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kriz-fics · 1 year

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The Sword's Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Nineteen: Weeds and Duty

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters), Slow Burn

Length: 9.7K

CW: Pretty tame this chap, though there is a bit of friskiness in there. Recommended listening for YN's POV in the beach: Dancing in the Rain

“Ah, this one would be-”

“Demon’s thistle, sir.”

The Lord Alexander Rhyzkov laughs. “My daughter has taught you well.”

Eren lets forth his own chuckle. “That she has, sir.”

That dreaded day of goodfatherly bonding turns out not to be so dreadful. A huge bear of a man he may be, but the Lord Paramount of Vascalin is as gentle as a pup, and amiable as he always is.

Eren had started the day utterly sick with nerves. On the one hand, dawdling in his rooms seemed like a very viable option. He had almost done so; the thought of what his future father by marriage would say (or do) were he late killed the notion dead. Eren hastened forth, as frightened as if he were walking to the scaffold.

Like the condemned, he took inventory of his sins, especially those against the ancient House of Rhyzkov. Not many, to be sure, but he had trespassed now and again. He could’ve endeared himself better to the family in the wheelhouse when they were yet traveling. There was that incident with the newt and Lydia (she did keep the thing as a pet and laughed about it afterward, but still). Then, there was his worst sin, the worst and blackest of them all, which had everything to do with the Rhyzkovs’ beloved heir and his less-than-pure thoughts of her over the past year…

He resolved never to look the Lord of Arsechkala in the eye, then - eye contact was crucial for the reading of minds, and Eren had taken into his head that the lord of bears could somehow read his.

Funny that his first battle (which was not a battle, not in the truest sense) had not been half as petrifying as the prospect of spending time alone with his future goodfather. The absurdity of it all had sobered him. He is an anointed knight, the Falcon Knight, the Knight of Highridge, he had faced worse things. He is a man and this would not unman him. And so he went, determined to face it like the man he is.

He need not have girded up his loins so tightly, for good fortune smiled upon him. For this day, at least.

“Not all weeds are an evil, as any man of the field will tell you. Some have their uses.” Lord Alexander pulls up another bunch of fine, silvery spider weed and adds it to his already teeming basket. “Some are eaten, some are drunk, some have other, more extraordinary uses.” He considers the mass in his hamper and nods in approval. “I think I have enough for the making of one kerchief. For the sweet lady of the house.”

The utter love in the older man’s mien resonates with Eren. His own lady’s sweet smiling face fills his world. He has a gift for you (another, yet another, you can never get too much, he can never give too much), furnished by nature as well. It is no delicate scrap of gauzy spider silk but it should be no less remarkable. Or so he hopes. It will all rely on his skill; hard work has never been so crucial, not if he wants what is best for his lady.

“There’s a lesson to be had in weeds, I think,” Lord Alexander goes on, uprooting dandelions and adding them to his second basket, filled with more dandelions, clovers, and nettles. Edible weeds, fit for tea. “I shan’t lay them all out, but they’re there, if you care to think on it.”

The Month of Resting came upon them at a slow creep and with it true autumn for them as live in the South. The autumn storms blew ever more fierce each week, which heralded the closing of the ports. A serene silence fell over the city as the people took their rest from seasons’ worth of hard work. The rains drive them all within and keep them there, in any case, as though determined to let them have that much-needed respite from the slog.

Goldhaven’s sanctum is not so green as before. Browns and yellows and oranges, crimson and gold, autumn’s hues paint the sacred gardens in vast swathes. The ever-present wind is chill and cuts through cloth as a hot knife cuts through butter (for those stupid enough not to dress proper up here, anyway). The day dawned a rare one, lacking cloud and shade, and so Goldhaven’s lord sent the dire invitation at last.

“How has your stay been so far?” Lord Alexander eyes a bunch of still-blooming goldenglow thoughtfully, before adding them to his tea basket.

A clutch of raven blades catch Eren’s eye. Good for the memory, you tell him helpfully, and so he sets about taking them up. He can give them to you for your brews. “It’s been a terrific couple of months, I thank you so much for the hospitality,” he answers the lord’s erstwhile question, polite as pie.

Lord Alexander hums in approval. A comfortable silence, one of many occurring that day, falls upon knight and lord. For a long while, Eren is content to spend the time merely weeding, searching for those that can be of use to his sweet Healer. Most boys will be searching for flowers for their girls, not weeds, yet here he is. The thought is most humorous. He had given you a lifetime’s worth of blooms the past season, in any case; you are always better off with a little more variety, he likes to think.

“You grew up in part in the South, yes? Lenberg, as I recall. Is it so very different from these parts?” Lord Alexander hands him a blackberry from the nearby bush and eats one himself.

Eren murmurs thanks and pops the morsel in his mouth. It is sweet if a little tart, and succulent; the juice runs down his throat in sugary rivulets, so very tasty. “It is different, sir, but not so much that both sides are distinct from the other. Different tongue, different customs, but otherwise the same.” He smiles a little. “Now that I’ve spent time without them, I find that I can miss our holy days. The Creed’s, I mean. Not that it’s deadly dull here or anything!” he rushes to clarify before the lord can take offense. “It’s just… You don’t celebrate much. But if you do, it’s so much more… exciting.”

The lord, to Eren’s great, good fortune, does not take offense. “‘Tis true, we don’t have cause to celebrate any one god for every month of the year, and so we limit ourselves to life’s most significant occasions. But, see, we have more gods than the Creed could ever fathom. If we did as you do, we would be feasting every day forevermore to appease the Old Ones, they who are nameless and without number.”

Eren steals a look at the nearby godstone. It is the cleanest, most well-cared-for godstone he has ever seen, so much so that he can see every detail upon the proud, serene face of the featured god. How many gods does this one represent? he wonders.

“So, a knight you are now,” the Lord Alexander remarks, absently, almost to himself. He seems far away from Eren then, though he is standing not five feet away, twirling a bloom of poppy between his fingers. He catches Eren’s stare and smiles beneath his big, luxurious beard. “A title most well-earned. Not easily, I know,” the older man’s eyes linger on Eren’s face, at the slash above his left eyebrow, then flickers to his right arm, at the puckered scar concealed by his tunic’s sleeve. “It seems we are both marked by that day.” The lord rubs at the rich amber sleeve of his robe distractedly, at the right forearm that bears the mark of the northman’s blade. “But yours were more nobly begotten. It is no small feat to save the life of the Majesty himself.”

“It was my duty.” They are his own words, it is his own tongue, yet Eren hears a stranger speaking.

“Duty.” Lord Alexander seems to ponder the word. The poppy twirls in his hand, red petals spinning left, right, and back again, unceasing. The older man gathers himself, and Eren finds that he has held his breath, bracing for what his future goodfather may say. “She is your duty.”

That… is most unexpected. “Sir?” Eren frowns a little, confused.

“Her. The Lady Rhyzkova to come. She will be your calling, the heart of your service. Oh, they make you swear, to defend, to be truthful, to be loyal. To serve. But such vows these are. Who shall you defend? The weak, the helpless. To whom should you be loyal? To her, your liege. Yet, in the end, it all comes back to the king, who is above all.”

The poppy drifts from the large and lordly hand, to land lightly on the basket atop the goldenglow. Red on gold. The Rhyzkov colors inversed.

“Service is the very essence of a knight,” the lord continues his solemn speech, “but you are more than just her knight. Of knights she has aplenty, of husbands she will have only the one. Knights are loyal, obedient, dutiful, yet their vows would have them serve many, too many. A husband has only to serve one. A husband is bound only to one. For where she goes, will you go. From two now as one, your hearts forever bind.”

The words of the wedding rite. New and old both.

Eren can feel his heart beat just that bit faster as his goodfather-to-be fixes him with the most imposing look. “The weak, the helpless, the king, you have a duty to them. But next to her, what are they? Remote and far away and not immediate. She is your everyday. Your duty, you will revolve around her. So be there for her. Be there for her, Eren, as her mother is for me.”

The smile the older man gives Eren softens the austere lines of the bearded face as he goes on, “It is a heavy burden, to rule. It is tiring and oppressive, so very oppressive. And it gets lonely, up there at the seat of power. She will need you to help her bear the chains of command. Carry her, protect her, love her. We do not oft come into it, love, not our sort, but I think…” Eren fights not to look away as Lord Alexander gazes at him with so much gravity as if to lay bare the very soul of him. Her eyes. You have the lord’s eyes. You are the very image of your mother, but for those eyes. The wicker of his basket digs into his palms. “Yes, I think love is not such a hard commission, not for you.”

Loving tenderness takes the lord’s face over once more as he bends to pluck more poppies. “I would have fallen beneath the weight of my own chains had Theresia not been there with me through it all,” says Lord Alexander, so very softly. “Love her, Eren. That is all I ask, as a father who loves his daughter. Keep to that duty and I will rest content.”

Duty. She can be such a poxy bitch at times. It had never been for her sake that Eren took up the call to arms. Duty had been far from his mind when he set out to become a warrior. They are not so much strangers nowadays. He had learned the way of duty over the years, she is not so exacting a mistress as he makes her out to be, granted. Yet he is slowly coming to find that she is easier to bear with some more than others.

He can bear duty to you. “I will, sir. There’s no one else I’d sooner serve than her,” Eren Jaeger avows, with his own words and his own tongue.

The lord bends to pick up his baskets, pleased and so very content. “Nothing could please me more.” He is a big man, Alexander Rhyzkov, a veritable bear of a lord, yet his countenance at present is more redolent of a child’s stuffed bear than a living, savage one. “Of all the candidates for the hand of my daughter, you are the best of them, I see that now. I could not have asked for a better goodson.”

Warmth blooms deep within Eren at the heartening words. “I-I’m glad you think so, my lord,” he forces out and stoops to retrieve his own basket - the better to look away from the older man, he is so flattered and so, so flustered - then hurriedly snatches his hand back as he spies a centipede crawling amidst his harvested greens.

“Ah, here.” Lord Alexander strides forward with a stick he had procured from the nearby bushes and proceeds to scoop the poisonous thing up. He flicks the stick and the creature away, into the blackberry bushes; the hundred-legged thing vanishes beneath the undergrowth. “Such nasty creatures, but so vital to life’s cycle. As are so many others… Come, lad, we have weeded as much as we can, let us leave them to repopulate the area in peace. You have much still to learn. Unless my girl has been a thorough teacher, in which case you must show me the fruits of her knowledge.”

“We both have a lot to learn, sir, but she was very thorough with what she knew. I only hope to have made her a good student.” He did, when all is said and done, which comes as a great relief. It will not do for him to make such a fool of himself, or to undermine his lady’s capabilities. You will find in him a good and able servant, which is just as well. You are as fine a mistress as he can ever hope to serve.

My lady, my mistress, my duty. It will seem that they all three are one and the same. If you are duty, though, you are not such a poxy bitch now, are you?

“A fountain such as this would work well, don’t you think?”

You consider Yelena’s fount, watching the water spray into air and trickle down stone. The skies above are not so gray as the pool, and don’t threaten rain. It is a good day for gardening. You had offered to replenish Healer Darya’s stores and had seized your chance when the day dawned fine and bright. You had not been long at your labors before Father happened upon you in the green (that was not so green), intending to do his own spot bit of gardening. The company is much welcome. You would’ve invited Eren had he not had the yen to spar the morning away. And it has been a while since you and your father have spoken in a more relaxed setting away from statecraft and policy.

A patch of stink bloom is flowering not a foot from you. You give the plant a wide berth, wrinkling your nose and thanking the gods that you have not stepped on those. They are the most horrid things in the garden by far; curiously (and most ironically), they also make up the stuff of the best perfumes in existence. Everything has its uses, even life’s dregs. You give your father answer at last, “Yes, a fine fountain would be a good idea. It’ll make it more the water gardens you envision, what with the river and all.”

Lord Alexander hums, though his pleasant mien is replaced almost at once with one more regretful. “Yes, I can see it now, the Sphere restored to its old glory, perhaps even better than before! Ah, I should have started years ago, when all was quieter and we could better afford to be extravagant. All those years staying at the place and not once did I see its worth. The gods only know why they sent the curse of yearning a score too late.” He sighs and picks up his pruning shears. “The Lady Zoya had the right of it. War makes misers of us all.”

“You think it will come to that?”

You are staring back into your own eyes, all of a sudden. The Rhyzkov eyes. Men are wont to say you have your mother’s look, the Dietrich look, yet your eyes are all Rhyzkov.

The Rhyzkov eyes that behold you soften. “Once, there was the sweetest little girl of six tottering about the council chambers. The flagon she carried was half her height and weighed like bricks. She was barely tall enough to see over the table but she did her duty well and ably, never was a better cupbearer ever seen in those parts. That same little girl would bring us joy of a night when she would give her little speeches at dinner. A passage from some political treatise she was too young to understand, a short poem of legends past, whatever the Herald had her recite to ease her tongue and nerves to public speech, all brought us such delight.” Melancholy wistfulness fills those Rhyzkov eyes. “It seemed like such a short time ago, those years of bliss. Now, that little girl is a woman grown.”

“Not just yet,” you are compelled to point out, smiling slightly.

Lord Alexander huffs in amusement. “A year makes no difference, it will pass us by faster than we’d all like.”

“What was war like?”

Something seems to fracture behind those Rhyzkov eyes. The sight wrenches at your heart, but you must know.

“I see you are not to be put off. Admirable in a ruler, inconvenient for the father of that ruler, when she asks the most inconvenient questions.” Father heaves a deep breath, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the action. “I was your age when red war broke out, or near enough as makes no matter. Your lady grandmother was no novice of battle, she had seen her share of transgressors over the years. All of them foreign, as it happened, Cydamae in those days had been hellbent on conquest. We hit them hard enough to scare them off, thank the gods. For this lifetime, at least.

