#laying down gravel garden

[saltburnedme]

Catch Me If You Can

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Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3533

Summary: Living at Saltburn you’d had repeated nightmares about getting lost in the labyrinth. What happens when your nightmare becomes true?

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, choking, stalking? Kind of?, being drunk/drugged, being chased/threatened with a weapon, dub con, generally fucked up smut overall, lots of mentions of blood, pray/predator vibes

You stumbled through the darkness down each twist and turn of the labyrinth, the blood rushing through your veins, that’s when you hear it. The crunch of gravel under a foot that wasn’t your own and in that moment, you knew you weren’t alone.

That’s how the nightmare always starts. You’d gotten lost in the labyrinth at Saltburn enough throughout your childhood to know never to go in there without telling someone where you were. You’d had the same repetitive nightmare for years; you’d go in and never come out. You didn’t know why this stuck with you as much as it did, but it did, nevertheless. Because of this you made it your mission to memorise every step, you knew exactly which way led to the middle, exit and every dead end, you’d walk the maze every day just to make sure that you’d never be caught out.

You’d walked it alone for years, that was until this summer. Felix had brought a friend back; you hadn’t thought much of him until he asked to walk the maze with you. It had taken a few adventures to warm up to him as he wasn’t exactly the most outgoing of men you’d ever experienced in your life, but he seemed well meaning and it was a nice change from constantly walking alone. You weren’t sure why, but for some reason he wanted to learn the labyrinth as much as you did.

You’d never accuse him of it, but it sometimes felt as if he was planning for something more. You had watched his confidence change over time as you spent your afternoons wandering with him. You told him about your nightmare in detail, he was kind and understanding, trying to reassure you that nothing like that could ever happen. Over the time in your presence, he’d gone from a quiet boy to a confident man, almost domineering you when alone but reverting into his old self as soon as you were around others. You had so many questions, you thought that he’d been holding back, and you wanted to see just how far he’d go if he really had you alone although you were certain you’d never say it or so you thought.

The summer sun beat down on the garden and the whole family had been drinking heavily consistently since noon. You’d been in and out of the lake all day, swimming for a while and then lying on the grass soaking up the sun. Members of the party came and went as they pleased until before you knew it, day turned to night. Throwing on a long white sun dress, you lay there until you were the last one left on the grass taking in the stars as you lay there giggling to yourself through a drunken haze. You’d been so taken by the events of the day that you hadn’t even realised until now that you’d missed your daily trip around the labyrinth. You knew it wasn’t a good idea, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going and although you weren’t the drunkest, you’d ever been in your life you certainly weren’t sober. This wasn’t enough to deter you though, you were determined.

Standing on shaky legs you made your way to the labyrinth with a little skip, although your nightmare was always at the forefront of your mind on any trip there right now you felt invincible. Your tipsy mind pushed any sense of danger to the background, right now all you felt was a fuzzy tingling throughout your body and an excitement for a late-night adventure. You made it to the entrance of the maze before you knew it, staring down the first path as you contemplated whether or not this was something you really should be doing. Within a split second you had decided, you were going in. You were certain, this was until something out of the corner of your vision caught your eye.

‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you’ he says, leaning against the entrance of the maze. ‘Anything could happen in the dark’ he continues, his face lit only by the cigarette he had pressed to his lips, a wine bottle in his other hand.

‘Fuck, Oliver. What are you doing out here? I thought everyone had gone to bed?’ You asked, your heart racing in your chest. It was just Oliver; you knew you were safe with him you thought to yourself.

‘Couldn’t sleep, not knowing you were out here alone’ he says continuously smoking and seeming to be avoiding eye contact with you, staring at the ground in front of him. Something was different, you knew he was at least a little drunk too so maybe that was it, but something felt off.

‘So, you came looking for me?.. in the dark’ you reply, waiting for any kind of response but receiving none. You could feel the alcohol running through your veins, you knew that if you were sober this would have been enough to scare you and although you’d never admit it you were terrified and you thought you might even like it. ‘Well, if you don’t think I should go in there alone you could always come with me?’ You proposition, growing more giggly twirling your hair around your fingers. That drew his attention, still no eye contact but you could feel him watching you, watching the way your fingers moved together and how your dress fell against your curves as you shifted unable to stand still.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea sweetheart’ he says, taking the last few drags on his cigarette, flicking the butt off into the nearby grass. You feel a surge of confidence as you move closer to him, your body almost touching his as you lean in almost speaking in a whisper. Taking the bottle from his hand you take a large gulp, the red wine trickling down your chin staining the fabric of your white dress appearing almost like blood.

‘I think it’s a great idea’ you start, your face so close to his now that your eyelashes almost graze his cheek, pushing the bottle into his chest in a drunken attempt to give it back. You’d found him attractive for a while, he’d grown on you over the last few weeks, and you finally felt like it was happening, this was your chance. ‘I think you should come into the maze with me’ you giggle. ‘And who knows, maybe if you find me you can fuck me’ you say, that caught his attention. His blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight as his gaze meets yours, he almost looked angry.

This is not what he wanted, Oliver thought to himself, he didn’t want you, not like this anyway. He knew it was sick to think it, but he didn’t want you to give yourself to him, he wanted to take you for himself. As you flirted and giggled, he felt the heat rise in his chest, his heartbeat against his rib cage as his aggression soared. He thought of you as a pure little thing, he would have even said untouched if he hadn’t have heard stories from the others, but you seemed pure to him, nevertheless. He loved the thought of you helpless underneath him, for him to be both the villain and the saviour in your eyes. But hearing you speak like this ruined everything, you’d never spoken to him like this before, he didn’t want to hear you beg him to fuck you, he wanted you to beg him to stop. He’d come out here with a plan, he wanted to take you into the maze and rob you of any shred of virginity that you had left, but now with the way you were talking you were just a whore in his eyes. A slut that was unworthy of him. So, he stood there before you wordless, gazing down upon you in anger as his ocean blue eyes turned black, you stood looking up towards him as much as you could in your drunken state. You thought he seemed angry, but you were so drunk at this point that you wouldn’t have been able to tell either way, the alcohol from Oliver’s wine bottle hitting you way harder than you anticipated.

‘Maybe I can fuck you?’ He finally repeats back to you. ‘Maybe you’ll let me fuck you?’ He sneers as he stands straight, almost pushing you over as he moves closer, his chest pressed to yours. ‘Because that’s such a prize’ he continues, practically laughing in your face, if you thought he was flirting before you could now see, even as drunk as you were, that he was very much not happy. ‘Well then pretty thing, I think you should start running. Can’t catch you if you aren’t running now, can I?’ He says, so he does want you? You question to yourself. One moment he’s almost refusing you and the next he wants you? At this point you felt almost as much confusion as you felt fear. That was until he does it, he pushes you into the labyrinth making you stumble as he does, losing your balance ending up lying face down in the gravel as you turn back from your position on the floor to see him. With the moonlight shining from behind him he looked much taller and more menacing, the kind boy you knew was gone, replaced by only the silhouette of the body he once inhabited.

‘Go on then, run’ he almost growls out as your heart rate increases, you want to let out a scream, but nothing comes. Stumbling to your feet you immediately start running. Turning around to try and see if you could outrun him, you see him still standing at the entrance, then you hear it, the familiar sound of smashing glass. He’d broken the bottle against the statue that’s placed at each entrance of the maze, now only holding the broken neck of the bottle as he begins his pursuit towards you.

You run as fast as you can, rounding the corners of the maze in record speed. You knew the labyrinth well enough that you were certain you could get out before him, this is exactly why you’d been waking it all this time anyway. This was almost exactly like your nightmare you thought to yourself. When you first propositioned Oliver, this was not exactly what you’d imagined. You had pictured this going much differently, you’d giggle and run at an almost walking pace so not to make it too difficult to catch you. But this was wrong, he was wrong.

You didn’t know what exactly had changed within Oliver, but something was drastically off. The Oliver you knew would never have looked at you the way he did or spoken to you as he did. You were absolutely certain that your sweet predictable Oliver wouldn’t have smashed a bottle into a weapon and literally chased you down with it. While you may have practiced your escape from the maze many times, you now realise that you’d never practiced running it as you gasp for breath between each step of your quick moving feet.

Checking behind you Oliver is nowhere to be seen, your pace slowing as you think you may have lost him giving you some time to catch your breath. You stumble your way through the maze, you were sure you were about to get to the middle and make your way out but instead where the exit should be, a dead end. You were sure this couldn’t be right you weren’t lost, surely you couldn’t be. You begin to trace your steps back, finding the topiary equivalent of a crossroads. You see him but you're not sure he’s seen you, crossing in a slightly different direction heading towards the opposite side of the maze. Yet when you look another way, he appears to be walking towards you, and in another direction away from you. You swear you can almost feel him graze your shoulder as he passes you, his shoulder brushing past yours in different directions over and over again as you fall to the floor, crawling on your hands and knees as the hard gravel punctures the skin on your knees leaving behind a small trail of blood.

You knew there couldn’t be that many of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rub your eyes. Finally, re opening them you find yourself alone, was any of that real? Was he even in the maze at all? You question yourself, your sanity in its entirety. You can still taste the red wine on your lips, you thought it tasted off at the time but now you were sure, you were drugged or at the very least incredibly drunk.

Stumbling to your feet you use the hedge to the side of you to re gain your balance. Just like in your nightmare you hear the sound of gravel crunch behind you, turning your head you catch the glimmer of light reflecting from the broken wine bottle just as he swings for your neck, screaming and running immediately as you hear his pace quicken behind you. You’d completely lost the grip on where you were in the maze, you could be at the exit for all you knew, but in this moment you just ran straight. The hedges seemed to lengthen as you ran, this singular corridor appearing never ending as you sprint. Almost as if you were in a dream you seemed to run on one spot like you were practically on a treadmill, going nowhere fast. You could hear him behind you, you were sure of it, you tried to look but the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision too much. Continuing to run forwards you feel as if you can see the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel, you can see the statue in the centre of the labyrinth dead ahead of you, a feeling of relief flooding your senses as you head straight.

You’ve made it, you’re almost out you think to yourself. Just as you meet the edge of the hedge facing the centre he steps out, your form slamming into his unmoving body forcing you to stop running.

‘Found you’ he says with a smirk, smiling down menacingly at you as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. You knew you were facing the statue but as he begins to back you into a corner you feel yourself walk backwards into something hard, your body slamming into solid stone. Pressed against the statue at the centre of the maze you look around confused. Where were you? Had you been in the middle this whole time? You were certain you were facing towards it but now the statue was pressed behind you. Regardless it was of little consequence, he had found you.

‘Do I get my prize now little dove?’ He asks you without really asking, not waiting for a reply he wraps his hand around your throat, the other hand still wrapped around the broken neck of the bottle as he uses it to slice the fabric straps of your dress free from your shoulders, your dress falling to the ground. His hand tightening on your throat he leans in to kiss you as you resist, biting him in response feeling blood trickle down both of your lips, the metallic taste swirling around your mouth.

‘You think fighting back will stop me?’ He questions, your resistance only seeming to fuel his desire for you as he grinds his length into your thigh. ‘You thought wrong, dove’ he continues.

Throwing the bottle neck to the floor you hear it smash against the gravel in the distance, that’s one obstacle out of the way you think as he spins you around, pressing your chest into the statue that now stood in front of you. With one hand still around your throat you hear the jingle of his belt unclasping. The swimwear you were wearing from earlier in the day still firmly held against your body for only a few more moments as you feel his strong hands rip the fabric in two, throwing it to the side as you feel his fingers glide through your folds.

‘Fuck little dove’ You were almost embarrassingly wet, you hadn’t realised it until now due to the fear, but maybe that’s exactly why you were as you were. His words coming out as almost a whisper only meant to be heard by himself. To Oliver it’s almost as if you weren’t real, your skin was so soft, your entrance was so wet and warm that he could have been convinced that this was another dream of his and he’d wake up with his hand fisting his cock for relief. But this was real, he could hear your breathing below him quicken as he pushes his fingers into you, curling them as your hands tighten on the marble in front of you.

You moan as he lets out obscenities behind you, sliding more fingers inside of your tight hole, his eyes transfixed on the way his digits glide in and out of you so easily. Eventually removing his fingers from you, his grip around your neck tightens as he pulls your back to become flush with his chest, his free hand coming to cup just below your chin.

‘Spit’ he demands, grabbing your face slightly as he waits for you to drool into his hand. You look towards his hand as you spit into his open palm, a mixture of clear liquid and blood coming out of your mouth as he quickly covers his length in it, coating himself and you in the mixture as he thrusts up into you without warning.

Although you were outside, the slapping, squelching sounds seem to echo off of the walls of the labyrinth. You can hear him groan in pleasure behind you, enjoying the feeling of choking you as he gazes down at the view of himself sinking into you over and over again. He loved seeing you like this, his hand around your throat and your pussy covered in a mixture of blood, cum and spit as he pulled you back once again. His mouth meeting yours in a hurried kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth. Both of your breaths quickened you taste his blood from his split lip once more. As soon as the taste hits your tongue you feel yourself tighten around him, his free hand coming down to rub circles into your clit.

‘Cum for me little dove’ He demands as you moan, your head dropped back onto his shoulder. ‘Show me what a good girl you are’ He prompts as his fingers press harder into you, desperate to draw out your orgasm. ‘Fuck, that’s it sweet girl’ groaning into your ear as you ride out your climax around his cock, tightening on him as his pace picks up.

His movements becoming more erratic as he works towards his own peak, your body limp in his grip as he fucks you, exhausted from your own climax and over stimulated as he thrusts into you. Your moans must have been loud enough to be heard outside of the labyrinth you were sure, and now as you feel him throb inside of you, you were certain people must have heard him too. Without warning he spills inside of you, his cum painting your walls white as he bites down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood as he climaxes.

Both breathing heavily he pulls your head back by your hair for one last lust filled kiss. His touch almost tender as he removes himself from you. You hear him fastening his belt as you hold onto the statue in front of you for balance, all of your clothing ripped and discarded on the floor you feel him place his jacket onto your shoulders.

‘You scared me’ you say with a slightly fearful smile, the evidence of your enjoyment in your voice as you speak out for the first time since entering the maze, your tone coming out rasp. ‘Maybe we should do it again some time’ you giggle as you move your ass back against him, eliciting no response other than the sound of his continued breathing. ‘Don’t you think so Oliver?’ You ask, hoping with all of your heart that finally after all of this your soft kind man would return to you but receiving no reply.

‘Oliver?’ You question into the darkness as you turn, your eyes searching for him despite having felt his touch on you only moments ago. But he was nowhere to be seen, the only trace of him being his jacket on your shoulders, his blood on your lips and the trickle of his cum now working its way down your thigh. ‘Oliver?’ You speak out quieter. He was gone and you knew it. Gathering your things you made your way back towards the house, was any of it real?

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[pseudowho]

Aizawa Shouta x Reader

18+, MDNI, suggestive fluff

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The school bell rang, a prelude to the rising tide of teenage shouts in the corridor. The stream also carried the tired-bedraggled past the office door, and your particular tired-bedraggled snagged upon the office door, like black river weed upon rock, and the door swung open with a quiet huff.

"Hey, stranger." You glanced briefly up from marking papers, as Shouta stepped in, looking to all the world as though he wanted to turtle inside his own capture scarf.

"Long-ass day." Shouta grumbled, hooking the door shut behind him. "Teenagers are demons."

"You used to be one."

"Don't remind me. Hey-- move over."

You scooched sideways, and Shouta lay down on the couch with a huff, the back of his head landing with a rustle on your papered lap. He heaved out the sigh of a much older man. You berated him, tapping his nose with a pen, and tired eyes smiled up at you until you had rid your lap of papers.

You tried to object, your words falling flat as his eyes drifted closed, cradled on the plush of your thighs. Disgruntled, but smiling, you marked papers on the arm of the couch while your other hand scratched softly through his raggedy beard.

You did not think too deeply of the actions of your fingertips, creating lush scratching patterns through his bearded cheeks and chin, as though creating samon through zen garden gravel . Shouta released satisfied hum after hum.

You hadn't noticed his hums becoming longer, lower, gravelly, as they did when your hands moved softly over other parts of him. When your fingernails trailed idly down to the bristles over his throat, swirling over his flickering Adam's apple, it bobbed up, releasing a low curse entrenched in a moan.

Your eyes flickered down to Shouta, to his heavy drooping eyes, the way his jaw clenched as you caressed his beard...and to the heavy, thick tenting in his black trousers, the involuntary miniscule upwards humps into the air as you stroked him. You released an ah! of realisation, and removed your hand from his face.

In one brisk movement, Shouta gripped your wrist in one hand, and flicked out his capture scarf in the other, looping around the door handle and holding it shut, flush to the frame, white knuckles on white bands.

Shouta's eyes burned into yours, lowering your hand back to his face. He shifted with a grunt, his lap tight and trapped and aching.

"I didn't say stop."

[amjustagirl]

chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate. 

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you. 

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet. 

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him. 

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost. 

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand. 

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him. 

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates. 

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs. 

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth. 

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes. 

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.  

You close your eyes. 

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.  

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -” 

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.” 

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?” 

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air. 

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge. 

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home. 

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?” 

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies. 

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die. 

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep. 

(wake up) 

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer. 

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.” 

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone. 

“Let me sleep”, you whisper. 

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber. 

Perhaps you could be content like this. 

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer. 

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas,  shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you. 

Your heart begins to hum. 

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open. 

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you. 

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!” 

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake. 

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams. 

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away. 

Your parents show up to visit you. 

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired. 

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep. 

The next time you wake, the room is dark. 

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep. 

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again. 

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?” 

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here? 

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.” 

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time. 

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay. 

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest. 

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot. 

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit. 

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.” 

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”  

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit. 

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.” 

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.” 

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.” 

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm. 

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before. 

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?” 

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.” 

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.” 

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.” 

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. 

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.” 

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer. 

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies. 

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.” 

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self. 

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -” 

“I was trying to save some of the blades -” 

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -” 

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.” 

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.” 

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.” 

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.” 

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.” 

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.” 

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd -  the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-” 

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink. 

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful. 

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home. 

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns. 

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore. 

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately,  Then his face slackens into a childish pout. 

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?” 

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.” 

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject. 

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck. 

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book. 

“Don’t you have to work?” 

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair. 

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly. 

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree. 

“Well, how’s work?” 

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?” 

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -” 

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?” 

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.” 

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully. 

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.” 

“Me?” 

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -” 

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?” 

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.” 

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches. 

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap. 

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.” 

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”, 

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure. 

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest. 

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves. 

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?” 

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart. 

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.  

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it?” he asks quietly. 

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.” 

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.” 

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him. 

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding  in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.  

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way. 

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding. 

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.  

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” 

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.” 

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.” 

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin. 

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply. 

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.  

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped. 

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you. 

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?” 

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place. 

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -” 

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”  

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.” 

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -” 

“Just  - just stop, Soshiro.” 

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof - 

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin. 

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you. 

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too. 

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -” 

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?” 

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -” 

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -” 

Your head swims. “I don’t -” 

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.” 

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands. 

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.  

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both. 

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

“You love me.” 

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.” 

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves. 

“I think I do”, you say softly.  

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon. 

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

[grugruel]

Bad News 1 |

Parts: 1/2, read part 2 HERE

Parings: dbf!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Inspired by, Call me by your name

Summary: Your fathers best friend accompanies you and your family to your summer house in the country. Sparks ignite as you grow closer, secretly spending one-on-one time together at night.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: plot with smut, secret-relationship, angst, choking, praise kink, petname (doll), oral sex (f recieving), pinv sex, fingering, creampie, c*ck warming.

AN: Ill make it into a series if yall like it, please enjoy!

Baring Throats

I leaned onto the windowsill, one arm stretched into the cool night air, holding a half smoked ciagrette as I rested my head in the crook of the other. A song filled the empty night, small birds and morning doves serenaded me beautifully, the occasional cranes interuppting with their paired cries.

I took a puff, exhailing slowly as I admired the view overlooking the garden, the vast grass plains surronding the house and the tree line in the distance. It separated us from the forest, obscuring the lake behind it and hiding all things wild. I glanced down the long road leading up to the house, and found a man walking along it.

Bucky, heading back from another venture into town. Perhaps he had visited a lady friend, which he had a good number of, perhaps it wasnt any of my concern. It shouldnt bother me, yet, it did.

I found my mind drifting, painting a picture of him in a bed, sweaty and naked, laying next to another woman and a spark of jealousy flared up inside me. The sound of footsteps on a gravel path approached, bringing me back to the moment, I blinked the images away and rebuked myself.

Looking down to the ground, my eyes met his. Smiling, I greeted him amd leaned over the sill. Nothing on but a thin t-shirt and a pair of panties, goosebumps prickled my skin. He smiled back at me. We looked at eachother in silent understanding, our business remaining our own. Wordlessly we communicated, I took another drag of the cigarette and he gestured for me to give him one, I held my index finger up, indicating for him to wait a second as I grabbed the pack and lighter from my nightstand, in turn tossing them down to him. Graciously he caught them and lit up, I nodded my head inside, asking him to join me. He took a long drag of the cig, considering me carefully, but he shook his head. Smiling increadolously, he pointed at me as if saying, "youre bad news" then snuffed his cigarette and went inside.

I heard him walking up the stairs, toward my room, the footsteps stopping just outside my door. Please knock, I begged, he seemed to be considering it, but a moment passed and then another, and at last he left. Entering his own room instead, opposite mine.

This had been our routine for the past few weeks, both being night owls, we'd sometimes encounter eachother on the premises. Coming from our separete affairs, but never asking the other where they'd been. We'd share a snack, talk in hushed voices, hold in laughs and shush eachother when we inevitably were to loud. It became our little secret, not because we did anything innapropriate, but simply because it were a few moments that belonged to just the two of us. Talking about things we couldnt talk about with anyone else. It had been innocent at first, but at some point had that charming smile of his begun to make me blush, at some point had his touching become more tender and at some point did our night time talks stop being accidental, but rather sought out. Last night, we'd come dangerously close to kissing and I think alarm bells sounded for the both of us, which is why we kept our distance tonight.

Dissapointed I went to bed, falling asleep with unseemly images of my fathers best friend clouding my mind.

I slept late into the next day, the sound of heavy rain battering the roof roused me from my sleep. As I got ready to go about my day, I found a note slid under my door, my lighter was inside, along with a few written words "Smoking is bad, you know. I'd better finish them for you :)" Chuckling, I saved the note, tucking it into my nightstand. Wiseass.

Due to poor weather and lack of outdoor activities, the family + one was gathered in the livingroom. My parents on one sofa, dad holding an arm around my mom as they read from the same book, my brother in the armchair and Bucky on the other sofa, everyone reading a variety of something. They all looked up as I entered the room, feigning surprise that I had finally joined them.

'Good afternoon stranger.' my father chuckled. I kissed my mothers cheek in greeting, she smiled sweetly and squeezed my hand in response as I passed them.

'About time you graced us with your prescence' Bucky teased, making my brother and mother join in with the cheerful joking.

I smirked and shook my head, waving my hands dissmissively, 'Very funny, I blame the weather.' I said and gestured toward the sky, sitting down on the empty seat next to Bucky. I laid my legs in his lap and leaned back against the armrest, propping my head up on a pillow. A conversation was struck up, talking about what I had missed, discussing resent books and making plans for tomorrow, it seemed like we'd go to the beach. Ocasionally, Bucky would grab and squeeze my legs when talking, in the same way some people gestured to get their point across.

As the chill of the evening drew closer, we lit a fire in the hearth and grabbed blankets. But a shortage occured, so I had to move closer to Bucky, he laid an arm across my shoulder as I curled up intill him so one blanket would be enough for the both of us. We grabbed a few bottles of wine, dusted off the old board games and got down to business. A heated game of monopoly ensued, followed by a short dinner break, eventually resulting in very drunk charades. Bucky and I teamed up, two versus three and we won regardless. Were all very competitve people, safe to say that none of us went to bed feeling very sportsmanlike that night. As the evening wound down, so did our energy, the wine was taking its toll. My legs were tucked against Buckys chest as I leaned my head against his shoulder, he circled his arms around my legs and rested his chin on my knees. Lazily the five of us talked for a while longer, enjoying the pleasent atmosphere of the night while we were still contious to do so. Eventually though, as laughs turned into yawns, Bucky and I offered to stay behind and clean up while the other three departed. Tidying went by quickly, we made a good team. As I discarded the last of the dishes in the sink, he put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead, trying to keep his focus on my eyes, 'Go to bed, doll. I got the rest.' He said, smiling sweetly, attempting to act sober and rubbed my shoulders tenderly.

I looked at him with hazy eyes, 'If you say so.' I answered, smiling lazily, then went upstairs. Between our rooms, there was a french balcony. It stood wide open, my parents had presumably opened it in a drunk hot-flash to let air in. I was headed for my room, but my mind drifted to the crisp, sublte wind calling my name. My feet changed direction by themselves, and magically I appeared in the opening.

Leaned against the doorframe, I fell half asleep, the rain had devolved into a drizzle, but the air was damp and pleasantly chilly against my skin. Involuntairy shivers took over my body, but I was to tired to move. I heard distant footsteps behind me, coming and going, and eventually coming back again. The steps approached and strong arms circled around my shoulders, a warm body pressing up against my back. He'd covered himself with a blanket, holding the ends in his hands and gift wrapped me into his embrace. I held onto his forearms, a smile kn my lips as I basked in his warmth.

He rested his head on my shoulder, 'You were gonna freeze.' He explained himself, whispering against my ear and sending a cold shiver through my spine. I leaned my head back against his chest, sighing happily as we stood silently, appreciating eachothers presence. I drunk his scent in as our breaths matched up, the birds singing for us once again.

'I want my cigs back.' I complained, drunkenly disturbing our peaceful moment.

