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oh-for-merlins-sake · 4 years

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SLOW BURN | gw | golden

summary: y/n, a local florist, stops in weasleys’ wizard wheezes for the first time and finds more than she bargained for. soon, she’ll teach george that there are many reasons to stop and smell the roses.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: alcohol

a/n: AAAAAH you guys i did not want to stop writing this!! i had so much fun, and i’m really happy with how it turned out! it was really challenging for me to write a “slow burn” relationship, but i hope i did it justice! as you’ll see, this is not a “song” fic, but a lyric (in bold and italics) was used. cheers to the first installment of the golden collection!!

taglist: @iliveiloveiwrite @andromedaa-tonks @pansydaisy @a-little-too-much @slytherinsunrise @marvelettesassemble @msmarklee1213 @letsgotothehop @finnishslytherin @starlightweasley @witch-and-a-half @darthwheezely @vogueweasley @gcdric @breadqueen95 (message/ask to be added/removed, loves!)

Blackbirds trilled overhead as you glided over the cobblestone path to work. The sun was finally reemerging from behind the dark, dreary clouds, which had just finished bathing the streets of Diagon Alley in a springtime shower. You admired the lingering smell of fresh rainwater that dripped from the eaves above you.

Today, you were taking a detour from your ordinary route. Your younger brother’s birthday was just around the corner, and you had yet to find a gift worthy of a teenage boy’s microscopic attention span and angst-ridden ennui. You smiled to yourself as you spotted the vibrant shop down the street with its mechanical mascot tipping his hat to you.

It was curious to you that this shop had a natural magnetism to people of all ages. If you hadn’t found a thing yet, this shop should surely hold something that would cater to your brother. You’d seen the troves of young wizards clamoring in a morning or two before.

As you approached the large front doors, you glanced at your watch: half an hour until the start of your shift. You strolled into the whimsical shop, dodging a Fanged Frisbee in the process. You slowly turned in place, eyeing the towering shelves of eccentric gadgets and vivid pyrotechnics. Truthfully, it was a little intimidating; where to start was beyond you.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?”

Startled by the sudden voice, you spun to face its origin. You were met with a tall, redheaded man with freckles that practically danced across his cheeks as he chuckled at your expression. Suddenly, you felt sheepish. “Sorry?”

“You looked a little...” he pondered the right word, “overwhelmed.”

You laughed, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Younger brother’s birthday?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a guess,” he shrugged.

You were quite impressed. As he motioned for you to follow him up the stairs to the next floor of the shop, you couldn’t help but notice how familiar he looked. Surely you’d seen him before — perhaps in line at Gringotts or sipping mead in the Leaky Cauldron. You couldn’t quite pin it.

You were relieved to leave the gargantuan fireworks below — on behalf of your mother mostly. You followed him to a wall of massive tubes that were filled to the brim with colorful candies.

“Our full collection of sweets,” he announced.

You eyed the assortment, noticing the words Puking Pastilles on a golden label. “Are these different flavors or...?”

“Yes, but more importantly, they serve different purposes. These, for example,” he pointed to the pastilles, “induce vomiting — perfect for skiving class!”

You chuckled. “Surely these aren’t allowed at Hogwarts?”

“‘Course not! But that’s what makes them so bloody popular — hot commodity,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve got a sweet for nearly every malady.”

“Who even thinks of this sort of thing?” you mused — again, thoroughly impressed.

“I guess we do,” he answered, leaning against the counter.

Your jaw dropped. “You made these?”

He shrugged, the faintest smirk on his lips, “I made everything.”

“Get out!” you laughed, pouring some candy into a purple plastic bag.

“Of my own shop?” he teased. “I don’t think so!”

You twist-tied the bag shut and turned to face him. “So you’re Weasley?”

“One of them, at least — George, to be exact.”

“That’s wicked!”

You noticed his freckled cheeks growing rosier by the second. “That’s awfully kind of you,” he said, waving dismissively.

“No, honestly! It’s incredible!”

As you reached for another plastic bag, George rushed over to interrupt. “Here,” he pointed to the display of Skiving Snackboxes. “Take one of these — they’ve got all our best-selling sweets in one box. Your brother’s sure to love it.” He led you over, plucking a box from the top and handing it to you. “On the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“I insist! Consider it an incentive.”

“An incentive?”

He nodded. “To come again.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, George — really! I just know he’ll love it!” As you turned the box in your hands, you caught sight of the time on your wrist: five ‘til. “Merlin!”

George furrowed his brows.

“I’ve got to go!” If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you’d seen a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “But, perhaps you’ll stop by sometime. I can return the favor — clip you a free dozen roses for your girlfriend or something,” you rushed out.

“I’d have to find one first,” he chuckled, following you as you skipped down the steps towards the doors.

A warm blush flooded your face as you laughed nervously. You spun to face George one last time as he landed at the foot of the stairs. “Well, maybe you’ll stop by anyways.”

“Florist down the road?” he asked, pointing in the general direction.

“That’s exactly the one!” you called, stepping backwards onto the street.

You rushed down the path towards the florist, your step feeling a touch lighter than it did earlier. You noticed the result of the sudden sun after the storm: a rainbow hanging above the grinning man attached to the storefront.

“Aha!” you exclaimed, finally realizing why George had looked so familiar.

When you arrived at work, you swung the screen door into the greenhouse open, announcing your presence, “Sorry I’m late!”

“Not to worry, dear,” Muriel remarked.

Muriel hired you a few months prior, admiring your proclivity to gardening and greenery. She taught you something new every day without ever realizing she was doing so. Her green thumb had a knack for nurturing every flower both under and out of the sun. And her extraordinary eye for piecing together various plants and flowers to create a stunning and elegant arrangement never ceased to amaze you.

“Be a dear, Y/N, won’t you?” Jasmine grunted as she attempted to haul a heavy-bottomed, ceramic pot.

You threw your things onto a nearby stool and rushed over to lift the side closest to you. The two of you managed to hoist the pot just above the dirt floor to carry it to its destination.

“Re-potting the Wiggentree,” Jasmine explained, dusting off her hands. “Pretty soon it’s going to be too big to stay, mum,” she called to Muriel.

“Yes, I know, dear,” Muriel muttered, “That does not change the fact that it must be re-potted.”

Jasmine was less fond of gardening than her mother was. But if something unfortunate were to happen, the shop would fall to Jasmine, so she figured it’d be best to at least try and learn a thing or two.

You walked through the door leading directly from the greenhouse into the shop. “Morning, Candace!”

“Morning, Y/N!” the cheery teenager chirped as she balanced a vase full of violets on the counter.

A set of hooks adorned with various dirt-stained aprons lined the wall just behind it. You reached for the one with your initial embroidered in the upper right corner, quickly throwing it over your head and down your body. You tied a bow behind your back before throwing your hair up and stepping back into the greenhouse. You grabbed a pair of gloves and began heaving soil into the planter with Jasmine.

Beads of sweat were already forming on your forehead as the humidity of the greenhouse settled into your skin.

Re-potting the Wiggentree proved to be a difficult and timely task, taking up most of the morning. By lunchtime, you’d moved on to trimming daisies and de-thorning roses, and come sunset, you were planting hyacinth seeds and watering Flutterby bushes in the garden.

“Y/N,” Jasmine announced, stepping out from the greenhouse. “Someone’s here to see you.”

You wound your way through the garden and the greenhouse, stepping into the shop in search of your guest. Candace giggled as she zipped her coat and nodded towards the front door. You stepped onto the patio, where the outdoor displays danced in the gentlest of breezes. You were shocked to spot George leaning over to smell the roses.

“George?” you laughed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Someone said something about roses,” he teased.

“Well,” you began, walking over and gesturing to the basket of pretty, pink roses, “What do you think?”

“Well worth the walk over here,” he answered, smiling brightly at you as he rocked on his heels with his hands in his coat pockets.

Jasmine rushed onto the patio with her jacket and purse draped over her shoulder and swiftly said, “Y/N, I completely forgot about my mother-in-law’s birthday dinner, and Candace just left! I’m so sorry — would you mind —”

“Go on!” you hurried, waving her off of the patio, “I’ll close up!”

“Thank you, Y/N!” she called over her shoulder, “You’re an angel!”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes in amusement as she disappeared around the corner.

“I’ve got to tidy a few things but... the bar down the street doesn’t close for an hour,” you began, your heart fluttering as your stomach burst with butterflies, “We should take a walk and look at all the flowers down the alley.” You chuckled, feeling your face grow warm, “I planted half of them.”

George smiled, a light laugh gracing his lips, “All right, sounds good then.”

George busied himself with the outdoor displays while you prepared the shop for closing. He brushed his calloused fingers over the delicate flower petals, occasionally indulging in their sweet scents. He imagined how you likely smelled of flowers after a long day of work, and how that would be the perfect antidote to the lingering smell of gunpowder that constantly plagued his pillows.

“Ready?” you asked, stepping back onto the patio.

“More than ever,” he said.

As you walked down the alley together, you pointed out flowerbed after flowerbed resting on the windowsills of various shops and bakeries. Your favorites, he learned, were always the dahlias. He was surprised by the natural beauty that erupted from the brick and stone storefronts, and even more so by the fact that he never once paid attention to any of it. How could he have missed this?

“Merlin!” you gasped, rushing over to Mr. Reilly’s butcher shop. “Mr. Reilly has been doing an absolute lovely job tending to his poppies! You see, when I first popped in, he swore to Godric that he was incapable of keeping anything alive but himself, but look!”

George laughed, racing to keep up with you.

You led him to the pub that had just opened the month prior, Brenda’s Brews, whose owner agreed with your suggestion of keeping a few Fire Seed bushes out front to “really grab the people’s attention!”

Upon entering the pub, Brenda greeted you from behind the bar, “The usual, Y/N?”

“Two please!” you called, sliding a few sickles across the counter faster than George was able to dive into his pockets. “Don’t worry about it,” you winked.

“Okay, but next one’s on me, yeah?”

“No, no, consider it a thank you for earlier,” you said, raising your glass.

George clinked his glass with yours before sipping from the foamy ale. “Good choice,” he nodded.

“Can’t go wrong with a little Dragon Scale,” you remarked, savoring in its tangy, bitter taste.

“I’ve got to ask,” George began, setting his glass down on a coaster with The Weird Sisters plastered on it, “It seems like you know everyone in this bloody part of town. How come we haven’t met? Have you been here long?”

You laughed at his disbelief. “I’ve only been here a few months, so I haven’t quite gotten to everyone yet — for example, Number 93,” you muttered as you fidgeted with your diminishing glass.

“That’s wild,” he paused before snapping his fingers and saying, “Y/N?”

“Y/N,” you confirmed, taking a swig from your glass.

“And you’ve already made that big of an impact on everyone?” he continued.

You blushed, feeling flooded with a sudden warmth. You were quite flattered by the idea that you may mean something to this place; a place that was so new and intimidating not that long ago; somewhere you were certain a florist could never thrive: the middle of the city.

Perhaps the finger pricks from a thorn every now and then was worth it.

You shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know about all that.”

“Y/N,” a bartender called as he raced past, carrying two different mugs with different colored ales, “May loved the mayflowers! She said yes, by the way!”

You clapped, squealing in excitement, “Congratulations, Borden!”

George raised his eyebrows, as if to say, See?

Brenda bellowed, “Last call!”

You checked your watch: half an hour until close.

And despite the short burst of time remaining, it felt as though you’d been laughing and chatting away with George for hours. If someone insisted that they’d magically slowed time, you might have believed them. It felt so familiar to talk to George; it came so naturally. You wondered if he’d been talking since birth, given the way he animatedly told stories and produced witty comebacks within nanoseconds of the original comment.

At last, your glasses had been drained of their contents, and Brenda was shooing the last of the stragglers out the door. George followed behind you as you ducked out, calling goodbye to Brenda and Borden back inside.

Perhaps you’d been imagining it, but it certainly seemed that you and George were walking much closer together than you had been originally. One misstep and you might have brushed his hand.

You were suddenly distracted by the vibrant purple dahlias sitting outside of Rosa Lee’s. You raced over, carefully assessing exactly which flower to pick, explaining, “She won’t mind, I give her a new basket every week.”

George felt suddenly in awe of your natural grace and delight. It seemed so simple to please you: a dainty dahlia was all you needed to feel like the world was a good enough place to live. In a way, he envied your childlike wonder; it was different than the one exhibited in his shop by his products. It paid attention to the smaller things in life, rather than inciting big, booming bangs. It provided a sense of serenity.

You giggled and tucked the flower behind his right ear. He blushed as your hand gently grazed his skin. “How do I look?” he managed.

“Beautiful,” you said sincerely.

You continued walking as George fiddled with the dahlia. “Your favorite, right?” he asked, pointing to it.

“That is correct, sir,” you answered, impressed by his memory.

Once you reached Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, George leaned against the door and twiddled with the tiny flower between his fingers. He considered asking you inside, despite the lights clearly being off, indicating that the shop was clearly closed, and therefore, indicating that he meant inside his flat.

Likewise, you pondered the same prospect. You wondered if it’d be too forward: to suggest the idea of coming inside. Perhaps, tonight wasn’t the night.

And that was all right.

“Well, George,” you sighed, “I must say I’m really glad I stepped into this wacky shop of yours today.”

“I’d say the same,” he said earnestly.

You paused. “You’ll have to stop by again... you know, to finish off your bouquet,” you said, gesturing towards the dahlia.

He smiled. “You’ll be there tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, a smile growing on your lips. You stepped onto the street and waved.

The sight of George waving back with a lopsided grin on his freckled face was enough to tide you over until next time. You spun in place and apparated home.

Honestly, George liked the idea of taking his time, carefully picking flowers — a few each day — until his bouquet was erupting from its vase.

Maybe then, you’d come in.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #hp fanfiction #george weasley x fem!reader #golden collection

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years

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Hey! Love your stories on Ao3 and I’m so happy that I found some more of your work to read!❤️ If it’s okay can I make a poly request? I was thinking of a girl from our time being sent back to the lost boys and them falling for each other. There can be some angst if you want, such as her being sent back to her dimension but maybe finding a way to go back to their time after months of being away? Thank you for giving us some of the best stories ever! 💕

So, this is a pretty big request (possible spanning over multiple chapters), so I’m gonna actually write/continue this on my ao3 account! I may post the later chapters on here later, but for now I’m gonna keep them on ao3. Here’s the first chapter!

It’s Just a Movie (Fem!Reader x poly!Lost boys) fic

Next Chapter ->

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1504

It had been a simple night. Sure, it was halloween and, sure, it was a full moon. A blue moon at that. But that didn’t mean anything, right?

You sure as hell didn’t think so as you went to see a showing of one of your favorite movies, the Lost Boys, with some of your friends. With everything going on with covid, the theaters were empty and your local one had been showing older classics for the past few weeks. They had a selection of horror lined up for halloween night, and your group had chosen to see your favorite vampire movie.

You had even dressed up for the occasion, donning a dark, almost gothic look. Hell, you practically looked like one of the extras in the opening sequence. You and your friends jammed along to the soundtrack, laughed at Sam’s antics, and nearly cried when you witnessed your four favorite vampires meet their inevitable end. A movie’s gotta have an ending, right? After Grandpa delivered the classic ending line, you and your friends packed it up to head outside.

Well, they did. You had forgotten your wallet, and you ran back into the theater to grab it. Your friends had promised to wait for you, and you fumbled to put your mask back on as you searched through the dim theater. You used your phone to find it half stuck in one of the chairs, and you quickly jogged out of the auditorium, and then the theater, to find that your friends weren’t waiting for you. And that the streets were far more packed then they had been a second ago.

Sure, there were people in halloween masks and costumes littered about, but you nearly scoffed when you saw that no one seemed to be taking any of the social distancing rules seriously. You took a step, planning on looking for your friends when you noticed that the theater had almost...changed. The outside didn’t look the same as it did before. Instead, it had the old sign outside, broadcasting what movies were playing inside. Sure, you had expected some older movies, but some of these you hadn’t even heard of. You thought it was weird, considering the theaters would probably want to stick to the most popular ones during a pandemic.

You looked back around, but your friends were nowhere in sight. You thought to walk to the parking lot, but you paused. You heard a whistle, and a wave of relief washed over you. You turned, expecting your friends, and, instead, you were met with a different familiar face. This night couldn’t have gotten any weirder.

You looked him up and down. Teased blonde hair, blue eyes, straight nose, slight stubble on his sharp jawline, a black coat paired with white pants and a mesh shirt? He was even wearing those calf things that your friends had made fun of that one time, because what the hell type of 80s fashion things are those supposed to be? You shook your head, touching one side of your forehead while thinking that perhaps you had hit your head or something while looking for your wallet. There was no way you were looking at Paul from the Lost Boys. He sent you a grin, flashing rows of straight, normal, non-vampire looking teeth, and said,

“Well, hello there to you too, doll-face. Need some company?” He asked, and you nearly thought about pinching yourself. Holy shit. Before you could answer, you heard,

“Who’s this?” And you wouldn’t have been surprised if this whole sitation wasn’t boggling your mind. As all the fans knew that where one Lost Boy was, the others weren’t far behind. You turned, and found yourself looking directly into the face of the other natural blonde. You met big, hazel colored eyes, and your eyes instinctively fell to his lips. Just in time to watch his thumb be pushed between them. Clean jaw, cherub face, golden curls, a heavy, colorful jacket, jeans, and leather chaps? There was no mistaking him. The second half of the blonde duo had arrived, and you almost wondered if the others weren’t far behind.

“I don’t know. She seems shy.” Paul said, a smile on his face as he reached out to brush a hand against your cheek. Cold fingers barely brushed against you, and you leaned back. Almost into the blonde on your other side, who had taken the spot right next to you. “I’m Paul, and that’s my buddy Marko.” Paul added, pointing at the blonde with his eyes. Before they trained themselves back onto you. Marko leaned in a bit to say into your ear.

“Your turn.” And it nearly caused you to flinch. He laughed, steadying you. “C’mon, we don’t bite.” He said with a grin, and a shiver nearly ran down your back when the taller of the blondes laughed. Too hard. If you hadn’t been so caught up in the complete and utter shock you had been experiencing you probably would have been thinking more about how these boys were vampires. Sure, it had been fun to talk about them on forums and on different apps, but suddenly you were hit with an urge to run. Especially before the other half of their gang arrived.

“I’m- I’m just looking for my friends.” You quickly blurted. You started walking, but your brain was on hyper-drive. If this was real, if this was really happening, then you were in a horror movie. And the killers had already taken an interest in you. They quickly started following, staying just as close as they had been before.

“Ooh, are they as pretty as you? We can help you find them.” Paul offered, and you almost wanted to accept. He sounded like he was just trying to be helpful, albeit flirt a little. It was the eighties, so you couldn’t quite blame him for being so persistent. Part of you really wanted to accept, but you reminded yourself. Horror movie. Killers. And they probably wanted to make you apart of the menu. You had only taken a few steps, but the shorter of the two jumped in your path. He walked backwards and said,

“C’mon, you don’t wanna walk alone, right? It’s halloween, and all the weirdos are out.” Marko started, and Paul was quick to waggle his fingers and make a spooky sound to accompany his claim. You faltered. You hadn’t necessarily thought about where you wanted to go, and the parking lot was dark. Far darker than the front of the movie theater. And emptier. You gulped, reminding yourself once again. Horror movie. Killers. You looked between them, trying to think of a way to not end up as a juicebox for the two unfairly attractive vampires in front of you.

You had to admit. You had no idea where you could go, and it wasn’t exactly like you knew what the hell was going on. As far as you were concerned, these were some of the only familiar faces you would find. That, or the Emersons. But you had no idea what time it was in their- what could you call this? Dimension? Or was this just some weird dream? Whatever it was, you had no idea if the Emersons even arrived yet or where to find Grandpa’s house. So, you were shit out of luck. You supplied your name before you quickly added,

“My friends and I- We were going to meet on the boardwalk.” You said, and the boys grinned. You knew it had to be one of their favorite places, since they went there every night. At least that's what the movie made it seem like. Maybe, just maybe, you could get there, let the boardwalk distract them, and figure out what you were going to do. And have some fun with two of the biggest heartthrobs from the eighties.

“Sweet! We can totally take you. We just need to wait for the rest of our friends.” Paul said, and suddenly every last bead of hope slipped from your body. Two vampires already had the odds against you, but all four? Especially one of them being David? You would be screwed! Before you could make something up, Marko said,

“Yeah, here they come.” And you wished that whatever this was would end. That you could go back and be in your own dimension. You turned, seeing a brunette wearing just a leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers. His dark, brooding eyes practically shined in the night, and his resting face made you want to shrink in on yourself. To avoid them, your eyes flicked to the blonde besides him. Blue eyes, scruffy cheeks, and a leather jacket-trenchcoat combo paired with leather pants, boots, and leather gloves? Oh, you were so screwed. If you had any doubt in your mind that this was happening, you were sure now.

As the rest of the vampires approached, you tried to calm your oncoming panic attack with a mantra of it’s just a movie. But now you weren’t so sure.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #david the lost boys #the lost boys david #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #marko the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader

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wilteddaisies · 4 years

Text

Yours - Chapter One

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

Note: The first chapter is here! I am so excited to share this fic. I usually don’t write fanfiction but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

Gods, you loved flying. Sure, winnowing back to the Night Court would have been faster, but there was absolutely nothing like soaring through the clouds, so high that the ground below faded away and there was nothing but you and the wind in your wings. You sighed as Velaris came into view. As much as you loved the ancient libraries and golden light of the Day Court, the winding streets and twinkling night lights of Velaris would always call you back home.

Your father was waiting for you in front of your family’s river estate. You landed gracefully before taking off again in a sprint into his open arms. You squealed as he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

“Daddy!” You laughed as he set you back on your feet, but still held you. You breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He gazed down at you and smiled warmly. “Your mother is at the studio but she should be home soon.” He picked up your bags and led you inside, prattling on about your mom’s business and the hell Cassian has been raising in the Illyrian camps. The elegant river house was just as you left it in the fall. The familiar lavishly furnished rooms and ever lingering scent of flowers welcomed you home. You followed your father up the staircase and to your room.

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” he said, setting your things on the bed. He turned around to place a kiss on your hair. “Welcome home.”

A welcome home, indeed.

That night, the entire inner circle met at the river house to celebrate your homecoming and the completion of your studies with Helion in the Day Court. The atmosphere was warm and lively in the dining hall, Cassian had no trouble convincing your father to open some bottles of his precious good wine to celebrate. You were happily chatting away with Mor about how difficult it was to focus on your studies with so many gorgeous Day Court males around, when Cassian chimed in.

“Males? What males? What are their names? I just want to talk,” he said with mock intensity.

“You do know I am old enough to date, don’t you, Uncle Cass?” you laugh. “But anyways, they’re all too intimidated by me. And by who my father and uncles are, of course.”

“Damn straight.” He winked and Mor elbowed him in the ribs.

“Come on, there must have been someone that kept you company while you were in the Day Court,” Mor insisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Even Amren and Nesta looked interested to hear your answer, but your father just tried not to look too invested in your conversation, looking down at his plate in a miserable attempt to look disinterested.

“Well. . .” you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the truth, which was that you had never actually felt that sort of connection with anyone. Well, no one except a certain broody shadowsinger who was considered very, very off limits.

Thankfully, you were spared the trouble of coming up with some half-assed excuse when a loud crash sounded outside the manor. Everyone at the table tensed, the mood instantly shifting. The darkened eyes and battle ready stances of your family were quick to remind you that centuries old warriors were beside you. Suddenly, weapons you hadn’t even realised they had concealed were drawn. You should have known that no one in your family would show up anywhere unarmed. Cassian drew a sword from who knows where, Mor and Amren held daggers, and Aunt Nesta just summoned her power, that alone being a deadly weapon in itself. Your mother drew your Aunt Elaine close to her. You could see darkness curling around your father’s fingertips and you followed suit, the familiar tingle of magic in your veins sparking a rush of adrenaline.

Your father led the way as you all stalked out the front door to see. . . Azriel. You rushed forward, pushing past your father to kneel by a bleeding Azriel.

“Oh Az, your wing.” Your heart shattered at the sight of his broken left wing, the flesh in shreds. It must have been done with something strong and fast, very fast if it managed to reach Azriel, who was amazingly swift on his wings and with his winnowing. The rest of the circle gathered around him, trying to help him up and assess the damage.

