until her eyelids start to grow heavy, before responding, “I might have a few ideas…”

Not willing to tease anymore than you can stand, you bring your hand to her chin, pulling her forward until your lips meet in a fierce and intoxicating kiss. Without any conscious motive, your mind has stored away each infinitesimal detail of Kuvira’s mouth. Even with your eyes closed, before your lips even touch, when her kiss is a shadow hovering in the air where your breaths mingle, you know the artful swell of her plump lower lip that fits perfectly between your teeth. You know its delicate flavor as your tongue roams over the skin and the way it feels when you dare to bite.

Kuvira wiggles against you, her body arching ever so slightly, as you explore her mouth and hook a leg over her hip until you can feel the growing heat between her legs. She leverages the movement to slide her hand beneath the loose fabric of your robe until she cups your ass, squeezing hard enough for her blunt nails to dig into the muscle and make you gasp in pained pleasure.

She’s the one to disrupt the kiss and you look at her with a grimace. “I’m sure you have plenty of ideas,” she purrs, shifting her hand until it brushes between your thighs, sweeping her finger over the skin until it is coated and sticky. “But I’ve got a few of my own.”

Before you can respond, she removes herself from your body and leans back on her legs. You let your back sink into the mound of pillows, briefly wondering about your tea, as Kuvira’s eyes study your body with ravenous concentration. She moves forward an inch so she’s positioned just below you and she carefully spreads your legs apart with her hands. Her fingers linger over your thighs, barely covered by your robe, which she eyes with scarcely concealed impatience. She looks up at you and asks, “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you sigh, jutting your arm out so you can wrap your hand over Kuvira’s and bring it to the loose knot that holds everything together. She does not display an inkling of hesitancy as she tugs on the silk band and yanks it free. Her hand releases the fabric quickly so she can part the robe open, exposing your naked body that lies beneath it.

Her eyes continue to skate over you cravingly before she speaks. “Someone had some expectations tonight,” she chuckles. You lift your body up, tearing the robe out from under you and tossing it to the floor, and grab Kuvira by her shirt collar. “I don’t think I was the only one,” you whisper. “Come on then — you too.” You emphasize the statement by tugging on her shirt once more, floating your fingers down until you reach the hem. “Is this okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” she responds breathily, cocking her chin as indication for you to continue. Despite the plainness of her nightwear, you have always fancied the enticing contrast of dark cloth against her skin. It seems to accentuate her already striking features. Nevertheless you grip the shirt firmly and slide it upwards, revealing each glorious inch of Kuvira’s body. Your hands skim over her sides, feeling the occasional twitch of sinewy muscle beneath her feverish skin.

Kuvira is quick to remove the rest of her clothes thereafter, tossing her trousers and panties to the ground where they join the mounting heap of clothes. When she reclines back down, every point of contact where Kuvira’s naked skin touches yours grows ablaze with lust. The deliciously supple flesh of her breasts push against your chest, her hair cascading downwards and tickling your forehead and cheeks, her naked legs caged around yours. You position your hands along her waist, admiring that subtle dip where her upper body fades into her hips.

She brings her mouth to the base of your neck, pressing a single kiss before moving towards your ear. She breathes heavily and the resultant heat makes your body clench with anticipation and you tug her head closer. She pinches your earlobe again with her teeth and starts carrying the sensation down the rest of your throat. She pauses, laving her tongue over the side before carefully biting hard enough to produce an agitated gasp from your lips.

Your sounds appear to embolden her further and she starts to draw your skin between the sharp edges of her teeth. Your hands thrust up into her hair, pulling at the strands just hard enough for it to hurt exactly the way she likes it. As she worries the flesh in her mouth, you are certain you will have a vivid mark painted on your skin by dawn.

The thought doesn’t put you off and you know exactly why. The pain itself is certainly a gratifying payoff but there is something exhilarating about that erotic claim Kuvira likes to brandish to the world, that shows them who gets to see you in this most vulnerable and voluptuous state. Even after she’s fucked you into what feels like another plane of existence, you know she likes to flaunt the marks of her desire to the world. She would never ask you to (of course) but you make it a point to wear clothes that display each stain and scratch she’s imprinted onto your skin.

Kuvira removes her mouth with a wet popping sound, dragging her tongue along the tender patch. Her left hand moves to your chest where she gingerly takes your nipple in between her fingers, rolling it with just enough pressure to make you keen in pleasure. With this hand now preoccupied with other matters, she uses the right to steady herself as she continues her downward journey.

She peppers the skin all along your neck and collarbones with fevered kisses and the sporadic touch of her tongue over the hypersensitive skin. When she finally reaches your chest, she removes her fingers in lieu of closing her mouth over your nipple instead. She carefully grazes her teeth over the hardened bump and bites down, waiting for a reaction. You exhale sharply and lift your legs until they’re wrapped around her back, digging your heels into the muscles flexing around her spine.

She spends her precious time on this part of your body, affording painstaking attention to every sound and movement you create to ensure she continues drawing them out. You manage to poke through the libidinous fog encasing your mind, looking down and making eye contact with her. Her gaze is bold and tenacious, in characteristic Kuvira fashion. She cocks an eyebrow as if to provoke you but you don't have the temper to fight back tonight.

So instead, you use your grip in her hair to apply downward pressure and hope she’ll take the hint. Her expression smooths over and she moves away from your chest, pressing one final kiss to your sternum before licking a long, wet line towards your hips.

At this point, your legs are stretched wantonly across the bed and Kuvira’s hands now hold your hips in place. She lifts one of those exquisitely sculpted hands, extending a finger to draw swirling patterns over your pelvis which she then follows with her tongue. She stops at the juncture between your hip and your thigh, brushing her nose along the line of muscle and whispering something against it that makes your skin flare up in goosebumps.

Your entire body is frenzied with want and it’s especially present in the insufferable quivering of your legs. Kuvira notices this and tucks her hands under your knees, lifting them up until they rest over her shoulders and her face is positioned neatly between your thighs. “Maybe that’ll help,” she croons, turning her face to the right so she can kiss the bare skin.

Your head falls deeper into the cushions, unable to carry the weight of your back any longer when Kuvira’s face looks like that and she’s clearly intent on pushing your self-control to its breaking point.

She turns her face away from your leg and looks to your soaking folds of flesh. “Tell me...what do you want?” she breaths. Your eyes clench shut and you grip the bedsheets with desperate force. “I-I want you to touch me,” you gasp out.

Kuvira purses her lips and tightens her arms around your legs. “I’m sorry, I think you’ll need to be more specific,” she responds. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” A flick of her tongue against your hip bone. “Or perhaps right here?” A gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Maybe you were referring to this?” A suggestive brush of her lips right above the swollen bud that displays the scale of your lust.

You inhale sharply and attempt to push up but Kuvira’s hands rigidly hold you in place. “Tell me: where do you want me to touch you?” she murmurs. “Right there,” you say shakingly. You are unable to elaborate further, partially because your mind seems outright incapable of coherent thought but you are suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of bashfulness.

“Mmm, I see,” Kuvira whispers. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” The question ends with her finger brushing over your vulva, where she coats her finger in the stream of come that has started spreading against your leg. When you nod, she pauses and you muster up every remaining ounce of control you have to hold back your shout of desperation. “You don’t want me to just touch here though. Oh no, you want me to fuck you with my fingers don’t you?”

“You sure talk a lot of shit without backing it up,” you hiss. To this, Kuvira grins and says, “Don’t underestimate me,” before she finally starts sinking a finger deep inside.

You feel every single knuckle and joint as it drives into your body. As always, Kuvira starts off deliberately slow to ensure you grow accustomed to the feeling. The moment you begin twisting on the bed and snapping your hips against her touch, she adds one more finger, and another, before pumping them in and out with a steady but relentless speed.

Your bedroom is soon filled with a cacophony of salacious outbursts: a series of groans and choked gasps, the occasional wet sound of Kuvira’s mouth on your cunt when it joins her fingers, and finally Kuvira’s moan when you press up against her face.

Eventually she pulls her fingers out, a strand of come hanging in the air between her hand and your body. She looks directly into your eyes as she brings it to her mouth and licks the remnants away, coiling her tongue around the digits. “I told you I had other plans,” she says huskily, pushing herself towards your face so she can briefly touch your mouths together. “Give me a sec.”

You can’t help but feel hopelessly awkward lying on the bed like this, totally naked and gasping for air while Kuvira leans over to her bedside stand. She spends a few seconds shuffling through her belongings before she apparently finds what she’s looking for.

When she faces you again, your eyes land on a splendidly familiar sight. Your thoughts immediately begin conjuring obscene images of what Kuvira has planned for you until they are interrupted by her voice. “Is it okay to use this?” she asks. You nod eagerly and the “yes” is uttered without a second thought.

She then flicks open the small pink bottle, pouring a sizable clump of the thick liquid into her palm. She rolls the fluid against her fingers before coating it along the toy, warming it with her hand, and bringing it close to your body.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop,” she reminds you. You cup her face in your palm, offering her a loving grin, before urging her to go on. She uses one arm to hold herself up above you while the other starts pushing it inside your body. The tip starts pressing in and you close your eyes as you refamiliarize yourself with the sensation. Kuvira’s touch warmed it up enough that it does not catch you off guard per se but it still takes a few moments to grow accustomed to it. You nod when you’re ready for more and Kuvira pushes it in deeper, causing your breath to snag in your throat.

By the time most of it is inside, she starts pumping it back and forth in an excruciatingly slow manner. You know it will be worth it once she starts fucking you with it herself but in the moment it only seems to tease you further. Very little time passes until you start huffing loudly and pushing against the toy, at which point Kuvira easily detects your impatience and drags it back out.

“Get on your knees,” she demands. Though your limbs seem unable to move in any way whatsoever, you summon what little strength you have left to follow through immediately, pushing your hands against the pillows and lifting your ass towards Kuvira. There’s a brief moment of pause where you hear the soft sounds of buckles clicking into place before her hands gently hook onto your hips.

“I’m going to go slow, alright? Let me know if you need me to stop,” she says softly. You nod and impatiently push back which naturally makes her chuckle.

Just as she did moments ago, Kuvira presses forward tentatively. Her hands are a grounding force in the midst of your hazy arousal and you focus on them as the toy slowly slips back into your body. There’s little resistance this time — your body recognizes the sensation immediately and invites it in, pulling the ribbed object deeper and deeper.

Kuvira pauses when it’s almost completely inside, waiting to see how you might react. “Oh just fuck me already, would you?” you sigh, not bothering to suppress the tremor in your voice. It’s all the encouragement she needs to start plunging into your body with long and heavy strokes. When Kuvira starts hitting that small bundle of nerves that further rouses your lust, your jaw slackens and heady moans accompany each thrust of Kuvira’s hips against your ass. Within moments, Kuvira joins with a similar pattern of unsteady breathing and soft groans that mix with your own.

Every stimuli in and around can only be described as sublime: the unrelenting strokes that push in and out of your body, the grip of Kuvira’s hands wrapped tightly around your hips, the growing pool of moisture that cascades down your thighs and quite possibly ruining the bedsheets rubbing against your knees.

“Harder,” you gasp and Kuvira doesn’t hesitate. She maintains her pace but pauses when she’s fully inside, grinding forward until the tip pokes at that spot again and nearly has you collapsing onto the pillows. When your arms start shaking, Kuvira mutters, “I got you.”

She starts pulling on your hips in a back-and-forth motion, fucking you on the dildo herself. Your cheek finally drops onto the bed and your entire body shifts as Kuvira roughly starts pounding into you. You smirk at the crude sound of your ass slapping against her body, rarely able to discern the difference between pain and pleasure because the latter has overpowered everything else. The feeling intensifies when Kuvira’s hand lands sharply against your backside mid-thrust. The sudden gesture makes you gasp, followed by a pleasured moan that has her smacking you yet again.

You can already see the smug look on Kuvira’s face two days from now when you’re limping around the apartment.

As Kuvira fucks you ruthlessly, you feel yourself starting to reach that precipice that will throw you over the edge. Your thighs shake even harder, your toes start to curl, and your breathing loses any semblance of a pattern whatsoever.

But just as you near that threshold, Kuvira stops yet again and starts to pull out. Your hands scramble helplessly on the bed and you’re about to whine in protest when Kuvira starts placing the harness atop your clothes on the floor. She leans down so she can bring her mouth to your spine, sprinkling kisses along each ridge and cupping your ass where she then drags her tongue along one cheek.

“You’re not getting off like that tonight,” she murmurs, maneuvering until she’s on her back beside you and pulling you on top of her. “Sit up,” she commands and you shakily lean back on your legs until you're sitting just above her pubic bone. Though you aren’t quite sure what she’s leading up to, you find yourself mesmerized by her disheveled appearance.

There has always been something particularly satisfying about seeing this raunchier side of Kuvira. Everyone she meets knows her to be nothing but smooth, clean lines, pristine clothes, and a closed-off personality. But you? You get to see her at her most defiled: eyes glazed over with longing, her soft brown nipples hardened, lips reddened with heated kisses and scraping teeth, her hair tangled into knots and falling over her face.

She lifts her hands from her sides so they can grab your hips again, pulling you upwards until you have no choice but to lift your body up and rest on your knees. “Kuvira? I…” You start when she cuts you off.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my mouth,” she purrs, shifting downwards until her face is right below your cunt. You look down at her incredulously, nearly huffing out laughter but you’re so overwhelmed with shock nothing comes out. “Is that okay?” she asks.

She looks up at you with a sickeningly playful expression, waiting for you to nod before taking that final dive that connects her mouth to your clit. You moan heavily and instantly grab the headboard in front of you, afraid your control might give out and you’ll topple over her.

Kuvira, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned by the prospect and merely wraps her arms around your thighs to press you tighter against her mouth. Her tongue, which has so scrupulously memorized every movement that drives you closer to the point of orgasm, moves across the wet folds of your flesh with unequaled dexterity. She starts in circular motions, slowly moving upwards until she reaches your clit where she adds the perfect amount of pressure that nearly has you climaxing right then and there.

When you start thrusting forward and downward, she simply changes her approach and synchronizes her movements with yours. Her tongue slides up and down, occasionally dipping inside past your vulva where the toy had previously been, fucking you with her mouth instead.