Bucky chuckled, 'I dont want you to get cancer.' He protested, half-joking.

I turned around, alcohol causing the bounderies of a long friendship to blur. I placed my hands on his chest and met his eyes, looking at him through my lashes, making them as big and pretty as a puppys 'Please?' I asked kindly.

He looked at me with adoration in his gaze, removing the blanket from himself and covering my shoulders with it. A smirk curved his lips as he looked at me, shaking his head in defeat. Wordslessly his manmersism spoke for him, 'Youre bad news." they told me, and this it would get the better of him. He grabbed my hand and led me into his room. Once inside he let go of me, opened his window and began rummaging around his dresser. I leaned my back against the windowsill, grabbing the lighter from my pocket and crossed my arms, wrapping the blanket tighter around me as I waited, watching him with a smile on my lips. His arm shot up into the air, displaying the packet proudly as he found them, 'I'll give you, one.' He told me quietly, a stern expression on his face.

My mouth fell open in disbelief, 'I payed for them!' I exclaimed, forgetting myself. Bucky put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and walked up to me. He took a cigarette out of the pack and opened his hand expectantly, I gave him the lighter and he lit his cig, taking a puff and leaving it between his lips. He rested his elbows on the windowsill behind me and leaned forward, leveling his head with mine. Moving past my head, gracing my cheek with his as he blew the smoke out of the window, then leaned back. He had one arm on each side of me, crossed behind my back, he had me pinned between him and the window. Our faces were inches apart, both painfully aware that this wasnt appropriate of a daughter and the family friend, but the wine had pushed out any reason or logic of our minds. I couldnt help but look away, suddenly shy. Luring a smile from him as he observed the way a blush crept its way up my cheeks. I took the cig from him, my fingertips acidentally grazing his lips, and placed it between my own. I took a puff and faced him again, our eyes locked, sharing hidden thoughts through transparent gazes.

Energy sizzled in the air, building onto the tension between us, magnetizing it, pulling at the invisible string that connected us. 'Let me taste.' He whispered, inching closer. I hesitated, before slowly exhaling the smoke as he breathed it in, sharing the toxic cloud between us, poisoning our judgement. I felt myself drawn closer to him, the string pulling taunt on both ends, his lips a mere ghost over mine. Temptation coarsed through our veins, causing heavy breathing as we fought our urges. But we both gave in, in the end.

Our lips met in a soft kiss, he moved his arms from the windowsill and grabbed my waist. I was taken off guard, but welcomingly so. Complicated feelings bounced through my mind, but I couldnt back down now. I hurridly snuffed out the cigarette against the sill and snaked my hands around his neck as I kissed him back, pulling him closer. His hands found their way under my shirt, sliding up my torso until his fingertips touched the plush flesh of my breasts. He inhaled sharply, the oxygen returning to his brain as common sense flooded back to him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, this was his best friends daughter. He tore free from the claws of desire, grabbing my arms and unhooking them from his neck, he backed up. I reached out for him, but he pulled away, sitting down at the end of his bed, he laid his head in his hands, a labored sigh leaving him.

'We cant, you know we cant.' He whispered, voice muffled against his palms. I did know, but I couldnt help it. I sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around his, grabbing his bicep as I rested my head against his shoulder. He sat straighter, letting one of his hands fall to my knee as the other stroked my hair, he kissed the top of my head.

'I just- Why did it turn out this way?' I asked him quietly, my voice quivering 'I know we cant, but. . .' I paused, thinking of the right words. His hand slid from my hair to gently caress my cheek, then tracing his fingers finger along my jaw until they found purchase under my chin and tilted my face to meet his. I searched his gaze for something unknow to me, 'I need you.' I whispered foolishly, my eyes watering, 'This is all your fault you know, your stupid smile and caring words.' I laughed mirthlessly, keeping my eyes locked on his, as a tear threatened to fall.

He cupped my face with boths hands, looking at me with a sorrowful expression as he leaned his forehead against mine.

'Bucky, please.' I whispered, leaning into his touch 'If you cant have me, stop this.' I pulled one of his hands from my face, clasping my own around it and kissed his palm softly before letting it fall to my lap.

'I cant get stuck. . . Wanting your love if you cannot give it to me.' I told him quietly, squeezing his hand as my voice broke, I leaned back, meeting his eyes again, pleading, 'Please say something.'

But he remained quiet as his eyes welled, admiring my blushed, tear streaked face.

My eyebrows furrowed, not understanding how he could be so cruel. A tear finally rolled down my cheek and my chin quivered in disbelief, I was nothing more than a naive girl to him.

I looked away, not wanting him to see the pain he caused me. I took his silence as a rejection and moved to stand, but he grabbed my wrist, stopping me from leaving, 'Let me go.' I cried silently, unwilling to face him as tears streamed down my cheeks. I stood again, pulling, trying to unclasp my hand from his grip but I could not, 'Please Buck, I cant do this.' I croaked, looking up at the ceiling as I tried to blink my tears away.

'Look at me.' He ordered softly, but I refused. 'Doll.' He whispered in warning, but hearing his name for me only made my cry harder, I pulled on his grip again but he was unrelenting. 'Sit, please.' He asked this time, desperation burried in his voice.

'No.' I answered, resolute.

As I was not cooperating, he took matters into his own hands. He pulled me back down and cupped my face as kissed me harshly, I fought him out of anger, but quickly melted into his touch, all was forgiven, it had always been.

He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth, moaning from just the taste of me. My hands found their way to his brown locs, burrying themselves, while his hands felt their way down my body. We fell backwards onto the bed and he cilimbed on top of me, pushing his knee between my legs to separate them. His lips found my neck, trailing kisses from my jaw to collarbone as his hand kneaded its way up my thigh, my skirt catching on his wrist. His lips left my skin as he sat up, scaring me for a moment as I thought he changed his mind. But he climbed down to the foot of the bed, knees on the floor and hooked his hands under my kees, pulling me to the edge of the bed. His hands found my panties and ripped them off, I gasped from the sudden gust of cold air hitting my wet core. He kissed my thighs, licking and nipping as he worked his way inwards, panting inbetween pecks, desperate to taste me. He looked up at me, meeting my eyes as he hovered over my core, his breath fanning over my clit, he looked like a crazed mad man. The anticipation was overflowing, I bit my lip, nodding for him to go ahead and he dove in. Lapping at my clit, tasting me. I almost screamed from the sudden sensation, but covered my mouth at the last second. I rutted my hips against him, hoping for further friction, but his hands grabbed my hips, holding me down so he could please with intention. I whined, grabbing at the sheets, pulling on them for support, It wasnt enough.

'More, more.' I moaned, and he obligingly latched onto my clit, sucking as two of his fingers found their way inside me, thrusting and curling at my pleasure. Breathy moans escaped me as I was getting closer to cumming.

'Close, real close' I managed with a mumbling voice, he squeezed my hip in reassurance, telling me it was alright. I hummed as the knot in my stumache pulled tighter, he pushed another finger inside me and im convinced I saw the light. I came tumbling over the edge, stiffling another scream by shoving my face into the bed. And as I was catching my breath, he kissed his way back up to me, climbing on top once again, he snaked one arm under my back to pull my shirt off, freeing my breasts, then lifted my hips to take my skirt off, followed by his own shirt and sweats. He was huge, no surpise there.

'You okay?' He asked, and I hummed in response, cupping his face and pulling him back up to my lips, kissing him with a burning passion. He pulled back, 'Use your words girl.' He said sternly.

'Need you.' I whispered, kissing him again.

'You sure doll?' he asked against my lips, I nodded enthusiastically.

'Please, Ive never wanted anything more.' I assured him. He hooked my leg onto his knee, raising it to get better access to my opening. I circled my other leg around his hip and he lined himself up with my entrance.

'Look at me.' He ordered again, and I met his eyes, gazes locked deeply as his tip teased my entrance. I admired his beautiful face as I circled my arms around his shoulders, preparing for whatever was to come. Suddenly he slid inside me and we gasped in unisome, he didnt move for a second so I could get used to his size. He stroked a strand of hair behind my ear as he admired my face, 'My beautiful girl.' He whispered, making my heart beat faster.

He pulled out of me and thrusted in again softly, setting a slow but intent pace. Each thrust took my breath away, all the while he was grunting in my ear. His hand found its way to my throat, closing around it and squeezed, putting slight pressure on it and stealing another moannfrom me in the process. He graced his nose against my cheek, kissing my jaw as he thrusted deeper, and I met them with desperate ruts, 'C'mon doll, just like that.' He encouraged me in a breathy voice, that alone couldve been enough to make me cum. He trailed kisses down my chest and latched onto my breast, taking it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at my nipple as his hand found the other, kneading it intently.

'Getting- closer.' I hummed, but his thrusting slowed, eventually stopping completley. 'Buck?' I questioned, and he let go of my breasts, pulling out of me completley, pleasure and confusion mixed my mind into a strange mess. He backed up, grabbed my legs, raising them and in one solid motion hooked them onto his shoulders and thrust into me again, deeper than ever before. A loud moan tore through me, to blided by the feeling that I completley forgot about being silent. His hand quickly covered my mouth as he began a ruthlessly deep and hard pace, rocking my entire body. His mouth quickly replaced his hand, kissing me deepley, passionateley, in rythm with his thrusts.

'Almost there, doll.' He mumbled between kisses, I nodded, not able to for words, but I was close to. The knot in my stumache terribly close to coming undone once again. His thrustingbecame rougher, harder as he closed in on his orgasm, hitting that sweet spot every time. Our breaths were nothing more than frenzied moans, his pace faltered, giving it all he had for a few last thrusts before we both came undone. Warm liquid spurting into me as he collpased on top of me, resting his head in the crook of my neck and kissing my skin softly as we cought or breath, 'Good girl.' He whispered, 'My good, good girl.' He panted, still inside me as his seed slowly, sippered out of me.

My heart fluttered at his words as I fought to keep my eyes open, the alcohol and exhaustion from the day along with the bliss of our secret activities were catching up to us. He laid an arm around my ribbcage, pulling me closer to him, I hooked my leg over his hip and curled up to him. I gave him a quick peck on the lips as he kissed my forehead, and we fell asleep in eachothers arms.

I woke up later in the night, but in my own room. I wouldve thought I had dreamt it all if it wasnt for the blanket tucked tightly around me, still smelling of him.

Read part two HERE <3

[basset-babe]

five times: the three point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, anger, frustration, maybe hurtful words, smut!, endearing names during, (semi?) public sex, praise, explicit language, fingering, societal pressure rant

word count: 3.2k+

a/n: heh i finished season 3 heh i'm in (series) bridgerton bliss heh so diz iz smut pls enjoy!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the three point five.

But it didn't feel right. Benedict just sinking down the velvet cushion chair, his mind stirred. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should do something, a sense of urgency gnawing at his insides.

With a sudden burst of determination, he shot up from the chair, nearly knocking over the glass of champagne on the near side table. Without a second glance at the luscious party or the puzzled expressions of the guests, he made a beeline for the door.

As Benedict pushed through onto the street, the cacophony of the party faded behind him. The crisp night air hit his face, sharpening his focus. He ignored the calls of their acquaintances and other partygoers who were gathered in the rooms, their faces blurred into indistinct shapes as he hurried past.

"Bridgerton! Where are you going?" someone shouted, but he paid no heed.

Benedict's footsteps quickened as he navigated through the dimly lit streets, each step a beat in the frantic rhythm of his heart. The city around him seemed a world apart from the glittering townhouse he had left behind. Here, shadows loomed large, and the quiet was punctuated only by the distant sounds of life continuing in other corners of the city. He scanned the shadows, heart pounding. Y/N was here somewhere. He just knew it.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice breaking the stillness. No response. He took a few steps further into the garden, the soft crunch of gravel under his feet the only sound accompanying him.

"Y/N, please!" he called again, louder this time, desperation edging his tone. Still, nothing. The garden seemed vast and empty, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes.

Then, by the shops, he saw her silhouette. She was by a lamp post with her back to him, shoulders stiff, her cloaked figure barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the trees. He felt a pang of guilt and longing. He had to make this right.

"Y/N," he said once more, softer now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter her already fragile state. He took a hesitant step towards her. "Please, just listen to me."

She didn’t move, didn’t turn to face him. Her silence, heavy and palpable, filled the space between them, echoing louder than any words she could have spoken. The memory of their confrontation at the party played over and over in his mind – the sting of her harsh words, the intensity of her anger, the rawness of her hurt. Each moment replayed like a relentless loop, haunting him with regret. He longed to rewind time, to undo the pain he had caused.

The gossip sheet had been the final straw. His name splashed across the scandalous pages, seen kissing Lady Arnold, while all of the ton knew he was actively courting Miss Y/N. The look on her face when she saw it had been devastating. Accusations flew, voices rose, and the bitter sting of betrayal hung in the room air.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N, look at me."

She remained motionless, her back still to him, the tension between them palpable, hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken accusation. Benedict hesitated, each step closer feeling like a tentative negotiation with the silence that enveloped them. He paused a moment, weighing his next move, acutely aware of the fragile thread that still tethered them together.

As he stood there, uncertainty gnawed at him. He wanted to bridge the distance, to erase the hurt that lay between them. Yet, the fear of shattering what little remained held him back. His hand hovered in the air, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and comfort, to mend the rift he had unwittingly deepened.

But words failed him, swallowed by the weight of their shared history and the unspoken emotions that lingered in the space between them. Benedict searched for a way to break the silence, to convey the depths of his regret without risking further damage. Each heartbeat stretched the moment, until finally, he found his voice, tentative and raw with emotion.

"Lady Arnold and I… we shared a brief dalliance. It was a period of self-discovery for me," He elucidated regarding his now scandalized association. "There came a time when she developed feelings for me, but I reveled in my independence. That was until I became utterly captivated by you. When I saw you for the first time, I was astonished to see your family amongst the ton, but never did I anticipate encountering you, Y/N. With your grace and beauty so exquisite, you appeared beyond my grasp, yet I felt compelled to pursue you nonetheless."

Y/N felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her as she absorbed his words. She took a deep, steadying breath before responding, trying to calm her racing heart. "I... I find myself at a loss for words. Your candor has always been something I admired, and I am grateful for your honesty. But this revelation is quite overwhelming and rather sudden."

He took a step closer, his eyes fervently searching hers for understanding. "I am fully aware of how daunting this must be, but I could no longer keep my feelings concealed. Meeting you altered the very fabric of my existence. Lady Arnold is a relic of my past, but you... you embody my present and my future."

Y/N's words spilled forth in a torrent of anger and frustration, her voice trembling with emotion. "But what of the scandal? The relentless gossip of the ton? I am but a woman, Benedict. The ton is far less forgiving to me than it is to you!" Her frustration simmered beneath the surface, barely contained. "You must understand, my reputation hangs by a thread. A single misstep, and I am cast aside, deemed unworthy of respect. Society demands I conform, be a paragon of virtue, a mere homemaker, and nothing more. My worth reduced to how well I can maintain a household, marry advantageously, and produce heirs."

She paced with agitation, each step a declaration of defiance against societal expectations. "You, as a man, have the luxury of making mistakes, of being celebrated as a rogue in drawing rooms and clubs. Meanwhile, every action of mine is scrutinized, dissected, and condemned. Stepping outside the bounds of propriety threatens not just my reputation but my very existence in this suffocating world. The ton is merciless to women who dare to challenge its rigid norms."

Y/N paused, her eyes flashing with unshed tears of anger and injustice. "I am constantly reminded that my sole purpose is to secure a respectable marriage, to be a submissive wife and dutiful mother. Any ambition beyond that is deemed scandalous, improper. The freedom you take for granted is a distant dream for me, a privilege I may never attain. Do you comprehend the weight of all this? To defy this conservative society is a battle for my very identity, for my right to exist as more than society's pawn!" Her voice cracked with raw emotion, the depth of her anger laid bare. The enormity of the challenge ahead loomed large, and she awaited Benedict's response with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability, daring him to understand the gravity of her plight.

Benedict's eyes locked onto hers with unwavering resolve, "I understand the gravity of what you are saying, Y/N. The societal constraints placed upon you are both unjust and formidable. The double standards are abhorrent, and I cannot pretend to fully comprehend the weight you bear."

He took her hands in his, his voice gentle yet firm. "But know this: I do not take lightly what I am asking of you. I see your strength, your intelligence, and your grace, all of which transcend the narrow confines society seeks to impose upon you. You are so much more than a mere homemaker, and you deserve to be seen and valued for all that you are."

Benedict paused, his eyes softening as he continued. "I cannot change the society we live in overnight, but I can promise you that I will stand by your side through the whispers of this very scandal. We will face the ton together, and I will protect your honor and dignity with every fiber of my being."

He gently clasped her hand, his touch a balm to her anxiety. "Let them gossip and speculate. I am prepared to face any adversity, endure any scandal, if it means I can be with you."

Y/N met his intense gaze, searching for any trace of doubt. "Are you genuinely ready for that? To withstand the scrutiny and judgment? For once we embark on this path, there will be no retreat."

He squeezed her hand, his resolve unwavering. "I am more ready than ever. You are worth every challenge, every whispered condemnation. I love you, Y/N. And I am resolved to fight for us, regardless of the cost--"

Benedict's intent profession of his love was cut as Y/N kissed him. His eyes widened in shock but closed as he felt her soft wine-tinged lips in his.

His initial shock melted into a surge of warmth that spread through his entire being. For a fleeting moment, the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the sensation of her touch and the taste of her on his lips.

He fervently responded to her kiss, his hands instinctively finding hers, pulling her closer. The moment seemed suspended in time, filled with the heady mix of desire and tenderness. His mind raced with unspoken words of love, now rendered unnecessary by this spontaneous and passionate gesture from Y/N.

As their kiss deepened, Benedict's senses heightened, acutely aware of every detail—the softness of her lips, the faint floral scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath mingling with his. It was a dance of intimacy, a silent exchange of emotions that spoke volumes beyond any words could convey.

Their surroundings faded into obscurity as Benedict and Y/N surrendered to the intoxicating pull of their embrace. The cool touch of the ivy-surrounded shop door against Y/N's back contrasted with the warmth radiating from Benedict's body, igniting a fire of desire between them.

Benedict, towering over her with a commanding presence, deepened the kiss with a hunger that mirrored his longing. His hands, large and gentle, roamed with purpose—tracing the curve of her waist, skimming along her spine, sending shivers of anticipation through her body.

Y/N's own hands trembled as they explored Benedict's form, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair and tracing the strong lines of his jaw. Every touch was electric, every caress a testament to their shared passion and unspoken yearning.

Their kiss deepened further, each tender exploration of lips and tongues igniting passion that neither could deny. Benedict's hands, firm yet gentle, explored the contours of Y/N's body with a reverence born of adoration and desire. His fingertips traced the curve of her back, eliciting a soft gasp from her as he pulled her closer, molding their bodies together in a seamless fit.

Y/N's back pressed against the cool wood of the shop door, a stark contrast to the heat that surged between them. She felt the solid strength of Benedict's chest against hers, his heartbeat echoing her own racing pulse. Her hands, trembling with need, traced the strong lines of his shoulders, then slid down his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

Their bodies pressed closer together, the urgency of their desire palpable in the air. Benedict's lips continued their trail of heated kisses, moving from Y/N's chin to the curve of her neck, where he traced delicate patterns with the tip of his tongue. Benedict moved her cloak aside and her sleeve down. His hands, strong and possessive, slid down her back, pulling her hips against his with an unspoken need.

Y/N's breath hitched as she felt friction between them, her fingers threading through Benedict's hair, urging him closer. Each sensation, from the soft pressure of his lips to the warmth of his touch, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She surrendered to the overwhelming intensity of their connection, her own hands exploring the contours of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch.

Lost in the haze of desire, Benedict whispered words of adoration against her skin, his voice husky with longing. "Be mine," he breathed, his lips trailing back up to capture hers in a searing kiss. Their mouths melded together hungrily, tongues tangling in a dance, igniting sparks of electricity that seemed to arc between them. In that moment, beneath the canopy of ivy and flowers, they were consumed by the passion that had simmered between them for so long. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the primal need that bound them together, transcending any societal expectations or judgments.

Time seemed to stand still as they reveled in the ecstasy of each other's touch, their bodies moving in a symphony of desire and longing. Benedict's touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He savored the taste of her lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin, imprinting every sensation into his memory.

Y/N's leg gracefully lifted, curling around Benedict's side as she drew herself closer to him, as if wishing to remove space around them for the nth time. His hand gently traced the edge of her skirt, his gaze meeting hers as her kiss-dazed eyes fluttered open. Their eyes remained locked, speaking volumes in the silent exchange of desire. With a nod of affirmation, she conveyed her consent. Benedict's expression held a mixture of reverence and need, his movements careful and deliberate as he lifted her leg slightly, allowing his touch to travel further up, tracing the intricate patterns of her stockings.

Benedict's touch was tender, his fingers tracing the delicate lace that adorned the edge of Y/N's stockings. The fabric was smooth beneath his touch, a contrast to the warmth of her skin as his hand moved upward with a feather-light caress. Y/N's breath caught in anticipation, her heartbeat quickening with each gentle stroke along her thigh.

Y/N's lips parted slightly, a soft moan escaping as she leaned closer to him, her hand finding its way to rest against his chest. The sensation of his fingers against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a deeper yearning within her. Y/N bit her lip to suppress her soft whimpers as Benedict's fingers touched her velvet core. "I have never been touched...like this." Y/N says in between catching her breath and quieting herself down.

As her chemise rose, granting Benedict to caress her already dripping entrance, "Never?" He asks as he withdraws his hand from her skirts and licks his glistening slick-coated fingers, "But you taste so sweet like ambrosia, my lady. So delectable, all this nectar for me to savour." He smirks as his flustered lady hangs her mouth agape at his provocative statement.

"Well, I haven't--I never really...I just--" Y/N blushes and fails to complete her words as she looks at the handsome gentleman basking in her virgin sex. Benedict's lips curved into a knowing smile as he pressed against hers with a fervent intensity. His index finger trails the sensitive bud down towards teasing her entrance. Y/N moans in their kiss as her state rendered her sensitive. Her hand grasps his arm as Benedict rubs her clit in circular motions.

"Such a goddess, my darling, my muse." Benedict whispers in her ear as their kiss breaks and Y/N breaths harder, pressing her cheek by Benedict's ear where he can, now, hear her suppressed moans and hitched breaths as she feels pure ecstasy under his touch.

"Ben-Bendict, what is happen-happening to me?" She whispers as she feels her abdomen in knots as he rubs faster. "Let it go, love. Finish for me." Benedict says as he notices you swell on his fingertips. Y/N mind buzzes listlessly as she reaches her climax. Her hips bucking as Benedict now inserts two digits in her cunt leaving Y/N mewling as his fingers speed up, thumb circling her clit, the others buried as far as he can as she rides her high.

Her body surrenders to the rising tide within. With eyes tightly closed, Y/N utter Benedict's name as her core begins to pulse around his touch, her hands grabbing tightly, her every muscle tensing. Her hips arch once more, swept away as the crescendo washes over.

A dribble of wetness runs down Benedict's palm, Y/N's chemise and thighs as the lady feels her mind float away. Distantly, she can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as she catches her breath remembering they are still by the shop door near the square. Satiated, Y/N slowly brings her leg down but too shaky to balance.

Y/N is startled as a warm hand circles her waist, bringing her abruptly back into reality. Benedict looms over her, shielding her to any passerby, with his chest heaving, too. The two were lucky that it's quite possibly the dead of night. No one could've seen what ecstatic pleasure just unfolded between them at all.

As they finally parted, breathless and flushed with desire, Benedict gazed into Y/N's eyes with newfound reverence. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "I never knew I could feel this way. You've utterly bewitched me." With gentle care, he rolled up her sleeves and adjusted her cloak, his fingers lingering on the fabric as if reluctant to let her go.

Y/N followed his hands, then met his gaze, her eyes glassy and her cheeks tinted with a delicate blush. She could feel the intensity of the moment, the weight of their pining hanging in the air. "And you've captured me in ways I never imagined possible, Benedict," she murmured, her voice trembling with her throat dry. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm that echoed her racing thoughts.

"The Bridgertons are hosting a ball in a few days' time, and I know you will be attending," he said, his voice a mix of hope and yearning. Y/N nodded in response, her heart pounding in anticipation. "Might I have the honor of a dance, my lady?"

Y/N amusingly quipped, "Of course—just as long as you promise not to step on my toes."

Benedict chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I promise to let you lead, as long as you promise me one thing," he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"And what might that be?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, her pulse quickening.

"Save me every dance," he whispered, his words carrying the weight of his desire, sending a delightful shiver down her spine. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like the only woman in the world.

With a playful smile, she replied, "Only if you promise to sweep me off my feet."

Benedict's smile widened, his heart swelling with joy. "It's a promise, my lady," he vowed, his voice low and filled with promise.

Their laughter mingled together, a harmonious blend of shared joy and anticipation, as they contemplated the upcoming ball—a night destined to overflow with enchantment, passion, and moments that quicken the heart. The atmosphere hummed with unspoken sentiments and burgeoning emotions, each glance and touch affirming the deepening connection between them.

The two walked to the street corner as a footman was hailed for Y/N's carriage. As Benedict took her hand to bid farewell as the carriage arrived, he brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across it. "Until then," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until then," she echoed, her voice a whisper of promise.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars // @shonteriasunshine // @melsunshine // @bollzinurmouth // @kneelforloki // @reiluvr // @eddiiiieeee // @wishyoudaskme // @caspianobsessed

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! thanks loves <3!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Fallen || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!devil!reader Summary: When a young driver wants to make a deal with the devil to get his greatest desire you find yourself forgetting what side of Heaven and Hell you are on. Warnings: supernatural themes, mention of deaths (Jules, Hervé & Hubert), angst, fluff WC: 5k

F1 Masterlist || Bonus Scene

16th October 2013 The kid had no business standing at the crossroads. What could a boy need so desperately that he was willing to part with his soul for it? But it wasn’t your place to question, merely to answer. 