“You will never learn battle as I have, you have been blessed in that, child. It is no easy thing, to take a life with your own hands, to see the light leave their eyes as they enter the ether, to feel their bodies giving way beneath your steel… Or, should I say, it is too easy. People should die harder than that, I remember thinking then. What life you will take will be by your word. Some say that is easier by far, but sometimes, I put that into question. Their ghosts still haunt you all the same… But it is a necessity you have to bear, for the greater good.

“I wish I could tell you more about how it is to rule through such times, but I have never had that chance. Would that your lady grandmother was here with us now. I was only ever her warrior, her soldier, taught to obey commands first and foremost. The ruling came after all was at peace. All I can do is ease the way for you and pass on her wisdom.” The look of melancholy deepens. “With things the way they are these days… Outlanders are not our greatest enemies and never have been. For as long as she has been, Lovaya has contended with enemies from within more often than those from without.”

The skies seem grayer now up above, the wind brisker, chillier. It makes the green rustle louder than before and near muffles the sound of the fountain. “Know that I do not want to see you in such times, child,” Father says, so very softly. “I only hope that this is but a passing shadow, as it has always ever been. I hope I have done well by you, in any case, come what may.”

Come what may. Your fingers wrap about your gardening shears and hold fast. “I won’t fail you, Father.” In that, I have no choice. No choice but to thrive, and succeed, for too much hung in the balance. Your city, your State, your folk.

You stiffen with surprise as Father comes close, bends, and presses his forehead lightly upon yours. For a while, you stay thus, father and daughter taking comfort from the other in this their sacred sanctuary. You close your eyes briefly and take in the beloved scent of solace, of tea and leaves and green growing things, so full of life. You wrap yourself in it, as you had your favorite childhood blanket, the one you could not do without, for without its protection, the monsters in the dark would come and take you away to the deepest hell. You feel the scratchiest of kisses upon your forehead. “You are so very young, sweet child.” Father moves away, and you are a woman grown once more. Or near enough as makes no matter.

“I suppose we had best hurry, if it’s threatening rain. What else must you gather?” Father asks as he turns to his gardening once more.

You appraise your basket, running over the list of herbs in your mind, before replying, “Dittany.”

“Dittany…” Your father beckons you over to a hedge of shrubs lining the righthand parapet of the sanctum. The distinctive gray-green leaves of the healing herb stares up at you from beneath the hedgerows.

“I never thought to see that adage come alive in you,” Father remarks as you bend to cut yourself a clutch of greens.

“What adage?” you ask vaguely, distracted by the pressing task of choosing the best specimen for use.

“The hands of a ruler are the hands of a healer.” Father brushes a gentle hand over your head. “That you shall be, I know, in more ways than one. They will love you well, when you come into your own. The Light of the South, as your grandmother was and her mother before her and all the ruling ladies of Arsechkala there ever was, back to the Queens of Sand and Sea.”

You stand, cradling your basket. The Light of the South. You smile as Father wraps a huge arm around your shoulders and guides you back into the shelter of the palace. No choice but to thrive. No choice but to succeed.

“I hear you’ve been making a Healer out of your knight as well.”

“Well, I had to get him into your good graces somehow,” you laugh, but sober up at once. “He was a very attentive student, picked up things so quickly. He’ll make a fine gardening companion.”

“That he did.” Father herds you into his greenroom so you may start drying herbs. “You can make the sanctum bloom together someday, perhaps even the Sphere, restore it to its bygone glory. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?”

You take up a seat in front of the dark wooden counter and place your basket on the tabletop. “So very pleasant.” Perhaps the both of you can make more than a garden bloom, in time. Come what may, through light and dark, it will be pleasant to have Eren by your side. It won’t be so bad, to walk in darkness with him. You can bear the darkness with him.

---

Across the sea, the sail is growing with every passing minute. Up above, the skies are growing grayer still. The wind, already brisk, forever brisk by the seashore, blows ever more fiercely.

“My lady!” Troian calls from his post by the dunes. “We should go back! The sky will break any moment!”

The ship is so close, yet so far away from the safety of your port. You must see its journey through. “It’s all right, I want to stay. Just a bit longer.”

“You’ll catch a chill if you get soaked!”

It is astonishing how irritating an otherwise heartwarming sentiment can be. “We brought drying sheets this time, didn’t we? And you are well-equipped with that rainshade of yours. We go when I say we go, and not before.”

That brings the galling bleating to an end. “...my lady. Of course, my lady, I meant no offense. Was only doing my duty, beg pardon.”

Guilt makes the frost within melt some. “Pardon granted, no offense was taken. You are only doing your duty, as you said.”

The trepidation vanishes from your sworn sword’s voice. “My thanks, my lady. You need only call whenever you’re ready.”

“Of course.” The blustering wind and the crashing waves are the only sounds to be heard for some time after.

Irritating and galling he may be at times, yet it cannot be said that Troian is a man wanting for duty. And loyalty. And so the tail becomes the shield. Father had chosen your shield well, for all its worth.

“It’s about time you have a shield of your own, my lady, the Liege of Vascalin must always be well-protected,” Lord Alexander had said, a couple of days before he left. “And I know just the man you’ll be needing.” At least he had not needed to look far for the paragon. Childish grievances aside, you cannot have asked for a better shield than Troian. Better him than some cold, aloof sword you cannot talk to; you do not think you can stand another Yelena serving you in close quarters.

A beam of light cuts a trail of white across the pewter skies toward the horizon, from the sea lamp by the docks. Having it lit had been one of your first major commands as ruling Lady. The Lodge you have had opened as well to welcome this galleas to port. A stray ship is an uncommon sight during these times and poses no small amount of risk - were they pirates - but the sail is enough to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Black it is, with the distinctive sleek lines and geometric shapes so favored by the Gleaming Islanders, picked out in silver thread. Perhaps this is the vessel of the new Kayigar ambassador, Prior Ilya had told you, they had been due to arrive some weeks ago but had yet to put in an appearance. Most like they were caught in some storm and are lost, or worse, floating down to rest at the bottom of the sea; you have all but given them up as a lost cause. It is a relief, unexpected but a relief nevertheless, to see those sails appear on the horizon. It will be wise to open the port to receive this one, you all agree. And were they pirates masquerading as ones harmless, the garrison will be more than enough to throw them back to the depths.

Were they the genuine article, though… You roll the green tear around your palm, feeling the slightly pitted but otherwise smooth finish of the glass rubbing against your skin. It will seem the Lady Rhyzkova has guests to entertain.

An eel slithers quick inside your stomach. Drumming your fingers against it brings it to heel. For the moment.

It is not a hard thing, to entertain guests. There are harder duties to be had than greeting foreign dignitaries. You are equal to the task. You must be equal to the task. You will not shame Father so.

He had left not five days past to answer the royal summons to court. At once, you were apprehensive. This is a first, a very concerning first. The Month of Resting has barely dawned yet already there are summons. Only for the Conclave, Father told you, as though that would reassure you (it does not). He had chosen not to bring the family along, citing your rest and well-being as his priority, he will have you enjoy what time you have away from the bedlam of court for as long as you can.

“Vascalin is yours, my lady,” he said during your leave-taking in the palace courtyard, looking down at you from his gray destrier huge as he was, before calling the march. And so the torch was passed.

You have gone to great lengths not to drop it. Now you find yourself juggling duty and anxiety, wondering what has happened that is so urgent that the king must needs summon his advisors to court a month early.

The Northern Matter, it must be the Northern Matter, nothing else in recent memory has plagued the realm as much as it has. The northern lords must have called their banners and are threatening war.

A cold drop of water splashes onto your forehead. From the sky, not the sea, you note, even through your distraction. You are by the surfline when next you register your surroundings. Seafoam brushes the tips of your toes, cool as ice. The sail has grown even larger.

No, that can’t be right, nothing is confirmed, there is no need to get ahead of yourself. To jump to conclusions so easily ill becomes a ruler. There is no war as yet, not until there is solid, hard evidence of the fact.

But why else would the king call the Conclave? He won’t summon them all just for anything, not for a matter that can keep until the court returns to session. And jumping to conclusions is not all bad - it is prematurely acting on them that ruins many a good liege. You are well within your rights to assume, and consider all your options for all the possibilities open to you. As Father will do.

Eren calls your name from further down the coast. He comes to you at half a walk and half a jog. “Let’s go back, the sky’s about to come down.”

Come down it does no sooner have the words left his mouth. You shiver as the heavy drops patter against your skin like water made rock - not quite hail but close enough. Yet you make no move to return to your shield and the shelter of his rainshade. You simply watch as Eren draws closer, sodden and tousled.

The both of you had spoken of this political development in great detail the past few days. While he offered interesting insight, and no small amount of comfort, you cannot help but wish he is a bit more politically minded. Eren the Statesman is there, you can sense him, yet he lacks practice and experience in the realm of civic intrigues. While you can coax him further down that road, it will take time. You do not have time, you can’t wait for the reassurance - born of practical, pragmatic, and realistic thinking - that you need at present, much as you would love to receive it from him.

You had written Armin at once, this practical, pragmatic, and realistic friend of yours, and told him all. Well, not all. It is all well and good to speak of the Northern Matter - everyone and their mothers know of it by now. Not everyone is privy to the Conclave’s business, however. If news of their dealings are to be common knowledge, it will not come from you.

Armin had shared your concerns of further conflict yet, ultimately, you can do nothing but wait, wait and see how the tapestry will unfold, and react accordingly. That was his most practical, pragmatic, and realistic answer.

Wait. It seems that you must wait after all. The practical, pragmatic, and realistic answer, it transpired, did little to reassure you.

Eren is before you at last, soaked to the skin as you are. His dark hair is plastered to his head, fringe half-obscuring his eyes. “Look at you, you’re soaked! Why didn’t you run to Troian and his rainshade?” He stares down at you, equal parts fond and exasperated. You stare up at him, silent, merely observing. Half-obscured they may be but still you can see his eyes. They seem more gray than green, today. Gray as the skies above. Gray as the seas below. Such a drab color, you have always thought, yet in him, it isn’t so.

Slowly, the exasperation vanishes the longer he beholds you, until all there is left is soft fondness. He raises a hand and lightly presses his knuckles onto your forehead. “My lady’s in her head again,” he says, mild and quiet, before looking out to sea.

The ship is close to port, close enough for you to see each hoary line and stripe and bar that crisscross the ebon sail. It slips past the distant rocky bluffs soon after, and at last, you know they are safe.

“You’ll do fine, love.” You start as a rough and gentle hand cups your face to turn you away from the distance. “Come what may, the Lady of Vascalin will do what needs to be done. And she will do it well and perfectly.”

Thump, thump, thump.

What have you been thinking, looking to others for comfort? There he is, standing before you, as he has been all this time, saying the right things, as he has always done. What would statesmen know of giving comfort, true and honest, anyway? Eren as he is is enough. You need nothing else.

Rough and gentle fingers stroke your face, his calloused skin warm, warmer than it ought to be in this chill rain. You watch him, silent, so silent, hardly daring to breathe as he begins his tentative study of you. Rough and gentle fingers trace down your cheek, your chin. Your breath hitches in your throat as his thumb brushes the bottom of your lip, the touch light and so very faint, a wisp of a touch, hardly substantial.

More. Touch me more. I need more.

But he is moving on, lower, to your neck. What disappointment that rose within you vanishes as you feel his fingers curl about your neck, feel his thumb press against the hollow of your throat above your black pearl pendant, firm, firm as he had not been with your lips. Your heart lodges itself into your throat. You wonder if he can feel it beating, hammering, pounding beneath his hold.

It feathers across your collarbone, his thumb, in another mild caress. Watching him is the most fascinating thing. For he is as lost in you as you are in him. He runs his hand down your sodden skin as though entranced, caught in a spell of your own making. He seems detached, somehow, yet attentive at the same time as he drags his fingertips lower, lower, until they are stroking the soft swell of the tops of your breasts, partly bared by your red deep-necked vevda. The shiver that courses through you has nothing to do with rain’s chill.

Everything fades and ceases to be. The sea, the rain, the cold, they are as nothing. There is only Eren and his fingers, rough and gentle and sensual as they run down your chest, tracing the curves, sliding below the soft flesh to stroke the skin beneath.

The breath leaves your lungs entirely as he slips past the edge of your dipping neckline, stroking, caressing, feathering over the swell of your breast. The clinging fabric limits his movements and keeps his fingers firm against your flesh as he inches closer and yet closer to your nipple.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your soft intake of breath makes him stop. His eyes seek yours and hold fast, searching. Whatever he sees there makes him retreat, the heat of his fingers parting from your breast. Relief and regret contend within; you do not know which of them you want to win out.

He does not part from you entirely, that much brings you relief. His path continues down your front, across your stomach, until he comes to rest at last at your hip. His fingers curl about you and pull you close.

“We should go. We might catch a chill,” he says, in a voice so deep it sets shivers running through your body once more. But he makes no move to steer you away.

Which is just as well. The rain feels as warm and fresh as a spring shower. You aren't so cold, not anymore. What shivers wrack your frame come not from the weather. “I don’t feel cold.”

The eyes that stare down at you are so very black, those eyes that were once green. Green as the sea glass you had found earlier in the sand. Mermaid’s tears, they call them, and they come in all shades of dazzling colors. Luck brought you one to make a match for your betrothed.

Heaven’s tears cascade upon you in sheets devoid of any one particular hue. You watch as it soaks your betrothed’s face, droplets without count running down his fine features, threading through his hair and dripping, on his cheeks, his nose, his mouth.

A tear, jewel-bright, catches against his bottom lip, making the most mesmerizing sight. Your hands are moving before you quite know it. You pocket the sea’s jewel and raise your hand to give him your touch as well.

The tear slides down your forefinger to mix with the tears upon your skin. His breath is warm, his lips soft. You watch those lips purse and move to kiss your finger, slow and lingering.