She must sense the tension in your legs from holding yourself up since she pulls away in panting breaths. “Don’t hold back,” she reassures you. “You can’t break me.”

It’s all you need to finally release yourself to the overwhelming passion consuming every rational thought you have. You harden your grip on the headboard and start riding your mounting orgasm on Kuvira’s face, sighing when her hands start clawing into your ass.

She moans against the pressure and the vibrations quake through your muscles, spurring you move faster until you’re all but writhing over her mouth. Her tongue never wavers and it’s precisely that masterful consistency that has you tipping over the edge. It starts in your toes — a prickling sensation that starts spreading across every other limb. A searing heat radiates from your core into your chest, filling you with a feeling that very nearly stops your breath altogether.

Oftentimes, your orgasm catches you off guard, hitting you like the unexpected shock of a torrential downpour. But this time, it’s a sensuous culmination of stimuli building up over many minutes. When you finally reach your climax, it washes over you in heavy waves until you reach a pinnacle that is pure and absolute euphoria.

You cry out in bliss, riding it out against Kuvira’s mouth until you eventually feel yourself coming back into your mind and body and Kuvira’s tongue has stopped moving. She’s opted to brush her mouth along your inner thigh, dropping a kiss onto every piece of skin she can reach. You carefully raise yourself up from your sitting position and collapse beside her, watching Kuvira’s expression gleam with silent enjoyment as you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to speak again, you ask her, “Are you alright?” She chuckles briefly and brings her fingers to your face, lovingly stroking them across your cheekbone. “I’m fine. I think you should be asking yourself that,” she says, bringing your bodies flush against each other. You fling a leg over hers and burrow your face into her chest, feeling her pounding heartbeat as you rest your cheek against the silky flesh of her breast.

“Aside from having to walk with a limp for about a week, I’d say I’m holding up okay,” you laugh. You can already feel the pleasurable ache in your lower back but the thought of this twinge following you in the days to come is thrilling to say the least.

“I’ll get us some towels. Do you need anything else?” she asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You hum contentedly and wrap your arms tight across her back. “Just don’t take too long,” you mumble into her neck. She kisses you once more before untangling herself from your body and strolling over to the bathroom.

As she walks back, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of this sight. Kuvira is absolutely resplendent in every form but she will always leave you speechless when she appears before you like this: her black hair hanging heavy and tousled over her shoulders and across her back, her green eyes glimmering with excitement yet hooded over with exhaustion, the curves and bends of her breasts, her waist, her hips. You marvel at the lovely expanse of tanned skin stretched over gracefully chiseled muscle.

She is a total vision.

Kuvira, being the thoughtful lover she is, wipes you down first before using the second towel to clean herself up. She does so delicately, keeping her movements tender and prudent so as not to overstimulate your already sensitive nerves.

Once she has folded and tossed the towels into your hamper, she flicks off the lights and curls herself around your body so her face is a mere finger’s width away from yours. “How was today?” she asks earnestly. You smile and rub the tip of your nose against hers. “It was absolutely perfect,” you respond.

“Dinner was okay?” she insists. You grin and cup her face in your hands. “I loved it. There wasn’t a single thing out of place. The best part though? Seeing you for a whole day and knowing I have you for the rest of my life.”

For a moment you swear you see the sparkle of galaxies swirling within those emerald irises.

#sour cherry #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #smut #shameless smut #canon divergent au #it's been a cooooool minute since I've written outright smut like this so uh be nice pls 😭

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swissmissficrecs · 4 years ago

Note

Are there fics where in Harry (John's sister) is among the main characters?

Reply: Certainly, although knowing me, the main focus is still on Sherlock and John but Harry has a significant role in these:

A Study in Spherification by mistyzeo (58K, E, Johnlock) John Watson has been out of work for eighteen months after his last restaurant, Fifth Northumberland, burned to the ground in a kitchen accident. He's more than ready for a new project, but who wants to open a restaurant with a washed up celebrity chef who can't even hold a knife anymore?

Attribute Nothing to Fate by recreational (37K, E, Johnlock) A journey to Italy calls up old desires, but John Watson, trapped by the social conventions of his time, is not prepared to give in to temptation and change his life forever. It takes someone else to do that for him. A homage to E.M. Forster’s ‘A Room with a View’.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (36K, E, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger.

Cracks in the Wall by [orphaned] (83K, E, Johnlock) After losing his mother to illness, John's family must figure out how to move on with life. John finds comfort in a place he never expected.

Fearful Symmetry by irisbleufic (22K, E, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Sherlock turned again, staring, eyebrows high enough to hit the ceiling. "Given the choice, why on earth would you spend your birthday with your sister?" John took another sip of tea. "Because it's her birthday, too."

Four Funerals and a Wedding by Susan (12K, E, Johnlock, Harry/OFC) The story of John and Sherlock or Nothing worth having is ever easy.

God help me, I do by PlainJane (90K, E, Johnlock, Mollstrade) A consulting detective, two doctors, a forensic pathologist, a DI, a senior citizen, a recovering alcoholic and the British government walk into a register office... Cases, chuckles, angst and lots of good loving on the journey to one very unconventional wedding day.

How I Impregnated Your Mother by Mildredandbobbin (50K, E, Johnlock, Harry/Clara, Mollstrade) Sherlock and John are together and things are good, great even...except...Sherlock's in a one sided competition with John's dead wife, John hasn't proposed yet, and now Harry and Clara want Sherlock and John to father their children.

Hushabye Mountain by blueink3 (15K, T, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Harry and Clara welcome a new addition to the family. Or, the story of Lucy Watson-Collins' birth and how Uncle John nearly murdered Uncle Sherlock in the middle of Lenox Hill Hospital's maternity ward.

John Watson and the Three Spirits (aka A Ghost Story of Christmas) by PipMer (18K, T, Johnlock, Mollstrade, Harry/Clara) John hadn’t planned on becoming a grumpy old man. Well, he wasn’t old quite yet. But he wasn’t getting any younger, and as he thought back on his life so far this Christmas Eve, he was coming up with a lot of regrets.

May Your Heart Purr Like a Bumblebee by destinationtoast (14K, M, Johnlock) In which Harry is the biggest John/Sherlock shipper: Harry Watson is back from rehab and temporarily staying with John and Sherlock. She and John warily begin to rebuild their friendship, and then she makes some observations about her little brother and his flatmate which throw John entirely off balance.

Mise en Place by azriona (161K, M, Johnlock) John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes.

(More Than) Flesh and Bones series by Jezunya (127K, M, Johnlock, Harry/OFC) A post-Reichenbach, zombie apocalypse, Johnlock story told in three parts.

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (34K, E, Johnlock) During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it.

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (156K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? (Also its sequel, Lifetime Achievement.)

The Case of the Fleeing Frenchman by PenelopeWaits (26K, E, Johnlock) Captain James Watson and his son John have been protecting each other and their beloved Harriet for years. Where will true safety reside when a handsome sailing ship and her haunted captain arrive and he makes a shadowy proposal?

The Case of the Meddling Siblings by destinationtoast (36K, M, Johnlock) Mycroft and Harry Watson team up to send John and Sherlock on a case to distract a Sherlock who’s been pining after John. And Harry, at least, is determined to get the boys together. Two sets of Holmes & Watson shenanigans ensue. (post-S2 AU)

The family you choose yourself by Zaeris (60K, M, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Sherlock has come back and John finds himself unexpectedly forced into the role of father while he struggles to make sense of his feelings about his eccentric flatmate and his plans for the future. Luckily he's got some well-meaning friends to help him along the way.

The Heart in Him by azriona (44K, M, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Three years after Sherlock fakes his death, he receives a text from Mycroft telling him it is time to come home. But the text doesn’t give the whole story. Not by half.

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (128K, T, Johnlock, Harry/Clara) Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

The Measure of a Gentleman by i_ship_an_armada (67K, E, Johnlock, Mollstrade) It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a partner. Less universally acknowledged is that a single man in possession of very little in the way of fortune may be in want of a partner as well, but John Watson had little time or energy to devote to his own wants or needs... Enter one Mr Holmes...

The Song Nobody Knows by Laur (78K, E, Johnlock) If Sherlock could take John Watson back to his cave, he would keep him alive as long as possible. He would collect rain water and sea weed and fish to feed him, and he would keep him warm with his soft feathers. In return John Watson would answer all of Sherlock’s questions. Yes, Sherlock would keep him, his own little mystery to unravel. Eventually, though, the human would die, as they always did, and Sherlock would have to eat him, like he always did. This was much more interesting.

Wild About Harry collection by PlaidAdder (397K, T, Johnlock, various others) This started as a post-Reichenbach fic and turned into a series in which Harry Watson is a repeating character. John and Sherlock get together in the first story ("Empty Houses") and thereafter it's either developing relationship or established relationship. Most of this is casefic and long, but there are a few shorter ones. [This is actually two separate series. You don’t need to read all of the stories in order.]

#request #rec list #honeybeemotorcycles

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be-dazzled · 4 years ago

Text

The Art of Falling

CHAPTER IV AT THE END OF THE AISLE

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser, Gajeel Redfox Alternative Historical Universe Genre: Old World Vibes, Period Romance All Chapters: Click here | Taglist

Writer’s Corner: Happy Holidays! I wasn't able to keep my promise on a monthly update but I am very much grateful that you still all stayed with me despite what I lacked. Thank you so much. This has been such a hard year but there were many good things that happened too. Especially, 2020 has been the year of ships, the Gruvia ship! & we just keep on winning. Ahaha.

Anyways, After reading this update, please go spend some holiday fun with your loved ones! And if 2020 was extra bit hard on you, then I want to remind you that, it will get better. It always does. This too shall pass. I will pray for you whether you believe in the God I believe in or not, I will pray that you get through the darkest time of your life. I love you, my Gruvia family. Happy Holidays!

Masterlist

There was a polite knock on the door. Having the faintest inkling of who could be standing on the other side of it, Juvia quickly calculated the short trip from the stairs to the backdoor at the kitchen. She looked around the room for her mother and, not finding her anywhere of close proximity, Juvia started for her escape. Alas, as she was rounding the corner to the kitchen, Mrs. Lockser caught her hand and ordered her to attend to the door. She made an initial protest to no avail. The young Miss had no choice but to oblige her mother with palpable gloom.

It was not the gentleman, however, that greeted her by the door; not that she was expecting nor anticipating his visit. It was what appeared to be a messenger carrying a letter addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Lockser.

"Oh, Mr. Fullbuster, Mr. Vastia, I hope you lot like Caramade Franks." Mrs. Lockser's voice traveled and reached her daughter before her feet did. "I have risen early in the morning to– where are Mr. Fullbuster and Mr. Vastia?" inquired she, after arriving at the vestibule to find no fine gentlemen.

"There's a letter addressed to you and father. It is from Mr. Fullbuster."

"Oh dear!" cried Mrs. Lockser, who lost strength on her legs, having to put down the baked bread on a side table as she passed it, and sought support from the sturdy furniture. "It is because of your hostility, is it not?" Resting her hand over her forehead in a dramatic fashion, Mrs. Lockser wept a concern that traveled to every room of the house, "that he is withdrawing his courtship? Oh dear, Mr. Lockser!"

Juvia had only stared at her mother, finding her behavior unwarranted. For the very reason for her mother's woe was still in her possession – the sealed letter. Without ever opening it, Mrs. Lockser had bewailed an unfortunate conclusion. However, if it be true that Mr. Fullbuster found it wiser to withdraw his courtship, it was news well-received by Juvia.

"What is with all this noise so early in the morning?"

Mr. Lockser appeared in the hallway that led to his study, with lines formed on his forehead, unhappy with the sudden interruption in his morning reading. His daughters, the eldest and the youngest hastened down and crowded at the foot of the stairs, worried about the wailings of their mother.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Lockser. I am afraid we find ourselves in an unfortunate circumstance." Mrs. Lockser leaned her hip on the table, resting her hand on her chest in a poor attempt to feign poor nerves. "It seems that Mr. Fullbuster is withdrawing his affection towards our rude daughter."

Mrs. Lockser was greatly mistaken. The second daughter did not find such a circumstance so disheartening. It would only prove what Juvia believed – that the offered floras would last longer than Mr. Fullbuster's misguided affection – and Miss Juvia Lockser had no grievances being proven right. Nevertheless, the fretful daughter ought to put an end to this non-sense before her mother nursed a serious illness.

"Shall we not open the letter and confirm before you cry us a river, Mother?" If it was not so impolite to roll her eyes, that Juvia would have done.

Mrs. Lockser refused to receive the letter; afraid reading it would do her and her heart more harm than any good. She could not bear it when the town became aware, as they would be in a day or so, that the lone heir of Lord Silver Fullbuster had found her daughter unacceptable for marriage. Miss Juvia would not only become a pariah of the little town but her family would sink further down society and their reputation would be of no consequence.

"Oh, what shame it is!" cried Mrs. Lockser, running after her breath, "What disrepute shall befall our family only because I have raised my second daughter poorly."

"Shall we confirm it before you disown our poor Miss Juvia?"

As Mrs. Lockser wallowed in her grief, her husband paid her no more deserving attention. Instead, he did the wisest thing and proceeded to take the letter from his daughter and opened it.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lockser, I will begin by expressing my sincerest apology for not having fulfilled my duty to be in your presence today," the letter read, "My dearest cousin-in-law, Mr. Vastia, received news of urgent business. He had no other choice but to return to Margaret Town as soon as possible. I was inclined to offer my services to escort him to the train station, as he believed it a faster mode of transportation than by carriage."

"Oh, what good news!" exclaimed Mrs. Lockser, who immediately recovered from her poor nerves. She leaned in to read the rest of the letter and had commented on Mr. Fullbuster's impeccable handwriting. "A true noble's hand, indeed."

The news, however, had the opposite effect on the young Miss Juvia. As her father continued to share the contents of the letter, Juvia hanged on every word, hopefully waiting for the news her mother dreaded.

"In order to make amends for my absence, my mother, in the heed of Mr. Vastia's wife, would like to extend an invitation for an afternoon tea in the Fullbuster Manor, if you will allow us such graciousness."