“The mortal queens,” he managed to croak out, “I heard whispers of a weapon they made to rival the fae. And when I tried to investigate it, I encountered the beast that guarded it.”

“That’s enough.” Feyre said, “Let’s get you cleaned and healed up. I’ll summon a healer immediately. You can tell us the rest after.”

“I can help.” You say and everyone turned towards you. Your hands were still shaking and your voice wavered at Azriel’s state but you steeled yourself. “I learned a lot of healing magic while I was in Helion’s court. Let me help you.” You met Azriel’s eyes and it was like he tethered you to earth, the strength and resilience you found in them seemed to flow into you, too.

He nodded once. That was enough for Cassian and Rhys to haul one arm over each of their shoulders.

“Where to, boss?” Cassian teased but you found pride in his eyes. And when you looked to your father, you saw the same thing.

“Get him into my room. I’ll take it from there.”

The inner circle had retired to the river house’s various guest rooms by the early hours of the morning, but you stayed awake, the gentle glow of the healing magic from your palms never faltering even though it had been hours. After Cassian and your father got Azriel onto the bed, you made him a salve from the various powders and tonics you brought from the Day Court that would assist the healing process. Aunt Elaine had even supplied some more supplemental herbs and flowers from her garden.

They all stayed for nearly an hour after you started the healing spell, watching as flesh and bone slowly knitted back together, when your mother finally ushered them all out, insisting that you needed to focus. You shot her a grateful smile as she also stepped out and shut the door behind her. Now that everyone was gone, you could finally focus on the spell. Well, focus as much as you could with Azriel’s shirtless torso gleaming with perspiration. You would think after training in and mastering healing magic, you’d be unfazed by the male body, but Azriel’s stunning beauty was not something you could just get used to.

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your father’s head poked in.

“Sweetheart, you need to take a break.” He said and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow. You hadn’t even realised you were this physically strained.

“I can’t, dad. Not until he’s healed.” You turned back towards Azriel’s healing wing when your father’s hands enveloped your own, stopping their magic.

“Dad! He needs-”

“You’re the one who’s going to need healing if you try to continue this spell without taking a break.” His brows furrowed with concern. You knew what he saw, you must have looked a mess. Hair mussed, dark circles under your eyes, and a near permanent wrinkle on your forehead between your brows from holding your deadly focused expression for so long.

“I know.” You sighed, giving in. “I suppose I could stop for a moment.” He enveloped you in a warm hug that you hadn’t realised you needed until that moment. “I’m just. . . I’m worried about him, dad. He’s always going off on these dangerous quests with the interests of the court being a bigger concern than his own well being.”

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed. “What was that you said about putting other people’s needs over your own well being?” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and then sighed. “That’s my girl, always so selfless and always so stubborn.” He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “You’re a lot like your mother in that way, you know.”

You reluctantly pull away from his arms. “I know, dad.” You rolled your eyes and huffed a sigh, stretching your back, you just realised that standing over Az for so long had really taken its toll on you. “I suppose I could take a shower and change out of this dress.” You were still in your cocktail dress from dinner, you also realised.

“Yes, please do. I mean this in the gentlest way possible sweetheart, but you stink.” You halfheartedly shove him out of the room.

“Gee thanks, dad. It’s no wonder how mom fell for that suave charm.” And you shut the door in his face, but not before catching his teasing smile that only he could pull off, somehow managing to look loving and full of himself at the same time. You rolled your eyes before walking into your en suite.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will have more Azriel and a bit more spice. If you wanna be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave a comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist: @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel fic #sarah j maas #feysand #nessian #acowar #acomaf #acofas #fanfic #illyrian #my writing

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skadventuretime · 3 years

Text

Golden Hour

Here is my piece for the @noragamibigbang! My artist partner @shinkimiope had such a lovely idea and art to match, so naturally I had to get all sentimental on it. I hope you enjoy!

A midi alarm rang out from a phone on the coffee table. It was perched so delicately on the corner, crowded out as it was by large textbooks and notebook viscera, that it was just a few rings from falling off the table altogether.

Hiyori burst from the bathroom with a toothbrush in one hand and her falling towel in the other. Flecks of toothpaste dotted her lips and her hair was only partly brushed, the half that wasn’t dripping water onto her living room floor. She stuck the toothbrush in her mouth to use that hand to catch her phone as it wobbled off the coffee table.

How is it three already? She turned a frantic eye to the microwave clock as if hoping it would give her a better time, but unfortunately, she was still going to be late.

Helping that study group last night was a bad idea.

Groaning, she hurried to a cabinet placed against the wall in her living room. It was more of a covered shelf, really, made of mismatched driftwood that's been carefully sanded and polished with something that made it glimmer like sunlight on the sea. On the sole high shelf was a shrine, just as carefully made, just as lovingly looked after. Not a speck of dust touched any part of it.

[Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut]

Hiyori clapped her hands together and focused on the shrine's god. Yato, I'm going to be late. Feel free to start setting up without me!

A faint breeze stirred her towel, as if a door had been left open and a summer wind had blown in.

I hear you loud and clear, Yato's voice answered distantly. His scent washed over her, wild and ancient and warm, and she could sense he was smiling through their temporary connection. I can carry things if you've brought too much.

Hiyori exhales around her toothbrush. That’s okay, I’ll be fine. I just lost track of time.

You don’t need to get dressed up on my account.

Yato’s mental voice was teasing, gentle, but it still raised a blush to her face that made her glad he wasn’t there in person. It’s nothing like that, school work just kept me up. See you in twenty?

The wind brushed the back of her neck. See you then.

His presence faded away and so did the breeze. The air around the shrine seemed charged and clean, the space sanctified in the short time of their conversation. It was a testament to how much Yato's power as a god of fortune had grown and how many more people believed in him. She ran her finger over the familiar corner of the shrine one more time before stepping away to finish getting dressed.

She put her hair up in a towel and returned her toothbrush to her bathroom cup before going to the closet. There, she grabbed a simple blouse and skirt and put them on. She added a pair of earrings gifted from Yukine, a bracelet from Daikoku (because he didn’t trust Kofuku to gift her something that wouldn’t cause misfortune), and a purse from Bishamon that was too practical to have been selected without Kazuma’s input. They all glittered in a vague, dreamlike way that anything loved by the gods does, at least to Hiyori’s half-ayakashi eyes. They were holy, and by extension, so was she.

“Late, late, late,” she muttered, scooping up the bento boxes she’d made the night before and heading out the door.

///

The sun felt great upon her skin for the approximately three seconds she was able to feel it before Yato slammed a floppy, wide brimmed hat over her head. "Yato," Hiyori spluttered, raising the brim of the hat so she could see again. "What are you doing?"

"You'll get sunburnt if you don't wear sun protection," he fretted, gesturing to a large parasol set up to shade a blanket laid out on the ground next to Suzuha's tree. "Come on, I'll unpack everything when we get there."

Hiyori hid a smile as she took the hat off. After all this time, Yato still liked to fuss over her. She set her basket down on the blanket and took a moment to listen to the wind sighing through the trees. She never knew Suzuha personally, but she liked to think she knew him a little by the way Yukine would smile when he talked about him, or through the way Yukine took such good care of plants in his stead. Hiyori turned to bring Yato into her thoughts when she caught him staring at her, causing the bottom to drop out of her stomach. Even now, his eyes could make her wonder if this is what it was like to be worshipped.

He spoke first. "Do you want anything to drink?" He pointed to a cooler beaded with condensation. "There's also tea, for later."

"I'm set for now." At his drooping shoulders, she amended, "Fine, I’ll have some tea."

He perked up immediately. "I have it steeping in Tamagahara, I'll be right back!" He blinked out of sight and back within the span of a breath. "Easier to keep hot there," he explained as he gently laid the tray on the blanket.

Fragrant green tea steamed in the cool air. Yato set out small, round mugs and poured her a cup. It was a delicate porcelain, something that sparkled with that same otherworldliness as her other gifts from gods.

Their fingers brushed as he passed it to her, and her heart stuttered. Yato didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s new with you, Hiyori?” His eyes shone with excitement and curiosity, but there was something else there, too, an over-brightness like when you stub your toe and don’t want your friends to know how much something so small really hurt you.

She took a small sip of tea to gather her thoughts. The last time she’d seen Yato in person was a little over a year and a half ago, although she’d spoken to him more frequently than that. When he’d first talked to her through the shrine, Hiyori had nearly punched a hole in the wall out of surprise, but it did allow them to speak every now and then.

“I already told you about the apartment,” she began, grimacing at the memory of how long it took to convince her family and friends she’d be fine living without a roommate.

“Yeah, it looks great!”

She froze. “You haven’t been in it yet.”

He looked a little abashed. “Well, you see, when we talk through the shrine, I can sort of, you know.” He waved his hand in a nervous flutter. “See through you, a little. Not actual sight, but more like impressions.” He closed his eyes, and his voice got quieter like he was recalling a special memory. “You get good sunlight there, and the air is clean, and you feel safe, right?”

Hiyori took a larger and no less scalding sip of tea. So that divine presence she felt every time she prayed was really..?

“Right, okay, yes. It’s a lovely apartment, Ame helped me move in and Yukine came to set up the furniture.” She smiled at the memory, at how stubbornly Yukine had insisted he could figure out the instructions on his own and how he tried to hide his excitement when she gave him a cheering chibi sticker for his trouble.

“And school’s been going well?”

“As well as it could be. If it isn’t exams I’m studying for, it’s practicals, and I’ve been up late most nights to make time for it all.”

Yato raised a hand as though he wanted to touch her face and then thought better of it. “You have dark circles under your eyes.”

“Staying top of the class won’t happen by getting enough sleep,” Hiyori replied, mostly in jest.

Yato caught her smile and leaned a little closer, close enough that the smell of him wrapped around her like a familiar jacket. “You know what might help? Praying to me for good grades.” His eyes were sparkling with mischief.

“You haven’t told me you’re trying to put Tenjin out of work,” Hiyori laughed.

“Oh yes, I’m cornering his market now.” Yato stood up and did something to his tracksuit to make it flourish like a cape. “Soon even Ebisu will be having to contend with my horde of worshippers.”

An image of Yato in the middle of a swarming crowd of adoring businessmen was enough to make her snort the sip of tea she was sipping right out of her nose, which of course set Yato off, and before she knew it she was wheezing into her empty cup, eyes streaming and hand dripping from the tea that had splashed out.

“All right, so I’m not the best with school or studies,” Yato said when he finally caught his breath. “I have learned something over the last few years, though.”

“Oh?”

“How to help stubborn humans relax.”

Hiyori rolled her eyes. “Does it involve a trip to Capypa Land? Because as much fun as it is to watch you whimper over Capypas, I really need to—“

“No Capypa Land this time,” Yato cut in hastily. “Even though it would be a happypa trip for the whole family,” he muttered. “Yukine made ice cream and demanded that I share some with you. I also have a patented relaxation technique that will have you feeling better in no time!”

“Is that so,” Hiyori said, a smile melting over her lips. “Do I get a refund if it’s not to my liking?”

Yato had begun rummaging through a small cooler during this exchange and looked up to say, grinning, “I’ve never had an unsatisfied customer.”

It was all so easy, the banter, the laughter, the aching muscles in her face. No matter how often Hiyori got to see Yato, each visit felt like coming home.

“So what flavor did Yukine make?” she asked, peering over Yato’s shoulder as he opened up a few containers.

“Salted dark chocolate with optional caramel drizzle.” He put two scoops into a bowl and held up the caramel. “Would you like some?”

“Please,” Hiyori said, delighted. “I didn’t know Yukine took up cooking now, too!”

Yato smiled fondly. “One of Bishamon’s shinki offered to teach him after he was skulking around the kitchens one day. Picked up on it pretty fast, too.” He placed a spoon in the bowl and handed it to her, then put a few scoops in a bowl for himself with a judicious ladle of caramel sauce.

“Ready?” he asked Hiyori, holding up a spoonful of ice cream doused in sauce.

“Ready.” Her own spoon was carefully loaded with just a touch of caramel so she could enjoy the ice cream’s original flavor.

Yato touched their spoons together in a toast before taking his bite, and Hiyori paused to watch his reaction. It had been so long since she had gotten to experience anything new with him; part of her ached to witness every moment.

“It’s good?” she asked, watching his lips curve up around the spoon.

“That kid really goes all the way when he learns something new,” Yato said appreciatively. “Who knew tree care would turn into fixing electronics and now cooking.”

“He applies himself well.”

“You helped him get started,” Yato said around another mouthful of ice cream. “He still talks about how great it was when you tutored him.”

Hiyori hummed. “It was great to teach him. He’s a wonderful soul, he just needed a place to focus his mind.”

Yato popped a spoonful of pure caramel into his mouth. “That reminds me, how was that other wonderful soul of yours doing?”

Hiyori stiffened. “We haven’t seen each other in months. He was so...so...distasteful!”

A dangerous gleam appeared in Yato’s eyes. “How distasteful?”

“Ami just needs to stop setting me up with people she meets at house parties,” Hiyori said. “She means well, but doesn’t have the best taste in men.”

“You’re very lucky I’m here, then, with my patented relaxation technique,” Yato said, putting down his empty bowl and scooting closer.

“Relaxation technique?” she repeated, eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t the ice cream the relaxation?”

“Just sit back and relax! Tell me more about what happened with the worthless scum.” He knelt behind her and swept her hair off her shoulder. Goosebumps peppered her skin where he brushed it.

“So, you were saying?” he prompted, hands resting on her shoulders. The weight of them was reassuring.

“It was nothing,” she began, breath catching when he began to knead the muscles around her neck. “He brought me to a dive bar and tried to make me do shots with him, and then when it was pouring rain when I finally convinced him to leave, he told me to run with him five blocks so the rideshare would be cheaper.”

Yato’s hands paused. “Any chance I can get his name?”

“Yato, no,” Hiyori chided as he continued her massage. “You’ve been so good about not terrorizing people who’ve been minor inconveniences to me, I’d hate to see you ruin your record.” She was distracted; he was working away knots she hadn’t known she’d had. Maybe she really should look into moving her study sessions earlier so she’d stop falling asleep on her desk...

“It sounds like this one would be worth it,” he muttered, digging into her shoulders a little too roughly.

“What about you? How has it been, being a god of fortune?” Hiyori asked after a few minutes of letting him drain the tension from her neck and shoulders.

His hands slipped away. “It’s been different,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand. “I think I’ve been so used to being on my own that being part of a group is strange.”

“Have there been problems with your neighbors again?” Hiyori asked. The last she’d heard, there had been a minor incident involving Takemikazuchi and an entire square kilometer of Tamagahara that had been leveled in his anger.

Yato started walking towards the cherry blossom tree. “No, I think that was his way of welcoming me. I thought that once I got what I wanted, everything would feel right.”

“And it doesn’t?” It had been so long since Yato opened up to her like this, showed up on a windowsill late at night and talked about what was on his mind. A warm feeling crept through her chest.

“No,” he said plainly, passing the wide trunk that showed the marks of Yukine’s care over the years. “Something is missing.”

She joined him under the boughs and inhaled. Fresh, clean, something a little like hope.

“I thought having more worshippers would make me happy,” he began, fingers trailing through some low hanging blossoms. “And they do, but it’s not what I thought it’d be.”

“Oh?”

“It’s lonelier than I imagined. Busier too; you have no idea how many people want to see me just to talk or vent. I always thought— well.”

Yato paused by a string of cherry blossoms, running his fingers through the petals as if they were a lover’s hair. “I always thought it’d be like having more people like you around. People who understood me.” He pinched off a strand and held it close to his chest, hesitant, before offering it to her. “But deep down I knew you were one-of-a-kind.”

Hiyori marveled at the soft translucence of the petals in his hand, the faint otherworldly shine they seemed to have in his divine presence. It was like an ayakashi miasma in reverse, a bubble of light and goodness, and she watched it travel up her arm and float her hair up on an invisible wind when she accepted the flowers.

“How long have you had this effect?” Hiyori said, turning her hand from side to side and admiring the richer colors and heady scent.

“Effect?” Yato murmured, eyes on the blossoms in her hand.

“The way everything sort of glows around you.”

He blinked at this and looked at the ground. “It’s sort of complicated.”

This sharpened her interest. “Complicated how? Did you have to perform some ritual? Does it only happen to gods with hafuri? Is it because you’re more popular these days?”

Yato’s face had sunk lower and lower into his scarf as she spoke. He mumbled something into it, still not looking at her.

Since Hiyori was well-versed in his moods, she simply crouched so that she was directly in his field of view. “Come again?”

“It’s because you’re my most devout believer,” he said, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “It’s like the opposite of a miasma. It can only happen when extreme faith persists.” He finally meets her eyes. “It means our ties are strong.”

Hiyori glimpsed an arc of woven sunlight twisting like infinity around them at his words, like something seen from the corner of your eyes.

“It’s my greatest treasure,” he confessed.

The world spun taffy thick. “So even though others believe in you now, I’m somehow..?”

“None of them are even close to this,” he said. “The shrine in your apartment is more home to me than any of the ones built in major cities.”

It was a lot to take in. Hiyori was used to being the backbone in her friendships, used to providing a solid, trustworthy space in which others could gain their footing. But being exalted to a god?

“I still think about what would’ve happened if I’d listened to Tenjin,” Yato continued, brushing a hand through the ties’ afterimage. “I am who I am because you’ve helped me become it. If our ties had been cut…” His hand fell to his side. “I might not be here right now, or I’d be some monster doing Father’s bidding.”

“I wouldn’t have made it out of plenty of situations without you, either,” Hiyori said slowly. “Isn’t that the nature of knowing someone? Being changed by them?”

Yato thought about this for a moment, the wind soft and gentle as it ruffled his hair. “Ever since I was small, Father had always told me that I was always in the right, always the one in control. That I could do whatever I wanted and others would adjust. I think it was supposed to make me feel powerful, but I didn’t want power. I wanted to belong.” Something like surrender was in his eyes when he said, “You were the first person to make me feel like I belonged in a very long time.”

It was too much. All of her pent up feelings — the fear, the hope, the confusion — from her high school days welled up at once, shattered from the amber in which she’d crystallized it once Yato defeated father and brought Yukine home.

“I’m glad,” she finally said when she was sure her voice wouldn’t shake. “Because you do belong, you and Yukine and Kofuku and Daikoku and —“

“With you?” Yato’s voice was so quiet it was like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“Of course with me,” Hiyori said, feeling brave. “The same way I belong with you. That’s how this works. We’re already tied, right? Let’s just be tied. For however long that lasts.”

“For however long that lasts,” Yato murmured. It sounded like a vow.

The afternoon sun had taken on that tired golden edge that meant it was closer to sunset than noon. Hiyori’s heart was still beating a little too fast, her mind dizzy with implications that felt too raw to look at now.

“Thank you for coming today,” Yato said at last. “I missed you.”

“Now that I know I have the most important shrine in my apartment, I’m sure we can figure out ways to talk more,” Hiyori said, and was rewarded with another blush.

“May I take you home? There are a lot of leftovers to carry and Kofuku threatened to murder me if I came back with any.”

Hiyori laughed and started back towards their blanket. “Of course.”

#noragamireversebang2021 #noragami #yatori #can't believe yatori tenderness is all we needed in the end

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

Text

Day 5 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!! 🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: For the Love of My Husband

Summary: Bilbo is a thief and a conman who has tricked Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor, to marry him as an escape from a tight spot. He thought their marriage was happily enough, but Thorin feels a disconnect from the hobbit he’s married. To appease his family and strengthen their bond, Thorin asks Bilbo to take the Trial of Souls with him. Problem is, Bilbo doesn’t want Thorin to know anything about him because they are most assuredly not Ones. And if Thorin learns the truth, Bilbo will find himself back in the streets or worse...

In a darkened pub deep under the kingdom of Erebor, a hobbit and a dwarf squared off. The waiting crowd was near silent as they waited to see what would happen next. The dark haired beast of a dwarf looked fairly confident as he shared a smirk with his two friends directly behind him.

“What’ll it be, Took? Fold or settle?”

The hobbit nonchalantly lifted his overturn cup to sneak a peek at the two dice lying inside.

“How about I raise you instead?”

It was silent for a moment before the dwarf, Drulik, burst into laughter followed by his cronies.

“Raise? You have nothing left to bet with.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bilbo stated before pulling out a silver harp-shaped brooch with thin golden strings.

The dwarves surrounding the gamblers all began murmuring at once, some trying to lean in for a closer view.

“Is that…?” One of Drulik’s dwarves gaped.

“Yes.” Bilbo announced calmly. “The Courting Gift of our dearly departed queen, Mahal rest her soul.”

“How did you get that?” Drulik demanded.

Bilbo gave him a wane smile as he tucked back into his vest with a pat. “It doesn’t matter. The question you should be asking is how much do you think it’s worth?”

The gambling den awaited Drulik’s long drawn out answer. It almost made the hobbit want to roll his eyes at the melodrama. However, after years on the streets, he knew a good show could sometimes be the difference between success and failure. And Bilbo didn’t fail. Finally, Drulik pulled out another bag, spilling the golden coins onto the pile between them.

“Settle.” Drulik demanded before revealing the contents under his cup.

The crowd cheered and whistled much to Drulik’s ego at the combined total of eleven from his dice. Nine Rings was a gambling game loved by Durin’s Folk and Men alike with a very simple premise. Highest total won. So you bet and bluff to convince your opponent that you have as close to twelve beneath the cup as possible. However, there was one small exception. Nine always trumped any other number. Therefore, when Bilbo lifted his cup to reveal the five and four, there was a near frenzy of excitement. Drulik was rendered speechless as Bilbo lifted his pint in cheer before downing the ale all in one go. Producing a sack from his coat pocket, he raked all the golden coins towards him.

“Well lads, this has been more excitement than any hobbit can take, but I think I’m going to leave now while my fortunes are in my favor.”

“You cheated.” Drulik growled. “You had to have.”

“Check my dice if you wish.” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

The tavern owner, Nifror, who ran as honorable a den as one could for thieves and ruffians was at their table in a flash. Bilbo had heard a tale that the last dwarf who cheated at the game got their loaded dice pinned, one to each hand, with a knife made by Nifror’s wife. He threw the dice a few times and each time they landed with a different number. He shrugged.

“The hobbit’s clean.”

“But that’s impossible.” One of Drulik’s own gaped.

“Yeah, we loaded them ourselves!” The other snarled.

There was a pause and then Old Nifror was on them in a flash. Some moved to help the old barkeep out. The rest roared and placed bets on the winner. Meanwhile, Bilbo used this as the perfect opportunity to sneak away. He dropped the loaded dice he had smuggled into his pocket on the ground with a snort. Like he would be that stupid. Now most would have worried walking around with that much gold around the dregs of Erebor’s underworld. Fortunately, Bilbo was a professional at remaining quiet and unseen. A talent he had been forced to pick up early in his life. Which is why he nearly screamed when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Make a good haul?” The dwarf smirked.

Bilbo turned around with a glare. “You know you don’t have to be so smug every time you manage to catch me off guard.”

Nori, Bilbo’s oldest and dearest friend, just raised an eyebrow as he tried and failed to hide the mischievous superiority oozing from his every pore.

“Just like to remind you, you’re not the best just yet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he continued on his way knowing the dwarf was following.

“We both know I was headed to your place eventually so is there a reason you’re bugging me now?”

“Can I not worry over the sake of my friend?” Nori gasped overdramatically.

Bilbo snorted but made no arguments or agreements.

“Well, if I were coming to find you, it might have something to do with the fact that your husband finished up his duties early today to surprise you.”

The coin he was holding nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

“Valar above!” Bilbo swore. “That dwarf. He’s positively incorrigible!”

“He’s in love.” Nori pointed out.

Bilbo scoffed. “Love. Well shit, looks like you’re going to have to take this to our hiding place for me.”

Bilbo shoved the bag of gold into the dwarf’s chest before power walking towards the secret tunnels. Nori kept stride with him, clearly not done delivering bad news.

“Are you anywhere close to the right amount?”

“I’ve nearly two-thirds at this point.”

“Bilbo, you only have a week left.”

“I’m well aware, Nori! Maybe it's enough to...buy me more time.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the whole point of you marrying some rich noble supposed to give you easy access to the treasury?”

“It was, but there was one teeny detail we didn’t take into account.”

“What’s that?”