You have always loved the way his eyes change color. From green, to blue, to gray, they are ever the colors of the sea. They are black now, black as the sea at midnight, filled with want and so much desire. It is with concerted effort that you draw yourself out of those depths. To drown in him will be the sweetest death yet you have a journey of your own to complete.

Your path continues past his lips, down his chin, to the hollow of his throat - the apple nestled within bobs a little as you pass, scraping your fingernail lightly against the prominence. You trace the crease of his strong chest, made visible by his vee-necked tunic, and lay a hand atop his heart.

Thump, thump, thump.

His cream tunic is near transparent now, the cloth clinging to every ridge and hard crest of his muscled torso and stressing the beauty of him. He is so warm, impossibly so, so very hale, and strong, and alive. Beneath your hand, his heart beats fast, drumming yet steady.

Black eyes draw you in once more, and this time you cannot look away. You are falling, drowning, lost in him. The lips that you had touched, so soft, so yielding, have parted. You can feel him down every inch of your body, he has pressed you up against him, his arms tight about your hips, your waist. His mouth is yielding yet the rest of him is not, you cannot break away even if you want to. And you do not. You do not, not when he is this close, and getting closer still, leaning down…

“My lady! Sir!”

The rain is icy cold again, and the wind is loud in your ears. So is your betrothed’s growl as he snaps his head up to look at the approaching guard. You swallow, your hand fisting against Eren’s shirt, and make to push away from him, despite yourself. The sane and rational within know he will not harm you (never, never), yet the deep and primal in you want to distance yourself from that terrifying visage of animal rage. If looks could kill… But he is iron and immovable, and so you have no choice but to remain within his embrace.

Eren’s mouth has closed and thinned in utter displeasure. “Fucking bloody bugger…” He squeezes your waist and sighs, the fight going out of him with the gesture. “Am I only allowed to kiss you in front of our wedding guests?” he grumbles, sounding so woebegone that your heart goes out to him even as you giggle.

You pat him gently on the chest. “Patience, love. You’ll have your taste soon or late.”

He gleams down at you, smirking a little. “I’ve never been known for my patience, love. I’ll have that taste, sooner rather than later.” He takes your hand from his chest and presses a kiss on the palm. A shock of heat spreads from your hand to the rest of you as you feel his tongue drag across your skin, wet and warm as the rain isn’t. “Sweet,” he murmurs, eyes smoldering up at you, then closes your hand around his kiss and frees you at last from his hold.

Troian comes up to you that very moment, holding the big crimson rainshade aloft and brandishing drying sheets, which you take graciously enough (Eren keeps his temper, at least, you are thankful for that much). You leave for home when you are as dry as you are like to get (which isn’t very dry at all).

The dunes are a trial to traverse with all this rain yet somehow you manage. This is where you had had your first kiss, you recall suddenly. It was yet another one of your customary trips to the beach. Mother was so occupied with the twins and the new babe, Darya, that it had been no difficult feat to stray away from your roost.

Roman had been with you, as he often was those days, being Father’s ward. What began as a simple stroll to collect shells somehow ended up becoming a game of Hawk and Chicken. It had been such a merry chase, made all the more merrier when you caught the chicken at last. Before either hawk or chicken knew it, though, they were tumbling down the dunes, you had been so enthusiastic in your role of raptor. When the world stopped spinning at last, you found that you had landed on the chicken with your mouth pressed firmly to his.

The days afterward had been nothing short of awkward yet the seeds of curiosity had taken root. You had not been able to take your mind off the kiss and the feel of a boy’s mouth on yours, so you had sought Roman out and kissed him again to see if you truly liked it some. You liked it more than some, it transpired, and so did he. The days of stolen kisses began not long after.

That is a tale you have yet to divulge to your jealous knight - you do not want Roman’s inevitable mauling to be on your conscience.

You have been writing each other as is your wont during the reprieve, as Eren will write Armin. That, too, you have not divulged, but Eren has never been interested in who you are corresponding with besides Armin; useless to give answers when no questions are asked. The Lady Meledina is getting worse, you learn from her worried yet resigned son, it is only a matter of time ‘til he ascends the Masquer’s Seat. That is the most dismal letter you have received this season.

You smile despite the gray turn of your thoughts as Eren drops his drying sheet over your head in a fit of gallantry and waves away your concerns about his well-being (what if he gets sick? He is too fit for that, apparently). The hand that holds his kiss, and a corner of your drying sheet, still burns. You flex the fingers within the damp linen. Yet another secret, stolen kiss. It seems that you are meant for stolen kisses.

Not for long. The thought buoys your steps onward and upward. You will have all the kisses you can possibly want, in full view of everyone. They cannot begrudge a young wife her husband’s kisses, after all.

Perhaps it isn’t so bad a thing, to miss that kiss. Another first had happened here, another memory is attached here, that of another kiss with another boy. You’ll have your kiss in a place all your own, a place free of another first, another memory, another boy. A place where you can have your own first and new memories with the one whom your soul…

“Oh, gods be damned.” Eren is tugging you hurriedly onward, away from the dunes as fast as he can while impatiently waving Troian over, urging him to pick up the pace so he can keep you shielded from the driving rain.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worried and stumbling along in your knight’s trail. Should’ve worn a shorter vevda, you think for the hundredth time as you fight not to trip over your lengthy skirt. You did not come to the beach to go wading, yet you did not anticipate having to make a mad dash for home.

“Nasty buggers nearby.”

A bloom of them has manifested not too far from the dunes, sure enough, spectral sea jellies with huge pearly white caps and long deadly stingers, floating aimlessly across the sands. “They’re only deadly when crossed, and I have no intentions of doing so, I promise you,” you tell Eren. “There’s no need to rush, surely.”

He grunts non-committally, yet does not slow.

“Just how badly did it go for you the last time you ran afoul of the nasty buggers?” you query, remembering his words from the lakeside of Shimmerwood, weeks and weeks and weeks ago now. It is not something to laugh at, you know, yet you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

“Always wondered why Armin didn’t tell you that, it was the most entertaining thing. He couldn’t stop laughing at the time, anyway.” His face pinks such a pretty shade made more conspicuous by the gray dullness of the world. “You’ll have the tale from me… someday.”

“I can always write or ask him myself, you know.”

“Argh, my lady, just-” He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. The quick succession of expressions flitting across his face is most amusing. “It’ll be better coming from me,” he says at last, resigned. “I’ll tell you. Tonight. I’ll be your dinnertime amusement.”

You giggle and hold on to him the tighter. “On your word as a knight?”

“On my word as a knight.” Behind his exasperated resignation is no small amount of mirth.

The rain seems to be letting up some, you notice as you approach the sea gate. The guards salute you and inform you that the Kayigar ship has just docked; the customs officer is, as of this very moment, determining its legitimacy as a true diplomatic ship.

Duty and reality set in once more, yet they are not so frightening, not this time. You feel Eren’s hand squeeze yours and your soul sings. You are equal to the task, there never was any doubt about that.

---

Footsteps echo through the chamber as the steward and your guests climb the steps to the audience hall. But for that, the place is silent.

Not so, you realize. Drums are pounding in the deep, thrashing, booming loud in your ears, boom, doom, boom, doom, yet somehow, no one seems to give it any heed. It is a long while before the dawn breaks. What drums there are in the hall come from inside your chest. Still, the silence is so complete it is a wonder to you that no one can hear your private symphony.

Boom, doom, boom, doom.

Your bejeweled fingers grip the wreath of welcome on your lap, your only anchor, the only thing close at hand to keep you steady. Your true anchor is off to the side of the chamber with the rest of your little court. For the thousandth time, you wish he is up here with you. Only consorts have the right to stand on the dais with their ruling spouses, however, and it will be some time still ‘til that happy day of nuptial bliss. You must needs face your guests alone.

You suppress a sigh, clutch at the wreath just that bit tighter, and allow your eyes to flicker over to your betrothed. Not once did you feel his gaze leave you, and for that you are grateful. He has a blazing look on his face, hard almost, and filled with pride, so much pride that you feel yourself become emboldened as though you have imbibed the most potent of tonics. No tonic would be as revitalizing as that gaze, though, that you know without a doubt.

It seems such a ludicrous thing now, your trepidation. They are only guests, and no one to fear. You are equal to this task.

“My lady.” Paul Kolas the steward strides to the foot of the Golden Chair’s high dais, his usually thin voice coming loud and strong. “The High Marked and High Honorable Ambassador of the Gleaming Isles of Kayigari, Onyankopon, son of Ata Panin, of the Shavelocks,” he announces in the Diplomats’ Tongue, stumbling a little at the foreign, unfamiliar name but otherwise delivering a perfect introduction.

The Lady of Vascalin smiles most graciously and stands from her seat. “Your Honor, my lords,” you begin, mirroring your steward and speaking in kind, “I give you welcome to fair Lovaya and her beloved daughter Vascalin. In the sight of gods and men, I offer you the hospitality of our halls.” You raise the wreath, and at once, a group of servants set forth to crown your most exalted guests and offer them fare - slices of lamb and wine - to strengthen their rights to krajü.

Each man of the delegation has his head shaved clean, as only those of the black-skinned clan of Shavelocks could be. Of the seven Kayigar clans, the Shavelocks are deemed the least opulent, the simplest of the Islanders. Compared to their brethren of Goldveins and Proudmarks and all the rest of them, they eschew finery; His Honor, Onyankopon, in his robes of black and silver satin, is the very picture of quiet elegance.

“My most gracious lady, I thank you kindly for this warmest of welcomes.” His Honor dips into a deep bow and rises, smiling, his voice smooth and made more liquid by the refined inflections of the tongue of diplomacy. “We were led to believe that we would be received by Vascalin’s illustrious lord but here I see the most beautiful of women come to honor us with her beloved presence instead. Manu be praised, I did not think to bathe in the Light of the South’s radiance so soon.”

You laugh, soft and mannerly. “I thank you kindly for those loveliest of words, Your Honor. You are a credit to your trade, indeed. My lord father has received a most urgent summons, one that he must needs answer, and so he left me to rule in his stead.” Once the initial pleasantries have been spent, you go on, “We are most glad to see you well and whole, my lords. I must confess, we were most worried. The autumn storms are not known for their mercy.”

“Manu has blessed our voyage, and blessed us with the most excellent captain.” Onyankopon ushers forward a green-robed man, who bows and smiles, proud and humble both.

“A more blessed lot I have never seen.” You gesture at Paul, who strides forward at once. “You are weary, I know, from such a hard and dangerous voyage. A suite of chambers awaits you in the guest wing, where you can rest and recuperate at last. I took the liberty of having a feast prepared. They are taxing things, especially after a strenuous journey, but I hope you will honor us with your presence at table tonight.”

“Of course, my lady, we look forward to doing your excellent Lovayan fare justice.”

That is not half-bad, you think as you watch Paul escort your guests to their chambers, exulting and allowing yourself to feel some measure of pride. By the steps of the high dais stands Eren, gazing up at you with the same proud, hard, blazing look on his face that he beheld you with earlier.

You descend to meet him with a smile more genuine than any you had yet made during the audience.

That was not half-bad at all.

---

“My lady.”

You glance toward the drawn red velvet hangings of your bedchamber, surprised to hear Troian’s muffled call. Yelena is standing in front of you, fastening your sheer emerald-studded podonza to your left shoulder with a brooch of emerald, round-cut and ornamented with silver wings.

“What is it?” you answer, as Yelena finishes and steps away with a bow.

“Sir Eren’s calling. Should I send him in?”

“Ah, yes, please.” The sheer strength of your joy at the prospect of seeing your dear knight once more would have surprised you, once. Not at present, never again.

“I have come to worship at the shrine of beauty,” Eren declares, bowing an exceedingly low bow when you emerge from your bedroom.

“Oh, hush, you,” you giggle, dismissing Yelena and watching her cross the privy chamber to take her leave. Troian is standing by the entry hall a respectable distance away, keeping a close watch.

“You didn’t change,” you note, eyeing your betrothed’s ensemble, the very same he had worn for the ambassador’s audience: a gold-trimmed vevda of red-violet with sleeves that fall to his elbows, paired with a podonza of gold brocade, fastened to his left shoulder by a square-cut tourmaline brooch. The wreath that circles his dark head is plain gold. He looks very much a prince tonight, you think, dreamily.

He snorts at your words in the most un-prince-like manner. But you won’t have him any other way. “I didn’t run a cavalry charge, did I? Didn’t make a mess of myself all day, I promise you, my lady. These threads still serve.”

You lean in close and take a whiff of him. Wood, the faint scent of laundry soap and sweat, Eren. All good scents. “Still smell nice, at least.”

He smiles and looks about the room. His expression softens. “You put them up already.” He walks to a framed bunch of moon violets on the wall opposite and examines them, running a hand down the gilt mounting, lost in memory.

You move to stand next to him, sharing in his thoughts. “I can never thank you enough for these.”

“You are most welcome, my lady. You deserve every single one. The land’s beauties for the land’s beauty.”

“Perhaps you should hang up your sword and take up a pen instead. Are you sure you’re not a poet?” You laugh as he pinches your side.

“Truth, love, no poetry.” His head swings slowly about as he searches each frame. “I know that was a long time ago and we weren’t exactly… partial to each other then, but did you keep-”

“They’re in there,” you nod to your bedchamber.

Something flashes across his face, something more than memory. “I haven’t told you, have I? Zeke was the one who told me to get you flowers. Most useful bit of advice I’ve ever gotten from him,” he says with the immediate disrespect of a younger brother. You shake your head at him, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea,” he shoots you a contrite look, which you pardon, waving him on, “but I saw the sense of that. Girls like flowers, don’t they? Took a quick look at the gardens, but all the flowers in bloom seemed… boring? Inadequate? Not enough? Only the winter roses stood out to me. They’re supposed to be a winter bloom but they were still there in the spring, living, fighting on until the very last cold snap.”