Mr. Lockser has yet to reach the end of the letter when his wife decided, with irrevocable conviction, that the visit must be paid no later than the morrow. In an instant, her legs miraculously regained their strength, as the mother of three could not even decide where to begin her preparations.

"We are never to make her Ladyship wait!"

She spat orders here and there and abandoned the newly baked goods, the ones she would have claimed as prepared by her own hand, and proclaimed, "Oh, we must head to town!" As she said so, Mrs. Lockser hastily gathered her daughters and nudged them upstairs. "Mr. Lockser, will you be as kind as to lend your family the carriage?"

"But why must we, Mother?" asked Juvia foolishly for she ought to know the design in Mrs. Lockser's insistence.

"Why you ask? To buy supplies!" Mrs. Lockser descended a few steps of the stairs to level with Miss Juvia; delighted for the opportunity to lecture, "because you do not pay attention to social decorum, my dear Miss Juvia, that you fail to recall the most basic of good manners." Mrs. Lockser lightly shook her head in disapproval. "We cannot simply turn up to the Manor empty-handed."

Juvia kept her silence and allowed her mother this little victory. A glance at her sisters, who seemed amused by the exchange, had her convinced that she was sensible to do so.

"Will you be joining us then, Father?" asked Eliana.

"I say this with regret," started he, "I am afraid I may not be able to do so today and the morrow."

"How dreadful, Father!" cried Juvia. "Allow me to keep you company then." Pretentiously asked her, seeking escape from the social obligation.

"My dear, Juvia," Mr. Lockser was never wary to make known, that even though his children had each their special place in his heart, amongst them, he held Juvia more closely, "humor your mother, just this once." requested he, and patted a hand on top of her daughter's head. For as it appeared, sooner rather than later, he may no longer be allowed this freedom.

After the preparations, Mr. Lockser returned to his books while his wife and their three daughters left in the carriage to the capital. They were met with several acquaintances and treated with sanctioned civility. To each one, Mrs. Lockser never failed to share her enviable news; and to some who were more than acquaintances, such as their neighbors also visiting, the private invitation she and her family were honored by the Lady and her lovely niece. To this embarrassment, Juvia attempted to remind her mother to be a bit humbler and feeling.

"I was merely responding to their inquiry," reasoned she, as the party continued on their path. "How was I being overbearing when I answered in all politeness?"

Juvia ought to respond in this way, "In all politeness and without humility. You were only being pretentiously modest while in all truth, Mrs. Lockser pronounced this piece of news so that the town would envy her covetable connections with his Lordship." Propriety demanded that she keep her silence and fall back in line with her sisters.

"I have never seen mother this high in spirits," mused the youngest Lockser.

Mrs. Lockser walked unapologetically on cloud nine that if her knees allowed, her extreme delight would have added a bounce to her every step.

"She is far much ahead of herself," replied Juvia, who eyed her mother's back with vexation. "I say she is foolishly counting the fowls before the eggs have time to hatch."

To this, neither Wendy nor the eldest had any response other than a shared, apologetic smile. So, Juvia opened a different topic to discuss on their way to Frankhurt Bakery, whose owner was an old friend of the Locksers.

"What a pleasant surprise!" greeted Mrs. Frankhurt at the door. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Mrs. Lockser briefly introduced her daughters, although no introductions were necessary, and thereafter handed her good friend some list of baking supplies she would need for the Caramade Franks, ones Juvia knew her mother would have the cook make and claim as her own doing. After Mrs. Frankhurt called for the store help to gather the supplies in the list, Mrs. Lockser began on the real intent of her coming down. With no real interest in listening to the conversation, Juvia joined Wendy by the dessert glass case; left their mother to the leisure of discussing with her longtime friend the attention paid by Lord Fullbuster's son to one of her daughters.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Frankhurt! What good news have I to tell," exclaimed she, "What wonderful news it is!"

Juvia had come to Frankhurt Bakery since she was a child and for those years she frequented the shop, be it on her mother's orders or her own volition, the second daughter had come to know that Mrs. Frankhurt's business was the center of all information, whether there be truth to it or naught. Gossip in Magnolia traveled faster than the speed of light. In order to assure the widespread of the good news, that the Lord's son was seeking intimate connections with the Lockser family, Mrs. Frankhurt's was the place to light the fire.

"You need not tell me, my dearest friend. Such an important piece of information had been widely circulated in this town before you even set foot in it."

Just as Juvia had expected, the townspeople were now aware of Mr. Fullbuster's frequent visits. She was quite sure, without having to see her mother's expression, that Mrs. Lockser was very much delighted by this news; but not as quite as so when her friend inquired further.

"But do indulge me with the intimate details. Of whom, amongst your daughters, was the intention made known?" Mrs. Frankhurt leaned in, asking without lowering her voice and for everyone in the shop to hear. "It could be none other than your eldest, am I correct? For what man would dare look past the elegant Miss Lockser?"

Juvia, who stopped thinking about the decorated cakes altogether, strained her ears to listen for her mother's response. Quite the complete opposite of Mrs. Lockser's earlier alacrity, there was only silence. The only answer she could offer was continued mum.

"Oh, please, my dearest friend," cried Mrs. Frankhurt, "my poor heart cannot take all this suspense."

Mrs. Frankhurt's curiosity was not out of friendly concern. Nor was it out of the goodness of her heart; for Mrs. Frankhurt knew no 'goodness' unless she found it to be in her advantage. All she had was this unappeasable need to be the first to everything. With news as important as Mr. Fullbuster's choice of wife, it was necessary that she be the first to know and be the first to circulate.

Thus, in answering her friend, Mrs. Lockser hesitated. She was as certain as the rest of Magnolia that her eldest daughter would be the first to marry; but for some wicked reason, fate pulled to a corner and laughed. And so, at that moment, her main concern was the would-be endless guessing of Eliana's faults that made Gray Fullbuster look past her.

Juvia knew of this repercussion. She would not have kept herself in check if not for Wendy's loud musings about the decorated cakes. Despite herself and what was proper, Juvia would have run her sharp tongue and lectured both ladies about the dangers of foolish presumptions and baseless blathers. Instead, she had to bite her own tongue and, on the long ride back home, suffer through the gnawing feeling of guilt for having caused her sister's sullen silence.

...

The morrow came by and the family, except for Mr. Lockser who had to tend to the fields that day, was up early. They journeyed to the Fullbuster Manor at the crack of dawn, with no time to waste, no daylight to spare. It was Mrs. Vastia who greeted them by the door and accepted the basket of baked goods with all courtesy. As she welcomed the members of the Lockser family, her studying gaze lasted a tad longer on her cousin's object of affection. Juvia took notice but scarcely made anything of it.

Just like her husband, Ultear was a pleasant and agreeable presence. Her aunt, Lady Mika, on the other hand, was restrained by mere civility, to which Mrs. Lockser was either oblivious of or merely disregarding. She ostentatiously admired the dwelling and talked of it in familiarity that could have been easily mistaken as an imposition. Juvia's warnings were all in vain as her mother continued addressing Lady Mika with overbearing intimacy. The Lady was only being polite not to withdraw her invitation, which Juvia was certain she had already regretted.

The party was led to a dedicated tea room, of size thrice as big as the Lockser's parlour, where Lord Fullbuster was waiting with a little bundle of joy settled in his arms. He stood and paid his respects to each guest, introducing to them the child in his arms as the Vastias' only daughter. He then excused himself from the party despite Lady Mika's insistence that he stay.

"Ur and I don't want to be a bother so we will make ourselves scarce," explained his Lordship. "I will happily play with this one until I get one of my own," added he teasingly, casting a look long enough to make Juvia feel as if those very words were addressed to her.

Juvia grew ill at ease and chose to cast her eyes down to the floor, lest she revealed the effects of his allusion. Her effort was for naught; Juvia could not anymore hide the color of her cheeks as it was her own mother who agreed and made a pact on her behalf by saying she too hoped it would be soon. Juvia had yet to agree on the proposal of marriage and here came her mother promising Lord Fullbuster a grandchild.

"I will one day hold you to that promise, Madame." The Lordship bowed with genteel, a smile of satisfaction stretched his lips.

Just when Juvia thought she could not get more embarrassed; Lord Silver left the room mentioning to little Ur a promise of playing with her cousins from Uncle Gray in the future. Juvia could have sworn she was about to come down with a fever.

"My uncle likes to amuse." excused Ultear, who looked interested at the exchange more than anyone. "Why shan't we take our seats?"

Each guest took their stations at the lavish sofas. As they made themselves comfortable, Mrs. Lockser more than anyone, the help arranged the refreshments wonderfully on the card table. Mrs. Lockser's pride, the Caramade Franks, was unwrapped and she made sure to offer her Ladyship the first bite. There was short hesitation at the Lady's end but her position required that she obliged her guests. A request Lady Mika did not have regrets over. For if there was one thing Juvia had considered her family's saving grace, it was the bread recipe passed from her great, great grandmother down to the current Mrs. Lockser. Yet, before her mother mused herself or anyone else of her daughters being good bakers, Juvia made sure her Ladyship knew that the bread was prepared by their cook's hands.

After the quick dialogue, and a discreet scolding, Mrs. Lockser sought back the group's attention. Juvia could only admire their hostess' amiability as they were deduced to a mere audience with the rapidity of Mrs. Lockser's words. She only spoke of Eliana, of her good points, which the second daughter took no offense from. She knew it was more out of habit rather than an evil scheme. Juvia had long accepted that she had no good points worthy to speak of.

The conversation took a round to Ultear and her husband's business. The grateful Missus once again expressed her gratitude for the lovely presents. Without allowing the benefactor to respond, she jumped from one topic to another: delicate ribbons, intricate patterns, expensive gems and some others, to which Juvia never took a particular liking. Growing disinterested by the minute with her mother's monologue, she excused herself from the party to look for the privy.

Outside of the tearoom, Juvia found his Lordship playing with the lively little Ur and talking to her as if the child could understand every word out of his mouth. Juvia found herself entertained to see such a powerful and intimidating man conversing with an infant who seemed to have understood nothing; yet, very pleased with the little careless laughs she offered. Oh, what delightful sounds bouncing around the empty hall. She could listen to it all day rather than Mrs. Lockser's endless ramblings.

The enchanted young miss did not realize she was already staring until Lord Silver caught her eyes.

"Apologies for my intrusion, my Lord."

"I knew a simple tea party would bore a young lady such as you."

Juvia was mulling on the intent of his words when he continued.

"It's the last door on your left. Just at the end of that aisle." He pointed to a path lined by a number of doors on either side and lavish furnishings in between them.

Juvia could see how easy it would have been to get lost in that general direction but she said no other words to Lord Silver but her simple thank you, curtsied and then left the two to their privacy. As she reached the end of the said hallway, Juvia turned to the last pair of doors on her left, as was instructed, thinking it led to the lavatory, only to open them into a roomful of books.

The room was magnificently large. Its walls were all covered by towering shelves filled with books in numerous varieties. With a quick scan, Juvia decided it was nothing like she had ever seen before and her curiosity drew her into the impressive study. She only realized she was not alone when her eyes landed on a figure seated around a drawing table. In the middle of the room, nose buried in his book and a few others scattered around him, was Gray Fullbuster, oblivious of a new presence about to disturb his peace. It was a tad too late to make her retreat as Juvia failed to catch the door behind her.

The loud clack caught Gray's attention. He looked up from his book and, upon realizing who his guest was, fixed himself more properly and dignifiedly on his seat. Juvia started to apologize for her intrusion but Gray acknowledged her with a customary bow and then returned to his book.

Juvia felt in the least bit insulted but the gentleman's apparent disinterest did make her feel unwelcomed. And so, Juvia motioned to the door, about to make her leave when Lord Silver's words echoed in her mind. A simple tea party, he said, could not at all keep her attention. Juvia admitted truth in his words as she could only do her best not to let out a yawn in front of her Ladyship. It was then that she started to weigh her options. For how could sitting in dreadful silence be any better than suffering through an afternoon of her mother's endless tirades? One, she could manage not to offend the graciousness of her hostesses, and two, she could care less about offending this man. So, instead of letting herself out of the study as she initially planned, Juvia allowed herself to stay.

...

tags: @greenapplegrass @shampooneko @trizfn @anaken101 @gruviaftw11 @juviasblog @heademptyonlygruvia @unvalley @jetblackrevival @lannyathewitch @groovyah @jujumanga @suihime @myvatdafakthings @keepcalm-lovefairytail @shounenmangaotphell @loli-go

#gruvia #gray x juvia #be-dazzled #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gruvia period AU #gruvia fanfiction #period gruvia #jane austen gruvia #the art of falling

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dailydianakko · 5 years ago

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A Mother’s Gift

ITS LATE BUT ITS DONE! A birthday fic for Diana, based around the game journey. If you haven’t played, I recommend doing so before you read this fic! It’s currently free for people with a playstation account, and only takes a few hours. Is this an AU? Who knows? I wrote this on a tea fueled all night bender so you bet your ass it contains the very spirit of Diana Cavendish herself. Also on AO3 Here.

Diana let out a quiet sigh as she lay despondently on her bed. She felt hollow. Before, when she was younger, her room would have been full of life and joy on this particular day. Now it was just quiet. Her mother was no longer here to waltz in during the morning with a song. There were no birthday pancakes on a tray. No morning cuddles. No outdoor picnic with cake. No special present. At the very most she was expecting to at get a birthday dinner. Her favorite meal, courtesy of Anna’s foresight, but the atmosphere at the table would be stilted. What had truly made Diana’s birthday was the company her mother provided. Her aunt and cousins disliked her, to put it gently. They held a grudge simply because she was the heir to the fortune and estate. Daryl might have been the temporary head of house, but she couldn’t access the main bank accounts. They had to sell off whatever they could to fuel the lifestyle they wanted. Today was simply another reminder of the slow creep until Daryl and her brood would lose their power.

Diana looked over to her desk. Anna had come in earlier this morning, gently waking her and brining in two packages. One gift from Anna herself and another from Diana’s mother. She hadn’t quite mustered the energy to open them yet. Maybe if she opened them, the nagging emptiness that dragged her soul down would cease. At least, for a little while. Diana slowly climbed out of bed. The heaviness in her limbs seemed to increase in protest as she moved. After massive amounts of effort and what felt like ages, Diana succeeded in walking over to the desk. The clock on the dark wood told her only minutes had passed. The day would seemingly drag on forever.