The boy murmured to himself as he knelt on the gravel and started to dig with a pink trowel he had borrowed from his mothers gardening tools. The quiet mutterings brought you amusement as you thought of the surprise he would get when his doubt was proven wrong and you appeared.

He carefully followed the instructions inked on the page that had been torn from a very old book. He reached up to his dark hair with a small pocket knife and cut away a small patch before laying it in the hole he had made. Turning the knife on himself, he whined as he pricked the tip of his finger and squeezed it until three thick blood drops fell onto the strands of his hair.

You would usually laugh at the poor attempt of the incantation to call upon you but instead you sighed as you grew tired of the theatrics. 

“What do you want, kid?”

A small shriek filled the night as he fell back on his ass. “But…but…you…but…”

“Shit, you’re not even old enough to talk properly,” you said as you knelt down to his height. “Go home.”

His mouth snapped closed before scrambling to his feet and wiping the dust that covered his jeans. “Sorry, you gave me a fright. I was expecting…” he looked around and frowned, “never mind. Do you need help?”

“No, do you?” 

He looked genuinely concerned as he searched the dark road and you tipped your head to the side before you remembered that to a human you looked like a 21 year old. It didn’t matter that you had roamed the world for a thousand years, your physical form remained the same.

“I guess not,” he sighed as his shoulders slumped and he kicked his vans at the loose stones as he whispered, “it didn’t work anyway.”

“It was your pronunciation, Latin is a tough language. I’ll let you in on a secret, you can say the incantation in any language and it will work.” You leaned in closer and chuckled darkly. “The devil just enjoys torturing people.” 

“But…but…”

“Great, we’re back to that, are we?” You rolled your eyes and opened your palm, a ball of fire erupting into the night and the scent of sulphur lingering after the flame burned out. “What did you expect when you called me?”

“You…you’re the…dev…”

“Devil,” you offered as his face paled and he stumbled backwards. “Say it with me. De-vil.”

“You’re the devil? But you look like an angel.”

“More or less, there’s actually a lot of us.” You clapped him on the back and grinned when he jumped. “So what can I do for you, kid?”

“I heard you could grant wishes.”

“I’m not a genie, I’m a dealer,” you said with a shake of your head. “You tell me your dream and I make it happen, for a price.”

He chewed on his lip, his conscience trying to warn him it was a bad idea. “What price?”

You flicked your hand out and the piece of paper on the ground flew into your fingers. “You know the price. How old are you anyway, kid?”

“I’m sixteen, today actually.” 

“Congratulations!” You frowned as it didn’t sound quite right and he did the same. “Wait, it’s happy birthday, isn’t it? We don’t exactly have them since we are fallen, not born.”

“That's really sad.”

“Hell help me, you are an emotional one.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the waves of empathy rolling off the teenager. “Listen, I’m all up for taking souls, it’s my job and I’m pretty good at it, but you seem like a nice guy so I’ll help you out pro bono as long as you don’t cry.”

“Really?” His excitement was almost as infectious as his smile as he grinned at your offer and you could tell that with a few more years of growth and maturity he would be as handsome as those goody-good angels.

“Really. So what’s your dream? And don’t go all ‘Disneyland’ and that shit, make it big.”

“I want to be a Formula One World Champion.”

“Fuck, okay, I said big not gigantic,” you said as you cracked your neck and then your knuckles before rolling your shoulders. “That will take some time to pull off, but we got this, kid.”

“Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc,” he said as he held his hand out. “Do devils have names?”

“Of course we have names, but names have power and I don’t know you well enough to share mine with you.” You shook his hand and he jumped a little at the heat difference since the hellfire made you run hotter than humans. That same heat flickered up your spine as you felt another calling at a crossroad half a world away and so you stepped away. “I’ll check in once a year to see your progress.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

You laughed darkly as thick smoke began to gather at your feet where the earth was opening to your home realm. The teen yelped as a lick of flame encircled his wrist but the scar that appeared just as quickly healed so no one would know he had been marked by the devil.  “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2014 “I wasn’t sure you would actually come, I thought you were a figment of my imagination.”

You stepped out of the shadows and looked around the modest home that should have been full of his friends celebrating his 17th birthday. The air was thick with grief and it made your back ache from the weight of it bearing down on you as you watched the teenager stand with his back to you at a bookcase.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured as you walked over to him and saw his eyes fixated on a photo. 

Placing the photo back carefully on the shelf he turned and you saw the difference a year had made. “I want to make a deal. My soul, take it.”

“Woah, slow down, Birthday Boy, you don’t know what you are offering.”

“I don’t care, I just need him to be alright.” Tears were swimming in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and squeezed tightly. “Fix Jules, please.”

Unable to resist, you reached out and touched the tear that ran down his cheek. Pain obliterated your chest, crushing your insides as waves of memories flooded your senses until you knew Jules just as well as he did.

For the first time since your fall a thousand years ago, you were envious of the angel you had been. You wanted to be the cause of his hope, but that wasn’t something you could give and you tugged your hand from his hold before they could blister his skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Bullshit! You are a dealer, you said so yourself.”

“That’s not how it works, Charles, I’m a devil. Don’t you see? The deals I make are selfish, the things people want for themselves. You want a miracle,” you sighed and felt the familiar ache where your wings once were, “I can’t do those anymore.”

“You got me into Formula Renault.”

“You got yourself there, kid,” you said as you stepped away. “I just whispered a few suggestions to people I knew would listen.”

It was a little more threatening involved but you weren’t going to let him know that. You hadn’t needed to do anything other than get someone to give him a chance since he had the talent to win all on his own.

“There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his green eyes swimming with tears.

You sighed as you stepped away, rubbing your temple as if you could actually get a migraine like a human could. “I can’t make any promises, but…let me see what I can do.”

You faded from the room before you could see the hope that filled his face and followed the memory of his visit to Jules, finding yourself in the shadows of a hospital room. The room was empty except for the young man laying on the bed, wires and tubes keeping his breathing steady. You were struck by the pain you felt and knew it wasn’t real but the lingering effects of sharing Charles’ memory of him, but that knowledge still didn’t ease the ache.

“Azrael, come down here.”

It only took a second for the angel to appear and she didn’t look pleased at being called away from her duties.

“You’re not an archangel anymore, you can’t just snap your fingers at me.”

“Obviously I can since you showed,” you pointed out. “I need a favour.”

“You don’t do favours,” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

“I do now. I need you to leave him alone.”

Azrael looked at the comatose man before reaching forward and touching his forehead and shaking her head. “He’s one of ours, he has to come with me soon.”

“You have no sense of time, whatsoever. Soon could be 50 years from now.” You crossed your arms and stared the death angel down. “I’ll deny three souls in exchange for his life.”

“You’d turn down three deals for Jules? Who is he to you?”

“No one, but he means everything to someone else. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal, he has until I next come back down, no more.”

You nodded in agreement hoping her sporadic trips to earth erred on a lengthier time away this round. Unfurling her wings, you felt a pang of jealousy arise as you watched her fade away only to hear the strong beats of her wings carry her higher.

You aparated back to Charles and found him slumped in a leather reading chair, an album of photos open on his lap. Droplets splattered on plastic sleeves, only to smear into streaks as he wiped them away at your arrival.

“I bought him some time,” you said softly as you fell into the seat opposite him. “I can’t say how long because I don’t know but for now he will live.”

Charles dropped the book as he fell to his knees and clutched your hand tightly, the gesture making you uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he choked as his tears hit your knee through the rip in your skinny jeans and turned to steam. He didn’t seem to be affected by the heat radiating off you, he didn’t seem to feel it at all as he closed his eyes and rested his head on your joined hands. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” you said ruefully, pulling your hand back from the touch. “Healing was never my gift. He will have to do that on his own.”

“He will, I know he will,” Charles said with certainty as he rose to his feet. “He’s the strongest man that I know.”

You stood up with a nod and realised this year he was the same height as you, seeing eye to eye after his latest growth spurt.

“I hope you are right,” you said, feeling the floor start to give way beneath you as you willed yourself home. “Until next year, Birthday Boy.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled at the smell of sulphur filling the room and he stepped back at the sight of the black plume swirling around your boots. “You don’t have to wait a year, you can visit anytime.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” you laughed as the smoke climbed higher.

“Just because you’re the devil, it doesn’t make you bad,” he said with a shy shrug. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

He was right in the fact you had been kind, something no one else would say about you. You couldn’t explain why you were different with him, why you couldn’t treat him like any other advantageous young man wanting to get ahead. There would surely be hell to pay if word ever got out about it.

The smoke reached your throat and pulled you down. “Maybe I made a mistake.”

16th October 2015 Charles would never know it but you had visited him throughout the year. You had kept to the shadows, watching from afar as he graduated to Formula 3 and came one step closer to reaching his dream. You were there by his side when he received the phone call that had devastated him, you had felt Azrael’s presence on the mortal plane and immediately went to him. You didn’t reveal yourself, not when the gut wrenching sound he made had you hate having fallen. You could offer him nothing so you remained hidden, torturing yourself with the knowledge of what could have been.

It was a little before midnight when you arrived at the busy nightclub. You should have just apparated into a bathroom stall but instead you had to produce a fake ID so the bouncer would let you in.

“Guess I can’t call you kid anymore,” you said as you found Charles in the VIP area and took a seat beside him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Who’s this angel, Charles?” his friend asked with a confident grin.

You tipped your head back with a laugh before you recovered enough to say, “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, but you call me D.”

Charles nearly choked on his drink at the snort he gave. “What are you doing here, D? I don’t remember inviting you.”

You leaned closer to see his cheeks flushed pink with the alcohol he was now legally allowed to imbibe in and whispered, “There’s only one place I need an invitation, and despite the name on the door outside - this isn’t Heaven.”

With a huff of annoyance he stood up and made his way out of the VIP area to the packed dance floor. Knowing everyone was completely inebriated you didn’t bother to follow him, instead you suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Leave me alone,” Charles growled as he turned his back, but everywhere he went you were in front of him.

Finally he gave up escaping and you shoved a hand on your hip as you asked, “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem? You lied to me, that’s what!” The drink in his hand spilled over the rim of the glass with the angry shaking overtaking his body. “Jules died…and you weren’t even there. You never visited me and…I needed you. I needed to know why!”

You took the glass from him and tipped the liquid back, relishing the burn of the alcohol down your throat as he stared daggers at you. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, mortal.”

“Well, we never made a deal, so there’s no need for you to be here, devil.”

The words hurt more than you cared to admit and the glass shattered in your hand, ichor flowing from the wounds before they could heal as quickly as they came. Charles' eyes widened at the dark liquid coating your palm and he almost looked worried for you but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on your heels, the shoes uncomfortable compared to the boots you normally wore but you had wanted to fit in. For him.

“You’re right,” you muttered as you freed your hair from the constricting hair tie and kicked the shoes off. There was nothing to be done about the tight red dress until you were home, but you would be there soon enough. “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2016 Try as you might, you couldn’t stay away. Unbeknownst to Charles, you regularly checked in to see what his latest accomplishments were. As it was, he was leading the Formula 3 Championship and was a sure graduate to Formula 2. He raced like he had the devil breathing down his neck, pushing the boundaries to the brink of disaster.

Maybe he knew you hadn’t abandoned him, or maybe he just didn’t care. You knew you definitely shouldn’t have cared but still you watched him grow into a man and mature as his career evolved.

16th October 2017 You had nearly started another war the day Azrael came for Charles’ father. For three days you stood ready to fight the angel of death for Charles’ biggest supporter while he visited the hospital to say his goodbyes. He had lied to his father, telling Hervé that he had signed to a Formula 1 team for the next year and you promised to make it happen - with or without a soul to bargain.

It wasn’t a difficult task to achieve, a small incident with Pascal Wehrlein making a seat available in Sauber. All Charles had to do was keep his head in the game and go fast like he always did.

When you watched him celebrate his birthday his eyes had glanced around the room and you wondered if it was you he was looking for. It was only when those green eyes landed on a family photo you pushed the silly thought away, he was just missing his father.

16th October 2018 “How long have you been there?” Charles asked the empty room.

How he sensed your presence, you didn’t know, but since you no longer needed to hide it you let the shadows fall away. Turning away from where he had been styling his hair in the mirror, he leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

His room hadn’t changed all that much, Ferrari posters still covered the majority of the walls but they were also joined by some models posing on hoods of cars. The twin bed had been upgraded to a double and was covered in a red and yellow bedspread that clashed with your trademark black outfit as you lay across it.

“How often do you do that?”

“Do what?” you asked innocently as you stared at his ceiling and not his narrowed eyes.

He waved a hand over your leisurely state. “This.”

You got off the bed and stalked across the room to the Formula 1 racer and found you had to look up at him even with the heels on your boots. “Don’t mortals leave home by now? I thought the 21st birthday was some big right of passage.”

You reached for the tub of hair product and sniffed at the vanilla scent before it was swiped from your hand. It smelled edible and there was another scent that was just as good but you weren’t sure what it was or where it was coming from until you leaned closer to him and inhaled.

“I just bought an apartment but it’s not ready for me to move into for a few more weeks. Will you stop that?”

“What is that smell?” Your head was swimming as if you were high but that wasn’t possible. “My head…”

You could barely stand upright as you felt drunk all of a sudden and Charles caught you as you stumbled back. “Sit down,” he said softly as he guided you to the edge of his bed. “Why did you come back?”

Your head lolled onto his shoulder and the room spun as the truth tumbled from your lips. “I never left you,” you admitted, your words slurring as the intoxicating smell left you dazed. “Not when Jules died…or your father, never…”

Charles frowned as your eyes closed and you fell back on his bed. He had spent so long blaming you, being angry at you, believing you had abandoned him when he needed you most but as you murmured in your strange state he realised he had it all wrong. 

“D?” he called out as he shook your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy and you curled into a ball as your stomach churned. “Because I shouldn’t care. You’re just a human.”

“But you do care,” he surmised as he grabbed the blanket and draped it over your shivering body. 

“Devils don’t care.” You could hardly talk through your chattering teeth, the blanket doing nothing to warm the ice that had seeped into your being.

Charles curled himself up against your back and tightened his arms around the blanket as he tried to warm you. Nothing seemed to work until his voice spoke softly in your ear, “Then maybe you’re not like the others.” 

The silence grew and he thought you had passed out when you muttered, “I had nowhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a war…couldn’t choose a side…threw me out.” A yawn silenced your words and you snuggled into his arms, your nose finding that delicious scent strongest on his neck where you nuzzled deeper.

“My cologne,” Charles whispered and you realised you had asked aloud what it was. “You’re like a cat high on catnip.”

“Haven’t been high since I had wings.” You giggled, a sound so unlike you, but it turned to a sad sigh. “I miss my wings.”

Charles brushed your hair back from your face but you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes. “What colour were they?”

“There isn’t a colour to describe them. But you can see it at dawn…look to the east…the last star in the morning sky.”

“The Morningstar?” Charles looked down to see your lips parted with a soft snore and reached into his pocket for his phone. There was no way he was going to leave you in the state you were in, not even for his own birthday party.

16th October 2019 You had thought Azrael had forgotten the deal you made but she made sure to remind you of it when she crossed paths with you at the Belgium GP. Charles’ head had snapped your way the moment he heard the crash and you shook your head sadly. The only reassurance you could give him was that the young driver’s soul was at peace. 

Before leaving with her precious cargo, Azrael had given you two months to keep your end of the bargain and you didn’t want to test her patience. The crossroads had been quiet and it took nearly the whole time to find three souls worthy of denying a deal, most people who offered their souls for their greatest desires deserved the eternal damnation in return.

As soon as your task was fulfilled you returned to Charles, to the only place you felt at home. After waking in his arms a year ago you had struggled with the duties expected of you, finding more and more excuses for the downturn in deals. After waking in his arms, you wanted to be more than what you were. You wanted to believe you could be more, like he believed in you. 

“D,” Pierre greeted as he joined you at the bar. “Still looking as lovely as ever.”

“Still the charmer.” 

His attempt to shift closer to your side was blocked by the heat radiating from you and he pulled back with a frown, brushing the oddity off in his tipsy state. “Where have you been?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” you answered absentmindedly as you felt Charles’ presence before you spotted him. “I travel for work.”

“Let me guess - modelling?”

“Dealing.”

“No way!” His eyebrow shot up and he leaned in to whisper, “Drugs?”

“Not quite,” you said with a laugh. “Something far more lucrative.”

Charles’ hand came to rest on the small of your back and his lips brushed your cheek. “Sorry I’m late, ma diablesse. What are you drinking?”

“I could do with a-” your voice trailed off as a fissure ran through the air and you turned to see what had just walked in the door. “Hold that thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked but you were already weaving your way through the crowd. 

Waves of power rolled off the beast but no one would see the tusks spearing out of its face or the black soulless eyes, they would merely see a mountain of a man and a vibe that warned them to move aside. 

“This is a bit out of your territory, Fowler. What are you doing topside?”

The demon looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Heard some interesting rumours.”

“And what rumours were those?”

“That some darling angel was caught up with a mortal, helping out for free. You know the rules. No soul, no deal.” Fowler’s hand snapped out and caught your throat, his claws threatening to tear it out. “Don’t forget who took you in when your family threw you out.”

“Fuck you, I’ve more than paid my debt,” you spat as you grabbed his wrist and seared his skin with the lick of your flames. “Don’t come and threaten me.”

“I don’t have to threaten you,” he chuckled as he cradled his hand to his chest and looked past you to where Charles was pushing his way to your side. “Mortals are so weak, a little accident is all it takes.”

There was no way you could let Fowler return to Hell with the information he had, your weakness, so you did the only thing you could to protect Charles. You rushed the demon as the ground opened, disappearing into the pit with him before Charles could follow. You called all of your power and funnelled it into your fire, pouring it down the demon's throat until he was smothered by the flames and a smoking husk that turned to ash as you crashed to the ground. 

“Morningstar, what is the meaning of this?” 

You bowed to Beelzebub before kicking away the ash that had settled on your boot and painted a dark smile onto your face. “He interrupted a deal, I couldn’t let that grievance go unpunished. Or did you want me to forgive him?” You challenged him with an arch of your brow until he huffed a sigh and waved the question away with the whip of his tail. 

“So where is the contract for the soul?”

“Did you miss the part where I said he interrupted the deal?”

“I’m not sure if I liked you less as an angel or not,” he uttered from his throne of skulls. 

“I have that effect.” You started to leave the way you came but a chain snared around your ankle and locked into place before you could escape. 

“Not so fast.” You were thrown onto your ass as he yanked the chain and dragged you to the foot of his throne. “I find myself short of an enforcer,” he said as he looked pointedly at the pile of ash you had created.

“So find another,” you growled as you tried to melt the chain but it merely absorbed the heat you poured onto it, “there’s no shortage of brainless fools ready to serve you.”

“But look how that ended,” he laughed. “How about a deal? Ten years as my enforcer for your freedom.”

Freedom. Ten years was nothing, just a blip to an immortal, but you weren’t thinking of yourself. You were thinking what ten years would be for Charles. Would he have a wife and kids? Would he have won his world championship? Would he remember you?

“Two,” you countered.

“Five.”

“Deal, but on one condition.” You stopped fighting the chain and rose to your knees. “I want a soul.”

16th October 2024 You were beyond exhausted when you stumbled into the bedroom, using the last of your strength to find your way back to him. The last five years had been brutal and it was a miracle that you had survived to complete your end of the deal, much to Beelzebub’s chagrin. The bastard had thrown every impossible task your way but you had something he could never understand, hope. And it kept you fighting to the bitter end. 

You crashed onto the bed as your legs gave out and he leapt up at the intrusion, the bedside lamp lighting up and illuminating his silhouette as he stared at you wide eyed. “Ma diablesse? You came back…”

“Always, Birthday Boy.” You reached for him, needing to feel him with your own two hands after missing him for five years. It was his face that had kept you alive and you cupped his jaw to pull him closer only to freeze at what you felt. “Charles?”

“What? What is it?” he asked with panic as he placed his hands over yours, holding them tight to his cheeks.

“You have a beard,” you whispered, turning his face to the side to see the styled hair on his jaw. “When did that happen?”

Charles laughed and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck as he crushed you against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I would have been back sooner but I made a deal with the devil.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out an unassuming medallion. “A soul, my soul.”

Charles frowned in confusion as he trailed a finger over the symbols of an ancient language long forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“No more devil deals, if you’ll have me, I would be human.”

Shock rippled through his features. “You would give up immortality for me?”

“Hell is an eternity without you,” you said before you pressed your forehead to his, sharing his breath of life. “And if I never make it back to Heaven at least I will have had a moment of it here with you.”

Bonus scene here.

[goblinontour]

CinemaScope

no camera dolly needed for this film

series masterlist

warnings: soft!dom!alex, smut, oral (m/f receiving), piv

word count: 6.9k

La Frette Studios - France, 2017

The chateau loomed before you, its grandeur almost surreal against the bright and clear sky. It resembled a castle in a way. Yet, the most captivating sight was Alex, leaning in the doorway, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched you take it all in.

He’d let his beard grow out, maybe a bit too much. Thicker and more unruly than usual. It was obvious that he hadn’t bothered to trim it much lately, and while it filled in well around his chin and jawline, the sides of his face remained stubbornly patchy. It gave him a slightly dishevelled look that suited him somehow, adding a ruggedness that made him appear older. 

But when you really looked at him, past the facial hair and the glasses he stubbornly never seemed to want to take off, that familiar baby face of his was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Speaking of glasses, he had these new ones he got on his last trip to this place, when he fell in love with it and decided he had to record here. They had become a near-constant fixture on his face. 

His shirt was a different story. Probably should’ve been thrown out ages ago. The neckline was frayed, barely holding on by a thread from how ripped it had gotten over time from years of wear. But he clung to it, letting it become part of this character he’d built, a mix of his obsessions and eccentricities. You didn’t mind, though. It was all just part of who he was, part of the Alex you adored.

You had never minded his quirks. If anything, you found them endearing. They were part of what made him who he was, and you loved every bit of it. So, as you stood there, taking in the sight of him, in this almost-castle in the French countryside, you couldn’t help but smile. He was all yours.

He had explained how they’d shipped all their equipment here, preparing for the new album recording in France. You’d barely listened, too thrilled at the thought of having him all to yourself for a few precious days before the band arrived.

“Ready to come inside?” he called out, his voice pulling you from your reverie. You nodded, walking towards him, the gravel crunching softly under your feet.

Inside, the chateau was a labyrinth of rooms filled with tech you had no clue about and high ceilings. Alex gave you a brief tour, but your mind was elsewhere, already imagining the mess you’d make the place. No distractions, just the two of you. In a fucking castle. In the middle of nowhere France. 

As you reached the heart of the building, Alex turned to you, his eyes softening. “It’s just us for now.” he said, his voice low and inviting. You felt a flutter of excitement. The space felt almost too grand for what you knew would happen sooner or later. You had just a few days until you’d have to leave and you’d be apart for who knows how long it would take them to finish everything up. 

He led you to a cosy enough sitting room, its large windows overlooking the sprawling gardens. Instruments were arranged all over the place, waiting for the creative process to begin, but for now, it was just background noise.

“Did I tell you I wanna get into directing some stuff?” Alex asked, his voice casual as he perched on the arm of the chair where you’d settled in.

“You didn’t.” you replied, looking up at him, curiosity piqued.

He leaned forward slightly, fingers idly playing with the hair on his chin, smoothing it down as he spoke. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. There’s something about creating a visual narrative that really excites me. But…” He trailed off, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll need some practice.”

“Hmm?” you murmured, encouraging him to continue. There was something in his tone that made you suspect he had a plan in mind.

He slid off the arm of the chair, walking over to where his bag lay discarded on the floor. You watched as he crouched down, rifling through its contents with a kind of casual focus that was so typically him. After a moment, he straightened up, holding something in his hand. A relatively small, very old looking camera. Turning back to you, he flashed a grin, his eyes gleaming. 

“I wanted to ask if you’d help me out.” he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost conspiratorial tone he used when he was up to something. He walked back over, standing in front of you, the camera dangling from his fingers. “If you would be so kind as to be ma muse.” he added, his attempt at French charmingly imperfect, still laced with his unmistakable Sheffield accent.

You couldn’t help but smile at his request, the idea of him directing something suddenly feeling so perfectly suited to him. “What exactly are you planning, Turner?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice.

He tilted his head slightly, contemplating how to respond. “Well,” he began, slipping into that thoughtful demeanour, “I’ve got this place, right? This castle…in the middle of nowhere. And I’ve got you.” He gave you a pointed look, his expression softening. “Seems like the perfect setting for something quite...cinematic.”

You laughed softly, the idea of turning these few days of solitude into something more intentional, more ‘creative’, appealing to you. “So, what kind of ‘directing’ are we talking about?” you teased, already half-knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Nothing too complicated.” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Just…capturing you. Us. The way we are right now, in this moment.” He paused, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “Think of it as…documenting our time together. Something we can look back on when we’re apart.”

The flutter of excitement from earlier intensified, mixing with a warmth that spread through your chest. You could picture it, all the intimate moments you’d share regardless, immortalised on film, something tangible to hold onto during the long stretches when you couldn’t be together.

You nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation build as he moved to adjust the camera in his hands. “Alright, director.” you said, leaning back into the chair, your eyes still on him. “Where do we start?”

He grinned, the excitement in his eyes mirrored in yours. “Let’s start right here.” he said, bringing the camera up to eye level, the lens focusing on you. “Just be yourself. That’s all I need.”

He began filming, the camera capturing every detail as you sat there. You held his gaze, feeling a mix of curiosity and nerves. After a moment, you broke into a soft laugh. “I’m not an actress, you know.” you said, your voice light, though your words lingered with a bit of self-consciousness. 