Bilbo paused, his face falling into a grimace. “In-laws.”

***

One of the first things Bilbo and Nori did upon their rushed and unplanned move to Erebor from Ered Luin was scope out the best places for a quick getaway. They just so happened to make kind with a chatty miner named Bofur who, while deep in his cup, told them that the royal wing originally was meant to be on the other side of the mountain. When the architects realized the disadvantage of having the royal family so far from the guards’ posts and war meeting rooms, rather than just move the furniture back down only to go back up on the correct side, they cut unmapped tunnels around the outside of the mountain. It also had the added advantage of getting their monarchy out quicker in the case of a coup if the knowledge hadn’t been lost through time. It was perfect for the thieves’ needs. In almost no time at all, Nori and Bilbo had found the tunnels and utilized them fully.

Something the hobbit was thankful for now as he flew down the tunnel to get back to his room. He welcomed the blast of mountain wind to rapidly cool the sweat on his face before ducking back into the opposite entrance. There was a small alcove where Bilbo’s fancier clothes lay and he all but threw himself out of his worn threads for the finer silks and cotton. The last thing he did was pocket the brooch before sprinting back down the tunnel braiding and beading his hair on the run. Once he was back in the royals’ wing, he ducked his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then silently made his way to his suite. After closing the door behind him, Bilbo relaxed against it, heaving a sigh of relief.

“And just where have you been, Husband of Mine?”

Bilbo prided himself on the fact that he did not squeak even if he did jump nearly two feet in the air. Thorin, Prince of Erebor, was lounging in the armchair by the fireplace looking rather pleased with himself. Bilbo attempted to calm his racing heart as he stepped forward, plastering what he hoped to be a loving grin on his face.

“Just a walk on the cliffs with Nori. Surely, you would not deny this hobbit the feel of fresh air and sunshine?”

Thorin stood at that point, meeting him about halfway. His thumb gently caressed Bilbo’s cheek.

“If I had it my way, I would deny you nothing, ukradê (my greatest heart).”

Bilbo hummed in practiced delight as he met his husband’s lips with his own. The hobbit was at least content with the knowledge that as far as dwarves went, Thorin was stunningly handsome. Not a sentiment necessarily shared with others of his race. Which worked out just fine for Bilbo as it left a prince of all things, uncommitted and available.

“By the way, look what I found this morning.” Bilbo stepped back with a teasing smile as he produced the brooch from his pocket.

“My mother’s brooch!” Thorin gaped as he took it reverently. “Where…?”

“It was under my bed. You must have dropped it when you paid me a surprise visit last night.”

Thorin smirked as he latched onto Bilbo’s hips. “I remember the night well.”

Oh, and he was a really, really good bed partner. No, Bilbo was well aware he could have it much worse. It was just the dwarf’s nauseating romanticism that nearly caused him to roll his eyes more than once. Thorin gave him a long lingering kiss before he bent forward to press his forehead against Bilbo’s own. Their hands found their way into each other’s naturally interlocking.

“I promise, it won’t always be like this.” Thorin murmured when he finally pulled away, his blue eyes shining brightly.

Like this. The dwarf was so dramatic. It constantly made Bilbo feel like some player performing for the court. Heaving a sigh as he looked down between their conjoined hands.

“We’ve been married for eight months, and two of those have been spent here in Erebor. If your family was going to accept me, they would have done so by now.”

Thorin released his hands so he could lift Bilbo’s chin to look at him.

“Don’t lose faith yet, amrâlimê (my love). I have a plan.”

It was a good thing Bilbo was a talented actor. He laughed, causing Thorin to smile.

“You have a plan? That sounds dangerous.”

“Tease all you want, but I have all the confidence in this plan.”

“Well, out with it. What have you come up with?”

Thorin shook his head teasingly. “You’ll have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.”

Bilbo linked his arms around the dwarf’s neck for leverage as he started showering him with kisses at his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and his throat.

“And I couldn’t persuade you to tell me any sooner?”

“You are cruel, thundanûd (tiny embrace).” Thorin moaned, his hands resting on Bilbo’s arms.

“It’s only cruel if you don’t accept the invitation.” Bilbo teased back as he pulled at the prince’s tunic to allow him access to his collarbone.

Thorin shuddered once with want before finding the strength to pull away. He grasped Bilbo’s hands again as he kissed him deeply as an apology.

“Later. There will be time later. But now...we are having dinner with my family.”

Bilbo’s building fire of lust was immediately doused, a small frown settled on his forehead that Thorin attempted to kiss away. Lovely, the in-laws.

It certainly wasn’t that Bilbo wanted them to like him. He could honestly care less. It was just their dislike of him that made it really difficult for him to do...well, much of anything. Thrain, still mourning the loss of his dead wife, remained suspicious and hardened against Bilbo for the sheer fact that he was a hobbit. Their marriage had yet to be announced to the Council or even the mountain in general. Keeping Bilbo out of the public eye was Thrain’s number one priority which was certainly no hardship. It was Frerin and Dis he had the biggest problems with. Thorin’s brother and sister, ever loyal to him, seemed to think Bilbo wasn’t good enough for the dwarf, and constantly had Balin, the royal advisor, keeping tabs on him. Bilbo was reluctant to admit the dwarf’s keen eyes and sharp wit, but it had taken quite a few of Bilbo’s best moves to lose his tails before entering the secret tunnels.

Therefore, coming together in the Royal Dining Room for “family dinners” was a...stilted affair. There were only two redeeming features to those evenings. One, it was always the best food Bilbo had ever eaten in his life. And two, Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili, were not the least bit bothered by him and had some story worth telling that took the edge of him for a little bit at least.

“And then the axe sailed through the air and straight into the boar’s head. So technically, technically we aren’t responsible for the mess in the trophy room.” Kili finished.

“No.” Vili, their father snorted. “Just responsible for startling the poor guard that set off the chain of events.”

“Well how were we supposed to know he was right there?” Fili defended.

Bilbo snorted in spite of himself. “Watch the shadows.”

He immediately tensed after he said it as he waited for the barrage of insults to be hurtled his way.

“Spoken like a true thief.” Dis sneered.

Yep, right on cue.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t corrupt my sons.” She continued.

“Namad…” Thorin warned softly.

Thrain’s hand met the tabletop in a harsh bang. “What have I said about speaking our language in front of the Halfling?!”

Bilbo sighed and turned his attention to his soup as the line of Durin flexed their tempers. Thorin rising to his defense, Dis and Thrain attempting to argue their points louder, Frerin leaving snide quips here and there, and Vili trying and failing to keep the peace. The joy of family dinners.

“Actually, while we’re on this subject, I have something to say.” Thorin demanded, his voice low and regal. “I will be gone the remainder of the week.”

Everyone, including Bilbo, froze and stared up at Thorin in relative confusion and outrage. The prince’s eyes were boring holes straight into his father whose scowl would be enough to frighten wargs off at this point.

“And just where will you be?” The king finally spat.

Thorin reached down for Bilbo’s hand making the hobbit supremely discomforted. Thorin’s eyes were soft and pleading though as they met his.

“We will be taking the Trial of Souls.”

“We’ll be doing what now?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thorin…” Dis murmured at a surprisingly subdued volume, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Finally! A sensible idea!” Frerin declared.

All eyes rested on the brunette as he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think? I mean, to put it bluntly, everyone at this table has been trying to convince Thorin out of this marriage in some way. When they don’t emerge from the tunnels together, that would be a pretty good indicator of the truth.”

“We haven’t. We like Bilbo.” Kili reminded softly.

Bilbo shot the troublemakers a quick smile of thanks. They were idiots, but they were sweet. Meanwhile, Thrain was rubbing his beard in thought before nodding once.

“Yes, this will do well. In fact, if you make it through all five chambers, I’ll hold a feast in honor and publically accept your union.”

Thorin nodded, still looking rather cross with his father. “As I’d hoped.”

Bilbo found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, wait! Wait just a minute! What is this...Trial of Souls?”

Thorin stared at his father for permission, and the king granted it almost the picture of satisfaction. Being a gambler, it made Bilbo largely nervous as Thorin turned back towards him.

“It’s a series of tests to prove two dwarves...or in our case, a dwarf and a hobbit, are Ones.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but no words were able to come out.

“Problem, Halfling?” Dis questioned with mock innocence.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Bilbo was finally able to say as he pulled his stone-headed husband out into the hall.

“Are you serious?!” He finally rounded on him.

“What?” Thorin questioned.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo fought for the right words without making this worse. “I don’t understand. What exactly do we have to prove? We’re married. Shouldn’t that be enough?!”

Thorin sighed. “It should. You are correct, ibinê (my gem). But don’t you see? It’s perfect! My family will be satisfied by our success at the Trials, and it’ll be irrefutable evidence to the rest of the mountain if any rose to challenge us. And politics aside, I want this for us.”

“Us?” Bilbo repeated too numb to be completely in control of his mouth.

“Yes!” Thorin nodded eagerly. “Couples that pass the Trials of Souls find they become closer than ever. Our...relationship hasn’t been for very long, and I respect that your past is painful to you, but I want to know you azyungel (love of loves). I want to know everything there is to know about my husband, and share myself in return. What do you say?”

Now being a hardened thief, the hobbit knew a thing or two about how to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation. However, as his mind swirled and swirled around the damnable logic of Thorin’s decision, he found himself becoming dizzy and nauseated. That was it then. Bilbo was doomed. He had just enough time to get out a soft ‘nope’ before he fell over in a dead faint.

#birthdayplotbunnies #bagginshield #thilbo #starterdrabbles #Bilbo would be much happier if his husband would quit trying to love him

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years

Text

The Temple- Chapter 4

Hey y’all, here’s the 4th and final chapter of The Temple. I might come back and do an epilogue, what do y’all think?

Check out my masterlist HERE for more of my stories!

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @nahimjustfeelingit-writes, @quietstorm-73, @ladymac82

CW: smut

Word count: 3185

N’Jadaka was shaken from his thoughts when the vibration from the Dora Milaje’s vibranium staffs went through the boat and into the river. He danced with his family as the water swirled down the drainage system his ancestors built hundreds of years ago, and the falls dried up slowly as the party commenced. Shuri noticed his return to reality and grabbed him for a dance before he could disappear into his head again. The royal family moved in sync with the drums while everyone sang in honor of their new, soon-to-be-crowned prince.

Representatives from each tribe were invited to celebrate N’Jadaka’s crowning, and each boat held about a hundred tribe members. Unfortunately the falls weren’t big enough for all of Wakanda to get to see the event up close and personal, but just like Challenge Day it would be televised to the whole country. When he found out just how many eyes would be on him, N’Jadaka grew nervous. He didn’t know how to be in the public eye as anything other than the monster he once was, but the whole country seemed to believe in him. More importantly, his family believed in him, and now he was finally becoming what he was always supposed to be. He would officially be Prince N’Jadaka, Son of Prince N’Jobu.

N’Jadaka came out of his shell the more he danced with his family, but his nerves grew again as the boats neared the edge and hovered their way down the falls, dropping the tribes off at their respective sections. He knew it was only a matter of minutes, now.

Once their boat touched down, N’Jadaka and the royal family disembarked and took their places front and center. Nakia and T’Challa stepped forward and addressed the crowd. N’Jadaka tried his best to listen, but his heart was beating so loud he couldn't hear anything else. When Nakia reached out her hand to bring him up with them, he could barely move, prompting Ramonda to give him a little nudge. He quickly snapped out of it and stepped forward, the crowd cheering then quieting again.

There he stood, wearing the same traditional shorts as T’Challa, with the Jaguar habit around his neck, his father’s ring on his finger, gold slugs in his teeth, new gold bracelet, and gold earrings in his ears with his hair braided back. He didn’t know it at the time, but he looked just like his father in that moment.

Ramonda and Shuri made their way to stand with them as a woman in purple entered with a wooden box.

“N’Jadaka,” the king turned to face him, tears in his eyes. “It has been a long journey for you, umzala, but welcome home.”

The woman then opened the box and N’Jadaka was presented with his crown. It was similar to Shuri’s with the jaguar mandible, but with black and gold beading and two golden canine teeth. Ramonda lifted the crown from the beautifully crafted Jabari wood box and cried tears of happiness as she placed it on her nephew’s head.

“It was your father’s,” Ramonda said, cupping his face in her hands.

“Come on, Auntie. You’re gonna make me cry,” N’Jadaka said, tears already running down his face.

“The teeth were my idea,” Shuri added as he pulled them both in for a hug.

The two of them stepped back after making sure his crown was secure on his head before the entire royal family turned to face the crowd, saluting them in unison and shouting, “Wakanda forever!”

He looked up at the crowd as they echoed the salute and he was able to make out tears on the faces of the people he knew. His therapist Ife had come, as had several of the other Ithemba patients from his time there. M’Baku and Okoye looked on with approval, both too proud to shed a single tear. He saw a few of Shuri’s lab assistants who had been there when he woke up and saw him at his worst staring at him with pride. He even saw the little old lady from the market and he was glad he made the choice to wear her bracelet today. Finally, his eyes landed on a group of people in all white towards the top of the falls before landing on the one person he really wanted to see.

Aisha smiled at him and blew him a kiss from afar, and it took everything in him to not reach out and catch it. T’Challa noticed his goofy smile and followed his gaze up the falls.

“Is that Aisha?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mhm, that’s her,” he said dreamily.

T’Challa shook him out of his stupor.

“Come, cousin, you will see her later. You only have one crowning! Well, I guess you have had two, but you know what I-”

“Honey, stop rambling, lets go,” Nakia pulled T’Challa back on the boat and the rest of the family followed shortly after. They all made it back to the palace to change clothes for the feast in the prince’s honor.

-------

N’Jadaka stared at himself in the mirror when he was finally alone in his room. He looked just like his mom and he hoped she could see him from the ancestral plane. He could almost hear her going, “Look at my baby!” and a happy tear escaped his eye at the thought. He stared at his baba’s crown on his head and wondered what he had looked like in his royal garb. He never got to meet Prince N’Jobu in all his royal glory, and he made a mental note to look for pictures later.

The prince changed into an all-black suit with gold accents, still donning his crown of course, and left to join the festivities. When he made his entrance you couldn’t tell him a damn thing, he was so full of himself. He walked down those stairs like he owned them, and when he joined the rest of the family at their table he was in such high spirits he couldn’t stop smiling. His joy affected everyone at the table and even somehow reached to the rest of the party.

Wakandans love to party, so they worked their dinner off with some dancing. With A Hennessy bottle in his hand for most of the night, N’Jadaka danced the night away, tiring himself out and eventually excusing himself to get some fresh air. He set down his bottle of Hennessy and headed outside the hall towards the balcony. He stood there looking over all of Wakanda and feeling at peace when he suddenly felt a pulling in his stomach.

He turned around and there she was again, wearing a form fitting off the shoulder white dress and gold accessories that glowed even brighter on her satiny dark brown skin. Her braids had been intricately tied back into a bun with gold ribbon and golden heels on her feet. His voice caught in his throat and almost a whole minute went by before he said anything.

“You look beautiful,” he was finally able to get out after shaking himself out of his shock.

That smile he loved so much crept up her face and her dimples came out of hiding.

“Thank you, my prince. You look good in clothes,” she said cheekily, undressing him with her eyes but trying to be respectful. She couldn’t get the naked image of him out of her head.

“Well thank you,” he laughed.

“And that crown looks good on you. How does it feel?”

“Light,” he responded after thinking for a moment. He reached out and grabbed her hand before leading her over to a bench off to the side. The two of them caught up on what had been going on in their lives over the past two weeks since they saw each other last.

“Into the wall?!”

“Yeah girl, that’s just what happens being in Shuri’s lab sometimes. You know, I could show you-” he was interrupted by the king and queen coming out to the patio.

“Oh, this is where you disappeared to. You know you’ve abandoned your own party, right?” Nakia asked as she plopped down on another bench, relieving her aching feet. “And what is your name?”

“Aisha, my queen. My king,” she saluted them both and they waved her off.

“Any friend of my cousin’s is a friend of ours. So tell me Aisha, what-”

“Nope, we’re gonna go now,” N’Jadaka interrupted before the king could embarrass him. “I’ll see you later T, Queenie.” He dapped up T’Challa and kissed Nakia on the cheek before grabbing Aisha’s hand and leading her away from them.

The king and queen waved them goodbye, and as soon as the two lovebirds were out of sight they turned to eachother and snickered like children.

“Is that the one you were telling me about?” Nakia asked. She always loved gossiping with her husband.

“Mhm, he’s crazy about her. What do you think?”

“Did you see how they looked at each other? I’d be very surprised if she's not a princess by this time next year.”

Back inside, the prince and the Daughter of Bast had caught the eye of nearly everyone in the room but neither of them noticed. They danced the rest of the night and only sat down once the crowd started to dwindle.

“Want to get out of here? I think I’ve shown my face enough for one day,” the prince said as he stood and reached out his hand to pull her up from her seat.

“I was ready an hour ago, let’s go,” she said, leaving the festivities on the arm of the prince.

_______

“Wait, is this allowed?” N’Jadaka asked, breaking away from her lips for a moment. His hands gripped her hips tight while his lips travelled up and down her neck. They found their way to the edge of the bed and Aisha straddled him.

“Of course it is,” she giggled as his beard tickled her skin. She grinded her hips into his lap, removing his shirt while he unzipped the back of her dress. He tongue kissed her neck and moved up to her ear.

“Get up, then,” he said before slapping her ass with both hands. She moaned into his ear, then got up.

He kissed her collarbone lightly as he pulled her dress down her body, facing some resistance around her hips and ass. His lips travelled down to her perky nipples, remembering how sensitive they were to his touch last time. Aisha let out a moan and sat back down on his lap, grinding her bare pussy into him again.

His fingers found their way to her clit as he bit her bottom lip lightly. He tugger on it before going in for the kill, tongueing her mouth like his life depended on it. She moaned into the kiss as his fingers explored her pearl.

“Yessss,” she let out.

“Right there?” He teased. “Or right here?” He moved his fingers further down, spreading her lips and entering her slowly.

She loved the feeling of his thick fingers stretching her out so much that he added a third finger and picked up the pace. All Aisha could do was moan and cum until she was unable to hold herself up, grabbing onto his neck for support.

“Tapping out on me already?” He teased again.

“Not at all, my prince.”

He growled and laid back, picking her up and placing her on his face.

“Good, ride this tongue babygirl.” He slapped her ass and she got comfortable on her throne.

His tongue immediately wrapped around her erect clit and he let out a moan, enjoying the taste of her. His tongue was pure magic the way it moved against her, and her pussy was like a faucet for him. His thick tongue travelled down to her hole and entered her, swirling around and massaging that spot inside her that made her legs shake.

“Mmm, baby, ooh just like that. Just like that.” Her hips moved back and forth over his face as his tongue worked her insides.

His grip on her hips tightened and he let out a deep growl when he heard her call him baby.

“Call me that again.”

“Yes, baby, yes, oh my Bast, mmm.”

He sucked on her clit and her body seized while her juices rained down on his face. She slumped down and stared at him as he cleaned his plate before hopping off and right onto his dick.

“Mmm, baby, you feel so good inside me,” she said as her hips twirled like a tornado, rendering him speeechless. His hands came up to play with her nipples as she rode him and she came almost immediately.

She rode him all night, edging him while easily spinning around and periodically switching from reverse to forward cowgirl.

He couldn’t do anything but grunt and moan and hold on tight since she was in complete control. When his body began to twitch and his eyes fought to keep from rolling to the back of his head, she sped up, bouncing her ass on his pelvis while her hips moved in a circle. She leaned down so that her lips brushed his ear.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum in this pussy.”

Once again, his body obeyed her command and he released inside of her with a roar. After being teased all night, his body finally felt relief and a wave of fatigue washed over him.

Aisha tried to pull herself off of him, but the prince wouldnt let her waist go. She laid her head on his chest and they fell asleep with him still inside her.

Their nap only lasted so long before they were up fucking again. The whole night consisted of sex and pillowtalk, and didn’t make it to sleep until around 5am. They fell asleep in the exact same position they did earlier.

Aisha was awakened by the sound of a knock at the door and a stirring beneath her, but she was too tired to open her eyes. Her human pillow grunted at the disturbance, but didn’t seem too concerned until they knocked again.

“Hamba!” N’Jadaka yelled towards the door, and Aisha giggled at his early morning grumpiness.

On the other side of the door, T’Challa heard her laugh and stepped back from the door, smirking on the way back to the dining room to join the rest of his family for breakfast.

N’Jadaka had their breakfast brought to the room and the two of them lazed around all morning eating and growing closer.

“You know, it’s weird.” N’Jadaka started.

“What is?” Aisha asked, sitting up with her legs tucked under her.

“You and me. I, uh, I saw you before we met...in a daydream while I was jerkin it in the jacuzzi.”

She snorted and they both broke out into a laughing fit.

“Nah, I’m serious though, ma. Everything down to your tattoo,” he said as his hands caressed the ink up and down the side of her body.

“Maybe we knew eachother in a past llife,” her hand came out to caress his face and he leaned into it, planting a kiss on her inner wrist.

“Maybe we did...who do you think we were?”

Aisha laid down on his chest and stared at the ceiling while he ran his fingers through her braids. They stayed like that for another ten minutes before Aisha broke the silence.

“What if we were just two people who met and fell in love? You could have been a traveller from the merchant tribe and maybe you saw me from afar, swimming in the river and were drawn to me. Or maybe we were childhood friends that grew closer as we got older and eventually fell in love, “ Aisha mused.

“You said love, twice,” the prince pointed out.

She paused.

“I guess I did, huh?”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“I know it seems early, but...after you left the Temple I couldn't get you out of my head. I feel...connected to you in so many ways.” she grabbed his hand and brought the palm to her bosom. “I already feel your heart beating in my chest. Baby, I felt your pain. I’ve never connected with anyone like that. And then when I’m around you i get this feeling in my stomach-”

“Like someone’s pulling you-”

“Yeah, that’s- wait, you feel it too?” she looked up at him with her slanted feline eyes and he gazed into them lovingly.

“Ever since the first time I saw you, babygirl.”

Their romantic moment was ruined by a tiny black furball with a shiny gold collar sneak-attacking them and landing on the bed.

“I was wondering where you were!” Aisha lifted her and snuggled her close, the kitten purring and rubbing her head against Aisha’s face. “What’d you name her?”

“Cleo, like Cleopatra,” he said through a smile, enjoying the sight of her doting on his fur baby.

“The perfect name for a little queen like her,” Aisha booped her nose then set her down to play on the bed.

“Do you have to get back?” he asked her, changing the subject but hoping she’ll say no.

“Nope, I see patrons on my own time, there’s no schedule...but I haven’t really been seeing much of anybody lately,” she admitted.

“Why not?” he sat up, concerned.

“It doesnt feel the same to me...my body reacts to you, but not to anyone else anymore. You broke my pussy.”

He fought a smirk from appearing on his face. He didn’t want her to leave the Temple because of him, but he did like knowing he was the only one her body responds to.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving…” Aisha said nervously.

“Look at me,” he said to her, tipping her chin up so that she was looking into his eyes. “Are you doing this for you?”

“Yes, I can’t provide pleasure if I’m not pleased myself. You’re the only one I want to touch me... Plus I just don't want to leave here,” she smiled up at him.

“Then don’t.”

“I’m not,” she giggled.

“No, I’m serious. I don't mean just like right now. Don’t leave, stay here in the palace with me.”

Her eyes got big and a smile grew on her face. He tilted her head so that her lips were just an inch away from his.

“You know you my princess, right?” he asked before lightly planting a kiss on her lips. She looked at him and nodded her head before going back in for another.

In that moment, N’Jadaka felt whole for the first time ever. He hadn’t experienced love and affection in such a long time, but now he can’t imagine his life without it. Not only the beautiful woman in his bed, but his family and his country as well.

The smile on his face grew wider and a tear came to his eye. This is what his life was always supposed to be, and at last he found it.