Still so very Eren, even with his choice of flowers. His account warms you to the very core. He put thought into his offering, though he knew you not, though he liked you not. Most boys would make do. But not him. Thank the gods I did not neglect his gift. His first gift. You suppose you have much to thank your future brother by marriage for. “Your brother’s rather romantic for someone who hates his wife.”

“I would never.”

Eren sounds a deal more serious, then, graver. You blink up at him, puzzled. “Never what?”

“Hate you. Not like he does Elva. I could never.” He turns so he can face you properly. At once, your heart begins to drum.

Thump, thump, thump.

“You are so very beautiful, my lady,” he murmurs and brings up a hand to run long, slender fingers through a loose curl, escaped from your bun. “My Lady of Rhyzkov is a woman of emerald tonight.” His eyes alight on the emerald rose that holds your tresses in place, before running slowly down your body in its opulent trappings of silver and emerald satin.

You feel that stare as if he had run his hands all over you. He almost had, that selfsame day. When he takes up a hand to kiss, you feel his mouth on your lips, your neck, your breasts.

Desire rises hot in you once more. Your bed is so close, you realize, it will be so easy to draw him in, lead him past those velvet curtains and let your lust take hold at last. Again, and again, and yet again. After all, that is what the marriage bed is for. Our marriage bed. The insight brings another shock of heat through you. You will never look at your kip the same way ever again.

“May I have the honor of leading you in tonight?” Winter sets in when he withdraws and offers you his arm. The temptation to let them all bugger themselves and eat without you and your betrothed is a strong one, yet duty’s voice is stronger still.

You sigh and take his arm. “Of course, good Sir. Back to the slog of pleasantries and politics we go.”

“You did wonderfully, love, didn’t I say? It was a good start. And a good start will lead to a good path.”

You certainly hope so.

As the feast proceeds underway, with your Eren on your left and His Honor to your right in the place of high honor, you can see the truth of your knight’s words. Everything goes smooth as glass. It isn’t a bad start at all, you feel. Not half-bad at all.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

Duty, duty, duty. It starts for the little lady. What *is* going on in the court?

Eren hangs out with the future father-in-law (he's not so bad, heh) and reminded of his duties to you, anxiety sets in as duty starts to make itself known, and we start to see how YN will be as a lady ruling in her own right. So far, so good.

And things get that much hotter between the young lovers-not-lovers. Yet another kiss foiled, they really should stop taking it slow, yeah? And I would so love to see them kiss in the rain, nothing is more romantic...

Til next update!

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu @lukepattersin @tojis-discord-kitten @camilo-uwu

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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k9andcompany · 1 year

Text

FOR THE LOVE OF DOGS…

Have you ever wondered why people love their dogs? Even celebrate their dogs by throwing birthday, or gotcha day, parties. Sometimes with little party hats strapped to their pooch’s head while serving up a bone-shaped cake with candles. It puzzles me when I meet people that question a pet parent’s complete devotion to their pooch. Clearly, they’ve never had a dog! My love affair with the cute canine set started early in life, and fast-forward to today where it has blossomed into designing items for dog lovers. People passionate about their pups are the type of people I want to know!

What makes dogs so great? They are devoted, loving, loyal, and oftentimes, silly creatures. With just a tilt of the head, they can give us the giggles. We can’t underestimate their ability to lift our spirits, nor undervalue their style of judgment-free love. A dog’s ability to provide humans with emotional support is unparalleled in the animal world. If you have a down day, your dog can lift you right out of it. In the last decade, there’s been a lot of research conducted on how dogs help improve our lives (source, source). Here are a few key benefits dogs give to their owners:

Heart health, including lower blood pressure and cholesterol levels.

An enhanced immune system with less frequent sick days.

Potential weight loss due to more regular exercise.

Stronger emotional wellbeing and connectedness.

Meaning and purpose in daily activities.

Improved social life.

People love their dogs so much that when faced with a choice of leaving during an evacuation or staying because of a dog, pet parents often chose to forego their safety and stay behind. This was proven during Hurricane Katrina, and more recently in the California flash fires. Recognizing this, FEMA directors now include pets in disaster preparedness plans (here are some tips). This is how much we love our dogs, and all of us at K9 and Company get it. We love all dogs like they are our own. And it shows in everything we do. Whether you’re a “Dog Mom,” or Pitty lover, you are our kind of people!

We were so inspired by last weekend’s news story of a blind man, Thomas Panek, and his dogs making history. Panek, his personal guide dog Gus, and two trained guide dogs, Westley and Waffles, all yellow Labs, completed the New York City half marathon. In less than 2 and ½ hours, if you can believe that! That’s true dedication and devotion, on everyone’s part. That’s what we dig about dogs. They get joy out of doing things with humans, like taking turns jogging 13.1 miles to help a man compete in a long-distance race.

When humans first started domesticating dogs I’m sure we didn’t think, “wow, wait until they have us waiting on them hand-and-paw.” But look at us now! What seemed to start out as a reciprocal exchange between two very different beings, has now turned into a relationship based on devoted love. It really doesn’t make a lot of sense, but love often doesn’t. Hearts have a way of opening up to possibilities. Dogs are a lot like hearts that way.

How can we thank dogs for all that they do for us? Sure, we feed them and provide fresh water, and go on daily walks. But what else can we do to let them know how very special they are to us? Celebrate them! Compared to humans, dogs have a much shorter lifespan. So don’t hesitate to celebrate each birthday and every gotcha day. And any other day you feel like making special for your pup. Because they make every single ordinary day special for us. Heck, they make us feel that we truly are special.

Dogs have learned, over time, to watch us for cues of happiness, sadness, hunger, and playfulness. They’ve learned how to gauge what we’re going to do by our body language, and every small move we make with our face, including our eyes. Dogs respond according to our movements, and it’s in these initial exchanges that the human-animal bond begins. The more time your dog spends with you, the better he or she knows you and can give you love when you need it, make you laugh when you’re in the mood, and snuggle up for bedtime with you the same time every night… Even though they don’t know how to tell time! This is how connected dogs are to us.

While I’m not too sure we deserve dogs, I’m so very grateful to have them in our lives. The lessons they teach us, the joy that they bring into our lives, and the memories we make with them, are truly a priceless gift. Yes, it’s easy to understand why humans love dogs so much — because they love us, unconditionally.

#Dog Lover

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matsbarzal · 3 years

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number 2 fluff with barzy please❤️

fluff #2. "i personally think i deserve more attention than this."

word count: 1.2k pairing: mat barzal x reader

Mathew Barzal wasn’t one that you could call starved of attention. But starved of your attention? Now that’s a different story. Especially when you add in his biggest foe, a four-legged creature with puppy dog eyes.

He was notorious for arguing that you didn’t spend half the amount of time on him that you did on others. Constantly pestering you, constantly trying to distract you from your work, doing anything in his power to prevent your attention and affirmations from slipping from him onto something else.

“Mathew, seriously, it’s one foster. The poor thing couldn’t stay at the shelter anymore, he was terrified,” you scoffed as you swung your finger through your keyring, your eyes never leaving him as he pouted towards you.

“But I’m allergic.”

“You know your mom and I talk every day, right? Do you know how quick it’d be for me to shoot her a text and ask about your allergies?” shaking his head vehemently at your words, the pout on his face growing larger and more prominent.

Plopping himself down on the couch, you tried to hold back the giggle that slipped from your lips. He was downright pouting like a child; his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes facing his lap as his knee bounced aggressively. He lookedlike a child.

“Mathew, are you kidding me? Fine. Whatever, I’ll go tell them he has to stay in the shelter then if it’s such a big deal,” throwing your hands up in exasperation, you dropped the keys on the table and stomped your way to your shared bedroom with Mat closely on your heels.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m being a dick. Let’s go, I’ll drive. I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to be a good person and do a good thing.”

That’s how you found yourself with a dog pressed in your lap, his head eagerly following the trees as they zipped by. He was a quiet little guy, a nine-month-old American Pitbull Terrier, given away by a family who ‘couldn’t handle his energy’ as the shelter told you. It was easy to see he was nervous, anxious even, to be in a car with two complete strangers.

The shelter told you he mostly responded to Apollo, but his former owners hadn’t done much to reinforce the acknowledgment of his given name. You and Mat were expected to change that, expected to train him enough so that he’d be able to go back to the shelter, or hopefully, go to a loving home, with a loving family.

“He’s pretty cute, huh?” Almost on cue, Apollo turned his body in Mat’s direction, an eager look in his eyes and an aggressive wag to his tail.

Trying to focus on the road, Mat gently reached his hand over for the dog to sniff. Before a second of time could elapse, Apollo’s front paws were pressed against his thighs, his nose digging into Mat’s neck.

“Get him off, oh my god! I’m trying to drive, oh my god! Oh my goooood,” holding back the cackle that was bubbling up in your throat, you quickly grabbed his collar and gently pulled the dog back to you. You could see the rush of pink floating up Mat’s face, the embarrassment from his squeal now evident on his cheeks as he refused to look at you or the dog in your lap.

The quiet, calm pup from the car? Gone the moment you and Mat made your way into your shared apartment. He was eager to make his way around, sniffing everything he could, pushing his nose into all the nooks and crannies your apartment had to offer as Mat watched on, a look of indifference in his eyes.

For the fact he was so hyper and energetic during the day, Apollo was eager to press into your side when the sun went down, his head bumping into your lap gently every time your hand moved from his behind his ears. He was happy to cuddle up against you, his body alienating Mat to the other side of the couch. Mat held his tongue as he glared at the dog, Apollo’s tail gently hitting the couch when he made eye contact with the man.

“Stop getting him going, Mathew. I want to go to bed soon, and you’ll be the one playing with him if you wire him back up,” gaping at you in shock, Mat groaned as he crossed his arms over his chest for the second time that day.

Mat had no idea how he was going to get around this whole… dog situation.

Things were no different the next day. You and Apollo were getting back from your first morning walk just as Mat was re-entering the apartment after practice, a look of joy crossing his face when he made eye contact. Going to press his lips against yours, he was stopped by the barking at his feet, the source of the sound in question maneuvering its body so Mat couldn’t get any closer.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

“Hush, Mat. The shelter said he was very protective against men, he’s just wary of you and thinks you’re a threat to me,” squeezing his bicep gently as you and Apollo walked past him into it, Mat proceed to glare at the dog, a wagging tail his only response.

To put it lightly, Mathew Barzal was exhausted. He was exhausted having to fight for your attention against a dog, who so obviously had the upper hand with his stupidly cute puppy dog eyes, and his stupidly cute ears, and his stupidly cute games. Mat didn’t stand a chance, and he was exhausted.

“I personally think I deserve more attention than this,” he plopped himself down in the empty spot next to you, Apollo eagerly chewing away at a bone on the floor as he eyed the man from his spot.

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you pressed your head into his shoulder with a grin. “Baby, you’ve had all my attention in the world for so long. What about when we have kids? Am I going to have to drop everything I’m doing with them, so daddy dearest gets my undivided and undying attention?”

“Well… I— ugh,” spluttering, Mat didn’t know how to respond as he looked at you. He knew you were right; knew he was potentially being dramatic. But all of your attention had been completely taken up by Apollo, the dog in question who now had his head pressed against the side of your leg.

“Have you considered that maybe, hear me out here… you could spend time with both Apollo and I? It’s not like I’ve completely excluded you from anything, you’ve just chosen to be a pouty baby since he first came home, not much I can control there, babe.”

Mat knew you were right as he observed Apollo’s eyes following his every movement, the dog’s tail never stopping as he awaited Mat’s next move.

“I think we should make an attention chart,” rolling your eyes at his words, you shook your head with a glare directed towards the man.

“Either you do things with us, or you get your attention from Anthony. Your choice.”

“Fine, but I still think I deserve more attention.”

“Whatever, Mathew.”

note: i hope this fits your requests! thank you for sending one in, and i hope you enjoy <3

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mindninjax · 3 years

Text

Iron and Wine (3)

Chapter 3- Lovely Bitter Water

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Erwin Smith x fem!reader (Royalty AU)

Warnings: Erwin can't keep his fucking hands to himself, sexual tension, some dirty talk, nightmares,

WC: 3.5K

a/n: Be wary of the warnings on this one just in case anyone is uncomfortable with it. But This chapter contains humor and sexual tension and by far was my favorite chapter to write so far.

The high stone ceiling peels away above you to show the sky. It is clear and dark, save for a thousand twinkling lights, the souls of those you’ve lost shining down upon you. You blink, once, twice, as the wind tickles your skin and dances merrily through your hair. There is a warm pale glow above you and your mind is wandering into the cosmos as you feel a pair of cool lips on your forehead. A glowing ball of white light beckons to you as you sit up and gaze around the swaying tall grass around you.

This is a dream.

You stand, the dress you’re wearing swaying with the wind like a synchronized dance. The air smells clean and fresh, like the trees back home. You take a step forward, smiling to yourself and basking in the white light shining down on you. The moon sits large on the horizon across the field you’re in and fills you with joy as you skip freely toward it. You laugh and it rings out into the field like a carol of bells.

You’re stopped in your tracks as a large white hoof stomps in front of you. The ground shakes from the impact and you can see it start to crumble. You look up and there is a beast with the face of a goat and the body of a man sitting atop the saddle. It’s eyes are blacker than an abyss, staring at you blankly. They’re cold, sucking the very life from you.

Suddenly the wind stops and it is deathly silent. The air no longer smells fresh and clean but reeks of rotten flesh. You whip your head around fear creeping up the back of your neck as the clear night sky forms dark stormy clouds above your head. The sky bursts open with an ear splitting crack and wailing misery from above can be heard. It is earth shattering, rumbling the world and making your ears bleed.

Horrific images flash before your eyes in quick succession. Animals' skin and bone disintegrate in his presence. When he dismounts from his horse the land dies beneath his feet and when he takes a step blood stains the earth.

You scream but the sound is stolen and swallowed by the darkness he brings. The last thing you see before it takes over you completely, is the beast opening his mouth, a sinister crooked smile on his lips as he utters the words “I have come and with me I bring death.”

You awake with a gasp and shoot up in the large bed. Your vision is blurred as the remnants of the dream fade away and the bright morning light breaks through the haze. It takes you a few minutes to recognize your surroundings, but it comes flying back to you when you see Historia lying peacefully next to you in bed.

You are in the wolf king’s castle, acting as what he refers to as a “guest” when really you are his prisoner. Historia helped you take a bath last night, washed your hair and dressed you in a light but extravagant sleeping gown. When it was time to retire for the night, she’d bowed to you and asked to be excused. Remembering how fond she was of the room, you’d suggested she stay here with you and sleep. It might’ve been a bit selfish on your part, her presence was calming and her soft breath next to your ear was the only thing that lulled you into slumber.

But that dream almost certainly was a warning. You’d prayed for clarity before you went to sleep and the Mother provided. However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t woken up more confused than before. What was she trying to tell you? If Erwin Smith was in fact the enemy, the bringer of destruction and death, why did Her whispers stay your blade?

You shut your eyes tightly, put your index finger and thumb together while intertwining your other fingers and kiss the tip before bowing your head. “Forgive me Mother. I do not understand what it is I’m supposed to do. Erwin Smith is the enemy, so how do I stop him and save your children?” You whisper quietly under your breath.

A bubbling warmth pools in your gut when you think about the Wolf King and you don’t like the way it makes your heart thrum in your chest like a caged bird. You don’t understand what part he’s to play, whether you should trust him or not. But one thing is for certain, The Mother does not want him dead. You roll your eyes before getting off the bed and walking to the window to open the heavy curtains and let in the sun’s warmth.

Historia still sleeps peacefully on the bed, her even breathing occasionally interrupted by soft snores. You smile as you watch her, curled up on the bed, innocent and lovely. Perhaps you were wrong to think you couldn’t trust any of the people in the castle. As you watch the bustling people below from the window, you take a deep breath and make your decision. The only people who have actually shown you their true selves are Erwin and the little dog he keeps next to him. Which means, the only ones you have to distrust right now are those two. It would make for an easier time if you were being forced to stay here.

Then it’s settled, you’ll be cordial to the others and keep your guard up around Erwin and his knight. He may think you’ll agree to his plan, but you won’t. The fact that you can’t kill him is bothersome but you can definitely take this time to learn more about how he rules and bring that viable information back to your people.

Two quick knocks on the door draw your eyes away from the people below and your body instantly crouches into defense. You shake your head, trying to break the automatic defensive edge that is built into your character. Cordial and pleasant. That’s what you need to be. A nervous voice on the other side of the door calls out.

“Good Morning my lady, King Erwin demands your presence in the council room.”

You squint your eyes in frustration. Demands?

You wrench the door open to see the tall farm pup man standing before you. He jumps a bit at the sudden swing of the door and his eyes drift down your body before he turns red and looks away nervously. You don’t realize how thin the garment you’re wearing is. Your nipples bead in the cool air in the chamber and a breeze flows through your legs making it cling to your curves. You smile a little to yourself at his obvious embarrassment.

“You’re one of the knights he sent to stand outside my door, yes? To make sure I don’t run off?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He still doesn’t look at you, but nods his head and says “Yes my lady.”

“I see, and you are Ser…?”

“Moblit my lady. Umm if you don’t mind me saying, maybe you would feel more comfortable in more appropriate attire? The King is demanding I escort you to the council chamber at once,” he says again.

You study him for a bit. He’s cute with warm trusting eyes. You can tell he’s not faking how nervous he seems to be around you but if you were to guess why Erwin would keep someone like him around, he’s probably levelheaded on the battlefield. You do raise your eyebrow in frustration at his use of the word “demands” again but you clear your throat and look at him.

“Well, thank you for guarding the door Ser Moblit,” you say bowing to him.

You smile brightly at him as he’s caught off guard by your pleasant attitude. He blushes again when you complete the bow and gaze back into his large brown eyes. You can hear Historia yawning and waking up behind you. You hear her little gasp as she jumps out of bed and runs to the door, mortified at the way you’re dressed in front of Moblit.

“You can’t just answer the door dressed like that! It’s indecent!” she squeaks, trying to cover you as you laugh warm heartedly at her. The last thing you say to him before Historia pulls you back into the room and shuts the door is “Please tell the King to get fucked in the ass by his horse before he demands anything of me again.”

Erwin lifts his clear eyes from the scroll of parchment at the sound of the heavy doors opening. The sound echoes loudly around the room creating a grand entrance. He stops scribbling and peaks an eyebrow when he sees only one person entering the council room. Moblit clears his throat uncomfortably as he approaches. All eyes are on him as he bows respectfully avoiding the King’s gaze.

Erwin speaks calmly, no hint of frustration in his voice. “Moblit, why is my guest not with you?”

Moblit bows again before responding, “My apologies sire, she...refused to come.”

“Really now? Did she give a reason why?” He asks as if he’s unbothered with the disobedience.

“N..no sire.”

Erwin smiles to himself, thumping his long fingers on the large wooden table. Of course you wouldn’t come. This is exactly what he expected. If you had shown up, that would’ve been too easy and not your style. “Not giving a reason certainly doesn’t sound like something the silver tongued little lioness would do. Come, tell me her words.”

“S..she requested that your majesty… ahem… be fucked in the ass by your horse,” Moblit stutters and shifts his eyes and it looks like it physically pains him to say this to his King. The room goes silent, Hange tries to keep a snicker in, Levi growls underneath his breath, and the others watch Erwin carefully.

He looks back down to his parchment and continues scribbling. “Nifa.” He says not looking up as he continues to write. Nifa jumps at the sound of her name. She sits in the corner of the room, large rolls of parchment are draped over the side of the small table she sits at. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Is there anything on the roster after sunset?”

Nifa shuffles through the parchment as her eyes scan over the schedule. “No, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Please add ‘fuck my horse’ to the roster for just after nightfall. Thank you.”

Hange’s snicker erupts into laughter as Nifa scribbles in the addition and Erwin smirks to himself.

You sit in front of the large vanity mirror, the candles dripping wax down the candle holder. You stare into the fire, daydreaming of leaving this place as the last remnants of sunlight become swallowed by the horizon. You’ve been cooped up in this room all day, refusing all who came to the door with food and gifts of clothes from the King.

“I still can’t believe you told Ser Moblit to tell the King that. I’ve never heard anyone speak like that about His Highness,” Historia says nervously as she brushes your hair. You’re holding a silver goblet full of wine that was brought up to your room, a peace offering, the woman who’d given it to you said. It wouldn’t be here if not for Historia asking to sample it. It’s true you’ve taken a very intense liking to Historia. She truly feels like your only friend here.

You sniff the wine and wrinkle your nose in disgust. It smells processed and fake, not at all like the wine Carla makes back home. Erwin must think you a fool. As if you’d drink something he’d present to you as a gift. It could be poisoned.

You set the cup down as Historia moves to braid intricate little braids at the crown of your head and let the rest flow freely down your back.

“Well, you’ve never left this castle. Outside these walls, the people don’t speak fondly of your king,” you scold her.

“Why not? King Erwin has done nothing but help me since he found me in my village,” she says seriously.

“What do you mean?” You turn around to gaze at her in confusion. It has occurred to you that you haven’t asked her anything about herself and it saddens you. Your gaze softens as you look at her and she smiles her bright smile at you before a firm knock on your door makes the both of you jump.

“Don’t,” she says, putting a hand in front of you to stop you from moving. “We don’t need a repeat of this morning. You probably almost killed Moblit. Put this on I’ll get the door for you,” she says handing you a silk robe to cover the thin nightgown you wear.

You chuckle as she walks to the door and opens it warily. You hear her squeak in surprise and turn to see her bowing lowly and Erwin pushing the door open and stepping into the room. You stand quickly, pulling the robe up over your arms and glaring as he enters.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says warmly to Historia. She blushes and shakes her head quickly, her blonde locks hitting her cheeks.

“No, Your Grace. My lady was just getting ready to sleep for the night,” she replies, still holding the door, face full of shock.

Erwin’s eyes rake up and down your figure and he smiles that cocksure smile he’s famous for. “Yes, I can see that. Historia, would you mind giving me and the Lioness a moment of privacy?” he asks, bending down to take her hand into both of his.

You’re steaming, grinding your teeth as you watch Historia’s face grow pink and she nods wordlessly to him. “No! Historia stays with me. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her.” You step between her and the door and she looks nervously between you and him. He gives her a knowing look and she scurries past you, whispering in your ear quickly. “I’ll be back when he leaves.”

When she closes the door quietly behind her, you glare up at Erwin who continues smiling warmly at you. “I see you’re not a fan of the wine I had sent up for your pleasure,” he says walking to the vanity and picking up the goblet. He takes a sip, then closes his eyes and relishes in the sweet taste. “This is the best wine in the entire kingdom, made specifically for the King.” You curl your lip up in disgust.

“It tastes that way. Like it was only meant to please you. It lacks the care, the love for the vine and fruit that you would be able to taste in each sip,” you explain, rolling your eyes. Not like he would understand anyway. A spoiled king with servants to do his every bidding would never understand the time and care it takes to produce good wine.

“Hmm I suppose it does,” he says, eyeing you curiously. You can tell he’s enjoying this, the way his sneaky sapphire eyes move slowly up your body, lingering on the spread of your hips and the curve of your breast. You turn away from him in disgust.

“Why are you here?”

He feigns shock, eyes growing wide and he puts a hand to his chest. “Why, my lady, I thought you summoned me here. Surely I didn’t misinterpret Moblit’s message.”

Confusion floods your face as you squint and question his sanity. “Are you mad? I told Ser Moblit no such thing,” you say, shaking your head.

“Hmm, I thought for sure being fucked by my own horse was some kind of coded message. It is quite sudden I will admit but I have had many who crave me and I will not tell a lie, I am fascinated by what is beneath your lovely gown,” he says casually walking over to stand in front of you and smile down smugly.

You can feel your face heating at the insinuation. As if you’d ever invite him to your room, least of all for that. You sputter a bit before quickly retorting, “Is that what you tell all the women you try to seduce into a pact with you? I am not that weak and I have met many who were worth craving.”

You see the shock flash across his face and return his smug smile. His expression turns dark then and he lowers his voice and moves so close to you that you can smell the lingering scent of the wine he sipped.

“Do not continue to insult me. Your snide comments are only as entertaining as I continue to allow them to be. You would’ve been dead a long time ago were it not for the way I enjoy your tongue sliding over your lips while you say them,” he breathes and the warmth envelops you and makes your head a bit dizzy.

You keep your composure though, opting to continue to tease and make him as uncomfortable as he made you. You’re determined to expose his weakness and walk out of this castle vowing to destroy him and everything he holds dear.

“A shame that even the great Wolf King can be brought to his knees by a woman,” you reply sarcastically.

“Forgive me, but you are mistaking a fleeting lust-filled gaze for something more. I shall not kill you until we’ve come to an agreement, that or...I have at least tasted you upon my lips. And once I have—and I will one day—the fascination will cease. But until then, enjoy your stay in my castle and please read over the document I’ve provided. I am sure it will help with your decision.”

Your hand is itching to slap him across his chiseled jaw. You crane your hand back quickly but he catches it and throws you against the nearest wall. He pins you against it with his large body looming over you, the hand you were about to use to slap him pinned above your head and the other at your side. He tightens his grip on your wrists, a thick muscular thigh wedged between yours, partaking in the warmth radiating from your cunt.

“You’d dare to strike your king?” He grunts in a husky voice as you struggle in his grasp. His breath washes over you again as he cranes his neck down to drink in your scent.

“You are not my king,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Ahh there is the fierceness that makes my cock weep. A true lioness. Breaking you will be the greatest victory I’ve ever tasted. ”

You’re ashamed at how his words affect you. He pushes his thigh ever so slightly up against your folds and you gasp as his cock twitches against your thigh. He stares into your eyes, half lidded as his breathing increases.

His musk strangely reminds you of home, it’s woody and spicy like roasted chestnuts during the Celestial Ides festival. Hints of rose linger around the edges and you try very hard not to be drawn in by it. Your face burns as his eyes shift down to your lips and he leans in to brush his against your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft and he’s very skilled at swiping them against your collarbone and up your jaw in such a way that would have you pleading for more if it were not him. You shudder and hold in the moan that desperately craves to be released before wriggling in his grasp to try and free yourself. Your hand moves to the tiny hidden slit you made in the robe when Historia wasn’t looking.

He moves gently up to your jaw, dragging his lips over your soft skin. He only stops when he feels a cool sharp prick right beneath his rib cage.

“Let. Me. Go. Or I’ll carve out your heart and feed it to your dogs,” you say between clenched teeth and heavy sensual breaths. You push the dagger harder into his side and it pricks through the fabric of his shirt, drawing blood.

He chuckles and releases his hold on you, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender. He pulls a rolled up piece of parchment from the inside of his loose sleeves and places it onto the vanity before saying, “I should’ve known you’d have a weapon hidden on your person. I guess you’ve become a bigger distraction to me than I previously assumed.”

You wipe your neck and face where his lips were in disgust, holding the dagger and crouching ready to spring should he come closer to you.

“Get out. And do not ever touch me again.”

He only smiles a warm hearted smile, as if nothing has happened and walks to the door to open it.