Alex chuckled softly as he lowered the camera slightly, peering at you over the top with a playful glint in his eye. “That’s alright,” he said, his tone playful, “I’ll give you some directions then. How’s that sound?”

“Alright.” you agreed, placing your hands on your knees as you sat up a little straighter, preparing yourself for whatever he had in mind.

He glanced around the room before his eyes settled on the large, almost floor-to-ceiling French windows that stretched along the wall behind you. “Start by opening those up.” he instructed, nodding toward them. “Go and open up the windows for me, dolly.”

You stood, feeling the camera following your every move, but paused for a moment, turning to face him fully. “What’s up with that nickname?” you asked, a playful challenge in your voice. He’d been calling you ‘dolly’ for the past couple of weeks now, seemingly out of nowhere.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I just like it.” he replied, as if that was enough explanation. “It suits you.” He brought the camera back up, aiming it at you once more. “Now, you should probably follow the director’s orders, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but there was a smile on your face as you turned back toward the windows. The nickname had grown on you, and though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you liked the way it sounded coming from him. 

The windows were tall and elegant, the kind you’d expect to find in a place like this, and as you reached for the handles, you couldn’t resist looking back at him over your shoulder. He was still filming, his focus entirely on you. You grasped the handles, feeling the cool metal under your palms, and slowly pushed the windows open, letting the outside world seep into the room.

“What was that for?” you asked, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

He lowered the camera just enough to meet your gaze directly, his expression still playful but now laced with a subtle edge. “I want to make sure that, if anyone walks by, they’ll hear you later.” he said. 

The implication of his words sent a thrill down your spine. The game had begun, and you were more than ready to play along.

“Now,” he continued, his tone commanding but still soft, “Undress yourself. But make it pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you toyed with the little bow at the front of your blouse. “So, you’re saying I’m not already pretty?” you asked, drawing out the words, knowing full well what you were doing.

He gave you a look, that look, the kind that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. “Just keep going.” he murmured, his voice holding that edge of authority you found impossible to resist.

Slowly, you pulled on the strings of the bow, feeling the tension release as it came undone. You could sense the lens of the camera following your every movement, and it made you even more aware of how you were presenting yourself. You grasped the hem of your blouse, your fingers brushing against your skin as you began to lift it over your head. The fabric slid up, revealing the lacy bra underneath, delicately sitting against your skin.

A low whistle escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction. You could hear the soft whir of the camera lens adjusting, zooming in closer, no doubt focusing on your chest.

“Are you zooming in on my boobs, you old perv?” you teased, half laughing, enjoying the banter as much as the moment itself.

“Hey, hey, easy there. Play nice.” he shot back, though there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

You held his gaze, the game now fully in motion, both of you aware of the dance you were performing, each step thought out, each word a part of the intricate choreography between you. 

With a playful smirk, you reached for the waistband of your pants, fingers slipping under the fabric. You made a show of it, moving slowly, sliding the material down your legs with deliberate care, knowing his eyes, and the camera, were on you the entire time. You stepped out of the pants, letting them fall to the floor beside you, then turned back toward the chair.

You sat down gracefully, crossing one leg over the other, feeling the cool leather against your skin. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding up your body, grazing over your hips, up your stomach, and finally, to your chest. You pushed your breasts together, leaning forward just enough to give him the best possible view, the kind that would make the lens zoom in on its own if it could. He followed your every move, the camera capturing each subtle shift, every rise and fall of your breath. The thrill of being watched, of knowing exactly how much control you had over the scene, sent a rush of heat through you.

You reached behind your back, fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. With a flick, it came undone, the fabric loosening around you. You caught it in your hand, holding it up as it swung in the air before tossing it toward him. Even with the camera in hand, Alex managed to keep it steady, his other hand effortlessly catching the bra midair before tossing it over his shoulder with a grin.

“What now, mister director?” you asked, leaning back in the chair, your hands gripping the armrests, chest pushed out, fully exposed.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still on you, but his tone shifted, deeper and more serious. “You can call me Alexander.”

You smiled, enjoying the game even more. “My dear Alexander,” you began, voice dripping with mock formality, “I think it’s your turn.”

“Is it now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the shift in dynamics. “Really?”

“Well…” you said, a playful edge to your voice, “I wanna have something to look back on too.” A grin spread across your face as an idea formed. “Give me the camera.” you demanded, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitated for a moment, looking at you with a mix of amusement and mock reluctance. “Just so you know,” he said as he handed the camera over, “You’re not getting any directing credits.”

“Sure, sure.” you said, waving off his words. “Now, get on with it and get naked. I don’t need it to be ‘pretty’.”

He stepped back a bit, but you quickly stopped him. “No, no. Step back a little more.” you instructed, adjusting the focus as he complied, moving further away so you could catch him fully in the frame.

He grabbed the hem of his tattered t-shirt, and with one smooth motion, pulled it over his head. The fabric caught on the rip at the neckline, and he spun it around on his finger with a flourish, giving you a cheeky grin before tossing it in your direction, mimicking how you’d thrown your bra at him earlier.

He held out his hand, signalling for the camera, but you shook your head, holding it just out of his grasp. “Nuh-uh. Pants too.” you insisted. 

“Right…égalité.” he muttered with a smirk, his fingers already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. It took him a moment to get the hang of it, but soon he was sliding the belt out from the loops, whipping it between his hands with a satisfying snap a couple of times before stepping closer to you.

You were about to interrupt him again, but he shot you a look. “Don’t boss me around.” he warned, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

With that, he placed the belt on the back of the chair, right next to where you sat. “Keeping it close…just in case.” he added with a wink before walking back to his spot, that same smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he began to take off his pants.

You watched through the camera. They were loose on him, too loose, a good few sizes too big, barely hanging onto his hips without the belt’s help. But they were still obscuring your view of the parts you really wanted to see. 

He unbuttoned and unzipped them, letting the heavy fabric slide down his legs and pool around his ankles. But then, as he stepped out of them and stood tall again, your focus was drawn down, your breath catching in your throat. With the camera zoomed in on the bulge straining against the thin fabric of his underwear, the outline was unmistakable.

He rested a hand on his hip, that familiar smirk playing on his lips as he looked at you. But you didn’t see that. Your attention was entirely on what the camera’s viewfinder showed you. Every detail magnified, every inch of him hard and ready beneath the material that barely concealed him.

“Wow.” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes still glued to the screen. 

His smirk widened, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What?”

You finally pulled your gaze away from the viewfinder, looking up at him. “If I had a dick, I’d be hard right now looking at you.” you admitted, half-joking, but the way your voice wavered at the end betrayed just how affected you were.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the room and somehow making the air between you both thicker. “Well, that’s good to know.” he teased, reaching out to take the camera from your hands. This time, you didn’t resist, letting him take it with ease.

He flipped it around, aiming it at you. The change in perspective made your breath hitch as he loomed over you, the weight of his presence pressing down, making you feel small, vulnerable under his gaze.

He shifted closer, one hand still holding the camera while the other reached out to you, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, then slowly slid down, skimming over your lips. He paused there, the rough pad of his thumb lingering on your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly. “Open wide.” he murmured, his voice husky with intent.

You obeyed, parting your lips, heart pounding as his thumb slipped into your mouth. The camera wobbled slightly as he adjusted his grip, trying to find the right angle to capture both of you. His eyes flicked from the lens back to you, a gleam of satisfaction in them as he extended his arm out, struggling to hopefully get everything in the frame.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, his face inches from yours. He spat into your mouth, the action slow, a display of control and intimacy. His thumb still rested on your lip as he watched your reaction, the camera forgotten for a moment as his gaze bore into you. 

Alex shifted the camera’s focus back to capturing just you, the lens zooming in closer, capturing every detail of your expression. He was meticulous, making sure the angle was just right. “I’m gonna do it again.” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a playful command. “Just to be sure I get it right.”

You nodded slightly, your heart pounding in anticipation. Slowly, you stuck your tongue out, offering yourself up to him without hesitation. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, the smirk on his face replaced by something more intense.

This time, the spit was harsher, more forceful as it landed on your tongue. Before you had a chance to close your mouth, before you could even think to swallow, he acted. In a swift motion, Alex slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing them past your lips and deeper, further than you expected. 

The sudden invasion made your eyes widen, your breath catching as he pressed down on your tongue, guiding his fingers toward the back of your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, your senses bombarded all at once by the taste of him, the roughness of his skin, the force of his touch.

You instinctively wrapped your lips around his fingers, the warmth of your mouth enveloping them as you tried to adjust to the feeling, to the sheer boldness of his. He watched you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression one of satisfaction as he eased his fingers deeper, coaxing you into submission.

“Ah, there we go, there we go…” he murmured, his voice low and approving, each word sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers pressed further, testing your limits, the slight stretch making your eyes water. “You look very pretty.” he added, his tone soft but commanding, as if he were admiring a piece of art he’d just perfected.

He pushed just a little deeper, his breath hitching slightly as he watched your reaction, the way you took him in. “Très jolie.” he whispered, the French words rolling off his tongue with a quiet reverence, as if he were acknowledging your effort.

He slid his fingers out of your mouth slowly, the sensation leaving a lingering tingle on your lips. As they slipped free, he gave you a quick, almost playful tap on the cheek. A silent acknowledgment, a “good job” without the words. The gesture was brief, but it sent a warm flush through you, a feeling of pride curling in your stomach.

He adjusted his grip on the camera, holding it steady in one hand as he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underwear. He shuffled out of them, the fabric sliding down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. Your eyes were locked on him, watching intently as his cock bobbed up once it was freed, thick and hard, the skin flushed with need.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand moving to touch him, to feel the heat of him in your palm. But before you could make contact, he pulled back slightly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he grasped himself instead. The sight of him holding his cock, stroking it lightly while still keeping the camera trained on you, sent a fresh wave of wetness rushing through you.

“Get down.” he instructed, his voice firm. 

You scrambled to obey, quickly slipping off the chair and dropping to your knees in front of him. The cool floor was a stark contrast to the heat building inside you, but you barely noticed, too focused on him, on the way he looked down at you, the camera capturing every moment.

Your hands rested on your knees, a deliberate choice as you remembered his earlier words: “Make it pretty”. You held his gaze, your heart racing, as you waited for his next move, eager to show him just how well you could follow instructions.

Alex guided his cock to your lips, the tip brushing over them with intentional slowness, teasing you, testing your restraint. The weight of it, the heat, made your lips part instinctively, but he didn’t let you take him in just yet. He lingered there, savouring the moment before he spoke, his voice a low command, “You can suck it now.”

You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the pulsing warmth beneath your fingers. You leaned forward, letting your lips slide over the head, taking him into your mouth. The taste of him filled your senses as you sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks to create a soft, warm pressure. You glanced up at him, seeking approval, but he tapped a finger on the camera he held just above you.

“Look there.” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You shifted your gaze to the lens, the cold glass reflecting your flushed face as you focused on pleasing him. For a moment, he let you take control, your hand moving in time with your mouth as you worked him over, exploring the smooth, velvety skin, the way he pulsed against your tongue. You could hear his breathing change, a quiet approval that fueled your movements.

But then, his hand brushed yours away, taking hold of his cock himself. You felt a surge of anticipation as he took over, his hips thrusting forward in a steady, unyielding rhythm. He drove himself deeper into your mouth, pushing past your comfort zone, until you felt the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The sudden force made you choke, your throat constricting around him as you fought to keep up, to take him as deeply as he wanted.

A few tears welled up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks as you struggled to adjust, to breathe around the fullness of him. Sensing your struggle, he pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness almost as jarring as the force of his thrusts.

“What’s the matter, dolly?” he asked, his voice laced with mock concern as he used his fingers to wipe away the stray tears that clung to your lashes.

“Wasn’t ready.” you managed to gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened, but only slightly. “Be ready…action.” he ordered as he guided himself back to your mouth, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips once more. “Take it properly. Make me proud.”

You swallowed down your nerves, opening wide and bracing yourself as he slid back in. This time, you were prepared, your throat relaxing as best as it could to accommodate him. His grip tightened in your hair as he began to thrust again, deep and demanding, each movement forcing you to take more of him, to push yourself further for his satisfaction.

He began to fuck into your mouth with a steady rhythm, brushing the back of your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t too fast or rough, just enough to make your throat tickle each time he reached that sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming but in a way that made you want more, made you want to take him deeper, to prove you could handle it.

But just as you found a rhythm, just as your body started to adjust, he pulled out abruptly. The sudden emptiness made you gasp for air again, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. A thin strand of spit still connected you to him, a glistening thread that hung in the air between you. Alex smirked as he reached down, breaking the strand off with his hand, watching as it fell away.

He shifted the camera, angling it down at his cock, capturing the wetness your mouth had left on him. He stroked himself slowly, letting the lens see every detail, every glistening drop, every slick slide of his hand over his length. 

“That was good.” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice satisfied as he stopped the recording momentarily.

He set the camera down on the small coffee table nearby, placing it carefully as if it were something precious. Then he turned away, walking through the room with an almost aimless air, his gaze drifting over the furniture, the walls, as if he were inspecting something, or maybe just lost in thought.

You seized the opportunity, reaching for the camera with a quiet determination. You couldn’t resist, not with the way he’d looked, not with the lingering taste of him still on your lips. You brought the camera up, filming him as he moved, the lens capturing the lines of his body, the tension in his muscles, the way he carried himself with that same effortlessness.

He noticed the camera on him and turned around, his eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “Where do you wanna fuck?” he asked, his tone casual, like it was just another decision to be made.

You met his gaze through the viewfinder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You tell me, mister director,” you teased, drawing out the last words before adding, “Alexander.”

The name lingered in the air between you, and you saw the flash of something in his eyes. Approval. Desire. Maybe a bit of both. He took a step closer, his expression shifting as the roles reversed again, the director now back in control.

“Okay.” he said with a thoughtful nod, acting like he was making a very important decision. “I want to fuck you on the piano.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What piano?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“There’s the big one in the other room.” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before you could ask anything else, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take the camera from you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that the anticipation between you hummed like electricity.

“Come on.” he urged with a smirk, stepping back just enough to let you move past him. “Ladies first.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you started walking, the idea of what was to come spurring you forward. As you walked, you couldn’t resist the urge to look back over your shoulder. He was right behind you, but instead of keeping pace, he had slowed down, deliberately falling behind so he could get a better angle. 

The camera was trained on you, the lens fixed on your ass as you moved through the room. His eyes, too, were glued to the sight of you, the weight of his gaze a palpable thing, making your skin tingle. The way he watched you, the way he filmed you, was almost as intimate as his touch, as he was capturing every moment, every movement for himself, for later.

The anticipation curled tighter inside you, your breath hitching as you felt the growing heat of his attention. You couldn’t help but sway your hips a little more with each step, knowing he was watching, knowing the camera was catching every detail. You reached the doorway to the other room and paused, looking back at him again, your lips curving into a playful smile as you caught him red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, though the question was more a statement of fact than anything else.

He didn’t answer, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was enough to tell you that he was, indeed, enjoying every second of it. He motioned for you to keep going, the camera still focused on you, capturing the way the light played off your skin as you led the way to the piano, your pulse quickening with each step.

You stepped up to the piano, eyes drawn to it and the way it was dominating the space. Curious, you pressed a couple of the ivory keys, the sound that emerged surprisingly not too horrible to your untrained ears, though it was clear you had no idea what you were doing. Music had never been your forte, despite quite literally dating a musician. 

Alex followed close behind, and as you turned to face him, he carefully closed the fall board over the keys with a soft click, ensuring there would be no more accidental notes interrupting what was about to happen. He placed the camera down gently on the closed lid, abandoning it for a moment as he focused on a more important task.

His hands found your hips, the touch firm and almost possessive as he pulled you against him, sliding back to cup your ass in his palms. He squeezed, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp softly, the sensation shooting straight through you. Then he kissed you, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that made your knees weaken, his tongue slipping into your mouth, claiming you as he pulled you even closer. You could feel his fingers teasing the lace trim of your panties, slipping just underneath the fabric, feeling the soft skin beneath. 

He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as he whispered, “You know I always think you’re pretty, right?”

The words were simple, but the way he said them made your heart skip a beat. You barely had time to nod before he was guiding you backward, his hands steady and sure as he led you toward the edge of the piano. The cool wood pressed against your skin as he continued to nudge you back, his hands never leaving your body.

“Sit.” he encouraged, his voice a quiet command that sent a thrill down your spine.

With a gentle push, he encouraged you to sit on it, helping you up. The edge dug slightly into the back of your thighs as you shuffled back, moving until you were sitting properly. The piano’s surface was smooth beneath you, a stark contrast to the rough need simmering. He stood between your legs, his gaze fixed on you, his hands still on your hips. 

He grabbed the camera once more, bringing it up to capture every detail of the moment as his hand slid down your chest. His touch was slow, tracing the curve of your breasts, before pushing you back gently, encouraging you to lie down on the cool, polished surface. The slight pressure of his hand guided you, your back meeting the smooth wood. 

His hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over your stomach until they reached the hem of your panties. He paused there, his eyes following the movement of his hand as he toyed with the tiny pink bow in the middle, twisting it between his fingers with a playful smirk. The sight of his large hand playing with that delicate detail made your breath hitch, anticipation building as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to tug them down your legs.

As they reached your ankles, he caught them before they could fall to the floor. Carefully, he placed the white lace on the surface next to you, adding to the visual allure of the scene.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he put the camera down again, ready to focus on you, needing both hands free to devote all of his attention to you. But you reached for it before he could. You couldn’t resist the urge to take control for a moment, to see the world through the lens as he saw it. 

He didn't seem to mind. In fact, the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, approving smirk as he lowered himself to kiss the inside of your thigh. You adjusted the camera, pointing it down at him as he leaned in, his lips making contact with the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his beard against your skin was both rough and tantalisingly soft. You could feel the rasp of it as he kissed his way up your inner thigh. 

When his lips finally met your core, he left a soft kiss there. The intimacy of the moment was magnified through the lens, the camera capturing the way he looked up at you, as he held your gaze through the viewfinder. 

He didn’t hesitate as he began to lick at you, his tongue moving with an unhurried precision that made your whole body tense with pleasure. His hands held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he worked. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but writhe beneath him, your back arching slightly off the piano as the pressure built inside you.

You managed to gasp out a question between breathless moans. “When do we get to the climax of the plot?”

He paused just long enough to lift his head, a smirk playing on his glistening lips. “Have patience, baby,” he murmured, “I need this.”

With that, he dove back in, his mouth reclaiming its place against your core. This time, his movements were more intense, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at you with a hunger that left you gasping. 

Each stroke of his tongue, each subtle change in pressure, was designed to drive you wild, to draw out your pleasure until you were trembling under him. The heat in his eyes matched the fire in your belly. You couldn’t look away. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as you instinctively tried to buck against him, your body desperate for more, for everything. 

The need in his eyes mirrored the need building inside you, the pressure mounting. It was almost unbearable, the way he kept you on the edge, pushing you closer and closer to the brink without letting you fall over. But even as the desperation clawed at you, you couldn’t help but give in, letting him take what he needed. 

Alex snatched the camera back from you with a quick motion, the lens focusing intently as he pulled back, capturing the view of the wet mess that had pooled at your entrance. His fingers moved over the slick, glistening folds, spreading the moisture around with a slowness that made you squirm.

“Will you talk to me in French while you fuck me?” you teased.

He glanced up, a smirk on his lips. “I don’t even know how you say ‘fuck’ in French.” he replied with a playful shrug, his gaze shifting back to the viewfinder.

As he spoke, he guided his cock to your pussy, his eyes locked on the camera as he filmed the moment. He positioned himself carefully, his thick head pressing against your entrance as he started to push inside. The lens captured every detail, the way he stretched you, the slow motion of his cock sliding into you.

“Fuck.” he moaned as he finally entered you, the sound of his voice mixed with the low, guttural pleasure he felt from the tight, warm embrace of your body. 

He continued to film, holding the camera as steady as he could as he began to thrust, the details of your connection laid bare for the lens to see. The combination of his body’s rhythm and the camera’s unblinking gaze made the scene even more intense, every sound and sight magnified as he lost himself in the feeling of you, in the undeniable connection between you both.

“Oh god.” Alex groaned.

In his haze, he set the camera down, but the action was rougher than intended, the device slamming onto the piano with a loud thud. Neither of you cared, too caught up in the moment.

He reached for you, strong hands pulling you up from the smooth surface of the piano until your chest was flush against his. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind him as you clung to his shoulders. His grip on you was firm, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while the other supported you under your thigh. 

Without a word, he started moving back, his cock still buried deep inside you. The room seemed to spin slightly, your senses overloaded as he carried you with ease. As he walked away, he reached out to turn the camera slightly from where it had landed, a half-hearted attempt to capture more of what was happening. But you could see the shift in his focus, the way he no longer cared as much about the filming. He was too consumed by the feel of you wrapped around him.

He moved until his back hit the wall with a solid thud, the impact making you gasp against his neck. With his body braced against the wall, his hands freed up to grip your hips tightly, he began to thrust into you again. The change in angle meant he could get deeper. And you clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you moaned his name. 

The pace he set was relentless now, fast and rough, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, his groans filling your ear as he pounded into you, each thrust bringing you both closer to release.

It consumed you both, everything narrowing down to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your breathless moans, and the way your bodies moved together. The tension built with every stroke, every frantic heartbeat, until there was nothing left but the inevitable release that came crashing down over you both.

You buried your head under his chin, seeking comfort in his closeness and he took the opportunity to press his face in your hair, his breath mingling with the scent of your skin. The moment was a blur, highlighted by his body shuddering as he let out a soft groan, the warmth of his release flooding inside you. You could feel the wet mess already beginning to slide down your legs, mingling with the sweat that dripped down both your thighs and his, though it was hard to tell what was what in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t discern whether it was his cum or simply sweat dampening his legs, but he didn’t care either way.

His knees nearly gave out, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drop you. But he quickly adjusted his grip with a grunt, his arms tightening around you as he carefully lowered himself to the floor. You landed on his lap, the sudden shift making you acutely aware of the pulsing warmth of his cock, which had slipped out but was still pressing against your thigh, making you aware of every subtle twitch. 

Despite the mess and the precariousness of the position, he didn’t move you. His breathing was ragged, the exertion of the moment evident in every breath he took. As he steadied himself, catching his breath, he looked down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion.

“And…cut.” he said, his voice a little breathless but still carrying that familiar authoritative tone. The command was as much a signal of the end of the recording session as it was a release of the tension that had built up. The camera was still rolling, capturing the aftermath of the scene. 

a/n: i don’t like how this turned out. i guess it’s alright but meh.

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Ten

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 3.0k (whew) Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, OC has anxiety, suggestive content, allusions to sex, polyamory, M/M/F

Gaz and Price find out

The week passes without incident. If anything, it's perfect.

During the day, I go to work. In the evenings, I come home to the two most perfect men in the world. Dinner is cooked - the table laid and the dishes washed - and I have a night of snuggling with my favourite people to look forward to.

Come the arrival of the weekend, our plans with the taskforce have been adjusted slightly. After a text exchange with Gaz, we've arranged a trip to a nice beer garden near his parents' house instead of them all coming to the apartment. He seemed a little confused at first, but didn't push his questioning any further when I told him that I needed to talk to John about something.

Something that I thought would be better raised on neutral ground.

Every waking hour this past week, I've been agonising over what to say to John - planning a way to tell him about my relationship with the boys. Now that I know it's not just a fling or a bit of fun for them, it's made me re-evaluate things. Above all else, I need him to know.

Johnny is on the cusp of making a full recovery and if - when - him and Simon get pulled back into active duty, I need John to keep them safe for me. I know that he'd lay down his life to protect them already - they're his boys, after all - but I want him to know just how important they are to me. That and, in all the time that I've known him, I've never been able to keep anything hidden from him for long.

The last thing I want is to blurt it out at the worst possible time later on down the line.

Even as we're driving to the beer garden, I'm jittery with nerves, twisting the oversized sleeve of my cardigan around and around over my fist. Every once and a while, Si tears his eyes away from the road ahead to shoot me a worried glance. Johnny's been kind enough to pretend not to notice, chattering away as a form of distraction from his seat in the back, leaning over the centre console to stay included.

Not that he's missing much. I've barely spoken since we woke up this morning.

Both of them know how important this is to me. How important it is that everything goes right. That I tell John first.

Ever since Alex died, John has been there for me. He stepped up like a second father, having a hand in raising me despite the fact that I was already way past my formative years when we met.

Hence my worry.

I'm about to tell the man who I view as a father that I'm sleeping with not one, but two of his best soldiers. People who Gaz - even though he meant well - has told me that he views as a second family. And I can't help but worry that this might all be too much for him. That it might damage my relationship with him in some fundamental, irreparable way, or worse - that it might put a strain on his relationship with the boys.

"Stop fussing about something that hasn't even happened yet, love," Simon says from the driver's seat, voice deep and full of gravel as usual.

It looks like the grace period has ended then.

"How are you not nervous?" I bite back. It's impossible to keep the edge out of my voice, and I immediately regret snapping at him.

Logically, I know that it's not their fault I'm so anxious, but I can't help getting defensive.

There's so much going on - so many small things that are shifting around to accommodate this new, massive change in my life. It's things that I hadn't even thought about before; stupid stuff like trying to plan dates, navigating how to introduce them to people, and doing things as a three that would normally only involve two people. Previously insignificant things that now feel like a field of landmines, formerly a peaceful meadow that I didn't even have to think about. That I took for granted.

"What's got ye so pent up, lassie?" Johnny asks softly. His hand reaches out from the backseat, the warm, familiar weight of it coming to rest on my shoulder.

I lean into his touch, allowing myself to bask in the casual display of affection for a moment before letting out a pitiful huff.

"Everything."

"Explain."