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #the temple #n'jadaka x oc #n'jadaka #black!oc

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gwen-ever · 3 years

Text

Until My Last Breath (Chapter 1)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: angst,sad,

AO3 LINK: HERE

Notes: I would like to thank all of you, who commented the prologue, rebblogged it and liked it. It was a very heartwelming and I hope i wont let you down with this first chapter. In particular i need to thank@lathalea for always checking my chapters and make surei dotn mess up and, trust me, this week she really put a lot of effort to do so hahahahahha.The style its quite different from the one I will use in the rest of the story, it is just a general introduction but i really hope you cvould guess some things <3 <3 <3

Mashkil: Dirt

'Angûna: Filth

"What is she doing here?!" roared Thorin Oakenshield, an accusing finger pointing at the newcomer, who in the meantime had placed her wooden bow in a corner and removed her heavy black travelling cloak, worn out by numerous weather conditions.

She felt the king's gaze burn like fire, but tried avoiding glancing at him, even when he took one step towards her like an animal ready to attack. She shifted her gaze upwards, focusing instead on the tall figure of the sorcerer who was smiling at her with the side of his mouth.

"My dear, let me introduce you to the master of the house, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf announced in a quiet voice, ignoring, as she did, the dwarf lord's question.

With small steps Gandalf stepped to the side, indicating a small hobbit in the middle of the hallway with his hand.

The hobbit bowed his head slightly to the side to get a better look at her. He probably didn't like being surrounded by all those intruders, and now that another one had been added, he was in complete panic. She could understand him, as she could imagine him being unaware of everything that was going on around him.

For a moment she felt genuine compassion for him, yet it was not as if she had entered in the best of moods and maintaining that facade of indifference was beginning to be difficult for her.

Keeping her composure she smiled at him slightly, making a small bow with her head as brought a hand to her chest grasping the flap of her red tunic.

"Geira, daughter of Geiri, at your service," she introduced herself.

"Traitor to her folk!" Dwalin added contemptuously, shouting at the top of his lungs.

She tries to ignore the dwarf words smoking with the side of her mouth to the Hobbit infront of her. But then another voice spoke, a voice which she could never forget either in a thousand years.

"What are you doing here, you dirty mashkil?!" Thorin growled loud, his voice echoing between the whole of the whole house.

Her intention to remain calm was shattered like a crystal glass thrown to the ground. A shiver ran down her spine and a sigh escaped her mouth. She slowly lowered her hand from her chest and the armour of indifference she had built up wavered at the mere sound of the dwarf speaking to her.

Geira looked up, finally returning Thorin's gaze. His blue eyes stared at her as cold as a winter night in a blizzard, and what she felt was... nothing.

She felt nothing, or so she told herself.

"You have not been asked for introductions, King Under the Mountain," she spit, as angry as ever.

As soon as she finished those words several elderly dwarves around the table burst into exclamations and in the blink of an eye some of them stood up and she recognised them, every single one who stood up..

She knew who they were and they knew who she was.

One dwarf in particular kicked the stool he was sitting on and slammed his two iron fists into the wooden table, making it creak under his force.

"You filthy traitor, say that again!" roared Dwalin, looking her straight in the face. “Try to say it again!”

Geira didn't have time to dwell on how much she could recognise him even after all those years, for her gaze was caught by the muscles in his arms that seemed to flare with anger, and the scars on his forearms seemed to come alive with a life of their own. So many years had passed, yet she felt no nostalgia, only a great emptiness, that was all she had to feel. Yet she had to pull herself out of that situation, for the sake of what she had promised herself.

"Sit down, Dwalin..." she murmured, brushing her fingertips over the pommel of her sword strapped to her side.

"Don't you dare tell me what I must do, you 'angûna, just breathing your air disgusts me. You should die just for daring to show your face here!"

"This is not dwarven territory..." she explained, gritting her teeth.

"As long as I'm under this roof, everything around me is dwarven territory!"

At this point, however, she could not control a grimace. "Ironic how you're watching and paying attention to my presence instead of thinking about how to take back your territory." she spit glaring up at him.

The dwarf roared, moving away from the table in one swift motion. "One order from you Thorin, and I will make her bitterly regret it! Bloody traitor!" he yelled out of himself.

Geira shifted her gaze to the dwarf king still standing, looking him straight in the eye as she waited for a silent response to the demands of the warrior dwarf beside her: and she got it.

The frown in the middle of his forehead deepened, but his eyes remained as cold, as icy, and as terrible as the ones he had looked at her with one last time so long ago.

A dominance in his gaze, an anger, a hatred that had brought her to her knees back then. A look that had drained her of all light inside, like the words that had followed shortly afterwards, the last words he had ever spoken to her.

But this one she was not begging him at his feet. If he wanted to take her life away once again this time, Thorin would have to do it by looking her straight in the eyes and fighting as equals.

Thorin had opened his mouth to give an order as she sharted to count her breath and moving her hand closer to her hip, but they both were preceded by the most unlikely voice of all, which unexpectedly defended her.

"Excuse me, but I don't think that's any way to talk to a lady." All eyes shifted to the side of the hallway, to Bilbo, some admiring, some confused, some threatening, even her owns, which grew wide eyed at such words. The hobbit stammered under that attention and linked his feet, "though, I mean... that's what you say it is.... that it is," he concluded, glancing at Thorin, "at least, not in my house. No sir!" he adjusted the braces of his trousers, more out of the discomfort he felt than anything else.

Geira let go of the hilt of her sword at her side, surprised at how the little hobbit had spoken to Thorin, perhaps because she didn't know who he was, but that small gesture of courage intrigued her, as something hadn't intrigued her in a long time. She noticed an amused look from Gandalf at the hobbit as he continued to rock back on his heels, probably expecting for Dwalin and Thorin to sit back down in their seats, but they did not.

Instead a clatter of crockery and a couple of chuckles rose from the door next the living room, intruding on the vast silence that had spread across the room, breaking the layer of ice that was growing thicker between all of them.

"Uh. uh someone has angered Master Dwalin, hold this pint brother, be very careful."

"I am careful, you're the one standing on my foot Kili!"

"Then move it, no? We're missing all the fun because of you!"

The entire room quickly turned towards the source of the noise, all but one dwarf, Thorin, who didn't take his eyes off the dwarf maid figure for a moment, and like the others, kept his attention towards the side door of the dining room.

Before Geira had a chance to wonder what was going on next door to the small dining room where the dwarves were sitting, two young dwarves appeared, two pints each in hand. One with hair as golden as molten gold, the other with brown hair, frizzy and terribly familiar.

Geira held his breath for a few seconds.

"Oh shut up Fili, you're always in the way, if you'd move over maybe I'd see why they stopped shouting too," the younger dwarf mocked his brother, raising his pints in the air to go sit in his seat.

"Surely uncle has finished," replied the other making the same movements as the brunette, "or the other burg...lady... has arrived...".

The blond-haired boy could not complete the sentence as soon as his blue eyes rested on Geira.

His mouth opened wide, causing the two beads on his moustache to sway to the side of his mouth.

The hazel-haired dwarf tilted his head to the side as he looked at his confused brother, slowly sitting back in his seat. "What is a burg...lady?"

Finally, his gaze landed on her as well, but unlike that of the dwarf still standing beside her, his open mouth soon turned into a warm smile.

"SO YOU ARE THE OTHER NEW MEMBER! WELCOME!" he yelled, opening his arms in the air, raising the two pints he still held in his hand.

Geira said nothing, remaining impassive, feeling the other brother's eyes still on her.

"WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? TAKE A SIT! I ALSO HAVE ANOTHER PINT, IF YOU WANT IT !" The other dwarf invited her with a dramatic gesture of the goblet, but she did not move an inch.

“Kili…” Thorin murmured to the brown haired young dwarf, glancing at him.

“Why were you yelling like that then? And why are you still up, we were about to tell Mr Beggins how-”

“Kili,” the older of the two brothers, froze suddenly, casting a glance towards Geira's side calling his brother to attention.

Geira noticed him and casually covered the visible seal on the pommel of the sword with one hand and knew from the glittering brown eyes of the younger dwarf that he understood.

His big brown eyes widened, as did the blonde-haired dwarf's mouth. "You are a..." the dark-haired dwarf murmured as his mouth curled up in a small smile.

"Fili, Kili, be quiet!" Thorin stopped them, but the two young brothers continued undaunted, not realising that they were only making things worse.

"Oh, come on uncle, it's wonderful! It'll be all..."

Uncle.

"I said silence!" roared Thorin, slamming his fist on the table.

At the dwarf lord's growl the two brothers were astonished, opening their mouths wide but remaining as he had ordered in silence, however, casting pointed glances towards the opposite side of the room. They knew immediately that something was wrong.

Geira's hand slipped away from her pommel and she did not let them see what had caused her to hear those last words as the two young dwarves did as their uncle told them, sitting down in silence, but not stopping to look at her.

Geira looked up at Dwalin, who glanced at Thorin, who most likely replied with another glance, because he nodded in return. However, he did not fail to look at her one last time with a look full of fury.

The dwarven king narrowed his eyes slightly before he turned his attention to the sorcerer once more in complete silence.

"I want her to leave," he said emotionlessly.

"I am afraid it can't be possible," replied Gandalf calmly, as he returned to his seat.

"I won't let her stay here. I won't let her stand around my company, and put them in danger by only her presence," he growled low, talking as if she wasn't there listening. "I don't trust her! And I don't trust anything she says!" Thorin retorted seriously, not once looking at her face.

Geira clenched a fist, trying to keep her composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

How dare he speak of trust? Him of all people, when it was he himself who had betrayed hers. How dared he!

She gritted her teeth as a blind fury clouded her vision.

Gandalf remained silent for a few moments, observing the king of all dwarves before replying.

"You will have to, I did what I thought was right and calling her back from exile is the right choice," he explained.

"The right choice?" resumed Thorin, his blue eyes twinkling menacingly "And how, shall we hear?"

Gandalf gestured with his hand towards Geira, inviting her to speak with a movement of his head; thirteen heads turned towards her, and even Thorin laid, finally, his eyes on her face.

For a moment his gaze alone made her flinch, making her eat back words she had not yet spoken. And yet, she had to say them. For herself, for her father, for her one hundred and seventy years of exile and for all the pain she had to go through because of that damn dwarf who was staring at her. She swallowed up her anger and her vision slowly became clear again.

"I am here, to fulfil my oath," she explained, looking the dwarf king straight in the eye.

A thin chill spread through the room, seeping into the bones of the newcomers; Bilbo, however, watched the scene in curiosity, struggling to understand. Perhaps now he would receive the answers he had been waiting for since the beginning of that exhausting evening.

A dull clatter echoed through the room, the sound of a cup slamming against the wooden table.

"This is too much!" roared Dwalin as he pulled himself up onto his seat again. "One word from you, Thorin, and I will rip her head off her shoulders, as I should have done years ago!"

Thorin didn't answer; he stood up, continuing to look her straight in the eyes as if what she had just said was none of his business at all.

"Your oath?" he asked her calmly, too calmly. With a couple of strides he approached her, his fists clenched and his jaw contracted. "Your oath is worthless now. It was broken long ago. Your words, your oath are nothing more than a pile of cold ash," he began growling low.

She almost dug her nails into the skin of her hand.

"It is a lifetime oath, you were there when I had sworn it," she addressed him as calmly as he had.

Thorin's jaw clenched a second time and his breathing became irregular.

"And I was there when you broke it," he uttered a low growl. "I saw you break it, you did it before my eyes..." he added contemptuously.

A pang of pain cut through her chest as everything that had happened that day appeared in her head. She seemed to see his gaze again, to feel the tears running down her face, to feel her heart being torn from her chest. She seemed to see her world burning before her eyes, her life burning before her eyes, and then... the exile.

The exile to which he had condemned her.

"I don't want to keep my oath for you if that's what you're worried about, King Under the Mountain," she spit staring directly into his eyes.

"I don't care why you want to keep it, I don't need you to keep it!" Thorin shouted at her, roaring out of his mind. "Your words mean nothing to me, a'lâju Mahal!”

A scraping of a chair followed the dwarf lord's words. "Thorin..." whispered Balin, but Thorin was as unstoppable as a blazing fire.

"You have no place among us, you have no honour, you have no name, you have no clan, you are nothing!

Your oaths were broken when you turned your back on us! Your blood is as tainted as your father's!"

For Geira that was the final straw. He shouldn't even dare to mention his father, shouldn't even try, king or not! Oath or no oath, he had no right.

Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. This time she approached him, with a couple of strides. She looked down at him as words began to pour out of her mouth like a flood.

"Then let Dwalin cut off my head now, this instant, for I assure you, Thorin son of Thrain, that I would rather be buried underground than fulfil the words I spoke to your kin years ago!" she retorted mercilessly. "If I could, I would retreat them one by one!"

"Be quiet, traitor!" he yelled at her, slamming his fist on the wall next to him.

"ENOUGH!" the darkness fell over those present before Geira could reply; they all fell silent at the power unleashed by Gandalf, who now stood menacingly over them, glowering. He glared down at them, a gesture that made them feel almost smaller than usual. Almost. For, as certain as the sun rising in the east, dwarves were not so easily frightened, not even if the subject in question was a wizard.

"You dwarves and your stubbornness! You will bring us to ruin before we even begin our journey! Geira will come with us. If I say her presence is essential, then it is essential! Her reasons do not matter to me as they should not matter to any of you!"

"It does matter," Thorin's deep voice rose from the silence that had enveloped his companions. "You cannot ask us to trust her, Gandalf. What she has done is..." the dwarves' attention shifted from her to Gandalf again.

"I know of it, but I ask you for the sake of this quest to leave old grudges aside; otherwise, we will not get very far if you continue to quarrel. When we reach the Lonely Mountain..."

Gandalf froze for a moment averting his gaze to her for a moment and then back to Thorin again. "Geira will accompany us there and then help us to reclaim it and th-"

"Then I will leave, if that is what you wish for Thorin Oakenshield," she concluded, giving a glance to his hand still on the wall next to her.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and slowly began to back away a few steps returning to his seat. "It is what I wish for as of now, for you to leave us, and that will not change," he stated, casting a glance at her hair, so short that it showed her neck, and her shoulders and part of her hear. The same length she had when he saw her for the last time.

"I don't want it to change..." she answered back as after a long time she felt ashamed again of those short locks.

The cut he gave to her.

And that was what they were for, to make her disgusted with herself, and in the absurdity it had been her choice to cut them so much that she had scratched her scalp the first time she had done it. She had cut every single lock and braid, counting them one by one as well as the short sideburns on the side of her face, shaving as short as she could the side of her head, leaving her right side a bit longer than nothing.

And with a last disgusted glance of Thorins on her head the discussion stopped.

Geira bit her tongue, lowering her gaze, and after that long wait, accepted a chair that the Hobbit gently offered her with a smile on his face all the while the chatter that had taken place before her arrival resumed.

But the grave atmosphere continued to permeate the walls of the room.

Nor did the tense mood change when everyone's attention turned to the Hobbit.

Geira wondered if his stammering was from the bewilderment of the various news stories, or his actual way of speaking: probably the first option. She saw him frown, countless wrinkles forming on his forehead as he tried to figure out what kind of trouble they were getting him into. She felt tremendously close to him at that moment: she would have gladly walked through the round door to get away from there, but she had promised Gandalf that she would stay. She had promised herself and her father; no more running, no more hiding. It was time to show everyone that she was not what they said she was, she had never been.

She paid no particular attention to the various explanations Gandalf and Thorin gave Bilbo, but it was when they handed him the long contract that her attention was caught again. She saw the hobbit intent on reading it, concern palpably making its way into his thoughts and gestures.

"Incineration?" he asked incredulously, unfolding the parchment better; perhaps he was convinced he had read it wrong. "...I'm going to faint.... " he said, his voice uncertain and trembling.

"Think of a furnace with wings: a flash of light, searing pain, and poof! You are nothing more than a pile of ash!" began Bofur, looking out of the doorway where she sat.

Bilbo lost all colour in his face, turning pale, too pale. It sounded like an alert to Geira; she held her breath until the other fainted, falling to the green carpet like a sack of potatoes.

Had his courage in speaking to Thorin been a flash of courage, then?

It was only then that they all sprang to their feet and tried to reach him, but in doing so they created an immense confusion, whereupon Gandalf ordered them all to go outside for some air. Dwalin and Nori helped him to lift Bilbo up and bring him to his senses, while Geira, again on Gandalf's advice, fumbled around in the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, trying to do as little damage as possible. She risked, for example, to spill the water from a nice blue and yellow cup, plus splash the boiling water from the teapot all over the place. Cooking in a real kitchen, that was something she hadn't done in a long time, as well as tinkering with this kind of fine crockery. She adjusted her black armguards and with a sharp movement of her hand and rolled up her sleeves a bit. She completed the laborious mission, delivering the drink to the owner of this house who, in the meantime, had woken up and was sitting in the living room in a comfortable armchair.

As soon as he heard her coming, he followed her every gesture with watchful eyes, until she broke the silence, handing him the cup full of aromatic tea.

"Your gaze has not ceased to follow me since I crossed your threshold, Bilbo Baggins; I have a feeling you have many questions for me," she told him, trying to force a smile and be as friendly as she could be.

It was all so difficult.

"Well, I... " he was stunned, not knowing how to continue, perhaps embarrassed at being caught in the act. He watched her in silence as she found a place by the lit fireplace, resting her back against the side of it. "Well, you... you're like them, aren't you?"

"A dwarf?" she asked him in turn, hinting at a smile at such innocence.

He nodded his head, passing the hot cup through his hands. "But, well, I had heard that dwarf women... they had..." The hobbit froze suddenly and fell silent, passing his gaze quickly to her face just above.

A sigh escaped her and she decided to tell him a half-truth.

"I cut them off a long time ago..." she explained hastily, but without ever trying to offend him in any way. She took a breath, trying to find an excuse in her head that would satisfy his curiosity. "A sign of... mourning..." she murmured.

It was not the whole truth.

Bilbo looked at her carefully, trying to see in those black eyes all the suffering they concealed; and suddenly his mind asked so many questions that it became involved: how long had it been since he had felt so interested in someone? He had kept to himself as much as possible, letting those four walls envelop him like a warm, soft blanket, in a slight torpor that had been shattered by the arrival of the dwarves. And Geira's.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he could not keep his mouth shut, not even putting the cup to his lips and sipping the hot tea.

"M-may I ask you another question?" he asked her, watching her eyes gradually lose themselves in the flames of the fireplace. "Is it true what they told you earlier? Those names they refer to you... are they true?"

"Are you afraid I will stab you in your sleep?" she answered him piquantly, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo cursed himself, cursed him and his curiosity Tuc.

"N-no... no..." He was about to apologise when the girl shrugged, evasive.

"I'm exiled, it's true, but a traitor... that... no... no, never…” she looked again into the fire, which was crackling quietly before them. "I am here for one purpose only, and to keep a promise I made, long ago, far too long ago..." she murmured, turning back to him: curious but respectful grey eyes in deep, haunted black ones.

"You all have a purpose, a mission in this whole thing... I...I am just a hobbit, I am not what you all think I am..."

Geira watched as the hobbit's fingers held the cup and his gaze suddenly clouded over.

These were good questions he was asking himself, yet Gandalf believed in him, and the dwarves in the other room believed him more than they did with her, one of their own kind.

For a few moments he reminded her of a young dwarf lady in a large luxurious room in a distant mountain years and years ago wondering what she wanted to be in life.

Slowly she approached him, kneeling beside his green armchair and resting her hands on the armrest.

"I think you will only find out if you come with us; there is more to you than meets the eye, Bilbo. I saw it before, and... even if you don't see them, they're there, they're always there," she told him gently, marvelling at her own words.

Why was she talking to him like that, in that tone, as if she knew him? As if another person, as if he was interested in her opinion, perhaps because she hadn't spoken to someone like that in months. Still, it wasn't enough of a justification, but Geira found herself continuing.

"The journey will be fraught with danger, from outside and within the Company. That will take courage, but also a deep fear of the unknown to do what we must do. Because what we will find on the other side of the known world could be anything… or nothing. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to come with us.”

"Danger… within... the Company?"

Geira was about to answer, but their eye contact was interrupted by the arrival of the wizard, who had come to make sure of his friend's health.

"Excuse me," the dwarf-woman took her leave of the two, leaving them alone to talk; she fastened her cloak, but as soon as she placed her hand on the door knob, Bilbo's voice reached her.

"Thank you, miss Geira," he said.

“You can call me Geira” she answered, turning her head to the small hobbit sittin on the armchair.

H just nodded, looking at her with big eyes before shifting his attention to the cup in his hands

She turned, seeing a tense but grateful smile on his lips; she half-smiled as well, opening the door and stepping out into the light night breeze.

She had to calm her nerves, she had to calm down in order to regain her self-control and her coolness, which had been severely tested by the events of the evening: from an inside pocket of her cloak she took out her long white wooden pipe; from another, she took out her pipe-weed. Shortly afterwards she was blissfully smoking, sitting on the bench just outside the door; the long puffs produced small clouds that dispersed in the air: she followed them with her eyes until they disappeared, while her mind was lost in the meanders of her twisted thoughts. Did Bilbo feel out of place? And she, what was she to say? Of course, she had known from the beginning, from the moment Gandalf had introduced himself to her in that village of Men, that this would be anything but a walk in the wood: too many prejudices hovered among the dwarves, including herself, too many things left unsaid.

She felt like a flower in the frost, or perhaps she was the frost.

She shook her head, sucking in another breath that made her think better: she was there for a good reason, she had explained it to Bilbo; she just had to concentrate on that and that was it. It mattered little if they ignored her, if they did not speak to her along the leagues they had to travel, or if they were suspicious and indifferent. She would let them, their gazes should slide over her like water over her skin, she should just... just end those years.

What the wizard had told her had been gnawing at her for weeks. The likelihood of a hope, that if she fulfilled her oath perhaps, if she didn't die in the process, she would restore her name and she could... return home. But the real question was, did she want to go home and why was she still holding on to a broken oath?

"Are we interrupting?"

A young voice shook her from her outcast thoughts, finding one, or rather two young dwarves beside her... They were the two who had tried to convince Thorin to include her in the group - Fili and Kili, if she remembered correctly, the ones who had figured out what she was, who she was... Thorin's nephews. Two princes.

She took the pipe from her mouth and a mixture of emotions stirred in her chest, a desire to drive them out mixed with the urge to ask them to stay.

They were waiting for an answer to the question, she realised only after she found two pairs of puzzled eyes, waiting.

"Depends on what you want," she replied cautiously.

She didn't like the answer much, but the two stood there, undaunted. The black-haired dwarf with a youngster’s stubble sat down beside her, not waiting for an invitation; although he sensed Geira's suspicious glances, he did not pay heed to them. He took out his pipe and, after lighting it, squatted down more on the bench, puffing out small clouds of smoke.

"We just wanted to share some tobacco with you, nothing else," he insisted, sketching a brief smile.

"But maybe I don't want to share," Geira replied stubbornly.

The boy widened his eyes and looked at her almost displeased. Geira scolded herself, perhaps that wasn't the right way to go: they were her companions now, and she should at least try not to pick a fight with them. Yet it was proving so complicated, and the second boy's blue eyes didn't make it easy for him at all.

The nephews... the sons of…

"You should, if you don't want to isolate yourself before we leave..." the blond-haired, bearded dwarf attacked her: even in the moonlight she could see his blue eyes shining; so familiar it hurt.

Her fingers gently touched the inlaid hilt of her long sword, with which she never parted, seeking some form of strength, courage or, why not, peace of mind.

She forced himself not to let the acidity of his words show, "I thought I was already an outcast before I left, Master Dwarf. And forgive me, but I still don't know your names, which doesn't seem fair since you know mine."

The one sitting next to her laughed, throwing back his head, "You are right, forgive us, but the circumstances before did not allow us. I am Kili, this is my brother Fili, we are the sons of Vili and princess Dìs,"

Sons of Dìs.

A bite in her stomach made her pipe clench in her hand and suddenly her chest became incredibly heavy. The sons of Dís, Princess Dís.

How many years had passed? Had it really been that long? Had time around her really begun to move so slowly that she did not know how many years she had lived that life?

They were kids, but they were older than she had been when everything changed.

“Very well, then, Fili and Kili…” she murmured under her breath.

Geira remained silent and tried to calm her heartbeat after the latest information she had received. She sucked in another puff of smoke realising that there was, in fact, no more tobacco; she cursed silently and wiped it off, then put it back in her pocket. She wrapped herself a little more in her cloak as a gust of air penetrated her heavy clothes, fit for travel.

"Not very talkative, are you? Yet with the hobbit you spoke, I heard you!" asked Kili, sitting too close.