“Until next time, my lady,” and shuts the door quietly behind him.

taglist: @lazyezstudy @jeanbeaux @ixwrites @melyannathemaia @forlancasterrr @starstruckkittensweets @charlotteplsdosth @mythical-goth @casspea @saturnalya @neptvnia @mrs-kuroojinguji

Strikethrough means tumblr won’t let me tag! I’m sorry

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #erwin smith #erwin x you #iron and wine #marquie writes

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bokettochild · 3 years

Note

Hi there!

For the one shot requests, could we get Time and Four?

Keep up the awesomeness!

This scenario came to my mind the instant I saw your ask, but it took me a hot second to finish because I had already started another one.

Anyways, here's Time and four bonding and hanging out with a Minish!

(Asks and requests are still open if anyone would like to see something specific!)

Of Minish and Men

A chuckle escaped Time's mouth as he looked down into his bag, his single blue eye meeting the tiny beady ones of the minish hidden inside. It’s a daring move, he must admit, that the little one thinks they can sneak into his things. Are they after the sugar he keeps on hand for fairies? Exploring his items out of genuine curiosity?

There are many reasons for the little people to be interested in his things, but it brings him no end of joy to see how they start when his eyes meet theirs.

He’s not trying to scare them, honest.

“And what are you doing?” He chuckles, low and soft so that his boys won’t hear. Wild is coaching Wind through making dinner with himself and Legend, and the noise of it covers his words, but he can’t be too careful.

The minish squeaks something in return, shuffling it’s tiny feet and looking up at him, apparently embarrassed at being caught.

Maybe sharing a sugar-cube with this little one wouldn’t be so bad.

A cautious glance up reveals that the others are all busy at work, Warriors and Twilight working to darn the sailor’s pitiful socks while the trio making dinner fusses around their pot, laughter and stories bouncing between them as Legend catches the carrot slices Wind keeps throwing at him in his mouth. It’s rather impressive actually, but he’s not going to encourage the smug grin on the Vet’s face (he doesn’t miss the pleasure that appears with every new slice either).

Four and Sky are out gathering wood, and in the meantime, Hyrule has positioned himself at the edge of camp where the smell of strong herbs won’t bother the others as much as the healer prepares salves and ointments for future use on the wounds that the others will inevitably get.

In theory, Time himself was supposed to be helping sort the herbs, but he’d stopped to get a spare jar from his pack before doing so. And now here he sits, a minish guiltily shuffling it’s paws in his pack as he looms over it. He almost feels bad when he reaches out his hand, palm up and fingers flat, only to have the tiny critter start backwards and trip on it’s tail, but when his hand stops the minish only looks up at him in surprise.

“I won’t hurt you.” He murmurs softly. “But you really shouldn’t be in there, you’ll get hurt.”

Tiny paws hesitantly make their way onto his finger tips, cautious black eyes staring up at him for a moment before the minish dubs him safe, crawling up to perch on the palm of his hand, where it reaches into it’s leaf-cloak and produces something.

It’s small, soft pink, and clay, marked with a symbol that his eyes can’t quite make out from the distance he’s at.

“What’s that, little beastie?” There’s a soft squeak as the minish stares up at him, eyes wide and expectant as he cocks him head. “I'm sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Time, I thought you were helping Hyrule?” It appeared that Sky and Four had come back, as the smithy was now walking up to him with a confused expression. “What-” The smithy froze, even as Time looked up from the minish in his hand to meet the teenager’s gaze.

“Is everything alright?”

“What-” Four’s voice hitches as he speaks and he can’t keep from grinning slightly at it. “What are you doing?”

Time looks at Four, he looks back at the minish, and then back at Four. To the world around him, he looks perfectly calm, but in his mind, he’s grinning like a mad man. “Talking to a minish.” He responds easily. “The little one thought it would be a good idea to climb into my bag, but it isn’t safe in there for such a-”

“You can see them?” Four interrupts, voice full of wonder, eyes glittering a warm red that indicates that one of the colors is now fronting, although if he’s to believe the hint of hazel at the edges of the smithy’s gaze, the other colors aren’t far from the front.

It’s hard, so terribly hard, to resist smiling at the smithy, but his boys believe him to be a stoic and mature leader (except Wars, Wars knows), and he’s not about to change that, not if it means he can maintain their respect and thus some semblance of order (even he has his limit for chaos, even if his older brother doesn’t think he does).

“Naturally. They’re creatures of the forest, are they not?”

“Well,” And violet flickers to the forefront, a slight warning that he’s about to receive a quick lesson about the minish. “It’s actually a common misconception that the minish are forest folk, they’re actually native to all of Hyrule, and even some of the lands beyond. Although,” The smithy cocks his head, eyes glinting hazel for a moment before returning to purple as the colors assumedly discuss something. “Your little friend here probably is native to the forests.”

And with those words, the smithy is kneeling down at his side, peering closely at the minish with a gentle smile that somehow produces the opposite effect as his own attempts. The minish beams up at Four with eyes twinkling with joy, a series of soft cheeps and squeaks sounding between the two as they appear to converse. Light giggles shake the smithy’s shoulders, pure and warm, and reminding him of softly pealing bells as Four offers his hand to the minish, who happily climbs aboard, leaving behind the piece of clay in Time’s own fingers.

“He’s a bit young, entirely new to the job.” Four explains. “It's his first time rewarding travelers for good deeds, and he wasn't expecting to get caught.” The smithy looks up at him, eyes warm and brown again as a fond smile pulls at his features. Hylia, Four looks so young like this. “Most adults can’t see them.”

Now that throws him for a loop. “I’m sorry?” He knows he’s frowning down at the smithy, but thankfully Four seems mostly unfazed, if not a bit confused himself. “What?”

“Did you not know?” The smithy cocks a brow, tipping his head to one side as the minish in his hands does the same thing.

“You two okay over there?” Warriors calls out, and all three of them turn to look at where the Captain sits, sock in hand and needle still poised as he stares over at them.

“All good, captain.” Time assures, and while neither Wars nor the Pup look like they fully believe it (or maybe they’re just curious) they both nod and return to what they were doing. (Time notes with appreciation and pride that Twilight has carefully turned his ears away from them, effectively preventing himself from listening in to their conversation.

He turns back to Four, brows furrowed as he looks down at the minish in Four’s hands. “Why do you say that?”

Four blinks at him, confusion apparent on his features for a moment before recognition dawns. “They say only those with the heart of a child can see the minish, most people stop seeing them around ten or thirteen, although Wind still can,” The smithy smiles fondly towards where their sailor is helping the champion cut turnips, hands carefully guided under Wild’s careful eyes as the sailor bites his tongue with effort. “I’m not really surprised about that though, I’m glad he still can.”

“He deserves a little innocence.” Time agrees, eyes trailing down to the mouse like creature in Four’s hands, mulling over the smithy’s words.

’Only those with the heart of a child can see the minish’. Four had said.

A smile breaks over his face. “Ah.”

“What?” Four’s gaze is all the colors at once, each clear in tehri own right as the separate parts of the smithy all look to him for an answer.

“I think I understand.”

“How?” Violet springs to life in the smithy’s gaze, pushing the other colors back with an eagerness that Time’s grown used to when Four learns something new. “How can you see them.”

Time smirks, mischief singing in his veins as he tucks the charm the minish gave him into his bag and grabs the spare bottles he had come for. Not a word escaped him as he stands, gazing pointedly at Four, and moves over to where Sky is now kneeling at Hyrule’s side and helping him to prepare an ointment.

“Time? How?” Four calls out, but Time doesn’t answer.

He’s got to keep up that mystical façade somehow after all, and if it satisfies the mischievous child’s heart inside him, well, all the better.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu four #minish #picori #bonding Time #father time #time is a gremlin #Time is a child at heart #change my mind #Time knows about the colors #heroineoftwilight my beloved #fluffics #fanfic asks #fic recs #one shot request #linked universe fic requests

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

The taming of the shrew (8)

Summary: The babies are on their way. Will Dean survive seeing you give birth? Will the babies are cute and even more important – will your alphas breeding kink awake?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Characters: Mary Winchester, John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Alex Jones; John Y/F/N Dean Winchester (baby boy), Y/M/N Mary Y/N Winchester (baby girl)

Warnings: pregnant reader, nesting, scenting, cuddling & snuggling, overprotective Dean, general cuteness, giving birth (nothing graphic), nervous Dean (let’s be honest, he’s a wreck), daddy Dean

A/N: Y/F/N = Your father’s name; Y/M/N = Your mother’s name

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The taming of the shrew masterlist

“Breathe in and out, Y/N,” Alex instructs, looking at you while she moves one hand to your mound. “I will check how far you are, okay. You are safe, your babies are alright. My husband is just down the street and waits for my call if we need more help.”

“O-okay,” you pant, looking at Dean who, as expected, paces around the room. He’s a wreck for half an hour. “Dean, I need you alpha.”

“I’m here,” stumbling toward the bed, reaching out for you Dean tries to find a way to take the pain away. “What can I do, omega? How can I help you?”

“You could sit behind Y/N and let her rest her back against your chest. Put your hands on her belly, rub it gently and breathe with her,” holding back a smirk Alex watches your alpha clumsily move behind you to replace the pillows he stuffed behind your back.

“Okay, hands on your belly,” Dean pants heavily but he follows Alex’s instructions. “Slow and gentle. Now breathe with me, sweetheart. Like we trained with Alex.”

“I-I’m trying, but-“ you cry out, scream in pain when another contraction ripples through your body. “I want my mommy,” you whine, watching your mother usher inside your room. “Please.”

“I’m here, Y/N,” your mother stands next to the bed to hold your hand. “Just breathe with your alpha, he’ll guide you through birth. I know you can do it. Your bond will help you ease the pain, okay. Soon you will see your babies and all the pain is forgotten.”

“Omega,” Dean purrs against you, lets the vibrations run through his chest to make you feel safe. “I know you can do this. We are all here. I can already see our babies in your arms.” you fist the sheets underneath you, snarl in all directions before you finally concentrate on Dean’s words.

“Babies,” you sniffle, looking down your body. “I can’t let them out already, can I? I need to protect my pups. What happens if anyone wants to hurt them?” panicked you look at Alex when she tells you to push again.

“Push, Y/N. I can already see the head,” whining you squeeze your mother’s hand. “One more time, sweetie. You can do it. The first baby is almost there…”

“Aw, look at his tiny hands,” you coo, looking at your baby boy in your arms. Your little bundle of joy sleeps peacefully, doesn’t even flinch when you gently nuzzle him. “I will never not hold him.”

“If he grows like Sammy and me, you’ll not be able to lift him,” Dean gently rocks your baby girl, looking at her with big wet eyes. “She’s so pretty. Look at her tiny nose. I bet she will scrunch it up as you do anytime you don’t like my food.”

“I love your food, just not the burger monstrosity you bought,” pecking your son’s head you sigh deeply. He feels so small and vulnerable in your arms and you hope Dean and you can protect him from any harm. “They are perfect, and we made them, Dean.”

“And it was fun making them,” purring low in his throat Dean looks at you on the bed he built. I can fill you again soon. I want a house filled with kids one day.” proudly puffing his chest your alpha looks at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Dean,” you would like to protest by all you get out is a soft purr. You never expected to fall in love with your babies the moment you lay eyes on them but now, you are addicted. “Not now. We got our hands full of our pups.”

“She smells so good,” sniffing at your daughter’s head Dean smiles. “Like a mixture of you and me and cuteness. Aw, she just cooed.”

“Dean, stop making me cry,” sniffling you watch your alpha sit on the bed to show you your baby girl in his arms. “I can’t cry or they will wake up. Let them sleep a bit longer.”

“I can’t wait to hear them call me daddy,” nuzzling your daughter Dean purrs, wanting his children to get used to his voice. “Could eat her alive. Just look at my cute baby girl.”

“Is said – don’t make me cry,” you whimper, hating you are an emotional wreck at the moment. “I need to hold back to not cuddle our baby boy too much. He’s just too cute.”

“He’s mine, how could he not be cute?” Dean grins, giving you a wink. “Every pup I’ll put in your belly will be cute and handsome.” cockily looking at you Dean waits for your confirmation. “Right?”

“Handsome?” humming you look at Dean, knowing he wants you to compliment him. “I don’t know, Winchester. Maybe you are cute but handsome-“ you shrug, laughing as Dean grumbles under his breath.

“Don’t make me cuddle you, omega. I will put our baby girl in her cradle and cuddle you like never before,” giggling you look at Dean, give him your brightest smile as he tries to give you a stern look.

“I want to see my grandchildren,” Mary paces outside your house. “Did they let you have a look?” shaking her head your mother places one hand onto Mary’s shoulder.

“I was there when Y/N gave birth but had to leave the moment the first pup arrived. Dean was too dangerous. If I stayed inside the bedroom, he could’ve attacked and killed me.”

“Newborn pups and his vulnerable omega around turn every alpha into an overprotective beast. You should know that Mary. Do you remember the day Dean was born?” furrowing his brows John tries to not smirk. “I almost killed your father.”

“You bite him, John,” sighing deeply Mary looks at the house again. “Are they okay? What if anything happened? God, what if they need our help?”

“The babies are healthy and safe,” Sam grins, showing his father the pictures Dean took of you and his pups. “Aw, he took a selfie with his baby girl.”

“Names, seize, weight,” Mary pants, snatching the phone out of Sam’s hands. “They are perfect. Oh, god my Dean is a father,” feeling her legs give in Mary grasps for John’s hand. “Did I tell him everything about parenting? What if I forgot something?”

“Mary,” John laughs. “Calm down. Dean is an adult, a man, and an alpha. He knows how to take care of his omega, apparently.” Now the elder alpha grins, looking at the phone. “Or Y/N wouldn’t have his kids.”

“JOHN!” scolding her husband for his indecency Mary sighs deeply. “Do you think they’ll show the pups to us today? Maybe if we ask nicely?”

“Ask or demand?” John snickers, nodding at your father. “I mean, Y/N lied about her parents, told Dean they are dead as she didn’t want anyone to know about her family. She even hid things from her alpha. Do you think she will show you the kids right after she gave birth?”

“I-I hope so,” nibbling at her lower lip Mary looks at the phone again. “He’s a good father, a good alpha. Dean will be so-“ starting to cry Mary hides her face in her husband’s chest. “My son is an adult now, John. He’s not my little Dean anymore.”

“Mom, I hate to say it, but Dean ain’t a kid for the longest time,” smirking Sam watches his father roll his eyes.

“Can you just not, Sammy? I can barely tame your mother. She wants to tear down the door to get to her son. Jesus, you need to learn a thing or two about omegas before you have pups.”

“LOOK!” your father says, pointing toward the door when you and Dean slowly step outside. “Y/N, sweetie!”

“Five minutes,” Dean growls, stepping in front of you. “You all got five minutes to look at the babies and then you’ll leave us alone.”

“Five minutes?” Mary almost trips over her feet when she rushes toward Dean to look at the little boy in his arms. “He’s so pretty, Dean.”

“John Y/F/N Dean Winchester is his father’s son. Of course, he’s handsome as hell,” Dean exclaims, nodding at his father.

“Aw, the little girl, look Y/M/N!” Mary sniffs, looking at the little girl in your arms, but she dares not to touch her. “What’s her name?”

“Y/M/N Mary Y/N Winchester,” you laugh when Mary starts to cry. “Dean insisted she needs my name too so, she has three names now, just like her brother.”

“Well done, Dean,” Sam purrs, looking at your babies. “Luckily, both look like your mate.” he grins but his heart swells watching his brother hold his baby boy in his arms. “He’s cute, I give him that.”

“Son, good job,” John smirks, watching your father silently cry. “You made everyone cry. I am proud of you and your mate. Never thought you can make such cute babies. On the other hand, Winchester men are attractive as hell.”

“Cockiness runs in the family, I see,” giggling you lean your head against Dean’s shoulder. “If you all excuse us now, we are tired and the babies need sleep. We booked a room for all of you at the lodge nearby. If you behave like good grandparents, you can see the pups tomorrow morning after we fed them.”

“Tomorrow,” nodding eagerly Mary bits her goodbye is the first one to step aside. “I’m glad everything worked out. You are so-“ she sniffs.

“We see us tomorrow,” John leads his wife toward his car, wiping a single tear off his cheek before anyone can see he shed a tear too.

“I hope you know that we are sorry, Mary and me. I’m proud of you and Dean, Y/N,” your mother pecks your cheek.

“What your mother said,” your father whispers, kissing your hair. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

“Don’t kill the babies,” Sam laughs before he runs after his parents. “And don’t make more overnight. I don’t think our parents will survive more cuteness, Dean…”

“Finally, alone,” snuggling closer to his pups Dean looks them all over. You placed the babies between you and your mate to keep an eye on them on their first night in this world. “Look, they are already asleep. Little angels.”

“Little angels,” swooning you watch your alpha peck the babies’ heads, purring for them to assure safety and warmth. “And a devil.”

“I’m no devil,” he grins, giving you a dirty look. “Maybe when you feel better and recovered I’ll give you a hell of a ride, omega…”

“Fed, clean and cute,” Dean hums, watching you rock both babies in your arms. “See, we didn’t kill them. Now calm down and watch your grandchildren.” laughing at Dean’s words you look around the living room.

Everyone gathered in the room this morning to check on their newest family members. Now they watch you with the babies in your arms, sighing and purring now and then.

“Dean changed his first diaper this morning and succeed,” they don’t have to know your baby boy peed onto his father’s shirt before he could stop him. “He wants to learn how to breastfeed too.” You blur out to break the tension.

Sam is the first one to laugh at your bad joke, followed by your father and John.

“I would,” grumbling Dean sits next to you to runs his hand over your baby boy’s head. “Just don’t have enough milk.”

“But he’s warm and the babies like to sleep on his naked chest,” you say, grinning as Dean nods eagerly. “Especially our baby girl prefers to sleep on her daddy. She cries anytime I tried to put her in her cradle.”

“In conclusion, we are doing fine. Now we have something to announce,” Dean gets up, clears his throat before he looks at you and his babies again. “Y/N and I are going to marry-“ he raises his hand, stops his mother before she can freak out. “Not a word, mom. Yes, you can help us but no, you’ll not decide anything.”

“We want to wait till spring,” you jump in, nodding at Dean. “There is enough time to plan things and to make sure we will get the wedding we want.”

“Last but not least, Sammy, you will be my best man,” hiding the choked-out sob poorly Sam nods, giving his brother a soft smile. “Good, now let’s eat cause I’m hungry as hell. I prepared breakfast.”

>> Epilogue

More tags in reblog.

The taming of the shrew tags

@niiight-dreamerr

#The taming of the shrew – Part 8 #alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean x omega!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #a/b/o #dean winchester fanfic #alpha!dean x omegareader #fluff #Daddy!Dean

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Ripple

An Overboard addition

Emma gets Killian an anniversary gift, kind of

This is purely gratuitous fluff for @the-darkdragonfly because she deserves it

Rated T

~1500 words

Read on Ao3

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

There are few things that can make Killian Jones feel as alive as the sea does. The whipping wind that tousles his hair, the crashing waves that spray him with ocean mist and rock his boat from side to side, forcing him to counterbalance himself so as to not topple over. Very few things in this world make Killian feel as free as the sea does.

Among the few things that bring him to life are his boat. It’s something he spent years working towards, his title of captain a badge that he wears proudly each day. It’s a reminder that tragedy and hardship could not defeat him.

And then there’s the thrill that comes with catching monstrous Bluefin Tuna. It's a battle he’s won countless times, but he’s lost countless times as well, and each time he pulls one onto his deck, the pride that swells in his chest is almost painful.

Although there is a short list of things that bring him to life, nothing can compare to the way he feels when he’s with-- when he even thinks about-- his wife.

“There’s a special surprise waiting for you when you get home,” she tells him in a low, sultry voice when she calls him that day. It’s a strong reminder that it’s their first wedding anniversary, and the tone of her delivery sends impure thoughts through his mind and makes his cock do impure things while he’s at work.

“What is it?” he asks uselessly, knowing she won’t cooperate.

With the very giggle he expected, she answers, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Will I like the surprise?” he asks, voice matching hers.

“I think so.”

His wife is fire. She’s heat and passion and infallibility all rolled into one flawless, beautiful package. He maintains easily that he’s the luckiest man alive, the luckiest man to ever live again, because he has been given the privilege of marrying Emma Swan. There is nothing that will ever make him feel the way it feels to be with her-- not his boat, not catching a monster tuna, not the sea.

He’s almost tempted to call it a day, turn towards the docks and leave his mates high and dry and without much of a paycheck, but he knows he can’t do that. All he can do is think back to nearly a week ago, just before he’d left for this trip, when she reminded him very cleverly and very salaciously that their special day was up-and-coming by making him come in her mouth and smirking in satisfaction when she succeeded.

All he can do is consider what color his special surprise could be, how it will look contrasting against her creamy skin, how it will feel in his fingers when he peels it off of her.

~~~~

She’s not at the docks like she usually likes to be when he arrives home. She uses it as an excuse to visit with her father, and she also likes to tell Killian that her presence when his catch is weighed and appraised for quality is good luck. But today, she isn’t here.

He takes his check and helps his mates clean the boat, but they can tell that his mind is elsewhere. Will practically chastises him, claiming that he’s too horny for his own good and insisting that he go home to his fit bird of a wife, earning himself a slap upside his head.

The house is mysteriously quiet when he gets home, creeping through the front door and excitedly looking around every corner as he walks through. It becomes obvious that she isn’t inside when he gets to the kitchen in the back of the small cottage they share, and when he looks out the swinging porch door, he sees her.

She’s fully clothed, but she still looks beautifully irresistible, so he steps outside with a growing smirk. He isn’t sure what she could be doing in the backyard at nearly dusk, and he becomes even more confused when he watches her squat down on her knees and hold her arms out, excitedly cooing and cheering at something around the corner that he can’t see yet.

“Come on, baby!” she calls happily, grin bright and beaming in the setting sun. “Come on!”

“Emma?” he asks through his confusion, making her look up and greet him with stunning beauty. “What are you…?”

It becomes clear so quickly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place suddenly when he hears the jingle. A small, clumsy creature flops its way across the yard that they share, nearly tripping over its too-large feet. She calls for it once more, shrieking and laughing when it bounds into her arms, knocking her onto her back.

A smile grows across Killian’s face almost instantly. He couldn’t even hope to fight it, Emma’s joy far too evident and far too impossible not to match.

“Happy anniversary,” she greets.

“Aye, happy anniversary, my love… What is this?” he asks, squatting beside her and delivering her a smile that she matches effortlessly.

“This is your surprise,” she explains.

“You got us… a dog?”

“A puppy! Isn’t she precious?” she asks, rubbing the pup’s belly and giggling as she rolls onto her back. “Her name is Ripple.”

He scrunches up his eyebrows in confusion, moving to sit all the way in order to save his old knees. “Ripple?”

“Don’t give me that look,” she chastises. “I think it suits her. One little doggy can impact our lives in many ways; like the ripple effect.”

“Aye,” he agrees, because he’ll agree with everything she says if only to see the look on her face when he does. “And how did Ripple find her way into our yard?”

The small, and admittedly adorable, puppy gives him a look that tugs at his heartstrings. Truthfully, if there was one breed of dog he could see Emma adopting, it would be a Rottweiler. Their Ripple is only a baby, small and soft, but he can tell that she’ll grow to be as fierce as Emma one day. Her big brown eyes stare into his and he knows with certainty that he’s made a companion.

“I adopted her, as a special surprise for you,” she tells him with a smirk, likely knowing that her explanation doesn’t exactly work in her favor. It’s not as if he ever had a desire to adopt a dog. Emma, on the other hand, has been wanting one for months. “She was wandering the streets, so I picked her up. I looked and looked for her owner, but she didn’t have a collar or a microchip, and no one came forward. I filled out some paperwork with the vet, and now she’s ours!”

He can’t help but to fall beside her, lying at her side and planting a brief yet deep kiss to her temple. Ripple wriggles between them, her bark small and high pitched but likely to become much more threatening in the next few weeks. “You’ve a very pure soul, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, making him bark out a laugh that’s met with one of Ripple’s. “She needs a home,” she says more seriously, rolling on her side to face him in the soft grass, her hand wandering from the neck of his t-shirt down to his waist.

“She does,” he agrees. He leans forward, awkwardly at this angle, to finally catch her lips with his. He can’t deny her of this. She grew up needing a home, and the least he can do now is support her in giving a home to another lost soul in need.

“So, can we keep her?”

“That’s funny,” he laughs, and she screws up her brows and cocks her head to the side. “It’s as if you’re under the impression that I could ever say no to you.”

He watches the smile grow across her face, reaching her eyes so easily as they catch the glimmering light of the fading sun. “Really?”

“Aye, of course, my love. Although, I will admit, this isn’t exactly the surprise I had in mind based on your phone call.”

Her giggle is contagious, and he thinks it must be in response both to what he had said, and the fact that Ripple has decided to clumsily sprint across the yard to chase her long tail. She pushes against his chest to stand-- he feels almost envious at her youthful ability to lift herself from the ground so easily-- and takes his hand in hers, hoisting him up as well. “I’ve been working on crate training her,” she explains once they’re standing side by side. She calls for the pup and she comes running, earning praise from her new, and apparently talented-at-behavioral-training, mother.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She guides them both inside, pulling his hand and holding her other one out to Ripple, offering a treat once they walk through the door. “And I plan on doing some crate training now, while I show you what other surprises I have for you under this dress. It’s good for her to practice.”

Their new companion is very well behaved, they’ve discovered. She listens to commands, snuggles with her parents at every opportunity afforded to her, and acts as a very talented deckhand on Killian’s ship, announcing the presence of a tuna on their line each time they hook up.

If one thing is for certain, it’s that Killian Jones’ wife knows exactly how to make him happy.

~~~~

There’s a dog in Wicked Tuna named Ripple, and I’m addicted to The Ripple Effect, so Emma and Killian got a dog named Ripple. Hehehe

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza

#Ripple #Overboard #overboard 2.5 #I guess?#captain swan fanfic #captain swan #cs ff #overboard ff #cs fluff

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whatsmyline-pb · 3 years

Photo

I guess I’m now writing a modern T/A series based on ridiculous Tom Hardy photos (and eventually CM pics too?) Here’s part two:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32103217

Series: Inspired

Work: Business as Usual

Summary: A modern Tommy/Alfie riff on those ridiculous TH MySpace photos.

They say to never mix business with pleasure and this is an anthem that Alfie could give fuck-all about; he is more than happy to spit in the face of conventionality and its ridiculous adages. Tommy, on the other hand, is not so keen to shed such things, is annoyingly determined to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

He shrugs off Alfie’s hand with narrowed eyes when it lingers too long on his shoulder during meetings. Shoots off deadly glares at the subtle innuendos Alfie throws his way when they meet with potential clients. Greets him with stony, infuriated silences when they reconvene later in the evening for purposes that are decidedly not business-related.

Alfie fucking loves it. Loves it when Tommy strides into his flat after a day during which he’s been particularly indecent, radiating annoyance and petulance and arrogance. It’s a challenge Alfie welcomes with open arms, all together delighted to set about the task of unwinding Tommy’s moods, teasing him into bed where he can then dutifully strip him bare and turn his ire into quivering need.

And as with most things when it comes to Alfie, Tommy should know better. His bad moods and sullen responses to Alfie’s behavior only serve to further encourage it, pushing him to infuriate him more and more.

—

It’s about a month after Alfie’s fateful run in Margate that he begins to send scandalous texts to Tommy throughout the workday. The idiot had made the mistake of sharing his calendar with him, so Alfie always knows just the opportune time to bombard him.

It starts off innocent enough. The occasional text recalling the night before (Can't stop thinking about how glorious that beautiful ass felt around my cock) or anticipating evenings to come ( I’m going to make you come so hard tonight you won’t be able to walk for days). Alfie always hits send with a rush of glee, imagining Tommy checking his buzzing phone during important negotiations, his cheeks flushing pink upon reading them, followed by a clenched jaw and quickened breaths.

Without fail, Tommy never responds, but still comes to him later, throws his briefcase onto the couch before seething out, for fucks sake, Alfie, and slamming him against the wall or counter or fridge with an aggravated kiss. It’s utterly delicious, and Alfie happily welcomes the bruises that emerge under Tommy’s aggressive ministrations and the moans of desire that soon follow as he takes him fully.

—

Alfie ups his game quickly from words to photos. He makes sure to not send anything too incriminating, no dick pics or anything, he’s not entirely lacking in class, after all. But there are teasing shots of bare arms and his unclothed chest and wetted lips and an exposed inguinal crease. All his parts that he knows Tommy likes best.

The result is far more effective than words, Tommy later barreling into his flat in a storm of ferocious lust and annoyance, equally.

One time, when Alfie yearns to taunt Tommy during what he knows is a particularly important meeting, he can’t find a moment of his own to take a current photo, and instead delves deep into his archives, finding one from his MySpace days, nearly decades ago.

The photo he stumbles upon is absurd. A young picture of him nude but for a pair of scrunched white drawers, leaning languidly against a door frame, crotch unabashedly defined. He sends it without a moment's hesitation.

Tommy doesn’t wait until their evening plans to respond. He strides unannounced into his office midday and slams his phone onto Alfie’s desk.

“You’re getting fucking lazy, Alfie,” he says, a strange, unfamiliar energy humming about him. “Can’t even be bothered to send something recent, eh?”

Alfie grins in response and cocks his eyebrows.

“Ever rescued a dog, Tom? Naw, I bet not. See the thing is, when you rescue a dog, often it’s no young pup. And all you can think the whole time you’ve that majestic beast in your care is, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see this beauty in his youth. So, considerate man that I am, I figured I’d grant you said pleasure.”

Tommy barks out the rare, loud laugh, his eyes twinkling and mouth spread wide. Alfie wastes no time in undressing him and fucking him senseless against his desk.

—

From this, Alfie learns that the one thing he loves more than riling Tommy up is making him laugh, and from then on his actions take on a whole new purpose.

His sent photos become less scandalous and more ridiculous and are more often from the past than not.

There’s the picture of him, lips pursed and bare-chested, but for a green vest, hand sneaking beneath his waistband. And the one of him flexing his youthful upper body quite wonderfully, if he does say so himself. And then there’s the one with him donning nothing but an orange thong and a baseball cap and a wonderfully trimmed mustache. So many to choose from, so he sends them all.

Tommy doesn’t make it easy, and Alfie has to admit he’d be disappointed if he did. More often than not Tommy strolls into his flat, skillfully masking amusement with annoyance, parading about uninterested. But Alfie can see the lightness glinting in his eyes, the slight twitch in his hard-pressed lips, and it’s with wholehearted joy that he strips away Tommy’s pretenses and delights in his ensuing undoing.

—

One day, things go particularly awry. It’s not Alfie’s fault, really. How was he supposed to foresee that Tommy had recently synced his texts to his computer and that his latest sent photo, entirely unprofessional— in fact, the most raunchy of them all— would pop into frame while Tommy was reviewing spreadsheets with his newest client?

There’s no world in which Alfie should be held accountable for this, except for Tommy’s. But still, when, instead of a non-response to his text followed by a late-night visit, Alfie receives a phone call, there’s an unease deep in his stomach.

“You crossed the fucking line, today,” Tommy informs him, with a particularly steely tone. Alfie balks.

“I what? ” He asks, incredulous. Tommy recounts his day and hangs up abruptly at Alfie’s ensuing laughter.

Countless texts later Alfie has convinced Tommy to come over, after all. Despite his complete lack of responsibility for the disaster his earlier text had resulted in, Alfie can’t help but feel a pang of remorse.

So he swallows his pride and sets about a scheme to rectify matters. He’s naked but for his cinched white underwear, posing against the wall, emulating that first MySpace post he’d shared, when Tommy enters his flat. Tommy falters when he sees him, clearly so ready for defiance, but shocked into something else entirely.

Alfie rubs his free hand over his beard, says, “2005 called. They want me back.”

The grin that splits over Tommy’s face should be relief enough, but it’s not until he steps forward and cups Alfie fully in his palm, his lips grazing softly over his, that Alfie knows his sins are truly forgiven.

They spend the night enthusiastically fucking and, when morning comes, continue, canceling their workdays, pleasure thoroughly trumping business.

#Peaky Blinders #Tommy/Alfie #tommy x alfie #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #Tom Hardy #ao3 #fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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kylosgenesis · 4 years

Text

Teardrops on Fire

Synopsis:

Steve Rogers is the last Alpha of the an almost extinct Lycan pack. With only less than 100 members left. Steve must produce an heir to ensure the species survival and reduce the chance of attacks from others. Omegas are rare, and betas have a hard time producing children. Steves reality is finally setting in as his obligation of producing an heir faces a major set back.

Reader is the last suitable omega to mate with Steve, due to the fear of her daughters fate in the pack, her mother kept her hidden from the pack after her own exile. Only her mother, and Bucky's family know of her existence. Bucky is Steve's right hand man, and the packs best warrior! He and the reader developed a friendship and bond over the years, but age forced them to become distant.

What happens when she presents and her first heat cycle comes? Her body is in excruciating pain and a strong fever quickly overcomes her body. Facing the fear of her daughters possible death, her mom calls on the only person who can save her at this point, Alpha Steve! Bucky and the alphas friendship will be tested. The reader will be faced with her love for Bucky or her duty to the pack.

Chapter warnings : descriptions of death, abuse, blood, and mentions of miscarriage.

Chapter 2: Honey I tried

“When did it start?” Bucky was holding on to the edge of his kitchen table.He felt nauseated with the thought of her, sick and yearning, He couldn't even picture what she had grown up to look like, A part of him was scared of his own emotions.

“It hasn’t yet!”

“ At least not as of this morning.” her mother was breaking apart! Bucky could tell she was very scared and exhausted! He knew that her daughter's well being must've weighed heavily on her, he could see the physical manifestation of her pain. In just a few hours her nails had been bit to the core, and her tears streaks had left vivid and raw tracks around her cheeks.

“Buck! I know this is a lot to ask, but you have to tell Steve! Were worried she wouldn't make it otherwise. This will be her first heat”

He’d almost forgotten his mothers presence in the room, cause he turned around and met her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She'd grown fond of her friend's daughter over the years. After her own kids had left to form their own lives, she could still go to her and relive some memories of her little ones' younger days.

“I know! I'm still wrapping my head around it, but I know what I have to do” agitation surrounded his voice. He didn't know when his heart started to feel like it wanted to jump out of his chest or when he gripped the glass of water that was left on the table so hard it shattered, but it was evident that he wasn't going to be getting any rest that day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky parked his pickup in front of Steve's house. It was the largest house in the village, it wasn't Steve's choice, but he'd inherited it from his father, and his father had inherited it from his father before him. Being the house farthest away from the city limits, but right in the middle of the village meant Steve was protected, but could also be easily accessed.

Looking back at his passenger seat he saw Winnifred with her mom cradled upon her shoulder, comforting her best friend through the probably the second hardest day of her life.

“You should stay here Ma, I'll go get Steve” I know he’ll be happy to see you, but I still don't know how he'll react to her'' He opened his tool box on the bed of his truck and pulled out a large fleece blanket. Neatly folded he handed it over to his mother.

“Just keep her company till I come back”

The lights in Steve's house were on, but Buck could hear the sound of wood being shopped and Steve's grunts coming from the back of the property. As he reached his best friend's view, he took a deep breath. It was all gonna be different now, for all of them.

Steve had a large pair of headphones in, and was clearly a few songs deep into his playlist because when Bucky came around the corner; Steve almost lost a hold of the axe he was holding! Lookin at Buck he lowered his bulky headphones and stabbed the axe to the soft moody ground next to the small uncut piece of wood he was about to turn into lumber.

Steve's hair was not as long as Bucky's, and he had taken a liking to a neatly kept beard.

He grew it out as a joke at first! Clint dared him to grow it for a month, and after a month he'd grown fond of the style.So for the past year now, Steve looked less like a young soldier, and more like those lumberjacks from the cheesy romance novel covers his sister Rebecca loved to read.

“Hey Buck, didn't expect you around so late” Steve combed his hair back with his fingers. A nervous habit Bucky had noticed since childhood, especially when he had a lot on his mind.

“Couldn't sleep?”

Bucky was concerned for his friend, momentarily forgetting the reason for his sudden visit.

“ Banner called! Wanda was there earlier today, she wasn't feeling well. Turns out she was pregnant, and didn't know it!

“Steves that's awesome, when is she due ? we need to celebra…” as he looked into his best friend's eyes he saw the pain behind his look.

“She was miscarrying at the same time she found out she was pregnant, Buck. That's the third pup we've lost this year.I don't know how we're gonna get through this, It's getting harder and harder to keep everyone safe, and pretend we're not gonna be extinct in 50 years”

“Steve…” Steve's gaze was filled with a mixture of tears and rage. He took everyone's pain personally. And hearing about Wanda had awoken an unease within his soul. He couldn't fight the problem! How could a man used to protecting and fighting, deal with a problem that didn't require a fight?

“There’s an omega! She presented this morning!

“Who is she?”

“Remember Katerina? She … uhh … after she was exiled from the pack, she had a daughter!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 20 years ago

“We can't just let him die! We have to take him outside the walls! Someone out there can help him”

Joseph was the second in command to Benjamin Rogers. Two of the strongest alphas the entire western district had ever known. Both feared together, but explosive apart.

Benjamin had fathered a son 7 years earlier, a frail boy. He was often sickly and his future wasn’t promised! He wasn't meant to live much longer, the boy had once again woken up sick. A high fever overcoming his small body.

Benjamin had changed after his wife's death, he blamed the boy for Sarah’s death. A man that was once kind, and dedicated to his family, now lived like a wandering dark shadow inflicting cruelty against anyone that disagreed and crossed his path. His pack was strong! But there was no harmony, only fear.

Sarah had been a beautiful alpha as well as Benjamin. She had a hard time carrying Steve to term, at 7 months she fell bedridden and two weeks later, she had a seizure that compromised her pregnancy. Benjamin himself had to cut the boy out of his dying wife. That choice, as his wife laid there lifeless , covered in blood, and cut open like an animal awoke a demon in Benjamin. He saw death in his son's eyes, that is why he could never love him. He could never care!

Katerina took care of his young baby like her own, she had struggled to have a baby of her own so when Joseph came home holding a still bloody wailing baby, she fell madly in love with the small bundle in his arms.

The boy was small, but smart! He picked up words as young as a few months, and as a toddler he was incredibly gifted. Steve excelled in art, and even knees bit of music. Katerina loved to sit down and play piano! A young Steve would lean into her side and follow suit to her fingers on the side of the pano with his small hands. Joseph and Katerina watched him grow up, and took care of him.

Steve got sick often, but nothing too serious!

One day as she prepared breakfast she had a feeling of dread on the pit of her stomach, she ran upstairs to check on Steve and found him comatose on the bed!she wailed as she held her adopted infant son to her chest. Joseph came running to her after hearing her screams. He picked up the boy from her hands and loaded him into the car, with Katerina at his side he headed to Benjamin's house.

That was the first time Benjamin had seen his son since his wife died, his son himself nearly dead!

"Please Ben! He needs help! There's another pack two hours away, they have a doctor that can help him. She can heal him for good, please open up the walls so we can go to her! They both pleaded with Ben for hours, but to no avail!

The man was already covered in anger and reeking of alcohol, “Don't you dare challenge your alpha Joe! If I find out you defied me and left this territory you will never be allowed back”

Katerina couldn't let her boy die! With that warning in heart, she and her husband plotted to get little Stevie outside the pack territory, and to that doctor.

Behind Ben’s back, and knowing the consequences in his heart Joe called the Alpha from the neighboring pack, the other alpha had the resources ready for them to arrive in the morning. His doctor, a witch, was ready to give little Steve the life he deserved.

In the early morning of the night they sped their way through the woods. Once they reached the border a car awaited Rina, a beta from the fury pack was ready to take them to their pack.

Ben had closed the pack off to treaties when his wife died, he believed the world was dangerous and the pack was better off without interruptions, he couldn't even save his wife! His pack did not deserve to be mercied, they didn't deserve to live if she couldn't. So Ben slowly watched his pack become secluded and lost.

In the morning Ben, even drunker than the night before, had shown up at Joe's doorstep demanding to see the boy. Fully convinced he'd be dead by now, when Joe failed to produce an explanation as to why his wife was gone and so was Steve.

Ben lost it!

He called a pack meeting on which he publicly executed Joe, whether it was a display of power or just pure psychopathic joy. Joe’s death left the town broken, when Katerina came back with a healed Steve, she found herself widowed and exiled.

As a last sick jab into Joe’s heart even after his death, Ben took Steve!

As the years went by Steve forgot his early years, he forgot Joe and Katerina!

Steve remembered stories of his betrayal, her exile! How their actions forever changed a pack. He grew up kind, giving, and strong! Even if Steve didn't experience or know much love from his father, he was full of it!

And thanks to that witch both Katerina’s little growing heartbeat and Steve were stronger than ever!

Tags:

@austynparksandpizza @exposition-belongs-somewhere

#alpha steve x omega reader #alpha bucky x omega reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #omegaverse #a/b/o fic #a/b/o verse #steve rogers #bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes

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