"I... I-" Be honest. "John might hate me after this. He might think that I set out to make this happen; that I'm compromising the integrity of your taskforce by being with you the way I am. By being a distraction. And he might... he might see me differently when he finds out about the three of us being together." I can sense Simon gearing up to protest in my peripheral vision, so I stare straight ahead through the windscreen as I carry on, unwavering. "And then there's the fact that Winnie is going to be home from France soon, and you're going to leave and go back to work. You won't even let me go to the barracks, so when you're between deployments we'll have to live under Winnie's feet - which isn't fair to her or us. And it's going to kill me inside when you go no contact... what if I really need to talk to you and you aren't available? And I won't be able to make it better by talking to John either, because he'll be gone too, or he won't be talking to me..."

My rambling comes to an abrupt halt; palms clammy as I desperately gulp down a breath of fresh air. The car is silent save for the faint hum of the engine. Johnny's fingers lightly squeeze my shoulder, offering some much-needed reassurance. The contact grounds me; centres my thoughts.

"Well," Si began, clearing his throat. I might have been imagining it, but I could've sworn that there was a subtle shake to his voice. A hint of nervousness. "Maybe the three of us could look for a place together? Close enough to the apartment that you can visit Winslow whenever you want."

My heart grew two sizes inside my chest.

The steely, aloof Simon "Ghost" Riley himself was suggesting that we get a place of our own. A home. Something that the two of them never had before now. Before me.

It takes a considerable effort on my part not to tear up, especially as I spot the road marker for the beer garden on the narrow country lane up ahead.

"You would do that for me?" I ask, tone brimming with barely-contained emotion.

Simon nods, indicating right and easing the car into the car park. Once we're parked up, the engine switched off and stationary, he turns to look over his shoulder at Johnny. I watch them; the look that they share loaded with such love and mutual understanding.

It's not like it was before. I don't feel that undercurrent of jealousy that I used to - there's no cold, ugly thing clawing inside my chest. No; I know that I'm included in that affection. I'm not an outsider anymore.

And it makes me feel ashamed.

Ashamed for getting so caught up in how everyone else might perceive this. Ashamed for being self-conscious of something so beautiful and pure and sweet that the three of us share.

"'ah think we should all get on the internet tonight and start lookin'," Johnny adds, running the calloused pad of his thumb along the dip of my collarbone. "Start gettin' some viewings booked in. I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be on injury leave for, lassie, and I'll be happier knowing that we're all set up before Si and I leave."

"I've already marked some places for you two to look at," a gravelly voice with a Manchester accent states.

My head whips around to Simon and the jerk of Johnny's hand on my shoulder tells me that he's done the same. Sure enough, Simon's cheeks and ears are tinged with a fierce blush, hazel eyes refusing to directly meet my gaze.

When he notices our attention, he looks up, scowling at both of us. "What?"

Johnny laughs, only earning him an even sharper glare and a growled oh fuck off.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Si," I say, trying to keep the amusement out of my tone in case he thinks I'm laughing at him. Because that went down so well last time. "It's cute."

Si's expression turns deadpan as he looks at me.

Admittedly, that may have been the wrong thing to say to him - my 6'7, scar-flecked army lieutenant.

Hoping to quell some of that ire, I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward in my seat, closing the distance between us in to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. If anything, it only makes him blush harder.

Johnny whines from the back. "Where's mine? 'ah do adorable shit all the time."

Before he can complain any more, I lean back over the centre console and kiss him too. But - ever the crafty one - he snakes a hand around the back of my neck, tangling his fingers into the loose strands of my hair and angling my head as he deepens the kiss.

Ignoring the impatient huff from Si, Johnny presses something - a button hidden along the edge of my chair - and the backrest thuds down, landing on the vacant seat beside him. With strong hands and practiced ease, the Scotsman hauls me from the front passenger side and onto his lap. Calloused hands find purchase on my thighs as I scramble to straddle him.

Every worry melts away as Johnny's warm, rough hands slip under the skirt of my summer dress, blunt nails raking over the skin of my ass and hips, sending a shiver skittering down my spine. I groan, arching into him - savouring the moment.

"Can't you do this later?" Simon grumbles. My head snaps over my shoulder to see him, watching us intently, eyes hazed with that far-away, hungry look that he gets whenever he's turned on.

"Jealous because you can't fit back here too?" I ask teasingly, punctuating it with a drawn-out grind of my hips against the front of Johnny's faded jeans.

Johnny whines and Simon's eyes flare with the challenge.

"Trust me, I can," he managed with gritted teeth. Just as he unclips his seatbelt - expression filled with lustful promise - his phone pings with a message alert. One quick glance has him groaning for an entirely different reason that Johnny. "We'll finish this tonight at home. Gaz said Price is wondering where we are."

I swallow, all of that worry tumbling back in without the promise of Johnny and Simon to distract me.

"Fucksake!" Johnny complains, lifting his hands to drag them down his face. "Yer tellin' me 'm gonna have to look my boss in the eye, telling him 'm fuckin' Tali with a tent in my trousers?"

Simon grins, a wicked, brutal thing. "Yep. And I'm going to be smiling the whole time."

Gaz has good taste.

I thought the beer garden would just be a bog-standard grass-and-some-benches type of thing, but I'm pleasantly surprised by the sight waiting for us when we step out of the open patio doors at the side of the pub. Half of the space is decked, with a railing and steps leading down to a semi-circle of wooden, shed-like structures, housing tables with built-in benches. There are still normal tables, scattered around in the open space with large, white parasols to offer shade from the blaring sun, but I can't see John or Gaz amongst the people there.

"They're in shed number five apparently," Simon supplies, sliding his phone into his back pocket. He points in the direction of a shed off to the side, the wooden siding painted a mockingly cheerful shade of yellow.

I look to him and Johnny in turn before making my best attempt at schooling my features into a smile. The flash of concern in Johnny's eyes is enough to tell me that it looks as pitiful as it feels.

Placing those large hands of his on my shoulders, he smiles down at me. I want to kiss him, but I know that Gaz and John have probably already seen us - watching from the open doorway of the shed. It's a risk I can't afford to take right now.

"Lassie," Johnny says in his most soothing voice, hands running up and down the lengths of my arms before stopping at my wrists, lacing my fingers with his. "You'll be fine. We'll be there the whole time; we won't leave ya alone out there." Then, ducking down until his lips brush against the shell of my ear, he adds, "We'll make it up to ye tonight."

When he pulls away, a smug, cocky half-smile on his face, I'm blushing furiously - cheeks burning with heat.

Si takes one look at me and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Brilliant. Can you two not keep it in your pants for five minutes? Behave, children."

With that, he marches off ahead, leaving us to trail behind at a much more leisurely pace. A few feet away from the doorway to the bright yellow shed, I untangle my fingers from Johnny's, wanting to keep some sense of normalcy for just a little while before I have to break the news.

A quiet, cowardly part of me wants one of the boys to do it for me - even though we all agreed that it was better coming from me.

Sucking in another deep breath, I relax my face and step into the shed behind Johnny. Gaz and John are on one side the table, Simon and Johnny naturally slotting in beside one another on the other. Before I can sit down next to John - the side where there is slightly more space - Johnny grabs onto my hand, guiding me down into the tiny gap between him and the shed wall.

I giggle as he jostles himself, bumping his hip against Si's repeatedly in an attempt to give me some more room, and I look up just in time to catch the tail-end of a glance between John and Gaz. My throat dries out.

"So... how are the ribs healing, Soap?" John asks, dark eyes homing in on the Scotsman.

Johnny squirms in his seat. "Yeah. I guess they're healing just fine, Captain. I've been doing all the exercises physio 've told me to do."

"And he's had this one at his beck and call," Simon adds, nodding his head in my direction. He's wearing a black surgical mask to conceal the lower half of his face, but I can tell by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that he's smiling. "Perfect little nurse, she is."

I grumble, wanting desperately to hit him. "Ironic, given you're the one with the nurse outfit."

There's a pause as Gaz breaks down, his silent, shaking laughter devolving into a full-blown laughing fit. John tries in vain to hide his mouth behind his hand, but the quivering of his broad shoulders betrays his own amusement.

He looks up, offering me a kind smile. It's so warm that it makes my chest ache. "I'm... I'm not even going to ask," the stoic captain says.

"It's not a nurse outfit," Si protests, deadpan.

I flash him a saccharine sweet - if slightly vicious - smile. "Of course. Whatever you say, Nurse Riley."

He's bright red now. If he were any more embarrassed, he'd be steaming from the ears. "Johnny thought that it would be a funny joke gift for..."

"Don't ye worry, love," Johnny says, joining in on the light-hearted ribbing with zero remorse, "we won't judge ye."

We carry on laughing, joking around with one another. Gaz talks about his family and John tells the boys about something that someone they work with - a woman called Kate - told him the other week. Something about an upcoming mission that they might be assigned.

Before long, Johnny announces to the table that he's thirsty, making me stand up so that he and Si can clamber out of the shed. Despite his protests, they drag Gaz out with them too - insisting that they need a hand carrying the drinks back out. Which is bullshit.

I look up at John. For the first time all day, we're alone.

It's now or never.

"John... there's something that I've been wanting to talk to you about," I start, voice shaking slightly. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears as my fight or flight response kicks in; my skin feeling too tight over my bones.

Immediately, there's a look of concern forms on his face, his brow lowering and making him look every bit his age. "What's wrong? I knew you seemed too quiet - have the boys said something to upset you?"

I shake my head firmly. "No. They haven't done anything. It's- um, it's something that I've done, actually."

Instead of asking any more questions, John just sits back, head resting against the wooden siding as he watches me with those dark, observant eyes. It reminds me of the day we first met - when he came to tell me about Alex; the way that he just sat and watched. The way he listened.

"I'm seeing Johnny."

John's face lights up with a look of complete and utter surprise.

"And Simon."

His jaw slackens. After a moment of stumbling over his words, he says, "Oh... okay."

Now it's my turn to be confused. "Okay?" I repeat slowly, turning the words over in my mouth.

He nods. "Okay."

My eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"

John lets out something between a sigh and an exhale, lifting a hand to rub his temples. A beat of silence passes. Then another. "Tali, I trust your judgement. Have done ever since I got to know you," he says, every word measured and considered, spoken in that low, soft voice of his. "You're a smart woman; you know what you're doing. Acting like you don't... that would be doing you a disservice. And I know the boys. It'd take a very special person to get them to open up, and - if anyone - I think that person would be you."

My chest squeezes.

Acceptance. This is acceptance.

Not hatred, or disgust, or anger.

"I... thank you, John," I say, my voice coming out as barely more than a whisper. Heat pricks at my eyes. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

John's eyes glitter. "You can tell me anything, kid. Nothing you say will ever change anything between us."

When Johnny and Simon return with Gaz and two trays of drinks not even five minutes later, I'm tucked into John's side, his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders as I sniffle into his t-shirt.

"Everything alright?" Simon asks, eyes locked onto my tear-stained face.

I beam up at him, flashing him the widest, brightest grin I can muster. Feeling lighter than I have for a while now, I say, "Everything's perfect." Turning my attention to Gaz, I add, "Hey, Gaz?"

Slotting himself into the seat beside me, he swipes a pint off of the tray and hums in acknowledgement.

"I'm in a relationship with Johnny. And Simon."

Gaz hums again. "Figures."

Simon leans forward then, eyes practically popping out of his head. "What do you mean figures?"

He snorts out a laugh and, with a playful glimmer in those big dark eyes, he says, "Well, it would take a saint to put up with a grumpy old bastard like you. And Tali's no saint. So I figured she was getting some pretty good dick to-"

"That'll do," Simon barks, putting a swift end to that line of thought.

When the rest of us finally stop laughing, we settle in to enjoy our drinks and soak up an afternoon in the sun.

a/n: hey guys! so this was it: our longest chapter yet :) in the next few days, I'm going to be making some changes to the layout of this account - adding a navigation page in preparation for releasing some other non-Double the Love content etc etc. - see you again very soon, lapetitelapin :)

[slightlyhozy]

“Through the Cold, I’ll Find my Way Back to You.”

Chapter 2: “All my love and terror, balanced there between those eyes.”

Characters: Púca! Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Original Female Character

Summary: Maisie Quinn, after inheriting a home in Ireland from her late grandmother, slowly learns a dark past about the land in which it was built on.

Word Count - 2,098

Warnings - None except for animal death and descriptions of their bodies

A/N - I’m still learning how to write longer chapters, I will get better!

That day, I had looked into whatever the hell this Púca was. Seeing that it wasn’t necessarily a danger in any stories made my anxiety ease, which was a bit embarrassing since I didn’t even believe that it existed.

Closing my laptop, I looked around my new bedroom, the wooden floors were effortlessly dusty and cracked. Grunting, I opened my laptop again, in pursuit of finding someone in the area to install new flooring in certain rooms.

Settling was getting easier despite the fact Mary was the only person I really knew, On a good note, I already had a form in for a commission out in Dublin; they wanted me to paint a mural in the lobby of their office building. I figured the best way to go about living in a new country was to make connections anyway.

——————————————————————

That night, I lay with Lenny in my arms, surrounded by blankets, as some movie played. I pressed a kiss on his head as we cuddled. My mind kept drifting back to the monster, my mind constantly justifying why it wasn’t real; I knew it wasn’t real. I thought about the property and area surrounding it; there were never any bad vibes; it always seemed normal.

While thoughts scurried around my head, a familiar scratch caught me off guard, making me jump. The fox.

My head turned to the door, sighing, I was tempted to go and feed the fox. Thinking back to my conversation with Elsie, interfering with wildlife really wasn’t a good idea. I had just moved here, I should at least put the effort into making a good impression, if not to anyone in particular.

As my dog growled, his attention turned to the door, and I began to pet him in an attempt to calm him down. I understood he tended to be protective of me but never like this, over an animal. “Lenny, shhh.” Scratching behind his ears, he whimpered towards the door, moving to lay back beside me.

Trying to focus on the movie, I could hear the creature outside screaming for attention, it was borderline eerie. I continued to sit, it wasn’t my place to feed it, that was the fox’s job.

After ten minutes, I couldn't handle it anymore. Turning off the TV, I stood up and walked to the stairs, going up to my bedroom for the night.

——————————————————————

I grumbled, pulling weeds from the gravel of the garden. I had been at it for hours now, only joined by the sound of Van Morrison singing in my ears and the chirps of birds in the trees. Other than the labor, it was therapeutic.

Sitting back, I took a swig of water, looking around the garden. The weather had been nice, it was early September, so the weather had started getting colder than it was before. The sky was white, and the trees were less vibrant. As I pulled out the invasive plants, my eyebrows raised as my eyes fell on a small mouse.

The furry rodent in question was undoubtedly dead, but the only injury was a bloody wound on its side. As I continued to pull weeds, 3 more bodies were found. Initially, I believed that there was a cat that lurked in my garden, but then also the lack of injury or puncture to the bodies made no sense. I felt as though I was turning into a skeptic or just feeling the effects of my disorder. Before I could spiral, I was brought back to life by a bird call.

Looking up into the tree, I immediately recognized the black stripe along its eyes, much like a bandit’s mask. Oh. It was a shrike, I wasn’t even aware they had those in Ireland. Internally, I thanked myself for having a bird phase, otherwise, I would be sent into a phase of paranoia over dead mice. Still, I was puzzled around the fact that the mice weren’t eaten, simply impaled, then dropped.

I wasn’t too sure what could be wrong with the animals in the area, perhaps there’s a disease spreading amongst species. I wasn’t informed enough to really have a clue, but it was almost creepy.

While I pondered, another bird flew next to perch beside the shrike. After a moment, the two began to squawk and fight with eachother, their beaks clashing. Not being interested in watching what could happen to the smaller bird picking a fight with a brutal predator, I collected my garden tools and water bottle, making my way back to the house.

Lenny was sniffing around the yard as I cleared out the mouse corpses, like I had the other animal on my porch. The sun was slowly setting, and all I could think about was getting a proper drink and starting on a personal art project, the subject of which is still a mystery to me.

——————————————————————

Over the next few nights, the fox seemed to only get more aggressive. I frowned as I stared at my front door, this time, a dead rabbit was left. Did it think that I ran out of food? The rabbit itself would be unedible if I even wanted to eat it, it was completely squished, presumably roadkill. The wood along the door had been scratched, deep. A shiver ran up my spine as my finger reached out to trace the marks, the light inner wood going about half an inch deep. I wasn’t even sure how it was possible, but I also knew that I would now have to invest in new flooring and a door.

I was a bit worried that it would attack me if I didn’t feed it; with no evidence to back this up, any creak or sound outside would make me jump. When I slept, I dreamt of it attacking me or Lenny. So now, after three nights of ignoring the animal, I decided to give in.

It was almost one in the morning, finally, my couch had been installed, freeing me from the pain of having to haul my long limbs off the ground. With a small tub of ice cream in my hand, I was binge-watching Breaking Bad. The sound of Walter White monologing went through one ear, out the other as I anxiously awaited the arrival of the fox. I was almost worried it wouldn’t come. Why was I worried? Why wouldn’t I want it gone?

As if it were summoned, a familiar squaking woke me from my thoughts, immediately sending me to pause my show and put my ice cream somewhere Lenny couldn’t reach. I shushed him with my finger to my lips. As I went to look through the window. To my expectations, the small animal stood on the top of the steps, its green eyes gleaming under the poarch light.

Afraid of any chances of Lenny putting himself in danger, I led the dog to the study, shutting him inside, the door muffling his barks and growls.

In the kitchen, I worked to fix a wet bowl of dog food and a scoop of pumpkin purée on top. Opening the door, the fox stood expectantly. I set the bowl down, quickly moving to shut the glass door so I could see it eat. Again, it’s eyes stalked me as it ate eagerly, as if I had starved it. Perhaps it couldn’t hunt, wouldn’t…? If it couldn’t, where were these dead animals coming from?

——————————————————————

Fresh air. Fresh air was what I needed, space, was what I needed.

The morning after the encounter with the fox, I decided to go to the beach with Lenny. Throwing on a grey knit sweater, black jeans, boots, and a beanie, I clip on Lenny’s leash, his tail wagging faster than it had in a long time. As I go outside, I make sure to clean up the brutalized hedgehog left on my porch, the guts splattered across my porch. As I cleaned up the insides, visibly unhappy, I simultaneously fought Lenny back from eating it.

Smelling the sea was a specific kind of nostalgia, the beach itself wasn’t too different than some back in Washington. The air kisses my cheeks as I fight it, the clashing waves soothing my ears. I clutched the leash, hoping he wouldn’t try and run along the beach.

I felt grateful that there was no one in the morning, just me, my coffee, and my dog. I wonder if I was becoming a loner, back home, I seemed to be going out every day, with friends and making them as well. Now, all I had available was Mary. As much as I enjoyed some alone time, I wondered how long it would take until it became too lonely for me, I wondered how long it would be until I found a routine with my work, more clients, and when I would meet local artists.

Taking in the scent again, I closed my eyes, the cool wind making me feel more grounded and alive than I had in a year. Keeping them closed, I continued to walk into what seemed to be a never-ending path, curving around the water.

As if enjoying my solitude was too much, my eyes scrunched up as my shoulder was bumped. My eyes shot open as I helplessly watched my coffee cup fall against the sand, the contents leaking into the grains. Lenny immediately went to investigate, sniffing and licking the spill.

After picking up the cup, I look up the figure that disrupted my walk. He was tall. Around 9 inches taller than me, his nose and cheeks were a dusty pink from the cold, the coloration obvious from the cold weather.

His beard was nicely groomed, but his hair was messy and greasy.  Above his pronounced cheekbone, there was a small, healing cut across the skin. His eyes were cold and endless, not kind but not uninviting. Where the hell did he even come from?

“Sorry… Uh, I wasn’t paying attention. I wasn’t too sure why I was apologizing, according to my therapist, it was one of my weakest traits. The stranger stepped back, sizing me up.

He didn’t reply, I could hear Lenny by my side, growling lowly. “Really, sorry, he’s just protective... I promise he’s a good dog.”

“It’s alright.” His voice was deep, rich, and smooth like honey, he was hansome in general, just unsettling. He brushed a gloved hand through his brown curls, his green eyes following me.

I wasn’t sure what to do, I was pretty desperate for interactions, and he only seemed 10 years older than me at most. “Nice weather?” I cringed at my terrible use of small talk.

“Alright. Cold.”

“I mean, it usually is... cold.” Awkwardly, I itched at my neck, unsure what to do. “I’m Maisie.” I held my hand out, his eyes just darting to stare at it, not accepting it.

“Andrew. Are you American?”

I swallowed nervously, I didn’t want to come off as an uneducated, arrogant American prick. “Uh, well, yes, I just moved in... I live over..east..” My arm extended to point towards my home.

“I know.” My face immediately grew concerned, he knew? How?

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t reply.

“Andrew… Do you live around here? Or do you like, drive down here for walks.” His brows furrow, as if I were asking something invasive.

“I live near here, I like water.” His hand reaches up to scratch at the scab forming on his face, I notice how one of his glove fingers has the tip torn off.

I nod along awkwardly, maybe he didn’t get out much? “Yeah, me too... It’s nice to live this close to the ocean.” He doesn't answer again. “I lived in Seattle, so I was really far away from the ocean, sometimes, we’d go visit family on the coast.”

His brows furrow. “Where’s that?”

“Washington? Uh, it’s in the Pacific Northwest of America; Kurt Cobain was born there.” He seemed clueless. “Oh…” My face furrows with concern as I see blood, almost black, start to drip down his face. “You…your scab… It’s kind of..” I try to point it out casually, not trying to be rude.

Moving his hand away, Andrew moves to lick his finger, his brows raising. “Oh,” He doesn’t seem too concerned with the color of his blood as he observes it. “Habit.”

“Right,” As I am about to speak more, my phone rings—the flooring installers I had been talking to. “Oh, sorry, I need to take this.” I whisper to him as I back up, pressing my phone to my ear. He just gives me a weak wave as I turn away, waiting for my turn in the cue.

As I turned back around not even a minute later to say goodbye, he was gone. Andrew. The weirdest and one of the rudest men I had ever met.

A/N: ANDREW DOESNT STAY LIKE THIS THE WHOLE TIME I PROMISE HE ISNT BORING

[a-tortured-poets-quill]

The Origin Story of Laughing Jack and Isaac - Chapter Two

The gravel road was rough, causing the one-horsed closed carriage that was carrying Isaac to bump and shake, tossing the poor boy around. Isaac had never ridden in a carriage before; he had never had the need to. Everything he had ever needed had always been at home.

Now, however, the joggling of the carriage made Issac’s stomach do flips, and he felt he may hurl. He grabbed at the leather cushioning of the carriages sitting and looked out the quarter lights to distract himself.

It was already sunset. Isaac could tell by the luminous warm hues that now painted the sky. It reminded him of his mother’s watercolor paintings. Sometimes, after schooling, he would follow his mother out into her gardens and she would bring out canvases and paints. He thought about her explaining the different hues and importance of shape and texture. Even though hers always looked better than his, she always praised him.

He missed her greatly now. He hoped his father wasn’t being cruel. He hoped she wasn’t too lonely.

He also thought about Jack. He hoped his friend was okay, hoped he wasn’t too lonely and cramped in the confines of his box.

Isaac sighed, lifting his legs up and tucking them against his chest. He rested his head against the padding of the door and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would take away the sick feeling in his stomach and the heavy melancholia that now lay hazy on his mind.

✦ ✦ ✦

Isaac was awoken by the sound of horses neighing, men’s yelling and crunching of concrete. He lifted his head off of the door, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He jumped back, startled, when the door was suddenly swung open.

“Get out. We’re here,” Isaac heard a rough voice call to him, and he slid his small body across the seat and out of the door.

It was dark now, the only light torches the carriage-men were carrying and the moon. Isaac turned his head up to look around, and was met with a large, metal gate. It was in the shape of an arch. Above the doors, the metal had been twisted into intricate shapes, and in between a decorative script read St. Michael’s Reformatory School for Troubled Boys.

Two men, also holding torches, pushed the large doors of the gate open. Behind the large gates was a building that looked like one of the Catholic Abbey’s Isaac had seen in a painting once.

“Here,” one of the men said, and shoved Isaac’s suitcase into the boys arms. “Now go on through those gates. We can’t wait here all night.”

Isaac looked back to the gates, and took a few steps forward. Once he passed through the threshold of those gates, he felt a chill run through him. He looked back behind him to see the doors already being closed.

The walk up to the doors of the building was paved with gravel that crunched and was hard to walk on. Isaac looked around, trying to find something to distract himself from the cold pit of anxiety that had dug into his gut.

The front of the Abbey was decorated with flowered bushes; white roses, lilies and gardenias that caught the milky glow of the moon in their velvety petals and appeared to be glowing themselves. Large willow trees framed the front sides of the building, their drooping branches catching the glow of the moon as well and casting ghost-like shadows across the ground.

As Isaac got closer to the Abbey, he noticed there was someone standing in front of the doors. And then, when finally at the stairs, he saw that it was a man. A priest, more precisely, Isaac realized, when he noticed the vestment the man was wearing.

He seemed to be very tall, and looked down at Isaac with an inquisitive set of grey eyes. His features were large, and the lines of his frame were harsh and prim.

Then the man spoke, and said solemnly, “You’re size is small. What is your age?”

“Eleven years.”

“So much?” the priest said, with a doubtful tone. “Your name?”

“Isaac Grossman, sir.”

“Well, Isaac Grossman, welcome to St. Michael’s. I am Father Benedict. Tell me, Isaac, do you know who St. Michael is?”

Isaac shook his head.

Father Benedict hummed. “One of God’s greatest archangel’s, a spiritual warrior, in the battle of good versus evil. Tell me, Isaac, do you know the difference between good and evil?”

Isaac nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And is deceit a trait of good or evil?” the priest inquired.

“Evil.”