Picking up the first present, Diana looked at the tag. It was Anna’s present. The wrapping was pristine as ever. It was blue with small balloons, square with crisp corners with minimal tape. The weight of the package betrayed the interior. It was heavy and square. Obviously a book. She wedged her thumb in underneath the tape and gave a tug. The satisfying rip that followed thereafter made her lips quirk into a small smile. Underneath the paper was indeed a book. However, it wasn’t a classic novel or research book. It was simply “Winnie the Pooh.” The very book Diana’s mother read to her every year on her birthday. It had been rebound and fixed, but the tea stain that marred the cover was still there. Diana flipped it open to the cover page. The imprints of stains from pressed wildflowers lingered, along with the aged script of her mother. “May you never stop dreaming. Much love, your Mother.” A tear stain joined the wildflower marks.

Diana quickly closed the book and shoved it aside. She wasn’t in the mood to pick at wounds that never quite healed. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and compose herself. Deep breaths. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. The woven texture was soothing. Focus on how it felt. Breathe. Diana didn’t know how much time had passed while she worked at calming herself down. Once she felt well enough, she turned to the other present. The tag read Bernadette, but it was in Anna’s hand writing. Diana could probably muster a guess that it was some sort of game if Anna was true to tradition. The pattern of one educational gift and one game from Anna and her mother had stayed true all these years. However, Diana had some doubts. The slim package didn’t look like a board game. She picked it up, and heard the slight rattle of a disc. Maybe it was a movie. But the package wasn’t long enough.

Diana stopped her musing and simply decided to open it. She tucked stray hairs that had flown into her face during her minor panic and set to work. A quick tear of the wrapping paper unveiled what her second present was. A game called Journey. It had a desert background and birdlike character who was wrapped in cloth on the cover. It looked quite peaceful despite the barren landscape. It seemed to be playable with the game system Hannah had gotten her a few years ago. The redhead had given it to her when she had claimed Diana worked too much. Diana had dabbled a little in it, enough to know the controls, but had never actively played. She had been too busy, ironically. Now would be as good a time as ever to play it. If Daryl hadn’t sold the system.

The trek to the game room was a quick one. The mansion was quiet. The only sound to be heard was Diana’s soft footsteps. There weren't many staff in the halls. They were probably hiding away. Daryl had been in a foul mood and the threat of being fired was ever looming. Anna had been one of the only few that remained from the times Diana’s mother had been in charge. Stopping outside the door to the game room, she raised a hand to knock. Diana didn’t know why, exactly. No one would be in there, and it was a family space. Her hand dropped back to her side. Hesitantly she reached out and turned the knob. Pushing the door open, she peeked into the dark room. She took a step in and groped for the light switch.

The bright light suddenly flooding the room made her blink. The room was mostly empty. Furniture and things deemed non-essential had been sold off. A shelf still held some childhood board games, the ragged boxes held together with tape. The billiards table hadn’t survived the purge. However, the couch and television was still there, as well as the system Hannah had bought her. Anna must have worked hard to protect Diana’s possessions, no matter how unused they were. Diana put the disk into the player, turned on the TV and settled on the couch. Lucky for her, it was still set up from her last game so there was no need to tamper with channels and whatnot.

The startup took no time at all, and soon she was looking at the title screen. All the options that were provided were new game, options, and credits. Diana didn’t know enough to fiddle with the options, and figured the credits could be watched at the end of the game. She quickly chose the new game and settled back to play. The character was charming and Diana quickly warmed up to the controls. The chirps of the character were beautiful and just as she suspected from the character design, matched those of a bird. She quickly traversed the map, and made it to the next area. It looked like the puzzle for this area was to rebuild the bridge. As she completed the first arc of the ribbon bridge, a corner of her screen was lit white. Diana didn’t quite know what that meant, and quickly looked around the area.

A small figure ran up to her character. It looked nearly the same, except the call sign that it used looked like four n’s stacked up on one another. They jumped in the air and ran around Diana excitedly, letting out staccato cheeps. Diana laughed in spite of herself. Perhaps she wouldn’t be playing this game alone after all. She let out a few cheeps herself, and gave a small jump. Her excited companion jumped as well. Together they uncovered the mysteries of the ruins. Leading one another to the lights that would lengthen their scarves and fixing the bridge, the two worked in tandem.

Together they traversed the desert, from watching the star fall to freeing the carpet creatures, Diana was enjoying herself more and more. Her partner was excitable, calling to her frequently. Diana was more reserved with her song, only using it to regenerate her partner’s scarf, or to call attention to murals, the orbs of light, and where to go. As they unveiled more and more of the plot together, Diana began to piece together what had caused the ruins in this desert world. A civil war between the tribe, fighting over scraps of power. It was all too familiar to her own household. What concerned Diana was the murals that showed the ancients riding beasts. What would she and her partner face on their journey?

She was roused from her thoughts by the frantic cheeps of her partner. Diana had stopped walking and obviously concerned her compatriot. She let out a series of calls in return to assure them that she wasn’t going anywhere. Diana wanted to finish the game with them. Together they traversed the sands once more. This time they slid down steep hills together, weaving in and out of columns of old crumbling stone. The sand grains scattered from behind them, and the sun’s glare made it look like they were skating over gold. It truly was beautiful. Her partner soared through the air with every jump. It was a dance between the two of them. Her travel companion was sticking as close to Diana as possible. For once Diana was at peace. She wasn’t alone, and she was having fun with this mystery player. All too soon, the peaceful moment was over. Together they fell into an abyss, floating softly down. It was dark down in the ruins, and the unnatural blue lights that littered the ground made the dark world even more eerie. Even though the game had been peaceful so far, this area screamed danger.

Her companion huddled ever closer, the contact making their scarves shine. Together they walked through the boxy ruins. Diana nearly screamed in terror when one of the blue lights on the ground unearthed itself to be a monster of iron. It let out a screeching cry, the call sounding like metal being pushed through a shredder. Diana’s heart beat fast, and she felt her body tense. She hunched over, eyes focusing on the screen. Diana watched for the metal beasts, wanting nothing more than to get past this area. She hated how her partner was more quiet now. The joyful cheeps had ceased in favor of a tense silence. One of fear and watchfulness. Diana quickly sounded off two hoots of reassurance. They would be safe. She’d make sure of it. The two stealthily made their way through the distorted maze of monsters and withered stone columns. Letting out calls to move when it was safe, Diana slowly guided her companion in what she hoped was the right way.

The harrowing journey ended in a frantic slide down a slope, with the titans in pursuit close behind. They were saved by some sort of force field. It prevented the beasts from attacking them. Diana leaned back and took a breath. She put the remote down and stretched the tension out of her back. She smiled as she looked at the screen. Her companion flew around her, letting out long cries of what she assumed was elation. She let out a few reserved cries as well. Calming down from what she supposed was their shared high, they moved onward and triggered the next area of the game.

The camera panned around the screen, showing her that they were now in the bowels of the ruins, and would have to platform their way up. However, after triggering the first mural, a golden cloud filled the bottom tier of the tower. Diana let out a laugh as she noticed that her friend was now flying around, letting out near constant chirps. Diana joined her in the impromptu dance, lighting the murals and relishing in the trials they had overcome. When a whale seemingly made of carpet appeared, Diana once again was awestruck at the sheer beauty of the game’s world. It struck such a chord in her, and she couldn’t fathom why. She rode the whale with her friend together, and lit the final mural. One that showed a trial to come. A storm, and the two of them fighting through it. Diana hoped it would end well, but a nervous feeling gnawed at her stomach. She breathed in deep. If she was with her friend, she was sure she could overcome whatever trial was next.

Diana could almost feel the coldness of the mountain. Feel the winds that pushed her and her friend back relentlessly. The beasts stalked them once more. Their harsh cries carried through the snow covered world. Diana huddled with her friend, in an attempt to keep the scarves they wore charged. It looked as if they were huddling for warmth, in a pathetic attempt to keep moving in the cold. They slowly continued on, both limping through the snow. Her friends’ calls were fewer now. They didn’t really show on the screen. Diana frowned with worry. The winds were getting stronger now, both their movements were slower. Tears filled her eyes as she watched them move from a slow walk, to a creep, then to a crawl. She didn’t move forward when her friend fell, and stayed with them until she collapsed next to them into the snow.

She watched with a stony face as the elders looked on their bodies sadly, and tried not to cry. They had come so far together, only to have their journey cut short. She wanted to scream. Diana prepared to turn off the game then and there, but she stopped midway. A glow filled the screen as her character was revitalized, and shot into the air. Diana let out a whoop, manners be damned. Frantically pressing her controller, she let out a string of calls, searching for her friend. When they were answered, she flopped back into the couch relieved. They were here. They made it. Together Diana and her friend danced together in the sky, letting out chirps as they circled one another. Finally, their dance came to an end. They stopped at the pinnacle of the mountain. Letting out one final call to each other, the characters bowed and they walked into the beam of light.

Diana leaned back, eyes misty as the credits rolled. She had never felt so relieved and accomplished. Together she and her partner had done it. They completed the journey. She let the controller fall from her grasp as the game’s final cutscene ended. The final shot was of the desert at night. Diana let out a gasp as words flicked across the screen. “Companions met along the way: Katsu_Kaa_Gari” Diana muttered aloud. Her hand twitched as she contemplated messaging the companion that she played the game with. Would they even want to talk? Would they be rude? Perhaps it was best to leave them alone. Absentmindedly she rubbed the hem of her shirt as doubts swirled in her thoughts like a muddy cloud. She almost didn’t hear the ping of the message she got on her console.

Diana scrambled for the controller and quickly flicked to messages. It was a message from Katsu_Kaa_Gari.

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:40pm]: Thank you for the amazing Journey! It made my heart go ドキドキのワクワク ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:41pm]: 本当にありがとう！(＾▽＾)

Diana fumbled with the controller, anxious to type out a reply. She slowly tapped out her message, editing it, deleting, and re-typing until she deemed it perfect.

Greem_Been [2:56pm]: Thank you as well. I very much enjoyed playing with you. Your company made this game very enjoyable. It was a memorable way to spend my birthday and I thank you for your time.

Diana bit her lip anxiously as she waited for a reply. Perhaps she took too long? Did they get bored?

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:57pm]: AAAAAA you responded! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:57pm]: Happy Birthday to you as well! I am very much glad I could keep you company. (*￣▽￣)b

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:58pm]: If you want, we can play other games too! I have minecraft if you want! We can celebrate your birthday even more! (☆ω☆)

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:58pm]: Of course I am a stranger, so you dont have to. If I am a bother I am sorry ごめんなさい！

Diana blinked at the flurry of messages and let out a giggle. The person behind the messages was just as excitable as they were in game. If she recalled, Minecraft was one of the games she had gotten when she was first gifted with the console. She didn’t recall how to play it, but one game couldn’t hurt. Besides, if Katsu was a sketchy figure, she could always block them.

Greem_Been [2:59pm]: I would be honored if you would play with me. However I will not hesitate to block you if you misbehave.

As an afterthought, she typed out another message.

Greem_Been [3:00pm]: Thank you for offering. I enjoy playing with you.

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [3:00pm]: よし！My Minecraft ID is the same as here! I already added you! I look forward to playing!

Diana let out another giggle. It looks like her birthday wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Who knows, maybe she had made a new friend. Quietly Diana thanked Anna for choosing this particular gift in her mother’s name. She was looking forward to the rest of the day.

________________________________________

Translation notes:

ドキドキのワクワク: Doki Doki no Waku Waku (we all know what this one means)

本当にありがとう: Thank you very much!

ごめんなさい: I am sorry!

よし: Alright!

All of these were translated with google translate, so there may be errors :’)

#lwa #little witch academia #diana cavendish #akko kagari #dianakko #diakko #if you squint #lol #my writing #daily speaks #this is one hot mess #happy birthday you cabbage bastard

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punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fourteen; Ambush.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning in this chapter, I mean, seriously, a regency era fic isn’t a regency era fic without the heroine getting caught in a rainstorm-!!!

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

All was eerily quiet when she was returned home. The front exterior of the house is so cold and still. As cloudy as the overcast sky behind it.

The rain had eaten away all the lingering frost and snow. Cold slush now took its place. When night falls again all the wet will sharpened back into frost. More snow will doubtless come in this stinging winter. She can sense the chowder thick clouds far off in the heavens shudder with the possibility of more.

Even the icy landscape was unaffected by wind or noise. Everything was silenced. Blotted out and muffled. The woods seemed eerily quiet.

Means she could hear where her heart was thudding all the more noisily where it cowered scared in her ribs.

She alighted from Lord Ren’s carriage, onto the gravel drive, sitting the door thereafter. Thanking Ramsey, the kind driver. When he cracked the whip to start the horses her whole being tensed. She flinched.

Her heart seized up with every crunching step on the gravel. She tried to clutch to her courage. Grit her teeth and prepare for the audible assaults soon to sting at her ears. As spewed words and vitriol will doubtless fall harsh from her mothers purse lipped mouth like stabbing hard hail.

Death by ten thousand blows of her sharp disapproving tongue.

Her whole body is roiling to head back into this house. She feels nauseas to consider stepping back into the foyer of her home. She knows there will only be nastiness and questions to welcome her into the enfold. Back into the waiting room of her life until marriage comes to claim her.

She’d far rather be back at one of the most handsome houses in the county. Sat fireside, in company with the most intriguing creature she’s ever met. Knowing Kylo as she does, he’d find that most diverting.

Iris hungers much more after the presence of a deadly hulking great vampire instead. Yet she cannot fathom or stand to embrace the company of her acerbic fork-tongued mother.

He’d laugh at that crippling irony, she’s sure. Kiss the back of her hand. His eyes would glitter like two discs of a far off starry night sky. Black and full of hidden knowledge and transient things.

The eyes that had completely seared her soul. Always had done. His smile had broken open her heart and scored his very name on her weak beating muscled thing. It flutters and lives for want of loving him - and yet she can’t. Everything in her situation and home life decrees otherwise.

She wants a man she cannot have. The pain of it presses upon her greatly.

She approaches the stubborn old warped wood of the front door. Steps up onto the wonky sunken stone porch. The faded white paint. Chipped and peeling in many places. Grains of the bare wood poke through.

She wonders what censure awaited on the other side of this old chunk of oak.

She raises a hand but her veins clog with cloying uncertainty. Halting. She gathers herself up before she knocks. Stood there shivering in her laundered coat and dress. Kylo had insisted on seeing to some new boots for her. Sadly, her old-beaten cracked leather things could not be salvaged. He sent out for new ones from Mr Grassby’s store. Finest in the county.

Now whenever she has warmed toes she’ll think of him. Fur lined dark leather boots with strong laces. She can’t thank him enough.

She tugs her old coat around herself. Not aware that Kylo would’ve had her an entire new coat and dress to go home in, if he wasn’t so sure of her protest. He let her be. But he so badly wants to see her spoiled. He so badly wants to be the man who does spoil her.

Her clean cotton skirts sway about her legs. How the redoubtable Mrs Jones had gotten the mud stains out of her clothing she’d not a clue - the woman used witchcraft as an aid she’s sure. In most things.

The broth she’d served Iris was of her own recipe, harping back to her days as a ladies maid. And, she proudly exclaimed, every ladies maid worth her very honour and credibility, knew how to make a restorative broth. Iris supped four bowls of it right down. It was utterly ambrosial.

Oddly, her spirits were lifted a little by thoughts of them. Of how they conveyed their kindness to her. She’s almost certain it stemmed from Kylo’s fondness for her too. And that is such a lovely thing to consider.

She thinks of Jomar. The slender tall poplar tree of a man. She thinks of his sour wit and his ready quips to his master. His cinnamon and warm honey and milk of a voice. The way each of his fine satin coats smell like cloves and sweet fruit and honey wine and life. The fine bright silk of his turban and his coat. The slash of silver on his right wrist. Always exotic and wryly comforting.

She thinks of Mrs Jones. The stout bodacious shaped woman. Accurate as a well turned clock. She had an efficient manner. Dark brittle russet hair shot through with bolts of fantastic silver. Always styled neat as a pin. She had a handsome mature face with ruddy cheeks and a pair of warm grey eyes that turned cold like harsh heavy gravestones if she was displeased with anyone. Hinting at her years of hierarchy in the household. Wrinkles by her eyes and mouth from her smiles. The best way to age, Iris thought.

She wore her strictly pressed uniform of soft black. With a set of keys latched to her waist. Orderly and strict in comparison to the colourful candour of Jomar. They worked well as a pair of contrasting servants. And she could see why Kylo loved them enormously. After three mere days at Hellford, she did too.

She recalls fondly waking up to the sight of Lord Ren in the armchair by the end of his bed. Leafing through the pages of a book as she slept. Keeping watch. The beast Keeping thorough guard of his Dove.

She watched him, through hooded bleary eyes. Sticky with sleep but she admires the way his big hands so carefully turned the delicate pages. The span of them dwarfing the little novel he so ably devoured.

She wondered how many books he had read in all his time on this earth.... she’d have to enquire one day. She wants to hear everything he’s seen. Every truth. Every historic story or tale he carries with him. She wants to devour this man’s rich juicy brimming life whereas hers seemed so flat and stuffy and grey.

She watches him in that tiny unaware moment. How he breathed. How quickly those savage eyes demolished the words of the page. How his lip quirked at the corner if he read something amusing or interesting. How his ink hair fell over his handsome brow. He didn’t sweep it back. He left it there.

After she’d slept off the symptoms. She wakes up drowsy, and he’s still there. At the end of the bed. Hasn’t moved. And then they just talk.

Interrupted by Jomar or Mrs Jones bringing them trays of excellent food or drink. Bowls of mutton stew dotted with onions, leeks and peas, or silky lobster bisque and warm buttery bread. A tea service with plates piled with fruitcakes or ginger baked biscuits.

She regained her appetites fairly quickly. Kylo comments on this. She fears it appears unfeminine. He ensures her he likes to see a woman with a healthy appetite. Most women of his acquaintance peck at their food like overstuffed starlings.

She praises his cook as she eats through bed tray after bed tray of good restorative food, and his eyes glow with mirth.

It’s humbling. Peaceful.

She forgets that she’s an unmarried woman and he’s a single man of large fortune. Sat up there in that crimson velvety bed. Sheets pulled to her lap. Wrapped up in a nightgown and dressing robe. She must look a fright with barely combed hair and an ashen complexion from her affliction. He sat in the armchair opposite, and didn’t even see all the things she was fretting about. He just saw her. His beauty. His dove.

They just... conversed. And to Iris? It is the best evening of her life to date. She’s never smiled so much. She made him smile too. He laughed at her comments. That one evening with Lord Ren made her feel more cherished and treasured than in all her outings with the spoiled titian haired Sergeant.

She lets that thought and those memories keep her buoyant as she reaches for the door handle. But as she does she shrinks back, yelping in shock as the door is torn open from the other side.

The beaming face of Meg, their maid, greets her. There in her beige gown and white starched apron and cap. Her grin splits her face and she yanks the eldest Miss Ashton inside. Yammering on and on about something Iris’s ears can’t keep up with.

She grabs the back of her collar and spins her around, shrugging her out the coat. Still gabbing on about all she’d missed in her absence. Flora and Posy bought more ribbons. And a Posy bought an ugly bonnet to pull apart and make it up prettier. They’d not had much bother with the rain. And then she starts on asking how Iris is as she takes her bonnet and gloves off her. Snatched them away to hang them up.

Before Iris can fathom how or why, Meg is herding her toward the front parlour. Arm slung in hers, she steps her quickly across to the door. Opens it for her and almost elbows her inside. She stumbles gracelessly into the parlour. Not shocked to see her mother. Swathed in her Apple green muslin day dress. White diamond shawl around her arms.

She is surprised, however. To see Hux sat on the settee opposite her mama. Fully kitted out. Not in his uniform for once. But in a blue coat and a striped gold waistcoat. Bottle green breeches on his skinny legs, tucked into shining brown boots ending at his knees.

When she comes through the door he rises suddenly to attention. Hands tucking behind his back as he bows to her. In this pallid light his hair shone a brilliant red. Contrasting to the pale parlour. His eyes were emeralds and sapphires.

Iris can’t deny he’s a genial man. Red locks and dazzling piercing blue eyes. Curling ocean waves and blazing flames. And he is a beautiful man; were it a time before even meeting or knowing Lord Ren, she would of course comprehend the matter of his allurements.

But she’s been well and truly ensnared. Taken away heart and soul, by hair darker than a ravens plumage, and eyes so dark russet they nearly betrayed the starry sky.

She didn’t want blazing flames and ocean waves. She longed instead for onyx leather, silver steel and cloudy woodsmoke.

Mama seems pleased to see her. A sickly smile stains her lips. Iris’ heart consequently turns to stone. She expected a flurry of abuse and screeches. Instead she is offered this calm grin. It’s unsettling

She is dizzy with sickness that spreads through her. She sways on her feet. Steadies herself on the open door. Stomach squirming like maggots on rotten meat.

“Sergeant Hux...” She curtseys clumsily to him. Meg slams the door softly behind her. Iris blinks at the brute force of it. Jumping forwards a little. The sound of it rattled through the house and knocked through her brittle bones.

“Forgive me. I’d no idea you were in attendance.” Iris looks pointedly from him to Mama. Who grins wider at her eldest’s words.

“I hear you fell ill. Miss Ashton. I do hope you are well recovered.” Hux pipes up.

Standing with his hands folded behind him. Legs poker straight. Military stance infused into every grain of his etiquette. Even every ounce of his affection is quashed under it. Tamped down. His face betrays little emotion on seeing her. There is nothing but fond regard in his eyes.

“Thankyou. I am well. An affliction and a fever, caught from a rainstorm.” She explains. Knowing full well the huskiness of her faded voice supported her story.

“Lord Ren was so... kind. To offer you shelter at such a time.” Mama manages through a clenched jaw. Fussing with the corners of her shawl.

“He is very kind.” Iris defends. Mothers smile only grows all the more. Corners of her dagger grey eyes pinched with wrinkles.

“Let us not talk of that man now. We have far more important things to come to. The Sergeant wished for a moment alone with you.” Mama explains. Rising elegantly to her feet. Gliding in Iris’s direction toward the door.

Iris steps aside. But not before her mothers hand - talon - gripped her wrist and she leaned in under the guise of embracing her daughter. Something she has never done to any of her girls, or ever made any effort to do so.

“It’s so pleasing to have you home again. My dear.” She speaks as she leans in. Iris isn’t surprised that she then hisses under her breath.

“If you dare ruin this chance for us...” She snarls. Her breath lands hot on her cheek. The scent of violet perfume making Iris feel quite sick when mingled with the essence of abuse and the stinging grip on her arm.

Mother is all genial smiles again when she turns to quit the room. The door softly shutting in her wake is a delicate blotted sound.

But Iris is convinced there is some sort of tempest quaking her chest and heart. It pounds and rags the space between her lungs and shoots up her spine like a congreve rocket bursting and deafening in her blood.

She moves closer into the room. Hux stands stiffly but approaches her with timidly cautious steps. She stands with her hands folded in front of herself. He clears his throat to begin.

“I um. I spoke with your father this morning. All seems to be settled hereabouts. I won’t bother you with such details. It’s not for your knowledge...” He begins with a brief little smile. His manner decidedly offhanded.

Iris swallows. Suddenly her throat is clogged with cotton. Her mouth is as dry as a bucket of claggy sand. As if she’s swallowed great mouthfuls of it. She’s waiting for the fall of the axe.

She looks up into his face. He seems jittery. But then he’s reaching over and taking one of her hands to hold. His palms are smooth and uncalloused. She far prefers hands much bigger and with more life scarred on them than these lily white hands. He holds her fingers delicately.

And he sinks to take to one knee-

“I am not a man inundated with passion or words and thoughts of giddy romance. But I can promise you a steady home and a decent income.” He vows. Something tells Iris he would never break his word. She knew he was honest enough to see her comfortable in life.

But that’s the crux of the poison of doubt flushing in her belly - she doesn’t want to just be comfortable for the rest of her life.

“Iris Ashton. Would you do me the honour of granting me your hand in marriage?” He asks in that same loveless way. Producing a box from his great coat pocket.

A gold band with one near round diamond. Neat. Ordinary and unassuming.

She looks down at him. His eyes were clear and true. Expression so vulnerable and honest with her. Whatever else he was - rude, arrogant, pedantic and snotty - he was always atleast honest with her. Her temples strain as her brain flits and fogs with ten thousand flighty thoughts. They fidget and toss like a vicious tide breaking on rocks. Crashing and devastating.

She opens her mouth, and nothing but a choked sound comes out. She rifles every corner of her brain for thoughts or feelings. But she can find none. She can only find one conclusion- even though it shatters her heart into bleeding cold shards.

“Yes. I’d be delighted.” She rasps out. Hux didn’t notice how no light nor sparking joy shone off her grey eyes. Only the silver of tears.

Hand over her mouth because she cannot fully believe what she’s just done. Her eyes water and she suspects Hux now thinks her a very foolish fop of a chittish girl, indeed.

He takes that ordinary and characterless ring and slides it on her finger. It’s just pinching enough to fit. Her hand trembles and Hux takes it.

“There.” He smiles. Rising to his feet. Doesn’t make any move to embrace her. Or take her in his arms. It stings at her for some benign reason. Niggles at the back of her head. He was following the rules of propriety and suddenly she found an oddity in that.

“Our families will be thoroughly delighted. I feel.” He adds. She doesn’t tell him the sad irony of that admission. She swallows and looks down at the cold band of metal trapping her finger.

It felt like the parlour walls were closing in. Choking and clawing at her. Suffocating. Her blood felt ten degrees too hot. Roiling in her stupid foolish veins.

“I can safely vow I will always do the honourable thing by you.” He suddenly spouts out. “I ask you would do the same.”

“Sergeant-“ She begins. Pausing for breath.

“You may of course, call me Hux now. We are betrothed after all.” He points out. Smiling affably. Here began the journey of their affable little life.

She blinks. Stemming the sadness. “I could never presume to-“ Her words die slowly in her throat. Don’t even make it past her teeth.

“I may promise you I would never willingly dishonour or hurt anyone. Let alone my intended. I am many things. But spiteful is not among them.” She promises with a shaky smile. If he knew her better, he’d understand that.

He looks glad.

They are interrupted by the parlour door falling open and Mrs Ashton makes her entrance again. When she catches sight of their smiling faces and the ring glinting on Iris’s hand she swoops across, all charms and kisses, to wish them both joy.

She insists on a dinner party. Sends a Julia to tell cook to start preparing at once. And for Simpson to fetch the finest bottle of burgundy from the cellar. And sends out a rider from the farm with a missive for Hux’s parents to come and join them in a celebratory feast.

Posy and Flora come bouncing and screaming in to wish their congratulations and immediately ask about the wedding and their bridesmaid dresses. They twirl Iris in circles. Kiss her. Flutter with giggles and immature gleeful smiles. Mother, Hux, and her sisters all get lost in gabbling conversation. Asking questions about the estate, the land, his commission. They all get swept along and Iris is rather left out of it.

She barely feels when Hux scoops up and holds the hand closest to him. His grip firm yet gentle on hers.

She’s perfectly numb.

She sits on the settee next to a man she doesn’t and can never love, as her wedding is plotted around her. Carving around her like water. Her sisters excited whispers bubble and chirp around her ears like a flock of chaffinches.

She pasted on a smile. A false hollow one.

The hand he isn’t clutching sits dead and dull in her lap. She looks down at her palm where it rested in her skirts. Remarking to herself unfairly on the sudden ambush of his proposal.

She watches the ring glint off the amber fire, lit directly in the hearth to her left. She stares at her fingers for a moment. Transfixed. Occupied.

Seemed such an odd addition to her hand. An extension of her in diamonds and gold. And it didn’t feel right. It felt leaden. Devoid of love. Lacking- she’s been weighted and found wanting and that thought eats away at her.

She looks up into the doorway when her father comes in to wish her joy. Reticently stepping in the room. No one else pays him any sort of mind. They’re all conversing most animatedly. He catches his eldest daughters eye-

The most sad expression awaits her on his face. He looks haggard. As if this news has aged him in some newly impossible way.

Iris holds his look for a second. Gives him a wobbly smile. He looks mightily ashamed. And Iris realises it’s the first time she’s even seen her fathers eyes look so raw.

Red rimmed where he’s swiped away tears with the damp kerchief still in his right hand. He looks quickly from her over to Hux, and the message is more than clear.

She looks down into her lap. She has too. Her eyes sting with tears and her lip will tremble if she doesn’t. She can’t look at his sadness and not see her own pitiful state and woefulness reflected right back at her in his sea foam eyes.

Even he pulls on a mask. His smile grows when Hux stands to shake his hand. He looks as pleased as everybody else in the room. Wishes joy to the newlyweds. Kisses iris on the cheek and she feels the dampness on his skin where his sideburns scrape.

The dreary night wears on. Hux talks about something or other to Mama. Posy and Flora are haranguing the newly arrived Maratella with questions as to the estate. They’re all insensible and silly and they get on marvellously. And Iris listens to her sisters have the cheek to ask if they should get up a party to all of them go to Brighton in summer. As Iris is now newly engaged. She’s considered proper. She can chaperone them. Or they squeal she could have an engagement party with tea and fancy cream cakes to settle Iris at Hux’s ancestral seat.

Brendol is having a refill of wine poured by their maid. Not saying much of anything to anyone. Only some nonsense about how Iris had better bare his son a healthy string of grandsons. Who would all be soldiers like their father. Iris bites her tongue. Unhappy to think she’d go through the pain of having beloved and cherished children, only for him to sell them into battle as canon fodder.

“Excuse me. I must go change for dinner.” She smiles weakly. Hux nods. Lets her hand slither out of his. Barely looks at her as she moves off. Instead talks with her mother about a date to set the wedding. Sometime soon, he presses. As he is away in the autumn and he wants to be married, and Iris settled with child by then. Awfully grand that his goals didn’t seem to include her opinion at any turn.

Mama seems awfully excited. She doesn’t notice when Iris’s father catches her hand as she moves past his armchair. He holds it for a second and looks up at her. Doleful reproach in his eyes that spoke eloquently of his contrition.

He sighs slightly as his thumb rubs over the ring on her hand. He knows she won’t be happy. He knows how miserably she suffers all this matchmaking. He should have put a stop to it, but he was always overruled. He was a spectator watching it all unfold.

And now he has to sit here and watch the brightest spark that was his eldest, get shackled in matrimony to a man who will never grow to love her. It was clear that all Hux will ever love is his uniform and his Sergeancy. She deserves better. A better father, a better fiancé. He wishes he could give it to her.

He didn’t marry for love. He married for convenience. And his sweet girls are the only good things to come out of the loveless match to the snappish cruel woman that was his wife. Posy and Flora are perhaps silly and vapid. And Iris had more wit in her little toe, than his two younger girls had in their whole bodies altogether. But still he loves them dearly. All of them.

He’d die for his daughters merriment, and he could die of shame of this whole fetid situation, right here and now.

Now he was sat here, helpless, watching that same agony of a forced match, get thrusted upon his beautiful Iris. She will grow dull and be subjugated and oppressed by this man. She’s already losing that spark that used to live in her moonstone eyes. Drawing into herself and biting her tongue.

He wished, he wished beyond everything in his grasp, he wished so hard that his bones hurt. He prayed that he could open his mouth and say all this to her. But yet again. He must prevail upon his silence.

He squeezes her hand. Bolsters her with a little comfort. He swallows and gives her a smile. “Pray- t’is nothing. Forgive me. I forget what I...wanted to say.” He confesses gently to her.

When Iris slides noiselessly out the parlour door. Caroline’s eyes slice into her husband. He looks back at her with a dull look of anger on his weathered face. Forcing Iris to join with this snobbish boy and these outlandish and boastful people. He could very well hate her for it. Her unfeeling nature of it all. He’s never been more sure of his revulsion toward her.

Iris isn’t long changing and dinner is not far off either. She drifts back downstairs in a gown of emerald silk. Let’s Hux take her arm and lead her to the table, where they all sit down to a grand dinner. As grand as Westwell could boast of, anyhow.

One of Mrs Murphy’s best spreads; A boiled joint of ham, served with parsley sauce. A leg of mutton. Enough boiled or roasted potatoes to feed all of Hampshire. Jugged hare and creamed celery and Buttered carrots. And there’s plenty of juicy platters of rich darkly opulent fruits and syrup tarts for pudding. A slate of plums and grapes and pomegranates. Surrounding a cheese plate of Stilton, Brie, and cheddar.

Iris doesn’t manage more than a couple of mouthfuls. Even though the boiled ham with parsley sauce is her favourite dish. She doesn’t manage to swallow down more than a few meagre scraps of it. The wine and the conversation flows all around her. She cannot help but be introspective about this whole sordid thing.

Her throat is cloyed. Like scraping fire and glass shards when she tries to swallow anything. It does nothing to nourish the fathomless pit that’s formed in her stomach.

Everyone raises a crystal goblet of Bordeaux to the newlyweds health.

Maratella comments that Hux has caught himself a fine bride. Winking at Iris. Crowing of how beautiful her first grandchild will be of their combined colouring. And she apparently wants a bushel of them.

“It will be so cheering to have a house full of young infants again. Little ones to dote on. I do so adore them and I’m most looking forwards to it.” Maratella cooed. Aiming her words to Mrs Ashton. But letting her daughter-in-law hear them too.

Iris swallowed her wine with a thud. She can’t even appreciate the bouquet of it tonight. Her tongue is too sour. The wine tastes like bilious floral soap and compost.

She looks down in her lap, fiddles with her napkin. Forces herself to smile and choke down the sip of it even though Maratella and her insinuation and the suffocating image of a houseful of squalling titian haired infants makes her feel quite sick.

Hux makes no comment either. He merely carries on chewing his slices of roast mutton. Flora and Posy ask Iris a million questions each, in the span of ten minutes. She answers succinctly and completely ignores their requests for silken bridesmaids dresses and new slippers.

Iris’s eyes flicker over to her mother when Maratella enquires as to her recent fevered affliction at Hellford park. Mama does not hold back in her derisions regarding Lord Ren.

“I know not in what kind of uncultured society that man was raised. But he is so uncouth. And superior.” Mrs Ashton offers.

“I find his manners a little odd. Thank goodness the attachment is severed for good now.” Maratella says.

Mrs Ashton turns to get a helping of creamed celery. Iris gives her daggers across the table.

When their guests depart to leave, after supper and after a game of whist and snifters of port or sherry in the parlour. Iris stands there in the cold foyer as her intended pulls on his coat.

She nods her goodbyes to him and his family as Brendol barks at him from the coach to get a move on. Maratella waves a hand at her husbands fussing. Cooing that they should take all the time they liked to share a goodbye.

Hux bends and places a find kiss on her hand. “Goodnight. Future Mrs Armitage Hux.” He states with a pink blush constrasting to his shock of combed copper hair.

He smiles at her before he ducks out of the door and off into the night. She watches the bare moonlight shine off his hair and his lanky shoulders in his big greatcoat. Pearled light feathering off his red locks as the blue black night swallows him up.

She doesn’t stay to watch the carriage leave. She turns and morosely trudges up to her room. Asks Meg to bring her up a cup of tea as soon as cook could spare her. She can feel Mothers eyes pin into her back like two silver needles as she ascends the creaking dark sloped stairs.

“Iris...” She calls out. It takes every ounce of energy in her body not to turn around and snarl seven thousand cursing obscenities at her.

Ensnaring her with such a sudden proposal. Gloating smug glances at her all night. Iris couldn’t stand it.

“Yes mother?” She asks.

“We are all excessively happy about this news today. I hope you’ll do nothing senseless so as to jeopardise it. Hux is a steady good man. You should endeavour to deserve such a good example of a husband.” She reminds with pinched savagery in her tone.

‘Should I?’ Iris remarks to herself.

“If you ruin such a good match. You will regret it. And no such other man may ever make an offer to you if you do.” She makes clear.

Words lingering just shy of a threat. She was much too cunning to have to threaten her eldest daughter. She speaks as if her words already make sense to Iris. As if she already had her agreement.

Iris stands still. She stares up into the darkness of the house ahead. “Goodnight mama.” She says flatly. Hiking her body up the remaining stairs.

She passes Posy and Floras room on the creaking landing. The slice of gold candlelight under the door eats at her skirts as she passes. Hears them giggling and hushing whispers to each other as they make ready for bed. The silly chits probably stole too many glasses of wine at dinner. She remembers a time when she used to join them. Sit on the end of their beds in her nightgown with her hair all plaited for bed. They’d talk - as sisters do - of silly things and gossip.

Until mama made her focus on more important things. Less sisterly affection. More concentration and focus on comportment. She sadly strokes a hand across their bedroom door. Smiles at the embroidered flower stitchings of their names pinned to the white painted door along with dried flowers. Scattered across like a meadow breeze tossing petals on the wind.

She wishes they knew how dear they were to her. Of course she calls them bugs. Or annoying pests. But she never, not once, went one day without loving her sisters for who they are. They can be acerbic like mother when gossip comes about and tongues start to wag. But they are ultimately kind hearted, affectionate and silly. She hears them giggle about the hideous bonnet Maratella wore tonight. It makes her smile and lifts her spirits for a second.

She pats the door silently and fondly before she moves off straight down the candle lit hall to her own room. She opens the whining door and looks around her meagre, half dark little room. The wall-to-wall flowery papered little cell that it was. Her waiting room until marriage came to claim her.

And come it had. On mighty swift wings thanks to her mother. She shuts her door and presses her back to it. Thuds her head back onto the wood. Let’s her true feelings come bubbling up to the surface for the first time all night.

She’s broken-hearted. Her pathetic heart feels like one of those great ice drifts in the Antarctic, a plain of land with a huge tearing rift ripped right through the middle. Severing it to clunky misshapen pieces that will never mend.

She thinks of the monotony of the life that awaits her. The house full and long line of squawking babies she and Hux are supposed to sire. Staying chained to the stove and the nursery to look after said children whilst her husband ventures off to war and glory. Being no more to him than a bedding partner and general broodmare to keep up the family honour.

She thinks sadly on having to tell Lord Ren she’s engaged. How his eyes will glitter and cut her like jagged onyx gems. How his handsome face will fall into a stoic mask. Maybe he’ll wish never to see her again? Who knows how his reaction will be.

She wished to curl up under ten thick blankets, into a little ball, and fade away to dust. Like the dead grey ashes under the fire basket in her hearth.

She thinks she might cry herself away to sleep. She can’t escape the irony of that. Most girls perched on wedded bliss didn’t sob themselves to slumber. They fidgeted and giggled and practiced swirling their initials with their intendeds in neat hand. They were struck down lovesick. Admiring their ring. Imagined themselves walking down the aisle in their Sunday best and a veil, clutching at a wedding bouquet.

Iris had none of that. The thought of walking down the aisle to Hux and the boxed in little life thereafter, made her want to dry heave until she coughed out her lungs.

She prepares herself for bed. Unlaced her new boots - with a leaden heart at the memory of who provided them for her. She slipped off her dress and stockings and when Julia brings her tea she helps unlace her stays. Asks her about her engagement.

Iris gives short, staccato words for answers. Feigning it had been a long day. The maid slips away again and Iris locks the door in her wake. Only then does she reach for her hand and wrench off the gold ring. Puts it on her vanity and the gold winks cruelly at her in the firelight.

She huffs as she undressed and slipped her nightgown on. She let loose her wild hair and tames it into a plait. Ties the end with a snippet of blue muslin. The gown slips off one shoulder as she grabs her book and balances it on her thighs. Slipping into the cool crisp sheets of her bed. The lace trimmed on her sleeves casts floral shade down her arms.

The fire cracks and she parts her book with the pressed flower she was currently using as a bookmark. She tilts into the candles light and tries to let the novel soothe her dreadful mind. It’s of little use. The words swim like black wriggling worms. She quickly abandons the idea. Tucks the book away.

Falls down into her feathered pillow. Drinks her tea and glares pointedly at the glimmering ring on her dressing table. She’s so used to feeling suffocated. But this sensation of guilt, panic and refusal churns in her belly like the worst sort of shame. Seeps out her pores like claggy grey mud. And she is made miserable by it-

A brittle tap suddenly echoes in her room. She sits up. Covers rustling about her knees. She strains her ears to make it out. Through the roaring fire and the gales brushing the stone of the house outside.

There it is. Another succession of taps. Hollow scrape. Clanking on the glass of her window. Tap-tap-tap-

She gets out of bed and pulls her heavy curtains across. The window was latched shut. And outside, being buffeted by the strong wind. Sits an obsidian black crow.

Feathers all ruffled in the wintry breeze. It’s little head twitches at her. Beady eyes shining off the glow of her room like amber marbles. And off the grey sheen of its broad beak. It sits there contented. Staring up at her.

She unlocks her window and pushes it up. The wood sticks and rubs from age. Cruel night air whips in. Flurrying at her thin dress. The cold snakes and twines around up her knees and legs. The crow makes a loud cawing sound. A rasping cry of a call.

It seems tame enough. She gently reaches a hand over and it sits there as she brushes at the downy feathers on its puffed out chest. Black silk to the touch.

“You’re rather congenial” She comments.

“Matter of fact you’re the first genial encounter I’ve had all day.” She remarks. Chiding herself for talking so animatedly to a bird - of all mad things.

It caws again and hops along her stone windowsill. She gasps, drawing back as it then suddenly ducks it head and swoops under the window frame. Breaching the gap and flying up over her shoulder, and into her bedroom.

She keeps from crying out in shock. Spins around to try and capture the crazed animal and return it to its rightful home outdoors. The curtains sway with her movement and she screams anew when suddenly a gigantic body is in front of her.

Before she can fully scream. Kylo’s warm eyes soothe her and one big cool hand clasps over her mouth to muffle the scream. It’s suddenly a warbled sound out from behind his massive palm that almost entirely spans her face.

He grins wickedly down at her. One thick finger pressed to his smiling lips telling her to hush. Night air and cold infused into his clothes, simply pours off him. Cologne and rich earth and frost.

She relaxes a little. Heart racing at the incident.

He’d crowded her back to the wall beside the window alcove. He reaches across and shuts it with his free arm. To help keep her warm. It doesn’t even stick at the sides when his strong arm yanks it down.

“Thank god for that. Dove. I thought you’d never let me in.” He explains smugly. She has so many questions about his varied animal forms. But she won’t ask them now. She’s just overwhelmed that he’s here.

He brushes off his lapels after taking his hand from her face. Pressing it to the wall beside her instead. She’s all too aware she’s clad only in a thin nightgown. And suddenly now there is a large Lord before her. Mere inches between them. Scant inches and she only has thin cotton swathing her body.

A million questions thunder and strike in her brain.

She settles on; “What are you doing here?” Whispers with a tender little smile starting to grow on her lips.

She’s aghast but ultimately pleased beyond measure to see him. She felt like she has strength again now he’s here.

His thumb strokes at her cheek. “Checking on the woman I love.. if I may.” He answers plainly.

Her heart melts into mush in her chest. Slips out and down between the cracks of her ribs like treacle. She aches for him.

He notices how her face pinched up. “Iris?” He asks.

“I am to be married.” She whispers. Thoroughly ashamed. Waiting to see his repulsed reaction. Biting her bottom lip nervously. Looking down to her feet.

He tips her chin up to look at him. Frowns at seeing the tears of shame in her eyes.

He smiles tenderly. “Dove. I know.” He explains. As he cups her cheek.

“I always knew this was going to happen. After all - courting can only end two ways. And your mother was most serious about securing a match.”

“I said yes. I hate myself for it. But I said I’d accept.” She cries. He soothes away her tears with his thumb.

Hushes her. Pulls her into his chest and holds her close.

His big hand strokes her hair and she lets herself sob into his wide firm chest. Fingers grazing his clothes. Her brow wedged into the crook of his cool neck. He tucks her into him. One hand cups her head and the other spans the back of her hips. She never had anyone to confide in. But she has him now. She’ll always have him.

She has little choice in the matter. Whether she wanted him or not. She’s got him.

“All will be well. I promise you.” He assures.

She sighs. It’s so pleasing to finally have someone on her side.

“I’ve had to sit there and listen to his mother spouting out about grandchildren and marital duty when I wanted to do was run from the room screaming.” She gasps. More tears soaking into his clothing. Eyes crinkled up shut in sadness.

She knows were he any other man, she’d have to school her words more carefully. But to him she can speak freely about anything. Her soul was stitched to his.

“Pay their vapid ignorance no mind.” He kisses a whisper into her hair. Groaning at the feel of the silk and scent of it against his lips. “You’re worth so much more to me, than all their expected limitations of you.” He speaks softly.

“I can’t do it.” She admits. She crumbles. Finally she can speak what she truly feels. Let out what was making guilt rot at her like acid all night through.

Because really those four innocent tiny-little words had been perched on the tip of her tongue all evening. She just hasn’t the bravery to let them loose.

“My little dove.” He sighs fondly as kisses her head. Pained for her from feeling her heartbreak. “You won’t have too.”

She feels him breathe where she’s cuddled into him. It’s a strange comfort. It’s the height of impropriety but she cannot care about it anymore.

She pulls back and looks up at him. Tears leak down her cheeks. He takes them away again. “Pray, whatever do you mean?” She seeks.

“Come here.” He says. Breaking away for a moment. He guides her to sit on her bed and crouches to level in front of her. Both hands taking hers. He kisses both sets of her knuckles before he begins. Looking up at her. His wrists rest on her knees.

“You think I would allow you to marry that spoilt snobbish boy?” He asks her with a careful grin. His eyes look darkly salacious.

“You think I could let another man take you, when you are mine, and mine alone?” He smiles wickedly. Seductive notes intoxicating in his deep voice.

She could kiss him to death right now if it wasn’t entirely inappropriate. She wants to hold him tight so much- she could burst. Wrap her arms around this kind man and never leave him. She can never be parted from him now.

She sighs happily through her tears. Reaching across and stroking her right hand through his thick shaggy hair. Black locks cool against her palm from his excursion out in the wild black night air. His eyes look like tempests. Black flecked with gold that rings his pupils.

Such sincerity shines out his face- it’s like a hopeful glimpse of the sun after a harsh winter. He’s saying such nice things and such nice warm words of love flow through her veins like ambrosia.

He takes her hand and kisses her palm. Sighing at the taste and scent of her skin. It had never failed to drive him wild with need.

“Run away with me. And marry me.” He offers. Eyes slicing hot into her own. Watching the flickering firelight kiss her skin.

Her mouth gapes. She draws in a breath but her head is spinning so madly she feels dizzy. He explains more to her of this sordid plan.

“Half my household is shut up. Most of my staff have packed and gone already. Left these shores bound for Bavaria. I set sail in seven days time.” He explains.

The thought of him leaving sends such a spear of white hot pain through her heart she doesn’t think she could ever survive it if he left. Madness when she’s had all these years of life without him.

She doesn’t feel the same anymore. She isn’t. She’s in love and it has changed her irrevocably. He’s burst into her life, in a big assuming dark shadowing presence and stolen her heart away. And given him hers in return.

She knows she can never be without him - it feels like it would kill her for them to be apart.

“We could elope. Make for Gretna green and be man and wife by the weeks end. We can set sail for the port of Hamburg as Lord and Lady. Until passage is booked, we could honeymoon in the highlands for a handful of days.” His eyes turn particularly lustful at that comment.

Smile is savage and sharp. So potent a smouldering look it makes her toes curl up in longing.

She could do it. She could run away with this man, sneaking off into the dead of night. To go to seize her greatest happiness. For once she could selfishly and recklessly take control of her own life.

Loving Kylo as she does, he makes her feel just brave and strong enough to do it-

She wets her lips. Giddy. This is her chance and dear god in heaven- she’s taking it.

“What would I have to do?” She asks him in a hushed whisper.

The smile that takes over his face is magnetic. She smiles and he rises up quick and fiercely kisses her.

Claims her with that passion he spoke so finely of. Cups her neck and delivers her a kiss that has her shaking. She tries to resist the heady temptation, but she cannot.

Her knees clamp either side of his thighs where his body is towering over hers. Nearly pressing her back to her pillows. His free hand cups her lower back and clasps her into his body. Her splayed legs, and between them, rubs high at his abdomen.

He growls deep and feral into the kiss. It tumbled through her wet hot mouth She pulls away. Wide eyed and innocent, wondering if she’d hurt him. She can only see his kiss bruised smile and his clouded eyes when she pulls back. Her hands press to the bed. Clutches into the sheets. Otherwise she worries she’d tangle and lose her hands in his hair.

He sighed in bliss. Ducking his head to kiss at her clothed shoulder. Nearly shuddering with need. Arching right over her. Big body completely dominating hers. He shuts his eyes and kisses the lace at her shoulder. Taste of her lips and scent of her blood and her arousal sitting on his tongue like sugar. He so wanted to taste more-

He restrains himself or he’d take her right here - drool onto that heavenly cunt between her legs and slide his cock into her perfect heat. Fuck her for the whole damned house to hear her screeching his name.

“Forgive me.” He rasps. Voice husking with desire.

Her cheeks flush. “Nothing about that warrants forgiveness.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew how I wanted to take you right here and now in your bed. Iris.” He husks. Kissing in the crook of her neck slowly and soft. Lips pressing and savouring her. Her every nerve hums with need.

He recovers his legendary discipline. Pulls back to sit at the edge of her mattress once more.

“All you’d need to do-“ He smiles. Hands settling on her knees. Holding her. Feeling the cotton and her kneecaps under his palms.

“Is dress warm, pack a manageable bag. You don’t need much. I’ll buy you everything and anything you need. Meet me in the woods just beyond the church. At midnight.” He smiles. He’d had this cunning plan circling in his head for weeks now. Now he is within grasping distance of having her as his wife. And he’s wild with love of her.

“Don’t tell anyone of this plan. Not even your sisters. Nobody. In case they try and halt the elopement...Not that anyone could stop me....” He smirks.

She smiles. “I won’t tell a soul. I’ve no one to tell.” She shrugs openly.

“Leave that foul mother of yours nothing but a note behind. That’s all she deserves for her wicked exploitation of you.” He growls.

She nods in agreement. Stroking over his big hands where they rest on her.

She doesn’t spare the energy to devote one scrap of a thought for her mother. He was right

She only wishes there was a route out of this that could mean she can say a proper goodbye to her father and her sisters. Not leave under a shroud of intrigue, gossip and scandal. Iris eloping with the dashing dark lord newly arrived to these shores would be rife in the gossip mills around here for weeks. It would quake the quiet county.

It seemed odd that it would be her. She’d be the source of ruinous ignominy. All her life she was the quiet and unassuming and plain eldest daughter. No one suspected anything of her except her obedience to blindly accept the loveless match her family provided for her. She wasn’t supposed to do anything out of the ordinary little route of her safe life.

A small scandalous corner of her heart was awfully happy to be proving all those busy bodies and old matronly gossips wrong.

“I’ll leave word for Hux too. He’s not a bad man. Just-“ she shakes her head. Watching their hands where they are joined. “He’s not the man I love or desire.” She explains.

Kylo’s eyes look warm. Like melting pools of honey and tar. They stick to her. The beauty of her blush. The prettiness of her countenance. Those ash grey eyes doused ochre in the dim firelight. A splash of honey amber whiskey poured over moonstone.

He reaches up and strokes his thumb across her cheek. “He overlooked you. Trust me. He will pay sorely for mistreating you. His honour will become quite besmirched when you elope. Stolen and tempted away by a foreign Lord with a title and an estate, to boot.” He smiles.

“Then see what he makes of his measly beloved little army commission. When he loses you.” He smirks.

“I can’t think he’ll care much about my leaving - only for the toll such infamy will have on bruising his ego.” She tells.

“Then he is the fool I always suspected him to be.” Kylo tells her seriously.

“Now. You just have to act like the most perfect doting bride-to-be for the next three days. Because come weeks end...” he trails off.

Pulling her in, sighing a soft sweet kiss onto her lips. She blushes when he kisses her. Whole body pimples in pleasure.

It’s molasses and dangerous and among all the darkly wicked things she’s never tasted. He tasted like freedom and life.

“... You will come back to Bavaria with me. And you will be my wife. Lady Ren of Ranlor Castle.” He smirks against her lips. Plucking passion into her.

He savours kissing her for a moment. Losing himself in the manna that was her lips. She’s ivory rose petals and sugar whipped with cream. Gorgeous and delicious and he can’t wait for more. Before he can kiss her lips pink and raw, he takes his leave.

“Get some sleep. Little Dove. I’ll send word when all is set.” He smirks before he’s out into that wild night again. Leaving her heart racing and her hope restored.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #Kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #vampirelovestory #adam driver #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #proposal #suitors #lovers #hiddenlove

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the-ravens-requiem · 5 years ago

Text

Tea For Two

From this prompt on my main blog.

The man had been dead for many, many years. Countless holidays had floated by in the passage of time, and yet Doctor never forgot about him. The alchemist had lit a candle for him whenever they had been physically able -- to commemorate his memory and the kindness he had taught them.

His blood was not Doctor's blood, but they had been family once, so long ago. When Doctor was different. Perhaps more selfish and naive. More stubborn and vain.

Doctor did not like who they had been as a youth, now that age had brought them wisdom. They supposed that, perhaps, this was a universal feeling. Nevertheless, the man had loved them like they were his own child in spite of these things, and Doctor was forever grateful to him.

But Doctor was troubled now, and needed the comfort that only a parent could provide. A sort of bone-deep soul-sickness that needed soothing. So with shovel in hand, Doctor stole away during the night and dug up his grave.

The offering of tea was a ritual, really. Something they'd done in life. Conversations over a cup. The fire and incense was just manners. The incense to mask the sweet scent of rot, and the fire to aide tired and decayed eyes to see the alchemist's visage more easily.

He was nothing but a skeleton now, though Doctor swore that they could make out the shape of his face on his skull. Dim light glowed from out of the eye-sockets, flickering as he woke. The rest of the body followed soon after, rattling -- held together by magic.

The thread that connected them made it easier to call him back to the world of the living, and it comforted Doctor that their father had given them explicit permission forever to raise him whenever they needed.

The man had known about their powers since they were very young, and was one of the few who had never been afraid. Perhaps he should have been, but the alchemist liked to think that they had turned out the way they did, in the end, because of this foolishness. Doctor was taught compassion instead of isolation.

"Good morning, Father. I've made you some tea. It's your favorite flavor. I was hoping we could sit and chat for a while? I've missed you terribly."

The skeleton's teeth clack together with a raucous laugh, his voice far-away but strong. "Ah, my child! You always know just how to wake me from a nap.! Come, tell me what troubles you." They reach for the cup, the perpetual grin of their skull never fading.

Doctor nods. "I've been feeling a bit melancholy, lately -- Though I've been in good company."

The skeleton mirrors the gesture. "Yes. It is possible to feel lonely, even among others. This is the natural course of things, and it will likely pass." He presses the lip of the cup to his open jaw and pours a bit inside. The tea simply splashes down onto his clavicle and flows between his ribs.

Behind the red-glass lenses of their mask, Doctor watches the hot liquid slowly trickle down to the grass beneath them. They say nothing, as it's not very polite to point out such things when speaking to the dead.

"Speaking of loneliness, are you ever going to settle and marry? It's about time, don't you think?" Doctor can hear the playfulness in his father's voice -- and if they could blush, they would.

"Father, we've talked about this before. I'm far too busy with many other important things. My shop, for instance -- !"

"Nonsense, a good spouse would help you run your business and tend your fancy garden! Think of it, my child. You could adopt some children, have a family...Hm?" He reaches out with his bony hand to pat Doctor on the shoulder, clapping his fingers over the heavy waxed fabric. "Why, you'd be too busy to be melancholy ever again!"