"You are talkative for both of us, young prince," she said, his eyes widening for a moment and then narrowing to slits, unexpectedly suspicious.

Geira caught herself explaining before the situation escalated. "You called Thorin ‘uncle’ earlier; I do not possess magical powers, if that is what you fear,"

"I didn't think so. But I am surprised that you called me young: yet, you do not seem as old as Balin, or Dori or Master Oìn..."

This time it was Geira's turn to smile. She barely lifted a corner of her lips, but it was enough for Kili: if only he had known.

"Looks can be deceiving: to me, you are certainly quite young, just boys."

"Then how many..."

His brother Fili interrupted him forcefully, "The sword, where did you t-"

"Lads, please return; the hobbit has made up his mind," Balin interrupted Fili's question, and allowed Geira to avoid answering uncomfortable questions to say the least.

The old dwarf gave her a brief but penetrating glance, but he did not bother to ascertain whether she was following him or not, so Geira opted to stay out there a little longer, alone; she left the door to Bag End half open and, from the confusion that followed, deduced that Bilbo had denied her help. Part of her felt terribly sorry and sad: she had accepted the fact that she would be leaving in the company of dwarves who hated her, but the torture seemed less heavy, knowing that a face less hostile than others would be at her side. She sighed loudly, trying to catch screams, reproaches or furious, stubborn phrases, but her ears met with the silence that reigned in the house; curious, she got up and, without making the slightest noise, looked out of the door to peek inside. She recognised Thorin's broad back covered by a fur cloak, his long, neatly wavy hair falling past his shoulders; he was leaning against the fireplace in the hall, where she had been standing before while everyone else was standing around him.

A melody sung with his mouth closed emerged from the silence; then his voice, deep and warm, filled the room, spreading through the air like perfume.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day

To find our long-forgotten gold.

Geira held her breath, melody from the very first notes, but.. the words, they were different from what she remembered. She frowned but then stop to worry and started to listen as Thorin's voice passed through her ears and went straight into her heart. She felt a strong grip on her chest, as if some invisible hand had tightened around her heart; those words tasted of something long forgotten, of longing for something lost. They tasted of home, of family. Her mind played the terrible trick of making her see again the places she had walked in Erebor as a child: squares, streets and alleys, palaces full of gold, stables, armouries... and then dwarves walking, working, children running and screaming. All this had died with the city, swallowed up by the terror of the dragon, and she had not had the chance to see it one last time. Soon, Thorin was not the only one singing; the others joined him, singing the last verse that reminded them of the same feelings.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night,

The fire was red, it flaming spread,

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The song ended, but the sadness lingered on. Geira drew back quickly, returning to the embrace of darkness, her long-time friend; far from prying eyes, she wiped away the tears that had mockingly escaped her lashes, forming a small furrow on her rosy cheeks. She blinked several times to squeeze out more tears and breathed deeply, trying at the same time to calm down and listen to the king's instructions for the next morning's departure.

"Try to get as much rest as possible; Gandalf will show us to our quarters..."

There followed a great commotion, a sign that everyone was gathering their knick-knacks: as she did not want to show himself in such a pitiful state, she decided to wait outside; perhaps, with the favour of darkness, no one would notice the signs of crying.

As expected, the others came out, dark in face; they glanced at her in passing, then disappeared down a path towards a small inn. As soon as the last of them, Ori, was out of sight, she went into the house, looking for her bow, which she found where she had left it, leaning against the wall of the small kitchen. She took a quick glance around, noticing the cleanliness and order that once again reigned supreme, as if nothing had happened. It was indeed a fine home, fit for someone who loved his life and would not change it for all the gold in the world.

She secured her bow to her back, picked up her quiver, and hoisted it over her shoulder. She reached the hall with great, heavy strides, but froze when her eyes fell upon the long contract written by Thorin and countersigned by Balin on the footstool in front of the chair. With a knot in her throat, she saw that the place for Bilbo's signature was spotless, empty. She sighed again, brushing it with her fingers.

She felt guilty: it was she who had warned him of what lay ahead, who had told him that she would not blame him if he refused, and that she, too, might leave the Company to its fate; so when he had thanked her, had she already decided in her heart not to take part? She ran a hand through her short hair, touching every lock from her forehead to the back of her neck.

"He will come, do not fear," her left hand ran quickly to the scabbard, drawing the sword she carried at her side; it was only when she was in a defensive position that she recognised Gandalf, who had entered without her hearing him. He walked towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and the usual sardonic smile always on his lips; he watched her for long moments, with those blue eyes that could dig into you, until they read your soul. And Geira, in her heart, was afraid of it.

"That contract will be signed very soon," he insisted, now closer to her.

"'Are you so convinced? The young hobbit wasn't convinced, I've seen that kind of look too many times, from young soldiers, recruits, and even head guards," almost without realizing it, she found himself again brushing against that yellowed paper, and those handwritten characters of those who had once been part of her world.

"Oh, I hope so! But, usually, my convictions always turn out to be correct!"

"Like me coming here?" she said directly as she looked up at him.

Gandalf took a deep breath, tilting his head down slightly to keep it from slamming into the ceiling. "That is the uncertainty that, though you will not believe me, has plagued me these many weeks," he explained quietly. "I will not hide from you that I thought you were not coming.”

"I didn't want to," Geira admitted. "I waited in Aldburg for as long as I could," she concluded, smoothing out the traveling bag on her shoulder with a movement of her shoulder.

The wizard nodded his head before speaking. "I see. What made you change your mind?"

At that unexpected question Geira stiffened all of a sudden. She had spent weeks in the room of the inn in the small village in the kingdom of Rohan, mulling over the offer the wizard had made to her, and up until a fortnight ago she had been more than sure that she would not participate in the expedition. Why should she, why should she accept what Gandalf had told her outside that inn as true. He knew nothing of what was to come, and yet the prospect he held out to her was too much even for a hardened soul like hers.

He could revoke the exile, you could go back home, fulfil your oath and be free, Geira. Isn't it what you want? Being free again?

"Because I don't want to die like this, in the dirt of a Men’s village with an invisible chain wrapped around my chest ... I don’t want to be bound to him anymore, I want his nephews to see their home,they are the new hope for Durin’s folk" she explained hastily, speaking like a dirge she had learned by heart.

"And not him?”

She looked up to Gandalf . “Would you ask this to a victim of an executioner? Or to a leftover wife of a soldier?”

“It depends on how much the victim cared for the executioner, and vice versa,” he explained with a soft voice.

For Geira it was like receiving a punch in the middle of her sternum; she felt a sudden urge to shout out her frustration, her anger, to give vent to the rage she had kept jealousy inside her all evening. He knew, Gandalf knew, yet he dared to say that to her, if it was to achieve a goal of his as he had already seen him do, it would not work this time, not with her.That was the point of no return for her; controlling her tears was almost impossible, as was not taking the sword from the hilt and pointing it at the wizard, even though she knew what would happen.

Furious, she began to tremble, looking the wizard straight in the face and finally and, after months, asked him the question that was eating her alive.

“Why did you want me to come?!” she growled “You have warriors, you have clever dwarves and useful ones. Why did you come to me, and do not tell me you did it for me!” she nearly roared.

As he had done for the rest of the evening, Gandalf remained silent for a few seconds, watching her. He did not get angry or upset, but he looked at her in such a way that everything around her seemed to grow cold and sad and for a moment she felt the same way.

“Because you have to fulfill your oath,” he told her again.

“I did not intend to fulfill it! That oath was broken long ago as was the one that he swore to me! Stop lying to me! ” she insisted, pleading with him with her eyes.

He owed that to her, an answer a simple answer, she was not asking more. She just wanted to know why Gandalf wanted her to torture heself, why he wanted her so bad in that Company why he cared that much that forced Thorin to accept her as a member of his Company.

He sighed softly, smiling sadly with the side of his mouth “I didn't, I did it for the executioner, for the warrior, for the king...”

Geira parted her lips, astonished but quivering with anger; unexpectedly she smiled, a sad smile, without a hint of joy painted on her face. “You know Gandalf, now I understand why you lied to me, because if these are the real reasons, you know I'm sure I would have turned down your invitation back then.

And without saying anything more she turned and walked out of the rounded green door.

She left the hobbit’s house behind her, following the same path the others had taken, passing other green mounds - hobbit dwellings - and finally resting at the inn where the whole company was already staying, but still awake. And she would know that that night, like many others, she would not find rest, because a question had begun to arise, a question about a story she had been telling herself for too many years: was she really only doing this for herself? Yes was the answer, because if it were otherwise she would rather die by his hand than go through it all again. To feel again. To be betrayed again.

The flames burned up to the sky. The fumes came out of every window from every balcony from every hole in which they found a passage. The screams rose high in the air and thundered in the valley below her. The yellow and blue fabrics danced a dance of death and destruction as they walked out the shattered marble door. Children clung to their parents' necks in fear. The women and men wept as they watched the bodies scattered on the door under the rubble as they were pulled away by those few who had not yet been gripped by grief.

The once green pines and grass on either side of the mountain had become a heap of ash and coal.

Her tears would not stop flowing, her armor had become heavy as a boulder that prevented her from moving.

Then a desperate scream under the hill where she was about her came to her ears making her almost fall to her knees under the weight of her helplessness and guilt.

His formerly desperate blue eyes turned to pure amazement as they landed on her.

One scream, one last scream before the realization of what would happen as she watched her heart burn in the rubble with her oaths and with the one dwarf who possessed it.

"I told you coming here would be a waste of time!"

"To hire a hobbit, where did you get such an idea?!"

"I did not think such a small body could possess so much..."

"Stubbornness, Oìn?"

"Well, why would he help us if he doesn't even know us?" noted Bofur, returning to light his pipe with a tinderbox and sitting down better on the window sill.

"Gandalf promised us the hobbit would accompany us; and if he said so, we must trust him."

"How about a bet, then? Come on, Nori! What do you say?"

There began a long chatting that involved them all, those who bet for or against Bilbo's arrival by the next morning. The commotion that permeated the small room of the inn, where they were to sleep, allowed two dwarves to move into the corridor, away from prying eyes and ears.

"What do you think, laddie?" asked the older dwarf, smoothing his long white beard.

The other sighed wearily, the ever-present wrinkle in the middle of his forehead more than worth a thousand words; even after he had removed his heavy cloak and remained in his long blue tunic covering his breeches, his figure was imposing and commanded awe and respect.

No matter how hard Balin tried, he still found it hard to believe that this dwarf, a child, who later became a young boy, would become king so soon, faced two major battles that had taken everything from him and with which he had to deal every day, every night; the old dwarf knew this for sure: not even in his dreams was Thorin Oakenshield free, safe from rancour and remorse.

"I think this mission has started under the worst of auspices: I wonder..." he paused, not quite sure what to say next.

"Whether we should proceed?"

The king nodded, but his gaze was far from convinced, lost in thoughts unknown to most, but intuitable to Balin; or, at least, most of the time. But, to be on the safe side, he decided to broach the subject calmly, one step at a time.

"Don't distress yourself about the hobbit: if you hadn't beckoned to me and brought me here, I would have placed a bet in his favour, you know?" he gave a half-smile, but that did not relax his companion’s tense features, quite the contrary. He made a contemptuous sound, halfway between sceptical and desperate.

"Dwalin was right: it was a waste of time coming here. It was folly to believe in his help; but even without him, we must proceed. No, it's not his presence I'm worried about... no... not him."

Here was the raw nerve, the sore point: just as Balin had imagined; it was not the thought of the failed burglar that plagued him.

"Thorin..." he began, laying a hand on his forearm. But as soon as he did, the muscles under his shirt twitched and the old dwarf was stopped with a raised hand and a grim look.

Seeing him in that state did not help Balin either, after all: after all, he was like a son to him. And fathers were always distressed when their children were not calm and happy.

"No, Balin. I don't want to talk about it," was his curt reply; and no matter how much the elder dwarf insisted, he would not be heard. His king's pride was mightier than reason, which struggled to prevail: for if he had even tried to think, Thorin would have understood; but stubbornness and anger blinded him.

Balin sighed loudly and shook his head, but he hoped in his heart that this journey would bring other victories than the lost pride of the dwarves.

Dawn came too soon, and continuous yawns surprised Geira as she rinsed her face with cold water and then strapped the sword to her side, but first she pulled it from its sheath, examining the blade for new scratches. Daylight broke over it, sending blinding glints down the walls: her hand stroked the inlaid and worked hilt, which gave the sword its name, more closely. Forged by her, for her alone, and branded on the hilt by... him.

That sword was her past, her present, her future perhaps. All she still possessed was that sword, all that bound her to what she had been was that sword that had allowed the two princes to know who she was and what she had been. She had managed to avoid their questions but she was sure, having seen the two princes, that they would ask Balin, Dwalin... Thorin for confirmation. And what would they answer? Was her oath really broken and she was just fighting the wind? No. She was to the death and would fulfil it, or die rather than live like this any longer. Without being able to speak a word to any dwarf.

She put the sword back where it belonged, and stopped losing herself in useless thoughts; she took a quick, final look around the room, tracing the outline of the simple wooden bed, the chest against the wall, and the windowsill, on which was a vase of fragrant lilac and yellow flowers: perfect, she had forgotten nothing. She arranged her traveling back better on her shoulder and closed the door, going downstairs; he thanked the innkeeper with a nod and a coin, then went out into the warm morning air. Outside, a riot of colours and scents invaded her, leaving her stunned: everything was so wonderfully green, and as the evening before she wondered what life could be like there.

"Good morning!" Kili's smiling face took her mind off her pesnier again, just like the night before in every way.

He stood in front of her, crunching a stick of beef jerky between his teeth, soon joined by his brother Fili, who had two in his mouth. "Come, we'll show you your pony," he said.

"My Pony?" she asked, incredulous.

With a gesture of his head, Fili invited her to follow them, or rather to follow her younger brother, who had already started walking with his arms behind his head. They took her to the back of the inn, where three animals stood in a large enclosure. Kili opened the wooden gate and pointed out the pony, a female with an entirely white coat, tame and quiet: Geira approached her, stroking her gently; she neighed, appreciating the gesture and making her new mistress smile. From the bag she took out a red apple and handed it to her, watching her devour it voraciously: yes, she liked it, she admitted; and it would be a good companion for the journey.

"Thanks, lads" she said with a smile turning towards the two brothers.

The dwarves bowed their heads in response, finishing lacing up the last of their bags of supplies, then dragged their steeds out of there, where the others were waiting for them; Geira followed, not receiving any greetings from the other members, just a deep silence, making her clearly remember what the others thought of her. Even the smile on her lips vanished in the blink of an eye.

Without a word, she hoisted herself up onto the saddle, settling in better. When they were all still and ready, Thorin cast his gaze over them all, including Gandalf, as if seeking some support, some security... or fear.

He made no speech, there was no need: they all knew what they were getting into, what the risks and dangers were, but they were ready; they were going to regain their homeland, there was nothing nobler than that,

their hearts were for their home. They were for Erebor: and they would hardly be discouraged or lose the purpose of their journey

The king turned his pony, leading it along the streets of Hobbiton, followed by the others.

Geira did not look back, but kept her gaze fixed ahead, her heart a little heavy and a little relieved, she could not quite explain why. She remained silent as they left the city and entered the large clearing lined with huge old trees, thinking with regret of the sort of friendly figure who might have cheered her journey and comforted her when all seemed lost. Who knows, perhaps Gandalf tended to overestimate himself a little too much, if he believed that his convictions always turned out to be right and positive …

"Wait!"

A familiar voice brought her to a halt, and so did the others; she turned swiftly in the saddle, hardly able to believe her eyes: Bilbo Baggins had just stopped beside Balin's pony, exhausted from his long ride; he caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow as he held out the contract to the elderly dwarf with one hand, claiming to have signed it. As soon as Balin verified the authenticity of the signature - a gesture that Geira found amusing anyway - he announced that he was welcome to Thorin Oakenshield's company; applause and whistles of welcome followed, interrupted by the king.

"Give him a pony!"

Bilbo tried to object, as he had never ridden a pony before, but Kili and Fili cleverly hoisted him up; Geira managed to catch the hobbit's eyes and, to his great surprise, he was stunned: she smiled at him, a warm and sincere smile.

And then the hobbit knew he had made the right choice.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fic #thorin fanfiction #the hobbit fan fiction #king under the mountain #quest of erebor #middle earth #until my last breaht #thorinxreader #the hobbit fanfiction

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Text

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 6/9

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 6: And I Don’t Blame You Dear for Running Like You Did

She finished the last of the dishes from breakfast, putting the plates away in the cabinet and turning toward the dog beside her feet on the floor. “What shall we do today?” The dogs barked, standing, and running in circles around her legs.

She looked around the cabin, books littering every surface. She grabbed one nearest to her, flipping through the pages to find them blank, empty, and begging to be filled. Looking around she found a pencil and blanket and gathered her items, opening the door and letting the dog outside. She followed him to the bench on the front porch.

There was water all around the cabin, some of it threatening to flow under the structure. Killian was standing on the side of the cabin, knee deep in the brown liquid, a shovel in his hands, his shirt tied to his side in a knot. She bit her lip as her eyes trailed his upper body, sun kissed from days he must have spent standing in the hot sun before the weather had turned cold.

She sat down on the bench, drawing her knees up to tuck her feet under her, wrapping the blanket around her as the dog curled up below her. She looked at the empty page and the pencil in her hand started to scratch at the white surface. She had no idea if she could draw, couldn’t remember ever trying, but the way the images took shape she thought maybe this was something she was good at in her other life. The one that was just out of reach of her memories.

She drew the forest, the water lying motionless in front of her, a dog splashing through the muddy sludge as a man stood, staring at the horizon. When she looked down at it minutes later, the shape of a swan in the distance was floating away from the cabin on the page before her. She sighed, looking up to watch Killian, now covered with beads of sweat, dripping deliciously down the crevice in his back, and she bit her lip. The man was the picture of sexy and mysterious. She wanted to know more about him, the story of how he got here, why he was alone. Yet she could tell that he was holding back from her, keeping pieces of himself hidden from her sight. What she wouldn’t give to tear back the layers and have him invite her in.

She turned the page of the book to start a new drawing but was surprised to see writing on the page, handwritten in a beautiful script. She should close the book, put it back where she found it and yet she found herself reading it.

Dearest Milah,

My love, I am in darkness without your light, I curse the sun for trying to replace the warmth that you no longer provide. I am in misery, these bars are not my affliction, my prison is of my own making. Even as I am released tomorrow, I will never escape the prison I created for myself. I have failed you. I failed Alice. There is blood on my hands, hate in my heart, revenge destroyed me. Destroyed our life. Our beautiful home. My perfect Alice. I am cursed. I fear that my heart will always be. I will never be at peace knowing the hell I brought upon my family. Your last moments knowing that I destroyed us. My life is forfeit, doomed to walk this earth with the knowledge that I am a monster. Undeserving of love. My fate is sealed. Hope is lost.

Killian

She ran her fingers across the lettering of his name, looking up at the man facing away from her, tearing at the soil beneath his feet. She needed to know more, yearned to understand how anyone could feel so tormented, so worthless. She ached for him.

Closing the book, she stood, watching from the corner of the house, observing his labor. She couldn’t exactly leave him this way. A few extra days to try and solve the mystery that was Killian Jones wouldn’t hurt her. Her life could wait if it meant helping the man who had so selflessly helped her.

She went back into the house, burying the book beneath a larger one, not wanting him to know that she had invaded his thoughts, his privacy. Looking around the cabin she decided she would do something nice for him. She began by picking up the items from the corner, dusting off the surfaces she could. She folded blankets, organized his books, placed the logs evenly beside the hearth and gathered the clothing to be washed in the bucket he kept by the back door.

When she had finished she looked around at the result of her work and smiled. Maybe she was married in her other life, she was pretty good at this house cleaning thing. She frowned, touching her ringless finger. Maybe she was just a maid in her other life. Was she hoping for that instead of having a husband who was lovingly looking for her? A man she had thus betrayed by her night with Killian.

The door opened abruptly, and Killian stepped into the tiny cabin. Tossing his boots into the corner by the door he turned and met her eyes. He seemed surprised to see her standing there, holding a broom, and sweeping the floors. It was so ridiculously domestic that she cursed herself for being found this way.

“I cleaned up.” She announced and his eyes roamed the room and to her surprise the corners of his mouth ticked upward.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” She finished her task, setting the broom back behind the door and walking closer to him, reaching out to take the dirty shirt from his hands. “I was doing the wash.” She smiled shyly. He didn’t react, probably from the shock she imaged when she ran her fingers across his chest, dirt and grime slipping through her fingers. “You should do the same.” She added with a flirty grin. “Take a hot bath.” She turned away from him, her smile growing on her face, pleased with the reaction she elicited from him a moment before.

“Uh, yeah I’ll do that.” He stammered, walking toward the bedroom. “Thanks, Swan. For um, for tidying up. I’ve never had a guest before.”

She bowed her head. “Go bathe.” She returned her gaze to his eyes. “I’ll make some dinner.” He left the room, and she swore her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. She had half a mind to follow him right into the bathroom and have her way with the man. But instead, she walked the few steps away to the kitchen to start the meal she promised she would make. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, she thought. She had no idea why she knew that, but she was determined to find out if it was true.

~*~

Killian retreated from the room, trying to create as much distance as he could between him and the beautiful Swan who was currently domesticating his home. Seeing his place so neatly put together, the blonde woman putting such care and attention into something she had no investment in both confounded him and stirred emotions in him that he had buried, burned, destroyed years ago.

He shut the door to the bathroom, filling the buckets with water to put on the stove to heat but instead tossed the cool water into the tub, perhaps a hot bath was not what he needed right now unless he intended to do something completely stupid and reckless like ask the woman to join him.

He sunk down into the cold water, breathing slowly, erasing all the thoughts he had of how she had felt the night before. The taste of her skin, her intoxicating aroma as he plunged his tongue into her center.

Fuck.

Sinking below the water, he lay there, holding his breath, counting to ten before breaching the surface and gulping in air. He scraped at his skin, letting the soap cleanse the dirt and grime he had accumulated from his earlier work. The trench he had dug would allow the water to escape in a few days. The roads would be clear, and he would be able to drive back to town. This would be over, and he could return to his solitude.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, wandering into the bedroom to dress and pull a comb through his hair. If he was going to play house, he should at least look presentable to the woman who was sharing his fairytale. He rolled his eyes at the mirror, admonishing himself for playing along with this fantasy. Could it really hurt him to have a few nights of pretend? None of it was real. They both knew that. Perhaps it was a reprieve from the devil, or yet another way to torture him. Either way, he would take it.

He stepped from the room quietly as she flitted around the kitchen, humming a song to herself as she worked. She was a marvel to observe, a beautiful treasure in every way. When she caught him staring, she blushed, quieted, and turned back to the stove.

“It was lovely, don’t stop on my account.”

“I don’t know where it came from, it just sort of formed in my head. I guess I must have heard it in my other life” She mused, humming the notes again to You are my Sunshine.

She seemed almost angelic, standing in his kitchen with the sun shining across her golden locks. Before he could stop himself he realized he was singing the words to her melody. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”

She turned toward him, their eyes meeting. “That’s lovely.” She smiled. “Is that what I’m humming?”

“Aye.” She continued humming. “You’ll never know dear; how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” He finished softly, standing in front of her with her back against the counter. Neither one of them moved and he was afraid to take a breath for fear she would disappear right in front of him. He wasn’t ready for her to dissolve, to leave his life. He cursed even admitting it. He liked having her here.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“I used to sing that to Alice before she went to bed.” He said with a sad smile. “It was her favorite.”

He expected her to go back to her food preparations, to break the spell he was in, but instead she surprised him, reaching up to brush the wet hair from his forehead. A smile sweeter than any he could remember fell across her face as she stepped into his embrace, her lips grazing his jaw before touching his lips. It was over before it began, short yet sweet and full of emotion. He squeezed his lids tighter together to keep his emotions from spilling out. She stepped from his arms and his lids flittered open. “Food will be ready in a minute.”

No one had taken the kind of care she had. Cleaning his house, preparing a meal, comforting him. These were not things that were afforded to him. Yet here she was, a stranger, a woman who was within her rights to demand to be released and taken home immediately and yet she instead opted to care for him. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to. Because it would be gone before he had the ability to embrace it. Taken from him like everything else in his life.

“Smells good.” He announced suddenly, sitting down at the table.