“Yes, very good,” the man seemed to praise, but his eyes looked on Isaac with disdain. “According to the letter your father wrote me not just this morning, you are very deceitful. Indeed, such a sad fault in a child,” Father Benedict declared; “it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their place in the lake burning with fire and brimstone.”

Isaac envisioned the thought of fire and skin being melted from bone, and he cringed.

“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” the man began again, “especially a naughty little boy. Do you know where the wicked go after death?”

“They go to hell,” was Isaac’s answer.

“And what exactly is hell? Can you tell me that?”

“A pit of fire.”

“And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning forever?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what must you do to avoid it?”

Isaac deliberated for a moment, and then answered, “I must keep in good health, and not die.”

“How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since; a good little child, whose soul now rests in heaven. It is to be feared the same could be said for you, for if the will of our Lord takes the good heart of a pure child from the Earth, how can we say it wouldn’t be the same for an odious child?”

Isaac could only cast his eyes down, focusing on the two large feet planted on the ground in front of him, and sighed, wishing himself far away.

“I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your mother and father.”

Isaac looked back up to the man, wide eyed. A discomfort to his parents? The thought of that filled him with dread. He had always carefully obeyed, strenuously tried to please, but it seemed the effort was repulsed and repaid in this. Isaac perceived that his father was already obliterating hope from the new phase of life which he was destined to enter in telling this stranger that he was bad of character, and the accusation cut Isaac to the heart.

“Yes, sir,” Isaac replied to the man’s previous statement, and struggled to repress a sob, hastily wiping away some tears, an impotent attempt to get rid of the evidences of his anguish.

“Very good,” Father Benedict said. He turned around and began to push the doors of the Abbey open, standing aside and beckoning for Isaac to follow. “Now come along, Isaac.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Isaac’s new room looked more like a cell than a bedroom.

The walls and floor were a dark grey color. The furnishings consisted of only a metal frame bed, sheeted in white cloth, and an oak desk. It felt cold and was filled with a thick uneasiness.

“We wake up at six each morning. Prayers, then breakfast. After that, classes, until five when we have afternoon prayers, and then dinner. Curfew is seven o’clock.” Father Benedict spoke from the doorway.

Isaac could only mutter a, “Yes, sir,” as the Father closed the door.

Isaac simply nudged his suitcase against the wall. It seemed like too big of a task to unpack, or do anything besides crawl into bed and sleep for hours. He curled in on himself, and before long began to cry.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong. Did I not do good enough?” Isaac sobbed into the quietness of his new room. “I promise, I’ll try harder. I’ll do enough.”

This pain was like nothing Isaac had ever felt before. In that moment, he realized the worst feeling must be that of being unloved.

✦ ✦ ✦

Divider link

[creamiesstoryconer]

Yandere Harpy x Reader Part 1

Chance Encounter

I ended up rewriting this whole chapter and reusing some of the content from the teaser I am so sorry!

This is my OC I'll probably post some more info about him at a later date and some world building stuff!

Word count: 1.5K

Total reading length: 12+ Minutes

Requests:Open!

TW:Blood and fighting

Baskets woven of fresh twine and twig, sitting on the soft palate of green crumpled underneath its own weight. Stacked high with the long forgotten labours of yesterday, fruits stained with the dew of early sun and ripened with the bitter winds of the night. 

Air crisp, smoking as you exhale, the condensate rising - dancing as it allows itself to be carried away by the senseless wind of the day. Gentle nipping of one's flesh, all warm bodies fall victim to the spring morn.

Haze settled in the distance, creating a golden sea that is bound to the floor. Almost a pure white light within the sky paints an ombre from deep greys and sea blues to a dusty hue.

Gravel path under foot, leading to rustic wall a deteriorating fence, scrapes and rolls each step taken. Tiny pebble tumbling down path, momentum faster than you can keep up with. A gentle smile nestled snugly upon your face. 

The start of spring, a true new year here. 

Following small path embed into ground, leading to a  patch of heaven. Plot of land, on the edge of the garden packed with love. Vibrant colours embraced alongside one another, roots embed into soft browns, out of sight yet still make themselves known. 

The scent as one passes by is catched in the breeze, pine that mutes the undertones of lavender. A refreshing scent against the early damp morning air.

Finger brush against aged wood, a gate whom had lived many a storm, shown upon the peeling of its face Overgrowth of ivy that had cast its grip upon the barrier. Ridges in the warping material cling to the moist air, the faint feeling lingers upon your skin as you pass yourself through. 

Into the arching corridor of nature that leads to the woods,  a path that is no longer rock, nor even dried mud. A long neglected walkway that mother earth had taken back for herself, tall grass flattened, a trace that you had been here just days ago. 

Trees hand in hand enclose the pathway, a canopy of dampened greens blocking out the sea of light that lay just above this seemingly separate part of the world.

Isolated and almost silent, it seems that time has grown stagnant. Further foot trod into the canopy walk, the gentle russell of leaves brushing against each other. The first songs of birds drowned out what little was not natural to mother Earth herself. High chirps and low croaks of frogs that called home to the rushing river just out of sight.

Flickering breaks in thick trunks that stud tall and proud, give opening to a flash of water that follows down hill. Cold clashes against stones that  leaves speckled clear upon plants that rooted themselves in the sloping waters. 

The natural web of nature, adhering to the splashes left by the waters. The transparent pearls that adorn exquisitely plumped ropes. glimpses of sunlight peeking through the thick foliage, its warm, golden light illuminating everything underneath.

Further onto ground you continue, colours finally spring to life, a refreshing taste to the repetitive greens and browns that had painted the day so far. Bunches of flowers finally make the canopy walk look bright, overhead gaps finally form allowing for break from dampened light.

A bit further up the overgrown trail you are familiar with, an annual springtime ritual. To make a sacrifice, to hope for world harmony, to continue a titration you have become tired of. Children should not be terrified of the customs and stories of the elderly; they are nothing more than fairy tales. 

At the opening's edge, feet stiffened as the deep green canopy of the trees gave way to a torrent of gold. Warm on the skin and a striking contrast to the morning breeze, the honey-coloured light completely engulfs the clearing. 

A few seconds it takes for your eyes to adjust. To be able to see a sea Of Clashing colours festival seemingly brought together by nature.Clashing smells of floral fight to enveloppe your nostrils. 

 Blues and pinks cramped by one another, twisting and fighting, reaching for the sea of light that washed over the bed of natural beauty. Delicate petals, untouched, pure.  Embodiment of times untouching hands where humans are not. 

Though at the moment feet had frozen, they had begun to move once more. The harsh cut out in the sea of purity, a feeling that causes legs to move upon their own.

A splatter of ugly red, tainting once faultless blossoms. A mark of impurity of ingrace. 

Flattening of the flower bed, a sin upon Mother Nature's Beauty, ones core told them to investigate. 

Your steps are cloaked by the cushion on greens and vibrance, Edging closer and closer to the flat  patch. In the air a metallic stench rises, the rusted colour of crimson upon translucent petals morphs from speckles to harsh thrashes. 

A trail leading to it…

Eyes glancing upon it, at first tanned skin, human. Deeply kissed by the sun, broad chest heaving. His warm breath clashing with frigid air that still plagued the thicket, a gutterel  wiring escaping from his body. 

A lingering look for too long, the source of what defiled the flowers around the laid body. A piercing arrow, through his shoulder. It’s deep oak and shaft crowned with it’s flesh wound. 

As if second nature, your fingertips reached forward, to aid or  to provide comfort you do not know. Softened Digits that grazed upon taunt skin, one exposed to the elements seemingly for a lifetime. 

Gaze focused upon the stranger's face for a reaction, though his features obscured by a mess of locks, a mixture of braids and tatters.

Then a hint of gold made itself  known through the nest of chestnut that hid most of the beings' identifying features. 

Time is still for only that moment. Only for a moment …

A blur and a impact,

The faint memory of something sharp around your waist before a harsh impact to one's back.

The coarse texture of dried bark entangled in once soft locks of hair. Throbbing, building a deafening silence is what over stimulates the nerves. Soothing warmth trickling down your neck, tracing itself past your crook. Allowing for a bud of red to flow and root itself onto once pristine white clothing. Now defiled with browns and quickly darkening crimsons. 

The rising of your chest like hard labour, air having been stolen from your lungs. Hoarse gasps replace a steady rhythm that was once there. Drying your mouth as a once cared for body folds in upon itself. 

Ringing in your ears causes one's head to spin. To not focus is to not be able to see. 

Blurs of greens, a blue perhaps the sky. Golden shines for a moment. Then the sight of flesh. 

Flesh unclothed, blotches of maroon identifiable upon the sun kissed skin. A guttural scream escapes your lips, ripping through your vocal cords, straining already fatigued muscle despite no fight being given. 

Cheeks, red as puffed eyes strained to stay open, salty water - your own tears-  sullying your face. Teeth bared as saliva bubbles and leaks from the corner of your mouth.  Instinct forces your disorientated body to stay awake.

Fingers tangled within a sickenly soft plumage of feathers. Almost comforting to touch under dirt stuffed nails.

Air that was once almost refreshing to the lungs now reeks of desperation and fear. Tawng of metallic lingering, your own blood that was long dried and flaking. A dried river of rusty colour liquid fashioned from your own wound, wrapping around your neck like a macabre necklace. 

It’s animalistic eyes boaring into you, pupils blown to unnatural size. Tilting its head, forcing itself to envelope your sight. It’s chest rumbling, trilling… studying.

Hands still entangled with the red feathers, weakened digits clasp desperately. Unable to keep your head straight for much longer, a final fight escapes your limps. Harsh, violent yanking down upon plumage in hand. 

Pure red decorating your hands and the floor below. Feathers flown, taken from the scene of pure instinct by the gentle winds.

Ringing in your ears accompanied with an unworldly screech, piercing a cry that would shatter one's heart .

 All within a moment a peaceful day ended with your hands painted in red , head once again snapped into wood. Before the shuddering that was your world goes black within a moment. 

Yet body still feels the dragging across the field of mother earth's patch of hidden gold.

[password-door-lock]

“What… is going on?” You find yourself asking. You feel it’s a pretty fair question, all things considered. After all, it stands to reason that this situation isn’t giving you very much to work with in the way of context clues. 

Saeran adjusts his ruffled kerchief, as if this might be the object of your inquiry. “Oh… this is my outfit for the anniversary party.” He drops into an elaborate (and clearly rehearsed) curtsy before offering his hand to you. “What do you think, darling?” His lips, glimmering with peachy gloss, are drawn into a knowing smirk. 

“I think,” your voice is still low with the gravel of sleep when you take his hand. In your defense, you did not expect to come downstairs on the morning of your RFA anniversary to find your husband clad in a maid’s uniform. “You look… really good.” 

You chide yourself internally for your awkwardness, but Saeran doesn’t seem to mind. “Thank you very much, my love.” He giggles, leading you over to the kitchen table and dropping your hand so he can pull out your chair. You notice that he has not only prepared an elaborate breakfast for you, but also taken the time to lay out a brand new tablecloth and filled a vase with fresh flowers from his garden. The soft pink petals are still damp with morning dew. “I’ll bring you your breakfast.”

Several questions rise to your mind at once as you sit down. You settle for the most straightforward one first. “You made breakfast already? How long have you been up, honey?” 

Saeran seems to consider the inquiry as he drapes a cloth napkin over your lap. You weren’t even aware that you owned cloth napkins— did he buy one just for this, or did he steal it from the party hall? “Three hours now,” he decides. “I also cleaned the living room, but I wanted to wait until you got up to vacuum.” He pushes your chair in for you, inexplicably making you blush.

“Why?” You find yourself asking— not that you’re complaining. As much as you want to spoil him rotten, you can admit that it’s exciting to have Saeran waiting on you this way. Considering you’ll be wearing a similar ensemble at this afternoon’s party, you can easily see yourself returning the favor for him after the event. Already, you’re thinking of chores you might be able to do in this manner— the grout in the bathroom needs touching up, and you know that Saeran isn’t fond of the task. Maybe you could work with that.

“Well… I needed to break in the shoes.” Again with that knowing smirk. 

You can’t help but follow your curiosity down with your gaze. You’ll have time later to process the fact that Saeran is wearing thigh-high stockings, complete with graceful, silky pink bows, the ends of which peek out from under the lacy hem of his skirt. As promised, he is wearing new shoes: a pair of pink kitten-heel pumps. “Okay,” you breathe. It’s just that you’re having a hard time making the connection between Saeran’s new shoes and his decision to surprise you this way. You suppose that might just be because you’re flustered— and flustered you are. Your husband always looks pretty, but the ruffled uniform is an interesting change of pace from his typical button-downs and slacks.

“Is something wrong, my love?” Saeran asks, though you know the question isn’t genuine. He’d probably drop the act if he thought something was seriously bothering you. “Why don’t you have some breakfast? I’m sure you’ll feel better after you eat. And let me know if something isn’t to your liking— I wouldn’t want you to have anything less than the best as long as I’m taking care of you. I’ll be happy to do whatever you tell me.” This, too, sounds rehearsed. You smile a little at the mental image of Saeran practicing this small, polite speech while dusting bookshelves in the living room, waiting for you to wake up. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Now, my love, if you need me for anything, I’ll be washing the dishes.” 

“What? No you won’t.” It slips out with your good-natured laughter before you can think of what else to say. If he’s been working like this all morning, then he deserves a break, uniform or no. “Come eat with me, please, baby.”

“Oh.” Saeran blinks at you a few times before your words seem to sink in. Were you too mean? You didn’t speak harshly at all, but perhaps you crossed a line by shooting down Saeran’s idea. You just hated the thought of him working and going hungry while you eat breakfast alone, regardless of the fantasy that he’s trying to create. Maybe it would be better if you explain— “If that’s what you want, my love. I was going to eat after I got done with the dishes... but I'll do whatever makes you happy, instead.”

My love. He delivers the term of endearment with enough reverence to rival my lady, my lord, or perhaps even your highness. You suppose you can't really blame him for wanting to wait on you; after all, you love him just as much as he loves you, and you're looking forward to the chance to return the favor later today. When that time comes, you'll make sure he doesn't need to lift a finger while you see to his every need. But for now...

“Please come sit,” you coax him over. “I don’t want you to get overworked, especially since you’ll be on your feet all day at the party.” 

“Of course, my love.” Saeran establishes himself obediently in the chair across from you, not even bothering to grab a plate. He did say he’d do anything you told him, didn’t he? “Whatever you say.” He regards you fondly. 

You stand up and move to the cupboard, where you procure a plate and a glass for Saeran. You already know that he’ll want juice with his breakfast. On your way back to your seat, you grab some utensils for him from the drawer by the sink. “Let's have a nice meal together before we have to start working. The dishes can wait,” you announce in a pantomime of an authoritative tone, broken just occasionally by stray bouts of laughter. Two can play at this game, after all— and you’re confident that Saeran will dish it out as well as he takes it when you flip the script on him after the party. 

You don’t miss the blush that rises to his face at your words. It compliments the pink ruffles on his kerchief very well. “As you wish,” he breathes, helping himself to some waffles. “My love.” 

[thesunhatesme]

Day 3 - Massage

Wc: 500 Thank you @forlorn-crows for the amazing prompts!

He'd been in the greenhouse all day. The snow had just melted and gardening season was in motion. There was so much to do first though, putting dirt in all the pots, getting the dirt ready, cleaning the shed and so much more. Mountain didn't complain though, he loved working in the greenhouse, some music playing from the radio in the background, birds singing and feeling the earth come alive after winter, he loved it.

It was almost time for dinner, so he started cleaning up, brushing the floor from all the extra dirt, putting the pots in the right place and making sure everything was tidy for the next day. He closed the doors and made his way back to the den, muscles sore from working all day.

He decided a hot shower would be nice, maybe loosen up his muscles a bit. He got himself undressed and jumped in the shower, letting the hot water pour down on him. The water felt so nice as he stood there, eyes closed, just letting the water relax his muscles. 

After a while he got out of the shower and dried off, smelling like lemongrass and strawberries. The bathroom mirror was all fogged up from his hot shower, and so were his glasses. He got himself dressed and went down to the living room.

Aether was sitting on the couch, reading a book. “Hey Mount” He said as he put a bookmark in and put away the book. He saw the way Mountain walked, shoulders tense and stiff. Aether stood up and walked to stand behind the armchair Mountain was sitting down in. 

“What have you been up to in the greenhouse all day?” Aether asked as he started gently massaging Mountain's shoulders, using a bit of quintessence to relieve some of the soreness.

“Oh, you know, cleaning the shed, arranging all the pots, carrying dirt, just getting everything ready for spring” Mountain sighed deeply and he could feel his shoulders relaxing as Aether worked his magic. Aether definitely gave the best massages.

They kept on talking about their days while Aether worked his magic into Mountain's muscles. He told him all about the infirmary and how chaotic it had been now that spring was coming up and everyone was going outside. Lots of siblings had come in with scraped knees from running around and tripping and falling on the gravel. Mountain told him about all the seeds he wanted to plant and how he was thinking about arranging all the pots and boxes. 

Aether made Mountain lay on the floor so he could massage his back. He did as he was told, only muttering a few complaints under his breath, he knew it would feel good when Aether was done.

Aether started kneading Mountains back, more quintessence loosening up his muscles. Aether kept talking but after a while he didn't get any answers. But he could hear soft snores.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Your Ivy Grows // House of Gaunt

AO3 Link

Summary: Ominis Gaunt cannot see, but he can feel. He can feel the tall thickets of grass outside of his Aunt Noctua's house, now his for the summer. He can feel the sand down by the beach, the water of the tide pools, the overgrown ivy in Noctua's beloved garden. Most importantly, he can feel the gentle brush of his house guest's hand against his as they take their daily walk. He fears that he may feel much, much more for his new house guest.

Word Count: 6,745

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, oral sex F!receiving, vaginal sex NSFW, MDNI

“Are you ready?”

Ominis wasn’t ready to answer her question quite yet.  He squeezed his eyes tight, taking in a deep breath.  He hoped they wouldn’t be gone for long, but he couldn’t fight the twisting feeling deep down in his stomach.  Something told him no matter how their trip to London went, things might not be the same upon their return. So, Ominis took his time memorizing the house in its current state.  He wanted to remember everything as it was–the fresh, salty sea air, the earthy smell of the garden wafting in the breeze.  Afternoons spent basking in sunlight, laying in the lush grass while his companion trimmed the ivy. 

Of all the things Ominis would miss, it would be the freedom the old seaside manor provided the young couple that he would long for the most.

Not long after Marvolo’s howler had destroyed itself, a thestral drawn carriage bearing the Gaunt family crest arrived.  Golly had pointed out the carriage in the front drive of the house, anxiously drumming her hands against neck.  Of course, Ominis could not see them, nor could his houseguest.  Sebastian, giving a weary sigh, confirmed the arrival of the winged beasts.  The house immediately descended into chaos.  Golly, still trembling, made her way upstairs to pack their trunks.  His houseguest trailed behind her, trying to appease the house-elf’s worries.

Sebastian and Ominis stood in the study, listening to the commotion upstairs.

“Can’t put it off any longer,” Sebastian said quietly. “You’re going to ask him for her hand, aren’t you?”

“It’s our only option.” Ominis put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I…I want to thank you for trying.”

“I won’t stop,” Sebastian warned him. “There’s got to be another way.”

“While I admire your tenacity, Sebastian, I’m not sure we have time for your plan.” Ominis sighed. 

His only solution was to beg his brother for her hand in marriage, and if that failed…

No, Ominis thought. He wouldn’t even dream of it. 

Within the hour, Golly had strapped in their trunks, she and Sebastian watching the couple anxiously as they departed the front drive.  The thestrals picked up their pace, cantering down the gravel drive until they reached a high enough speed to take flight.  Ominis’s hand flew down to hers as the carriage rocked, squeezing it tightly.

“Taking off is always the worst part.” he said sheepishly, patting his brow.

She sidled up to him, a curl brushing his cheek. “I figured it would be.” she mused. “How long until we’re in London?”

“Give or take an hour or two,” Ominis sighed. “And while I’d love to spend the entire time holding you,” he said, slipping a finger under her chin, “we should probably get a few things straight.”

“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head.

Ominis chewed the inside of his cheek. He let his finger trail upwards, the pad of his thumb brushing over her lips. He groaned when she parted them, taking a deep sigh. “For starters, we probably shouldn’t do that around my brother.  Anywhere in the house, really.  We shouldn’t even be near one another.”

Even without his wand out, he could sense her deflate, pulling away from him. “We could be sneaky–”

“The word doesn’t exist at my brother’s house.” Ominis grumbled. 

“But the night of the ball–” she argued, Ominis pressing another finger to her lips.

“While a fond memory, it was a lapse in judgment.  We’re lucky there were plenty of distractions the night of the ball, and we nearly got caught then.” he reminded her. “Marvolo will have his eyes on us when it’s just family in the house.”

He could feel the way her shoulders bowled over. “Fine,” she grumbled. “A week without touching you.  I think we’ll survive.”

“I can’t say the same for myself.” Ominis admitted.

She chuckled quietly, which brought some relief to him. “What else should I be mindful of?” she asked.

Ominis sighed. “You should be wary of my sisters. They’re normally lingering about the house, and they always have a trick up their sleeves.”

“Sisters.” she said slowly. “What are they like?”

Ominis rolled his eyes, leaning his chin into his knuckles. “Cedrella, Dorcas, and Apolline.” he drawled. “The worst.  When they’re not gossiping about their friends, they’re complaining about their husbands. I can’t blame them, they’re all cretins, but still.”

“Oh come on,” she argued. “Your sisters can’t be so awful.”

Ominis hardened his jaw. “Cedrella never cared much for me in the first place–she and Marvolo were already off at Hogwarts by the time I was born.  The other two…well, I would’ve thought we had a close relationship, until they cast the cruciatus curse on me as a child.” he said bitterly.

“Oh.” she whispered, her voice small and quiet. “I…I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have, I didn’t tell you.” Ominis said gently. “They’re why I detest the unforgivable curses, and the dark arts in general.”

“So, I shouldn’t trust your sisters.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Ominis fiddled with his wand. “Don’t trust my sisters,” he echoed.

“Who else will be there?” she asked.

“I doubt anyone else,” Ominis grumbled. “Most of the time my parents stay at the manor.  My father is harmless enough at this point–he’s been senile for years.  My mother mostly stays with him, so you won’t have to worry about her.”

“What of Marvolo’s wife?” 

Ominis shrugged. “My sister-in-law doesn’t particularly enjoy his company, so she stays at the manor with my parents while Marvolo has his fun.”  The word came out viciously. “I’m sure one of his many mistresses will be there.”

“I wonder what they’re like,” she mumbled.

“A rotating door of ladies,” Ominis rolled his eyes. “Except for his favorite, Araminta Malfoy.  She’s the one you saw at the ball–his most regular companion. They were lovers when they were in school.”

“Why didn’t he marry her?” she asked.

“I was very young, so I don’t remember it exactly,” Ominis admitted. “There was a terrible argument over it, though.  I think there was a rumor that one of her cousins had gone soft, and they’d thought he was a squib.  Father was worried it might dilute our bloodline, so he forced Marvolo to marry a Lestrange instead.”

She was quiet for a moment; Ominis could almost hear the gears ticking in her head as she thought. 

“She must really love him.” she mused. “To put up with it.”

Ominis rolled his eyes, tilting his head against the cool glass. “I doubt either of them are all that emotional.  It’s hard to imagine my brother feeling anything at all, really.”

“I’m not talking about your brother.  I know firsthand that he’s deficient in that department. But imagine being someone’s mistress for that long. Gods, I’d hate it.  Never fully belonging to someone the way you want to.” she said wistfully. “Think I’d rather be put out of my misery than live half a life, you know?”

Ominis paused, ruminating over her sentiment.  He never wanted to feel any sympathy towards his brother or his mistress. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”  

She didn’t say anything else; his companion merely tangled her fingers with his, her head leaning against his shoulder.  He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her hair.

“We would never be like that, would we?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Never.” Ominis declared.  The carriage dipped as the thestrals adjusted in the air; his companion slid even closer to him, hugging him closely. 

“I’ll have to be indifferent towards you when we’re there.  At least until I can get Marvolo alone to ask him.” Ominis swallowed thickly at the thought. “But I just want you to know that I don’t mean it.  The way I act, the disinterest…you know I could never feel that way towards you.” Ominis reassured her.

“I know.” She murmured, pressing a longing kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure him.

Ominis had always hated the London house.  He’d never spent much time there as a child; his parents were embarrassed to have their blind son out around their society friends, punting him off to Noctua instead.  By the time Ominis was old enough to hold his own at society events, Marvolo had taken over the house as his main residence.  He’d filled the Gaunt’s London abode with his collection of magical artifacts, and allowed his pet snakes to roam freely.  

While the luxurious furnishings and decor were enough to impress wizarding society, Ominis knew better. The rugs were worn and fraying, artwork borrowed or stolen. Thanks to Marvolo’s many raucous social gatherings, the carpets were damp and smelled of stale firewhiskey. 

“I don’t remember it looking like this during the ball,” his companion whispered.  She trailed behind him, gingerly slipping past the cluttered hallway.

“Marvolo is quite talented at hiding away the mess he’s made,” Ominis grunted.  “I dare not ask how he’s paid for half of these artifacts. He has all the house-elves work overtime to spruce the place up in time for a party.”

It was a short trek to the ballroom; Marvolo sat atop his makeshift throne, his mistress Araminta seated at his feet like she had been at the ball. Ominis could sense the presence of his sisters, scattered around the room.  Cedrella was sitting next to the window, paying them no attention whatsoever, while Dorcas and Apolline quietly sewed.  As expected, none of their husbands were present.

“My dear baby brother,” Marvolo mused, tapping his chin. “Finally well enough to travel. I do hope our friend here was of some help during your illness.”

“Yes,” Ominis feigned. “She was a great help.”

“Come forward, girl.” Marvolo barked.  

