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naushtheaspiringauthor · 4 months ago

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~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- cremation but nothing too descriptive (im not sure if that counts as trigger)

A/N- This isn't the end of the fic I promise there's still more...so much more. Anyways let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @evelyndane @marauders-wife @el-de-phi

Ch-64 ~The change had come for her~

“I’m sorry, What?” Anaya spoke, utterly bewildered. She was entirely sure that she’d heard the statement wrong.

“You will lead Ravka’s council” She repeated with certainty.

Anaya’s eyes widened.

The girl has clearly gone berserk.

“You have the capabilities of being one” She further amended. “You have skills, experience and just the right amount of confidence”

“That, I do” Anaya pursed her lips.

“And didn’t you live in Ketterdam for several years?” Alina asked

“I did, yeah” Anaya nodded

“Also you have degrees in what, business and finance ?” She furrowed her brows, unable to remember the exact details.

“Business, finance and political science,” Anaya corrected, pointing a finger.

“You don’t need to doubt yourself, Anaya” Alina reassured her. “The country needs you to get back on its feet”.

“I’m not entirely sure that those people would be willing to follow me” Anaya pursed her lips.

“Then you make them follow you” Alina put a hand on her shoulder. “You prove it to them”.

Anaya looked down at her feet.

Is that what she truly wanted? She believed some part of her really did.

She had wanted to help people, so that they didn’t end up being used, manipulated and tossed away.

She wanted to help people so they could live a life where they wouldn’t go to bed at night, fully aware that they might not wake up the next morning.

She wished for Ravka to be a better place, a place suitable for everyone. Not just the rich, the powerful, the soldiers.

She wished for Ravka to be a home.

And she knew she would do all in her power to make that true.

“Alright” she sighed. “I’ll do it”

Alina smiled.

“Ravka shall prepare itself for an extremely charming and talented Councillor” Anaya gave her a smug grin

Alina grinned brightly, “I’m afraid they might swoon at your feet”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did,” Anaya shrugged.

Alina smiled and then wrapped her arms around Anaya. “Thank you, for being by my side when I least expected it,” she said.

Anaya stilled for a moment then wrapped her arms around the girl. “Of course”.

“Take care of yourself” Alina smiled, blinking away her tears

“You too” Anaya smiled, surprised by the strange prickle in her own eyes.

……………………………………………......................

Into the sands of the Unsea, the pyre was a massive mound of birches and white limbs. Atop it lay Ruby, who had been tailored to be the Sun Summoner, a soldier who’d fought by Anaya’s side.

It was astonishing just how much she looked like Alina.

Beside her, lay the Darkling, with his hair neatly combed back, dressed in his black kefta with his hands folded on his chest.

The sun had almost set and dusk was falling, yet the crowd was massive and hadn’t deteriorated in the slightest. Some complained that the Darkling did not deserve to share a pyre with a saint but this was the way it was to be.

They needed to see the end of it.

From beside Nikolai Lantsov and the Apparat who’d just been pardoned, Anaya Nasrazeen stepped front.

The question had come up when they'd been discussing the details of the ceremony.

Nikolai and Genya were propped up near the fire. Zoya was sitting near the table, brandy in hand. David had been scribbling in his notebook.

"Someone needs to do it," Zoya said, taking a sip from her class. "The people need to know the future of Ravka, that we'll be the ones to lift it back on its feet".

"I don't think I can do it" Nikolai's voice rose. He sighed.

Genya shook her head as well.

"I can't either," said Zoya, her voice trembling.

"I can do it" Anaya's voice rose, reverberating in the silence.

Their gazes shifted to her sitting at the far end of the table.

"What?" She raised her shoulders.

"Anaya, you-" Nikolai began. "You don't have to feel pressured to do this".

But Anaya only remained composed, "It's fine".

She got up from her seat and walked towards the door. "If I need them to follow me" she looked back at him. "I'll need them to know who I am".

“People of Ravka!” Anaya bellowed, her voice booming through the crowd, making them all go silent.

“In front of us lies the very man, who once gave us hope” she glanced at the Darkling. “Hope to make our nation a better place.”

She stepped forward.

“However, he was the very man to be consumed by greed and power. He took something from each and every one of us”

“And here lies an innocent girl” she said, glancing at the Sun Summoner. “A girl who was more than the world had presumed her to be. The girl who became our savior, the harbinger of peace, a Saint, when she could’ve chosen not to.” Her voice passed through the massive crowd, reverberating through the dead sands. “She owed the world nothing, yet she gave it her most valuable possession, her life.”

Several chants of “Sankta Alina” went up from the crowd.

“Let us not allow her hard work, her sacrifice be in vain!” Anaya roared. “Today marks the end of a dark age of Ravka, one we’d all been living in."

"And it is the beginning of a new era, a free Ravka, a Ravka gleaming with the flame of hope, a Ravka that is ours” she stood with her back straight, her chin up.

There was a shift in her demeanor, a new flame burning in her eyes. As if this was the part for her to play all along.

“Let us not forget” Anaya’s voice was jagged, borne of her struggles, her experiences. “the sacrifice of all those who have laid down their lives for our nation”

Harshaw, Marie, Fedyor, Rabeah, the list stretched on.

“I, Anaya Nasrazeen, pledge to devote my life to make Ravka a better nation, along with each and every one of you” she took a step forward.

“Let us all work in harmony, to bring about change, for the better, To not let their sacrifices be in vain” She raised her arm, her fist clenched.

“For Ravka!” her voice boomed through the crowd, like the beating of a drum, a grand symphony

“For Ravka!” The crowd bellowed in unison.

She turned back and gave a single nod to the Apparat.

He raised his hands.

The Inferni struck their flints. Flame leapt in bright arcs and spread onto the branches.

The fire grew, flames shimmering, the shaking leaves of a great golden tree.

The moans and weeping of the crowd grew louder.

Sankta, they cried.

Sankta Alina.

Anaya glanced at the burning pyre, the Darkling’s body with an unprecedented relief.

The man who had given her everything.

Her lips formed a small frown.

The very man who had taken it all.

She looked at the crowd. Amidst the crowd, she could make out a woman in her purple kefta. Her dark locks falling on her bronze skin.

Beside her, a man in his blue, red embroidered kefta. An unfamiliar gleam in his moonlit skin.

They were gazing at her, smiling.

They were proud.

They were at peace, at last.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x oc

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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the age old divine

hela x hecate!reader x agatha harkness / masterlist

summary; the mass of murdered witches draws your attention, shooting down to earth to speculate the scene. two goddesses, and a outcast witch, need i say more? / warnings; death, smut, threesome, biting, blood, threatening, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, squirting

“dead, dead, dead.” the goddess of death herself spoke, as she traipsed through the loitering of witch carcasses. despite her words, her dark eyes showed anything but pity, rather what was bestowed upon her power endorsing pools was amusement. the scene was quite satisfying to her, it was a certainty that she would not be one to complain about the number of bodies.

“say it with a little less stride in your tone, these are my children. they were gifted magic by my hand, and now all that reprise has gone to waste.” you bit verbally at the daughter of odin, looking respectfully down upon the slaughtered. “only one of their own coven could have strung them to her heart so enthrallingly, we have to find the witch.”

“isn’t all this hocus pocus your jurisdiction? there is no we when it comes to reprimanding the order of this nature.” hela responded, brushing her hair back into its tarantula alike webbing. “hurry now, so we can carry on with our reckoning of the realms, earth is rather dirtying my feet with distaste for the humans that loiter pathetically on this planet.”

“oh hush, just because you are your daddy’s number one executioner does not mean that structured by your thoughts, that life is a waste. mortals may not be gifted with long life, nor the representation of elaborate thinking, however there is some beauty to their weak race.” a rustle in the bushes had you snapping your head to the side, focalising on the greenery as a nervous shake prompted the arms.

“there is no beauty to avid weakness.” hela noticed the listener’s location too, though she continued to speak as though it were a regular conversation at one of asgard’s infamous banquets. “nor hiding from those that reign higher in a seam of nature. come out little witch, and show us that digressed face of yours.”

“hela.” thoughtlessly elbowing the executioner, your thoughts drifted to her borderline mistake. the witch could attempt to escape after her whereabouts being called out, though perhaps you should have had more faith in the face of death, for a ragged haired, young woman approached from her hiding spot, seemingly worried for her own safety.

her eyes drifted over the various bodies that she had cast from life, and then they landed on you. instantly she recognised the description that your form visibly upheld, she had heard various tales and stories about you as a child, the mother of the witches.

“agatha harkness.” you knew her name, inside she panicked, it felt as though she were to be punished for her sins. but with one flick of your enchanted wrist, the evidence of her reprisal disappeared, her mother’s corpse turning into nothing more than a wisp drifting through the air. “i suppose it is you that had vanquished your family, may i, the sorceress over all, get an answer to why?”

agatha fumbled her shoulders for a second, as she thought of the best response that she could possibly bestow. she couldn’t say that she had seen the darkhold, nor disobeyed the ways of her coven, that would only make her appear as the villain. “well, are you going to tell me, or am i going to have to take a peak in that chaotic mind of yours?” your tone was harsh, as your demanding eyes bore into her.

from beside you, hela tutted, as she nonchalantly picked at her nails. “aren’t you the one always telling me to have patience?” out of all times, this was when the goddess had to intervene, it seemed as though she herself had no patience to sit there and allow you to carry on. after all, as she had spoken, this was your area, not hers.

“shut it.” the demand provoked the woman that lurched death upon her victims, she was fast to swoon forwards and cast her tough hand upon your jaw. her impending pupils glazed over, washing over with dominance, as her spare hand reached out, shaking her pointer finger at agatha, whom had tried to creep away from the debacle scene.

“not so fast little witch, i want to show you how weak and vulnerable your deity is in my hands. one snap and i could break this pretty neck of hers; and that would be such a shame.” hela hissed, sinking her teeth into your chin, hard enough to cause a puncture mark to render your flesh, with your crimson humanity lightly escaping from the small wound.

the goddess of death threw you upon the ground, as you turned and glared at the witch, who remained frozen at the play that was rolling out before her eyes. hela sunk onto her knees, grasping the crooks of your ankles to pull you closer, straddling you to permit no option of escape.

“i thought that you were smart enough not to talk back to me y/n, but it appears that i, like the ways of my forefathers, was wrong. did all those lessons i introduce you to amount to nothing?” her porcelain hands tore at your white robe, exposing your nudity to the crisp air, that sent ripples of bumps along your immortal skin. “i will bend and break you until you understand. i will rip everything away from you, until you see that your whimsical tricks are nothing in compared to what i am able to do.”

a whine escaped your lips, and agatha’s eyes widened. she shouldn’t be witnessing this, much less standing by as her legendary, tale told idol fumbled beneath a mass of dark seduction, braced to be as barren of clothing as you were the day that you had been birthed as a symbolic presence within the universe.

“get off of me, otherwise i shall inform the hellish mould of the devil’s crown how to defeat you; you and i both know that ragnarok will have you splitting in half like a fallen icicle.” the threat, albeit honest, was half empty, like a cauldron with the incorrect ingredients. hela could only smirk at the predicament that you had adjourned into the compass of.

her suspicious hand slithered down your body like an albino serpent, cradling the mound of your inherited artefact, rubbing her murderous thumb upon your rose, toying cantankerously with the petals, pricking at them like established thorns, drawing a spike in your breath. agatha rubbed her thighs together, trapping her full bottom lip between the jailhouse of her teeth, lightly gnawing upon her own flesh.

“get off of you, or get you off into a climactic example of true ecstasy, that is not accompanied by vengeful curses, nor midnight felines that bring the warning of arising karma?” she asked teasingly, shaking her deviant head as you thrusted your hip against her hand, rubbing the length of your treasure chest upon her thrilling palm.

“don’t be stereotypical hela, otherwise i will make sure you see some entrapment of your own fears; you and i both know that i am well equipped to take a guess at what they are.” hela prowled her top lip up in the stance of a silent snare, quickly disconcerting her attention away from you in your appeasing pose, as she beckoned the bushy haired witness over, grinning contently when the witch silently complied.

“i suppose you’ve never thought that the night would come where you would see your historical figure writhing under the affections of death. touch her, fulfil the one legacy that you bestow upon your enchanted selves, and serve her.” the woman cloaked in a skin of thin armour spoke, glaring frighteningly up at the witch, with a primal infrastructure edging the outside of her feral orbs.

“i, i, what do i do?” agatha wanted to be certain that the thoughts that ceremoniously rushed to her mind. if she were to worship your body with the passion that she had refrained from sharing with any of her coven, then she wanted to be certain that she knew the extents that she was allowed to perform to. a forbade groan sheathed like a revealed dagger from your mouth, as you located your neck in an alternate position so that you could look at your kin.

“eat my cunt harkness, now, before i decide to punish you for your treacherous sins.” within a minute, she scrambled upon the dirt, clawing her way so that she was met with an inspector’s sight. hela untangled herself from her masterful clothing, basking her body in nudity, as she climbed upon her face, sitting on it as you eagerly began to swipe your tongue through her folds, sucking earnestly at her clit.

agatha found that to be her moment, she craned her head down, swiping her fingers through your self accumulated slick, watching with a transparent gaze as your essence coated the pads of her skin. she delved her face closer, inhaling the immoral scent that radiated from your most intimate parts, tracing your lips with her explorative tongue. the witch hummed, as though she had succeeded at a spell, gasping herself as she felt your hand comb down and pull at her messy locks.

hela ground against your face, half suffocating you, just the way that she liked it. you moaned into her pulsating flesh, inserting your primitive tongue inside her, roaming around the dark caves that staved many secrets, feeling how each one perfectly moulded her soul, and made her into the dependant warrior that she was. it was unarguable, she was a difficult person to get along with, but you could feel the impact that her younger years had shaped her; she had been taught to be this version of death.

but ironically, there was much life in her as she made huffs that she often saved for the episodic scenery of the battlefield, huffing her perky chest out as she felt valhalla erupt in her abdomen, urging her to sink onto your tongue, and use you for her own advantage. agatha was admittedly not doing as bad of a job as you had inwardly predicted, she was eager to please, specifically more so, since it were you, hecate that she was intimately tending to.

you moaned up into hela, lurching your bottom half down and further unto agatha’s in inquisitive face, sending ripples of sound up through the raven haired woman’s sly body, stringing more leverage over her, in more ways than one. a shout bellowed from your chest, as you felt tendrils of aura surround the interior of your stomach, poking it to no end, sending you closer to the edge. witches, you’d show this one in particular.

harkness squealed as she felt a heat penetrate her entire being. she was a witch, you were a deity, that was perception enough that there was a range of power between the two of yours abilities. “hecate.” it was the name that her ancestors had taught her, and thus, the woman used it, trying to mush her not so innocent face back into your pussy in attempts to shut her own self up.

it felt as though the bifrost was soaring through her, sending her to another land; hela came onto your face, mumbling incoherent, presumably dominant, words to herself as you used your oral appendage to help clean her up. “by the dead, are you good at that.” it was far from the first time that she had told you that. agatha was on the route to her second orgasm, the bliss that you intuitively blessed her with had rendered her to a first.

she however continued to bring you to the overall whits of your sexual expression, introducing her fingers into your nest, watching euphorically as they entered you, and sunk delightfully through your folds, being swallowed into the spongey abyss. hela dismounted from your face, tracking over to position herself from behind agatha, turning up the ends of her skirt, throwing the supporting material over her ass, grabbing the cheeks as she pressed a bite into one globe.

the goddess sunk her face into the subsequent area that had been indulged in privacy for far too long, stroking up the ways of agatha’s slick cunt, nibbling upon her clit as the maleficent light you bestowed continued working inside of her. shaking your head, a finish line was installed as you raced towards it, surpassing the line as you pushed the simple witch’s face closer to your heat, coating her lips with your personal gold, forcing the pressure within her to explode.

her body shook as a violent flurry, which was surely anything natural, reckoned her body. juices spurted out behind her, coating hela’s torturous tongue as she pulled away, silently comparing her taste to your own. once more, in an instant, hela was robed once more, as she steadied your knees, pulling you up to your trembling feet. “now that is what i would call a divine intervention.” a smirk riddled your lips as you stood, your robe still torn, exposing the curve, and the entirety to your beautiful breasts; agatha felt as though she were in a trance.

you were so perfect, like all the tales had foretold. hela shook her head at your incensed pun, rolling her eyes at your consistent humour. “i liked this one, she was less bold than the others that we have previously visited.” noted the goddess of death, stepping back and dragging you back with her as a beam of light cascaded down through the sky, ripping the pair of you away from your current destination.

once it disappeared, the pair of you were gone; vanished. though evidence of your presence remained, agatha licked her lips, tasting you, as she simultaneously felt the affect that the pair of you had endured upon her between her dampened legs. it was a day that the stray witch would never forget, it was indeed, a memory that would surpass through her mind as she gained control, and thus more power.

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ahopelessromantic · 4 years ago

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Making Moves ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: none, Spencer likes being called doctor but what else is new

Spencer and you have been floating around in your own bubble for a while now. Maybe it’s time to let other people in on it as well.

After a long day of lectures and studying, your shower’s steady stream of warm water felt heavenly. With a happy sigh you leaned further into the stream, when suddenly a pair of arms snuck around your naked waist. You jumped up in shock for a second, and only then remembered that you had given your boyfriend the spare key to your apartment. “Hi.” You giggled breathlessly, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin of yours. Instead of returning your greeting, Spencer just buried his head in the crook of your neck. “Long day?” While waiting for him to answer you reached back to play with his curls. “Hhm.” He groaned. “The worst.” It was only then that you decided to turn around, cupping his face in your hands to take a proper look at him. The shadows underneath his eyes looked darker and his cheekbones stood out even more than usual. You placed an innocent kiss on his lips. “Take as long as you need, I’ll go ahead and make us dinner, okay?”His eyes softened, and for a moment the tiredness in his face was gone. Spencer nodded and made room for you to leave the shower, but only after pressing a kiss to your hand.

“So, what you’re saying is that theoretically, a TARDIS is possible?” Spencer threw his head back in a laugh. “That’s not what I said!” You faked a pout, poking at his ribs. “Well, explain it to me then wonder boy!” The two of you were cuddled up on your tiny couch, a soft blanket thrown over you and a doctor who marathon playing on the tv. The only way you could both fit on the sofa was when you were basically laying on top of each other, but you couldn’t really find it in you to complain about that. Your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind, either. He slightly sat up and lifted your chin with his fingers, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your insides melt. “You still didn’t explain!” You mumbled into the kiss, coaxing another smile from his lips. In your living room’s dim lightning his eyes looked like honey and there was a warmth to them you didn’t get to witness every day. “Can you… shut up and let me kiss you?” He almost shyly asked, trapped between two of his favourite things in the world: geeking out without being judged for it and making out with his girlfriend. Today, he seemed to be in the mood for the latter.You hummed, leaning into him. “I can do that, I guess.”

Unfortunately, evenings like these weren’t the standard for the two of you. Spencer worked an incredibly demanding job, and even though your university didn’t send you to crime scenes with a gun strapped to your hip it still wasn’t exactly easy, either. You were a law student, in the middle of specialising on criminal law to hopefully one day go into law enforcement. It was only ironic that your own boyfriend had turned out to be an FBI-Agent a few dates in. But then again, you were a firm believer that everything happened for a reason. You had walked into that bar during orientation week last year for a reason, and the first thing your eyes had fallen upon had been Spencer for a reason.

“I bet I can destroy you in that game.” You had boldly told the handsome stranger while sitting down across from him. He had looked at you in confusion for a moment, his mouth slightly open, but then seemed to catch himself. “That is highly unlikely.” He had stated, is if it were a fact. You had looked him directly in the eyes, encouraged by the gin tonic coursing through your veins. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Somehow, one round of rummy had turned into four, and somehow, you had actually managed to win two times, one of which with a glorious full house. At some point the conversation between you two had began to flow freely, and you could still remember feeling so incredibly fascinated over everything this man had said. Something about his way of speaking, the way he chose his words, the intelligence in his eyes, had pulled you in to a point of no return. You had kissed him on the cheek that very night, not knowing how else to thank him for walking you home. He had even insisted on it, not expecting the short walk to your apartment off campus to turn into a full-blown mini hike. Afterwards the two of you had stood in front of your door, his cheeks red and his hands inexplicably trembling. Spencer had later told you that he had never felt the way he had felt around you before, and that in that moment his biggest fear had been to never see you again. But even though you had exchanged numbers before saying goodbye you had run into each other again much, much earlier than expected. The very next morning, to be precise. When you had innocently walked into your forensic linguistics elective class and met eyes with one certain Doctor Spencer Reid, the day’s guest lecturer.