“I wasn’t really sure what to make but you have such great vegetables.”

“Aye, I’m sure my garden is flooded now. But at least it’s watered.” He chuckled.

She sat the food in front of him and then made her own plate, taking the seat beside him. They ate in silence, but it was comfortable in the way she would smile at him between bites, or blush when he caught her eye.

After the food was consumed, they each took to the mundane task of cleaning up, side by side, working together. It required no forethought or communication, like they had been doing this their whole lives. “I don’t wish to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” He teased, an expression that must have come from a moment of weakness pushing through his hardened exterior. “The place hasn’t looked this bright and cheerful in…” He scrunched his nose, “well, ever, I suppose.” Ending with a laugh that started low in his belly, but he felt through to his toes.

“Then I have completed the task I set out for myself this morning.” She smiled.

“What task was that love?”

“Getting you to do that.” She chuckled before continuing her thought. “Trying to ease some of that burden you seem to carry.”

He swallowed. “I suppose I can bury some of it for a few rare moments.” He pursed his lips. “Thank you.” He added sincerely.

“Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged, “I suppose.”

“What are you punishing yourself for?”

He exhaled, “Why do you assume I’m punishing myself?”

She shrugged, “You live alone, cut off from the world, as if you are condemning yourself to loneliness. I can’t imagine the man I know doing anything that would call for such isolation and sadness.”

“I have done many things in this life, Swan, most that I am not proud of. I am not a good man.”

“You saved me.” She whispered, her hands reaching for his. He wants to pull back, to keep the connection broken, but instead he allows her to take his hand.

“One good deed does not forgive a lifetime of bad behavior.” His voice cracked. He wished things were different, that she could stay here, maybe she would even heal his soul. But her life was not his to control. She belonged somewhere else; he was sure that her heart must even belong to another. Someone noble and deserving of her. A good man.

“It’s a start.” She leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column in my book.” Her words warmed his heart, he rewarded her with a genuine smile.

“Thank you, love. That means a great deal more than you know.”

She stood and wandered toward the couch, lighting candles along the way. As she sat down she gestured for him to join her. “It should be a few more days and I should be able to drive into town.” He added as he sat next to her.

“Well, let’s make sure the roads are safe before you try, perhaps we should wait until things are completely dry.”

He turned toward her, a hopeful feeling rising in his heart, a few more precious days with her. “Aye, good idea. Better to be safe.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder and for a moment he let himself get lost in the gesture. Imagining a new reality where this woman, his swan, stayed, and they would spend nights on the couch, lying together and talking about nothing.

“So, what do you do out here every day? Surely you must find something of interest to keep you busy.”

“Jolly and I do a lot of exploring, fishing over on the west banks, or hunting for game. I suppose when we aren’t doing that I read.”

“I noticed you had a lot of books.”

“Aye, my brother taught me how to read when I was very small. I suppose it become a passion of mine.”

“You have a brother.”

His chest rose and fell with the exhale he exerted. “I did, yes. Liam. He was a good man.”

“Was?”

“Aye. Gone.”

“Your parents?”

“Died when we were young.”

“So, you truly are alone.” She offered sadly.

“Well, I have Jolly.” The dogs head lifted off his lap as he lay next to him. He patted his head. “He provides good company.”

“Have you ever thought of moving back home?”

“No home to return to.”

“But you could move back to where you are from, start a new life.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option for me, love.”

“You could come with me.” His heart stilled.

“Love, whatever is waiting out there for you, I assure you, it is far more worthy of you than me. You don’t know anything else right now, that’s where all of this is coming from. You’re clinging to what you know because you can’t remember what you don’t.”

She sat up, staring at him. “Stop doing that. Stop discounting yourself like you are some demon, unworthy of compassion. I don’t care what you’ve done in your past, I only see who you are now.”

“Swan, you wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head in frustration.

“Why not.”

“Because…I don’t want to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. I can’t bear to have one more person hate me because of what I’ve done. I just want you to see me as you do right now. Before you leave. Even if it’s only for a few days.” His honestly surprised him, almost scared him to admit his feelings out loud. He enjoyed that she stared at him with compassion, almost reverence. He wanted her to want him, to see him as the man he used to be, long ago. He couldn’t keep her, but perhaps he could have this feeling long after she was gone. Someone had seen him, the Killian Jones he remembered, the one that Milah trusted and loved. The man who would sing lullabies to his daughter and earned her devotion. If someone could still find that man in him, maybe it was enough to keep him sane long after she was gone.

“Take me to bed.” Her eyes were full of passion, desire, need. Killian rose from the couch, hoisting her into his arms. “Be my love, if only for a while.” She whispered against his neck and he found her mouth, taking her lips with his. Tonight, he would take her as his own, they would have these moments together, no matter how fleeting they would be.

As he buried himself inside of her, pouring every ounce of passion into his kiss, he thought only of her, his Swan. As she lay, curled into his side afterwards, her eyes staring into his with a warmth of devotion, he imagined a life that wasn’t his. A life where he made her happy, where he loved this woman with all his heart and he drifted off to sleep, knowing that even though it wasn’t real, he could almost believe it, almost feel it burrowing deep into his heart.

Hope.

#waterfall memories #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au

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musedblues · 3 years

Text

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door.

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice.

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to.

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips.

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights.

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any.

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look.

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you.

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles.

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you.

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits.

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback.

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response.

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate.

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his.

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast.

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy.

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?" John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked.

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist.

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while.

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side.

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much.

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home.

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach.

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye.

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?"

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke.

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner.

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab.

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be?

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less.

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day.

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness.

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable.

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true.

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you."

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye.

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow."

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before.

What a jam...

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business.

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away.

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for.

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention.

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system.

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John.

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John.

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment.

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life.

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene.

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who.

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved, happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away.

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting.

"Then kiss me, John."

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you.

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything.

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you.

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd.

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back.

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-"

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all.

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now.

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again.

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next.

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut.

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction.

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off.

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along.

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better.

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control.

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in.

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work.

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another.

Then you heard your mother. She shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent.

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt.

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world.

And the best you could do was wait. Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year.

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into.

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened.

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night.

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?"

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get.

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice.

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos.

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence. "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try."

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at.

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction.

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from.

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand.

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators.

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most.

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes.

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from.

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once.

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan.

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought.

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you.

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore.

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning.

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm.

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond.

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered.

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver.

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning.

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled.

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby."

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration.

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled.

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused.

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more.

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here.

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose.

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London.

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no.

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning.

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #john deacon fanfiction

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louezem · 4 years

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Saying Yes

Summary: Katniss and Peeta had a bitter break up years ago and went their separate ways. Katniss knows nothing of Peeta’s life now, until a stunning blonde walks into the exclusive bridal salon were she works, to buy her a dress for her wedding - to Peeta Mellark.

Part Four - Sisters…..

Part 4 - Sisters

“Prim? Are you here?”

Katniss threw her keys and bag down and toed off her shoes with a sigh of relief. It had been a long and frustrating day at work. All she wanted was to shower, eat and then sleep.

“I’m in the kitchen!” her sister replied. “Dinner’s almost ready!”

Katniss offered up a silent prayer of thanks that she wouldn’t have to face another takeout or frozen pizza for dinner tonight. She knew how to cook but was lazy about it when she only had to cook for herself. Prim, however, loved to cook.

She followed the delicious aroma wafting down the narrow hall to the tiny kitchen. It was barely big enough to hold a small table and 2 chairs, but Prim had set it with the nice plates and cutlery and a small bud vase holding a single, yellow dandelion.

“What’s all this?” Katniss waved at the table. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Does it need to be a special occasion for me to show my appreciation for my favorite sister?” Prim asked, lifting a spoon to her mouth and offering it to her for a taste.

“Mmm, that’s so good.” Katniss licked her lips. “It tastes familiar. What’s in it?”

“It’s lamb stew with dried plums.” Prim smiled as she added an extra dash of red wine to the simmering pot. “I remembered how much you love it and I thought I’d try to recreate the recipe. Besides, lamb was on special at the market today.”

Still thrifty with the budget. Katniss thought. Old habits die hard.

“Go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I just need to warm up some crusty bread to go with this.”

“I love you, little duck,” Katniss said, pulling her sister in for a hug.

“I love you more, duck potato,” Prim grinned.

An hour later and Katniss was feeling full and sleepy as she curled on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, sipping on a second glass of red wine.

“Thank you Prim, that was wonderful,” she sighed, patting her full tummy. “I always appreciate a home cooked meal but I thought you had plans to go to the movies with Rory tonight?”

“I did but he caught an extra shift so I decided to come over and bug you instead.” Prim said, joining her on the sofa.

“So, did you happen to catch any news today? Hear any juicy celebrity gossip at work?” she asked, taking a sip from her own wineglass.

Katniss looked sideways at her sister, wondering why she was asking such an odd question. Prim knew Katniss was not big on the news or gossip – celebrity or otherwise.

“No, I was run off my feet all day. I don’t have time for gossip. There’s a trunk show on all week and they can get a little crazy.”

“Huh,” Prim starting tapping on the screen of her obnoxiously large smart phone. “Then you haven’t seen this?” She slowly turned the phone screen to face her sister.

Katniss fought to keep her composure as she watched the images unfold in front of her. The video captured a gorgeous smiling couple standing close together, hands intwined, on a gilded balcony overlooking the park. A fireworks display was lighting up the night sky behind them. Once the fireworks come to an end the couple and their guests start to clap and cheer and someone pops a champagne cork as music begins to play and other couples start to filter onto the dancefloor.

Dressed in the one-of-a-kind flowing white and gold reception gown created by Cinna, paired with custom Jimmy Choo couture heels and her golden hair flowing in loose waves almost to her waist, the bride was every bit as breath-taking as Katniss knew she would be. Holding her close to his side with an affectionate smile on his face was Peeta. He looked equally handsome in a perfectly tailored white suit with gold accents at his throat, breast pocket and cuffs.

Though Cinna never talked to her about it – most likely to spare her feelings - Katniss knew he’d worked closely with Portia, the designer who created Peeta’s outfit, to ensure the bride and groom perfectly complimented each other on their special day.

She couldn’t help looking carefully at Peeta’s left hand now placed on Glimmer’s waist expecting to see the shiny glint of a new gold band on his finger but he didn’t appear to be wearing one.

That’s odd. She thought. No wedding ring?

She always thought Peeta was the type of guy would like to wear a ring when he got married.

When they were dating he was always very open about showing his feelings for her, and would tease her gently when she got embarrassed by his frequent public displays of affection. “I want the whole world to know I’m yours,” he’d told her, more than once, gently tugging on the end of her braid as she’d scowl.

Unable to continue watching him display affection for another woman was more then she could bear and she pushed the phone away.

“They make a very lovely couple,” Katniss said quietly. “I hope they’ll be very happy together”.

Prim snorted out loud. “Katniss did you even read what’s under the video?” she held the phone up again.

“The Show Must Go On!”

An official spokesperson for the Snow family declined to comment following the cancellation of the nuptials between heiress Glimmer Snow, granddaughter of Coriolanus Snow, and her fiancé Peeta Mellark, Culinary Director for the “Arena” chain of restaurants owned by the Snow Corporation. However the brother of the groom, Mr Ryan Mellark, confirmed that the decision by the couple not to proceed with the wedding was both “mutual and loving” and that the couple would remain friends.

“I don’t understand,” Katniss looked to her sister, confused. “Are you telling me they didn’t get married?”

“Yep. No wedding. They called it off at the last minute but went ahead with the dinner and reception anyway, which is kind of cool. One of Rory’s classmates was working the bar for the evening and he says it turned into one hell of a party. But then I guess the Snow family does know how to do things in style.”

“Wow. I wonder what happened to make them call it off.” Katniss stared into space as she tried to process this new information. She’d purposely avoided all news and social media over the weekend, hoping that if she distanced herself the sooner she’d be able to forget the intense look in Peeta’s eyes as she’d driven away from the hotel. “So much time, money and effort went into those dresses, poor Cinna worked for days hand beading the reception dress—"

Prim rolled her eyes.

“Lord almighty Katniss, you can be so dumb sometimes,” she took another sip of her wine. “Isn’t it obvious what happened? Peeta claps eyes on you again for the first time in forever and the next day his wedding is called off. He still loves you.”

“That’s not true.” Katniss jumped off the sofa and quickly gathered her wine glass and the near empty bottle. “Don’t say that. Why would you say something like that?”

“Hey, give that back!” Prim tried to grab the wine bottle from her as she stomped past into the kitchen and began angrily slamming their dirty dishes into the dishwasher. It wasn’t long before she heard her sister’s soft footsteps behind her.

“I’m sorry Katniss, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Prim apologised quietly. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. You haven’t been yourself since you found out Peeta was getting married.”

Katniss sighed. “I’m fine Prim, really. You’ve no need to worry about me. Peeta and I were over a lifetime ago. I’m over it. I know absolutely nothing about his life now.”

Prim tilted her head and regarded her sister with cool blue eyes. “Will you ever tell me what happened between the two of you? You’ve never given me a straight answer.”

“Does it matter now?”

Prim shrugged. “I’d like to understand. I was still a kid when you two broke up and no one bothered to explain what was going on to me. It was confusing. All I knew was one day you were getting ready to leave for college, the next you were staying in District 12 and applying for any low paid job you could get. Why didn’t you go?”

“Because things changed,” Katniss scowled. “Family comes first.”

Prim squinted. “Really, Katniss? You’ve fobbed me off with that line for years. I was hoping you were finally ready to open up with a few more details. I know you loved Peeta, don’t bother denying it. Your feelings for him weren’t the problem. Or his for you, everyone could see how bad the guy had it for you. It wasn’t Mom, or money issues. She was fine then and you had a full scholarship. There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“All right, if you want to know I’ll tell you.” Katniss reached up into a small cupboard a produced a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “Follow me. This conversation is going to require something a bit stronger than wine.”

Settled back on the sofa once again, she tossed back a shot and took a deep breath.

“Peeta accused me of cheating on him,” she began. “When I tried to defend myself, he didn’t believe me. He chose to take his brother’s word over mine.”

“No way.” Prim gasped, her eyes widening.

“It’s true. Rye told Peeta he caught me making out with Gale after a graduation party at Madge’s house. Rye didn’t believe me when I told him that Gale kissed me, that I didn’t invite it and I didn’t kiss him back. After cussing me out and calling me a few choice names he went straight to Peeta and told him.”

“Oh, shit.” Prim’s mouth dropped open. She picked up a full shot glass and threw it back before fixing her sister with a stare. “Okay. In the interest of full disclosure I have to ask – did you make out with Gale?”

“Of course not!” Katniss yelled. “Gale was my friend! I’d known him since we were kids. Besides, Madge liked him and I wouldn’t do that to a friend.”

“But did you like him? Let’s face it, Gale is attractive. In a Hemsworth kind of way.”

“No. I only ever saw him like a cousin, or maybe an older brother. I never felt anything romantic for Gale. It shocked the hell out of me when he kissed me. We didn’t talk for a long time afterwards.”

“Okay, okay, I just needed to clarify that. Continue, please.“

“Peeta and I had a huge fight and he broke up with me. He was horrible to me Prim.” Katniss voice cracked a little as the memories assaulted her. “He wouldn’t give me a chance to defend myself. He was so mean, I’d never seen him like that before. He was like a totally different person.”

Katniss felt the familiar sting starting to build behind her eyes and bit her lip in order to try and gain some control over her emotions. It still hurt, remembering the words that came out of his mouth.

“He asked me had I led Gale on, and told me to crawl back to the slag heap I came from.”

“Oh my god, Katniss,” Prim’s eyes softened and reached towards her sister “I’m so sorry—"

“Wait! It gets worse!” Katniss let out a hard laugh. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, somehow Peeta’s evil bitch of a mother found out about what happened. She called Mom and threatened her. She told her that if her seam slut of a daughter went ahead with her plans to go to the same school as her son, that she’d report her to Child Protective Services for neglect. She’d tell them about Mom leaving us alone at night while she worked, and that you would be left at home by yourself at 14 if I left town for school. She even knew about the bouts of depression after Dad died. All stuff I’d confided in Peeta about.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Prim jumped of the sofa and started to pace up and down. “It’s so unfair. And untrue! Mom and I talked about what would happen when you went to school, I was going to stay overnight with Hazelle at the Hawthornes when she was on nights!”

“You know that and I know that, but Mom was terrified. She didn’t know what to do.”

Katniss downed another shot.

“After she threatened Mom, I tried talking to Rye one more time. I begged him again to believe me that what he saw wasn’t real, but he insisted I was lying. That Gale had been seen at the slag heap with a girl from the Seam, and I must have made it worth it when he could have had Madge instead of my skinny ass. His words. I never really understood that part.” She frowned.

“I told him about his mother’s threats and he finally said he’d talk to his Dad about keeping her off our Mom’s back, but only for your sake and only if I agreed to stop trying to contact Peeta. So I did what he wanted. I gave up my college place and started applying for jobs and signed up for a few classes at the Community College.”

“So, it was me.” Prim’s eyes filled with tears and she crawled towards her sister and wrapped her arms around her in a fierce hug. “You did it for me.”

Katniss shrugged like it was no big deal. “You’re my sister. I’d give my life for yours in a heartbeat.”

“You’re such a dumbass but I love you.” Prim began to cry harder. “You sacrificed so much Katniss. Your education. Your future. Peeta. I’ve never seen you as happy as when you two were together, not even when you were with Darius.”

“Hush now, no more of that talk.” Katniss soothed her crying sister, tears forming in her own eyes. “It all worked out for the best in the end. I was here when Mom got sick and I took on a second job to help pay the bills. We got by, and we stayed together. That’s what Dad would have wanted. Family comes first.”

“Peeta was a part of our family. He was like a brother to me when I was a kid.” Prim sniffed. “Why didn’t he believe you? And what the fuck was Rye’s problem?”

“I don’t know. All I know is his mother always hated me, but I never knew Rye did too. Peeta and Rye were always close, and once Rye started filling Peeta’s head with lies I just couldn’t get through to him after that. He never spoke to me again after he broke up with me. A few weeks later he left town for school and I never saw him again until that day on the steps of his hotel.”

“Katniss, I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry. It sounds like his mind was poisoned by his brother and that horrible old witch who gave birth to him. God, I’d love to give her a piece of my mind. As for Rye? I swear, if I ever see that guy again I will dick punch him.”

“I saw Rye the day before the wedding, he has mellowed quite a bit,” Katniss continued to stroke Prim’s blonde hair soothingly, taking comfort from the continuous motion herself. “He was almost pleasant once he realized I had a legitimate reason for being there.”

“I owe you so much Katniss,” Prim sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Because of your support, I got to come here, go to school, do everything you missed out on. Everything I’ve achieved is because you. How can I ever repay a debt like that?”

“Don’t worry, you can pay for my luxury retirement home on the beach in District Four when you find the cure for cancer,” Katniss quipped and laughed as Prim hit her with a cushion.

Later that night, after Prim had left and Katniss was getting ready for bed, she couldn’t help but look for a small box she kept hidden in the furthest corner of her closet.

Inside were a few sentimental items that even after ten years, she never had the heart to throw away.

A pencil drawing of a dandelion he’d put into her locker one day, after she told him they made her think of him.

A movie stub from their first date. She smiled at the memory. Peeta had taken her to see “I Am Legend” and got embarrassed when he cried over the dog, Sam, dying. It was still one of her favorite movies.

A photo of them together at Senior Prom, and another of their High School Graduation, big smiles on their faces just days before he broke up with her and her world came crashing down.

“Oh Peeta,” she mumbled, “why didn’t you believe me?” She sniffed. No, she wasn’t going to cry. She’d already done enough of that for this lifetime.

“… maybe you should crawl back to the slag heap you come from.”

She felt a spark of anger in her own stomach when she recalled the things he’d accused her of. It was an old spark, but one that had helped her keep going and moving forward over the years. She slammed the box shut and shoved it back in the darkest recess of her closet before crawling into her bed. She had run from the bakery that day. Run from his words and the rage and hurt in blue eyes that had only ever looked at her with softer emotions.

She closed her own eyes and pulled the covers over her head, hoping she wouldn’t be hearing them over and over in her nightmares that night.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

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#promptsinpanem #15Days #for Kika #Kristin Rouse #baronesskika #authoresskika #in loving memory

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vodkassassin · 4 years

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Hellooooo I heard that you are taking prompts!! May I propose crossdressing SQH? For the sect's mission or sth like that =))) and he pulls a very convincing disguise, with his knowledge as an author. Bonus if he can dance/sing/play instruments cuz I know he has it in him, being an overachiever he is (sorry for the rambling I just. Rly love him)

Don’t apologize! I love SQH too, so feel free to ramble away. My inbox is always open, even if you just want to gush about Shang Qinghua!

—

“Everything is set up correctly?” Yue Qingyuan frets.

And it really is fretting, the way that the man hovers over the group of peak lords that have gathered around the meeting table, almost like a hungry hummingbird scoping out its next meal. The man is normally much more composed than this, a bastion of calm amidst any crisis, and it’s making everyone else high strung as well, now that he’s slipped.

“For the last time, Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu grouses tiredly from where he sits, as slouched as he’ll ever get, fan open and so close to his face that it’s pressed against his cheek and causing his words to slur slightly. “We have gone over every possible contingency. Shang-shidi will be as safe as if he is still within our very own sect.”

“Yes, I know,” Yue Qingyuan murmurs, still gazing concernedly down at the multiple shafts of papers that they’ve got spread out across the entirety of the table. There’s a crease in between his brows, and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t really blame the man for being so worried, not really.

It’s a big operation, what they’ve got going on here. Complex, precarious, and it’s so incredibly important that they get every minute detail correct in their handling of the situation, or all of Shang Qinghua’s hard work, years worth of it, will go down the drain faster than someone can snap their fingers.

Despite carrying himself with the calm distance of an immortal master, leader of one of the greatest sects in all of China, Yue Qingyuan is the most ardent Big Brother Type that Shen Yuan has ever met in either of his lives. The man obviously cares about each and every one of his martial siblings, and it’s very apparent in the way that he gets anxious like this whenever one of them is put into a dangerous situation.

Given what the situation entails — and what exactly they’re dealing with here — Shen Qingqiu definitely doesn’t blame him for his hovering.

But, by the heavens, he’s ready to grab him by the shoulders and force him into a chair. He is fully prepared to sit on the man himself just to get Yue Qingyuan to be still for five seconds.

“Shang Qinghua is not new to work like this,” Mu Qingfang says soothingly. His calming demeanor is only broken by the way the doctor reaches out a second later to redundantly adjust the placement of one of the papers that litter the table. A nervous tick. “Out of us all, it’s him who has the highest chance of success. That’s why we chose him.”

“I know,” Yue Qingyuan says again, more firmly this time. He folds his hands behind his back and stands straight, gazing down at the table between them all. “However, given the matter at hand, your shixiong believes it prudent to ensure that every possible avenue of failure be closely examined.”

“More than we already have?” Ju Qingsong complains. He’s slumped entirely over the table, and has been for the last two hours. “Zhangmen-shixiong, this lord thinks that you’re really being a mother hen, here. Shang-shixiong’s done this sort of thing before. He’ll be fine!”

“It’s Shang-shijie now, Qingsong,” Qi Qingqi slyly announces, pulling the door to the meeting room open with a flourish. “And look, our martial sister! She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

“I still don’t see why it couldn’t have been you doing this,” Shang Qinghua grouches as he troops into the room behind her. “You’ve done stuff like this before, as much as I have, and you’re actually a girl.”

Shen Qingqiu turns away from the table, a word of good-nature’s ribbing ready at the top of his tongue, but he finds that he can’t deploy it. Not when his bro is standing right there and looking like a real, dainty and dignified young maiden of a noble, xianxia family.

The robes are what’s most shocking, at first, like a full frontal assault to what Shen Qingqiu has become used to in regards to his friend. Shang Qinghua prefers dark blues, indigos, and blacks, all in a durable and solid weave — so, to see him decked out in flowing silks of soft pastels and light trims and embroidery, is certainly a shock to the senses.

His hair is next on the list of differences, usually pinned up entirely in braids and a bun held together with sharp silver needles. Today, half of it falls down his back in a gentle wave, while the top half of it is carefully twisted up into a delicate looking hair ornament that sparkles subtly in the light of the night pearls that decorate the meeting hall’s ceiling.

All of this, paired with the tasteful arrangement of jewelry — earrings that accentuate his jaw in a way that makes it appear a softer line than it actually is, artful golden clasps around the crown of his head, with gemmed beads that hang on carefully positioned wires to frame the fall of his hair and make it look like a tumbling waterfall of golden waters — Shang Qinghua makes for a beautiful young mistress.

“Damn, bro,” he says, unable to stop himself.

Shang Qinghua turns and raises an eyebrow at him, and all Shen Qingqiu finds himself able to do is shoot his friend a thumbs up.

“Damn is right,” Ju Qingsong gives a low whistle, pushing himself up from the table. Both of his eyebrows have risen up to meet his hairline, and a large grin adorns his face. “Shang-shijie! You’re breathtaking! Isn’t she gorgeous, Qingsheng?”

Rong Qingsheng doesn’t answer the man. He’s too busy staring at Shang Qinghua with silent and intense eyes. Knowing what he does of the lord of the agricultural peak, Shen Qingqiu figures he’s busy cataloguing every minute detail of their martial brother’s — er, sister’s — new look.

Honestly, he doesn’t blame him at all. Shang Qinghua makes for a show-stopping beauty.

Seriously, what the hell?

“Didn’t I do such a good job?” Qi Qingqi preens. She reaches over and, with careful fingers, tucks a stray strand of hair behind Shang Qinghua’s ear.

The man ducks his head, slowly in mindfulness of his intricate up-do, but Shen Qingqiu is too busy having heart palpitations to make fun of him for it. From the way that his fellow martial brothers’ eyes have all widened imperceptibly, they’re having similar struggles.

Liu Qingge stands up from the table rather abruptly.

“Qi-shijie needs to go instead,” he demands, a scowl curving his brows downward.

Shang Qinghua lets out an exasperated puff of air and tilts his head back, chin rising up almost stubbornly, and it’s likely because he’s still not used to the added weight of the hair ornaments. What it does, though, is expose the curve of his neck, and Shen Qingqiu turns away from the sight of his bro entirely just to shoot their sect leader a look of trepidation. The man himself seems like his earlier anxieties have doubled.

“That’s what I said earlier!” Shang Qinghua complains, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s pouting, and oh god it makes the picture of him look all the more delicate. Has Airplane even seen himself in a mirror yet?! He needs to stop with the cute actions!

“I said ‘Qi-shimei is actually a girl! Like, we have an actual female peak lord, who doesn’t have to crossdress in order to sneak into the human trafficking ring to find their financial books!’” Shang Qinghua re-enacts, pout becoming even more pronounced. Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure that Liu Qingge’s grip on the table has just cracked the wood. “And you all were like, ‘But Shang Qinghua! You have more undercover experience!’ And I was like, ‘That’s bullshit!’ because you all know that Qi Qingqi’s peak actually specializes in espionage! Like, why is it always me that has to go undercover?! I’m An Ding! I deal with information networks, not field work!”

“Except, you do deal in fieldwork,” Mu Qingfang points out, gently. He sounds like someone has punched him in the gut. “Very often, in fact…. Zhangmen-shixiong, I-I don’t think—”

“That’s because you guys always make me go!” Shang Qinghua interrupts him, clearly needing to complain a bit more. “I mean, there are plenty of times I do it myself, sure, but that’s just because I know the job will be done right that way! But all the other times! Like now! Seriously, you guys, Qi Qingi is right there!”

“And we definitely should have listened to you, you’re right,” Shen Qingqiu says weakly, waving his fam in front of his face in the hopes that it’ll help with the faint flush he can feel assaulting his cheeks.

“It’s too late for second guessing,” Qi Qingqi says flippantly, shaking her loose hair behind her shoulders. “If we change things up now, the entire operation will have to be reworked from the ground up, and that’s just not possible with the time frame we have. If we want to take advantage of the opening we’ve been given to take down this trafficking ring, then we must proceed as planned.”

“I hate that I have to agree with you,” Shang Qinghua grumbles.

He takes a step forward, toward the table, and then stops, staring at his own chair with a complicated expression on his face. After a few moments, he sighs and looks up.

“All these layers are even more complicated than my peak lord formal attire,” he says, forlorn. “I… I have no idea how to sit down in them…. Shijie, help.”

Qi Qingqi cackles, loudly, before going forward and pulling the man’s chair out for him. She waves her hand at the seat and instructs Shang Qinghua on how to adjust his robes as he sits, and then goes on to comment that they will have to practice so that Shang Qinghua will be able to make the motions look flawless and befitting of the young noble lady that he will be impersonating.

None of the other peak lords move. They’re too busy looking anywhere but at the two shijie currently chatting away on the other side of the table. Well, Rong Qingsheng is studying them rather carefully, but that’s a given. Ju Qingsong is watching his friend with an amused (if wistful) expression, himself.

Shen Qingqiu shuts his fan with a flick of his wrist and lays his head down on the table, pillowing his eyes into his crossed forearms.

He supposes that he will have to resign himself to the unfortunate fate of actually worrying about his best friend while the other is gone, for the entirety of the mission. Airplane is just too pretty for his own good! It’s Shen Yuan’s job, as his bro, to be absolutely and wholeheartedly concerned about what might happen to him out there, especially in the situation he will be descending into.

Man, he really relates to Yue Qingyuan, now. Had the sect leader known just how pretty Shang Qinghua would be? Is that why he’d been so visibly apprehensive even from the beginning?

Shen Qingqiu thinks he might need a drink. He glances across the table, at Shui Qingyu, and finds that the brewery peak lord appears to be thinking the same. Their eyes meet, their expressions of dread nearly identical, and they share a nod.

Later tonight, they’re going to get drunk.

#svsss prompts #scum villain's self saving system #shang qinghua #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #yue qingyuan #peak lords #Qi qingqi #crossdressing #going undercover #spywork #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #alicebaskerville stuff

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Arranged Chapter I (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: None for this chapter (series: E)

Word Count: 4,004

Summary: Prince and Princess of your respective planets you both agree to wed, not for love, but for advantage and the public cannot know. But there’s only one problem -- the two have never met, not until your wedding day.

A/N: so this has been several months in progress. I’ll be tagging folks who liked my original post (if you don’t want to be tagged, just shoot me a message!). there’s a lot of set up in this chapter, but i promise it will pay off. I hope you give this series a read b/c its really something special to me. Special shoutouts to @laneygthememequeen, @bucky-of-the-opera, and @mrsrafaelbarba for all the support!!!

"Come on Poe, you cannot have seriously agreed to this," Poe Dameron did not bother to look from the mirror, eyes concentrated on delicately tucking the wide end into the knot before pulling it down into a nearly perfect loop. But why then, why did it feel like he was tying the noose around his neck before his long walk to the gallows? The dread his stomach certainly sat like it - twisting his guts into a kriffing useless knot, much like the one around his neck.

"I already agreed to it, Finn," the knot hung a little crooked - well perfect enough - just as his life was, "long time ago."

Was it that long? It was an instant. An instant that he went from sitting in his mother’s lap in her x-wing, listening to her hum, as she flipped switches and steered the ship across the sky over the Queen’s palace. The quiet buzz of the engine lulled him sleep, until she would rouse him as they swooped in for a soft landing after the daily patrol of the perimeter. The oranges of the sky now inky black, nothing but a glittering scattering of stars and distant planets he knew nothing of.

And now, he was stuffed in a stranger’s all too stuffy suit, tying a tie, and his feet cramping in tight shoes - and as he stared at himself in the mirror - he barely recognized himself. Probably because he definitely didn’t choose these clothes. A tradition - the bride’s family chooses the groom’s clothes. As he resisted the urge to squirm in his aching feet in his shoes, he wondered if they were hoping he couldn’t run with blue and purple feet.

“Two weeks isn’t that long ago,” But two weeks wasn’t when he decided. Two weeks ago was when he confirmed it - confirmed that he would do anything to please his Queen, the person who took him in when he had no one - when he had lost everyone. And this - this wasn’t a loss - it was a gain. A gain, of another at his side.

Finn shook his head, heaving a sigh, “Just tell me, tell me you’re not just doing this for the agreement.”

Was it the agreement why he was doing this? Yes, the troops the neighboring planet of Shar could give could end the war, the relief from supplies could stop millions from starving, and the bloodshed, the one that had stained his hands for all too long, could stop. He could finally stop — stop waking up in cold sweats from the images of broken children haunting him, the ghosts of families poking and prodding at his subconscious, until he begged for mercy. It could stop.

An offer like this didn't come around twice. Except that it did — and she had said no.

His Queen.

Queen Leia Organa, his mother by all intents and circumstances, received an offer for an alliance a long time ago, and all that was needed was a hand in marriage - and since Ben's hand was already promised - it only left him. It was considered and mulled over and examined time and time again. The Queen couldn't deny the offer was favorable — especially with forces stirring, plotting, scheming in the background. But in the foreground was her son. Barely old enough to read, much less decide on an offer of marriage. She said no, because at that time, she had the choice.

But this time, she didn’t. And neither did he.

“I’m not just doing it for the agreement,” he intoned, mustering up a small smile, “Even if I am, as my advisor, shouldn’t you be trying to make sure I go through it?”

He saw Finn frown at him in the mirror, “As your advisor, I’m trying to assure you aren’t making a rash decision,” he paused, before adding, “and as your friend, I’m trying to make sure you’re not being a kriffing idiot.”

“According to you and Rey, aren’t I always?” he laughs, but it echoes hollowly in his chest, and for a moment he allows himself to feel the weight of his decision - he would spend his life with a stranger. Would they grow used to each other? Would they hate each other? Or worst of all, would they mean nothing to each other? And then the counterbalance weighed in - the war, the shortages, and his mother. He turns to face Finn, “I know it’s the right decision.”

“How do you know?”

He only smiles, “Because Queen Organa wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.” And he hopes that’s true, hopes it’s enough.

“We should get going,” Finn says, but his words don’t register. Not really. Instead, Poe stares out the window, and nearly just out of sight, the very tip of the pavement of the landing strip peeked through, the end of an x-wing barely visible. It would be so easy. Too easy to sneak out of here, feet pounding down the pavement, slipping past every guard, until it was too late to stop him. His head against the rest of the pilot’s seat, thrum of the engine buzzing in his ears, and he would be gone. He would fly somewhere, anywhere he did not have to be responsible for the lives of so many people, somewhere he did not have to follow his duty — somewhere he just could take care of himself. Instead of everyone else.

Finn claps him on his shoulder, and he's ejected from his fantasy, “Hey, you okay?" And a small voice nags at the back of his head, after the war, after the war, after the war. Maybe things could be different - maybe he could be free. Things change. People too. As do commitments to treaties. Alliances fall and rise with only the flick of a royal’s finger, and why couldn’t his life too? “We can’t be late, it’s your wedding after all.”

Then why, he thought as he steeled himself, pushing himself to take one step after the other, why did it feel like my funeral?

~~~~

The march from his quarters to the hall was a lengthy one. One in which every doubt rears its unwelcome ugly head again, whatever seemingly committed front he had put up to Finn shattered in its wake. Now his eyes just looked for exits. Whatever instilled duty and steadiness he had long abandoned him as he left his room, now leaving only with traitorous thoughts and antsiness in his fingers. But eyes — eyes were watching him. Even now as he walked towards where the procession was waiting for his arrival, he felt the gazes of every guard he passed, every servant, every nobleman fall upon him with smiles and well wishes. And imagine what those smiles would be if they could hear his actual thoughts? How quickly those smiles would turn to scorn at his own selfishness? How fast those well wishes would turn to hissed sneers? The math was simple. A single hand to save many. A choice with only one right option. But why did he want the wrong one?

But why was it wrong? Why was it wrong to want to want to have a choice? Why was it so wrong to want to choose who to love?

It wasn’t wrong, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he spotted the procession standing at attention, the colors of the Resistance in full thrust, he just didn’t have a choice.

Or rather he did. His family and his planet or a chance at an unknowable future.

He gave Finn a nod, before facing the procession, striding forward to take his place. And he would choose his people - every time.

~~~

“Add more color to her lips,” The Empress of Shar ordered sharply, smoothing her tone over with a saccharine smile that only assured you that this servant would be fired by the end of day, “We want her husband to be completely enraptured by her — anything less will not be tolerated.” Or perhaps, it would be something worse than a simple dismissal.

Instead, your eyes remained concentrated on the delicate designs that had been drawn on the backs of your hand, patterns of vines and leaves intertwined around each other, bound in the same fate. These same hands that saw battle, bruised and battered and bloodied, were now dressed up in rings and bracelets, drawing eyes to the designs that adorned your skin. And while these tattoos were ephemeral, the passage of time scrubbing them from your hands, the ceremony they represented were not.

That knowledge weighed on you, heavier than the weight of your wedding clothes against your body. Your mother had you dressed before dawn had broken, and even your muscles nearly buckled under the weight, the clothes embroidered to the point of absurdity. And now in the sunlight, you could see it clearly, ornate designs painstakingly stitched into shimmering waves and complicated lattices upon the ivory fabric. You resisted the urge to finger the designs, knowing your mother would lose her mind if even a single bead was out of place.

The fingers of the servants tugged and pulled on the strands of your hair into an intricate braid, weaving ribbons, golden thread, and flowers into the complicated knots. You bit your tongue as they yanked particularly hard. Complaining would only incite the Empress’s wrath - and you didn’t wish that upon even your worst enemies.

The Empress of Shar left no enemies behind. And those she did, she left with their heads on a pike. It was in the name of duty. That's what she told you, anyway.

"Duty first, mercy second," and you learned quite quickly that mercy often didn't come. If ever. Mercy was reserved for only those situations where the Empress had something to gain — and was assured she had nothing to lose. And your wedding was one of them. It would have been all too simple to storm the planet of D’qar, beaten into submission after attack upon attack by their enemies. All it would have taken was one unit — the im’petis — the force users and their army would have been razed to the ground. But war is messy. War never ends. Even when all said and done, the seeds of revenge fester in the crevices and cracks of a broken kingdom, until blooming into swathes of rebellion. Too many warm bodies lost. Too much wasted time.

No, it was better - better to forge an alliance, quell any hint of impropriety, instead two planets become one kingdom. And D’qar and the Resistance gain the support of Shar’s vast resources, while Shar’s gains the aid of their technology. The only cost? Your freedom.

Or your hand in marriage. All the same to you.

You couldn’t run. You couldn’t escape. It was a choice of your family or your life.

And you choose your family. Always.

“Now, it is time for you to meet your husband,” The Empress waves the servants away, and as quickly as they came, they disappear through the double doors, “We will bring you out. The ceremony will be performed separately at first, and then you will be brought before each other as husband and wife,” her lips curl into a smile, “and darling, this must go well, for both our sakes.”

“Yes, I understand,” she raises a brow, “my Empress.”

She nods, “Your ladies in waiting will escort you to the procession, and then you and Poe will live on this planet for a time, before returning to Shar. I expect to hear from you, at the end of every month. Especially before your return to Shar."

You would spend a few months on D'qar, here, as the kingdom prepares for the transfer of power from Queen Organa to Prince Ben."

“Yes,” your throat tight, you give another nod, “I understand.”

“I imagine you will have little trouble. The prince is flighty - weak minded and eager, in both romantic and unromantic pursuits,” she stops in front of you, staring, and you wonder if she can see the weakness in your heart, every thought in your mind telling you to run now, to refuse. But she says nothing, only winding a curl framing your face around her finger, tugging on it harshly, a thread of pain running through your head, “but may I remind of the stakes of this. All of Shar is relying on you, as is your mother. Do not forget your place.”

She lets go and the curl bounces back into place, as she turns to leave, her hand pausing on the door handle, “And don’t forget,” she smiles at you warmly, which only makes your blood run colder, “you two fell in love on a diplomatic mission, and now are being wed,” a ploy - to garner support from the public - it was far better in the eyes of the simple folk to marry for love rather than power. Love sells after all, “So don’t forget to smile at your betrothed - you are in love with him after all.”

The door closes with a click. Yes. Love. Of course.

No tears well in your eyes nor do you scream. You sit there, staring at your luggage. You had been flown to D’qar night before last. The air was lighter here — less humid, somehow sweeter than the aridity on Shar. But now, it felt strangling. You rose, bracelets clanging against your wrists, lifting your skirt as you strided forward. You unzipped one of the bags, stuffed with gowns and dress shirts alike, the material heavy as your arm waded through the sea of silk, until your fingers found the false bottom to the bag. Your fingers snaked through the opening, until they closed around what you sought. You pulled the lightsaber from the bag, staring at the intricate design of the hilt, its weight a comfort in your hands. Only days ago you had spent cutting down Shar’s enemies, and now - you would do it again.

Only this time — there was a knock at the door, and you buried the saber as quickly as you could in the luggage — the deaths would not be on the battlefield, they would be in a palace.

~~~~

Poe’s stomach twisted. He did not like this.

A thousand eyes watched him atop the platform set up by both the people of D’qar and Shar alike. All of whom were watching him now as he sat - trying not to fidget in his throne. Drapes of colors of both kingdoms hung - some separately and others in unison, representing the merging of the two planets and of this union. And they hung all around the stage as well, a barrier from the public’s eyes - but only barely - as he could spot their eager eyes between the parting of the banners.

He did not like this at all.

A lone soul, his stomach lurching as he waited for the ceremony to begin. A million eyes on him, and not a soul he knew beside him. He wished Finn or Rey - someone could have joined him. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut - at least the Queen. But they were following Shar's traditions, down to the dotted line - part of the agreement.

A neutral expression would suffice instead of a smile, hoping he appeared to be an anxious groom rather than a miserable prince. The officiant would be joining him soon enough, but it did not make him feel any less lonely by himself. Usually, the men of the bride and groom would join the soon to be husband, but - his stomach twisted again - neither of them were around were they? The one thing he knew that he shared with you - the lack of a father, or perhaps the fleeting memory of one. More a ghost than anything now.

The corners of his eyes stinged, nails digging into his palms, the nagging thought in the back of his head wrenched to the forefront: what would he think of his son? Marrying a stranger he had never met. Would he be proud of his dedication to the kingdom he had lost his life for? Or would he want something more for him? Something like he and his mom had.

The chatter outside grew, and he readied himself for the officiant. But did it even matter? He was alone in the end - in life and in marriage.

“You look quite sad for a man on his wedding day,” his head snapped to attention, as he moved to get up, but his Queen waved him off, “It is your wedding day, you need not rise for me.”

“But don’t I always anyway, Your Majesty?” he gave a weak smile, rising to his feet as she sat, wrinkling her nose at his formality, but holding her tongue (knowing he would use her title anyway), “How many Sharians heads’ did you have to bite off to allow you to be here?”

The corner of her mouth twitched, “Only one. And I did not bite anyone’s head off - I only had to ask, and made it clear to the Empress I was only going to ask once to be at my son’s side during his wedding.”

Son, his throat tightened, swallowing the feelings that rose with that word - the word that wasn’t a word, but so much more - it was the very reason he had agreed to this. More than the scorn, the hatred he would engender, maybe even the crushing guilt of the lives lost - or maybe he couldn’t — but he knew only for certain: that he couldn’t bear the thought of his mother being disappointed in him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says quietly, and she looks over, lips curled in a smile now.

She raises a brow, “No remarks to be made?”

Poe looked to the audience as all rose for the approaching officiant, and he knew he wouldn’t run - not because he couldn’t - but because he could live with marrying someone he didn’t know, but he couldn’t live without his home.

~~~

You didn’t want to have this ceremony. You liked the beauty of it all, the elegance, but only from an outsider’s perspective. Not when you were the one sitting like a shyyyo bird in a cage. You hated all the eyes on you — dressed in bright plumage to draw their gazes, as they watched you take part in this forced mating ritual.

Maker, it was your wedding day and all you want to do is take a nap. Especially as the officiant's droning voice led you through the vows, you felt your mind wane, though you kept the outer mask of a bride carefully stitched into your features. Even so, you doubted they could see your face through the thick veil of flowers tied around your head, the string digging into your skull. Even through the thick perfume of flowers, sweet and heady, you could smell the distant aroma of dinner - savory and ambrosial - stewing in pots and warming until this ceremony was over. You almost didn’t care if your stomach growled - after fourteen hours in this outfit and being poked and prodded and watched - you were ready to eat.

And it would be soon enough - as the vows came to an end, with only a word of affirmation needed from the groom and from you. A comlink hooked up to project sound throughout the building - as one was offered to you and most assuredly to him, as so everyone could hear you affirm your love for one another. And it occurred to you, this would be the first time you heard his voice. Curiosity edged in at the corners of your mind - what would his voice be like? Would it be gruff and low? Would it be smooth and dulcet? Would it be pompous and orotund?

It was one Sharian phrase, but you repeated the word over and over in your head - knowing that a second of hesitation (or Maker forbid a mispronunciation) would look suspicious.

You hear the officiant ask, “Hal’e turbi hayatak bihah?” Do you bind your life to hers?

“Nam 'uqad hayati,” Yes, I bind my life to hers. The Shar words rolled off his tongue with clumsy vowels and exaggerated consonants. You had no expectations, and yet his voice was different than you expected. It was neither gruff nor pompous, you supposed it could be smooth or dulcet, but it was still something more than that - and you realized, it was the conviction in his tone.

For Sharians, arranged marriages were second nature - a tried and true practice that made for marriages that would last a lifetime, most by choice, but others by obligation. You thought nothing of it - it was the same risk anyone took when marrying for love, and the same traps that anyone could fall into in a bad marriage. But for D’qar? Their people have married for love almost as long as they have existed. Even Prince Ben, whose hand had been promised to another, it was because he had fallen for another. So for the precious prince, it couldn’t have been easy to agree to this. And yet, he seemed sure - that it gave you pause - when was the last time you had been so sure of anything?

You weren’t even sure when you had agreed to this - though it wasn’t like you were given much of a choice. You were perfect after all - the perfect stand in for the princess, one that didn’t exist. There was never a choice that was yours after you agreed to join the Sharian Guard - and even that was a choice between certain death and indentured servitude.

“Hal’e turbi hayatak biha?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, all hope of running dissipating, as you feel the Empress’s gaze on you, “Nam 'uqad hayati.”

The crowd cheers in time with the band, the low notes a quiet boom in the background, as you and your groom rise from your chairs and are led down the steps of your individual stages — you by the Empress and him by his mother. Other instruments join in with each delicate step you take, building to an inevitable crescendo when the two of you finally see each other for the first time.

The first time.

Your throat is dry, and swallowing does nothing to soothe the very much throbbing heart tangled in your vocal cords. You realize that he’s before you when the Empress’s guiding hand stops, drifting away from your shoulder. Thousands of eyes pierce you from every side, your knees threatening to knock together, but you will them to be still. Princesses of Shar did not shake — but of course, you thought mournfully, you were not one.

“Please lift the veil and allow your eyes to meet your betrothed,” the officiant orders.

Gentle fingers part your flowered veil, lifting it over your head. You blink.

Brown. That’s the first thing you notice when you see them. They were a softer brown than expected. You had heard the rumors about the prince — about his thrill seeking as a pilot and his disregard for the rules (authorizing an attack the Queen had explicitly objected to). You expected more fire, more darkness, and it was there — but there was something more you couldn't place. His eyes blinked as he saw you too, his lips parting, a gentle gaze caressing your face, instead of raking down its sides. His brow only ruffled for a moment, before he smiled Lips pulled wide into a smile and that's when you remembered — oh yes. You were supposed to be in love.

You match him in time, chiseling your expression into a shy gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. And his hand found yours easily, his fingers intertwining with his to face the crowd. Even as your stomach stuck to the soles of your feet, why was it that, even with a thousand eyes piercing you, you couldn't help but stare at him?

~~~

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagines #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male winged Fae x reader (nsfw)

Some of you may not have noticed the new addition for the higher tiers of my Patreon, but if you're on the Elves tier or above, you are automatically entered once a month into a prize draw for a 3k word story of your choosing.

This month, the lovely Jackal of Hearts won, and asked for our boy Ahrin from Winter Solstice (currently undergoing a re-edit) with a neutral reader, and added that nsfw is always fun. We had a discussion about Ahrin's story because dear Jackal didn't want to spoil anything for Winter Solstice, and knew that I had plans to reveal what happened to him and his once-lovely wings during the course of the story. We decided to go for a 'pre-Winter-Solstice' setting, when Ahrin is still with the Court of Shadows, and meets his reader at the Court of Fire during a diplomatic visit.

There are a few crumbs dropped in here for Winter Solstice too, and a cameo or two, but mostly it's the story of two people connecting in an unlikely situation and making the best of it.

Hope you enjoy! It’s been up on Patreon for about a week now, so it’s time to share it here.

Winter Solstice (undergoing re-edit, but story remains the same) can be found here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw) (All Tumblr links)

(reminder that in March, existing patrons will not be charged, and I do not plan to put out any new content for that month, but new patrons will still be charged for that month because that’s how Patreon works. Access to all my existing content will not be affected though!)

Enough waffle; more story! Wordcount: 5248

The Court of Fire turned out to be almost the opposite to what you’d expected. You’d imagined flame-blasted heaths with twisted stumps of heather curling like blackened fingers towards a sky choked with smoke, ash falling like tainted snow, basalt-dark rock and rivers of burning oil, with a cruel, volatile, fickle court of Fae to rule over the desolate kingdom. So when, at a mere eighteen years old, you had been led through a tear in the Veil between the worlds, quivering and trembling, with tears stinging on your cheeks, you had been surprised to discover a rich, verdant landscape, with fertile black soil as far as the eye could see.

Your second shock had come when a small party had crested the blustery promontory where the way through Veil was marked by two colossal standing stones, and you’d seen a group of riders approaching. The creatures they sat were nothing like horses. The lizards were as big as oxen, with wide, muscular bodies, slung low to the ground and with wicked, sickle-shaped claws and a spined tail.

Three of them drew to a halt at a short distance from where you stood beside the older woman who had been sent to fetch you as payment for a bargain made years ago by your parents. You had known about their bargain and had been prepared for this moment your entire life, and yet fear still coursed through you now that you were actually here in the Fae Realm.

Your guide leaned to speak in your ear, her ash grey hair whipping in the strong breeze, and whispered, “The High Prince himself has come to welcome you. Kneel as I do, and do not speak unless asked a direct question.”

Trembling, you sank to one knee and bowed your head as she did. The prince did not get down from his mount, but someone else did. Striding towards you, they addressed the woman beside you. “Is this the human that was promised to Lord Rhaziel?” The voice that spoke sounded male, and immensely frustrated.

“Yes, m’lord,” the woman said, nodding.

“Can you ride?” the Fae barked, and you realised that the question was directed at you. Risking a glance up, you took in the sight of the tall Fae and swallowed thickly. You’d heard that the Fae were enchantingly beautiful, but now that you had the opportunity to prove that theory in person, it was infinitely more intimidating than you’d realised. His skin was a deep, warm brown, and his long hair was tied back off his face and hung down his back in thick ropes, studded here and there with gold and amber beads. His eyes burned a bright gold, and you looked away almost instantly, afraid that he would take offence at your boldness.

You shook your head. You’d never been on a horse - let alone a giant lizard - a day in your life.

He sighed in frustration and said, “You will ride with me. Come.”

And with that he turned on his heel, the black and red robes of his courtly garb swirling slightly with the motion, and strode back towards a dark grey lizard who was eyeing him carefully. The older woman did not follow, but she did rise to her feet again. She, apparently, would walk with the rest of the guards surrounding the party.

As you passed him, you risked a glance at the Fae who sat at the head of the small group of reptilian mounts, and again saw nothing but beauty. He was talking with another rider who looked almost exactly like him, perhaps a little taller. The two of them were clearly related; probably brothers. With long, thick, red hair half tied back off porcelain faces, and bright gold eyes, they laughed jovially as if sharing a private joke, and even when the leader - who wore a golden crown of dancing flames studded with rubies - looked towards you, the laughter did not die in his face.

He bowed his head ever so slightly at you in acknowledgement, and his smile broadened a touch more. Above the high collar of his red and gold tunic you glimpsed a dark sigil etched into his skin and wondered what the tattoo meant. You offered him a shy smile, averted your eyes, and hurried to join the first Fae as he stood beside his lizard, looking impatient and thunderous. He said nothing as you joined him, but when you made no move to get on the frankly terrifying, constantly rumbling beast, he rolled his eyes and snapped, “Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up. I will sit behind you.”

“Oh…” you croaked. “Alright…”

The journey seemed interminable through the dense jungle that surrounded the base of the basalt outcrop where the portal between the realms sat. Your mount was third in the line, behind the High Prince and his brother, and the movement of the thing was enough to make you feel slightly seasick. Eventually the landscape dropped away to one side and you gasped as you saw a rocky ledge plunge down into an apparently unending sea of golden sand. At the foot of the dark cliffs was a wide, winding river, but beyond that, it seemed as though all life just… ended.

On the edge of the cliff ahead, with the wing which had some of the highest spires partly extending out into the empty air, a huge castle had been built. Even in the light of the midday sun you could see that the windows were glazed with red, gold and orange glass so that it looked almost as if the buildings were all aflame inside. The sight of it made you shudder, but the rider behind you gave no words of encouragement, and by the time the party drew to a halt in the colossal bailey of the castle, you were almost dizzy with fear.

At the party’s arrival, a small slew of attendants immediately scuttled out like ants from a kicked nest, and you noticed what looked like a wheeled throne being pushed easily towards the High Prince. You tried not to stare as you slid to the ground and turned to watch as his winged bodyguard stepped forwards, not to lift him down but merely to offer his shoulder for the Prince to brace against. He lowered his body down into the chair from his saddle with what had to be immense upper body strength while his legs dangled unmoving below. Once settled, he adjusted his weight and then caught you looking. You flushed, embarrassed by your curiosity, but instead of being reprimanded, you found that all he offered you was a wide, toothy - almost cheeky - grin before he pushed away towards the castle doors.

The Fae whose mount you’d shared was named Narrawaed, or Narra for short, and he turned out to be the personal bodyguard and attendant of the Fae two whom you had been promised in service, Lord Rhaziel. Despite your fears, you soon discovered that all you were required to do was assist the elderly Fae with his reading and academic studies, and after a year in his service, you came to regard him almost more like an uncle than a master.

Lord Rhaziel was the High Prince’s own uncle, and a trusted adviser at the court, so you ended up being able to attend a lot of the gatherings and events that the Court of Fire held at various times of the year. On one such occasion, the impending visit from a noble from the Court of Shadows prompted preparations for a lavish party, although the primary reason for their visit was diplomatic.

Rhaziel broke off from his research on the effects of lava-gnat venom on nerve pain one afternoon and looked up at you, blinking softly. For a Fae to look old, they must really be extremely elderly you knew by now. Rhaziel’s hair was white and a little wispy, tied back in the current courtly fashion and secured with a comb adorned with flames to mark his royal blood. His eyes had faded to a delicate pale gold now as his own magic faded. Apparently - if the extensive tattooing all over his neck and down to his hands was anything to go by (though the rest was hidden by his thick, silk robes and high collar) - he had been extremely powerful in his day. The tattoos helped to contain a Fae’s magic to prevent those with potent power from losing control. The High Prince, Jaehrin, was apparently the only person ever to have had more tattoos than Rhaziel did.

“Come, child,” Rhaziel croaked, pushing his chair back from his paper-strewn desk and easing himself to his feet. “Let us go and see how the preparations for tonight’s festivities are going.”

You nodded, not minding any longer that he still called you ‘child’. To him, you really must have seemed very young, you supposed, although you had been there for over a year now and were an adult by human standards. He meant it affectionately, and his eyes always twinkled kindly when he met your gaze.

You extended your arm to him and he took it willingly, using his silver-tipped walking stick in his other hand. His papery skin was flecked with age spots but his grip was firm, and the two of you made your way with familiar ease through the shadowy passages of the castle from his study towards the great hall.

The doors stood open and you gasped as you regarded the hangings that had been draped from the centre of the ceiling to railings on the walls and then allowed to fall in a waterfall of red and gold silk to the floor. It reminded you so viscerally of the maypole decorations in the village back home that it stole your breath away as you stared. You had been so transfixed by the sight of them that you hadn’t noticed that there was a small group of Fae in the centre of the room, and that their conversation had sputtered to a halt at your arrival. More likely it was at the arrival of the distinguished royal elder than you, of course, you realised as you turned to find them all staring.

“Shall we introduce ourselves then?” Rhaziel asked with a slight wink. “They look a bit star struck. I wonder if they’ve ever met a human before?”

You rolled your eyes, used to his teasing manners, and accompanied him closer to the strange group who were, you now saw, talking with the High Prince and his younger brother and sister.

Not all of them looked like the more ‘human’ High Fae; one was simply a writhing mass of shadows that constantly shifted and changed shape like ink in a stirred glass of water, and their voice was nothing more than a rasping of claws on stone as they spoke. Standing beside them was the High Prince’s bodyguard - and, some said, his lover - Garrad. The huge, hulking fae bore the sigil of an Ember Warrior, emblazoned across his otherwise unadorned tunic, and he stood on avian feet with enormous, black wings outstretched behind him.

A figure who looked a little like him - if only for the enormous pair of bat-like wings - was unfamiliar to you. His skin gleamed, warm and richly brown as if he spent a lot of time in the sun, and his face was sharply handsome and bore a rough-hewn kind of strength to his features. As his whisky coloured eyes landed on your face, they sharpened with interest, and his full lips murmured, “A human?”

Jaehrin laughed from his position in his wheelchair and said, “Yes. I have one or two in my court, Lord Ahrin.”

Ahrin flushed and bowed his head. “Forgive me for staring, Your Highness.” In apology, he tucked his heavy wings in tight and bowed his head. As he did so, his shoulder-length, brown hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back with a strong-looking hand. For some reason the sight of that simple gesture awoke something that had been dormant in you since coming to the Fae Realm, but you hid your reaction well while Lord Rhaziel was introduced to the remainder of the party from the Court of Shadows.

“I shan’t keep you,” the elderly Fae chuckled once everyone had been introduced. “I just wanted to come and see what was going on.” He turned to you and hissed in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “I do still love a good party, even after all these years.”

His smile was infectious, and you laughed softly. The sound appeared to attract Ahrin’s attention again, but when you looked over at him, he had turned his head away and was speaking to one of the dignitaries from this court, a creature made seemingly of living rock who had always made you a little uneasy, like a statue come to life.

It wasn’t until the ball that evening that you saw Ahrin again.

You and Rhaziel were sitting at the side of the room on a deep, comfortable sofa, watching the nobility from both courts - and from one or two others, if Rhaziel’s comments were accurate. “That young lady is from the Court of Winter,” he said, indicating a beautiful blonde who was currently swirling around the dance floor in the arms of one of Jaehrin’s brothers. “Her adoptive brother is a terrible snob,” he added with a scoff. “Awful young man. Reserved to the point of rudeness, and a spoilt little brat if you ask me. The younger twins are delightful though… Finwe and Caedwyn…” his eyes misted over a little as he clearly thought fondly of the two younger princes of the Court of Winter.

“When did you last see them?” you asked politely.

“What? Oh… must be twenty years ago now. Oh look!” he exclaimed, suddenly digging you playfully in the ribs with a sharp elbow, and he nodded in the direction of the dance floor. “I thought someone was rather interested in you before.”

“What?” you chirped, confused, turning your head to see Ahrin smiling at you as he approached.

With what could only be described as a gleeful little cackle, Rhaziel dug you in the ribs once more and hissed, “If he asks you to dance, I expect you to say yes…”

You meddling old man, you thought amusedly. “Alright.”

Courteously greeting Lord Rhaziel first, Ahrin bowed low from the waist, glorious wings tucked as neatly out of the way as he could manage. Around the hook-like talons, the ‘thumbs’ of his bat-like wings, he wore an engraved, golden cuff, and his shoulder-length hair was half tied back and studded with small, spherical gold beads that picked up the colour of his eyes perfectly.

“My Lord,” he purred quietly to Rhaziel. “I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

Rhaziel shot you a sidelong look and snorted. “Not as much as I think you’d enjoy yourself if you were to ask my assistant to dance…”

Ahrin’s cheeks flushed attractively and he laughed. “Indeed.”

He turned to you and you swallowed nervously. Humans were not particularly numerous in the Court of Fire, and while you’d been treated with respect, as both the subject of an honoured bargain and the servant of one of the most powerful Fae in the Court, you weren’t exactly of any social standing.

“Would you me the honour of sharing this dance with me?” he asked, voice deep and gravelly. Ahrin bowed low again, and a dark, swirling mist began to coil around his polished boots and his wings, like morning frost evaporating in the sunlight.

Rhaziel leaned across and hissed in your ear, “I think he’s nervous. Put the poor boy out of his misery, eh?”

Unable to keep from chuckling, you nodded. “I’d love that. Thank you, Lord Ahrin.”

“Please,” he said as he straightened. “It’s just Ahrin.”

You took his hand and tried not to go weak at the knees when you felt the rough strength of his callused fingers. Gently, he drew you towards the dance floor as a new tune started from the minstrels’ gallery, and he began to lead you in the quick, energetic dance that followed. He held you firmly but not uncomfortably, one hand on your waist and one gripping your hand, as the two of you practically galloped along the length of the room. His wings didn’t seem to get in the way at all, and he must have been extremely fit because where the exertion left you flushed and breathing hard, he was barely winded.

Ahrin’s handsome face split into a broad, beaming grin and his eyes laughed too as he spun you around at the end and finally came to a halt in one corner as the rest of the room paused to catch their breath and applaud the musicians. “That was a tricky one!” he exclaimed. “I should have known they’d play that here! You did well though; did you learn our dances here?”

You nodded. “Lord Rhaziel insisted that I learn in case he fancied a turn on the dance floor, apparently, though he’s never expressed any interest himself in all the time I’ve been here.”

“Well,” Ahrin smiled, “I’m certainly glad he had you taught.” A moment later his expression turned a little thoughtful and he asked, “How long have you been here?”

You shrugged, following him as he led you towards the colonnade at the edge of the great hall which looked out over a balcony on the edge of the cliff. Cool breezes wafted in, making the oil lamps gutter and flare, but the air was welcome after the perfume and closeness of the dance floor. “A little over a year.”

“You’ve adapted well. Prince Jaehrin’s court seems generally fair though,” he added, almost wistfully.

Feeling a little emboldened, mostly by the fact that he still held your hand as you walked side by side into the cool night, leaving the music and laughter behind, you decided to ask him a question in return. “You’re originally from the Court of Shadows yourself, right?” You eyed his dark wings pointedly, though you were curious because he didn’t appear to have the avian legs of a Shadowborne like Garrad.

He nodded, gaze turning distant as he stared out over the empty desert that stretched out below the castle on this side. “Mmm.” Offering you a cheeky wink, he added, “Royal bastard though, so I’m no one very important…”

“You must have been quite important to be asked to come along to this?”

“Touché,” he said. “I have some standing because of my blood, but no authority really. I’m more of an ambassador when Naeryn is busy.”

“Naeryn?”

“Prince of the Court of Shadows,” he said. “I’ve always liked it here though. Jaehrin’s…” he sighed. “He’s good.” The way he imbued the word with real significance made you nod in agreement. From what you knew of the High Prince of the Court of Fire, he was indeed good. Quick to laugh and quick to forget his anger, strong with his magic and generous with his friends, he seemed quite unlike anything you’d been led to believe was possible from the Fae. You had, of course, had some run-ins with one or two nastier Fae folk, but Rhaziel’s influence largely kept them at bay.

You looked up to find that Ahrin had gone from watching the view to staring at you, eyes dark as honey now. “What?”

He smiled. “I can see you weren’t expecting us to be like this when you first heard about the Fae…”

Shaking your head, you said, “No. And I’m sure that if I wasn’t attached to Rhaziel in some way, my experience might have been a bit different. I’ve seen the other humans here who prepare the food in the kitchens and work the gardens. Their life is harder than mine by far.”

“But they’re still paid for their work, and treated fairly,” he said bitterly. The sour note took you off guard and he elaborated. “In the Court of Shadows, it’s not so pleasant. What humans there are find themselves treated like livestock. Many of the creatures there feed their magic, their essence, on fear and darkness, and humans are so… emotional. They don’t last long.”

You shuddered, a thrill running down your spine and making your hair stand on end.

“I’m sorry,” Ahrin said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No,” you countered firmly. “I’d rather know how things are than be deluded…”

His attractive lips quirked into a soft smile. “I’ve not met a human like you,” he admitted. A refrain of music floated out on the air and he held out his hands again. “Another dance?”

Smiling, you accepted.

“How long are you here for?” you asked, somewhat breathless, half an hour or so later as the two of you still danced in private on the balcony.

His eyes were locked on your lips and for a moment he didn’t respond. “Hmm? Oh… a week. There’s the Equinox Ball coming up, and we leave after that.”

You’d almost forgotten about the significance of the Equinox Ball, which marked the turning point of the year where the Seelie and Unseelie Royals - who ruled over all of the Courts - exchanged their power. They wouldn’t attend this ball themselves, of course, but it was still held to honour their leadership and to wish them good fortune and wise rulership for the next six months of the year. The Courts would each take their turn to host a ball, and this year it was the turn of the Court of Fire. The Shadow Court’s visit had been tied into that to discuss business between the two courts which, apparently, were not on the greatest terms despite Ahrin’s opinion of Jaehrin.

Ahrin stopped dancing and leaned a little closer to you, blinking slowly as if in a daze. He swallowed and you watched his Adam’s apple bob. “May… May I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes,” you smiled and he returned the gesture.

He brought his fingertips to your chin and tilted it up so that he could look at you properly first. Sliding his palm up your jawline, savouring the shape of you beneath his touch, he smiled and whispered, “You’re stunning…”

Before you could respond, he kissed you.

His fingers tightened and he tangled them in your hair, heedless of the mess he might make of it by scrunching it all up. He tugged you into the kiss, deepening it with a groan and you watched his wings slowly flex open, as if trying to shut out all the world around you.

Breathless, he pulled back a moment or two later and you saw how his golden eyes glowed, bright and glassy. His throat worked again as he swallowed and he blinked. “Save a dance for me at the Equinox Ball?” he murmured, thumbing a line across your cheekbone.

“As many as you like,” you laughed.

Ahrin’s answering deep, earthy laugh made the warmth inside you bloom to something fierce, but before he could kiss you again, someone called his name and he winced, wings tucking. “I… I have to go,” he said. “It’s one of the Prince’s advisers. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said, still feeling like you were floating. “Go.”

“At the Equinox Ball,” he promised, kissing your knuckles as he left.

You watched him go and turned back to the balcony and the desert below, heart pounding. Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere beyond the ball, but you could enjoy it while it lasted, surely. Perhaps when Rhaziel decided he no longer needed you, you could go to the Court of Shadows and… Shaking your head, you instantly recalled what he’d said about how humans were treated there. No, that wasn’t something you could endure.

The sadness that pervaded your thoughts that week - even when you saw Ahrin around the palace from time to time - seeped deep into your bones. You played it off as just tiredness to Rhaziel, but when Ahrin swirled you round the dance floor for the second time at the Equinox Ball, he frowned, his thick, sculpted brows knitting, his eyes dark. “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately sweeping you out of the dance and onto the balcony again. This time you didn’t have it to yourselves, but as he led you to the far end, you might as well have been alone.

“What’s troubling you so much?” he pressed, lifting your chin the way he had done the week before. This time, no kiss followed, only kindness.

You tried to put on a brave face, but his eyes were so earnest that you had to tell him the truth. “It’s so childish,” you hissed, half turning away.

Ahrin caught your hand up in his as you moved and squeezed. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Taking a steadying breath, you said, “I think I’m enjoying this too much.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” he asked, confused.

You nodded. “You’re going back tomorrow, and I’m staying here. I can’t go with you.”

Ahrin’s expression shattered, and you realised that he hadn’t even thought of that. “I… I can… I could come and visit you,” he ventured, though even as he said it, you both knew it couldn’t happen.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you said gently. “It’s alright… You’re probably destined for more than me anyway.”

He growled, low and deep as a wolf, and you jumped in surprise. His wings flexed behind him, like a swan preparing to beat the absolute crap out of someone, and you began to giggle at the thought. “What?” he snarled.

“Easy,” you said, still chuckling. “Let’s just make the most of tonight then.”

His warm eyes went wide and he leaned forward, seizing your face and drawing you into a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. “Yes,” he said. “Come with me.”

Ahrin led you through the castle towards the guest wing, and none of the guards stopped you as you followed him into his private apartments. A fire was blazing in the grate, and spherical glass lamps had been lit all around the room, each one glowing like rubies in the sun. His quarters were lavish, but you had eyes only for him.

His jerkin was laced up the back to accommodate his wings, and he spread them wide for you to undo it in a gesture that struck you as incredibly intimate. He shivered as you brushed your fingertips against the ‘shoulders’ of his wings where they melted from dark, leathery brown into the smooth skin of his tanned, muscular back. There wasn’t a mark or scar on his body, save for the odd freckle here and there, and as you let his jerkin fall to the ground, he turned carefully and you saw that the hunger in his eyes had grown.

Ahrin took his time undressing you, and when you stepped out of the last of your clothes, he let out a shaky breath, jaw slack, eyes glassy, his pupils blown wide. “Stunning,” he murmured, repeating his compliments from the last time as if in a kind of prayer. “You’re stunning,” he breathed.

He lingered, kissing down your neck and letting his fingers caress your hard nipples and his hands wander until you felt lax and pliant in his arms. Leading you to his bed, he laid you down and began to worship every exposed inch of you with his mouth and his hands, leaving you a gasping, shaking mess.

“You’re still… still wearing too much,” you managed to whimper when he’d brought you close to orgasm twice in a row.

With a wry grin, he nodded and shucked off the rest of his clothes, freeing his impressive, erect cock. Pre-come wept and beaded at the head and he took himself in his hand as he leaned over you on the bed, one knee on either side of your legs. Lowering himself down, he ground his body slowly against yours until you were both groaning and trembling.

“I want to mark you,” he growled, mouthing at your neck and collarbones as he picked up his speed. His wings stretched back behind him, occasionally twitching. His cock was slick against your hip as he rutted against you, covering you in his pre-come. “You’re already going to smell of me, but… can I…?” he asked, nipping you more forcefully.

You nodded, and he instantly closed his mouth to your collarbone, sucking a deep, dark bruise there. The moment he leaned back and admired his work, his wings extended wider than the width of his huge bed, and he moaned, “You look so good like that…”

“I’m yours, Ahrin,” you whimpered, shudderingly close to your own peak as he ground himself repeatedly against you. Your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you and you begged him to come as you bucked up against his weight. “Please… come over me…”

His eyes flared bright with magic and shadows began to coil around your legs as he lost his tight control on his powers. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, and as the gentle, velvety darkness wrapped around your senses, it felt like another caress. “I’m so close,” he whimpered as he worked himself rough and fast. “Fuck… I’m…” and a moment later his hips spasmed and he emptied himself all over your stomach.

Ahrin’s wings flared impossibly wide, the membrane becoming almost translucent as it stretched to its limits as he came with a bellow, mouth open, eyes rammed shut, head tipped back in ecstasy.

A moment later as you finally came as well, his strength failed him and his muscular supporting arm buckled. He toppled down on top of you and the two of you lay panting and twitching together for a long time.

When he finally caught his breath, he pushed himself up off you, groaning at the mess he’d made of both of you. He drew carefully back and got to his feet. From where you lay, dazed and spent on the bed, you watched as his wings sagged, as though the weight of them was finally too much for him after his earlier exertions, and observed how the tips dragged on the floor as he paced unsteadily over to an adjacent room and disappeared.

The sound of running water reached your ears not long afterwards, and he reemerged again, still naked, but a little cleaner, and carried your limp body towards the bath. Steam billowed into the air, fogging the mirror and condensing on his long, thick eyelashes like morning dew on blades of grass. He lowered you into the water of the enormous, black stone bath - which was more like a pool - and stepped in after you. With care and gentle attention, he washed you clean, lingering where you were still sensitive until you were arching up into his touch and hissing his name.

“Ahrin…”

“Mmm?”

“Make me come again?”

He kissed you and adjusted the movement of his hand a little, making you cry out, though the sound was muffled by his lips against yours.

“And again,” he said, kissing your neck and leaving another bruise not long after.

You moaned.

“And again,” he added, biting gently at your collarbone. “And… again…”