Ominis awkwardly stepped to the side, his houseguest tiptoeing forward.  

“You look very nice in the clothes I bought you.” Marvolo said haughtily. “It appears you do have a lovely shape, after all. Doesn’t she, Araminta?”

“She does,” Araminta declared in her syrupy sweet voice. “Very pretty.”

Ominis gritted his teeth, clenching a fist behind his back. 

“Thank you, I suppose.” she muttered, feet pattering backwards. 

“I hope you weren’t too bored,” Marvolo droned on, “stuck with Ominis.  Although it can’t have been that bad–you look well recovered, brother.” There was a hint of suspicion to his voice, but it melted away as a house elf tiptoed into the room.

“Tea is prepared, sir.” the house-elf squeaked. “And Binky will start working on scrubbing the hallways down right away.”

“Take care not to damage anything whilst you’re cleaning,” Marvolo barked at the house-elf. “And make sure to lock the cellar door before everyone arrives tomorrow.” he stood, his chair scraping the marble floor. “Girls, please show our guest to her room.  Ominis, care to join us for tea in the garden?  I have to send an owl first, but Araminta can escort you.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Ominis said awkwardly.  He could hear his sisters accosting his companion, pulling her away.  

“Come along, Ominis.” Araminta said, appearing at his side.  Her voice was slightly hoarse, missing the sickly sweet tone she adopted whenever Marvolo was near. She slid her arm through the crook of his elbow, patting his hand. “To the garden.”

Araminta led Ominis out to the garden, gently guiding him to a patio chair. 

“Lovely weather in London,” she hummed, nestling into the chair across from him.  

“Yes, lovely.” Ominis uttered.

“Although I’m sure it can hardly compare to the seaside.” Araminta noted.  Ominis could hear the clinking of the china teacups, Araminta murmuring a warming spell under her breath towards the teapot. As she continued her pleasantries, Ominis found himself drifting back to the conversation he’d had with his companion in the carriage.

Even without sight, Ominis understood Araminta Malfoy to be beautiful.  His entire life, he’d heard that she was tall, had delicate features, and was quick-witted. She had to be well into her thirties at this point, Marvolo’s oldest and most beloved mistress. There had been others, younger and equally pretty, but Ominis had never known any of them to linger as long as Araminta had. As far as he knew, she was married with a child of her own, an entire life outside of her dalliance with his brother.

“Alright, Ominis?” Araminta asked, fanning herself with a little lace fan.

“Just fine,” he lied. “How…how are you?”

“Quite well,” she said, pouring out a cup of tea for him. “Just got into town earlier this morning myself.”

“From whereabouts?” 

He could sense her wry smile. “From Wiltshire.”

“Forgive me, what’s in Wiltshire?” Ominis cocked his head.

Araminta let out a tiny sigh, the fabric of her dress crinkling as she leaned back into her seat. “Malfoy manor.” she said coolly. “My husband’s home.”

Ominis nearly spat his tea out. “Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Right. How is…” he trailed off, trying to remember the name of her child.

“Abraxas. He’ll be four this year.” she dropped a sugar cube into her tea, pushing the sugar bowl his way. “Any milk?”

Ominis held his hand up in refusal. “No thank you. And your husband?”

“Also faring well, if not a bit miffed at me.” Araminta hummed. “I’m missing a boating party he assembled.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Ominis sipped his tea.

“It’s quite alright.  Would’ve been dreadfully hot anyways.” she droned on, tapping her nails against the metal table. “I hadn’t been expecting your brother’s invitation, but always happy to join a Gaunt family weekend.”

“Family?” Ominis’s ears perked. “Everyone is coming?”

“Yes,” she said, fanning herself once more. “Your father and mother are due to arrive tomorrow evening for dinner.”

It was unlike his parents to leave the manor, he thought to himself.  Marvolo must have had something significant up his sleeve if it was interesting enough to draw his senile father and glacial mother out of their den.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Araminta reassured him. “I believe your brother wants you to meet someone while you’re here.”

“Oh,” Ominis blurted. “ That’s why he has the house-elves hiding everything away?”

Araminta let out a bright, sparkling laugh. “Yes, I believe so. Your sister met a very sweet girl during her recent trip, and Marvolo thinks she might be a match for you. He’s invited her and her family to join us for supper tomorrow.  Marvolo was quite impatient for you to feel better; kept rescheduling on them.”

Ominis fidgeted in his seat, trying to find the right words to follow up.  If only they knew , he thought, that his heart was already spoken for. 

“Galleon for your thoughts?” Araminta teased.

Ominis swirled his finger over his tea, stirring it.“The business of marriage is tiresome, don’t you think?” 

Araminta’s laugh faded into a sigh. “It could be worse.” she mused. “You could be a woman, after all.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “A blunt sentiment.  Is it really that awful?”

Araminta took a sip of her tea. “I’d ask your brother’s wife.” There was no mistaking the icy tone in her voice.

“Do you love my brother?” Ominis blurted.  The question had slipped through his lips without a second thought.

“Your brother and I have known each other for a very long time.” Araminta shrugged, setting her teacup down. “And while I was not considered a suitable match for him, we enjoy each other’s company.”

“But do you love him?” Ominis insisted.

Araminta paused, ruminating over the question.  “Even if I didn’t, do I have a choice?” she retorted. 

Ominis was struck by her honesty.  He’d opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his brother’s heavy footsteps interrupted them.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Marvolo said cheerfully. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Araminta’s head. “Catching up, you two?”

“Yes,” Araminta said sweetly, voice dripping with honey once more. “I was just telling your brother about the guest of honor for tomorrow's dinner.”

Marvolo, brutish as ever, spilled the tea as he poured it into the little teacup. “Yes, that’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said absentmindedly. “The Pinch-Smedley family will be joining us for supper tomorrow.” Ominis raised an eyebrow. “The Pinch-Smedleys?  As in, Grace Pinch-Smedley?”

“That’s the one,” Marvolo snapped his fingers. “I do believe you two were in the same year at school.”

“We were,” Ominis crossed his arms. “And you’re inviting her so that I might court her?”

“Marry her,” Marvolo said simply. “Her father is eager to get her off his hands, and he’s looking for a match that will elevate his station. They’re new money, but I can look aside that given the size of her dowry. And considering your deficiencies, she’s a good match.”

Ominis felt his mouth go dry. “You can’t possibly be serious.” 

Marvolo’s friendly demeanor shifted rapidly, voice going cold. “Why not?”

“Grace, we barely have anything in common,” Ominis wrinkled his nose. “Sure, we went to school together, but I hardly know her–”

“Oh honestly, Ominis, don’t be such a girl about it,” Marvolo complained, draping himself over a chair.  

“Marvolo, darling, I think Ominis is just nervous.” Araminta suggested.

Marvolo snorted. “Nothing to be nervous about–he’ll be winning a pretty girl.  I could think of worse things. For example, the little Lestrange troll our father set me up with.” he joked.

Both Araminta and Ominis were silent, neither daring to respond to his jabs.

“Besides that,” Marvolo said coolly, attention turned back to Ominis. “Once you marry the Pinch-Smedley girl, and our little houseguest marries one of her many suitors, we’ll have a decent haul.”

Ominis felt sick, the bile rising in his throat. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his body, begging him to shout his affections for her. He opened his mouth to bring up his question, but nothing came out.

“Are you alright, Ominis?” Araminta asked, voice piqued with curiosity. 

Ominis coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.” he lied.

Ominis’s bedroom had long gone unused; he’d had to wedge himself between statues, stacks of books, and dusty old furniture just to fall into his old bed.  He tossed and turned on his creaky old bed, struggling to find peace. On several occasions he found himself drifting off to sleep, but the chattering of Marvolo’s pet snakes kept him awake.  He couldn’t imagine how his houseguest felt, subjected to the ever-present hum of hissing. 

If Ominis really wanted comfort, he could always leave and go back to the flat he shared with Sebastian–he hadn’t been there all summer, and he yearned for the feeling of his tidy old bedroom. However, pressed stomach down against the flimsy mattress, Ominis found he longing for something else.  Rather, someone.

Listening to his clock chime twelve times, Ominis got out of bed, tiptoeing around the mess of artifacts.  Tying his robe around his waist, he held his wand up to guide himself down the stairs and through the tight, restricting corridors.  Several times he found himself tripping over the fraying runners on the floor, needing both his wand and a hand on the walls to navigate his way to refuge. 

The library was perhaps the only quiet place in the house.  Marvolo had no interest in books, so he and his pets had no reason to enter the room.  Ominis waved his wand quickly to unlock the doors, slipping through them without a sound. As the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind him, he let out an audible groan, head banging against the surface.

“Tough day?”

Ominis nearly jumped out of his skin, hand pressed to his heart as he raised his wand.  His eyes widened, realizing it was his companion, sitting cross legged in a wingback chair.

“It’s you,” Ominis sighed in relief. “Always out of bed in places you shouldn’t be,” he hummed, padding over to her.  He pressed a delicate kiss to the top of her head, luxuriating in her smell.

“It’s a part of my charm at this point,” she mused, pressing a kiss to his palm. “It’s been a very long day.”

“Long is one way to put it,” Ominis grumbled, settling into the chair across from her. “Do you know how torturous it’s been being apart?”

“I’ve been relegated to spending time with your sisters,” she reminded him. 

“Right.  So, you understand the torture.”

She laughed, her voice low and hoarse. “They’re really not that awful,” she sighed. “Just…boring.  They spent most of the day talking about clothes, hating their husbands, and gossiping about other ladies. I thought they were going to tear my head off when I told them Marvolo bought me new clothes.”

“Boring is kind of you to say,” Ominis huffed. “Devoid of feeling is the way I’d put it.”

“Did you miss me?” she taunted him.

Ominis raised a brow. “Is that even a question?” he slid off the leather chair, shuffling on his knees towards her. “I’ve missed you from the second we left the carriage.” he breathed, his hand catching around her ankle. 

She took in a sharp breath. “I thought this was part of the rules,” she whispered, breaths stuttering as Ominis slid his hand higher up her leg. “Not being around one another.”

“I’ll never understand your incessant need to gallivant around the house in such little clothing.” Ominis chirped, the feeling of her thin nightgown catching between his fingertips.

“Hey,” she complained. “I am wearing a robe.”

Ominis rolled his eyes, fighting back his smile. “I love you,” he murmured, sliding her gown over her knee.  He pressed a fervent kiss against her calf, tongue tracing circles over her skin. “And fuck the rules–Merlin, I missed you.”

“What if someone comes in and sees us?” she whispered, legs squirming as he pressed kisses along the inside of her thighs. It reminded him of their first encounter, his lips pressed against her thigh as a party raged outside the doors. Only this time, the stakes were much higher–there was no party, no noise to distract anyone who might hear them. 

Ominis was almost always the north star of good judgment, but the smell of her was too intoxicating, and the feel of her silky skin against his had him ready to throw away all of his good manners.  She always had that effect on him; something about her felt too good.

“They won’t,” he assured her, tugging her closer to the edge of the seat. He slipped his hand inside his robe pocket, pulling his wand out to cast a silencing charm on the door. “It’s just us.”

Setting his wand down on the floor next to him, Ominis hooked his hands behind her knees, tugging her closer.  The hem of her nightgown was pushed up to her waist. He relished the sound of her soft sighs once his lips found skin; grinning as his tongue flicked against her warm, wet center.  She muffled a cry, biting down on her hand to keep from moaning.

“I missed the way you taste,” Ominis confessed, brushing his nose against her cunt. “I’d do anything to feel you around me right now.”

“I’m sure…that, ah …that can be arranged.” she said breathily. “Quick, get up.”

Ominis pulled away, wiping her slick on the back of his hand.  She shuffled around him, pushing him down onto the chair.  He bounced slightly, feeling hand trail down his chest.

“What are you doing?” he tilted his head.

“Sit,” she whispered, nimble hands making quick work of his pajamas.  Ominis let out a throaty groan as her hand wrapped around his length, slowly stroking him. “Relax.”

“On my lap– please,” Ominis whimpered.

She did as he asked, crawling onto his lap.  His hands found her hips, tilting his head into her chest when she sank onto his length. He had no words for the feeling of utter bliss–it had been such a draining day, the feeling of her pulsing around him was bringing him back to life. 

Despite the silencing charm, neither dared to be too loud.  The only thing Ominis could hear was the creaking of the leather chair below them, her sharp breaths, and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.  She slowly rolled her hips as Ominis wrapped his arms around her waist, praying to hold on as long as he could.  He didn’t want the feeling to end; he knew the moment it was over, they’d have to go back to separate beds, pretending they had nothing to do with one another once the sun came up.

“I love you,” Ominis breathed against her neck.  Her hands were tangled in his hair, tugging at his locks to tilt his head upwards. “I love you .”

“I don’t want to go back to bed alone,” she croaked, pressing her lips against his in a fervent kiss. “I want to go home. To our bed, Ominis.”

Ominis nearly lost his resolve at her words.  He imagined them leaving the wretched city together, hand in hand. Fuck the rules, fuck polite society, fuck arranged marriages.  They could go back to the seaside manor, just the two of them. He’d ravish her in their shared bed, in the garden, down by the shore.  It was home–their home–

He buried his face into her chest, thrusting upwards as he came, spilling inside of her.  Her name dragged across his lips, face pressed into the sweaty cotton of her nightgown.

Panting, he leaned his head back against the chair. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I didn’t want to finish quite yet.”

He felt her mouth open, lips pressed against his temple, but she never had a chance to speak.  The couple froze as they heard the door handle jiggle, muffled voices on the other side of the heavy wooden door.

Ominis panicked, realizing he’d missed a crucial step in safeguarding the room. His wand was on the ground; in his hurry, he hadn’t cast a locking spell on the door.  Whoever was on the other side would surely catch them in their post-coital mess, his companion still perched on his lap.  Ominis quickly lifted her off his lap, hastily pulling her nightgown down before falling to the ground to find his wand.

“I’m just going to fetch some whiskey,” the voice in the doorway said.  The door creaked open while Ominis patted the floor for his wand.  He could hear his houseguest gasp, and the patter of footsteps stopped.

“Oh,” the voice said, bemused.

Ominis held his wand up, preparing to defend himself, until he realized who was standing before them.  It was Araminta, also clad in her nightgown; she’d been heading for the decanter of firewhiskey near the desk. His mouth fell open, but he had no words to explain away the scandalous scene.  Face burning bright red, he used his free hand to cover his manhood.

“What’s the hold up?” Ominis could hear Marvolo’s lazy drawl from down the hallway.  He blinked rapidly, praying that his brother would stay outside.

There was a moment of silence until Araminta cleared her breath. “Nothing, my love.” she called out.  Ominis could hear the crystal decanter scraping against the desk as she grabbed it. “I’ll be right there.”

Somewhere down the hallway, a door shut. Ominis half expected his brother’s mistress to leave right away, but she turned back around to address them.

“The two of you better dress and get off to bed,” Araminta whispered. “You’re lucky it was just me.”

Ominis hastily pulled his pants up, helping his embarrassed houseguest to her feet. The two of them fumbled around with their robes, trying to sidestep the woman at the door. Araminta let her pass through without issue, but she put a hand on Ominis’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“You know better,” Araminta scolded him lightly. “You must be more careful.”

“Why would you care?” Ominis asked.  It sounded bitter, but it was an honest question.

Araminta sighed, smoothing her hand over his chest. “You know how your brother can get; he doesn’t like to share–”

“She’s not his toy,” Ominis hissed, straightening his back. 

“She’s not yours either,” Araminta reminded him. “Your brother charged you with her care, and I’m sure he didn’t mean it in that way.”

“It’s not like that,” Ominis muttered. “I love her.”

“I’m sure you do,” Araminta mused. “But be careful, Ominis. She deserves better than being someone’s mistress, don’t you agree?”

Ominis opened his mouth to respond, but he was too late.  She’d already flipped her braid over her shoulder, confidently striding out of the library.

“Good morning,” Ominis grumbled, walking into the dining room. 

“Merlin’s beard, did you sleep at all?” Cedrella chortled. The girls had already tucked into their breakfast. While his three sisters had all turned to stare at him with raised eyebrows, the girl situated between them kept her head down, pushing the eggs around her plate.  Araminta sat at the head of the table, absentmindedly licking the oatmeal off her spoon.

“I’m fine,” Ominis lied, slinking over to the buffet.  He wrinkled his nose at the smell of breakfast; while he was starving, his stomach was in knots.  After their encounter in the library with Araminta, there was no way he’d be able to sleep peacefully.  For most of his life, Ominis had never seen her as much more than Marvolo’s favorite mistress, but considering her choice words, he wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

Would she have told his brother?  No, it didn’t seem likely.  Would she perhaps use the information to blackmail him? A possibility.  She gave nothing away, ignoring the rest of the table.

Ominis piled eggs and toast onto his plate, swallowing back a yawn as he sat down at the breakfast table.

“You really should take a focus potion,” Dorcas said lazily, draping herself against the back of her chair. “Mother and Father will be here shortly, and I doubt they’ll want to see you as such a mess.”

“No, not with your future bride in tow.” Apolline chirped. “You’re lucky Cedrella proposed the idea of Grace to Marvolo, you know.  Pretty and she has money. Very hard to pin a fully pureblood girl with both nowadays, it seems.”

Ominis’s head flew up, wand gripped tightly in his hand.  He could make sense of the faces around him; his sisters all had haughty grins on their faces.  His houseguest, on the other hand, had turned her gaze to a portrait across the room.

“It’s not official,” Ominis announced. “Marvolo only told me yesterday.”  The statement wasn’t for his sisters, merely a plea of reason to his lover.

“Well, you know how Marvolo gets when he puts his mind to something,” Cedrella grunted. “That’s how I got saddled with Montague.”

“Ugh, at least he’s not half as boring as Alphonse.” Dorcas complained. “My husband couldn’t be bothered to read a book.”

“Yes, but you at least get to enjoy Travers’s gold,” Apolline interjected. “Herbert lost it all in that dragon breeding ring…”

The girls went on about their husbands and unhappy marriages, while his companion remained quiet, scraping her fork across the bone china plate.  Ominis felt a wave of dread crash over his senses; while he’d had some semblance of hope yesterday, what little remained was dwindling by the second.  He wanted nothing more than to pull her away, reassure her of his affections.  Instead, they were across the table from one another, forced into silence as his sisters babbled. He yearned to hear her voice, for something witty and smart to come out of her mouth–yet nothing.

The door opened, and everyone stopped their chatter.  Ominis could hear the little pittering footsteps of a house-elf. 

“Master Marvolo has asked to see Master Ominis in the library, sir.”

Ominis regretfully pushed away from the dining table, following the house-elf down the thin corridor. Their voices grew further and further away, until only his footsteps were audible.  He pushed into the door of the library, raising his wand to get an idea of Marvolo’s position.  His elder brother was sitting behind the desk, absentmindedly flipping through papers.

“There you are,” he droned. “Sleep well? You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

“Just fine, thanks.” Ominis grumbled. “What’s so important it had to interrupt breakfast?”

Marvolo leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “We’ll have a few more guests joining us for dinner tonight.” he said cheerfully. “Thought we should make it a celebratory affair, if we’re to celebrate two engagements tonight.”

Ominis felt his blood go cold. “Two engagements?” 

Marvolo rapped his knuckles against the wooden table top. “Well, there’s you and Grace to start. If Mr. Pinch-Smedley is amenable to the dowry I’ve negotiated, we’ll make it official. You know, I despise social climbers, but we need the galleons.” he sighed. “That, and I’ve decided on a match for our little houseguest.”

“Who?” Ominis asked, almost a bit too quickly.

“Augustus Carrow has thrown in an offer of seventeen hundred galleons.” Marvolo chuckled. “I daresay the girl has made quite an impression on him.  Thought we could deliver the happy news tonight, and get her out of your hair.”

“No.” Ominis clenched his fists. “Marvolo, I must insist.  You can’t do this.”

“Do what, little brother?” Marvolo asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Ominis inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. “I…I can’t let you promise her to him.”

Marvolo stood up slowly, leaning over the desk. “And why is that?” he asked dryly.

“Because she’s not…she…” Ominis stammered, trying to make the words come out.

“Spit it out then,” Marvolo demanded.

“Because she’s not…pure,” Ominis choked out. 

“As far as I see, she comes from a long line of pureblooded witches and wizards.  Peasants, but still decent stock.”

“Not in that way.” Ominis said hastily, now fiddling with his wand handle. “I…I’ve been bedding her. I’ve taken her virtue, and it would be dishonest to peddle her off to Carrow in this state.”

Marvolo was silent a moment, before snorting. “Well of course you’ve been bedding her.  I knew that, silly.”

He felt his mouth go dry. “You do?”

“You’re a hot blooded male, she’s a girl bored out of her mind.  I figured you two would start fondling each other before long.” Marvolo laughed so hard, he had to clutch his stomach. “Bravo, Ominis. Good for you.  She’s very pretty; I’ll bet she’s quite feisty in the bedroom.”

“And knowing that, you’ll still promise her to Carrow?” Ominis blinked rapidly, trying to piece together Marvolo’s rationale.

“Omi, my darling brother, you’re so proper.” Marvolo laughed. “Who cares if you’ve bedded Augustus Carrow’s wife? Merlin, everyone knows I’m shagging Malfoy’s wife.”

“But–”

“Ominis,” Marvolo sighed, flattening a palm against his forehead. “She’s just a girl.  There will be plenty more for you–in fact, Dorcas has said the Pinch-Smedley girl is quite nice to look at…well, I guess that doesn’t really matter for you, does it…”

“But I want her ,” Ominis blurted. “Marvolo, please.  I’m serious.”

Ominis could sense the change in his brother’s demeanor, mood hardening.

“Why do you care?” Marvolo spat. “Oh Omi, don’t tell me you love her.”

“Let me take her,” Ominis straightened, still and calm. “I want her.”

“That’s too bad,” Marvolo said coolly. “Because she’s not yours to have.”  He sensed his brother move from behind the desk, leaning against the edge with his arms crossed.

“I’ve never asked you for anything, Marvolo.” Ominis insisted. “Just–just let me have her.”

Marvolo groaned. “Ominis, she’s a peasant.”

“You just said she was of decent stock.” Ominis argued.

“Yes, decent–but given certain circumstances, you require a bride with money ,” Marvolo reminded him. “And as far as I know, the girl is penniless.  Father hasn’t a galleon to his name, I’ve made sure of that. If I let you have her, we lose the dowry from the Pinch-Smedleys, and I make no profit from hosting her all summer.  We’ll be in the red.”

“But Marvolo,” Ominis interjected. “ Please .”

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop having fun with her, you know,” Marvolo drawled. “Honestly, doubt Carrow will ever be sober enough to notice–”

“That’s enough,” Ominis growled. “I would never behave that way, you know that.” 

“Oh right.  Ominis the honorable,” Marvolo chortled. “Honestly, here I thought you were finally loosening up now that you’d finally had a taste of pussy.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Ominis snapped.

Marvolo laughed. “Touchy, I get it.  I’m just saying, you needn’t be so down.  Look at Araminta and me, we’re quite happy with our arrangement.”

“It’s disrespectful, that’s what it is.” Ominis crossed his arms. “What of your own wife? Araminta’s husband, her children?”

“That’s enough,” Marvolo seethed. “Ominis, this is how marriage works.  This is how it’s always worked in our family.  You can have your fun, but at the end of the day, it’s about preserving and protecting our bloodline. You are a Gaunt–it’s time you start acting like one.” he hissed, brandishing his wand. “You are going to quit this incessant whinging, and do as you’re told.  You’ll marry the Pinch-Smedley girl, and you’ll stop carrying on about this summer fling of yours. Get over it!” he snarled. “And get out of my sight.”

Ominis opened his mouth to argue once more, but shut it tightly. Without another word, he turned on his heel, stalking out of the library. Raising his wand with a trembling hand, Ominis realized that his companion had been right.  

The idea of marriage with her had been a last ditch effort, that he would admit.  Hell, even she’d known it was a bad idea. Even if Marvolo had blessed their union, they’d still be Gaunts.  And as Gaunts, they’d be destined to live the same, miserable existence his family had endured for centuries. Lukewarm marriages, illicit affairs, joyless existence–the wheel turned on and on, chasing the standard Salazar Slytherin had set for them.  

As Ominis walked down the hall, hand running over the peeling wallpaper, he thought of his siblings and their unhappy unions, matched to their spouses without a choice.  He thought of his father and brother, who were always fighting to prove the Gaunts fledging superiority.  He thought of how dreadfully unhappy everyone was, and how the only happiness he’d come to know was her company.  Just her, just them, together.  It didn’t have to be at the manor, in the garden, or their room.  So long as he was with her, he’d be free. 

Ominis knew he had little time to act before his parents, Carrow, and the Pinch-Smedley clan arrived for dinner.  The house-elves, all panicking to finish the housework before guests arrived, hardly noticed the blind man slipping out the service entrance at the back of the house. He tiptoed until he knew he was far enough away that his siblings wouldn’t hear the familiar crack of him apparating away.

Ominis’s feet landed on the creaky wooden floors; the flat smelled of mallowsweet, firewood, and parchment, even in the heat of summer.  He’d reminded Sebastian to open the windows in their parlor room from time to time to let the air in, but it seemed his roommate had forgotten.  

“Ominis, what are you doing here?” Sebastian gawked.  Ominis could hear the chair at the dining table scrape back, his best friend standing up to face him.  

He twisted his wand in his hand anxiously, his other hand running through his hair.

“Plan A didn’t work out in my favor,” he admitted. “Still have your plan up your sleeve? Perhaps you want to fill me in?”

After years of friendship, Ominis didn’t need his wand to know when Sebastian was nervous.  The brunette always dug his toe into the ground, anxiously fiddling with his collar.

“I don’t think we have much time to execute upon the original plan, but I got to thinking last night about another option.” Sebastian admitted. “It would mean leaving.  And by leaving, I mean absolutely everything.”