Doctor exhales, their father's concern warming their heart despite the annoyances it brought. "Yes, Father. You would be right about that. But you know I have very little interest in romance. As old as I am, I doubt that will change."

"I know, I know." Another gulp of the tea, more trickles down over old bones and to the grass. "I'm just teasing you. I just worry about you, sometimes."

"I'm aware of that, Father."

"...Is there something else bothering you?"

Doctor wished they could say, but perhaps there were things even their own parent didn't need to know.

"No, Father. I am troubled, but it will pass, like you said -- one way or another. Just hearing your voice again has comforted me."

"I do so love our little chats." The skeleton leaned back, taking one last gulp of his tea. The cup is placed into the hands of the alchemist shortly thereafter.

"As do I."

The skeleton yawns and stretches, the light in their cavernous eye-sockets dimming. "Ahh, ah well. I think it's time to go back to sleep. Thank you for the tea. Could you tuck me in?"

"Of course. Until we see each other again, Father."

"Until we see each other again." The light flickers out, and the bones clatter to the ground.

And so, with shovel in hand, Doctor covers him with dirt once again, settling him down to rest in the cold embrace of the grave. ---------- masterlist | ko-fi If you liked this, please consider reblogging it. It helps spread it around so that others may read it and enjoy, too!

#writeblr #writing #doctor #filled

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unfolded73 · 4 years ago

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love this director's cut idea! ⭐for any section you want to talk about!

I decided to do a director’s commentary on “The Things We Don’t Speak Aloud” because I have a lot of thoughts about Marcy and Clint Brewer. Below the cut for length:

Ask me for a director’s commentary of one of my fics or a section of a fic

Marcy looked around at the motel room she’d just stepped into while Clint muscled his suitcase over the threshold and closed the door. The decorations were… unique, that was probably the kindest thing she could say about them. Hopelessly out of date to be sure, but perhaps people liked the kitsch, she thought charitably. Perhaps that was why nothing appeared to have been updated in decades. She lifted her small suitcase onto the bed and went to unzip it, her mind already focusing on how she wanted to arrange her things in the drawers.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Clint asked, making no similar moves toward unpacking.

She felt a spike of anxiety go through her, making her palms sweat. “Clint, until we know for sure what they were talking about, I don’t know if it’s fair to—”

So I super identify with the Brewer family and their apparent willingness to avoid difficult subjects. I was raised the same way, unfortunately. It was an open secret that my uncle was gay, and despite supporting him (somewhat; my mom’s attitudes on homosexuality were ok but not great), my mother never spoke to him about it. Ever. For 50 years. So I understand how Patrick could go more than a year without telling his parents about being gay / about David. And I figure he probably learned that avoidance from his parents.

“It seemed pretty clear what they were talking about, Marcy,” Clint said. “He literally said, ‘a business relationship and a romantic relationship.’ What else could he have meant?”

She dropped the sweater she’d been refolding and met her husband’s eyes. “So Patrick and… and David…”

“I guess so.”

“But if they’re a couple, why wouldn’t Patrick say anything? We aren’t homophobic.” She picked up the sweater again. “Maybe David’s father is confused. Or jumping to conclusions because they spend a lot of time together working at the store.”

Clint squinted at her. “He lives here and probably sees his son all the time. I don’t think he would have said it that way if they weren’t a couple.”

“But Patrick dated Rachel for years!” She paused, thinking it through while she went over and put the sweater in one of the dresser drawers. “I guess he could be bisexual.”

Bisexual erasure, particularly for men, is real. I think about it a lot more now that my own son identifies as bi. So I struggle when I write scenes like this because, on the one hand, no, Patrick doesn’t seem to be bi. We can assume that since David says he’s gay in MTP, that’s probably how Patrick himself identifies, and it’s consistent with him saying he didn’t know before David what right was supposed to feel like. But he could be bi/pan, as far as his parents know at this point, and I don’t want it to seem like I as the author wouldn’t consider that if I had only the info the Brewers have. But also, I figure the Brewers would assume he was gay because that seems more in-line with who they are. And it happens to be true. So I did give Marcy the thought here that, ok, maybe he’s bi. And then had Clint say, maybe, but also he did break up with Rachel a lot and run away. I wrote it similarly in My Heartbeat Shows the Fear.

“That’s possible. Or it’s possible that he was trying very hard not to be gay, and that’s why ultimately things didn’t work out with Rachel. It would explain a lot. They way they kept breaking up. The way he ran away to start a new life somewhere else.” He sat down on the bed.

Marcy shook her head, a hand coming up to her mouth to hold in… she didn’t know what. “No, that’s… surely he would have talked to us if he was feeling that way. And he was happy with Rachel for a long time.”

“Was he?”

Marcy began unpacking more quickly, needing to accomplish a task, needing to move. “Yes, of course he was happy.”

“Not happy enough, though. Maybe he’s happier with David.”

She slumped her shoulders, suddenly exhausted. They’d gotten up before dawn to make this drive and the long hours on the road were taking their toll. “Should we maybe take a nap?”

Marcy does not want to talk about this anymore. Using sleep to avoid things is another thing I do.

Her husband nodded, recognizing the request for what it was — a plea not to talk about this anymore. “Good idea. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay awake for a party if I don’t have a little rest.”

She put her suitcase aside and took off her shoes and stretched out next to her husband on top of the bedspread. Clint reached out for her hand, and she squeezed his fingers in return.

Marcy thought about the conversations she’d had with David on the phone. The way he talked about the store and the way he talked about Patrick. The way he talked about how smart Patrick was about the business. It hadn’t escaped her notice the way David spoke — the cadence and timbre of his voice, the uptilt of it on certain phrases, his encyclopedic knowledge of skin care products — yes, she’d assumed David was gay when she bothered to think about it at all. She’d mostly just thought that David seemed nice, based on his unfailing politeness with her.

Another tough one, because David isn’t gay, he’s pan. But most people probably assume he’s gay, based on stereotypes, and I figured Marcy would too.

Meanwhile, she’d gotten used to a certain amount of distance from her son. He’d barely spoken to them at all for the first couple of months after he left town, other than to say he was safe and that he needed a fresh start. Then came news of the business he was starting with David, and Patrick had begun to sound excited on the phone, talking about David’s vision for the store. He’d had a lot to say about what a good idea it was that David had, and how skilled he was with vendors and customers. She began to sift her memory of those glowing compliments through this new filter, where maybe her son had romantic feelings for his business partner. It made a certain kind of sense, now that she thought about it. It explained why any mention of Rachel caused him to shut down.

I do like imagining Patrick being unable to keep from bringing the topic of David up, even though he couldn’t bring himself to say they were a couple. Maybe hoping his parents guessed.

It perhaps explained, she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach, why any time she asked if he was dating anyone, he denied it and quickly changed the subject.

She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but Marcy did doze off briefly. She awoke after about a half hour to Clint puttering around with the tea kettle. Sitting up, she put her feet on the floor, her stomach still queasy with anxiety.

“So why didn’t he want to tell us?”

“Maybe… maybe they aren’t telling other people at all?” Clint posited.

“Mr. Rose knows. That weird Roland person knows. Both of them assumed we knew!” Then it hit her. “David assumed we knew. Right? If they’re out to people here, and he invited us to Patrick’s party…” She thought again about how warm David always was with her on the phone, taking time out of his day to ask after her health or make small talk with her when she called the store. The way he spoke about Patrick, which she never questioned because of course they knew each other well — they ran a business together. “What do we do now?”

Clint’s eyes widened. “I have no idea.”

There was a knock on the door.

Marcy went over and opened it, revealing Johnny Rose’s worried face and expressive eyebrows on the other side.

“Hi, Marcy. Mind if I come in to chat?”

“Johnny… yes, of course,” she said, widening the opening to admit him.

So this was the seed idea of this fic. In canon, David gets there first and Johnny shortly thereafter. I thought it would be interesting to switch it and see what happened.

He clasped his hands together, eyes darting around the room. “I wanted to apologize to you both for speaking out of turn earlier. And saying… things that I assumed you… but it seems I was, er, that is, that I jumped to conclusions about…”

I enjoy writing Johnny when he’s flustered.

Marcy tried to rescue him. “You assumed we knew that Patrick and David are dating.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “Yes. And I just wanted to say, as a parent myself, that the important thing is that they’re happy. That’s all that matters. Who our kids love doesn’t matter.”

I figured he’d say essentially the same thing he did in canon here. That the important thing was that their kids were happy.

“Johnny, we don’t have a problem with Patrick being gay.” She looked over at Clint, who shook his head.

“No,” he said in agreement.

Johnny’s whole demeanor changed, his shoulders dropping as he smiled with relief. “Oh! Good, that’s good!”

They all smiled at each other for a second, unsure what to say next.

“Yes, anyway, we love Patrick,” Johnny said, rocking on his heels. “I probably should have said earlier, I was only skeptical about him and David at first. It’s been obvious for a while that they’re good for each other. Patrick’s become like a member of the family.”

I wish we had gotten to see Johnny’s skepticism about juggling a romantic and a business relationship on the show. That does seem in-character for him, and I would have liked to have seen him trying to talk to David about it, about guarding his heart and his parts and his business. I’m sure it would have been a disaster of a conversation but I would have enjoyed it.

“How, um, how long have they been together?” Marcy asked.

“Since not long after the store opened, as I recall.” Johnny said.

Heart pounding, Marcy dropped onto the bed next to where her husband was sitting. “Oh.”

“That’s a long time,” Clint said.

Johnny’s face fell as he probably realized that he’d once again delivered cataclysmic news to Patrick’s parents. It wasn’t just that he’d kept his sexual identity and his relationship with David a secret. He’d kept it a secret for over a year.

Ugh, the timeline. In 5x14, David says “two years ago”. But there seems to have only been one Christmas since they started dating. So I just figure David was severely rounding up when he said 2 years and that it’s really been more like a year and a half at that point, idk. Jeremy Bearimy.

“You know, it can be a hard thing for kids to talk about with their parents,” Johnny said. “Goodness knows David and I haven’t always talked about what was going on in his life.”

Marcy latched onto that. Perhaps she had an expert here, someone who’d been through what they were going through. “Was it hard for David to come out to you and your wife?”

Johnny pulled over one of the chairs and sat down. “Well, it was different with David. Moira assumed he was gay from a fairly young age.” He threw up his hands. “I wasn’t sure, myself, but I figured he’d tell us when he was ready. Then when he was eighteen, he told us he was bisexual. Then later, he amended it to ‘pansexual’.” Marcy looked at Clint and saw that he looked just as confused as she felt. “The labels can be confusing,” Johnny continued, “and I know I said some things I shouldn’t have, at first. Asked him if it wouldn’t be easier if he picked a gender. Which I realize wasn’t… helpful. Or fair of me. I just wanted him to be happy. And he is now! So.” He shrugged, laughing awkwardly.

I tend to just go with the fanon that when David came out as pansexual to his parents, it was probably a surprise to them that he wasn’t gay.

“But you always knew he wasn’t… straight,” Marcy said, disappointed that the Roses’ experience didn’t really mirror theirs that closely after all.

“Yes, I suppose we did know that. Moira knew, at least. She’s always understood David better than… anyway.” A shadow flitted across his face that looked a lot like guilt. “But I’m not sure it matters when we know. It only matters that we support our kids.”

It’s also fanon that Moira was quicker to support David than Johnny was, but that’s based on the pretty solid evidence of her very firm “It’s not a phase” to Johnny in S1. Not that I think Johnny ever rejected David outright, but he clearly has struggled with David’s identity on some level, based on his convo with Roland in S1.

Marcy nodded. “We do support him, of course we do. Of course we do,” she repeated, a lump rising in her throat. She felt Clint’s hand take hers, and she was afraid to look at him lest she start to cry in earnest.

“The thought that he didn’t think he could talk to us about this,” Clint said.

“When David’s obviously so important to him,” Marcy added.

Johnny looked at them with sympathy, and clearly with no idea what to say.

The shape of their failure as parents was starting to coalesce in her mind. The fact that while they’d never said anything bad about gay people in Patrick’s presence, they’d probably never said anything good either. The fact that ‘girlfriend’ and ‘wife’ were always the words they used when talking to young Patrick about what might happen when he grew up. The way she’d always encouraged him to try to patch things up with Rachel.

So here’s where I struggle with the concept of the Brewers as these lovely, accepting parents, because while I suspect that by 201(whatever year this is in the show), their feelings about queer people are positive, I don’t think they were necessarily that way when Patrick was growing up. I raised my kids with no particular expectations as to the gender of people they might want to date, and I doubt the Brewers were like that. I also think (and I used my own mother as a model for this) that when they talked about tolerance of gay people, it was with an air of “well, it’s not a choice, they can’t help it, so we need to love them.” The thing that communicated to me as a kid was that being gay was gross and icky and on some level, bad. But I’m sure if you’d have asked my mom, she would have patted herself on the back for her acceptance and “tolerance.” But people evolve, and gay marriage has been around now for long enough (especially in Canada) that a lot of minds have changed, and I count the Brewers among that number. They stepped up when they had to, and they were beaming and proud at the wedding. They also could have done things differently and perhaps made Patrick’s journey easier. But then he wouldn’t be with David, so.

“Is Patrick happy?” she asked Johnny, embarrassed that she didn’t know and that this near-stranger likely did. But she had to ask. She was desperate to know.

Johnny hesitated, perhaps realizing what a complicated question that was to ask about anyone. “He certainly seems happy. But you can ask him yourself tonight, right?”

There was another knock at the door.

Marcy opened it to a tall man with dark hair and Johnny Rose’s expressive eyebrows. He was clutching a gift basket to his chest and looking apprehensive. It could only be one person. “David?” she asked.

“Mrs. Brewer, Mr. Brewer, hi. I’m—”

“David!” his father said, standing. “Come on in. The Brewers and I were just having a nice chat.”

David looked even more apprehensive at that as he shuffled into the room, eyeing his father with suspicion. “Why?”

Marcy took the gift basket from David, letting his hurried explanation about its contents drift by without paying it any attention. “David?” She still felt like she was on the verge of tears, even more so now that she was faced with the man that her son had apparently fallen in love with. “Can I give you a hug?”

#fic commentary #fishyspots #ask box game

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