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much coffee and ate more breakfast you wouldn’t basically pass out whenever I take you running with me.” You playfully scolded your boyfriend the next morning, shoving a croissant in his direction. He barely even looked up from his notes, blindly reaching for the piece of pastry. After breakfast you watched him getting ready for work. Spencer long had his own drawer of clothes in your apartment, his own ties and jackets hanging in your closet. The transition from barely sleeping at each other’s places to basically living with each other had happened so slowly and naturally that one day you had just woken up in his arms and decided that neither of you wanted it any other way anymore. You were probably once and for all going to officially move in with each other soon as well, but before you did that you still needed to sort out some things in your relationship. “Let me help you, Doctor Reid.” You smiled seductively after seeing him struggle with the knot of his tie. He chuckled nervously, a slight blush blooming over his cheeks. “Honey, you know I’m trying to get going to work, not get going in another way.” Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his nose. “Whatever, Doctor Reid.” Behind closed doors you loved teasing him, riling him up just to see him get all smiley and flustered. You had been in love before, but in comparison to the way you felt about Spencer all the ones that had been there before him faded into a dull grey. A part of you was convinced that you had been in love with someone before but had never really loved them. In a way, you liked to think of Spencer as your first and hopefully last love. Trying to seize every moment you had with him you even accompanied him to your door, childishly trying to keep him from leaving by placing kisses all over his face. “Baby, I have to go.” Your rational side knew he was right, but it was very hard to let that side come to light when your emotional side was looking at Spencer with an empty head and heart eyes. “I love you.” He murmured and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You beamed at him. “I love you more. I’ll see you later in your lecture?” He nodded, and with one last kiss he was out the door.

Technically, you had long collected all the credits you could in forensic linguistics. But that didn’t stop you from still visiting your boyfriend whenever he guest lectured for a friend, silently giving him the support he was always so grateful for. Knowing you were there in the audience always gave him an insane boost in confidence, up to a point where now a whole group of girls in the class swooned over him on the regular. You loved telling him about them and loved even more how shy he got over it, forever trying to help him feel surer of himself and his skills.

“JJ, you got something to do right now?” Morgan asked with a grin, leaning over her desk. “Loads. Why?” She asked with a suspicious tone to her voice. “We want to go visit pretty boy at his lecture, see how he does as a professor. Even Hotch is coming.” With a heavy sigh, JJ closed the file she had been looking into. Goddamnit, if she wasn’t interested in seeing Reid in action. “Let’s go.” She just said, getting up to join the rest of the team in the bullpen. They all carpooled to the lecture hall, surprised over how many people and especially girls were there in the audience to watch Reid. “Looks like Reid’s got some fans.” Hotch murmured, the tiniest of smiles playing around his lips.

At the end of the lecture you packed your things and walked up to Spencer, politely waiting for the people in front of you to finish asking their questions. You noticed the way your boyfriend’s glance kept on distractedly landing on you only to refocus on his students again and couldn’t help the smile on your face. What were you supposed to do? You loved him, after all. “Doctor Reid.” You finally greeted him once he was done answering questions. He visibly straightened up upon hearing his title, giving you a contained smile. Even though you weren’t technically his student the two of you still preferred to not openly flaunt your relationship on campus, just to avoid getting into any form of trouble. “Did you like today’s lecture, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” He asked while shoving his things into the old leather satchel he always carried with him. You grinned. “I loved it. But it was terribly difficult to concentrate today.” Spencer just nodded in mocked thoughtfulness. “And why is that?”

Looking at the two of you from afar must have just looked like an overly nice student asking her professor some questions, but something about the way Reid smiled at this girl set something off in Morgan. The usually so awkward genius seemed oddly comfortable around the pretty girl standing in front of him, something that didn’t really happen often. Never, actually, now that he thought of it. “Guys, do you think that’s his girlfriend?” He hushed. The rest of his team whipped their heads around to look at him. “His what?!” Emily asked. “Come on, think about it. We’ve all noticed that he’s been feeling himself more than usual lately. He even comes into work looking well rested sometimes, when has that ever happened before?” Garcia’s chin dropped in realisation. “I saw him drive the opposite way of his apartment after work sometimes. I just thought he’s taking a detour or something…” Before any of them could continue to speculate about Spencer Reid’s private life, Morgan had already made his way down the stairs to the lecturer’s podium.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Derek Morgan.” A handsome tall man suddenly interrupted yours and Spencer’s banter. You took his hand in confusion, looking over to your boyfriend for an answer to this situation. He just stood there frozen in place, eyes wandering between you and the stranger. So, he did know the man? “I’m (Y/N).” You hesitantly introduced yourself. That seemed to shake Spencer out of his stupor.“(Y/N), this is Morgan, part of the team at the BAU. Morgan, this is (Y/N), my uh…” He took a deep breath. “My girlfriend.” A wide grin spread across his colleague’s face, and a bright blush across yours. “I knew it!” He chuckled, clapping a hand against Spencer’s shoulder. “It is so nice to meet you.”

After that the rest of his team suddenly joined the three of you at the bottom of the stairs, attacking you with questions about their ‘pretty boy’. You set yourself a mental reminder to tease him about that later. “I hope you know that it’s our obligation to take the two of you to lunch now.” The extravagantly dressed woman that had introduced herself to you as Penelope told you determinedly. You grinned, your glance landing on Spencer. He looked like he had accepted his fate already and returned your gaze defeatedly. You had known that his team was close, a bond forged through danger and long nights of working on cases together, but you frankly hadn’t expected a bunch of professional fbi agents to be this close and warm.

“So, how did the two of you meet?” JJ, who was sitting across from you in the small Italian restaurant asked while cutting her saltimbocca romana. You looked down at your spaghetti shyly, feeling your ears grow hot under all the attention that was on you ever since Spencer’s team had basically ambushed the two of you. “I, uh… I tipsily thought I could beat him in rummy.” Morgan started laughing incredulously. “Okay, you’ve got balls. I respect that. Did he at least let you win once?” “I didn’t need to.” Spencer suddenly spoke up, slowly warming up to the situation. He liked how somehow, you seemed to fit right in with his team, and couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to be like when you one day joined the fbi yourself. “She won. Twice. One of which with the meanest full house I’ve ever seen.” His eyes met yours, and the look of respect and pure love in them made you feel all warm on the inside. A round of ‘oohs’ went through the team assembled around the table. From there on the ice seemed to be once and for all broken, and the more time passed the more comfortably you started sinking into your seat. You felt like maybe, this had been that one last step you had needed to go all the way in your relationship. Watching Spencer letting his guard down around his team, seeing him so happy around the people he loved, gave you an idea. You secretly started looking through your bag for a pen, scribbling a tiny note onto your napkin and shoving it to where he was sitting across from you. He didn’t even notice it at first, he only saw it laying in front of him after you shoved your foot against his under the table. You watched him read it in nervous anticipation, taking in the way his expression changed from confused to shocked to… happy? He leaned over the table to snatch the pen from you with a tiny smile, scribbled something onto the napkin and handed it back to you while mouthing ‘I love you’. With a beating heart you unfolded the note and felt the tiniest amount of happy tears prick at your eyes.

Move in with me?

Stood there in your writing, and underneath that in his:

Yes :)

#requested #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #BAU #BAU Team #BAU x Reader #criminal minds #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader

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thottyhrs · 4 years ago

Text

Just a lil world building and build up between myself and a certain... rat.

Not my best work, but I finally had the motivation to push myself and write something I’ve been wanting to make for a while ;;

Blasted thing!

Ratigan growled, outstretching his cloak and observing the long tear. He usually kept his attire in pristine order, so something like this was more than just a tad irritating. As he wondered where such a tear could have come from, the bigger question popped in his mind— where would he go to stitched? He wasn’t well versed in sewing, nor did he trust any of his idiotic goons to fix it properly. As he walked along the streets of London, he kept his eyes peeled. He couldn’t exactly stroll into any boutique, considering his face was all over the papers. Perhaps he could just manipulate some poor worker?

That seemed to be the plan as he walked up to a small shop, nestled just outside of Baker Street. He rubbed his chin, looking around the empty city. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of potentially running into trouble if he went further down the street. His worst nightmare would truly come to light if he ran across that second rate detective while he was out in the open. Time to test his luck, he thought.

He walked onto the porch, noticing the little bell strung just above the door. He gave it a tug. The soft ring went off, sounding similar to a wind chime. However, no one showed up. He tapped his foot, his patience quickly growing thin. He tugged the thread of the bell once more, glaring at the door. He pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. He couldn’t wait around all night— and despite his better judgement, he’d prefer to just head home with tattered clothes than stand outside in the dreary night.

Just as he was about to call quits, a small voice broke him out of his train of thought.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked behind him, seeing the mouse at the bottom of the stairs. At least, he assumed she was one— she was quite tall, much taller than many other mice he’s met. However, her large eyes and small tails proved to him she wasn’t a rat. She took off her hat, showing off her puffy brown hair. She smiled up at him before speaking. “May I help you?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking softly as he slid his watch back into his jacket. Considering she didn’t look at him with fear or suspicion, Ratigan suspected he caught a lucky break. She didn’t recognize the criminal— he wasn’t sure how, but he surely wasn’t going to complain. “Good evening, my dear. I assume you’re the owner of this little boutique.”

She nodded in response. “Yes. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” She said, walking up the stairs to speak with him face to face. “Are you here to pick up a suit or—?”

He snickered. Such a polite little thing, he thought. “I don’t suppose you would be able to stitch up something for me?” He asked. He watched as her eyes brightened up with a smile on her face. “Of course! Please, come in.” She said, slipping around him and pulling out her keys, unlocking the door for the both of them. The professor was taken aback by the young woman’s generosity— if he didn’t know any better, it was almost like was walking into a trap. Though, judging on cover alone, so to speak, she didn’t seem like the detective type. He stepped inside without a second thought, taking in all of his surroundings. The shop was quite... quaint— if you could even call it a shop.

It looked more like a home. If the many mannequins weren’t present, adorned with their beautiful gowns and handsome tuxedos, it would look like a typical living room. Upon further inspection, he saw the small basket of threads and needles that stood beside the lounge chair— which sat in front of the brick fireplace. All those put together, Ratigan was able to deduce that this young woman lived alone and wasn’t very well off. Much of her furniture looked to be hammy downs, most likely from her grandparents, as the manufacturing seemed old fashioned.

Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. However, he didn’t have much choice at this point. “I’m sorry if it looks kinda messy.” She said, a hint of nervousness was present in her voice. “Would you like something to eat? I have some crumpets fresh from the oven.”

“No thank you, my dear. However... a cup of tea does sound rather nice.”

“I’ll brew a pot, then! How does earl grey sound?”

“Perfect. No sugar, please.”

She gave a quick nod before rushing to the kitchen, just a few steps across from the front room. He sat down on the doily couch, resting his elbow upon the arm rest. He couldn’t deny, being offered tea and crumpets out of the blue from a random stranger felt... odd. Civility wasn’t something he normally came across, especially in his line of work. Then again, that didn’t mean he was against it. She was clearly a naive, overly trusting person— the kind of mouse that would be a victim of his blackmail. If he didn’t have to work in order to get some obedience, then there was no need to complain. That reminded him... her voice— she clearly wasn’t British, or European for that matter. She sounded foreign... American perhaps?

Before he could pounder further, the smell of freshly brewed tea enveloped his nose. He couldn’t help but smile— it smelled absolutely delicious. The young lady placed the cup in front of him, the saucer gently clicking against the wooden table. “There you are.”

She sat down in the lounge chair across from him, watching as he took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t the most delectable, but it was certainly above average. It almost made him forget why he was there... wait a minute—!

“So, what did you need stitched up?” She asked. He cleared his throat, feeling a touch embarrassed that the reason he was here had completely slipped his mind. “Ah, yes. Pardon me.” He began.

“It’s my cloak, you see. Damn thing caught on something. Quite the nasty tear.”

“Oh! May I see?”

She quickly stood back up, approaching him and undoing the clasps on his cloak. Once she saw the rip in question, she let out a wondering hum. “Hmm... shouldn’t take too much time, nor would you need any patches. I can sew it back up no problem, will only take a few minutes.” She said, returning back to her chair and pulling out the basket of threads he saw before. “I’ll try my best to hurry. I don’t wish to take up anymore of your time.”

“Not to worry, my dear. I’m a patient man, especially in the presence of such a lovely image.”

He couldn’t help but smirk as he watched her fur fluff up, her gaze quickly avoiding him and down to her fumbling fingers. “You’re too kind, sir.” She muttered softly, a soft blush now present on her cheeks. Ratigan was no stranger to swooning others, men and women, but that was a little too easy. “Actually... would you be so kind as to tell me your name before showering me with compliments?” She asked, peeking up at him with a raised eyebrow and sly smile. He let out a deep chuckle, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and looking at her with half lidded eyes. He didn’t mind a little playful banter. Although, would it truly be wise to out himself? She didn’t seem to recognize him when they first met, so it’s possible that perhaps... she truly didn’t know who he was. He wasn’t much of a gambling man, but he was willing to make that risk— worst case scenario, he can manipulate and threaten her.

“Professor Padraic Ratigan. And you are?”

“Pleasure.” She said, bowing her head. “Oh! Um... it’s Madelyn. Though, I’m not too big on formalities— Maty is just fine.” She added.

Hmmm... Madelyn, if he remembered correctly, it was a name of French origin— it’s more popular meaning being ‘high tower’. He held back a laugh, finding the name rather fitting, given her height. Her continued politeness lead him to assume that she truly had no idea who he was or that he had even existed prior up to this point. What luck, he thought.

The room became quiet as Maty continued to sew. He was impressed that she was able to work while they spoke, even when her eyes weren’t on the garment. It was clear she was very experienced. His eyes followed her supple fingers as they gently and carefully threaded through the fabric. Feeling his gaze on her, Maty cleared her throat. “Um... so... Professor, may I ask what you are a professor of?” She questioned. She seemed a bit uncomfortable by his staring. Noted.

“Ah, I’m afraid it isn’t anything too extravagant. I was a mathematician for a university.” He answered. That seemed to peak her interest, her gaze moving away from her work and back towards him. “Really? What made you want to leave?”

“Oh... a change in occupation, shall we say.”

That seemed to satisfy her, as she let out a content hum. For a moment, he assumed she was trying to interrogate him. Maybe he should do the same. “If we’re exchanging personal information. I’m curious why an American mouse would move so far from home. Considering it seemed to be a heavy burden on your finances.”

He grinned, seeing the shock on her face. What looked so obvious to him probably wasn’t to others. She seemed a little offended by his assumption, retorting with a not so humored stare. “For a man who most likely came from nothing, that’s quite the stone you threw from your glass home.”

Ooo, feisty. Usually, he would get rather insulted by such an insinuation, but her precious little smirk made it more forgiving. “Oh, I don’t mean any offense. I was just intrigued, that’s all.” He said. She sighed, laying the cloak on her lap. “I’m sorry. I’ve unfortunately heard that question many times from... not so friendly people.” She said. “If you’d really like to know— I’ve wanted to challenge myself and travel from a while now. I figured London was a nice place to start. It’s been an interesting change of pace, especially compared to Florida.”

Ahh, so that’s where she was from. He couldn’t hear a southern accent, so he was curious what part of America she was from. Florida certainly wasn’t his first guess. “I’m surprised such a charming woman like yourself is from a swamp of all place.”

She giggled, her hand over her mouth, barely covering her smile. Seems buttering her up works wonders. “I wouldn’t consider it a swamp, but since you’re British, I’m sure you’d assume any place in the world that doesn’t have an obnoxiously large clocktower to be just a rickety old swamp town.” She taunted. Not bad, she knew how to tease back. To be fair, they were childish and surface leveled, but it’s not everyday he meets someone with a little backbone.

She stood up, showing off the sewn up cloak to him. “All done.” She announced. He was pleasantly shocked— the craftsmanship was superb, you couldn’t even see the thread. “I suggest being more cautious. The stitch work, if ripped and teared again, might do more damage to the fabric.” She explained as he had him stand up, buckling the cloak back around his shoulders. The two were rather close to each other, he could see some of the details on her face. She had a freckle just below the right side of her lip, long eyelashes along with greenish blue eyes. She was quite beautiful, even the professor couldn’t deny that. “Thank you for your service, my dear.”

He took her hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth and planting a kiss upon her fur. She smiled wide, looking to the side and gently batting her eyes. “It was nothing, really.”

“Now, how much would this cost?”

As he was about to pull out his wallet, Maty quickly grabbed his wrist, stopping him in an instant. “Oh, thank you, but... I do stitching for free. Besides, I was a bit rude earlier.” She said, muttering the last part under her breath. Perhaps others would consider it rude— he thought of it as nothing more than cheeky banter. Other than that, he was surprised that she was offering her work for free. Why would you look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

“Very well. Oh! Before I leave, I would like to try one of your crumpets, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, one moment.”

She rushed to the kitchen, taking a small baggy and placing a couple crumpets inside, tying it up with a bow. She figured it was better than giving him one with just a napkin or something. As she came back out, she was surprised to see that the man was gone. She blinked a few times, looking around the room. “Professor?”

As she made her way back towards the coffee table, she noticed from the corner of her eye— a subtle shimmer. She looked over and saw a diamond, a small pouch filled with coins, along with a letter. Did she really take that long or was he really that fast? She picked up the paper, scanning it with her eyes and reading out loud. “Thank you for your work, hope to see you again soon. Sincerely, Professor Ratigan...”

Her heart skipped a beat as she finished. She looked back down at the pouch, picking it up and looking inside. Her eyes shot wide— there had to be at least a hundred pounds or more, not to mention the beautiful diamond he left behind. She was honestly so overwhelmed— a part of her wanted to rush outside, look for the man and return the money. However, she had barely enough to get by lately— some nights she had to go to bed hungry. All of this could keep her fed and stable for a while. She smiled wide, hugging both the letter and pouch close to her chest. What luck, she thought. Who knew London would have such a kind soul?

#self ship #self shipping #self insert #fanfics #writing for me #Author insert #Handsome Rat 🐀#gmd

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lupin-for-president · 4 years ago

Note

9 - WolfStar

wolfstar // “don’t you dare.”

It’s a late Friday night in the common room and the Gryffindors are all throwing a small party. By small, I mean the entire house of Gryffindor was lounging lazily around the common room playing games and having snacks. James was busy trying to swoon Lily and Peter and Sirius were huddled over a food tray with Marlene.

“Hey Pads, come here,” Remus called over his shoulder from his spot the couch.

Sirius walked over to the boy, leaning over the back of the couch and resting his chin lightly on Remus’ shoulder. He leaned his head against his boyfriend’s, fingers dragging gently down the length of Remus’ arms.

“Yes, Moony?”

“Look at this,” Remus smiled, raising up the book in his hands, “It’s you.”

Sure enough, staring right back at Sirius was his own grey eyes, crinkled at the corners with wild laughter. The book Remus was holding was a photo album, one of James’, and he had been flipping through it for the past twenty minutes looking at countless pictures of his two best friends.

“Moons, no! Those pictures are terrible,” Sirius complained, trying to snatch the book from Remus’ hands.

Remus held the album just out of the other boy’s reach, smiling to himself. Sirius leaned further over the back of the couch, his feet now lifting a little off the ground.

“Not so fast, Padfoot.”

“Moony this isn’t funny! Give me that photo album,” Sirius whined.

“Nope,” Remus smirked, quickly pushing himself off the couch.

Sirius immediately flipped over the back of the couch, landing face first into the cushions from the lack of Moony not being there to hold him up anymore. The sound of laughter from a few of his house mates caused his nerves to be stretched even thinner. He grumbled under his breath and quickly scrambled to his feet, lunging towards the book in Remus’ hand.

Remus yanked it back just in time and turned on his heel, leaving behind a stumbling Sirius. With an aggravated huff, Sirius immediately followed after Remus, accidentally shoving a few first years to the side as he dif so.

“Moony, get back here!”

“Never!”

“Remus, give me that book!”

“Not happening!”

Suddenly Remus caught himself trapped in a corner of the common room, students blocking all of his ways out. Sirius must notice because he doesn’t even pause once as he makes a beeline for the photo album. That’s when Remus saw James out of the corner of his eye, talking to Lily.

“Prongs, catch!” Moony shouted, tossing the album up in the air.

James’ reflexes instantly kicked in, handing his drink to Lily and catching the book in his hands. He looked down at it for a moment before a flash of recognition flickered across his face.

“Oi, you found my album!”

The two boys rush up to James, both of them grasping competitively for the book in his hands.

“Give it to me, Prongs,” Sirius said.

“James, c’mon, hand it to over,” Remus beamed.

James looked worriedly between the two boys, an obvious war playing inside of his mind. How was he supposed to choose which friend to give in to? Then he remembered his slow burning fear of Remus and how Remus was able to pull off payback so effortlessly. He found himself slowly pushing the book in Remus’ direction.

“Prongs, don’t you dare,” Sirius warned.

But it was too late, Remus had already snatched the book from James’ hands and was making a beeline for their dorm. Sirius followed hot on his tail, sprinting swiftly up the stairs after his retreating boyfriend. When they made it into their room, Sirius tackled Remus onto the bed, reaching for the album. Moony quickly flipped them over, pinning down the other boy’s arms with his knees.

“Now, let’s reminisce, shall we?” Remus smirked, cracking open the photo album again.

Sirius let out a groan and immediately started blushing as Remus began showing him through the pictures, commenting on each and every one of them. Poor Padfoot thought he was going to die from embarrassment as the sandy haired boy started cooing sweet words down to him as they looked through the old photo album together. Soon enough, they had looked through the entire album and Remus was placing sweet kisses all over his pouting boyfriend’s face.

And Sirius swore on his life that he was going to get Remus back for this.

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar headcanon #remus john lupin #remus lupin #sirius black #sirius orion black #moony x padfoot #moony #padfoot #the marauders #hp marauders #marauders #young marauders #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs

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bluesfortheredj · 5 years ago

Text

Best of You Pt. 2

You want some Gwilym/Taron/Reader smut? You got it. Cheers for 2.5k followers.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Taron whispers as he appears behind you and rests the very tips of his fingers on your waist delicately.

“Thanks,” you reply with a croak as your mouth suddenly becomes dry.

“Sorry I didn’t stick around to say it when he proposed that evening, but I couldn’t quite handle seeing you both all over each other, you know?”

“Understandable,” you nod.

His fingers walk their way down over your hip and eventually come to a stop on your outer thigh which sends an involuntary shiver up your spine, and you quickly look over Taron’s shoulder to spot Gwilym eyeing you both with a jealous glare.

“Is he watching?” Taron asks with a smirk.

“Yes.”

“Shall we give him a show?”

You search his eyes for some sort of humour to indicate what he just said is a joke, but there’s nothing to suggest he was being anything other than deadly serious and you smile before nodding at him, just to see how serious he was being.

“Well that’s an unexpected answer...”

“Ah, so you don’t actually have a plan for this ‘show’, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Does yours and Gwilym’s sex life need some spicing up or something?”

“Okay, if you’re going to be a dick about it then it’s time for me to leave,” you sigh, “I was just looking to have some fun.”

You turn to walk away but Taron grabs onto your forearm and spins you back around to face him, and your noses are almost touching as you both stand there holding your breath, waiting for the other one to do or say something.

“Is this a private party with my fiancée, or can anyone join?” Gwilym asks from beside you.

Taron lets go of your arm as you both move away from one another, then you turn your body to face Gwil and stroke his cheek as you smile up at him. His expression was stern, but it soon softens at your touch and as he looks into your eyes you notice the corners of his mouth turn up into a relieved smile. Taron watches you two with baited breath as he wonders whether to interrupt and get back to where you both were before, or to walk away from the situation and save himself the embarrassment of going after a very obviously taken woman.

“Gwil, my gorgeous husband to be,” you sigh, then turn your head to face the other man standing next to you, “and Taron, the handsome man from my past...”

The two men eye you with a questioning gaze and as your hand drops down Gwilym’s shirt and you take a quick look around the crowded room filled with intoxicated celebrities and their bored other halves, an idea floats into your mind.

“Do you trust me?” you ask Gwilym with an intense gaze directly into his eyes.

“Implicitly,” he replies without missing a beat.

“So if I were to suggest a sort of game that could possibly end with myself and Taron together, you would know that it would purely be a physical act on my part?”

Taron’s eye widen in shock at your question to your fiancé and he looks between the both of you as he await Gwilym’s answer, then he catches his eye as the tall man thinks it over carefully.

“Of course,” Gwilym finally nods as his eyes come back to yours, “and you would know that me watching wouldn’t be anything other than for personal pleasure; not because I distrust you.”

The corners of your mouth lift into a knowing smile and you slowly bring your lower lip underneath your teeth so they can sink into the plump skin as a shiver runs up your spine from the look that Gwilym was giving you.

“But of course, there’s only a 50 percent chance of that happening,” you eventually manage to say as you turn towards Taron, “there’s also a chance that my fiancé and I could enjoy a wild night of passion...”

“What have I got to do? Uh… What have we got to do?” Taron asks, correcting himself as his desperation to spend one more night with you slips out.

You open up your bag and fumble around until you find the key card for yours and Gwil’s room in the grand hotel you were currently enjoying the soirée in, then hand it over to him before you nod for Taron to get his out as well.

“Let’s liven up this party,” you smile, “first one to find me and hand me their card wins.”

“...You?” Taron confirms with a slightly dry throat at the thought of being able to touch you again.

“Me,” you nod, and Gwilym’s face lights up at the proposition while Taron stands in some sort of shock at it all.

“Good luck,” you wink before disappearing into the throng of people and exiting the room subtly.

It was basically an adult version of hide and seek, and you felt pretty pleased with yourself at coming up with the idea as you weaved in and out of the many rooms downstairs, trying to find an appropriate hiding place. The thought of Taron finding you first was an interesting one, and you were sure that Gwilym wouldn’t complain about watching you get fucked by someone else after his hesitant admission about that being one of his fantasies, plus at least it would be with someone you trusted. You’re getting excited as you open a door to a small hallway that leads outside and decide that this is the perfect place to wait, then you tap your foot impatiently as you lean against the wall to see who comes through that door first.

Taron and Gwilym cross each other several times on their hunt for you, all while greeting acquaintances as they pass groups of familiar faces, and their eyes often meet with a determined glare as they check that the other one hasn’t found you yet. Gwilym was keeping calm about the situation due to the fact that he’d be getting something out of it either way, and smirked every time Taron opened a door to find you weren’t there. They move from room to room with no luck, then the both of them spot that one lonely door you’d been so drawn to earlier, and arrive at it at exactly the same time, bursting through it with their cards in hand.

“Well this was unexpected,” you laugh as they fall into the narrow hallway together with their hands extending towards you as soon as they lay eyes on you.

You take both the key cards from them, then hand yours back to Gwilym and wave Taron’s around with a smile.

“It was the same time!” Gwilym frowns, thinking you’d made a choice.

“Oh I know, my love. But we only need one room.”

“What are you saying?” Taron asks.

“Well you both found me at the same time, so it’s only fair that you both have me at the same time, don’t you think? Lead the way, T.”

You hand him his card back before he steps out first, then you take Gwilym’s hand and link your fingers between his as you both follow him in silence up the two flights of stairs to Taron’s room where the three of you enter.

“Drink?” Taron offers as you slip your hand out of Gwil’s and sit down on the bed.

The thigh high split on your dress falls open to reveal your legs and you watch as the two men tense up at the sight of you slipping your shoes off and moving the fabric even further out of the way. You nod in answer to Taron’s question and so does Gwilym, then you’re soon handed a glass of chilled champagne, fresh from the ice bucket next to the dresser.

“Did you plan on downing this yourself later?” you question with a smirk.

“There were only ever two ways this night was going to end; me drinking this on my own, or you joining me. I didn’t quite plan on him, though,” Taron chuckles.

“I was always going to be part of the package, mate,” Gwilym smirks before taking a sip from his glass.

No matter how long you’d been together he always made you swoon, and you study his long fingers that fold around the stem of the glass so neatly, thinking about all the times you’d clenched around them. Taron soon snaps you out of your thoughts as he comes to stand directly in front of you and gently places his finger tips under your chin to carefully guide your face to look at him instead.

“What are you thinking?” he asks after downing the dregs of alcohol in his own glass.

“I was just reminiscing about all the times Gwil’s fingers have been inside me and I’ve tightened up around them before calling out his name,” you answer truthfully.

Gwilym’s eyes go straight to your exposed legs as Taron nudges them apart with his knee and he watches as the man drops to the floor in front of you, puts his empty glass down on the carpet, and reaches up into your dress as you lift yourself a little and allow him to tug your underwear down. Your knickers land at Gwilym’s feet and he kicks them to one side with an unimpressed expression, but Taron’s oblivious to it all as he pushes you back to lay down on the bed and wriggles your dress up to expose your familiar folds to his lust filled eyes.

Taron wastes no time in pressing his face to your lips and you gasp at the sensation of his tongue flattened against your sensitive skin and running up the middle to reach your sweet spot. Gwilym moves quickly as he discards his clothes and kneels on the bed next to you, hovering over your face with a smile as he strokes your hair lovingly. He leaves soft kisses around your face, then as soon as he reaches your mouth he slips his tongue past your lips to let it move so naturally around yours. You can’t help but gasp into his mouth as Taron works on sucking and nipping at your bud, and Gwilym feels himself getting harder by the second at how much pleasure you’re in.

“Do you think you can take me in that pretty mouth of yours?” Gwil asks when he eventually pulls away.

“You know I can,” you pant with a smile.

“This is going go deeper than usual from this angle, are you sure?” he says, raising his eyebrows as he kneels over your upper body and strokes himself directly above your mouth.

“I’m sure,” you nod as you lick your lips ready to take him.

He leans forward so he’s on all fours, then you bring one of your hands up from Taron’s hair and guide Gwilym down towards your mouth, flicking your tongue over his tip and lapping at the first drops of arousal that leak from his stiff member, then you bring him down as far as you can take him as you keep a hand wrapped tightly around his base, and he starts to thrust back and forth past your lips. He looks down the bed at you taking in his thick girth like never before and he groans in pleasure at the sight of himself slipping in and out of your mouth as you try and keep up a rhythm of sucking to match his movements. You hum around him as Taron’s actions become increasingly intense, and soon your thighs are shaking either side of his head as you let go and your cries are muffled by Gwilym’s length.

“Oh shit,” Gwil grunts as the vibrations coming from you tip him over the edge and his warm excitement seeps down into your throat.

You kiss the tip of him as he lifts himself out of your mouth and sits up against the headboard just in time to see Taron with a smug smile appear from between your legs and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Gwilym couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at Taron’s glistening lips, but you soon sit up and come between the tension with a satisfied sigh as you run a hand through your hair to smooth it out. Taron stands and offers his hand to you, then you hear Gwilym shifting on the bed behind you until you feel his hands on your waist, and as he begins to kiss along your shoulder while unzipping the back of your dress, Taron starts to strip in front of you. It was all very overwhelming and as much as you were trying to play it cool, your body was giving away your true feelings by shivering and moaning out loud at the sensations of Gwilym’s touch, and the sight of Taron.

“What do you want now, darling?” Gwil whispers as his lips graze over your earlobe.

“Anything,” you exhale, unable to put into words what you wanted to happen.

“You heard her,” Gwilym says, lifting his eyes to meet Taron’s to give permission for him to move towards you.

As Taron steps closer, Gwil’s fingers skim over your backside and down in between your legs to dip inside and feel just how turned on you were, and you gasp at his unexpected move just as Taron reaches out to cup your breasts, running his thumbs over your nipples and remembering just how soft your skin was. He’d missed this more than he’d care to admit and he knew he had to take advantage of this opportunity, so quickly moves his hands to your hips and pulls you away from your fiancé with a groan at the sudden loss of his fingers.

“I need to be inside you,” Taron whispers desperately as his lips crash to yours.

“Get on the bed then,” you mumble back.

He lays on the bed within seconds and you turn around to kiss Gwilym before climbing on the covers and arranging yourself into the perfect position for reverse cowgirl so you can look directly at Gwilym as you ride Taron.

“You’re going to want to see this,” you remark as you stare at Gwil’s broad back.

He smirks when he sees you hovering over Taron’s hard cock yet keeping eye contact with him, and gives you a nod for you to sink down onto the waiting length. Both you and Taron allow deep moans to escape your lips as the familiar feeling of your bodies fitting together like this once more comes flooding back to the two of you, and although your eyes close briefly, then soon open again when you feel the mattress in front of you dip down thanks to Gwilym kneeling on the bed.

“Move,” he instructs.

You do as he says and begin to lift yourself up then sink back down again over the member you’d been so accustomed to all those years ago, and you find yourself comparing them silently in your mind. Gwilym begins to stroke himself slowly but you lean forward and support your upper body with one hand flat on the bed as you reach out to him and take over, unable to resist touching your handsome man for much longer. Taron’s hands land on your hips as he helps guide your movements and speeds up your rhythm a little, and Gwilym throws his head back with a loud groan as you take him in your mouth yet again, cupping him from underneath this time as you massage his sensitive sack.

“Fucking hell, (Y/N), just like I remember,” Taron pants as he watches you bounce in front of him, your backside touching his lower stomach as you take his full length each time.

This comment causes Gwilym to look down at you with an almost angry glare, and his fingers weave into your hair so he can push you further down his member until your eyes are watering and saliva is dripping from your mouth as you almost gag. The feeling of being taken from behind and Gwilym taking charge above was pushing you towards the edge at a quicker rate than you’d like, but this was something you’d never experienced before and would never experience again, so although trying to savour the moment, you could already feel your walls trying to tighten.

“Oh god,” you pant as you let go of Gwilym and stroke him instead, “I can’t take it.”

Taron bucks his hips up off of the bed to match your rhythm as you start to clench for longer amounts of time, and Gwilym takes your face in one of his hands to direct your gaze to him as you continue to get him closer to his own release.

“Take it,” he says, “you look so fucking beautiful riding him.”

Gwilym’s words are enough for you completely come undone around Taron, and as he begins to utter profanities behind you thanks to his own release, you feel sticky ropes of Gwil’s arousal land on your breasts, and you swear you could see fireworks go off in your eyes as you ride your orgasm out lazily. Once you’ve got your breath back and feel steady enough to move, you lift yourself slowly off of Taron but not before he gives your arse a quick slap, and Gwilym takes your hands as you shuffle on your knees towards him now that he’s standing at the end of the bed.

“You did so well my love,” Gwil whispers into your hair as you fall into his chest, “you’re amazing.”

“I’d agree with that,” Taron grins as he gets up from the bed and covers himself with a robe from the back of the door.

You and Gwilym dress in silence, the tension between the two men now well and truly worse than before, and Taron stands out of the way of the door as you approach it with Gwil’s arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

“Thanks for the trip down memory lane,” you say quietly as you pass Taron on your way out.

“Didn’t change your mind then?” he smirks.

“Nah, I’m sticking with my man,” you chuckle as you lean into Gwilym’s torso and stumble out into the hallway.

“Shame,” Taron pouts.

“Not for me, mate,” Gwilym grins as he eyes him over your shoulder.

#taron egerton smut #gwilym lee smut #taron egerton x reader #gwilym lee x reader #taron egerton #gwilym lee #taron/gwilym/reader

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vex-bittys · 5 years ago

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And They Were (room)Mates: A SpicyHoney Drabble

This is a look into the future about five years after the events of And There Was Only One (Extra) Bed.

“I guess we’re really doing this,” Blue, the Sans from the Swap-verse, sighed to himself as his brother, affectionately known as Stretch and his boyfriend, sometimes not-so-affectionately referred to as Edge, strolled through the living room in the most ostentatious Hawaiian shirts that Stretch could find. Acceptable Dog woofed his agreement.

Blue straightened his posture as they approached the makeshift front desk that he and Stretch had thrown together for just such an occasion and proceeded to hammer away very unnecessarily on the bell that had been placed there despite the fact that Blue was already looking right at him! Blue wanted to groan, but he never did anything halfway, even this ridiculous hotel farce.

“WELCOME, SIR!” Blue greeted his brother cheerfully. “MAY I HAVE THE NAME ON YOUR RESERVATION PLEASE?”

Stretch leaned casually on the counter, causing the hastily (and poorly) constructed apparatus to sway. “i believe it’s under Chris P. Bacon.”

Edge snorted, and Blue struggled to keep his socket from twitching. Honestly though, he expected a pun, and the one Stretch picked was fortunately quite mild compared to what Blue had imagined. Blue tapped away at his laptop as if he were checking a booking in a database when, in actuality, he was typing “I can’t believe this is happening” in a blank word processing document. He scrutinized what he’d typed for a moment before turning his attention back to his grinning brother.

“SIR,” Blue said, biting off the word as if he couldn’t stand to address his brother with any sort of honorific in this situation. “THERE HAS BEEN-” Blue paused dramatically. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right! “- A MIX-UP! THOUGH YOU BOOKED A ROOM WITH TWO BEDS, THE ONLY ROOM WE CURRENTLY HAVE AVAILABLE HAS. ONLY. ONE. BED.”

Edge gasped outlandishly. Stretch laid the back of his hand across his forehead, swooning. “oh no, there’s only one bed? whatever shall we do? we shall have... to share!” Stretch prattled dramatically.

Blue could no longer keep up the charade. This whole scenario was complete nonsense! Who bought into such campy tropes anyway? “OF COURSE THERE’S ONLY ONE BED! IT’S YOUR BED! IN YOUR ROOM! THE ROOM YOU TWO HAVE SHARED SINCE YOU GOT MARRIED THREE YEARS AGO! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DO THIS EVERY NIGHT WHEN YOU COME HOME!”

Stretch patiently waited for Blue to finish his outburst, hand outstretched. Grumbling rebelliously, Blue handed him his fake room key. Stretch grabbed the key and pulled Edge up the stairs by the hand, ready for some relaxing husband time after Edge’s long, hard day at work.

“don’t forget our bags,” called Stretch from the top of the stairs.

“SERIOUSLY?” Blue complained under his breath, peering around the desk. Sure enough, Stretch and Edge had brought a suitcase. Upon further investigation, it turned out to be packed to the brim with a surplus of the flamboyant Hawaiian shirts that the pair always wore on their “vacation.”

“YOU LIVE TOGETHER,” Blue said to his brother and brother-in-law, even though they weren’t in the room anymore. After a moment’s pause, he gasped softly in wonderment.

Oh stars, they were roommates!

More Drabbles | INDEX | Read on AO3

#vex does drabbles #underswap #underfell #swapbros #spicyhoney #spicyhoney ship #underfell papyrus #underswap sans #underswap papyrus #and they were rommates

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i-write-and-therefore-i-am · 5 years ago

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Come Fly the Friendly Skies

Pairing: Douglas Richardson x Reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 814

Notes: I couldn’t find a gif for this one, so my whole aesthetic is messed up but oh well. This will also be posted on AO3, if you’d rather read it there, here it is!

“Alright, Douglas, this one’s for double points. To what degree are the Air Traffic Control tower windows tilted?” Douglas heaved a very dramatic, long suffering sigh, looking away from the horizon for a moment to glare over at the younger man sat beside him. They had been playing “Airplane Jeopardy” for about an hour and a half now, and boredom was beginning to sink its sharp, poisonous claws into the flight deck. Martin was, of course, giddy at this chance to show off all his well-earned knowledge about aviation, and Douglas was, as well as he could, attempting to be supportive. He knew about the hard time Martin’s family gave him, and he genuinely wanted the Captain to be happy. This game was beginning to grate on Douglas’ nerves, however, and he wanted out. Now.

“Martin, no one knows that—”

“No one but me, I think you mean. The answer is 15 degrees precisely, which puts the score at 27-9. Bad luck, Douglas. I am going to enjoy this cheese tray!” Martin was nearly crossing the line between being happy that he won and boasting, but Douglas had no right to complain. He did, however, roll his eyes. Hard.

“Well done Sir. Although, I am afraid I was rather at a disadvantage.”

“It’s not my fault you never reread the manuals—”

“That last question was most certainly not in any manual, Martin!” The man had the decency to look guilty about it, but before he could launch into defending himself, the door opened.

“Hello, boys! Are we playing anything?” You leaned against Douglas’ chair, and all the tension that had worked itself into his body dissipated. He glanced back at you, receiving a wink in response.

“Just finished one, actually,” Martin replied. “Airplane Jeopardy.” Douglas heard you give a snort of laughter.

“And I suppose you won that one, did you, little brother?” You asked.

“He won terrifically,” Douglas drawled. You laughed again, a full, sweet laugh that brought a small smile to the First Officer’s face. He felt you rub his shoulder sympathetically.

“I won’t ask for the score, then. While I’m here, would either of you like anything to drink?” Douglas shook his head while Martin answered.

“I would love some coffee, Y/N,” You nodded at him, turning to look at Douglas.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything, Douglas?” He reached out and took your hand, bringing it up to his lips to give it a kiss.

“Only you, my darling,” he purred, watching your cheeks turn a very appealing shade of pink. He knew what his voice did to you, and he was more than happy to exploit it.

“Douglas! Would you mind not flirting with my sister whilst in flight? It’s disgusting.” Douglas smirked at his captain—he knew that deep down (deeeeeeeep deep down), Martin was glad that the two of you had ended up together. Although not as glad as Arthur was evidently, if the glowing smile that greeted them whenever Arthur caught the two of you doing anything remotely “relationship-y” was anything to go by. Douglas grimaced at the thought of the welcome they would be getting back at Fitton. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy, but you had to admit that he was a bit…much.

“Oh, very well, Captain Joy-Killer. I shall desist from any further public displays of affection—”

“Good! Thank you, Douglas.” Douglas glanced up at you, a small grin spreading across his face.

“After I do this!” Douglas lifted his hand to gently push against the back of your neck, pulling you down to press his lips against yours in one of his signature Richardson Kisses, guaranteed to make anyone swoon. You gasped in surprise, allowing Douglas to sneak his tongue between your lips, licking and stroking along yours. He hummed in contentment, ignoring Martin’s indignant squeaks from behind your back. Douglas’ other hand reached out and found purchase against your waist, slowly moving lower and lower until he could feel the fullness of your posterior in his hand.

“Now really, Douglas! This is ridiculously inappropriate! As your commanding officer, I order you to unhand my sister!” Martin’s irritation only served to fuel Douglas’ amusement. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving one last (firm) squeeze to your behind before turning his body back to the controls. He watched as you swayed faintly, your cheeks a very becoming shade of pink. Martin was fuming, and Douglas knew that he was going to have to deal with that at some point, but he couldn’t really make himself care. He was on top of the world, baby, both literally and because of you. His heart was full as he listened to Martin’s ranting about propriety and protocol, and he winked as you, still recovering from Douglas being Douglas, fumbled out of the cockpit. He had finally found it.

Home.

#cabin pressure #douglas richardson #douglas richardson imagine #douglas richardson x reader #martin crieff

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setaripendragon · 6 years ago

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The Light of a Pole Star - Part 2

Here’s the next part; have a few outsider PoVs of Ed and his weirdness. The last scene of this is actually the first thing I imagined when I thought up this story, and I’m actually really pleased with how it came out.

Roy doesn’t know what to make of Edward Elric. Most of the time, he seems like your average traumatised child prodigy. A little arrogant, a lot determined, a bit impulsive and, heh, short-tempered. But there are moments – frequent, odd little moments – where it feels a little like there’s something ancient looking out through Edward’s eyes.

Never in his life would Roy have dreamed of asking any child to recreate the scene of their trauma, but Edward had shouldered the burden, and asked for help when he needed to without shame or the bravado Roy had come to expect. He’d acted like a soldier, and he’d turned a body inside out – and vaporised parts of it – without faltering more than once. Only after it was done had he thrown up and started shaking. Roy had gotten him out of that room quickly, but he’d hesitated to take Edward to join Riza and Alphonse straight away. And that had apparently been the right choice, because after a few minutes, Edward had let out a shuddery breath, leaned against Roy’s side briefly, and muttered ‘Thanks’ before heading out to reassure his brother.

That’s the other disturbing thing about Edward. For some inexplicable reason, he’s decided he trusts Roy. He just up and decided to trust the military dog who’s shady enough to recruit an eleven year old. And if Edward ever really acted his age, or showed even the smallest inclination for naivety, Roy might put it down to a childish trust in authority figures. But Edward uniformly rebels against authority, and makes no secret of the fact that he dislikes the military immensely. And yet… and yet he trusts Roy.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

Think of the devil, and he shall appear. As if his thoughts had summoned him, Roy hears the characteristic thump-stamp-thump-stamp-thump-BANG-thunk of Edward’s return to the office. “Must you always kick the door like that, FullMetal?” Roy sighs, because it’s easier to complain about the abuse the poor door is suffering than to think about his mother’s voice saying ‘he’s a lot more grown-up than he looks’ and wondering if she saw that ancient thing behind Edward’s eyes, too.

“Fuck off, bastard. Hey guys. We brought coffee. Didn’t know what you all like, so there’s some packets of sugar and devil-juice, too. Whatever.” Edward announces while Alphonse shuffles through the door sheepishly and deposits half a dozen to-go cups of life-blood from the good café two streets away on the corner of Havoc’s desk. Predictably, the entire team descends on the non-military non-cafeteria coffee like a swarm of locusts. Edward yelps and scrambles to grab two of the cups before getting the hell out of dodge.

“Hey, you drinking both of those, Boss?” Havoc asks, giving Ed a dubiously concerned look.

“No.” Edward insists, glowering without much heat behind it. “This one’s for the bastard.” He explains, lifting one of the cups in the air to indicate, and then stomping over to Roy’s desk, depositing the coffee on top of the report Roy was reading, and then throwing himself down onto the couch like he always does.

“What if I want milk in it?” Roy challenges dryly.

Edward gives him the stink-eye, opens his mouth, and then, curiously, falters before whatever retort is clearly on the tip of his tongue can fall out of his mouth. He grimaces, hides the expression behind his cup, and only answers once he’s swallowed. “But it’ll clash with the aconite.” He snarks.

Roy really wants to know what Edward was going to say that he thought that was an improvement on, but he decides not to ask. “Attempting to poison your superior officer already, FullMetal?” He asks instead, while very pointedly lifting the cup and taking an easy sip. It does taste very good without any extra condiments. It is also very definitely not plain black coffee. It’s minty, and chocolatey, and decadent. Roy takes another sip and savours it, feeling more awake already.

“I know it takes the average grunt a couple of years to reach that stage of fuck it, but you know me; I’m an overachiever.” Edward sallies back without missing a beat, this time.

“If that’s the case, I’m afraid the rest of my team must be slacking.” Roy murmurs, amused.

“Except Hawkeye.” Edward grins from behind his mug.

“Speaking of which!” Roy begins, sitting up and leaning forward over his work with a show of alacrity that makes Edward snort coffee out his nose. While he’s spluttering and cursing Roy’s ancestors to hell and back again, Roy digs up the forms Edward has yet again failed to fill out. “You do actually need to fill these out, FullMetal.”

“Fuck you.” Edward retorts, but he takes the papers anyway. Of course, instead of doing anything as sensible as fetching a pen, Roy sees Edward’s eyes flick down to the bottom left corner. A grin spreads across his face. “Got bored in a meeting, did you?” Edward snickers.

“It’s not my fault none of the brass are pretty enough to be properly captivating.” Roy fires back flippantly.

“The little horns are a nice touch.” Edward compliments through a shit-eating grin. The smile slips sideways suddenly, into something strangely soft, and that ancient thing is back in his eyes. “Maybe you should quit the military and take up art instead.” His voice is still full of cheerful irreverence, no matter how much it doesn’t match his expression anymore.

“Unfortunately, I think I’d get distracted.” Roy sighs melodramatically.

Edward rolls his eyes, but he still looks… oddly soft. Fond, maybe “Idiot. It’s actually stupid fun to alchemise paint. Apparently it makes the pigment brighter, too, so, hey, win-win.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly, that was something of a fashion in Aerugo several hundred years ago. Entertaining dreams of being a renaissance artist, FullMetal?”

Edward startles, looking for a moment as if the conversation just threw him a curveball, instead of a perfectly reasonable continuation. Then he shakes himself and snorts. “No. It’d suit you, though, bastard. You’ve already got the melodrama down.” He mocks. Then he puts the back of his hand against his forehead and pretends to swoon. “Oh, I just can’t work like this! The angles are wrong! The colours are dull! It’s just boring. Won’t someone come and massage my shoulders and pass me the wine that’s just three inches away from my fingertips?”

The entire team is roaring with laughter. “Well,” Roy muses, fighting his own snicker, “if the only other person in the room was the model for my painting, that sounds like an excellent excuse to get a beautiful person within touching distance.” He points out.

There’s more laughter, but Edward goes a little wide-eyed and pink-cheeked before he joins in. “See? I was right.” He huffs between chuckles. “You’d fit right in.”

Riza clears her throat. A glance tells Roy that even though she’s trying to look stern, there’s a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. “Unfortunately, this isn’t medieval Aerugo, and some people have work to do.” She reminds them.

Roy groans.

Alphonse watches his brother leaf through the multitude of books he’d borrowed from the East City Library, feeling… disconcerted. There’s something going on that Ed’s not telling him about, and it’s got something to do with Colonel Mustang. At first, Alphonse had missed it, because the meeting had been so brief, and he’d been in his own slump, but afterwards, after how easily his brother had trusted a scheming military dog with Nina, he remembered that Ed hadn’t pulled out of his strange dissociative state until after Mustang had appeared.

And now the coffee thing.

Alphonse had been the one to suggest bringing coffee on their way into the office, and Ed hadn’t seemed to care until Alphonse had started fretting about not knowing what everyone liked. Then he’d stepped in and ordered one chocolate-coffee with extra sugar – for himself, Alphonse knew – five plain black coffees – for the team, Alphonse guessed, except… – and one mint-chocolate-coffee.

“Who’s that for?” Alphonse asked.

“Colonel Bastard, of course.” Ed said, as if it was obvious.

Alphonse had let it stand, played along, because most of the time, the worst thing to do was to confront Brother over something he wanted to ignore. Then he got stubborn and ignored it for even longer than was sensible just to prove he could handle it, or some other such nonsense. So he bit his tongue, and watched. And the thing that really, really bothered Alphonse was that it had been so obvious that the Colonel had not been expecting anything special, but he’d savoured it. He’d liked it. And Ed just shouldn’t know, off-hand and easy, what sort of coffee the Colonel prefers.

But, of course, Brother is being stubborn about it, so Alphonse isn’t quite sure what to do. He could leave it, let Ed explain in his own time, but… but the problem with that is that Alphonse really isn’t comfortable with how much Ed trusts the Colonel without knowing why. So he’s going to have to ask, and hope Brother doesn’t clam up about it even more.

“Brother?” Alphonse asks, and then waits for confirmation that he’s been heard. He knows what Ed can get like when he’s reading.

“Mm?” Ed hums, and then, when there’s nothing more forthcoming, drags himself a little further out of the book, enough to look up and actually give Alphonse his attention. “What’s up, Al?”

“Why do you trust the Colonel so much?” Alphonse asks, bluntly, because Ed’s reaction to such an attack should be very informative.

Sure enough, Ed looks confused for just a moment, before his eyes widen with that ‘oh damn I’m caught’ sort of look that still makes Alphonse ache because usually only Mum could inspire that expression in Brother. With everyone else he just got belligerent. Except now, after everything, it seems Alphonse can manage it, too. “What do you mean?” Ed deflects. Poorly.

Alphonse does his best to radiate disappointment at Ed’s terrible lying. “You know exactly what I mean.” He huffs.

And Ed deflates. “Yeah. It’s just… it’s- it’s complicated, Al, and I- I don’t want you to think-”

“Think what?” Alphonse presses, but gently. Now that Ed’s talking, the last thing he wants to do is put Ed on the defensive.

“That I’m- that you’re- not important to me.”

Alphonse takes a moment to process that, to parse it from Edward-speak into something actually coherent, and feels something maybe like incredulity bubble through his- well, through his soul, he supposes. “Brother… do you have a crush on the Colonel?” He asks in disbelief. Ed blinks once, twice, and then, unbelievably, laughs. “Brother!” Alphonse whines, indignant. “Don’t laugh! It’s a fair question, when you start saying things like that!”

“No, no, I’m not- You’re right, I’m not laughing at you, Al, I swear.” Ed snickers.

“Then what’s funny?” Alphonse asks, relaxing a little.

“So, okay, that wasn’t quite what I was getting at, but it’s as good a segue as any, so; Al,” Ed says, very seriously, even if he is still trying not to laugh, “Al, Roy’s my soulmate.”

Alphonse has to take a moment to process that, too. Because Ed doesn’t believe in things like soulmates, or love at first sight, or, really, romance at all. So, if he’s not using the word in the romantic sense, then… Well, they do have empirical evidence that souls exist, so… “What do you- No, I mean; How do you know that?” Alphonse corrects himself, because he’s got an idea what Brother means, he just has no idea how Ed came to that conclusion.

“Because-” Ed begins, and then falters, looking faintly overwhelmed. Then he scrubs his flesh hand over his face and sets his jaw. It’s a familiar expression, a ‘we’re going to get to the bottom of this’ expression that reassures Alphonse more than anything. “Because I remember him. He’s the only thing that stays the same.” Ed states.

Alphonse knows that’s his cue to ask questions until that ridiculously incomprehensible answer makes sense. He considers all sorts of questions. ‘What do you mean’ is too vague, and ‘remember him from when’ is only going to get him a rephrasing of what Ed’s already said – ‘from always, Al, I just said that’ – so instead, he asks; “Stays the same through what?”

“My lives.” Ed answers, watching Alphonse carefully, almost warily.

“Your-” Alphonse stops himself from just repeating that, because Ed knows what he said, he meant what he said, so parroting it back to him isn’t going to help. “You’re talking about… reincarnation? Recycling souls through multiple lives?”

“Yeah.”

“And you… you’re saying you remember your previous lives?”

“Yeah.”

Alphonse is not an idiot. He is, in fact, a genius. “Since the gate?”

Ed looks relieved. “Since the gate.” He confirms. “It’s- I don’t understand why it happened to me and not to you, because you went through the Gate, too, but… It’s as if when it pulled me apart, it… exposed all the stuff that I’m not supposed to remember, all the parts of me that aren’t… me.” Ed’s hand migrates from scrubbing his face to raking through his hair and messing up his braid.

Well, that actually explains so much. Like how Granny had been behaving around Ed before they left. She’d still been nannying Alphonse, even though he was six foot tall now, but she’d treated Ed like somehow what they’d gone through had made him an adult. Because, in a way, it kind of had. Or, at least, it had woken up the parts of Ed that had been an adult before. “Oh! Is that Klaus person from one of your past lives?” He exclaims in a moment of sudden understanding.

Ed snorts. “Yeah, Al. Klaus was Roy. Or… Roy was Klaus, once.”

“Oh!” Alphonse breaths, clarity dawning, and then, just as quickly, becoming obscured again by confusion. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I don’t know.” Ed admits grumpily. “It’s just… I looked at him, and I recognised him. I knew him. That’s like- Al, that’s like someone asking you ‘but how do you know that Ed’s your brother?’”

“Because you look the same.” Alphonse answered at once, even though he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have to look identical to the last time you saw me for you to recognise me. You recognise my voice, and my gestures, and my- my me-ness.” Ed insists, hands gesturing vaguely in the air. Alphonse silently judges him for his abuse of the Amestrian language. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” Ed huffs.

“I do.” Alphonse capitulates. He lets the silence settle for a moment, thinking carefully about everything Ed’s said so far. It’s hard to believe, hard to wrap his mind around, but he doesn’t not believe Ed. Too much of the weirdness can be explained this way for him to just dismiss it. Still, he’d like a little more confirmation. “You told Granny, didn’t you?” He asks slowly.

“Yeah. I figured- I figured since she’s old as dirt, I could maybe convince her by, you know, sharing knowledge of the time and shit.” Ed explains. “Turns out, I actually met her in my last life.”

Alphonse is going to have to call Granny and confirm, because that sounds like a pretty huge coincidence. “Who- I mean, what were you like?” He asks carefully, wanting more information for Granny to corroborate.

“It’s fine, you can ask ‘who were you’” Ed assures him. Alphonse huffs, and Ed gets on with actually answering the question. “I was an engineer. Actually helped invent the first car. Sort of, they didn’t really look all that much like what we’ve got now, and the engines in cars today are pretty different, but- Yeah.”

“An engineer.” Alphonse repeats.

“…Yeah?” Ed replies, warily. “Al, what?”

“So, basically a mechanic.” Alphonse rephrases.

Ed pulls a face. “Sort of. I mean, I could fix the damn things, so that’s what I was hauled out to the front to do, but I was designing the things, not-”

“I’m telling Winry.” Alphonse informs him.

Ed’s expression of outraged betrayal is sweet indeed. “Don’t you dare!”

“I’m telling Winry that you invented engines in your last life, but somehow you still can’t understand even the basics of how your own automail even works-”

“You traitor!” Ed howls, throwing a book at Alphonse. Al catches it and judges his brother for throwing books. Ed slumps down in his chair in a huff, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. “And I can too understand the basics. Just because I’m not an automail genius as well as an alchemy genius-” Alphonse snickers, and Ed grumbles imprecations under his breath.

The last thing Izumi was expecting today was a phone call from one of the Elric boys. It’s been so long by now that getting a call from them is less an expected social courtesy and more a cause for concern, but she’s still glad to hear from them. She’d worried, a little, when months rolled by without hearing anything from them after they went back home.

So when Sig leans around the door to the living room, carrying the phone in one hand and the receiver in mid-air in the other, and says “It’s Alphonse,” she sits bolt upright with a mixture of pleasure and panic. Sig offers her the receiver, and she more or less snatches it, which makes him smile faintly as he puts the phone down on the table, the cord pulling almost too taut through the doorway and turning into a massive tripping hazard.

“Alphonse?” Izumi questions, bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Teacher!” Alphonse greets, bright and pleased, and Izumi relaxes a little. If Alphonse can sound that cheerful, it’s at least not an immediate disaster. “How have you been? I’m so sorry not to have called before, that was rude of us.”

Izumi smiles, even as she narrows her eyes at nothing. An apology, but no explanation, which feels like Alphonse’s subtle attempt at a dodge. “I’ve been fine. Same as ever. What about you? And Edward? What have you boys been up to?”

“We’re good. We’re fine.” Alphonse says quickly. Too quickly. “We haven’t been up to much at all! Just- just studying. Alchemy.”

“Uh-huh.” Izumi drawls, making sure that every ounce of her deeply unimpressed scepticism comes through across the telephone lines.

“Which is actually what I called you about!” Alphonse presses on. “I have a question, and I’m not sure where to even begin looking for an answer, and- and, well, I thought you might be able to help. At least point me in a sensible direction.”

Izumi settles back into the big squishy armchair more comfortably. She’ll play along for the moment, but she’s certainly not going to forget that Alphonse was clearly hiding something from her. “Well, I’ll do my best.” She offers.

“So, I’ve been, um, looking into theoretical alchemy a bit lately. Really, very, massively theoretical alchemy.” Alphonse insists. Oh, Izumi has a bad feeling about this, but she ‘mm-hm’s into the phone to encourage him on. “And, well, a bit of philosophy, too, actually. Just… idle research, you know, except- Well-” He stumbles. Embarrassed, as well as hiding something, Izumi thinks.

“Spit it out, Alphonse.” Izumi encourages.

“I’ve been looking into the theory of reincarnation.” Alphonse blurts out.

Izumi goes cold. “Have you?” She asks, and she’s surprised at how even her voice sounds.

“Y-yes. And, see… I was… well, I was wondering, purely hypothetically, you see, if- All the resources I can find talk about the cycle of rebirth, of souls re-entering the world as a new person, but… there’s nothing on… on whether souls are a finite resource, or if, say, for example, new souls might be being born, too, souls that- that don’t have any past lives.”

Izumi might not be a genius of the same calibre as the Elric brothers, but she’s not stupid. For Alphonse to be asking such a specific ‘hypothetical’ question, he and at least one other person must have committed taboo and spoken about it. They must have compared experiences, for Alphonse to be worried about the fact that one of them had had a vastly different experience to the other.

And where one Elric is doing unspeakably foolish things, the other is bound to be close behind.

Taking a deep breath, Izumi decides that there’s no way she’s getting into this over the phone. She is going to need to see them in person to give them the thrashing they deserve. “Alphonse.” She says slowly, and hears Alphonse suck in a sharp breath. “Where exactly are you and Edward right now?”

“U-um… in Central City?”

“Which hotel?”

That was definitely a guilty ‘urk’ sound he just made. “The… um, the Military Barracks?”

…She’ll kick their asses for that, too. Fuck everything, but they’re only just barely teenagers. They’re so damn young, what the bloody hell are they doing in the Military Barracks?

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t. Go. Anywhere.”

“But-!”

Izumi hangs up the phone with a satisfying clatter-clang. Then she spends several minutes just sitting there, glaring at it and measuring her breathing to tamp her temper down into something that will survive an overnight train-ride without burning itself out.

“Where are we going?” Sig asks softly.

Izumi turns to him, takes a moment to really just look at him, to soak up his beloved features, and look past beautiful brown eyes to the soul beneath. The soul that has looked at her and loved her through blue eyes and green eyes and grey eyes and black eyes and red eyes and hazel eyes in a variety of different combinations. There was one time she remembers he had one blue eye and one eye that was split neatly down the middle between blue and brown.

“What are you remembering?” Sig asks, smiling and reaching up to cup the side of her face.

“Creta. Sometime in the middle of the sixth century. The day I met a beautiful blacksmith with half a brown eye. You were so caught up staring at me you nearly dropped an anvil on your foot.” Izumi tells him, remembering the moment with perfect clarity. “Of course, I was so caught up staring right back at you that I walked clear into an iron beam. You offered to fix the new dent in my helmet for free.”

“Of course.” Sig agrees, nodding as if that was the only thing that made sense. Izumi grins, but the moment fades quickly in the face of the painful reality. “What is it?”

“The Elrics performed human transmutation.” Izumi tells him, and Sig’s expression falls into sorrowful, solemn lines. “Alphonse called to ask about reincarnation, and why someone might not remember their past lives.”

Sig sighs, and gives her a look that she knows means he’s wishing she wouldn’t go haring off across the country to kick the asses of her troublesome students, but he doesn’t say it, and Izumi loves him so much for that. “Where should I get tickets to?” He asks, instead.

“Central City Center.”

Chris is wiping down table-tops in preparation for the early evening rush when one of the last people she expected to see in her bar walks in. She’d have been more surprised if the Fuhrer himself walked in, but not by much, because she sees a lot of military men in her establishment. But Edward Elric, the FullMetal Alchemist, doesn’t look like he feels out of place at all.

“Edward.” The woman who follows him in growls. “This is a brothel.”

The boy isn’t chastised at all, he just rolls his eyes. They both look like they’ve been in a brawl, and though the kid definitely looks worse for wear, they both have the sort of aura that screams ‘you should see the other guy’. “It’s a bar, too, Teacher. You said you wanted a drink, didn’t you?” Ah, so the woman must be Izumi Curtis, the infamous alchemy teacher of the genius Elric boys. Chris watches her with a little more interest, assessing her. She’s a handsome woman, strong and clearly living an active life, although there’s a touch of pallor to her skin that makes her wonder if she’s ill or not eating right. “Hey, Madame Christmas! You open for business?” Elric calls.

“Well, if it isn’t the little architect.” Chris drawls, which gets her a sharp-edged grin from the boy. “You’re still too young to be a customer.” She reminds him, even as she heads back behind the bar.

“If I’m old enough to kill for the state, I think I’m old enough for half a glass of alcohol, thanks.” Elric retorts promptly, holding up his State Alchemist’s watch. Which is a damn good point, really, and Chris knows her boy will get her out of trouble if anyone does complain.

So she nods acceptingly, and gestures at the well-stocked wall of alcohol behind the bar. “Pick your poison, kid.” And then she glances at Curtis to include her in the question about drinks as well without ruining the banter.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any Drachman bottled water?” Curtis asks a little wistfully.

Chris honestly loves it when she can surprise people, and it’s always sweeter when it’s the sort of surprise that makes them light up the way Curtis does when she ducks down to pull the – smuggled – bottle of clear, potent liquor out from it’s hiding place.

“Huh.” The kid says, eyeing his teacher sideways for a moment while Chris pours Curtis a generous glass and sets it in front of her. “Can you make a hot mint chocolate toddy? Without the cream?” He asks hopefully.

“Child’s play.” Chris confirms, and sets about to mixing it for him.

“So why here?” Curtis asks while she’s busy. So many people seem to think that ‘busy’ means ‘deaf’, it’s another of those things Chris really, really loves about her job.

“Why d’you think?” Elric retorts. Curtis grunts an acknowledgement and falls silent. A covert glance shows Chris that she’s glaring into the vodka like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Teacher…” Elric begins, and for the first time in Chris’s hearing, he sounds tentative, nervous. Curtis looks up at him, dryly prompting, and Elric grimaces and shifts on his seat. “How much do you remember?”

“Two dozen, more or less.” Curtis replies, and knocks back half her drink.

“Shit.” Elric swears, wide-eyed.

“How much do you remember?” Curtis retorts.

“Just ten.” Elric replies. “I guess that’s a point in favour of Al’s theory of an expanding source, then.”

Curtis makes a dubious noise, and Elric’s eyebrows hike up. Chris is painfully curious about what the hell they’re talking about, but it sounds as if they’re talking in code, so she’s unlikely to figure out what they actually mean unless they get a lot more careless. To help them along to that end, she serves up Elric’s toddy. He grins his thanks, and takes a sip. His eyes flutter closed, and an expression of pure nostalgia flickers across his face.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Curtis says once Elric’s done savouring his drink. She’s watching him with a very maternal combination of sorrow and pride, but the moment he looks at her, it’s gone, hidden behind practical irritability. “I have a theory about that, but since for a long time I was the only one stupid enough to have done something like that-” Elric cringes down in his seat, thoroughly chastised. “-I haven’t had anyone to test it against.”

Elric clears his throat sheepishly, but he sounds perfectly composed when he says “Lay it on me, then.”

“I think it only goes back to the latest one that’s familiar enough for you to latch onto. Think of the first time. Does it parallel your entire life in weirdly specific ways?” Curtis asks cryptically.

Or, well, it’s clearly only cryptic to Chris, because Elric’s expression turns open and slack with dawning revelation. “Shit- I mean, I’d noticed the sort of- the superficial- but-” He stops, and his left hand goes up to grab his right shoulder. His eyes are glazed over like he’s watching a memory play out so clearly he can’t see the bar at all. “He literally even saved me the same fucking way.”

Curtis snorts. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Elric startles, drawn back to the present, and shoots his teacher a teasing grin. “Did you drop your bear again?” He asks through a snicker.

“Yup.” Curtis confirms, smiling like a woman in love.

Elric laughs again, this time less teasing and more fond, and shakes his head. “I guessed it would be Sig.” He muses, which sounds like a non-sequitur, but Chris isn’t that surprised to hear the woman’s husband mentioned after the look that had been on her face a moment ago. Clearly, Curtis isn’t surprised, either, because she snorts.

“Obviously.” She drawls, and finishes off her drink. Chris refills it without needing to be asked. Then she looks over at Elric, expression turning serious. “Who is it, for you?”

“Mustang.” Elric answers, like it’s simple, like it’s easy, like there’s no other answer in the world he could possibly give. Chris keeps her expression blank out of sheer force of will, and wonders if Roy’s figured out that Elric is hopelessly in love with him yet. Curtis frowns, like she recognises the name, but she’s not sure why. Elric elaborates; “The Flame Alchemist.”

Curtis’s nose wrinkles in acute disgust, Elric glowers back, and slowly, the teacher’s expression twists into something grudgingly accepting. Then she makes a disgusted noise. “I suppose he can’t be a complete shit-stain, then. But the military, Ed-!” She huffs.

“Hey! It’s not like I joined cause I like them.” Elric shoots back. “And besides, you’ll like him.” He asserts confidently.

“I will, will I?”

“I’ve fucked over the Amestrian military for him twice now. Three times, if you count this latest round.” Elric tells her, like that’s the sort of thing you can just say in public. Idiot. But, still, nice to know he’s on Roy’s side in this. Curtis looks mildly impressed, too, and a bit amused. “Fucking irony. Or- maybe not, maybe it’s just synchronicity.”

“Yeah, it’s good at that.”

“You want to know the real shit piece of irony?” Elric asks, mood dropping into a wry sort of agony. Curtis turns to face him, frowning in concern, and Elric glances at her before looking back at his drink. “The real shit pieces of irony, actually.”

“Tell me.” Curtis orders.

“Amestrian Military burned down Valentino’s bar. With Val still inside.”

That’s… Irony is an interesting word for it. Chris might have picked tragedy, but irony works, she supposes. She feels a twist of sympathy for Elric, and if it had been her student-nephew-son telling her something like that, she might have patted his shoulder and reminded him to keep moving forward, but Curtis doesn’t do either of those. Instead, she laughs. It’s a slightly sick sounding laugh, dark and bitter, but it’s a laugh. Elric clearly doesn’t mind, though, because he snorts once, and buries his nose into his spiked hot chocolate.

“And the other?” Curtis prompts once she’s done.

“Malka was a mullah.”

Elric knows – knew – an Ishvalan. An Ishvalan holy sage, if Chris remembers her Ishvalan right. Well, isn’t that a kick in the teeth. Still, it hasn’t stopped him falling for Roy, so Chris dares to hope this isn’t the disaster it could’ve been. “Shit.” Curtis breathes, wincing.

“Yeah.” Elric mutters, expression twisting.

“I hope you were gentle when you told him about that one.”

Elric chokes on the sip of toddy he was taking, splutters, and turns to stare at his teacher in acute, disbelieving horror. “I haven’t told him! What the fuck?! Why would you think I’ve told him any of this?!” He yelps, and for just about the first time in this whole conversation, actually sounds his age.

Curtis looks shocked by that reaction. “Why would I- Edward, why the fuck haven’t you told him?!”

The look Elric gives her says loud and clear that he’s wondering when she bumped her head badly enough to cause brain damage. “Oh, yeah, sure, because that’s exactly what anyone wants to hear from their fourteen year old subordinate.” And they were back to talking about Elric being in love with Roy again. An interesting segue from knowing an Ishvalan, but Curtis doesn’t seem thrown, and Chris supposes she can understand why Elric might have connected the two so thoroughly in his mind. Hard to explain why the one hadn’t made him hate Roy without admitting to the other.

“You’re more than that.” Curtis points out.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” Elric retorts furiously.

“Yes, he does.” Curtis counters, factual and completely certain. It takes Chris aback, never mind how it manages to startle Elric out of his temper. He blinks at her, brow knotting in uncertainty. But he clearly trusts his teacher a great deal, because he doesn’t argue, even though he’d have every right to demand how the fuck she could possibly know that. “He might not know that he knows, but he does know, Edward.” At Elric’s continued bewilderment, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. Haven’t you ever had a conversation with him where he says exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, and you’re left thinking ‘It’s like you were there’?”

Elric’s staring at her wide-eyed again. Slowly, he nods. “We were talking about Fiametta Vittori.”

“The Aerugonian painter?” Curtis echoes, surprised and impressed. “The one famous for painting all the-” She stops, expression falling into slightly pained lines. She doesn’t need to finish, Chris knows exactly what sort of paintings Vittori was famous for. She’s got a few reproductions on the walls upstairs, after all. “Edward…!” Curtis groans.

Elric grins mischievously. “She was a perv. She and Roy would have gotten on like house on fire.” They both paused at that, eyeing each other, Elric with expectant glee, and Curtis with slowly-dawning outrage at the pun. Then they collapse into slightly tipsy snickering. That’s the last piece of dubious sense Chris hears from them for the rest of the evening. The bar gets busy, but she keeps half an ear on them, but all they seem to be talking about is increasingly bizarre historical ramblings. If it’s a code, it’s a damn good one. Chris can’t make any sense of it at all.

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spartanguard · 6 years ago

Text

savage garden, 6/7

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

A/N: Another update, and one more to go! One of my favorite scenes in the story is in the chapter; I literally swooned writing it. But, a note about a later scene: SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING—very very vague mentions of attempted assault in the past. It doesn't go into any detail, but I figured I should put this warning up to be safe.

title comes from “Crash and Burn” by Savage Garden, which fits this story way too well and is basically how the story got its name.

chapter 6: let me be the one you call / when darkness is upon your door

The first winter storm arrived three days after Killian’s battle with the Darkness—after he last saw Emma.

Three achingly long days during which he had to expend more effort than he would have liked to keep the dark magic back, though its appearance never faded from his veins. Three days where he had to force himself from going back to the garden, but the memory of the frightened way Emma had stared at him kept him home.

But the snow forced Killian to repair the window. He tried to do it by hand, but just kept cutting himself on the broken glass and couldn’t seem to fit the pieces together properly—he just ended up smearing his blackish blood on them. He fixed it with magic before he even realized what he was doing.

Now wasn’t that so much easier?

“Bugger off.”

You’ve been telling me that for decades and it hasn’t happened; when will it sink in?

“Never.”

And just how do you plan on stopping me now? it sneered. Emma won’t go near you.

“Don’t you dare say her name to me!” he snapped.

Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma…

Her name was echoing off the wooden walls of the cottage and reverberating in his skull as the Darkness sing-songed and cackled. Placing his hands over his ears did nothing, nor did curling in on himself where he stood in his great room—not that he suspected such instinctive human reactions would do much against an unnatural onslaught like this.

It felt like his brain was being rent in two, until he couldn’t handle the attack anymore. “Silence!” he shouted, so loud (or so amplified by magic) that the mirror above the hearth shattered and a set of bookshelves collapsed .

To his shock, the Darkness complied, but he swore he could almost hear its smugness as he magically repaired the mirror; he had to stop himself from doing the same with the bookcase.

He’d just started stacking the books and assessing the damage when he heard an even stranger noise: a knock on the door. That had never happened before—he’d made sure that the path to his home was as hidden and hard to traverse as possible. So, either this person was terribly lost, or...a chill went up his spine at the thought of what malevolence might cause a person to try to find him.

He left the books to their chaos on the floor and cautiously went to answer the door, suddenly wishing he’d thought to install windows on this side of the house, or at least a peephole.

Ask and ye shall receive. Without effort, a tiny, glass-filled hole appeared on the door. He sighed that it had happened unconsciously, but was too concerned to care much and peered through it.

Then his heart truly stopped: it was Emma.

“Killian? Are you there?” she called, and he could tell she was about to knock again; knowing her, she wouldn’t leave until she talked to him one way or the other. He wouldn’t put it past her to somehow get onto the balcony and sneak in that way. No, he needed to face her head-on—though why she was even here after what happened, he had no idea.

As loudly as he could, he unlatched the deadbolt on the door and pulled the rusty hinges open.

To his shock, she grinned when she saw him. “Hi!” she greeted cheerily, her face alight—although he did notice her eyes dart briefly to the space behind him as she pulled off the hood of her thick brown winter cloak.

“H-hello,” he replied, unsure, and feeling very much like cornered prey. “Emma, what are you doing here? Why; how?”

“You dropped this,” she explained and nodded at the object he just noticed floating in front of her: his glove. “It was a pretty easy tracking spell to find you, even if the hike wasn’t.”

The glove floated towards him, and he took it out of the air. There was a tiny spark as her magic faded out once it came in contact with him.

She didn’t wait for him to answer before continuing. “I figured you’d take some time to cool off before coming back, but then when you didn’t, I realized I was going to have to come to you.”

“You…” He blinked as he tried to process it, but all he could say was, “...Why?” There was no understanding it. “Emma, I very nearly killed you; I had little to no control of that situation. How...how can you stand to be near me?”

Her shoulders slumped a bit. “Not gonna lie—I was pretty scared in the moment,” she told him, glancing down—almost looking ashamed. “But you seemed just as upset, if not more, once you came back to yourself. Whatever the Darkness does, I know that’s not you.”

A pit formed in his stomach. “I wish I was as certain of that as you are,” he admitted.

“Hey,” she said, somewhat sharply, commanding his attention back from his self-loathing. “You’re a good man, Killian,” she affirmed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “And there’s something I want to do.” She swallowed, then barreled on. “I’m here to ask you out; to dinner, or something.”

His jaw dropped. He certainly wouldn’t complain that she still wished to spend time with him, but the fact that she wanted to boggled him. And yet, all he could reply with was, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?” (Had social mores changed that much in the time since he’d been removed from society?)

“Should have known you’d be old-fashioned, given your age,” she teased with a smirk. (Apparently, they had.) “Come on; I know the perfect place. It’s not too crowded, but just enough that no one will bother us. What do you say?”

As with anything she asked him, he knew he couldn’t deny her. “Alright,” he said. “Let me grab my cloak.”

“Not your jacket?”

Her reaction surprised him a bit. “No; should I wear that instead?”

“It’s up to you. I just think it’s a pretty fantastic jacket.”

What do you know? She does have good taste, despite her interest in you.

“Jacket it is, then. Just give me a moment.” His sense of chivalry was telling him to invite her in while he fetched the garment from the bedroom, but the sailor didn’t want her to see the mess. So he settled on leaving the door open and moving with haste.

As he slipped the leather on in the privacy of his little-used quarters, he realized that it was probably for the best to have his armor on if he was going to be around people.

Not that it did much good the last time.

“Behave. Please.”

We’ll see.

He rejoined her quickly, locked the door behind them, and turned back to her. “Lead the way, love.”

She smiled, took him by the arm, and headed off. It was slow going at first—even he struggled sometimes to get through the rocky outcrops that naturally hid his home, but that was why he’d chosen this spot in the first place. Eventually, though, they were on more even terrain, and Emma struck up conversation.

“The books have been incredibly helpful—thank you again, so much.”

“I’m glad to hear that. There haven’t been any further, uh, issues?”

“No,” she confirmed, a bit solemnly. “I...I had one of the fairies help me make sure nothing like that would happen again.”

“Good. Was it Tink?”

She looked at him almost incredulously. “Yeah; how’d you know?”

“She...may have sought me out during my journey to and from the castle.”

“Oh my god; so much of our conversation makes sense now. I can’t believe she’d meddle like that.”

“She’s just looking out for you, love. It’s understandable, really, given...what I am.”

“Well, you definitely won her over. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Aye, she hinted at as much,” he said, blushing.

She gave him a sideways glance-smirk combination that suggested there was something he was missing from the story.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just...has anyone ever told you you’re adorable?”

He was sure he was now as pink as the sky above the presently setting sun. It had fallen completely by the time they got to the nearest town, and the lamplighters were at their task, illuminating the streets. Killian had watched this town grow and change over the years, and he had to admit that the streetlamps were by far the best invention he’d seen.

The tavern Emma was headed to was one with which he was fairly well-acquainted. More than once, he’d gone into town and found a dark, quiet corner of a tavern to perch for the night. It made him feel less disconnected from the world as he sipped on weak ale and dined on hearty stew. He tipped well, he stayed out of trouble, and he didn’t leave an impression, though some perhaps thought it odd that he kept his hood so low over his face. But his gold was worth more than anyone’s curiosity, he supposed.

Emma had the same approach; once they were inside, she slipped off her cloak and led him to a secluded table that he’d sat at many times. Near the bar, some Navy men on shore leave were clearly enjoying their first satisfying meal in months; on the other side of the main room, pirates were deep into their bottles and either gambling or whoring—or both.

A waitress wandered over from that side of the room, hair and skirts askew. “What’ll it be?”

“Ale and stew, please, ma’am,” he said politely. Thankfully, this part of the tavern was too dark for her to really see him.

Emma asked, “Stew for me, too, and a bottle of rum, two glasses.”

The waitress nodded and scurried off.

“You drink rum?” Killian wondered aloud.

“Yeah; don’t you, Mister Pirate?”

“No. I’m allergic; never touched the stuff.”

“Never?”

“Well, once,” he admitted. “I was young and some of the crew gave it to me; said it’d ‘help me be a man’ or something. I’d only had a few shots before it came right back up.”

Emma chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re allergic—I think you just had too much. How old were you?”

“Twelve, maybe.”

“Yeah. You’re having some of this.”

She poured out two portions when the waitress returned with their order and handed him one before holding her own aloft.

“To breaking curses.”

“I can drink to that.” He lightly tipped his small cup against hers, then watched with no small amount of awe as she tossed it back, then licked her lips after. Already, he was feeling a bit flushed, and he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol.

She set her glass down and gave him a daring smile. “Your turn.”

He exhaled in preparation. He was well-acquainted with the smell of the stuff, but all he could recall of the taste was nothing pleasant. Still—this was for Emma. As quick as he could, he brought it to his lips and drained the cup.

Incredibly, it wasn’t half bad. The burn of the alcohol was there, but it was so much better than whatever swill the crew had been drinking—this was sweet and warm and spicy.

“Good, huh?”

“Aye.”

“And you’re not breaking out in hives or anything, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Perfect.”

Part of him was exercising restraint from indulging in another; the other part wondered if he could even get drunk.

Nothing stopping you from finding out!

Like most things, he decided to follow her lead, taking a shot whenever it was offered as they dug into their meals and continued to chat. It was casual—well, as casual as it could be, given the weight of what had already passed between them—but he couldn’t recall a more enjoyable night in ages.

“So, I want to know: how you got the hook,” she asked, toying with the appendage where it sat on the table. There was a flush in her cheeks and playful smile on her face; he had to assume the rum had something to do with that, but he liked to imagine otherwise.

“Afraid it’s a rather dull tale,” he shrugged. “We were attacked by pirates when I was on a merchant vessel. I wasn’t fighting, but somehow got caught in the middle of things and one sword or another took it off; I was never clear whose, but wouldn’t put it past one of my crew mates.”

“Seriously? That’s terrible.”

“It happens,” he offered nonchalantly; he’d certainly seen worse. “The ship doctor helped me heal and fitted me with the hook, so I’d still be useful. Once the fever from the infection finally broke, that’s when I discovered there was a new captain and crew—the very pirates who’d attacked—and they let me stay as long as I kept a low profile and contributed. So I’m sure that answers another question of yours.”

“Yeah, it does,” she affirmed. “It didn’t seem like something you’d sign up for.”

“You’d be surprised, actually. It’s…it’s better than being a slave.”

She squeezed both his hand as his hook at that, and offered a sympathetic smile. “What happened to the crew? After...everything. Did you, you know...do anything to them?”

He knew it was just morbid curiosity on her part, but hated that she knew it was a possibility. “No; I never saw them again. Didn’t want to; didn’t trust myself. I ran into Smee, the bo’sun, some years later, but he was an old man and retired at that point.”

“That must have been a shock for him.”

“Aye; he thought he’d seen a ghost,” Killian chuckled. “We had a pint—up at that very bar, actually. Didn’t talk much, given that there wasn’t much to say—he never actively antagonized me, but we weren’t exactly close friends.” He swallowed as the rest of the memory played out. “He’s the only person who ever asked me to use the magic. He wanted to be young again.”

“Did you do it?”

“No. The Darkness insisted it could, but I wasn’t confident enough to let it have any free reign like that. Thankfully, he understood when I turned him down; said he’d had a good life.” He took a pull from his ale, then continued a bit quieter, “I went to his funeral a few years later. I think he was the last person who knew me as a mortal man.”

“Wow. And I’m guessing that was a while ago?”

“Yeah; probably 80 years ago, at least.”

Emma shook her head in disbelief. “You say that so casually, like it’s nothing, when it’s longer than most people even live. What have you been doing all these years?”

“Is it the rum making you chatty or are you genuinely curious?” he teased. Perhaps the booze was having an effect on him, too—he’d never been so flirty. (Was this flirting? He honestly hardly knew.)

“Can it be both?” She winked.

He smiled back, but then averted his gaze, picking at the remnants of his stew with his spoon. Perhaps another effect of the alcohol was a delay in his usual reactions; even if it was Emma, who he’d already revealed so much to, he still hadn’t gotten accustomed to anyone being interested in his life or what he had to say. “I can’t say I’ve been up to anything particularly interesting,” he said, trying to be gentle in what was sure to be a let-down of a tale. He summarized his years: building his home and library, keeping himself entertained with the Darkness and its constant companionship, and his regular visits to the garden. “It was the only place I could truly find solitude, even after I...when it was…less than attractive.”

“You did that, didn’t you.” She wasn’t asking, but she wasn’t accusatory, either.

“I did. Or the Darkness did; it’s still a bit fuzzy.”

Emma gave a sad sort of smirk. “I’m just realizing—that’s why your magic felt familiar: because I’d already felt it, the first time I walked in there. It wasn’t as strong, but...it was definitely yours.”

Shame rushed through him, faster than he’d ever felt it before (and he was well-acquainted with the emotion). He swallowed and let his gaze drift down again, inspecting each striation in the grain of the wooden bowl. “So my reputation did precede me, then.”

“Hey—don’t go there,” Emma told him, squeezing his hand again. “It’s in the past, and it’s moot now. Finding the garden like that...it kind of gave me a purpose again.”

He looked up, surprised. Of all the things they had in common, he never thought a lack of direction would be one.

She explained, seeming to understand his silent question. “I was just...so angry, after everything with my parents and Maleficent and not being able to do anything about it. The fairies were being kind of scarce so I didn’t have anyone to help me, and I couldn’t go to anyone I knew near the palace because they’d see what a failure I am. We don’t even have to talk about that dumb prophecy that’s still hanging over my head.” She paused her rant to take a breath and a drink. “And then I stumbled across the garden and...it was something I could fix. So I did. And...here we are.”

Some part of Killian wondered at the cosmic improbability of the way their paths crossed and intertwined so perfectly—if it was coincidence or more than that; maybe something do with her being the Savior, even if he still didn’t know what that meant (though it must have something to do with the prophecy). But the rest of him was back to being a bit bleary, happily so, from the rum. He gave her a gentle squeeze this time. “I’m glad you found it.”

“Me too,” she smiled.

“And now that you know all of my sordid tale, and I know the rest of yours, how about you tell me something far more exciting and that no one has probably ever asked you before: what’s it like to be a princess?”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Captain Sarcasm. There’s no way you want to hear that. It’s so boring.”

“Not to me, it’s not.”

She gave him a sideways glance, but he could see some level of submission in her gaze. “Okay, but I warned you: it really isn’t all that exciting.”

Emma was a terrible liar—he found everything exceedingly fascinating, from life in the castle to her lessons to the way she described her parents (having a close family like that at all, really; his heart ached in a way it hadn’t in so long at the thought of Liam).

“Ugh, and the balls,” she complained. “It felt like we had one every other month.”

He perked up even more at that, if it was even possible for him to be more engrossed in her stories. “I thought those were supposed to be fun?” he commented; everything he’d ever read seemed to suggest they were the height of romance and diversion.

“I mean, the first twenty or so were, I guess. But after a while, they all look the same: same dresses, same dances, same people. My mother gave up on finding a suitor ages ago, after everything with that bastard,” she spat, referring to the arse that broke her heart. “I think she just likes throwing parties. Seems a bit of a waste of money to me but they somehow always seemed to come up even on them.” She sniffed a bit, though. “But I can’t wait for the next one, whenever it is.”

“It’ll happen,” he assured her.

“I know; I have to have hope that it will.”

He gave her another hopeful squeeze and they went back to their drinks for a bit, until music filled the tavern. One of the pirates had brought a fiddle and was playing a jig of some sort, and the waitresses were joining some of the men in dancing a reel. It was fairly typical of something Killian had seen on ships a lifetime ago, but given their conversation and the gentle glow of the tavern’s lanterns, there was something a bit more dreamy about it.

They watched and clapped along for the rest of the song, and then the tune changed and the dancers changed their steps to match. He was practically lost in a daze as he stared at the couples as they twirled and pranced almost in sync with one another, happy smiles on their faces and laughter bubbling from their throats.

“Do you want to dance?”

Killian’s head whipped towards Emma, both in shock and wonder. “Pardon?”

“Have you never been asked to dance before?”

A hazy memory of one special night with Milah filtered through his memory, but no words had been spoken then—it just happened. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, come on. I’m not used to being turned down, especially when I actually want to dance with someone,” she commanded with a wink, then stood and held an inviting hand to him.

He didn’t let himself think too long about taking it, the warmth of her palm reaching his even through his glove, and followed as she led him to the makeshift dance floor just as the music changed. This tune was more...he didn’t want to say refined, but it was definitely more befitting a ball than a tavern.

She pulled him to an open spot and then stood in front of him. Carefully, she took his hand and placed it on her waist, right above where the curve of her hips gently flared out.

“What...what are you doing?” he stammered; for some reason, he felt like a virginal young boy again, even though he was neither (but might as well be, in some ways).

Emma set her hand on his shoulder and with the other, held his hook, before pointedly explaining, “It’s called a waltz, and there’s only one rule.” She took a step into him, close enough that he could feel heat radiating off her body onto his, and murmured, “Pick a partner who knows what she’s doing.”

Any words died on his lips; no coherent thoughts formed in his brain. Nothing registered but the slight shift of weight as Emma took the first step, and he scrambled to follow. Then another. And another. Emma expertly directed their movements with the the press of her hand against him and the press of her hips into his grip; he was torn between focusing on the steps and staring at the soft expression on her face, green eyes twinkling even in the dim light.

Eventually, he figured it out and they fell into a pattern, swaying and turning to the rhythm of the music that seemed to play in time with the beat of his heart—which, quite honestly, was racing. He thought these things were supposed to be filled with romance and drama—not the intensity and intimacy that was currently present, or the heaviness of the air between them.

Too soon, the song was over and another, much livelier dance took its place. But Killian was loathe to let go of Emma and, impossibly, she seemed to feel the same, because instead of moving away, she came even closer, wrapping her free arm around his waist and setting her head on his shoulder. It was a good thing he didn’t need air, because his breath had been completely stolen.

He was almost scared to move—scared that he might frighten her away, that she wasn’t aware of what she was doing due to the rum or something—but then she started to sway on every other beat of the music, and his body was moving with hers before he had a chance to think about it.

His hook settled on the other side of her waist and he wrapped his hand around her back just a bit, keenly aware of everything about her: her scent, her warmth, how she felt pressed against him, even the subtle vibrations of her heartbeat. It was like she was the only other person in the world, the only thing that mattered—none of his other constant troubles or worries plagued him; he was completely at peace. He closed his eyes and gave into the bliss that was threatening to drown him, and he couldn’t imagine a sweeter death.

Typically, it all came crashing down a moment later. A sharp jostle pulled them both from their shared serenity, and it took a second to notice the pirate at their side, dressed in a dirty tunic and frayed pants held up with a belt that strained against his gut. He was trying to get in between Killian and Emma. “Might I ‘ave a turn with the lady?” he asked, polite in word but not in tone, or the way he was leering at Emma’s top.

“No, you may not,” was Emma’s sharp reply.

“Aw, that’s no fair; just want a quick turn is all.” He was still trying to get his dirty hands on Emma, pawing at her arm.

“I believe the lady said no,” Killian hissed. He was livid with this man; how dare he interrupt them?

Make him pay! the Darkness crowed; it wasn’t until that outburst that Killian realized it had been silent all night.

The pirate turned his attention to Killian, giving him a once over with his eyes. “Oh, you’re a pretty one, too, aren’t you? Jealous, then? I’d love a romp with you, too.”

Long-buried memories rose to the surface, spiraling out in a rage Killian hadn’t felt in ages. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and pressed him against the opposite wall, covering the distance in a matter of strides.

He pressed his forearm across the scoundrel’s chest and the tip of his hook to the neck. “You won’t lay a finger on her hair nor mine, d’you hear me?” he spat, and the man started to cower and whimper. He heard his name called from somewhere outside, but all he could focus on was this miserable excuse for a man and the fear coursing through his body. “Otherwise, I’ll see to it that you have none at all, nor your head—savvy?” The tip of his hook started to draw blood.

Ooh, decapitation—we haven’t done that in ages!

“Killian, stop.” A hand was squeezing his bicep and he turned to look at whoever dared interrupt him. It was Emma, of course.

“I can’t—he wanted to hurt you!” he insisted; didn’t she see how dangerous this man was?

“Please—I can take him,” she scoffed. “Just stop; you don’t need to do this.”

Yes, you do! Imagine what he could have done—to her; to you. Killian squinted his eyes shut at the images playing in his head.

“Killian, please.” The soft tone of her voice quickly brought him back to the ground, though he wasn’t sure if he’d been above it or under it a moment prior. Either way, it was a shock to his senses—he was ready to kill this man, without even blinking an eye.

And Emma had witnessed the whole thing.

He jumped away from the pirate as if he’d been jolted, and the man promptly slumped against the wall as he sputtered and got his breath back. The rest of the bar was eerily silent and all eyes were on him, most with a look of fear in them as he glanced around.

If Emma wore that look, too, he didn’t want—couldn’t bear—to see it. “I...I’m sorry,” he blurted out, keeping his eyes down, and then ran for the door and into the night.

You were so close—so close! He deserved it!

“No, he didn’t.” Killan’s path was aimless, but he could hear the ocean and knew his feet were propelling towards it.

He’s probably done worse.

“Then he’ll get what he deserves someday; not from me.” He crashed through thick brush as he plowed on, not caring about the burrs and thorns that scratched at him.

Think about it—think of all the wrongs you could right, if you’d just let yourself—let us—

“No!” he screamed, finally coming into a clearing. The shore lay just ahead and the sound of the waves crashing on the sand was an instant balm, though nowhere near as much as it usually was. “I’m tired of your bloody games and torture! When will it be enough? When will you just give up on me?”

“Not any time soon.” He jumped and turned to see Emma breaking through the shrubbery he’d just ran through.

He stumbled back, trying to stay away from her, for her sake. “You...you followed me? Why?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she moved closer to him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“After what I just did…”

To his shock, she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t we literally just have this conversation? I’m not scared of you; I know that’s not you.”

Her faith in him was so much stronger than his own, and it nearly broke his heart. “Aye, but the line between me and the Darkness gets weaker every day. What just happened there—it’s happened before, and it’ll happen again, and it’s just been getting more frequent. I don’t…” He hung his head and nearly sobbed. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Give in, give in, give in, the Darkness started to chant, its chorus echoing in his head. He collapsed against the wet sand as their taunts got louder, whimpering at the splitting headache it was causing until—

Until it stopped suddenly. “Killian, are you alright?” He opened his eyes to see Emma in front of him, kneeling too and gripping his shoulders. There was fear in her expression, but not of him—for him.

He didn’t have it in him to lie. “No, I’m not.”

“What happened?”

He snorted. “When? That’s a bit of a loaded question, love.”

“Okay then,” she said quietly, then brushed a hand through his hair. “How about back at the tavern.”

“I…” he started, not quite sure how to explain. “My appearance has always garnered attention, even when I was mortal—especially then. People...wanted me.”

“I...I see. Did they…?” She clearly didn’t want to put it into words.

“No, nothing like that—but there were some close calls. And it often started like that—minding my own business, and then I was being propositioned. And the Darkness...it knows what’ll set me off; it dug up those memories and that was all it took. Sometimes, I can resist, but others…”

“I get it,” she cut in. “Is...that what was happening before I knocked on your door?”

He gulped. “How...how much of that did you hear?”

“It sounded like you were yelling, and I heard something breaking, but I didn’t see anyone else there. And then it seemed like it happened when I walked up here—you were yelling, but there’s no one else around.”

He sighed and hung his head.

“Does it have something to do with your curse?”

“It has everything to do with that,” he confirmed. “It...talks to me,” he explained. “I know that sounds insane, but it taunts me, in my head. That’s how it tries to get me to do its bidding; admonishes my failures—things like that. I used to be good at ignoring it, but it...pushes, and it’s been doing that more as of late.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Is that what happened last time in the garden?”

“No.” He still shuddered at the memory. “I’m still not sure what caused that; something in the book, I think. The Darkness somehow manifested and then...took over. It usually just takes advantage of my emotions—it’s always prompted. That was...a first.”

“Your eyes looked different; kind of like that one time we fought. That’s how I could tell you weren’t all there. They did that tonight, too.”

He scoffed. “That’s the thing, though—I was still there. I could see it all happening. Whatever that was in the garden was harder to break out of, but tonight...that wasn’t as blurry.”

“But Killian—”

“No; no ‘buts’, Emma.” He stood up quickly and put some distance between them, moving closer to the edge of the water. “There’s only two ways for this to end: I give in and let the Darkness run free, doing gods know what to anyone in my path; or I somehow keep this up and manage to hold it at bay for eternity. So either way...I’m not good for you.”

Emma followed him, angrily storming to his side. “Excuse you—I think I’ll decide who or what is ‘good’ for me, okay? And screw me—what about you? What do you need, Killian?”

The fire in her eyes matched her elevated pulse, thundering in his ears. You’re so close, the Darkness whispered. Listen to her heart—you could take it so easily…

“No!” he shouted and took a step back, yelling at both of them. “You know what I want? All I’ve wanted for decades?”

“What?”

“I just want to go in the bloody ocean. Not food, not my family, not even a friend—all I wanted to make this curse bearable was to be in the water and let it soothe me. And look.”

He turned at ran at the sea, but never did he hit the water. He should have sent salt spray up all around him and likely splashed Emma, but—to her surprise, if the way her jaw dropped was anything to go by—the water stayed away, parting around him and leaving him on dry land.

“Not even the sea can stand me, love. How can you? How can anyone?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then firmly shut her lips.

“See?” he cried. She took a step toward him, but he held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t, love, please—just...just stay away. It’s for your own good.”

He waved his hand and translocated home, collapsing on his wood floor as soon as he did. Sobs wracked his body as he was hit with the realization that he’d just pushed away the one person who had seen him—the real him—in so, so long, but in the end, he knew it was for the best.

There, there, dearie, the Darkness crooned. We’ve got you.

as always, thanks for reading! tagging some people: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @cocohook38 @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @killianmesmalls @distant-rose @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @nfbagelperson @the-captains-ayebrows @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @wyntereyez @lfh1962 @bmbbcs4evr @therooksshiningknight

#cs ff #dark killian #deckhand hook #cs march madness #fic: savage garden #my ff

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bbbarneswrites · 7 years ago

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High-Heeled Heaven

Read Chapter Four: Dsquared2 RiRi Sandals

Sebastian Stan x Reader

Summary: In which Sebastian can’t help but appreciate his girl’s high-heels shoes. Genre: Romance/fluff Warnings: Swearings 1,733 words

Notes: Inspired by Hell in High Heels by Jewelgirl04, I decided to write a little series of drabbles so we can be trash about how Seb likes high-heels. I’m not even sorry. Each chapter will be inspired by a different pair of shoes that I wish I could actually afford, lmao. The link down there provides a better look to the shoes if you want and in the middle of the fic there’s a link for the full outfit. I’m not very happy with this one but I hope you all enjoy! Next chapter we’re finally getting into 2017 Seb. Happy reading! <3

Chapter Five: Valentino Rockstud Pumps

New York is already falling into its usual cold temperatures as Halloween passes by and Thanksgiving rolls around, leaving you to enjoy the holidays at home now that your lastest film is completely wrapped up and set to be in the early stages of post-production.

As neither you or Sebastian have any real Thanksgiving ideas at first, you originally plan to spend the holiday catching up with your lost loved tv shows on Netflix.

God knows how much you’ve been working lately without a single day to just unwind.

But given that your busy schedule hasn’t offered you much time to visit your hometown or your family lately, you decide to indulge Sebastian’s proposed idea to fly in your parents to New York so they can spend a weekend with you after all these long months.

And since this is the first time they’re going to be actual visitors in a place that you now own, you decide to play up a good hostess and set up a nice Thanksgiving dinner for them even though the holiday isn’t something you usually fawn over.

So after picking them up at the airport in that Thursday morning and checking both in a spa hotel for the day, you’re finally able to focus on the night’s plans without any worries.

You love them dearly but you know that they’ll keep hovering over you all day to help even if it’s meant to be a weekend to relax.

Even though you’re a fairly decent cook, you had decided earlier to not ruin the day, prefering to trust your dinner menu to one of Lia’s chef friends who was nice enough to offer her catering services at last minute despite the busy date.

And much to your surprise, the whole dinner arrangement turns out to be easier than you thought.

Now that it’s a few hours into the night and you’re waiting for your parents’ Uber to arrive, you can’t help but be a little suspicious over Sebastian’s suddenly awkward behavior.

“Keep frowning and your face is getting stuck like that.” You tease him with a little grin as he sits on the other side of the kitchen’s counter, elbows on the surface while watching you finish the last fruit plate by the sink. “I love your pretty face too much to let it waste.”

Sebastian breaks out of his reverie with a huffed laugh, his expression melting into an amused one though he tries to sound at least a bit offended at your playful words.

“So that’s why you’re with me?” He purses his lips as a way to maintain his façade, rising his eyebrows in question when you smile knowingly by the other side of the counter, now standing right in front of him. “Just for my good looks?”

Though both of you know that it’s not only because of that, you can’t complain about his looks at all.

Right now is living proof of how amazingly good looking he can be – his hair perfect styled in a fluffy mess as a light shade of stubble covers his cheeks, somehow looking perfect with his burgundy sweater, leather jacket and a pair of pants that look sinful around his thighs. So, nope...you’re most definitely not complaining.

“That and a few other things that shall not be mentioned right now.” You reply with a wink that he chuckles at instantly, shaking his head at your antics before you cut the banter. “Are you sure you don’t want to call your mom today? There’s still time to come over.”

“I’m sure.” Seb says assuringly, lips curved up in a kind smile that you can’t help but swoon at before he gives a little nonchalant shrug. “She said they were going out with a few family friends to a restaurant or something.”

You hum in understanding, pretending to adjust a strawberry in the fruit plate as a way to play around until you can get to the point.

You think you might have a slight idea of why he’s acting this awkward and nervous and if your suspicions are right, you might know how it feels to be in his shoes so that’s why you’re trying to approach the matter as easily as you can.

“Okay...so what’s up with you today?” You ask with a little grin, his expression immediately turning into a feigned clueless one that you can’t help but snort at. “I can see you’re fidgeting from miles away, Seb.”

“I’m not.” He denies instantly, a short nervous laugh escaping from his lips as you glance pointedly at him, noting his drumming fingers on the counter’s surface. “What? I’m not– I’m not fidgeting.”

“You can’t tell me you’re nervous.” You state playfully, an amused grin gradually growing on your lips as his sudden silence kinda confirms your earlier suspicious, not failing to make you laugh at his sillyness. “You are, aren’t you? Seb!”

Sebastian can’t help but sigh with your words, his glare on you softening second by second until he gives a little nervous chuckle that you smile at instantly.

Sebastian normally turns out to be a very confident guy. He knows what he’s capable of and he knows how good he looks so that gives him a little boost of confidence at times. He’s charming and knows his way around words if he needs them to act in his favor, often rendering the people around him speechless.

This other side of him is completely the opposite and you still love it anyway.

He can be confident and charming but he can also be vulnerable and nervous when something means a lot to him. Right now it’s exactly that and your heart might have skipped a beat or two at what his reaction truly means behind it all.

“This is my first time meeting your family.” Sebastian says as he runs a hand through his hair, a frown settled between his eyebrows despite the fond smile playing on your lips. “Give me some credit, alright? I’m allowed to be nervous.”

Still grinning like a fool, you don’t waste any time before walking around the counter to wrap him up in your arms. With a content hum and a quick appraising glance to your outfit, Sebastian gladly lets you step into the space between his legs, his hands resting on your hips as you press a kiss to his pouty lips.

From that moment on, it’s just a countdown until he brings up a certain something and you know it. Not that you should be focusing on that right now.

“You’ve met them before, silly.” You finally reply, rolling your eyes playfully as you raise a hand to scratch fondly his stubbly cheeks. “And I know it was just through FaceTime and Skype but still. You flirted with my mother throughout our entire call in the first time.”

As you notice he’s struggling to hold back a smirk, you can’t help but roll your eyes because you still hear a lot from your mom about the day he openly flirted and completely charmed with her after accidentally showing up behind you during the call.

“But it’s not the same and you know it.” Sebastian shakes his head with a huff, his eyes locking with yours as he presses a small kiss to your wrist. “I just wanna make a good impression.”

“You will because you look damn handsome tonight and you’re a natural charmer.” You beam, pressing a last kiss to his lips before stepping away from him with a laugh. “If you only knew how much my mother gushes about you on the phone, though.”

With his hands now falling to his thighs, Sebastian doesn’t say anything as he takes his time on watching you, taking in every piece of your body and every little detail of your outfit as you stand a few steps away from him with a bashful smile, knowing exactly what’s coming next just by his look.

The dress you’re currently wearing is actually your doing, another online purchase as you’d been roaming through some sites before falling in love with the short, navy blue Valentino dress, the space print and loose fit closing the deal for you despite the price.

The shoes, on the other hand, are also from Valentino but have another story.

“You look beautiful.” Seb calls out, nervousness forgotten and mischief all over his voice as you roll your eyes with his flirty demeanor, trying to play off your burning cheeks. “And I love the shoes. I knew it would fit you just right.”

Indulging him with a playful twirl and a pose much like the first time he ever mentioned his liking for your shoes choices back in Toronto, you laugh sheepishly and step further to him again, now palming your hands on his thighs to lean closer and kiss him.

“They did fit just right.” You mumble with a teasing smile against his mouth, his grin widening when you press another quick peck to his lips. “Bonus points to you because Dani said I can wear them with pretty much everything if I need to.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs smugly, a hand on your hip pulling you closer to his body again. “I’m a man of taste.”

With a playful scoff and a tug of his jacket, your lips are meeting in a sweet kiss again. Taking the moment to just enjoy each other properly for the first time during the day, Sebastian’s hands are soon squeezing your hips while your own are buried into his brown locks, messing up his hairstyle even more though he doesn’t seem to care one little bit.

But right when your lips are making its way to his neck and his hands are sliding down to the hem of your dress, your apartment’s intercom starts ringing upon your parents’ arrival.

Pulling away from each other in a haste, Sebastian can’t help but look slightly grumpy.

“Yes, you are.” You hold back a smile at his funny face, running a hand through the lapels of his jacket before kissing his neck and using the opportunity to whisper in his ear. “And if you’re a good boy tonight, you’ll get to enjoy even more later.”

His face is more than enough to know you have a long night ahead of you. So much to be thankful for.

“I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Six: Gianvito Rossi Plexi Pumps

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #high heeled heaven #drabble game #sebastian stan x you

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wannawrite · 7 years ago

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Siloso Vibes

who?: Wanna One’s Ha Sungwoon genre: 🌸 type: bullet point, part of Christmas collab wink wonk blog navigator. • part of the collab with @onlyjihoonsand@hwinkinghwi • a day at Sentosa with Sungwoon + added Christmas spirit finally writing something for Sungwoon :”), never got a request for him before so I’m happy - Admin L posted late out of respect for Jonghyun. Admins will officially return on the 25/12 Rest in peace, king. you did well. forever and always in my heart.

• Sentosa • first, I need to explain what Sentosa is and what there is on that island • so Sentosa is an island off the coast of Singapore, linked to the mainland by a bridge • everything there is built on reclaimed land • which is basically throwing sand into the sea to form a platform • I think so • yeah • okay • ‘babe,’ someone says, waking you up from your sleep. ‘Come on, wake up.’ • oh, it’s Sungwoon • who let him into my house? • WHO • I NEED SLEEP • oh yeah, my parents are completely in love with him so I can understand why the gladly opened the door for him • Ha Sungwoon had your parents wrapped around his pinky finger • he finally took a trip back to your homeland after graduation • let me explain • you had flown to Seoul, South Korea to further your university education and there, you met Sungwoon • you guys started going out in Junior year • everyone shipped it • Daniel owed Jihoon $10 • Jaehwan was so touched, he composed multiple songs for both of you • and some were on his debut album • oooh • recently, the both of you had graduated university • CONGRATS TO THE CLASS OF 2017 • AND TO EVERYONE STILL STUDYING, KEEP GOING AND WORKING HARD • YOU GOT THIS • YOU WILL MAKE IT OUT ALIVE • burning the midnight oil writing papers and feasting on instant noodles at 2am was all worth it to hold that 4.0 GPA in your hands • uhh…maybe • possibly • I’m sure its GPA calculated there • sorry, no wifi to check right now :( • right after your graduation ceremony • you ran back to your dorm, packed up whatever was left and met Sungwoon in the campus carpark • he was decked out in full tourist attire • floral beach button down • board shorts • fanny pack securely tightened around his waist • and of course • he just HAD to wear his Birkenstocks • of all of his expensive shoes rotting in his house • his Birkenstocks • at least they weren’t Crocs • you were grateful for that • at least that • I have nothing against Birkenstocks • I guess they just aren’t my style • but Sungwoon still looked like a freaking buffet so you weren’t complaining • he’s probably that young guy who can pull of the ‘dad look’ really well • you know • random coloured t-shirt • or polo • jean shorts? kakis? • white high socks tucked into sports sneakers • or moccasins • maybe pairing Adidas socks with Nike running shoes • can’t forget that leather fanny pack • or a black dad hat • sometimes he would trade that for a snapback or sun hat • okay that’s enough visualising weird images • brain: Sungwoon with that Prince Eric black hair, golden circular spectacles, in a white button-down with the first few buttons open and tight-fitting black slacks • me: SCREAMS • THROWS MYSELF OUT OF A WINDOW • you know that iconic Jimin black hair part? yeah, that one. that would look SO good on Sungwoon • he’s sort of Jimin’s brother anyway • let’s move on • shall we? • Sungwoon as Prince Eric though • super frickin’ hot • ENOUGH • so you two threw your stuffed suitcases into your car trunk and sped off to Jaehwan’s mansion • that’ll be Sungwoon’s car’s house for the next month • some of your friends are there chilling out, still clad in graduation gowns • they’re like ‘what’ • after explaining, they wished you a safe journey and kissed both of you goodbye • Sungwoon left a 23-page journal on how to care for his car • in case Jaehwan had no idea • he was reassured when Minhyun mentioned he would be living with Jaehwan until his apartment was ready • Sungwoon’s car would be safe in Minhwan’s hands • hopefully • Jisung and Daniel drove the two of you to the airport • helping with the luggage and all • Jisung pushing Daniel on the trolley that’s actually meant for baggage • snapping pictures like fansites • ‘hi I’m starting a Sungwoon fansite, I’d like to call it Smolwoon.’ • angry chilli padi Sungwoon activated • he’s so small but spicy I love • ready for takeoff • taken off • RUN DANIEL RUN • is there a sungwoon fansite with that name? please link them if it exists • if not, feel free to take the name • or smallwoon • and tell me about it! • you and Sungwoon eventually get checked in and everything • after hugging Daniel and Jisung of course • video calling the rest of your friends to say goodbye • Jisung almost shed tears • wow • imagine of Seongwoo was there • drama time • flights are such a blessing, I personally love flying and travelling • slept on the flight in Seoul • woke up in Singapore • hELLO CHANGI AIRPORT IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN MY LOVE BEST AIRPORT IN THE WORLD • YOU’RE DOING GREAT CHANGI AIRPORT • it was so cute to see Sungwoon half stumble off the plane • because he had an amazing nap • he emerged still sleepy-eyed and clearly freshly awoken • I’m talking bed-head, trying to cover up his puffy face with glasses and a mask • but he looked refreshed and well-rested so all is well • it’s important to sleep properly! • says the one who stays up to 2am to watch Master Key • Master Key is really addicting, I’ve never been so whipped • you guys managed to get a cab • around 1am three days ago, you got to your house after Sungwoon was dropped off at his hotel • because your house didn’t exactly have a guest room and sleeping in your room was a huge no-no • so you called and talked to him until 2am • how the hell did he wake early enough to get from Ritz Carlton to your home • what even • Sungwoon wasn’t one to wake early • he loved his sleep • and his pre-bed skin-care routine • speaking of which, his skin was effortlessly glowing • hmm, must be a change of weather • ‘BABE!’ Sungwoon yelled, shaking your blanket-clad figure. ‘WAKE UP!’ • was he…okay? • why does he want to deprive me of sleep? isn’t he supposed to come and cuddle with me? • :( • oh! • IT’S TODAY • ‘Aren’t you excited?’ Sungwoon whines, sitting on the edge of your bed. ‘Today’s going to be so much fun!’ • ‘and tomorrow,’ you mumble, still half asleep. ‘Are you not jet lagged? I feel like I got run over by a truck.’ • SG translation: I kena truck langar • Sungwoon laughs, beaming brightly, sparkling like a total angel • ‘I am but I conquered all to come see you~’ • ROMANTIC • he’s such a hopeless romantic but pretends he isn’t • just a vibe • ‘see,’ he says, pulling up his Uber app to show you his new ride. ‘I even took an Uber here myself, and I spoke to the driver with slang and English.’ • you guys are probably using a mix of Korean and English to communicate btw • it’s so fun speaking in two languages • like you can interchange words into sentences • and no one around you will know what you’re saying • and when you speak dialect, it’s like your communicating in a secret code • for me at least • heh • you guys never had qualms speaking in both languages • for Sungwoon, who had pored over his English notes night after night so he could increase his fluency level, independently taking an Uber with a mainly English speaking driver was a huge deal • friendly reminder that English is not the only language in this world and people should not be obliged to learn/speak it. • it may be a commonly used language and more prominent but that still doesn’t mean everyone has to abandon their culture and switch to English • also, that Kpop, Jpop, Cpop, Cantopop, Bollywood, any other non-native English speaking idols/groups do not need to speak English to be valid • goes for anyone for that matter • :)))) • let people appreciate their cultures and languages • yay okay back to the story • the reason for Sungwoon’s excitement and eagerness • ahem..peculiar behaviour such as rising early • your itinerary for today was a day at Sentosa • more specifically, Universal Studios Singapore • can someone please go with me? • tomorrow would be Adventure Cove • should there be a part two for this? tell me, please • moving on… • it’s the most wonderful time of the year • to visit Universal Studios • well, the queues even at 10am in the morning proved you wrong • but we shall backtrack a little • how you got out of the house? • Sungwoon practically dragged you out of bed • threw you into the shower • saying that he would get your breakfast ready • you tried to battle the morning heat and wake up at the same time by taking an icy cold shower • WAKE UP • emerged refreshed and ready to roll • sort of • Sungwoon was sitting in the living room, talking to your parents • no sucking up needed to win their favour • especially since he helped to prepare your breakfast • ‘oh babe, you’re here! I packed your breakfast in a lunch box in case we didn’t have time.’ • so prepared I can’t • pulls a MOTHER • Sungwoon mum mode: activated • I know Jisung’s the mum but Sungwoon is probably the grandmother, mother or 帅叔叔 [handsome uncle] • flashback when Xuan described San E as 怪叔叔 [strange uncle] • I’m cackling • maybe Sungwoon could be a strange uncle too • eh • he strikes me as that • ‘see,’ he says, patting a stuffed tote black. ‘I even prepared all the things we could need. Umbrella, raincoat, sunscreen, moisturiser, bb cream…oh! This is a new kind of energy drink Jaehwan recommended!’ • hmmm….Jaehwan recommended • okay then… • your parents are SWOONING • WHAT A WELL-ORGANISED MAN • probably has an organiser in that tote • ‘uhh, okay. thanks, babe. so, mum and dad, we’ll be making a move.’ • your parents insist you update them every few hours • and they take a picture • like a prom picture • don’t blame them, they’ve only seen you and Sungwoon over Skype calls and Facetime • you guys hug them goodbye • ‘LET’S GO’ Sungwoon yells, tossing his tote into the backseat of your Rover • maybe some other car because Rovers are unreasonably expensive here • everything is unreasonably expensive here • ‘VROOM!’ • you speed off towards Sentosa. • in the ticketing queue, Sungwoon insists on applying a thick layer of sunblock • you hold his mirror • and then he does it on your face, purposely not blending it • asian beauty standards are like: • pls stop whitewashing • and idolising fair/white skin • dark skin is beautiful and should be deemed normal and acceptable too • anyway • at least he blended the cream properly before you approached the staff • Sungwoon couldn’t stop yelling excitedly as he entered the gates • he was amazed by every single little thing • CHRISTMAS SONGS • CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS • CHRISTMAS SPIRIT • santa hats everywhere • he does have Lotte World • but this was a whole new universe • ;) • Sungwoon’s hand envelopes yours and you two happily skip to the first ride • ‘what about Transformers?’ • ‘sure!’ • honestly, the queue for this ride is so ridiculous • luckily, Sungwoon keeps you entertained by taking a ton of Snapchat filtered selfies • Snow filters • making memes • Facetiming a tired Jihoon - time difference • who wishes he tagged along • he screams a lot during the ride • and screams after about how much fun he had • you two go on a couple more rides • got chased by a T-rex and got a bird’s eye view of the park • burnt to a crisp by a fire-breathing mummy before the roller coaster plunged backwards • went on a safari adventure and nearly got eaten by a crocodile • these are some of my favourite rides tbh • went along for a boat ride with Madagascar animals • ‘yo Sungwoon are you sure you’re tall enough to ride this?’ you tease playfully. • he pouts • yells a bit • before securing his red baseball cap on his head and confidently marching into the queue • ‘watch me.’ • ‘small is spicy.’ • after, you guys ended up buying ice cream • salted popcorn in a Minion container • Sungwoon calculated the expenses to the very cent • he’s either the guy to drop $1000 in a blink of an eye with no hesitation • or drop his friend off before the ERP [a system you pay - using cash card - to use a certain road via vehicle] because he wants to save that $2 • this happens to my friend irl lol ^ • you guys even purchase matching Santa hats • even though those at the mama shop are SO MUCH cheaper • Sungwoon persuades you to buy matching shirts too • ‘uhh are you really sure you want to buy that shirt for Guanlin?’ you questioned, pointing to the shirt in Sungwoon’s hands he got from the children’s section • ‘oh shush I know my son through and through, he’ll love it.’ • ‘….he’s almost 18 soon-‘ • ‘nope!’ Sungwoon exclaims, clamping a hand over your mouth. ‘No, no. His 8th birthday just passed.’ • poor Guanlin • Sungwoon and Jisung are going to feed him banana milk for the rest of his life • ‘what about Daehwi? He’s your son too.’ you point out his bias • ‘…well, he’s Jisung’s son right now because the sun is still out but I should buy my babies matching shirts too right?’ • ‘babe, help me choose one!’ • you guys spend at least half an hour haggling over shirts • which colour one would match Daehwi’s skin more? • wait, this is the exact colour of Guanlin’s eyes! • …this t-rex reminds me a lot of my sons • bet, Guanlin looks like this when he wakes up • *ends up spending much more than anticipated* • Sungwoon takes a brave step and agrees to ride the Battlestar Galactica: Human Vs Cylon • two of the major roller coasters here • ‘woon, are you sure you’re over 125cm? you need to measure your height again…’ • *167cm* • ‘HAH’ he grins triumphantly • sighs • is confident • and brags about how he loves roller coasters • until he’s standing behind the metal gate, waiting for the cars to come back and all the screams from the previous riders can be heard • ‘uh babe are you sure you want to sit in the first carriage? I can always ask them to change our seats if you’re scared.’ • *bats eyelids* • you nearly fall for it • then, you gently push him to take his seat • ‘WAIT NO MY THING ISN’T CLICKING SHUT’ • a staff has to help him secure his barrier • he takes a deep breath • ‘I’m more nervous then when it was my debut-‘ • *yelling begins* • *yelling pauses* • Sungwoon nearly passes out • after,,, ‘THAT WAS SO FUN LET’S GO AGAIN BABE.’ • you guys stay there until almost closing time • cue staff trying to chase you out • ‘the night is still young.’ • so, you take a trip to Siloso Beach to watch the sunset • munching on fries • you rest your head in Sungwoon’s lap, his hands playing with your hair • the waves crash against the beach, the sunlight glimmers against your skin • ‘this is so different from Korea…’ Sungwoon mutters, almost to himself • he kisses your forehead affectionately, causing a smile to pull at your lips • ‘I like spending this kind of Christmas with you too.’

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 #produce 101 scenarios #yoon jisung #ha sungwoon #hwang minhyun #ong seongwoo #kim jaehwan #kang daniel #park jihoon #park woojin #bae jinyoung #lee daehwi #lai guanlin

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imaginemycroftholmes · 7 years ago

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Mycroft realise that he is falling in love for Anthea (sorry for my bad english not my first language)

As Anthea left him to be dragged to see more of her adoring fans after the show Mycroft is left with his thoughts and worst of all his feelings alone in the moonlight garden outside of the theatre.

The evening at the theatre had been magical; Anthea was a prefect companion to watch ‘Oedipus’ with, she was very much as accommodating as she was Godly accommodating his needs as the night went on, a wonderful conversationalist, witty, funny, and warm whereas Mycroft hasn’t felt in ages.

Everything down to the last flower, the ripples in the pond and the soft summer breeze in the air screamed of romantic tension that Mycroft had to clear his head rather forcefully to dislodge it all.

“If there’s a prize for rotten judgement then I guess I’ve already won that,” Mycroft muses aloud to himself walking further away from the lights of the theare, “No one is worth the aggravation.”

It’s when Mycroft is confronted with the latest statue of Anthea from her battle with the great beast Augean Stables. In all her stone glory Anthea is picturesque and more than he could ever ask for.

Truth be told there was enough evidence to support the fact that his feelings may not be so one sided. That perhaps, with enough ingenuity and cunning he could cheat the Hades out of his deal and still have a happy life with Anthea.

So tempting and alluring was the thought that Mycroft had to halt himself from touching the newly erected statue.

No. No. NO.NO.NO. Not again.

Turning away from the statue Mycroft tells himself harshly when that fantastical visiion of a future with her floods his head, “No-that’s ancient history, been there, done that-”“Come off it mate, who d’you think you’re kidding, she’s the earth and heaven to you,” comes a voice from behind the garden’s vase and Mycroft couldn’t keep himself steady to save his life.

“Who said that,” he demanded in a hushed tone weary of who and where this new voice was coming from. It was unfortunate that Mycroft was never gifted a weapon from Eurus, the God of the underworld and even more so that his attempts of rectifying this matter even more fruitless on his lonesome.

“Aye, we’re down here,” called a different voice and Mycroft was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him.

Too much wine he thinks as Mycroft comes closer to examine the pots to find that five of the figures, the muses moving.

“Sorry there big boy but I’m afraid you aren’t dreaming but even then I doubt that you would dream of me right Mycroft,” Irene muse of comedy says saucily as hse saunters closer to the forefront of the pottery.

“Irene, we talked about this we have to be gentle when it comes to feelings,” Molly the muse of muse of tragedy before turning to Mycroft with a gentle smile.

“Pish posh his feelings the man’s been away from the living so long I doubt he has any left to his name,” grumbled Hudson muse of history before getting a gentle nudge from Greg the muse of poetry.

“Listen Hudson I know you have a score to settle with Mycroft about your daughter all those years ago but can’t you let the poor bloke have a break? You know he was only doing Eurus’ biding.”

“I shall give that reptile a taste of my shoe,” Hudson declared taking off her painted sandal only to shouldered between Greg and John the muse of dance.

“Mrs. Hudson, listen if you want to sit this one out we understand,” John starts before Hudson throws up a hand.

“No, no! I can be professional even if our target is severely undeserving of our great advice,” she bellows walking closer to the forefront of the pot where Irene and Molly still stood watching the affair from afar.

Mycroft could barely believe his eyes as Hudson not only became larger on the pot but then “jumped” onto one of the statues of Achilles and morphed it into her.Eyes wide and growing paler by the second Mycroft tries to back away fast enough from the newly created statue only to be scooped up with one heavy arm and hoisted into the air.

“Now listen here you little bugger, you can try to keep it hidden but we see right though you so you better knock it off,” Hudson exclaims as she jostles Mycroft.

“Mrs. Hudosn, Mrs. Hudson,” come the cries from the pottery until John ends up “jumping” onto another statue of a fallen hero and retrieves Mycroft from her stony grasp.

“And we’ll take it from here Mrs. Hudson,” John decides firmly.

“JUST LET ME GET MY HANDS ON HIM-”

“Mrs. Hudson settle down,” Irene complains, “You’re completely ruining the mood.”

“I’ll show you a mood,” Hudson threatens to the muse of comedy only to be infatuated more when all Irene does is shrug her off.

Setting Mycroft back down on the ground (and far out of Hudson’s reach) John tries again. “Listen you can’t conceal it Mycroft we know how you’re feeling.”

“Yeah, who you’re thinking of is no surprise to us.” Mycroft nearly got whip lash from finding out that Greg had migrated from the pottery to the stone work on the fountain’s edge.

At this point with all the manhandling, emotional turmoil and headaches Mycroft just wants this whole supernatural event to end.

“No chance no way, I won’t say it, no no,” Mycroft vehemently denies as he tries to flee the garden.Mycroft doesn’t even make it a foot past the fountain when he is accosted by Irene and Molly blocking his path in statue forms. “Buddy you swoon you sigh,” Irene complains.

“Why deny it? Oh. Oh,” says with a pause that causes John to stop blocking Hudson’s attempts to move to another stone figure.

“What, what’s wrong Molly,” John asks.

“Nothing! I just saw a really pretty bug by Mycroft’s sandal so I-”

“Wait he’s getting away!” Greg shouts and like Eurus’ horrific hound from hell Hudson is there to block Mycroft in an instance.

Surrounded by all five muses Mycroft continues to argue. “It’s too cliche I won’t say I’m in love.”

“Aw mate, I know its always hard jumping back into a relationship,” Greg begins before Mycroft cuts him off. Greg for his part looks mildly offended but lets it pass to hear Mycroft’s rebutals.

“I thought my heart had learned its lesson. It feels so good when you start out.”

“Most things do,” Irene retorts and is rewarded with a smack from Molly.“My head is screaming “get a grip Myc” unless you’re looking to cry your heart out,” Mycroft deadpans seriously.

“Boy you can’t deny any much as who you are is how you’re feeling and by Gods I wish you could be literally anyone else,” Hudson gripes.

“Baby we’re not buying,” Irene croons followed by Molly’s, “Hon we saw you hit the ceiling.”“Myc just face it like a grown-up,” Greg says good naturedly, “When you gonna up that you-”

“GOT IT GOT IT GOT IT GOT IT BAD,” chorused the other muses much to Mycroft’s surprise. Why hasn’t anyone else heard it he wondered wildly.

Willing himself to have more courage Mycroft stood in front of what he thought was the weaker of the five muses Irene and Molly. “No chance, no way, I won’t say it. No, no,” and then tries to pass them.

It turns out that Mycroft had definitely picked the wrong ones because they had him back on his ass with a sweet, “ Give up, give in, check the grin you’re in love.”

Trying past John and Hudson Mycroft proclaimed, “This scene won’t play, I won’t say I’m in love.”He was very surprised at how fast Hudson could be as she grabbed him by the toga and stated lowly, “We’ll do it until you admit you’re in love you little blighter so just own it,” and then began to shake him again.“Mrs Hudson no,” John cried once again having to rescue Mycroft from Hudson’s punishing grip. John is able to get Hudson to let go but not without leaving an opening for Mycroft to escape. “Crap-Mrs Hudson,” John whined as the other muses tried to coral him again.

Thankfully Mycroft is a bit faster than the muses can jump from statue to statue. Past the garden and toward the theatre’s entrance Mycroft pauses to see if he’s lost them and more importantly catch his breath.

The theatre is empty as most of the patrons have went back to their dull lives or to meet Anthea in the town’s square. This would explain why no one heard the ruckus in the garden then he muses.

“Hey there.”

Mycroft just about jumps out of his skin seeing Greg in the tapestry by the theatre’s exit.

Grabbing a dying torch from the wall Mycroft waves it at the moving figure, “you’re way off base. I won’t say it so get off my case because I refuse to say it.”“Myc don’t be so proud it’s okay,” Greg comforts him by wrapping the fabric around him in a mock hug, “you’re in love.”

Tired, cold, achy from the impromptu escape and hungry Mycroft finally admits, “At least out loud I won’t say I’m in love.”

#mycroft x anthea #mycroft holmes #disney!lock #sherlock #hercules #disney hercules #bbc sherlock #mycroft prompt #mycroft imagine #sherlock imagine #irene adler #molly hooper #greg lestrade #john watson #eurus holmes #greek mythology

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naive-naiade · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter One | Revising

"King Triton, sir, I have set up today's lesson with the utmost care. First we shall cover his studies, and then move onto the ceremonial dan-- ...sir?" A scrawny, nervous looking fellow followed the king with writing utensils in hand to the throne room located in the heart of the palace. The king seemed to be distracted by some thought in his mind, as he kept scanning the room for something of note.

"Sebastian." The scrawny merman stiffened, squeezing his arms to his sides. "Y-yes sir!" he squeaked, a crimson tail swishing underneath him. "Did I not summon my son to the throne room earlier?" Sebastian hastily checked the schedule he had made, nodding when reaching the correct page. "What about yesterday's dance lessons?"

It took a moment for Sebastian to summon the dance instructor, and the king and servant were informed of Arel's poor performances, especially during waltz trials. The young prince had no rhythm whatsoever, and could not lead to save his life. Triton's thick gray eyebrows furrowed, his aged face looking even more distraught. "Table etiquette this breakfast?" Sebastian shuffled through scoring sheets till he found the right one, and his face visibly paled. "He scored a sixty percent today..." he whispered, a bit shocked by the result, himself.

"Go find him..." Triton ordered, his hands forming in the fists. His voice had quivered in anger, quite upset that his only son was doing nothing to prepare for the responsibility of the title of Crown Prince. Sebastian dip his head and turned around to leave. "And one more thing, Sebastian..." Triton continued as his dutiful servant nervously turned back to face his king. "I will not tolerate this child's behavior any longer!" he roared. "Arel will be a proper crown prince! Make sure of it." Sebastian apologized, then shot out of the throne room, still apologizing to the king as he swam. He accidentally bumped into many merfolk along the way, whimpering further apologies to his fellow people.

"Okay, Arel. It's not a big deal. It's just a rock. Yeah. And air. And maybe a land walker will see me, and--" The young prince shook his head as hard as he could, attempting to shake away all the worried thoughts. In a few moments, he lifted his head out of the water to scan the area for any land dwellers. Once the coast was clear, he lifted himself onto a large rock near the shore. "Now that I'm up here..." Arel worriedly scanned the area again, making sure he didn't miss anything. Once he was finally sure to be safe, the young merman let out a breath and giggled. It was his first time breathing above the water! "Maybe I need to be dry?" he questioned himself, looking at the pale green tail he was swishing up and down. He lifted his hand, and pointed his palm at the tail, focusing on the thought of heat, dryness. Like the sun that was shining down upon him. In a few moments, Arel could feel his tail heating up, and see steam evaporating just above the scales. "I-it's working!" he shouted with glee, but instantly raised the other hand to cover his mouth. He scanned the area again, hoping no one was close enough to hear him. Back to concentrating. "Just a bit more..." Arel felt like the scales were going to crack and fall off, but he kept drying himself until he felt like his body would split right down the middle. The young boy felt uncomfortable. He was starting to clearly feel a sharp pain in his lower half, as he continued drying off the tail. It was almost unbearable, but he continued drying himself off. If he wanted to walk around on land, he would need legs. The books he'd read to accomplish such a feat detailed that this would be a painful, but worthwhile process, as it quite literally split a mermaid's tail into two parts.

Arel stared in awe as he saw the scales fade in color until they were a pale creamy color. His caudal fin had completely changed and hardened into bigger, fatter hands. Or feet, as he had read. Curiously, Arel rubbed the new creation, shocked to feel the scales still there. Although, instead of lubricated, they were coarse and rough.

"I...I did it!" Arel cheered, shooting his arms up in excitement. Which was a big mistake. As soon as the arms went up, his body went down, and his back hit the rock with a loud plop! "Ow...Maybe I got too excited...how do you even work these things?" Arel studied the new, puzzling part of him. Apart from books, he had only heard stories of merfolk who had done this before. They were able to get just dry enough to roam around on land. And ever since he was young, he dreamed of doing the same. Rubbing his back, Arel did his best to pick up his body with his arms. He succeeded in sitting on the newly created appendages, but grunted in pain, as he could feel nothing but soreness and ache in his lower body.

"Just a little more..." One foot after the other, Arel shakily stood, looking like he was about to fall at any moment. Each slightly movement shot pain through his body, and he couldn't seem to control the legs as they furiously wobbled in an effort to sustain balance.

"What are you doing up here?!" Arel's body instinctively jumped, and he fell backwards into the water. It was as if the ocean was restoring life to his tail as the scales fused back together, and the young prince with a soothed feeling. Arel's eyes locked with Sebastian's, and all relieved feelings vanished. "Sebastian! You scared me~!" Arel smiled, and tried to play the circumstance off as innocent fun. Sebastian glared at the prince, hands on his hips. Arel didn't know why, but the secretary's beady red eyes intimidated him, and he knew he was in trouble. "You are the crown prince!-- Or at least you will be after the ceremony. Which only a few months away! Being officially titled Crown Prince is not something to take so lightly!" Arel crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I don't want to be the new king! Something like that is so boring! I'm pretty sure Attina can rule over the sea. Just change the name to Crown Princess or something. She's good at being boss--" "YOUNG MASTER!" Sebastian yelled with all his might, making the young prince stop mid-sentence, "Really, you shouldn't talk about Her Highness like that. I can't believe this...As the eldest son, you should be doing your best to uphold certain duties. Not, trying to walk on land before coming of age?!" "I wasn't really--" "I saw them. The legs. If you had been attending your lessons, maybe you would know they take years to strengthen. Not minutes." "I-- ...understand..." Arel hung his head in defeat. "Now. We are going back, and you will continue your lessons, young master. I won't tell His Majesty about this. But please try to please your father from now on. He is not happy with your constant absences." Arel nodded, melancholically following the older merman back to the palace.

Later in the evening...

"And then, and then!" Adella dramatically paused, looking at each one of her excited sisters. "Oh, continue already, please," Andrina urged the verdette tailed sister. "He looked at me from across the hallway!" Adella finally shrieked. A hushed silence fell across the royal siblings, Adella's boy story falling quite flat compared to her excitement in telling it. "What's so great about that?" Arel questioned, his sisters sighing. "Oh, you wouldn't understand, you're a boy," Adella rubbed his head like a little kid, to which he pouted. "If you explained it to me, I might," he muttered. "Oh, it's a girl thing! You won't understand any more if I explain it than you do right now. I mean, he looked at me. Directly at me. I swear I could swoon. I would fall into his arms right now." Adella dramatically fell into Alana's arms, both girls giggling at the prospect of romance. Arel sighed, laying back on Arista's bed. "Nevermind all that romance, hooey, practice was amazing today! My horn sounded especially good! There's just one thing that keeps the band incomplete. Or maybe it's more like a troupe? Anyway!" The band obsessed, carmine tailed mermaid, Arista, made direct eye contact with her brother. "Arel, sing with my band!" "Ah, I don't thi--" "You have the best voice out of us all--honestly it makes me jealous--but you'd be so good!" "Well I-I suppose--" "Awesome! Practice is every day at high tide--you can tell because the sea feels so big! And we practice for two hours--do you think that will be too much? Nah, you'll be able to handle it and--" Arel was about to snap at his sister for treating him like a guppy, when the oldest sibling intervened. "Jeez, give the boy a break! He's probably stressing about the land viewing," Attina said, hands on her hips. At this, Arel perked up, finally interested in the subject. "That's right!" One of his sisters gasped. "You finally turn eighteen. In as soon as two days!" Another cheered. "Are you nervous about the land viewing, honey? I can make you look gorgeous for your first time," Alana offered, swishing over to her brother, makeup sponge in hand. "Ah, no, really, I don't need that," Arel nervously laughed. He smiled at his sisters, thinking of the viewing. "I'm actually really excited. All of you have been to the viewing before me. I hardly know anything about the land and the land dwellers apart from stories! I want to see for myself!" he said, unable to hold back his excitement. The six girls crowded around Arel, happily sharing their experiences with him. "You so totally cannot get caught!" cawed Andrina. "Those land dwellers are scary! I've heard stories that they will kidnap and eat us! When I went up for my viewing I so thought I was gonna get caught!" rambled Arista.

"I think just a quick view is good enough. At least it was for me," sighed Aquata. "But there's also something a bit ravishing about the land dwellers!" cooed Adella. "I would hate to be there for long. The sun is so icky and it dries my scales!" complained Alana. "Just, whatever you do, be careful. There's no such thing as a completely safe viewing," Attina finished. Arel shrugged at his sisters' advice, knowing his idea of the viewing was completely different from theirs. "Anyway, I'm excited!" he said, before Sebastian swam into the entrance to the room. "Alright, curfew your highnesses!" the secretary said, waving his hands to shoo them into their shells. "Aw!" the girls cried, scattering about to put things away and prepare for the night. Arel left Arista's bed, and sped out the girls' window, despite Sebastian's complaints about impropriety, making his way to his own room just down the hall.

Laying down in the shell, the young prince tossed and turned, too excited about earlier success to lie still. It hurt like nothing he had ever done before, and still it was the most amazing this he had ever accomplished. To distract from these thoughts, young Arel tried hugging said tail, stretching, even counting mackerel in his head to try and fall asleep. Nothing seemed to work as his mind raced about all the possibilities for the viewing if he could only he could master balancing on the split tail thing he made earlier.

Slowing rising out of bed, Arel made up his mind. He was going to try again. Carefully, Arel went to the window and checked for any of the night shift guards outside. Once he thought the coast to be clear, he shot out of the opening, and straight down the side of the castle wall, down, down, down, to the city.

It was quiet at night. The normal hustle and bustle of the day was gone, and the streets were relatively empty. Arel had visited the city many times before just to skip class during the day. The atmosphere was very friendly then, a contrast to the strange emptiness clinging to the place at night.

Arel stuck to backstreet alleys with good hiding spots to avoid guards, before finally making it to the city limits, where he shot past the last town hut and turned his way to the rock near the shore. The rest of the ocean was still very much awake, as Arel passed some fish here and there. Even schools of fish. They were all minding their own business, only concerned with what was two inches away from their faces.

Arel broke through the surface carefully, deeply breathing in the fresh oxygen in the air. It was a strange feeling, and almost tickled, as the gills behind his ears didn't have to push out the ocean water. From this breaching point, Arel made his way to the nicely positioned rock and used all his might to pick up his heavy body and throw it upon the surface. The coarse stone wasn't exactly kind to his hands, no matter how well the rubbery skin protected from the elements, but the young prince anticipated the even greater pain of drying his tail.

And there he waited, drying, until he felt the barely familiar feeling of it splitting into two parts. It took the prince everything in him not to scream. The second time was worse, as he felt every little separation. However, Arel was still amazed as he focused on his fins turning into webbed feet. Even in the dark he could see the green scales fade to a soft peach. "Merfolk aren't meant to be able to use these huh..." He wiggled his toes, and winced, trying taking the transition slower this time. He carefully rubbed his new appendages, hoping this action might soothe the pain. Unfortunately it did not. "So drying makes the color fade...?" he questioned, rubbing the coarse legs harder. He stopped soon, though, a bit fearful that he would rub them right off, as they were so dry. His upper body felt fine. A little slimy, but not exactly wet.

"Should I try standing now?" Arel questioned himself, bending both legs and placing both feet on the rock. It was hard pushing himself up. Arel's newly formed knees simply weren't strong enough to support him, and he wondered how he was able to stand in the first place, no matter how shaky that first attempt was.

Arel groaned in frustration, not able to stand properly no matter what he tried. He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the full moon. A land dweller would definitely be able to see him this night, but the young prince wasn't thinking about that troublesome fact. He was thinking of a time long ago when his mother would just hold him in her arms, both of them looking at the watery image of the moon high above the sea. She would sing softly, the lullaby of the moon.

"Silver Light,

O so high...

Why won't my dreams

Be formed tonight..." Arel's voice rang out softly across the surface of the water, the very ocean seeming to want to hold onto the tune.

"Silver Light,

O so bright

Gently you gleam

In watery sight..." Arel stopped singing for a moment and giggled at the irony of this verse. Up on land the moon didn't shimmer with the current as he was used to. The young prince, a little more confident using his voice out of the water opened his mouth to begin the third verse when a shift in the water caught his attention.

Immediately on edge, Arel quickly dove into the sea, the legs fusing into a tail again. Something in the water just beyond the rock moved, and the young prince chased after the dark figure heading out into open water. It was too small to be something like a dolphin, yet too big to be a seal. And it was smart. Once the seabed dropped, it shot down further than Arel had ever attempted to explore. But he kept after the creature, determined to find out what it was.

The creature was fast and it swam in an unpredictable fashion, dodging rocks, plants, and other fish left and right. Arel struggled to keep up, but was finally able to corner it into a rather large hidden cave. Arel came to an abrupt stop before the creature, panting in exhaustion.

"Who...who are you...?" Arel demanded. The creature made no remark, its back turned to the prince.

"I don't...I don't mean any harm or anything, but you did just run away as soon as I noticed you, so..." The creature stepped into the light from the moon inexplicably shining down a hole in the top part of the cave. A set of dark, kale colored eyes stared back into Arel's deep azure ones. The young prince could make out a rough body shape and a face...

"You're...what is an undine doing out here?" The creature bared its sharp teeth at Arel, the gills on its neck flaring.

"Ah, I'm still not gonna do anything! Here, my name's Arel. Yours?" The undine stared at him before relaxing just a bit. The creature scanned for a way out, but pressed its back against the cave wall when no such thing could be found.

"Are you lost?" Arel asked, trying to get the undine to talk.

"Did you get separated from your pod?" Still, the small water creature remained silent, its dark tail nervously flicking back and forth.

"You can...understand me, right?" Arel asked another question, not entirely sure he could be understood.

"...I can..." Arel blinked in mild shock. The voice was soft, high pitched, and hardly sounded mature in any respect.

"You're just a kid," Arel mused.

"I am not!" the undine hissed, baring her teeth again. Arel studied the creature's form again, paying more attention this time. It was painfully obvious now that this was a female child, her coloring less vibrant than that of male counterparts. She was very small, her tail being the longest part. Her tail fins, dorsal fins and such were completely translucent, the rest of her body colored a dark blue. Arel found it interesting that the front of her body was a few shades lighter, perhaps to blend in better. She had long, wispy hair that seemed have a mind of its own. The tips were also a dull yellow, and her eyes were a beady green.

Before he was done analyzing the different features of the undine, she tried to whisk past him, but only succeeded in colliding headfirst with the young prince's abdomen when he moved to stop her.

"Wait," Arel coughed, the hit being harder than expected.

"I said I wasn't going to hurt you. Maybe I can help find your pod." The undine paused, not knowing whether or not to trust the stranger, but her stance became a little more relaxed after a few moments.

"Are you lost?" Arel questioned, rubbing his ribs. Her lips protruded into a frown.

"I'm not," she muttered. The young Prince shook his head, slightly amazed at the young creature's ability to be so prideful. Were all undines like that? He surely hoped not.

"I'm Arel. A resident of Atlantica. And you?" With those words, the young undine's body became tense again. Arel scratched the back of his head in frustration. How could he get her to trust him? Maybe open up to him a little. Then he had an idea. It would require a little cooperation on her part, but it could very well work.

"Wait here," Arel requested, holding a finger up.

"I'll be right back, but you have to wait here for just a second, okay?" The undine didn't confirm that she would stay, nor did she refuse the request. Taking that as acceptance, Arel exited the strange cave and swam back to Atlantica.

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