Ominis walked over to the dinner table, settling into the chair across from Sebastian.  

“Well, go on.” Ominis insisted. “We don’t have much time.”

Sebastian sat down, fingers drumming on the splintered wooden table.  “Are you sure?  Ominis, this will change your life.”

Ominis tilted his head towards the window, feeling the warmth of the sunlight streaming onto his face.  It made him think of afternoons spent in the garden with the girl he’d fallen in love with. 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Meaning and Purpose

The chaos of the day has winded down and all of the chores are finished. The dolls lay still in their adorable little beds. Some stone still, some tossing and turning with their dreams invaded by night mares, and some are snoring in that endearing way dolls do. The silence of the room is broken by the soft "awawawas" of those in particular. However, one bed is empty; its passenger nowhere in sight.

In the middle of the high garden hedges, Silk stands staring up at the crescent moon. Its eyes are distant and watery as it contemplates beneath the twinkling stars; its mind racing.

Tugging absently at its silver nightgown, it takes a deep breath and sighs. Being a doll, it knows its probably not meant to contemplate its place in the universe, but the thought has been weighing heavily on its mind of late. Especially in the night. The quiet. The times it was alone with naught but its thoughts, this is where it always wandered, out into the starlit garden to contemplate.

It under it had its Purpose. It understood what that was and was very grateful for Miss Peridot for giving it to it. It remembers before it came here. The pain, the derision. Thats what drove Silk here in the first place. For the longest time, its Purpose was more than enough, but when it looked up at the night sky and tried to fathom its place among the vast tapestry of stars, it felt empty. Hollow.

Silk was angry with itself. It should be grateful to have be given Purpose, given meaning. That one shouldn't be contemplating things like this. It was a very ill fitting line of thought for a doll. Alas, it couldn't shake the feelings. Maybe it was defective it thought.

Silk jumped with a startled "Eep!" when it heard footsteps disturb the gravel of the garden path. It spun around, frightened, unsure how it would defend itself from an attacker. Once its eyes adjusted, though, a smile graced its lips.

"Ohai Miss! You scared this one!" It said, tittering behind its delicate hand.

Miss Peridot smiled warmly, gently resting a hand on Silks' head and giggling. "I'm so sorry little one. It wasn't my intention." She said reassuringly.

The doll smiled, nuzzling into its Miss' hand. "Awawa! Its okay Miss!"

Miss Peridot smiled. "What're you doing out here Silk? Its been a long day and the others are all resting." She straightens her green dress as she sits next to the doll cross legged. "Is something bothering you?"

Silk looks down, interlacing its fingers behind its back "This ones' just thinkin Miss..." the doll says sheepishly.

Miss Peridot smiles and pats her lap as she nods. "Come, dear, sit with me."

The doll climbed into its Mistress' lap, resting its head on her chest. "Thank you Miss."

The witch gently stroked Silks' hair. "Tell me, precious, what have you been thinking about?"

It sighs, hugging its witch tighter "its just... when its alone and it gets all quiet... this ones' mind starts to drift..." it said softly.

Miss Peridot squeezes the doll close. "Oh does it?" She asks, gently using a finger to tilt the dolls' head up. "Where to?"

Silk gazes into her glistening purple eyes and blushes, feeling reassured "its just... its that..." it takes a moment to gather its thoughts. "Well, Miss, its like... when its out here in the quiet... with the moon and the stars it feels so small... and insignificant." It frowns. "Like it has no purpose..." its eyes widen, realizing what it said; its anxiety rising. "Not that Miss didn't give it purpose its very thankful to have Miss and her direction nothing means more to this one than that and and and!"

The witch giggles softly, gently patting Silks' head and smiling warmly. "Shhh doll." She says resting a hand on Silks' cheek. "Its okay, I know what you mean." She leans onto her back, setting the doll on her torso face up so they can both gaze at the stars. "Its true. Compared to the vastness of the universe, we are nothing."

Silk cranes its head back to look at its Miss "Even you Miss?"

She giggles and pats the dolls head. "Yes dear, even me. You see, we are only a speck in this thing we call existance. We affect what we can, we react how we must," she pauses, giving silk a big squeeze "and we love who we love."

Silk giggles at that and squeezes Miss Peridots arms.

"But... I think... with our time here, we simply must do the best we can to live the best lives we can." She smiles. "Thats why I have all my wonderful dolls." She says lovingly, kissing the dolls head.

Silk blushes, its nerves calming as it nods. "I understand Miss!" It says happily.

The witch smiles as she sits up, cradling the doll in her arms. "I have a new Purpose for you little Silk." She says, gently booping the dolls nose.

Silk giggles, wiggling in her Witchs' arms. "You do?!" It responds, stunned.

Miss Peridot giggles. "Yes my love. From now on, your Purpose is to live everyday to its fullest, love me and your sisters, and treause every moment we all have together." She says as she gives Silk the biggest hug she can manage.

"O-okay Miss! This one can do that!" It exclaims as it blushes, clinging tighter to its witch, tears running down its face. "Thank you Miss. This one loves you so much." It whispered.

"Of course doll~" she says, sneakily wiping away her own tears. "Now come on silly," she starts as she stands, still holding Silk in her arms. "Its past time for bed."

Silk yawns, already starting to slip into slumber. "Okay... Miss..." it manages before it starts to "awawa" in its sleep.

Miss Peridot smiles, resting a hand on its cheek. "My lovely little Silk" she says, gently kissing its forehead. "Sweet dreams." She whispers as she turns, walking back into the house.

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us Chapter 17

Masterlist || AO3

Hey another Election Day Tuesday and that means I have a lot of time to kill! So a new update is the result lmao!

As always, thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for blessing me with permission to use her art as inspiration.

Thanks also goes to @micropoe10 and @tragedybunny for being my besties and betas and everything else for me. I love you both. Extra special thanks to @leomonae for encouraging me to try first person pov lol I DID IT MONA. BE PROUD OF ME.

Warnings for this chapter are as follows: mentions of death, violence, and grief.

This part of the city was peaceful at night, it was one of the things Astarion loved most. The walk back from Octavia’s house wasn't too bad, she lives about a 30 minute stroll from the main city. Pretty convenient, all things considered. 

He walks down a hidden path that leads straight from her little cottage to the main road. He could've taken one of the other connecting streets to her house, but there was a somewhat romantic feeling to the solitude of being surrounded by the trees and wind.

Astarion steps towards the gates of the museum, no one should be here by now. Pushing the gate open, he makes his way down the paved walkway. The warmth of the sun still radiates from the ground. He turns and makes a detour down to the gardens.

The stretch of gravel to the lush greens is long, a tall figure peeks out from behind the rows of flowering shrubs Astarion surrounded her in. Tav’s arms stretched out to greet those who visited. 

My treasured flower. 

Astarion walks towards her, plucking a few buds from the walls of vines that wrap around each other. He looks up at her and sits at the bench at the base of her statue. Her gaze permanently locked in the adoring way she used to give him when he would fall at his knees and worship the ground she walked on.

 I regret each choice that took me from you. My fears always let me make the worst decisions. 

He stares up at her beautifully carved stone face, knowing it can't react to the words he says to her. “Hello, beautiful.” Astarion places the small bundle of flowers at her feet, a small token of everlasting devotion. 

Staying at Octavia’s house felt strange. It's been a long time since he’s tried to do anything like that. After he left Tav, it felt wrong. No one was like her. The few he tried were pretty to look at, sure. With the right words, he could get close to anyone, but not the same way. 

Astarion feels a small flutter of anxiety in his gut, something that he keeps trying to push away. This feeling of longing growing for someone else. The same feelings of excitement he felt when Octavia let him bite down and drink from her veins. 

“I can't stop myself from thinking I've betrayed you by letting myself partake from another. I keep seeing you when I look at her. The same eyes, so soft, adoring, and curious. I hear you in her laugh, her words of comfort, and her cries of ecstasy. Her touch is sensual and familiar, so intimate in ways I've longed for. I even saw you when I finally gave myself away to the urge after I fed on her sweet blood.”

Astarion lays with his back flat on the stone bench. The stars shining as bright as that night he led Tav to the graveyard and lived his first night truly free. He closes his eyes and sinks into the warmth of the stone. If he tried hard enough, he could almost replace the breeze with Tav’s fingers running through his hair. He sighs and begins to speak.

“If you only knew how much I wanted to turn back and take you with me. I couldn't forgive myself for leaving you, but with all those feral spawn, I couldn't take the chance that you would be in danger. The thought of you being safe somewhere else with anyone else was better to me than having you by my side.”

He pauses, opens his eyes, and plays with his sleeve. “I couldn't take the chance for you to have a family away from you knowing that I couldn't give you the children you wanted. There were too many things that I knew you wanted and deserved.” 

Astarion lets his mind wander. He stares at Tav’s face. “I guess now is a good time to explain myself. There's things I need to apologize for, and some things I need to tell you.” His voice quivers slightly as he trails off. The memories of the last century and a half without her flash periodically through his mind. He usually pushes them away, but tonight he lets them wash over him. 

—-------------

The journey to the Underdark was lonesome and tiring, always having to lurk in the shadows. How many people would recognize me without her? How many would take their chances at killing me? I had to stay shrouded once more, sometimes I would get lucky and cross paths with someone needing a favor or two. 

I’m not sure how many times I had to kill a shady merchant, an abusive husband, or slaver just to have a place to stay during the light of day. It seemed like one of the Gods finally came to watch over me during this long trek. It was always about killing the right people. 

It took three months for me to finally make my way down to the Underdark. Considering, people weren't too open with any information on what had happened to the 7006 vampire spawn that we had freed. I had heard rumors of a mass casualty event, but without more information, it would be difficult to fully understand what they meant. 

Eventually, I found a familiar face in the Myconid colony. I ran into my sister Dalyria as she was buying some potion ingredients from a traveling merchant. 

I still remember the wide eyed stare Dal had on her face, her gasp of surprise as she dropped the potion bottle in her hands. Her sobs of happiness when she held me tightly in a grateful embrace. 

The words that followed after she pulled away would haunt me forever. 

“I thought you died with the rest of them.” 

I was taken back, the rumors were indeed true. “How many?” I asked, anxiously awaiting Dal’s answer. She hesitates in answering, “We lost more than half our people that day. Mostly the Gur children, the starved, the weak, the ones who most likely wanted to die.” 

We talked more once she finished. She led us down to the outpost she and Leon had settled in. I listened as Dal spoke quietly. 

“We got caught in a solar eclipse. It was a total disaster. Youssen promised that he calculated everything correctly, but he didn't. I knew it would've been dangerous. I warned them, but he and Petras kept fighting with Leon and I. They were so desperate to get here and live freely that they turned the rest of the family against us.” 

Dal sniffled and continued, “Everything happened so fast. They promised they had it down to the minute, but it seems that even with precise instructions, you can't account for arrogance.” 

“Arrogance?” I asked, looking at our surroundings. Cave systems that twisted and snaked together to form a hidden stronghold. After a couple of miles or so, we were finally there.The broken and dilapidated temple where they had settled.

It looked strangely reminiscent of one that our group had visited once. I pushed the thought away as Dal led me through it. I noticed the number of spawn that resided there, a stark difference between the amount I helped free back in the bowels of Cazador’s manor. 

Dal scoffed, “One can never account for those who are desperate to prove their point. No matter the cost to those around them. Like I said before, Petras and Youssen turned everyone against us. Violet and Aurelia followed soon after they explained their reasoning. It was hard to argue two against four after that. 

They wanted to get here as soon as we could. So when they heard of the eclipse they figured it would save us around half a day. Leon and I couldn't argue with that kind of time, so the most skilled of us went first.” 

“Where is Leon?” I interjected. 

Dal’s eyes locked behind my shoulder, I turned and saw a staircase leading up to the next floor. “He goes up there alone frequently. After we were released,we explored the manor for a while. Gathering clothes and some other things for the journey. He saw Victoria. He..” she exhales, hesitating some. 

“He hasn't been the same since. She was all he had left from his previous life.” Dal finishes with a quiver in her voice. 

“Children are dangerous company for vampires.” I replied empathetically.

“Quite. Come on, let's get you a bed and some blood.” Dal placed her hand on my shoulder, she smiled, and walked off after a few seconds. 

I followed her up to a small room with a solitary bed. She held the door open as I walked past her, dropping the brown leather bag I held over my shoulder. 

“Apologies if it's not as luxurious as you're used to” she says with a small sarcastic tilt, "It's one of the few private rooms we have. Figured you would appreciate that over aesthetics.” 

As Dal prepared to leave, I turned to her. She's paused by the door, halfway between the frame and the hallway. “Thank you.” My voice was quiet and soft. Dal looked at me and smiled, “Of course, brother. What is family for after all?”

—--------------------------—-----

Twenty years would pass with little problems. The vampires that lived in the outpost were used to having to ration. Hunting in small packs, majority of the time Leon and I would supervise them and teach them to hunt. We tried to be careful about making sure the younglings never went too far by themselves.

As the main hunters, the two of us would seek and kill animals on the surface at night, bringing the meat to merchants around Faerun once we broke down the carcasses and bleed them dry. 

With the money we gathered, we would buy more blood from other butchers up top. We’d also get blood from other less than reputable sources, but as long as the blood was good, we wouldn't ask too many questions. 

Leon and I were on our way back to the outpost after a few days out hunting and trading when Leon stopped mid step. “Brother, something feels off.” He held out his arm, took a few steps forward toward the opening of a cave, and stayed quiet for a moment. I walked up to him and concentrated on the noises around us.

I heard people yelling, sounds of feet shuffling, a loud rumble, and then sharp screams. “DAL!” Leon gasps, and rises to his feet, sprinting out to the maze of cave openings.

Once we got closer, Leon pointed out the smoke billowing out from the outpost, the thick clouds growing darker in color as we neared our destination. 

“Astarion, we must find Dal!” Leon stood ready, with his hand on his crossbow. I looked around and noticed the two converging tunnels in front of us. 

“We have to split up, Leon. We can cover more ground that way. Find her, I’ll see about the others.” I commanded, grabbing onto the daggers hung on my hip. I turned to run when Leon grabbed my arm, “Be careful, I’ll do my best to find you as soon as I find Dal.” 

I nodded, sprinting down the tunnel. As I neared the opening of the path, the smoke became a thick curtain, making it more difficult to see. I pulled at the leather bag that hung from my back, searching for anything to help. “Come on, there's got to be something here.” 

My hands moved frantically inside the bag, until I felt the texture of a scroll. “Fucking finally!” I unfurled it and began to speak the words inscribed. I raised my right hand and braced myself, a giant gust of wind came out in a burst of energy, clearing the way forward. 

My legs pistoned me forward as I continued to look for Dal. I hurriedly made my way to the back of the outpost. When I got closer I noticed some rocks leading towards another tunnel. I ran following the path of debris until I reached the end. 

One of the exits had been collapsed. 

I knelt in front of the pile of rocks and began to dig into it, using my body weight to pull big pieces of stone away from the opening. I dug into the avalanche, my hands becoming raw and bloody as jagged pieces of rubble cut into my skin. 

I keep digging, a sharp kind of sulfuric scent hits my nose and goes down my throat. I can taste the acidic notes, it’s acrid with a hint of ash. I immediately recognize it. Runepowder. However many people were in that tunnel, they were certainly dead. Someone did this on purpose. 

I must find Dal.

The adrenaline pumping through my body kept me going until I heard yelling coming from inside the outpost. “Dal!” I ran into an open door in front of me, up some stairs. I crept up to a broken wall, the opening leading to the dining hall’s ceiling lined with wooden beams connecting the adjacent wall. 

I stayed hidden in the shadows concentrating on the sounds around me. A short time passed before I heard some movement coming from underneath. I stepped forward and saw Dal and Leon. I gasped softly, gently stepping out to one of the beams obscured by the darkness. 

Soon after, a group of at least 10 Gur flood into the room and block the only exit. A man steps forward as Dal and Leon realize they are outnumbered with no way out. 

The man begins to speak, “Where is the third? We were told there were three of you running this bastardized commune.”

I continued to creep along the wooden supports, Leon noticed me and quickly turned back to the man in front of him. “I came back alone. My brother was…killed by a bulette when we were on our way back. It caught us by surprise. I was barely able to get away from it. I tried to save him but we couldn't overtake it. It killed him before I killed it.” 

The man looks at him suspiciously, he nods and the hunters behind him point their crossbows at Dal. “I will not ask again, vampire scum. Where is the third?” 

“I swear to you he's dead! There's no one else other than us now. You killed the others, did you not? I saw the bodies, the rubble, the fires. You said you collapsed a tunnel when you came in, is that not enough? We cannot turn anyone into vampires, we're mere spawn. We’ve been living in peace for a decade and a half. Why do you come hunt us now?”

 Leon held his hands up as he plead his case, Dal trembled as she hid her face in her hands. 

“One of yours killed an innocent woman. Found her drained near the sewers in the Gate. We caught him sneaking around underneath the Elfsong Tavern’s wine cellar. He told us about this place with at least 1500 of you waiting to be killed. Planned this little raid for a few weeks. Had some people watching your little outpost. Even paid some merchants to tell us your movements.” The leader explained. 

Dal uncovered her face and looked up, noticing me watching them. Her eyes were full of fear. She shook her head slowly, mouthing “Run.” 

I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry, I retreated to the shadows before the leader turned and looked up where I was just perched. 

The man turned back to Leon and Dal while I watched them. “Kill them. If the third is gone, that means there shouldn't be any more of these abominations. Ulma should have destroyed you all when she had the chance, now that she's no longer our leader, her deals with you all are void. Consider this a mercy.” 

He walked a few yards then he stops and speaks with a serious tone, “May the Moonmaiden have mercy on your souls.” He looks over at a woman to his right and nods at her. She steps forward and yells out “Take your positions. Fire on three.” I could've shot at her, but I would've be easily outnumbered. 

I had to sit here and watch as the last two people I ever felt close to were slaughtered like lowly carrion. The Gur took no hesitation in killing Dal and Leon. They shot at them with what looked like silver tipped crossbow bolts. 

I suffered hearing Dal and Leon’s screams of pain, the sounds of them dying were unbearable. I waited in the darkness for what seemed like hours until the Gur left, a wake of devastation behind them. The second their footsteps waned, I sprinted over to Dal and Leon’s crumpled bodies. 

“No no no nononono.” I choked back, Dal and Leon’s faces were battered and abused, their clothes slathered in blood. I felt the rage and devastation crash down on me. 

The guilt for letting the young ones hunt when I knew better than to trust them to go off alone. Leaving Dal alone while Leon and I left. Splitting up and letting Leon go off to find his death. 

I couldn't help the sobs that came out when I was holding them, I realized I was finally truly alone. The sadness and anger just came flooding out. My eyes stung as the tears came out, lungs burning when the air expanded them sharply. I gripped on Dal and Leon, their bodies growing even colder by the hour. 

A week would pass, I gathered what I could, buried my siblings, and left. I made my way back to Baldur’s Gate hoping to sneak into Cazador’s manor. 

I knew the people of the city were too afraid to go near it. Leon and I had spread rumors of it being haunted, so that kept them out. We used to sneak inside using the underground tunnels that led to the kennels, ransacking the place and selling off what we could. 

Leon came up with the idea of stashing small piles of gold away in loose floorboards around the manor. His foresight was a blessing. 

I began to gather the piles and count my reluctant inheritance. After finishing, I realized I was set for the foreseeable future, but I still had a manor to legally obtain. I talked my way into becoming a historical conservator given the relics I had at my disposal. 

My vast inside knowledge could be chalked up to being a lover of history and a studied mind. No one would be the wiser. I decided then that I would go to the City Council and plead my case to purchase the manor to turn into a museum honoring those whom I loved.  

I took great care to disguise myself, thankfully Wyll wasn't in the City. He and Karlach were in Avernus. Gale had gone back to Waterdeep. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were living in a cottage somewhere near the mountains…And you…I don't remember where you ended up.

More time would pass, the museum was open after a year and a half of me selling, restoring, commissioning, and appointing a board. I opened with a team of people to oversee the major projects while I maintained the procurement of items for the galleries. 

A century or so passed when I met a familiar looking young man. He came to apply for the lead assistant position straight out of Blackgate. Usually, their graduates would go out and teach themselves, but he wanted to research and preserve these items instead of being in front of a classroom full of people.

I questioned him for a few minutes, noticing the unusually similar flair he had to his speech patterns. The air of assuredness behind his statements. 

When he told me his name was Gale Dekarios. I could hardly hide the shock on my face, luckily he didn't notice. “Dekarios? Any relation to the wizard of old legends?” I asked tentatively awaiting his response. 

I watched as he wrung the corner of his blazer and cleared his throat. “Y- yes sir. He was my grandfather.”

Was? I thought wizards lived hundreds of not thousands of years? I hesitate before questioning him further. “Was? Don't wizards usually live many lifetimes over? Did he get killed in a grand battle?” 

The young man bites his lip. A worried look flashed over his face. “Well it's still pretty recent, sir. I'm sure you know all about the Netherese Orb that used to occupy his chest?”

I swallowed fearing the worst, my throat clenched as if I had swallowed fire. I nod urging him to continue. 

“A few years ago, my grandad started to have these bouts of chest pains that would last hours, days, sometimes even up to a whole tenday. My grandmum was a druid healer, so she would make him different teas, tinctures, balms, pretty much anything to help him. Nothing would ease his suffering. One day she helped him to bed, like she usually did, and she had me assist her in making tea for him.

My grandmum told me he was dying and I was the only male in our family that wasn't adopted or married into it. So I guess he wanted to keep his story alive and told me everything. His past, his mistakes and triumphs, friends he made and lost. He and I were close, he was my best friend.” 

Gale cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “So yes, I am related to *the* Gale Dekarios. I hope I can live up to the expectations my grandfather set forth.” 

I hired him on the spot. 

Now, to make a long explanation somewhat shorter, this is where things get complicated, my love. Here, I feel I may have fucked up. 

You see, there was this woman Gale hired. It was about 6 years after hiring Gale. I was off in the Underdark around the anniversary of Dal and Leon’s deaths. I came up with some story about looking for artifacts to cover my tracks since Gale liked to ask a million questions. Guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree?

Once I got back to the museum, Gale had informed me of our new hire, Octavia. I imagined if she made an impression on Gale, then she would be useful at least at the administrative level.

I couldn't imagine what came over me when I got to know her more .

—--------------

Astarion sighs with a long exhale. He stares at Tav’s face, hesitating as if he's actually saying this all to her. “She's indescribable. Absolutely beautiful, smart, she challenges me the way you used to.” Sitting up, he presses his back against the stone platform. 

“That night I saw her outside of the restaurant, I swore I saw you. You in front of me like the day we met.” He plays with his sleeve, not knowing how to proceed with this long overdue apology. Even if Tav wasn't really here physically, he was truly able to say the things he held behind.

All the regret from his idiotic spontaneous decisions, grief from losing those he loved and held closest, and most of all the devastating pain from losing everything he took for granted. 

At the same time, something had dropped this precious jewel on his lap. Was it possible for him to be able to open up to someone the way he did with Tav? Octavia showed that she trusted him when he confessed about his true self. She even let him bite down and drink her blood. 

Everything about Octavia was feeling the same, could she be some sort of reincarnation of his lost love? No. That would be impossible. Humans can't do that. Can they? He shakes the idiotic notion away, softly laughing to himself.

Besides, he saw the picture of Octavia’s family. 

Astarion sits with his gaze pointed up at the night sky. It seemed like so long ago when he was doing the same type of internal argument about Tav. He's enthralled by Octavia and agonizing about it. Gods, somehow he was always stuck in a cycle of perpetual pining. 

He wants to open up to Octavia more. Sprinkle in some truths to the little lies he tells. 

Opening up to people has always been a struggle for Astarion, but Octavia has a way of prying his emotions out of him. It's so easy for him to let her reach into the emptiness and allow her to pull his past out.

Her hands pull at the chains around his heart, slightly loosening them with each gaze, each fleeting touch, all of the little ways she reminded him of Tav. Was this a sign of approval from beyond the grave? Maybe this was Tav’s way of pushing him to live again just as she did once before.

Astarion is in deep contemplation, he doesn't begin to notice as the night sky begins to turn light. The bird songs become more animated, he is knocked out of his head and begins to make his way inside. Thank the Gods that his suite is close to the gardens. The manor had secret entrances and rooms for him and his siblings to come in and out, convenient for a thoughtful vampire losing track of time.

As he goes into the museum, he sees the first rays of light break through the tops of the trees. It feels like that morning after the tiefling party, the cool air of morning breaking against the feeling of the warmth from the sun. 

Astarion feels the same hopeful warmth from within. The same tug of curiosity that wants to allow Octavia in. He lingers at the doorway, watching the same sun begin to rise above the trees. So many similarities to weed through. He would take his time though, he can't rush this opportunity he's been given. 

He has to trust whatever force is guiding him at this point. It brought Octavia to him, so it must be good. Turning to walk up the steps to his suite, he looks out the window and stares absentmindedly at Tav’s statue. Suddenly, a tiny green and blue hummingbird flits by and stops at the row of gardenias that lined the windowsill. 

Astarion watches as the little bird takes a sip from the buds. It's fragile wings glint off the reflection from the glass. After zipping through a couple of flowers, it hovers facing him as if watching him. It's little head tilts to the left, then to the right, before flying away. 

It's been so long since he's been around early enough to see them feed. It brings a small tug to his heart. Tav’s words about her people and how they grieve flooded back into his mind. 

“There's a legend in my culture about hummingbirds being messengers for the dead. They say if you see one, it's a sign that your loved one is watching over you. I always thought it would be the way I would communicate with you if I ever died.” she’d say.

I just laughed it off and said “Oh darling, you don't have to worry about that. I would follow you into the dark if that day ever came. I’ll be close behind.” Another lie I told her. 

Gods...

I think it's time I stopped lying to myself.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel @hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale