#most of the stuff I make is at the risk of losing a finger or damaging my lungs lol

[luna-loveboop]

Yo

I'm gonna not post anything for linktober today or probably tomorrow bc I'm waiting on the right equipment- all my shiny things are dull and I also need new safety gloves- and the last time I cut myself cutting glass it got infected so. I want proper equipment before I continue :) I'll catch up probably! Or just skip a day or two, but the plan is to catch up. I'm having a lot of fun with this and appreciate all the support :P

[sofiawritesstuff]

Platonic

part 3

summary: When Lando's "playboy" image is setting a bad reputation for him. He's turns to the person he trust most in this world for help.

pairing: landonorris x bestfriend!reader

warnings: none (i don't think)

part 2

It wasn’t uncommon for you to be late to plans, actually you had gotten used to it spending most of your time with Lando.

You ran through the paddock, running past as much people as you could without being rude and within two minutes you had finally reached the meeting point.

Slowing down to a fast walk you came out onto the terrace in hospitality, noticing the girls straight away as they waved you over.

“Well we’ve only been waiting ten minutes, I think that’s a new record time” Kika jokes as you sit at the table “Sorry, I was watching Lando in media, he’s just finishing up in the garage now and then filming stuff with Oscar”

“How is Lando?” Carmen asks “I seen his interview after free practice this morning”

“I tried talking to him about it but he really didn’t want to. I’m going to try when we get home”

“It’s sad that he just sees all these negative this about himself” Alex smiles sympathetically across the table

“I know, every time I tell him he just doesn’t see what I see” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair

“What’s wrong?” Carmen asks “Nothing” you shake your head “We can tell by the look on your face something is wrong, come on tell us” she encourages, putting a hand on your shoulder

“If I tell you something, can you promise that it stays between us. Like you can’t tell Charles, George or Pierre” you whisper looking around you

“We promise, what’s going on?” Kika asks leaning closer

“A few days ago, Lando came to me. He told me that recently McLaren have been told that Lando’s image outside of Formula One makes the team look really bad, Zak said that he needs to fix his “playboy” image. So they wanted Lando to go into a PR relationship, Lando refused and Zak told him that he needs to for the team. Every single girl they showed Lando he said no. So Zak told him that if by a miracle, he can find someone that is willing to help Lando and be in a relationship for a few months then that’s who he can’t fake a relationship with”

“So Lando came to you” Alex nods understanding “You’re basically already dating, it shouldn’t be too hard” Kika jokes

“It wouldn’t be hard if I didn’t have actual feelings for Lando”

The girls look at you with wide eyes, they never thought they would see the day where you actually admit it.

“When did you come to this realisation?” Carmen asks

“You know how I used to date that guy from my office?”

“The one that none of us liked? Yeah I remember” Kika laughs

“Well after we broke up, Lando was comforting me, we were lying in his bed watching a movie. It wasn’t until I woke up in the middle of the night and we were cuddling that I realised how safe I felt when I was with him and everything he did to comfort me. David wouldn’t have known any of that stuff”

“You need to tell him” Kika says excitedly “I can’t”

“Why not?” Alex asks

“Because if I tell him now, it wouldn’t be fair. I’ve w him so many times and now to switch up my feelings would be like playing with his”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you have always felt this way but you’re just now realising it? I mean you guys have been friends since you were like five?” Carmen asks “You know how he feels about you, so why don’t you just tell him?”

“I can’t bring myself to do it, if it didn’t work out I can’t risk losing what i already have with Lando. He means too much to me to loose him”

“So you think being in a PR relationship will fix that?” Kika asks seriously

“It will be the closest thing that I get to a relationship with him, guys I need honest opinions on this”

“Well I think you’re being stupid” Kika says bluntly “Kika!” Carmen scoffs “What? Would you me be honest or would you rather I lie to you? she asks turning her attention to you

“Honest”

“Well it’s a stupid decision if you want to continue with a PR relationship. You think that admitting your feelings and being in an actual relationship would go wrong. Doing this only to have a feeling on what could be will only give you the chance to make up stuff that could go wrong, whereas if you were in an actual relationship with him you could progress rather than having a countdown to when it’s over”

“I agree with Kika” Alex smiles taking your hand “You are thinking that it could be the worst thing when it could be the best”

“Thank guys, now enough about me. What’s been happening with you guys?”

“So how was meeting up with the girls?” Lando asks with a smile, swinging your hands back and forth as you walked

“We talked. A lot” you nod “Anything interesting?” he pries “Just how we can resolve problems” you shrug

“Any problems I could help with?”

“Nothing that we both can’t resolve” you smiles “Now tell me what you film today” you jump up and down excitedly “Nope, nuh uh. You’ll need to find out like everyone else” he laughs stopping in his tracks

“Come on I hate when you do this” you groan turning to face him “Yeah well that’s why I do it” he smiles, putting his hands under your shirt “Your hands are cold”

“Exactly” he laughs, tickling you “No! No!” you squeal trying to run away “I don’t know where you’re trying running to, I have the keys to the apartment”

“Im going home to England!”

“No you’re not!” he laughs picking you up and throwing over his shoulder “You’re never leaving me” he says calming walking with you over his shoulder

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

part 4

TAGS

@harrysdimple05 @ironmaiden1313

[beemochi-art]

SOUNDWAVE AND HIS POSSY!! Featuring, kitten Ravage/Normal Ravage and lazerbeak! Rumble and frenzy are there, they just aren’t there there.

I was going to wait till I had actually art of them since most of these are wips and art from other stuff but I can’t any longer.

Soundwave is third in command of the deceptions/communications officer. Which is really funny cause most of the time he doesn’t have a lot to say.

Soundwave is an intestinal case indeed, he’s never actually killed anything, he’ll beat someone within and inch of their life but has never finished the job. No one actually suspects him of this fact, to imply he is a traitor is asking for the biggest beat down of a lifetime. Starscream suspects him of being soft and will often take advantage and see how far he can push Soundwave.

Soundwave will often act as a bit of a care giver to Megatron. Trying his best to make sure their leader and savior isn’t walking out looking like an idiot. Megatron may not care, but Soundwave does.

He is very close to Nightbird. They joined the decepticons as a package. Soundwave is very protective of her, she’s the same with him.

Ravage is Soundwave’s most loyal bot. She’s very smart and actually acts as a community support cat. It’s not uncommon to see Ravage curled up next to Megatron or Dreadwing. She’s pretty nice if your on the same side. If your an autobot, you should probably shield your optics.

Laserbeak is more moody. He pretty much only likes Soundwave, Ravage and Nightbird. To anyone else if you put your servo too close you risk losing a finger, regardless of what side you’re on.

[rileyslibrary]

Nice shot

Summary: What happens when, in a moment of absent-mindedness, you accidentally slingshot your hair tie straight in Ghost’s eye as he briefs you and the team on a critical mission?

Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Word count: 1,149

Notes:

Platonic(ish?) fluff *wink wink*

I admit the following fic could have easily ended up into something spicy, but I wasn’t feeling it when I wrote it so

Want more?

———————————————————————

You’re all seated around a large wooden table in the centre of an otherwise empty room, illuminated only by a flickering projector suspended from the ceiling.

Ghost stands at the head of the table with his back to a projected image of a wanted fugitive. His signature skull balaclava casts an eerie shadow over his face as he speaks, describing the mission’s objectives, the obstacles you’ll face, and the risks involved.

“Our objective is clear,” he says as he walks around the table. “We must take out a high-value target and retrieve vital intelligence.” 

“Alpha Team will establish a perimeter around the target’s refuge,” he explains, “while Bravo will execute an aerial rooftop landing.”

But, despite your lieutenant’s confident demeanour, you emit the exact opposite. The upcoming mission is dangerous, and anxiety gets the best of you. Your mind begins to race as you consider the implications and the impact it might have on your job and—worse—on your life.

As the briefing continues, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to sit still. You find yourself absentmindedly twisting a hair tie around your fingers. It was a nervous habit you picked as a child, a coping mechanism for whenever you felt overwhelmed. 

You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, but they are useless. So you continue to tangle that hair tie in your fingers as if trying to imitate the knots you feel in your stomach.

Stretching, twisting, turning it around… 

Stretching, twisting, turning it around… 

Stretch-

The hair tie suddenly slips from your grasp and flies across the table, slingshotting towards Ghost’s face and striking him square in the eye.

You’ve just hit one of the most notorious and feared lieutenants with a hair tie. 

The enigma of Task Force 141. Your superior. In the eye. With a hair tie. During a briefing. For a critical mission.

Gasps fill the room as everyone shifts their attention from the lieutenant to you, then back. Your heart drops to your stomach. What have you done?

You brace yourself for his reaction. 

Ghost, however, does not react; he doesn’t even turn to look at you. Instead, he kneels, picks up the hair tie, places it in his pocket, and resumes the briefing. Everyone is silent but as stunned by his reaction as you are.

You sink into your chair and take as little space as possible. As Ghost continues, you try to forget the incident, focusing on the mission’s details. However, concentrating is challenging since you can still feel everyone’s eyes on you. You turn to look at Soap, who mouths an inaudible “you’re fucked” as he looks at you dumbfounded.

The briefing ends, and everyone begins to pack up their stuff. You grab your belongings and dash for the door. Perhaps Ghost forgot about it. Maybe he brushed it aside. You wouldn’t find it surprising if he didn’t even notice who—

“Y/N, report to my office in 10.” He commands as he fills out the attendance form without looking at you.

Well, shit.

As you approach the lieutenant’s office, your heart is racing. Worry and embarrassment are fighting within you to see which emotion can make you feel the worst. You try to make up excuses to explain what happened, but what is there to explain? Scenarios fill your mind—bad ones. You might get heavily penalised. You could even lose your job. Not only that, but the thought of being chewed out by the lieutenant is enough to make you break out in a cold sweat. 

The hallway walls seem to close in; the fluorescent lights shine straight into your eyes, making you feel dizzy. Each step feels like you’re getting closer to your execution. 

The door to the office stands before you, and you pause, gathering your courage. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and knock on the door.

“Enter!” Ghost shouts from the other side of the door.

You push the door open and step into the room. Your heart threatens to escape your chest.

The room is small, and the only furnishings are a worn-off desk with a pair of hard-backed chairs. The lieutenant sits at the desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest; his gaze feels like a spear that pins you in place. He makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. Your legs feel unsteady. 

“Take a seat,” he says, motioning with a flick of his wrist to the chair across from him. You settle into the chair as he orders. The leather creaks beneath you, and you nervously twist your fingers in your lap. Thank God you don’t have that hair tie in your hands. 

Ghost leans back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here,” he murmurs. Even now, he’s been sarcastic.

You lower your gaze, avoiding to meet his eyes; your mouth is too dry to speak. He seems to understand your nervousness but continues anyway. 

“Nice shot,” he says with a chuckle. “Not many can catch me off guard like that.” Despite his concealed expression, you can hear the smile in his tone. 

You sit there shocked. You expected a stern lecture, but instead, he is having a laugh.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir—it was an accident.”

But Ghost waves his hand and dismisses your apology. “Next time, please use that aim on the battlefield,” he replies. “Just make sure to aim at the enemy; I won’t be accepting any more friendly fire from you.”

You chuckle, the tight knot in your stomach slowly unravelling.

“You’re dismissed,” he says softly, and you thank him for understanding.

As you grasp the door handle, you turn to face him again. “Lieutenant Riley,” you say, “may I please have back my hair tie, sir?”

He shakes his head. “Negative, soldier,” he replies, his focus shifting to his computer screen. “Who knows what else you might attempt with that deadly weapon of yours?” 

You shrug it off. Who cares anyway; you have plenty of “deadly weapons” in your vanity kit. 

You take one last look at Ghost as you close the door. His eyes smile as they lock with yours, and he gives you a wink. He retrieves your hair tie from his pocket and begins stretching, twisting, and turning it around.

———————————————————————

[doumadono]

If it's not too much trouble for you, can you make the nsfw alphabet for Shoto, pretty please? 🥺 (Ik your requests are closed so I'm truly sorry for reaching out but I love your alphabet for Bakugou)

Warnings: aged-up Shoto (21 yo)

MASTERLIST

A - aftercare He'll always ensure you're well-cared for. He'll assist you in the shower, placing sweet kisses all over your body. Later, he'll cuddle with you until you drift off to sleep in his comforting embrace, feeling safer than ever

B - body part He is in love with your neck – the way you softly moan his name when he gently sucks on your pulse point is sufficient to ignite his senses, setting them ablaze. Shoto is a huge fan of your hips as well

C - cum Shoto likes to finish inside you because it creates the most intimate and passionate connection between you both

D - dirty secret He harbors secret fantasies of complete submission to you, even embracing degradation

E - experience You are his first and only. He lacked any prior sexual experience before meeting you, but he's a fast learner and naturally gifted at providing pleasure

F - favorite position He finds immense pleasure when you ride him because it grants you the opportunity to control the speed and tempo, not to mention the enticing possibility of grasping your hips as well

G - goofy He views sex as an intensely intimate act and is wholly committed to ensuring you have the most enjoyable experience possible, leaving no room for frivolity

H - hair He keeps himself neat, and yes, the carpet does indeed match the drapes 😏

I - intimacy For Shoto, sex is a deeply intimate experience. It involves almost constant eye contact, ample body contact and caressing, hand holding, and fervent kisses

J - jack off He doesn't masturbate at all. No matter how horny he is, he's going to wait for you to take care of him ♥

K - kinks Temperature play - the uncertainty of whether his hands or tongue will be cold, hot, or a mix of both keeps you in a constant state of anticipation and excitement

Edging - as you edge him, it makes him a blushing and whimpering mess

Praising - Shoto'll lose it instantly if he hears you telling him how good he's eating you out/fucking you

L - location For him, sex is a manifestation of intimacy and trust, and he believes that the bedroom is the most intimate place for the two of you to connect intimately

M - motivation You dressed in a sexy, lacy lingerie is an instant turn-on for him

N - no He's unwilling to cause you any harm, and he's certainly not open to allowing anyone else to touch you. Threesomes are completely off the table

O - oral This man has been blessed by the heavens with his mouth and he does magic using it along with his tongue on you - it's probably because he truly listens to your needs

P - pace He prefers the more sensual stuff so it is no surprise that he tends to take it soft and slow

Q - quickie Quickies are a no-go for Shoto - he'd prefer to wait and engage in proper, intimate sex with you

R - risks He isn’t really into taking risks - Shoto knows what he likes and he sticks to it

S - stamina Shoto's been dedicated to hero training practically his whole life, and as he grows older, his rigorous training regimen doesn't wane. Consequently, he can go through a substantial number of rounds before even beginning to feel fatigued

T - toys He's not particularly fond of toys, but he certainly won't forbid you from keeping them if they bring you pleasure

U - unfair Shoto teases you unconsciously, for example when he playfully traces his fingers along your thigh during a quiet moment on the couch, being blissfully unaware that his touch is setting your senses on fire instantly

V - volume He tends to be quite reserved in general, often emitting soft, drawn-out groans that are almost angelic during moments of intimacy. When he does speak to you during sex, his voice is exceptionally low and husky

W - wildcard Shoto has entertained numerous thoughts about allowing you to tie him up and fully dominate him. You're the only person in the world he trusts completely and feels safe enough to be vulnerable around

X - x-ray Shoto's not too thick, but is definitely long with a curve going up. He’s well above average at 7”

Y - yearning His sex drive is just a bit above average

Z - zzz He would never fall asleep before you - his priority is ensuring that you're sleeping peacefully, securely nestled in his arms, before he allows himself to drift into slumber

[jeromevalecka]

୨୧ jerome valeska nsfw alphabet .

words : 889

warnings : nsfw , extreme ish kinks , jerome (😭) and overall sexual themes

notes : reader is gn but afab , smut. sorry for any grammar mistakes n I hope this is sorta in character ♡

⚠︎NSFW BELOW, PROCEED WITH CAUTION⚠︎

A = aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Jerome at first doesn't know what to do and just goes to clean himself up. If you were to give him hints though he'd of course clean you up too. If he's tired after he'll request to cuddle and fall asleep together

B = body part (favorite body part of their own and their s/o's )

He likes his hands most for some reason, he loves seeing it on your body, around your throat and whenever you were to suck on his fingers. In terms of his s/o's favorite body part it's definitely your throat or hips. Loves pulling you close by the hips and choking you

C = cum (anything that has to do with it)

Jerome definitely has a breeding kink, he likes "marking" you as his, definitely also loves cumming into your mouth

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory)

He's into being choked as well. Would also love to have sex somewhere publicly. Though Jerome is mostly an open book with you about his kinks, fantasies etc so these would probably be discussed at some point.

E = Experience (do they know what they are doing)

Jerome probably hasn't had sex before you came along. But his confidence and his knowledge definitely makes up for it!

F = favorite position

Loves doggy-style , he can pull your hair and slam into you more rough this way. He also likes the riding position

G = goofy (how serious are they)

I think we all know Jerome , so he'd probably be a little silly goofy during sex but of course also takes it serious. Would love for you to crack up a laugh during it though when he makes a joke.

H = hair (grooming habits)

Never shaves, likes the way it looks unshaven, plus he couldn't care less.

I = intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

I think we all guessed but he looooves going rough and hard.

J = jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Used to masturbate like everyday, now does it every once in a while if you aren't around.

K = kinks (certain kinks they like)

some of his kinks are : ax play, knife play, choking kink, bdsm, spit kink, public sex, biting kink, dacraphilia (gets aroused if you were to cry), hair pulling, daddy kink etc.

L = location (where they like to get it on)

Prefers the bedroom, but has definitely had fantasies of doing you in a dark alleyway somewhere in Gotham or in a ride at the carnival.

M = Motivation (things that turn them on)

If you were to let out groans or certain noises. Seeing your cleavage, ass or just you in underwear. Sucking on his fingers. Whenever you sit down on his lap etc.

N = no (turnoffs or absolutely won't-do's)

anything involving sex with multiple people, he wants you all to himself.

O = oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

absolutely loves giving you head (like I stated in my previous nsfw hcs for him), he's actually pretty good at it. Blowjobs are also one of his favorite things, likes to throatfuck you.

P = pace (how fast they are and how long they last)

Jerome likes going fast, he can probably go for 3 rounds if he isn't tired.

Q = quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Jerome's hips always lose control, he loses himself in the moment so his page is fast and his thrusts are hard.

R = risk (do they like to try new things)

He's not opposed to new things and would be willing to try stuff out with you.

S = stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

can definitely go 3 rounds or more whenever he's not tired, each round is less than 7 mins max

T = toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or their s/o)

He has definitely bought one of those remote control vibrators before to tease you with when you guys are out.

U = unfair (how do they tease and do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Of course he's such a tease during sex, he likes seeing you get desperate and needy for him. It goes the same way if you were to tease him, he'd definitely lose patience and start getting desperate.

V = volume (are they loud, what kind of sounds and do they talk)

Jerome is definitely not afraid to let you hear how much he's enjoying it. Definitely groans a lot during sex and loooves to praise you (if you wanna be degraded he's definitely up for that too)

W = wild card (random sincanon of any sort)

He loves leaving bites and hickies all over you from neck to thighs. Also likes it if you were to squeeze his ass while in missionary (it turns him on more).

X = x-ray (what's down below in their pants)

He's a solid 6.3 inches and his shaft curves upwards a little.

Y = yearning (sexdrive level)

He gets horny super easily and once he does you can't stop him 😭

Z = zzz (do they sleep afterwards and if so how quickly after)

He definitely gets sleepy after it, likes cuddling and falling asleep together with you. He usually falls asleep after a solid 7 minutes as he snores quietly and softly in your arms.

requests are open ! thank you for reading have a great day/night ♡

[suavemania]

― Tell me I'm not just a loser.

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

word count: 799, another short n sweet

reader summary: leon sleeps alone and has nightmares, but to comfort himself he thinks about you.

warning: i just dont proofread this stuff anymore. they are drabbles, take them!!! with all its flaws and cracks

notes: pining!!!!! I LOVE PINING!!! leon thinks the reader doesn't like him back. most delusional king ever

Leon felt the touch of ghosts tracing lines on him, tracing their smiles, their laughs. It was one of those nights where the tragedies of his past weighed heavily on his shoulders, pushing him down; making him drag his feet, leaving his fingers numb. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, his breathing uneven as he tried to feel the fabric of his sheets on his fingertips. He was home, alone– and it was all a bad dream. That is what he says to himself. He felt his nightmare crawl inside him, soaking him in fear, clawing its nails down his back. It was brutal, but Leon had learned to live alongside the ghosts and tragedies. 

Leon turned to his side once he gained control of his weary body, his gaze set on the window that illuminated the dark room. The faint sounds of cars driving beneath him left him somewhat comforted, knowing that he wasn’t completely alone after all. Leon had finally gotten some time off from work, leaving him with a lot more time on his hands. He likes the idea of being free from work, leaving him to do things with his time other than attending classified meetings, training, and risking his life.

But when he has free time and off-work, he realizes that he has to do one thing: sleep. Alone.

Sure, he could visit the person he wanted the most– you. But that became increasingly more difficult as he realized that he was falling in love with you (we're just friends, he protests). His mind had only rapidly focused more and more on you, the way you move, the way your lips are etched onto his mind. You had quickly become Leon’s comfort, his safe-space. With his breathing getting more steady, Leon allows himself to flutter his eyes shut. The warm comfort of his blanket wraps around him, wrapping him in the kindness of comfort. 

When Leon opened his eyes again, he imagined that it was an early summer morning. His body next to yours, and as you lie on your side; sleeping softly, he feels his heart grow fonder. He reaches for your face, caressing it with a feather-like touch. Your skin is soft against his scarred and hardened skin. He loved this scene, and would always return to it the most when his nightmares haunt him. He would run his fingers through your hair, enjoying the feeling of you on his fingertips, your warmth spilling over to him. In this bright world, he would make you breakfast, crack a smile as you clumsily try to take a picture of him while cooking. Whenever he sees you in his mind, all he can think of is kissing you. 

Kissing you.

That would be nice, he thought.

It’s funny, because he hasn't even told you yet. That when you are in your bed sleeping without him, he wonders why he isn’t with you- or why you aren’t with him, in his arms. I feel like a loser, he thinks to himself, chuckling to himself in disbelief. It’s true, Leon Kennedy was in love. He hushed his mind, trying to defend that it was just a crush. Yet he was well aware that he could see you in the future, and the truth hurts: he couldn’t have you. But he didn’t want to lose you, not at all. Perhaps if he could only open your eyes to him, to just spend one night with him- would that be enough to convince you to be with him?

A night with you.

That would be nice, he thought.

Leon had hidden his feelings from you for a long time it felt like. He assumes the both of you are hiding something, but he honestly had no idea how you felt for him. He feels something, and whenever he “accidentally” brushes his hand against yours, his body just “coincidentally” coming closer to yours, it feels right; like he can breathe again. If only he could open your eyes, to see him first. Perhaps it was selfish, waiting for you to notice him and to let him in. Leon was adamant to be polite, he would always wait at the door until you told him to come in, to let him into your heart. 

But to be completely honest with himself: Leon wished to drink you up, to forever let your essence keep him warm at night, running through his veins. To press his lips against yours, letting himself melt into your mouth and run his hands on your side, squeezing at your body as if he couldn’t possibly believe that you were real. That his hands were on you. 

His hands on you. 

That would be nice, he thought before getting up from bed.

It was time to stop.

[kokomos]

❂ 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟

jessica riley relationship headcanons

+ Always so excited when she gets to see you! Runs up to you and traps you in a bear hug before giving you sloppy kisses on your cheeks.

+ Hates being away from you for long periods of time. She's a bit of a clingy girlfriend meaning she wants a lot of your free time to be spent with one another. Whenever you two are apart she's planning the next time she can see you, she can't help but miss you!

+ Constant physical affection is a must if you're dating her. She loves the reassurance she gets when you touch her. Her favorite is when you wrap an arm around her waist to get real close to her. Adores having your face in the crook of her neck.

+ Definitely treats your lap like her own personal throne; enjoys the feelings of your hands holding onto her hips and thighs.

+ Kind of like a puppy in love; she's quick to blindly follow her heart and it hurts her more often than not.

+ Feels compelled to do anything in her power to make your life easier ie. do the chores she knows you dread.

+ Since before you two even officially started dating, she's given you so many nicknames in passing that you're sure she can't even keep track of the ones assigned to you. Her go-to is the casual babe or baby. She also wouldn't mind if you called her princess every now and again.

+ She's always asking you questions about yourself. It's important to her that the both of you are knowledgeable on the topic of each other. It's something that makes her feel more close to you than anyone else.

  - "If you could do anything, like anything ever, for the rest of your life, what would you wanna do? By the way, you can say me, I wouldn't mind complying with that answer at all."

+ Quick with the comebacks. Be prepared to lose gracefully if you ever get into an argument with her because there's no way she's letting you win.

+ So playful with everyone but the most with you! She tries to live life somewhat lightheartedly believing that's what can bring her the most happiness.

+ Prefers to forgive and forget. Doesn't understand the whole idea of focusing so much energy onto someone in order to get revenge. If the opportunity presents itself that's another thing though!

+ She's an open book once she trusts you and it doesn't take a lot for her to put her trust in someone. Doesn't care about the risks involved with loving and losing someone, she sees it as a necessary part of life.

+ Big gossiper!! Constantly pulling you aside during an event to catch you up real quick on any updates with the drama. Please be enthusiastic/receptive while she's talking to you about this kind of stuff! She means no harm by it and stays positive about the people involved unless they've done something totally heinous.

  - "I need to tell you what I just found out about that girl and her boyfriend. So last weekend, when she was visiting family out of town…"

+ Says she needs your help to do her braids but really she can do them by herself in under five minutes. She'll take any chance she can to feel your fingers in her hair.

+ On days where she's feeling lazy, she makes you do her whole make-up routine. No mercy, she doesn't care if you guys sit there for hours, it needs to be done and it needs to be done right. She shows her gratuity with a shower of compliments and calculated kisses as to not mess up all your hard work.

  - "Oh my god, babe! You're so good at this, I should make you do my make-up every day. Kidding, don't worry."

+ Secretly insecure behind all that confidence. She can become pretty defensive in an argument with you, often lashing out because she feels threatened. What she really needs is reassurance that you're not attacking her, you just want resolution or to talk about the problem at its core.

+ Jess is the type of girlfriend that wants to be treated like a trophy wife… even without the ring.

— ♡☆

a/n: dedicated to the anon who requested :) i hope i did jess some justice!!

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In My Blood | Part Two

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

It is no longer safe for you to remain in Belgium. With the Gestapo closing in, Curt is finally ready to make his escape with you. But is it too late?

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Detailed Description of Murder, Death, Injuries, Angst, Grief, Fear, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6929

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

May 3, 1940

“Honestly Papa,” You protested in French, threading the telephone cord between your fingers as the line crackled and hummed with the standard overseas audio distortions,“I do not understand why you will not let me come home, nothing has happened in months–”

“Enough, my little monster,” Your father’s voice gently but firmly cut you off. “We have been over this a thousand times, it is simply too dangerous for you to leave England with war declared. Yes, it is quiet at the moment, but it is only a matter of time now that the weather has grown warm.”

Your eyes scanned across the neatly appointed Edwardian writing desk in your grandmother’s study before turning to eye the drizzly gardens of the Dower House through the spotless window behind you.

“If it is so dangerous, why do you and Mama insist on staying in Brussels? You are both more important than me and if those Nazi bastards invade you know that’s where they’re headed – straight for you.”

“Come, come now, don’t let your mother hear you using that language.” His chastisement was half-hearted and filled with laughter, pulling a reluctant grin from you. “Belgium is neutral, firstly, but if the worst happens, we will simply flee to the house in Wallonia. Chin-up my little monster, we are made of sterner stuff, are we not?”

“Yes, Papa,” You replied, feeling somewhat reassured and heartened, “we truly are.”

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

October 28, 1943

The collision of your spine against the brick wall drove the air from your lungs, a strangled noise of pain seeping from your throat as the broken end of a bolt that had once affixed something to the side of the building tore through the fabric of your blouse and dug into the meat of your right upper arm. Gritting your teeth as your eyes watered at the searing pain and warm gush down your sleeve, your grip tightened on the handle of your knife, swinging it higher towards the vulnerable neck of the man you had lured into this alleyway.

He had been following you for at least twenty minutes, Gestapo most likely, on your way to pick up some material to then courier to another contact. You had been unsuccessful at losing him, and with the sun setting and curfew nearly upon you, confrontation had remained your only option. While sneaking out after curfew was perilous enough, being caught out around the fall of curfew was nearly suicidal. Parking your bike in front of a well-attended pub, you had made your way across the town square, wending your way through the emptying streets before ducking into this very alley to lay in wait.

Unfortunately for you, the man had proven to be much larger than you had first estimated, and along with a brutal case of halitosis, each sour breath assaulting your senses as it impacted your face, he was easily overpowering you, slowly turning your knife in your grip, threatening to use your own weapon against you. Unfortunately for him, you had been trained in all the ‘ungentlemanly’ ways one could undertake warfare, and he was utterly unprepared for the collision of your foot with his most tender parts.

A sound consisting of an intriguing mixture of a yelp and a wheeze escaped his mouth as he fell back, his oppressive weight finally easing off you. Seizing the momentum, you quickly struck with your blade, meeting the weak block of his forearm and drawing a yowl this time. While he was not proving to be a quiet kill, thankfully his racket resembled an alley cat, and could be explained away if necessary. Heart hammering in your ears, breaths coming in quick gasps under the heady influence of your own adrenaline, you swung the blade home into the defenseless flesh of his neck and tugged forward, sealing your opponent’s fate as he crumpled to the worn cobblestones.

Taking several awkward steps backward, you inhaled deep, greedy gulps of air as the man exhaled his last and grew still. It was both relieving and unsettling. Casting about for the large metal bins you had glimpsed earlier, you darted across the alley to quickly remove the lids from both, shifting the filthy contents from one into the other to make space for your deposit. Returning to his lifeless form, you assessed his bulk before struggling to strip him of his large, navy wool coat before dragging him down the alley and hoisting him into his final resting place. The wound in your triceps screamed in agonized protest with every breath until you had resecured the lid, the scene unremarkable enough in the long shadows of evening.

Shrugging into the bulky coat to conceal the damage to your blouse and retrieving your luggage, discarded moments before the altercation began, you forced yourself to exit the alley at a perfectly normal pace in the direction of Doctor Legot’s clinic, trusty bicycle abandoned for the sake of a speedy departure. Reaching the clinic well after closing, you slid around the back, setting down your suitcase to root around in the hedges for the upturned pot hiding the spare key known to only a select few. You took a moment to compose yourself, taking a deep breath and brusquely wiping at the tears of discomfort that had been stubbornly welling in your eyes the entire journey.

The lock turned soundlessly under your practiced hand, the door swinging inward to an unexpected shaft of light spilling from the patient washroom. Peering around the doorjamb, your eyes widened to see Curt standing at the small sink in the powder room, stripped down to his undershirt, carefully dragging a safety razor across one lathered cheek. Exhaustion and injury got the better of you, making you sway unsteadily, forcing you to catch yourself on the frame of the door, immediately attracting his attention.

“Marie?” He turned to look at you, well-defined muscles of his arms flexing with his movements, shaving cream adorably still adorning a great deal of his face.

Hastily lurching forward into the clinic, you quickly closed and latched the door behind you, depositing your luggage and shoulder bag before shrugging out of the claustrophobic overcoat.

“Jesus Christ, look at you!” His outburst, followed by the sound of his razor hitting the porcelain bowl of the sink, made you drop your gaze to your clothes, only to be greeted by the sight of your late opponent’s blood drenching the fabric.

“Oh, do not fret about me…” You had hoped to put on a display of bravado, but your voice was aggravatingly thin, “…the other fellow is much worse off.”

His startlingly warm palms cupping your elbows made your head jerk back up, meeting his furrowed brow, eyes darkened with concern. “That isn’t very comforting, gorgeous.” He muttered and began tugging you towards Doctor Legot’s office where a crack of light shone from beneath the door. “Doc?” He barked out before open the door without any further preamble.

Only a small noise of protest sounded before the doctor was shooting to his feet, quickly ushering you to take his recently vacated chair, rapidly looking you over before his eyes settled on your arm.

“I’m not going to ask how such misfortune befell you, Marie. I am a wiser man than that. But what, specifically, happened to your arm?” He murmured in Dutch as he retrieved a set of suture scissors to begin cutting away the sleeve of your ruined shirt.

“I backed into the shorn off end of a bolt with rather a bit of force.” You sighed wearily, glancing at Curt who remained in the room, eyeing the pair of you intensely from where he leaned against a filing cabinet. “Why is your guest upstairs?”

Your sentence ended in a hiss as you inhaled sharply through your teeth at the feeling of the doctor’s fingers prodding at the wound on the back of your upper arm.

“He cut himself shaving by candlelight one too many times. Once the cast came off, we made an agreement he could come upstairs between closing and dinner to wash up. You’ve had your tetanus vaccine?”

As Legot began to aggressively paint your wound with disinfectant, you pressed your lips together tightly against any further mortifying outbursts, and thus only managed a nod in confirmation.

“Good.” The room fell silent as he applied a square of gauze to your wound, securing it in place by wrapping your arm in a bandage, tying it off.

Your eyes drifted back to Curt who had not seemed to move an inch, not even changed position, the shaving cream on his face drying out, growing crusty against his skin. His silence was perhaps the most unnerving thing you had encountered this evening, his voice seeming to have filled every waking encounter you’d had with him thus far.

“It’s a lot of blood…” He muttered, eyes rising from your clothes, marred by scarlet quickly turning a mottled brown as the blood dried and aged.

“Mostly someone else’s.” You reminded him gently, earning a non-plussed grunt in reply.

A heavy sigh fell from the Doctor Legot’s lips, making you look up at him slowly. “Marie there has been…an increase in the Gestapo around town. A contact of mine was even questioned about a woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to you. And now that you seem to have had a run in, I’m…concerned.”

Despite similar thoughts ricocheting about your brain the entire flight back to his clinic, the breath you drew in felt like it contained thousands of tiny shards of glass which imbedded themselves deep inside your breast as you heard it from an external source. Rationally, to have survived so many months in your occupation was a feat worth celebrating.

An SOE agent typically had a life expectancy of six months, and yet to watch your ability to remain in Belgium, to remain useful to your fellow Belgians, crumble before you was incredibly painful. You allowed your exhale to accumulate in your cheeks before releasing it all at once through pursed lips with a nod, the feeling of having failed your people, your family, once again a yawning pit deep in your gut.

“It is time for me to move on.” You conceded flatly.

“If you are headed in a certain direction, might you be able to take a certain guest with you?” He asked with a nod in the American’s direction.“Couriers are still stretched thin.”

Your eyes widened slowly as it dawned on you that it was well over two months since Curt had become a guest in his cellar and should be well on his way to Spain by now. “He is well enough to travel then? Have they made him papers yet?” Your rapid-fire questions were greeted by frantic blinking from the doctor before he nodded quickly in the affirmative to both.

Turning back to Curt you tilted your head, reinvigorated by the chance to be useful one last time as you tried to remove yourself from occupied Europe, saving another’s life infinitely more important than simply trying to preserve your own. “Tell me, Curt, are you ready to head back to England?”

The apprehension that had drawn his features tight melted away, yielding to a bright smile, his eyes fairly sparkling with anticipation at the promise of beginning his escape at last. “You have no idea.”

You could do nothing to stop the uplift at the corner of your mouth in response, nodding slightly. “I’m going to change out of these clothes and then we’ll get ready to leave in the morning.”

Straightening from his lean against the cabinet, he moved to the door. “I’ll just go grab…” His voice trailed off as he disappeared down the hall before returning with your suitcase, setting it on the floor with a nod before departing once more, not loitering long enough to accept your gratitude.

Legot produced an old flour sack for you to deposit any clothes beyond saving, to be burned upstairs in his fireplace, before leaving you alone in his office. Feeling the chill of autumn in your damp clothes, you quickly stripped, using a towel to wipe any bloody remnants from your skin with water from the sink in the corner of the room, before changing into fresh clothing. Your mind was already occupied with plotting your route – to Antwerp, fetching supplies from the small flat you kept as a base of operations there, and then boarding a train to the border before crossing on foot then onto another train at Lille to Toulouse before meeting up with the Ponzán group to be guided across the Pyrenees. But this time, you would be one of the party making the crossing in neutral Spain.

Bringing your damp towel to try and blot any blood from the pilfered overcoat, hoping to save it for Curt’s benefit during the mountain crossing to come, you turned off the office lights and headed toward the storeroom, grabbing the garment from the floor on the way. Dropping it through the open trapdoor followed by the wet towel, you smiled to Curt as he appeared below, passing him your suitcase with your good arm before beginning your own descent down the ladder. Pushed well beyond all possible limits, your battered and bandaged arm gave out at your demand to bear your body weight, a yelp escaping as your right hand lost its grip on the ladder as a result.

Strong hands quickly landed on your hips, steadying and supporting you.

“Easy, gorgeous, good as you got the guy, he still hurt you.” Curt muttered behind you, the fresh scent of soap and aftershave radiating from his warm skin as he helped you down the last few rungs.

“Th, thank you, Curt.” You stammered, hugging your throbbing limb close as your feet settled onto the cellar floor, watching him easily climb up the ladder to swing the heavy trapdoor shut almost silently even from inside. “You’ve come a long way in the past few weeks…”

He smirked a little, carrying your luggage over to set on the foot of your bed for you. “Been doing a lot of shadow boxing down here.”

“Boxing!” You breathed in surprise, gathering the abandoned coat from the crumpled heap it left on the floor, trying not to notice the way his muscles moved as he pulled on a thick knit sweater in the cool damp of your hiding space. “If I had known, I would have gotten comics related to your interest…”

“I enjoyed the ones you brought, even read the book too. My teachers would be proud.”

A small laugh escaped you as you settled onto the edge of the bed, inspecting the coat for bloodstains and methodically beginning to blot them out. His own laughed intertwined with yours all too melodically, making you swallow tightly.

“That coat is awful big for you, gorgeous.” He teased, watching you from where he stood at the end of your bed.

“It’s not for me, Curt, it’s for you – you’re going to need it where we’re headed. Just need to get all the blood out first.” You murmured, turning the right sleeve inside out knowing you had surely bled on it yourself.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

You peered up at him a moment before shaking your head. “Other than England. That will suffice for now. I will share the goal with you day by day, but the less you know the safer you will be. Aside from a few key portions, the majority of the trip will be by train to start. Tomorrow, though, we shall have to try something new.” You trailed off into a mutter at the last, wrestling with the heavy fabric, shooting him a grateful look as he grabbed the hem of the coat to help you position it, allowing you to reach one of the last stains.

“What’s so special about tomorrow?” He prodded, clearly still listening even though your final statement had more been musing aloud than for his ears.

Pausing a moment you sighed before meeting his eyes. “I suppose you ought to know that I appear to be a known entity to the Gestapo, at the very least locally, and so we will take extra evasive manoeuvres when we leave town. I shall be disguised, we will leave just before dawn, and avoid public transportation. I have a few ideas for how we might reach where we are going first, do not worry.” You offered a reassuring smile, to which he returned a small nod. “Jan will have been by the take your photo and give you papers?”

“Oh, yeah, nice fella if a bit quiet. Gave me a couple sets of papers.” He stepped over to his cot to retrieve two well forged sets of identity papers, bringing them over for you to inspect.

Laying the now-cleaned coat to dry across your suitcase, you accepted them from him, looking them over before holding out those in your left hand. “These are your Belgian papers. I suggest you put these in your usual pocket – the one you will reach for first, so that you can produce them as naturally as possible. We will destroy them as soon as we have left Belgium.” You watched as he took them from you.

“Belgian papers, got it.” Curt made a tiny salute with the papers before grabbing a leather jacket from the back of a small chair that was a new addition to the cellar, sliding them into the inner left breast pocket.

“And these,” you held out those in your right hand, “are your French papers. You will want to keep these close, in a safe place on your person, but not somewhere you will mistakenly hand them over until they are needed.”

His eyebrow shot up playfully. “Hold up, Marie, I thought you just said you weren’t going to tell me where we’re going…”

“Did I?” You blinked innocently and his guffaw of amusement threatened to pull another unintentional smile from you.

Since when had your expressions become so very difficult to control?

“The most important thing for you to remember on our journey,” you soldiered on despite your inner struggle, “is not to speak. Your voice absolutely gives away the fact that you do not belong here. Many of the airmen whom we guide find the most success by feigning deafness. It explains both their inability to speak and the fact that they do not understand the language.”

 “You could just teach me French, or whatever you speak with Doc…”

“Flemish?” You found yourself fighting back laughter. “We do not have enough time for you to master either, Curt. We leave tomorrow. Now take your French papiers and get some sleep, we leave in a few hours.” You nodded firmly, but with a kind smile.

“You too, Marie, you need dinner or anything?”

Shaking your head softly, certain you could not bring yourself to eat even if you felt hungry, the pair of you settled in to sleep, the damp wool coat taking over the chair in the middle of the room to dry, looming in the flickering candlelight like some grim reminder of your actions. Huffing at your melodramatic thoughts, you pulled the blankets over your head and rolled over to get some rest.

As agreed upon, Legot woke the pair of you shortly after four with warm bread, apples, and granola. You could almost taste the ghost of butter, jam, sugar, and cream on your tongue – heavily rationed delights that had been hard to come by in England and all but non-existent here under Nazi rule. Downing your dry, brown breakfast, you opened your suitcase to retrieve a wig from its depths, gathering your hair and securing it beneath the false strands to disguise your apparently known appearance.

“I dunno Marie…” Curt’s musing were interrupted by an exaggerated yawn as he smoothed his hair with a pot of borrowed pomade. “Your natural hair looks so much prettier on you.”

Fighting the girlish urge to preen under his indirect compliment, you shook your head. “It’s a good thing I’m not trying to look pretty then, just different.”

“Well in that case you look nothing like your usual self.” He shrugged into his leather jacket before snagging the hard-won navy coat from the back of the chair and folded it in perhaps the most unmethodical way you had ever witnessed, but it still wound up flat and small enough to fit into his suitcase.

“Good.” You muttered and snapped the latches on your own luggage closed, heading over to the ladder to climb up.

“Wait, let me help you.” He hurried over, reaching out to grasp your waist. “You sure you can pull the cases up?”

Huffing a little, more in annoyance at being injured than his offers of help, you nodded firmly. “Absolutely.” Clenching your jaw, you forced your way up the ladder, stubbornly ignoring the ache in your still-healing arm, turning to reach out expectantly for the first piece of luggage once you were kneeling on the floor above.

A bemused expression greeted you before he easily hoisted the first, waiting until you had it tucked aside before sending the second up. Taking a moment to extinguish the candles still burning below, he then quickly ascended the ladder to join you, silently securing the trapdoor behind him.

“Right, this is it then.”

About to make your way down the hall to bid a final farewell to the doctor, you turned with a soft gasp to find him stand there with a small canvas bag of food.

“For your journey.” He held it out, nodding as Curt quickly stepped forward to sling it over his shoulder.

“Be safe, Doctor Legot, thank you for all your assistance.”

“The very same to you, Marie. Best of luck on your travels.”

A small, sentimental smile poked through your serious expression before your eyes widened. “If you are in need of a bicycle, mine remains outside the pub across from the town square. Farewell.”

At serious risk of lingering too long, you turned then and headed out the backdoor, glancing over your shoulder in the faint light of early morning to ensure Curt was following you. You kept a quick pace, cutting and winding through town towards a familiar farmyard, dairy cows grazing the fields, lowing softly, as the farmer and his daughters loaded containers of milk into the back of a worn truck. The sun had escaped the confines of the horizon by now, flooding the landscape with the golden light of an autumn sunrise as you cast another glance of confirmation over your shoulder, nearly tripping over your own feet at the unjustly stunning quality of Curt’s eyes in daylight.

“Whoa, easy.” He hurried a few steps forward to steady you by the elbow, catching the attention of Tillens who quickly sent his children back into the house.

“Hush.” You whispered firmly before waving to the farmer, who squinted at you a moment before relaxing as you greeted him warmly in Dutch.

“That you, Marie? You’ve done something new with your hair, didn’t even recognize you for a moment…”

“The point, I am afraid. Are you by any chance headed to Antwerp today?” You asked hopefully, stomach falling as he shook his head.

“Could take you to Brussels, but Antwerp is tomorrow.”

Brussels was the one place you avoided, far too many familiar faces and even more Nazis along with their collaborating government.

“How much could I offer to convince you to take us to Antwerp today?”

Tillens’ brown eyes studied your disguise before looking over at your companion. “It’s only one hour out of my way, Marie, for you there is no charge. Hop in the back and I’ll pack the rest of these around you.”

Your eyes widened before you quickly gestured Curt forward, digging into the bag on his shoulder and pulling out the loaf of the bread you found there. “Then please accept this, for your family.”

“Marie…” Tillens protested but you pushed it forward insistently and he accepted it with a grateful nod. “Thank you, every bit helps.”

“Thank you, for it truly does.” Grasping Curt’s elbow, you pointed into the back of the truck, watching him step up and weave his way towards the back.

Setting your suitcase on the tailgate, you reached for the handhold with your left arm, gasping as Curt’s hands were suddenly around your waist to hoist you in amongst the containers of milk.

“Gorgeous but stubborn.” He muttered under his breath, grabbing your suitcase and leading you over to a gap he had found just large enough for the pair of you to settle on the floor.

Pulling your shoulder bag against your body, you tucked your skirt beneath yourself as you sat down beside him, nodding to Tillens as he peered in at the pair of you before sealing you in with the last of his cargo.

“It’s about a two-hour drive, feel free to sleep.” You whispered, the back of the truck going dark as Tillens secured the doors shut, the motor growling to life shortly thereafter.

“So he speaks Flemish too?” Curt asked curiously as the vehicle jolted into motion and you nodded softly.

“It’s Dutch, really, with some regional differences. In the bigger cities you’ll find more of a mix of Flemish and French.”

“And you speak it all.” Curt smirked and you nodded, hugging your knees to your chest as the cargo rattled around you. “Really somethin’…” He muttered, leaning back to close his eyes and try to get some rest as you had suggested.

The drive smoothed out as the truck navigated onto the main road, and you felt yourself relax a little after the first hour of distance was put between you and Beverst. You were by no means out of danger – the Gestapo was an insidious organization, their network a far-reaching and interconnected tangle. The fact that at least one agent had come looking for you specifically meant that, if the entirety did not know of you yet, they soon would. You had to run all the way to be truly safe.

Of their own volition, your eyes drifted towards Curt’s sleeping form, his handsome face grown slack and soft in sleep, the youth of him both striking and painful. What would his life look like if Hitler had been able to keep his hands to himself…or better yet had never even come to power? What would your life look like? Certainly neither of you would be in the back of a dairy truck sneaking your way to Antwerp.

A roughened patch of road jostled his body, threatening to wake him and you quickly wrenched your eyes away, studying the handwritten labels from Tillens’ farm. Thankfully Curt remained asleep for the rest of the drive, the truck pulling to a stop amidst the hum of the city, and you gently prodded him awake with a shake to the shoulder.

“We’re here.” You whispered before pressing a finger to your lips and he nodded drowsily before straightening.

Light flooded into the back of the truck, the pair of you blinking owlishly as Tillens shifted the cargo to make a path of exit into a familiar alley. Climbing out carefully, you turned to unload the suitcases as Curt passed each, nodding sharply to the farmer before you and the airman assembled yourselves, and strolled casually out into the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

The interference and unpredictability of humans had you on edge, not appreciating the way Curt always seemed to be not where you expected him to be with every glance over your shoulder. After the fourth time you looked for him a little too long, your heart in your throat, you stepped around a rather annoying blonde making eyes at him, and seized his free hand with yours. To keep better track of him, of course. The fact that your throat tightened slightly as his blunt fingers wrapped around your hand in return, requiring a forceful swallow to clear it, was utterly irrelevant.

Turning the corner, you looked both ways before tugging on his hand, guiding him across the street to the unassuming building of flats from which you were intending to collect your warmer clothes and some other supplies. The sight of the rather nice car out front was the first sign that something was off. The next was the sound of your neighbour, an ancient, haggard woman named Josephine De Smet, speaking loudly in the stairwell, her creaking voice cascading down the tiled stairs to the lobby, halting your feet immediately.

Clearly distracted, Curt’s body collided with your back, forcing you to brace against the wall lest you topple over.

“Geez, why’d you sto–” His less-than-hushed whisper was cut off by your palm, forcefully freed from his grasp, slapping over his mouth as you quickly pushed him back into the corner of the lobby under the stairs, casting a sharp look at him before craning your ear back upwards.

Holding your breath, you listened intently, trying to hear the rest of the conversation. To confirm if the alarm bells ringing in your head were warranted.

“Just what has that hussy gotten herself mixed up in then, sir?” The old crone rasped in French, not her usual choice of language, and you pressed your lips into a line thin.

“I cannot say, madam, other than she is a monster and you’d best be wary.” The deep male voice, a German accent poisoning his pronunciation, made you inhale sharply through your nose.

Hand dropping from where it pressed against Curt’s remarkably plush and soft lips to grasp the lapel of his jacket, you pulled hard, yanking him out of the building and back onto the street. They were a lot closer on your trail than you had realized. Pulse rabbiting at your throat, you held your suitcase out to Curt in a silent request, grateful when he took it without question, following you as you took off down the sidewalk at a brisk clip.

Darting around the next corner, you led him on a chaotic, unpredictable, and hopefully untraceable path to a tramway stop several blocks away as you dug through your shoulder bag for the coins to make fare for both of you. Once that was secured, you traded his fare for your suitcase, tucking your own coins into the pocket of your light jacket, trying to suppress your grimace at the loss of your winter clothes in that now unvisitable flat. The feeling of Curt’s sturdy hand slipping into yours, enveloping your skin in warmth and his strong grip, halted you for half a step before releasing some of the tension in your lungs.

Propelling forward across the street, the pair of you jumped onto the tram just as it was about to pull away, shuffling into the heart of the crowded carriage to purchase your tickets and keep your faces away from the windows. It was not an overly warm ride to Antwerpen-Centraal station, but you could certainly feel sweat prickling in your armpits and rolling down your back between your shoulder blades. Tugging on Curt’s sleeve, you disembarked one stop short with him and ducked into an alley to yank the wig free, hanging your head upside down to shake out your hair before repining it. It surely looked sad, but given that identity papers were required to board a train, you needed to resemble your photo and thus the wig was shoved into a nearby trash bin.

“We will be asked for papers, there will be a lot of soldiers, try to remain relaxed and do as I do.” You whispered to Curt, and he nodded, patting the left breast of his pocket with an easy smile, though you watched his adam’s apple bob sharply as he swallowed. “We will be buying tickets and travelling to the border where will stop for the night, alright?”

“Lead on, gorgeous.” He nodded and turned to following you toward the grand, stone-clad station built at the turn of the century.

The presence of Nazi soldiers was pronounced, their bright red swatiskas flashing about the otherwise pleasant square like blemishes on a beautiful face. Keeping your expression perfectly neutral yet pleasant, confident yet not cocky, you took a moment to exhale slowly as you made it past the first hurdle into the building before heading to the ticket counter, requesting two tickets to Kortrijk. It was nothing short of a miracle that you managed a polite nod rather than kissing the ticket seller full on the mouth when he informed you the train would be leaving in twenty minutes. Pulling the bills from your bag, you accepted the tickets in return before leading Curt to track three.

Rolling your shoulders in and down your back, you confidently offered your identity papers to the Nazi soldier standing at the carriage door, immensely pleased when Curt did the same without prompting.

“Where are you two headed?” The soldier asked in clipped, stilted French, his piercing blue eyes wholly unsettling as they flicked between you and Curt before coming back to you.

“Kortrijk, sir.” You answered simply.

If he wanted to know more, he would need to ask more. You certainly had a lie prepared should he require one. He made a noise of displeasure, looking over your shoulder, implying the accumulation of other passengers.

“Off you go.” He grunted, returning both sets of papers to you and you nodded rapidly, climbing aboard quickly, even as your arm shook under the strain of hauling your body up the steps.

Shuffling down the hallway of the carriage, you at last came to an empty compartment, stepping inside and setting your luggage on the bench. As soon as Curt stepped in behind you, you slid the door shut behind him, knowing it was rude with a full train but not wanting anyone else to join you. As you turned back, he was already hoisting your suitcase up onto the luggage rack, making you smile fondly.

“Merci.” You murmured, hoping he would understand your meaning.

Judging by his responding smile, it seemed he certainly did. Despite your longing to collapse onto the bench seat, you sat with decorum, trying not to stare at your watch and count down the minutes. As the last whistle blew and the cars at last shunted into motion, you finally relaxed back into the cushion behind you.

“Is it always like that?” Curt whispered and you shot him a rueful look before shaking your head.

“I am deeply sorry, that…that is solely a complication of traveling with me right now.” You murmured in response, digging out his ticket and papers, returning them to him. “The conductor will arrive closer to our destination to check your ticket, then we show the papers again in the station after we detrain.”

You watched as he carefully took the items and tucked them back into his inner pocket.

“No apologies, gorgeous. We’re both not wanted here, so it’s a good thing we’re leaving.” He nodded and you looked out the window when rain pelted the glass as the train left the shelter of the station, biting the inside of your cheek savagely to keep your emotions in check. “Why don’t we have some lunch?”

He started to root around in the bag from Legot and you forced a smile, sharing the few apples and the small wedge of cheese, akin to a rare jewel, that the man had gifted the two of you with. After a minor squabble over who ought to be resting, Curt finally gave up and obstinately remained awake as you insisted that you must, staring out the window as the fields of Flanders rolled by. The train made numerous stops until the conductor arrived to check your tickets, signalling you were about to arrive in Kortrijk, the final stop.

Courtesy of your preparation, the process went remarkably smooth, and the pair of you stepped off the train once Curt had retrieved the suitcases from overhead. Another successful check of your papers and you were melting into the population freshly departing from their workday and making their way home. Within thirty minutes, you had arrived at an unassuming home on the southern edge of town, knocking the door in the prescribed way.

A young woman with a toddler perched on her hip opened the door, eyeing each of you cautiously.

“May I help you?” She asked in Dutch.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. We were wondering if you might be interested in some new cosmetics?” You smiled broadly, delivering the passphrase.

A flash of recognition crossed her delicate features, her plump cheeks flushing in excitement as she briefly went rigid before she reined in her emotions. “Why don’t you come in and show me what you have for sale…” She stepped back, holding the door open wider for you and Curt to step inside.

Once the door was secured behind you, she led you through her small but tidy home up the narrow stairs to a small half door before opening it slowly.

“Here you are, dinner will take some time.”

“Whatever you can spare is truly appreciated, thank you.” You thanked her softly, sliding your suitcase into the attic before crouching down to crawl in after it.

The space was smaller than Legot’s cellar but larger than the back of Tillens’ dairy truck, enough room for each of you to lay flat, high up in the very peak of the small house. It was not a safe house you would have employed for a larger group. For the first time, you were grateful it was nearly November and not the heat of summer.

“Ouch!” Curt hissed as he cracked his head on a low beam, and you frowned, shifting up onto your knees to make sure he was alright. “Yeah, yeah, m’fine Marie, just an idiot.” He gave you a lopsided grin and you shook your head.

“Sorry it’s not the Ritz, but it’s not a cellar either?” You tilted your head hopefully.

“Never stayed at the Ritz, you?” He asked, settling onto the centuries-old wooden planks beside you.

“Hmmm.” You hummed noncommittally. “She says she’ll have something for us to eat in a bit, we will rest and then start out walking after midnight.”

“Walk…?” He prompted, eyebrow raised.

“It is not easy to cross the border, we cannot simply take the train into France, so we must walk. It is best to do so at night, and even better to do so rested. I promise we can linger a little longer at our next place, but we must get out of Belgium.” Despite your efforts to quash it, a slight tremor remained in your voice and Curt shot you a look of sympathy and utterly threatened your ability to maintain your composure. “So sleep.” You tacked on firmly and pulled off your jacket, folding it up to make a pillow before laying on your side with your back to him.

There was a decidedly awkward silence as he remained seated, looming above you, before laying down with a heavy exhale, clearly frustrated with you. Well that made two of you.

Dinner arrived two hours later with a soft knock, driving home the fact that you had not slept, but the warm vegetable hash was so very welcome and filling, giving you hope that you might be able to actually fall asleep for the last few hours of your stay here. As you lay back down onto your make-shift pillow, Curt’s breaths almost immediately evened out into the heavy sighs of sleep, making your lips twitch in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Yet as you closed your eyes, all that echoed through your mind was the voice of your father ‘mon petit monstre’ and the Gestapo agent from the stairwell of your flat building ‘elle est un monstre.’

Petit monstre

Un monstre

Monstre

Monstre

Grief clawed at your throat, making you sit up sharply as you gasped for air, eyes brimming with tears as the realization that you would never again hear that nickname in your father’s voice – that it would now only come to you by way of anger and insult – sank like a stone in the pit of your stomach. Sniffling petulantly as your nose began to run, you jumped at the feeling of Curt’s hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong…” He whispered groggily, shifting closer.

Shaking your head quickly, you roughly wiped the tears from your eyes trying to hide the evidence, huffing as the action only caused fresh ones to spill onto your cheeks.

“Don’t tell me then, just c’mere.” He replied and gathered you into his arms, cradling you close against his chest.

Every muscle in your body went rigid at first, your rational, well-trained self knowing this was utterly inappropriate. And yet…

And yet, he was so warm, so kind, and he was holding you so tightly that maybe you could fall apart just a little without crumbling entirely. Surrendering to the fact that no arms had attempted to hold and comfort you in years, you yielded to his embrace, becoming pliant as you loosened the clenched-fist-grip on your grief just a little, allowing tears to slide freely down your cheeks in the darkness of that attic as his palm soothed up and down your spine.

“Shhh, I’m right here, you’re not alone…”

How very much you wanted to believe him.

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Read Part Three

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[introverted-imagineer]

The Vikings Ambition and the Emperor’s Request (Part 23)

Warnings: Language, gendered themes, warfare, violence, themes of pregnancy and infertility, religious themes, and smut. Please be careful not to engage with the content below if any of these warnings are inappropriate or impact your well-being.

This is a long chapter with a bit of time jumping so please bear with it.

-The Introverted Imagineer.

The markets of Constantinople were busiest in the early hours of the morning. Families buy bread and produce for the day, fishermen trade their catches as they row in and out of the harbour, and farmers sell milk and eggs before they are spoilt by the burning sun. It was easy to lose oneself in the crowd, the crowding and bustling a welcome change to the quiet and control inside the Emperor’s palace. The Emperor had been unduly generous since our arrival in Constantinople. His unwavering kindness reminded me of sweet Kurya…but unlike Kurya, something about it felt rather sinister. The influx of luxurious gifts, the invitations to dine with the Emperor and Empress, and the constant influx of service people always insisting on cleaning and cooking for us. I remember, back in London, a life like this seemed a total dream, never having to worry about what to cook, your room always clean, everyone at your beck and call. But now that I was experiencing it myself, instead of being on the other side, I despised it. 

I quietly slipped out of our room, smiling as Twyla slept soundly in her basket Harald’s arm draped over the side, his fingers resting on her blanket. I gently clutched the bag close to myself, tip-toeing down the hallowed halls of the palace, and slipping out the closest exit. I never understood why I tip-toed, there was always a guard at every exit…there was no way to leave the place unnoticed. I clutched the bag closer as the sky gleamed with the rising sun, walking past a tired guard as he stood solemnly at his post. Getting things out of the palace was easy…getting stuff in was a little trickier. 

I blew a sigh of relief as I walked down the cobbled decline amongst the streets of Constantinople. I looked inside my bag, taking note of the items: a delicately embroidered scarf, a selection of soaps, and a white linen undershirt. The Emperor’s influx of gifts and goods had come in useful the past couple of months since we’d been here. I knew I should feel guilty, selling the things that he generously gifted, but the reality was not even the Emperor would notice that things were missing. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Harald or Mathilda. To them, this life seemed to suit them…but it didn’t suit me. While it was clear, these items were more valuable than what merchants were willing to pay for them, I had gathered a reasonable saving. But with the constant bustling of life within and outside the palace walls of Constantinople, earning coin, particularly undetected, was rather easy.  

It had been two months since our wedding, the Emperor and Empress’s grand union following a month later, and Mathilda and Consus’s only a mere week ago. Life had not slowed down enough to allow much time to spend as a family. I had spent most of my evenings alone, Harald usually coming back to the room well after we were asleep. Harald, though he tried, was kept busy by the Emperor and Empress. The Emperor was meticulous, cunning and driven; Harald knew that to help his campaign, he must help the Emperor with his first. 

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I wandered around the market stalls, looking for new merchants to sell to. While merchants I had sold to in the past would likely accept more goods, I was cautious to refrain from trading with the same people. I couldn’t risk building a regular business with individuals, that’s when people would start to ask questions. ‘Where did you gather these herbs? How do you make these soaps? Where were these goods made?’. Truth was, Constantinople was still a strange land, lies like this would have been easier to tell back in London, but here I didn’t know anything. 

An elderly man stood at his makeshift table, people walking past him without much interest in his goods. Small balls of thick yarn and strings covered his table, people likely judging that his wares would not be palatable for the summer heat. I approached him wearily, pretending to pick up a few of his goods and inspect them as I did. ‘Does anything here catch your eye, my dear?’ He excitedly asked. I put the string down, smiling at him as I put on my friendliest voice. ‘My sister, she’s looking for some thread, she’s unwell and has sent me to the markets to shop for her’ I reached into the bag, pulling the scarf from inside, holding it out for the man to inspect. He pulled it closer, running his fingers over the flowers and swirls that adorned the fabric, nodding impressed at the detail. ‘She likes to make scarfs like this, do you have any threads that are similar?’ He looked at me, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment. ‘Your sister has expensive taste, I’m afraid my wares don’t match the quality that your sister uses…’ I watched intently, inspecting him as he looked at the garment, impressed, almost intoxicated by the quality. This was the moment. ‘Well, between you and me sir, she’s really not well at all…if you are willing, maybe I can tempt you into buying it?’ He raised his eyebrow, looking me up and down. I purposely dressed modestly, careful not to wear anything that might alienate me from the ordinary worker in Constantinople. ‘Such quality of work is well beyond my means’ he said, tentatively placing it on the table. ‘Truly Sir, someone with such knowledge and taste like yourself would appreciate this better than I could…besides I’d be willing to part with it for a very agreeable fee’. I battered my eyelids slightly, cringing at myself as I took on the part of a helpless person, letting him believe that he could easily take the scarf for a tiny bit of what it was worth. He looked up at me again, pursing his lips together as he dug into his pockets, a sound of clinking as he shuffled his hand around. ‘This is all I can offer’ he said, sliding three copper coins across the table. I smiled, being sure to breathe loudly as I thanked him profoundly as if he were some sort of hero. ‘Bless you, sir, you are most generous!’. 

Another person approached the table as I slid the coins into my smock, leading the man’s attention away. ‘You know, that scarf looks as though it were fit for a King’ a deep gruff voice whispered in my ear. I jerked away slightly, turning to look up at the person. His body was so large it cast a shadow over me. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, his words sinking deep into my stomach, a simmering panic bubbling in my stomach. Had I been too careless? Should I have chosen something less exquisite? I shielded the sunlight from my eyes as the man stood to reveal his full height. Through his thick dark beard, a set of smiling teeth gleamed. He held a small netted bag, contents filled with a selection of food and herbs. I felt my insides slither as I retreated into character. ‘Well I will pass your regards onto the maker’ I said, smiling as I tried to elegantly shift away from the man’s intentions. ‘You know, if you had anything similar I’d be willing to pay, certainly more than what you got for the scarf’. I shrugged my shoulders innocently. ‘Sorry, all I have is soaps’ I said, slowly wandering to the next table over. ‘Well that’s very lucky, my mother has asked for soaps too’ he chuckled, holding the bag of food up slightly. ‘Your mother is lucky to have such a devoted son’ I said, stopping to face him as I inspected him. His clothing wasn’t overly grand, the produce in his bag was modest enough. He smiled, nodding at the awkward compliment. ‘I’d like to think every mother deserves such treatment’. I nodded in agreement, thinking of my mother. I’d like to think that someone would have looked after her when I was taken into service. My thoughts were distracted as he dug into his pocket, the clinking sounding as he pulled out a silver coin. I hitched a laugh in my throat, his offering slightly too generous for a simple bar of soap. ‘That’s much more than any bar of soap is worth’ I said, turning my attention back to the stalls. ‘Well I figured, anywhere where you were able to get such a beautiful scarf, must also be selling soaps of high quality’ he said, dipping around and blocking my other side. ‘Also, anyone willing to sell a scarf for that price will likely need more than just a bit of money’. 

‘Is there something I can help you with?’ I asked, my tone short as his persistence began to irritate me. ‘Just a bar of soap’ he said, holding out his silver coin. I huffed, snatching the coin from his grasp, pulling out all 3 of the soaps and shoving them into his hand. ‘One for you, two for your mother’. He brought them up to his nose, sniffing at the floral scents. He smiled, closing his eyes. ‘A smell of home’ He noted, slipping one into his pocket and two into the small shopping bag with the merchandise for his mother. I knew I should walk away, but it seemed my mouth got there before my brain could stop it. ‘Why does the smell of home please you so much? You do not live with your mother?’. He licked his lips, his shoulders tensing slightly. ‘I have been summoned to serve in the Emperor’s army’ he said, his voice slightly distressed as he said it. This is opposite to Harald’s when he talked about armies and war. While the Emperor had kept Harald busy, I had not known exactly what the Emperor had kept him busy with…nor what Harald had been supposedly ‘helping’ the Emperor with. ‘The Emperor is recruiting an army?’ I questioned, curiosity and questions generating unwillingly in my brain. 

The kind stranger explained the political climate, how the Emperor was seeking to expand his Empire, and how he amongst many men was being recruited and sent to training camps. I could feel my insides boiling. I knew that Constantinople wasn’t a permanent home for us, but for Harald to possibly be so entwined with all this and not say a word. ‘I’m surprised you do not know of this, it is common knowledge amongst Constantinople that the Emperor is building an army?’. ‘I haven’t lived here long’ I noted. He nodded his head solemnly. ‘Might I be correct in sensing that is why you were willing to part with the scarf so cheaply?’. While he seemed well-meaning, his persistence and reference to that damn scarf had become annoying. ‘I don’t think that is any of your concern’ I noted, trying to end the conversation entirely. But predictably, he hadn’t finished. ‘Please forgive me…I couldn’t help but think we might be able to help each other.’ I clutched tighter to my bag, balling my other hand into a fist. I had seen these interactions growing up, and how they unfolded for women like my mother. ‘My mother has a rather spacious home, and with her being old, and with my call to service, she is seeking a new tennant to help her in her home.’ I could feel my grip loosening, a window of hope. ‘I only mention the scarf because nobody would be willing to part with such an item if they didn’t need to.’ 

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The elderly woman’s home stood on the far end of Constantinople. While most homes were stacked together and stood amongst the streets, a small village of homes stood independently amongst a field of green. While not isolated, many people walked amongst the grassy area; gardening, harvesting wildflowers, children playing and climbing the trees. It was a vision of heaven itself compared to the same walls inside the palace. I couldn’t help but feel butterflies in my stomach, a fluttering of comfort and calmness as the scene reminded me of summers from my childhood. The farmers, their children, and meadows of grass; something I had only admired from a distance. But this could be the opportunity to give my daughter what I never had. The kind stranger, who had introduced himself as George, wandered to a small straw triangle hut held together with dried hardened clay-like mud and woven twigs. An elderly woman sat out front on a large boulder, shucking a cob of corn from its leaves. ‘Mama’ he called, his arms wide-spread, his shopping hanging from one hand. The old woman dropped the corn, her hands coming to her face, gushing at the sight of her son. She seemed overwhelmed by his presence, speaking to him in a language I could not understand. I looked on curiously from afar as her slender frame circled her large son. She pulled him right down, gripping his cheeks in her hand and kissing his cheeks fiercely and repetitively. The scene was curious as if she had not seen him in some time. 

When she finally released her son, he handed her the shopping, she looked overwhelmed with happiness as she inspected the contents. He gestured in my direction, speaking to her in their language. She glided towards me, a smile on her face as she gripped my cheeks in her hand, kissing them fervently like she had her son. Her son’s voice emitted. ‘Forgive her, she has lived a long life, and can get confused.’ However, the feeling of tender mothering, the warmth of her hands, the pressing of her thin lips against mine, the feeling was almost intoxicating. Something I had so dearly missed,  I didn’t mind it. She gripped my hand, pulling me inside her home excitedly. 

The inside was sparse. A simple table and chairs, a fireplace, a straw bed in the far corner, and a set of shelves that were home to her cookware. Next to her fireplace, a pot simmered, a line hung from one wall to the other, a smell of honey wafting as her homemade candles rested on the line drying. A small archway with a curtain hung at the end of the room, which pulled back to reveal another small bedroom with another straw bed. While not as grand as the palace, it was more than what my mother and I had. Some baskets and a bucket full of water sat pushed against the wall of the smaller bedroom. The elderly woman quickly tended to the room, trying to fluff the pillow and straighten the blanket on the bed to make it look more appealing. I walked to the small window, opening the wooden shutters. The sun shone brightly, the grass shimmering with the light. George stopped his mother’s efforts. ‘Maybe it’s not quite what you thought?’ He questioned, his tone laced with a bit of disappointment. I turned back towards them, his mother clutching onto her son’s side, a tight lip smile as if she were trying to apologise. ‘What sort of arrangement are you suggesting?’ I asked, making the tall man smile with a sense of relief. ‘My mother needs help around the home, things like collecting water, going to the market, and helping her in her garden and with her sheep, things her body is too tired to do.’ ‘I have one stipulation’ I noted. George tilted his head curiously. ‘I have a daughter.’ His mother looked between us, confused by the language barrier. I couldn’t understand his translation, but there was one word I did. ‘Baby’. With that, the elderly woman seemed more spritely with excitement as she repeated the words, nodding with delight. ‘Baby, baby.’ 

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The room back at the palace was empty. Harald likely taken Twyla for a stroll like he did most mornings. I put my bag down, reaching under the feather mattress and pulling out the bag of coins, adding today’s money to the collection. I nervously slid the coins into my bag, wondering how I was going to tell Harald the news. Our marriage had been civil, but nothing more extended beyond fussing around after Twyla and sleeping in the same bed at night like two strangers forced to share. We could be independent, and Twyla would be around other children, endless fields to play and explore.  Maybe I was making a mistake?

The door creaked open, and I could feel my insides knotting themselves into tight circles. ‘Harald…I need to talk to you’ I said, turning around to face the door, only to find it was not Harald. ‘Such a content child’ her voice sounded, floating across the room, piercing my ears. I stood up, dipping into a deep curtsy. ‘Empress’ I greeted dutifully. She stood there, looking around the room curiously, Twyla sitting soundly in her arms as she looked at me. I could feel every instinct in my body become alert, my eyes bulging slightly, my jaw clenching my teeth together tightly. ‘I’m so sorry if Harald inconvenienced you’ I said, walking towards her and stretching my arms out to take Twyla. But Elena didn’t budge. ‘We have spent many mornings together haven’t we?’ She said, tickling her little stomach and making her squeal in delight. I could feel a vein protruding from my forehead, I could just imagine a cloud of steam radiating from my ears. ‘You have?’ I asked wearily. ‘Well with you going to the market so frequently, and my husband requiring Harald, who else is there to mother his little girl?’. She smiled, my body freezing at her comment. She knew what she was doing…and I couldn’t do anything to her. Elena was maddening, but the Empress was vicious. ‘Well, hopefully, you’ll be mothering your own baby soon’ I said, offering a friendly chuckle at the end to mask the sarcasm. She walked forward, placing Twyla in her Moses basket. ‘I intend to make sure of it’ she said, her smile polite as she walked out of the room. 

As soon as the door shut, I got busy. I opened every drawer, every bit of Twyla’s clothing, and a few pieces of mine, packing our belongings for our new home. 

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‘What are you doing?’ I jumped in surprise as Harald’s voice sounded. I tucked Twyla’s blanket into the bag, wiping my eyes before facing him. ‘I have found somewhere to live’ I replied so clinically. Harald’s eyebrows bent in confusion, as he looked around the room, his hands gesturing to the finely furnished room around us. ‘This isn’t a home Harald, it’s a constant watch guard’ I replied swiftly. ‘So you just decided without talking to me that we’re all moving?’ He asked sarcastically. ‘No, Twyla and I are moving, doesn’t seem like you’re staying here for long anyway.’ His face went stiff, the natural pink from his upper cheeks going pale. ‘You’re taking our daughter away from me?’ He asked, his voice quiet but his tone emitting one of panic and anger. ‘Harald, I would never take her away from you, but it seems as though you’ve allowed other people to mother our daughter’ I spat, slamming the contents into the bag violently, forcing them to fit. ‘Excuse me?’ He said, unlacing his weapon belt as he threw it on the bed. ‘Elena came in this morning, she seems to have been spending a lot of time with Twyla’ I put my hand on my hip, firmly placing my feet on the floor as if to match his large stature. ‘Even had the nerve to tell me that she had been mothering our daughter because my husband was too busy running around after the Emperor’. Harald quickly walked toward the other side of the room, closing the door quickly but quietly to not disturb the sleeping baby. ‘Y/N you must not be so careless! Elena is now empress and we must speak of her as such’ he spoke quietly, his body now inches from mine, his hot breath warming my cheeks. ‘And I have not placed our daughter in the care of the Empress, if you are not back from the market, which you spend a suspicious amount of time doing, by the way, I bring her back to the room myself or yes on a rare occasion Inaya would bring her back for a sleep.’ He sighed, brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead. ‘The Emperor has requested mine and Leif’s presence a lot this week, so I confess Inaya has been caring for her a bit these past days.’ 

‘Is the Empress at these meetings?’ ‘No, she simply dismisses herself…the Emperor has only confided in the help of Leif, his general and some of his men, and I’ he spoke, but I could tell by the way his forehead creased, that both our minds were rattling with questions. ‘Is it true the Emperor is raising an army?’ I asked curtly. Harald peeled his eyes away from mine, focusing his attention on Twyla as he watched her soundly sleep in her basket. A pang of guilt washed over him as he exhaled loudly. ‘The Emperor has appointed me as part of his personal Varangian guard…the Emperor wants me to go to his camps and train his men should the moment arise that would require an army…’ I crossed my arms as he sat cautiously at the end of the bed. ‘I spoke to the Emperor and he insisted that you and Twyla would still be cared for here at the castle while I fulfilled my new duties, I wasn’t going to just leave again. My family is my first priority.’ he said, shaking his head, as he glued his eyes to Twyla. The bed dipped as I sat down gingerly next to Harald. Harald’s entire life revolved around his ambition to be King of Norway, to return to his home once again and rule. His admission that his family was now his priority was unexpected. I waited for Harald to break the silence. But instead, he gently slipped his hand into mine. 

‘So, tell me about where you intend to live’ he said. 

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Whispering winds sang across blue skies, the grass danced with the breeze's rhythm, and birds chirped like a choir in church. It had been nearly a month, and now, every afternoon was like this, sitting in the sun, our toes curling in the blades of grass, dandelion seeds and wisps slowly nettling into the locks of my hair. A baby who rested solemnly, playing with whatever her hands could grasp, finding a world of fascination in the things we forget to appreciate. The feeling of steady ground beneath my feet was pure ecstasy. We would sit for hours, listening to the sounds of nature, enjoying the sounds away from the city of Constantinople, watching children run in the meadows, people picking wild mushrooms and herbs for medicines in the secret secure spot that lay outside the walls of the city. I would tell Twyla stories of her grandmother, of her guardian angel Kurya, whether she would retain any of that information I couldn’t know…but it felt right to tell her. 

These days were blissful, and too long overdue. Like the small farm from my childhood, this field of seemingly nothing was now everything to me. 

The change of pace was wonderful. To have purpose and routine every day. To cook one’s own meals, to freely walk around without a guard watching your every move, to become part of a community where other people lived their lives simply and happily. Our elderly landlady, Emera, while we didn’t speak the same language, seemed overtly grateful for our company. She loved to help with the mundane tasks of parenthood, like bathing, feeding, playing, and dressing Twyla. She was knowledgeable in tending to her garden and precise in demonstrating how to identify and pick weeds, to use and dry manure to effectively fertilise the soil. She was even happy to invite her neighbours over, often slipping extra herbs to them when she had them spare. It seemed she was motherly to all, she was the essence of tenderness and love. 

It was almost ironic, how living apart, we had seen more of Harald than we had since living in Constantinople. Harald would make the effort to come to the sparse little village each evening, his new Varangian uniform often catching the excited attention of the children. They would flock to him, trying to spar him with twigs and sticks, the way they would gleefully giggle when Harald would put them over his shoulder and spin around. It was a side of Harald I had not seen, but one that was easy to love. He would often sit in the grass with us, holding Twyla up by her hands as her wobbly legs tried to balance beneath her. She would inevitably giggle, falling so gaily into his arms on purpose. Like she knew, her daddy would always catch her no matter what. Emera would also try to slip Harald her homemade salves, but he would always sweetly put them back on her shelf without her knowing. Harald joined us for meals most nights, sneaking bits from the palace kitchens to make fragrant and delicious foods. 

Today’s visit, however, Harald seemed to have something heavy on his shoulders. Instead of playing with the children and Twyla, he held her close and tightly. I watched wearily, unsure of what was to come. Emera watched warily, an essence of uncertainty as she looked between Harald and me from her garden. I feared what Harald had to say, but I dearly hoped I was wrong. 

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‘The Emperor is sending me to the camp to train his men to fight’ I closed my eyes, the sky now dark, the only light coming from the huts. The only sound Emera singing to little Twyla from inside. ‘How long?’ I asked wearily. ‘I cannot say’ he said, with just as much despair. While I knew the wise thing to do was to accept the information and discuss what this would mean for our future, my stubbornness was much too strong. ‘The Emperor does not care that you have a family, that you have a child? Not even the decency to tell you for how long you will be separated?’ I asked, adrenaline radiating through my body as I stood up, scuffing and kicking the grass at my feet. ‘I don't think the Emperor quite understands…’ he wearily noted in a quiet tone. ‘He's married! He should understand, but being the so-called leader that he is I bet he's not even leaving the comfort of his palace is he?’ I exclaimed more viciously. ‘Shhhh’ Harald said, reaching out and grasping my forearm. ‘The Emperor is looking to expand his empire, but this could benefit us too.’ ‘Benefit us how?’ I questioned. ‘The Emperor has made an offer; any people I can recruit, I can use to build my army’ he said so diplomatically. ‘We can leave Constantinople, we can go back to Norway, we can build Twyla a real home, teach her about her culture, her ancestors’ he said, standing up, placing both his hands on my forearms. ‘Don’t make this about us, this is your army, your ambition’ I said jabbing my finger into his hard chest. ‘We agreed y/n, Constantinople wasn’t forever, where did you think we were going to go?’ He fiercely retorted. ‘No, no, no, you can’t use this, building an army to get us home excuse as a valid reason to just leave us in the shit’ I exclaimed, stepping out of his grip, and throwing my arms up. ‘This isn’t about the Emperor, it’s about you! Every single thing is about Harald Fucking Sigurdsson!’ ‘You have no idea what I’m trying to do’ he seethed back. ‘There are some dangerous people here, and there are some dangerous plans in place, and I am doing what I can to keep you and Twyla safe and keep this family safe’ he said, trodding heavily after me as I walked aimlessly through the field. ‘You know what, I believe we were starting to become a family, but here’s the god-damn truth Harald, there are dangerous people everywhere, and dangerous things that happen everywhere, so forgive me if I don’t fucking understand how building an army and trying to take the throne in a country that you haven’t been to in some time I take, is going to keep us any safer than we are here!’ ‘Might I remind you, that my family and Twyla’s family extends beyond you!’ He spat. 

I stopped in my tracks, turning back in the direction of the house. ‘Well Harald Sigurdsson, I’m so pleased to know that you’re willing to risk all our lives so we can all go back to Kattegat to chase ghosts from your past, who may or may not fucking exist anymore, but why am I surprised? This is Harald’s world, we’re all just living in it! God forbid that you or your children don’t become Kings and Queens of Norway!’ I spitefully yelled, walking right past Harald, and back to the house. 

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As the days passed, I couldn’t help but wonder about Harald. Had he decided to stop visiting altogether or had the Emperor already sent him to the training camps? Only once had Emera tried to ask. ‘Harald, no?’ She had asked, pointing at the house on a sunny afternoon in the garden. ‘No’ I responded curtly, digging into the soil for potatoes. 

However, the days turned into weeks, and there was nothing. I worried that Twyla had noticed, the way her father had stopped coming. I made sure to play with her every afternoon the way Harald did, encouraging her to stand, to walk, to fall into my arms. I had also spent time wondering about Harald’s other child. Were they even alive? Where were they? What did they look like? Did she have a brother or a sister? Would she ever meet them? I remember my mother making her special concoctions and herbs she would take every day. Had the woman from Harald’s past also taken such precautions? I hadn’t thought so much about Harald’s other child, but since that night the questions kept creeping into my head. How I, as a child, had so desperately wished for a sibling, someone to play with every day, to cuddle up to at night when the nights were cold, to have a friend that wouldn’t judge my birth status. But then again, I wouldn’t wish such a lonely existence on any child, and I was determined to make sure that Twyla had friends. 

The markets themselves had become a little less busy, Emera’s son George hadn’t been seen since the day we met. Slowly word spread that people were being sent to the training camps, but it didn’t stop life in Constantinople. 

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I sat outside the house on a wooden bench, the sky turning orange as the sun began to make its way to bed. The village was empty, everyone inside cooking their evening meals as smells wafted with the gentle breeze. Twyla sat on my lap, clinging onto strands of my hair, fighting her eyelids that were heavier than her will to keep them open. 

‘Beautiful Twyla’ a voice sounded. I could feel my neck click as I whipped it around to the voice. My heart dropped slightly, that the presence that I had hoped was not there. The Emperor stood with a smile, two guards stood behind him. I stood, dropping into a curtsey as Twyla nestled her head against my shoulder. ‘Emperor’ I greeted. He looked around, taking notice of the small little huts, the gardens sparse compared to his own. I could only imagine what he was thinking. ‘She chose this over the palace?’ ‘I hope you have not gone to such trouble just to visit little Twyla’ I said, forcing an enthusiastic smile on my face, breaking the silence. He walked forward, gently holding his hand out. Twyla reached forward, gripping his hand, gently tugging his fingers close to her face as she poked and prodded at the jewels bedazzling his hand. ‘Be careful, she’s taken to putting just about anything in her mouth these days’ I said. ‘She has grown much’ he said, gripping onto her fingers, giving her hand a little shake. He sat down on the bench, gesturing for me to join him.  His friendly presence, now solemn worried me. 

‘You must know y/n, I hold your husband in the highest regard’ he said. I nodded in agreement. ‘I am visiting and telling you this as a friend y/n.’ I could feel my insides crawl, forcing my face to remain neutral. It felt improper, sickly even for the Emperor to regard me in such a way. Friend. While the Emperor had been generous in many ways, he had been cruel in others. ‘Has something happened to my husband?’ I asked, a sudden panic dawning on me. Why else would the Emperor come other than to deliver the sad news to his widow? ‘Harald is fine for now, his campaign is successful, and he is proving worthy as my Varangian guard’ he said, offering a friendly laugh. But I did not share his amusement, my teeth grinding together as I held the Emperor’s gaze. 

‘I intend to expand my Empire, this army, with the help of Harald, and my general, my army is strong.’ I could feel my palms sweat, my body getting hotter by the word. How these men played childish games at an expensive price. How war was treated as such a normal part of life. He placed his hand on my knee, patting it to soften whatever blow he was about to deal. ‘My army will be leaving for the South West soon, and I will not lie to you, I don’t expect our entrance will be welcomed’ I could feel my nails dig into my palm. An ambition I couldn’t understand. How could someone with so much demand so much more? ‘As Harald is my dear friend, and you are his wife, I am telling you that it is possible that Harald will not return for a long time.’ I clutched Twyla closer, my grip disturbing her as she tirelessly wriggled, a small grunt emitting. ‘Sorry Emperor, could you excuse me for a moment?’ I said, more than asked, excusing myself quickly. 

I opened the door to the house, Emera sitting soundly next to the fire. Her calm and content expression turned to one of concern as she pulled herself from the chair, reaching out and cupping her hand to my cheek. She swiped her thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear I didn’t even know was there. I returned her kind gesture with a tight-lipped smile, handing Twyla over as Twyla instinctively leaned into Emera’s reach. I turned back to the door, steadying myself to face the Emperor again. 

The Emperor’s message was simple. His army is going away, and Harald might not come back at all. As much as I was annoyed at Harald, how harshly our last meeting had ended. I had only one thing to say to the Emperor. 

‘Take me to my husband.’ 

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*Knock knock knock* 

He opened the door wearily, just so much that I could see only half of his face. He clenched his eyes slightly, adjusting to the bright lantern in my hands, making out my features in front of him. ‘Y/N?’ He whispered, carefully opening the door slightly more as he carefully assessed the environment behind him. ‘What are you doing here’? he whispered nervously, his conscience wavering if he was going to let me in or not. ‘I need to talk to you’ I whispered. ‘I need to talk to you too’ he whispered back, his chest rising and falling as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. ‘The Emperor already told me…I just came to say goodbye I guess’ I murmured. He opened the door only slightly, grasping my wrist and pulling me inside the tiny room, closing the door with an agonising squeak. I looked around. His shirt lay on the floor torn and withered. On the small table a collection of battered weaponry and a shield. I glanced at Harald’s back noticing the bruises and scrapes. I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. If this was the state training had left him in, what would the real battle be like? 

He stood still, our eyes locked as we waited carefully, listening intently to be sure that nobody else in the camp was awake. The only sounds being the quiet breathing, and the sound of the flame flickering from the lantern. ‘Harald I’ I began to whisper, a depth of sorrow in my tone. ‘Shhh’ he whispered, pressing his ear against the wooden door. A sound of gentle footsteps cascaded down the hallway, stopping right out front of the door. A gentle tap on the door sounded. ‘Harald…’ The Empress’s voice gently carried. ‘Harald, are you in there?’ Harald ducked his head, his stray hair falling in front of his eyes as he tightly pursed his lips together. 

Maybe this was a mistake. I started to reprimand myself, you stupid idiot. Had I indulged too much in a fantasy that we could be some happy family? But the Emperor’s words were like an explosion as if only now, I realised that Harald Sigurdsson was an integral part of my life. My husband, my daughter’s father…my ally in this strange place. ‘He may never come back’ the Emperor’s words kept ringing in my head. Against all consciousness, against all good reason, against all the hurt caused in the past, against my own self-discipline, I had to say goodbye. But here she was, the Empress knocking on his door in the middle of the night. How would this end? Would it be easier to just let him go…to finalise whatever wishes he may have if he never did return? What should I tell our daughter? The Empress’s voice whispered again, this time closer to the door. ‘I can see the light from under the door.’ Maybe it was best to just accept defeat. I took a step forward, only to be gently pinned against the cold solid wall, as Harald’s hand cupped over my mouth, his body pressed firmly against mine. Our eyes locked, his eyes alert, but the skin underneath them was dark and sagging. He gently lifted his other hand, bringing his finger to his lips to ensure my silence. I nodded, his palm, however, was still firmly placed against my mouth. The sound of her heels clicking together sounded outside as she uncertainly paced outside the door. Another voice sounded, one much deeper than her lilted tone. ‘Some of the men have gone for a meal, but I must insist that I escort you back to the castle, this is not the place for a lady, the Emperor’s orders.’ The man’s tone reasoning, but firm in conveying this was a direct order of the Emperor. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor sounded as the pair walked down the long corridor, away from Harald’s door. 

Harald removed his palm, but his body stayed firmly pressed against mine, his forearm mounted on the wall above my head. ‘Why are you here? Is Twyla okay?’ He asked, his eyebrows knotting in worry as the lines on his forehead involuntarily creased. ‘She’s fine, she is with Emera’ I whispered. ‘I just…I wanted to apologise’ I whispered. ‘I never knew my father, it was just me and my mother. I don’t even know if he knew I existed at all. But it was wrong of me to accuse you of using your children like pawns to get what you wanted.’ He dropped his eyes to the ground, breaking eye contact. ‘And I’m sorry for dismissing your other child…I just, when I saw the Empress, her holding our baby and her arms, and things had been going so well since we moved away from the palace, and maybe I was just too naive in thinking that we were all going to be some happy family’ I just…I just’ I stuttered. ‘I promise you. You are my wife, and you are Twyla’s mother.’ He took his arm from the wall, tracing his finger gently down my arm as he wrapped his hand around mine, the heat from him his naked torso exposing me to the cold as he walked over to the bed. He patted the spot next to him, offering me a seat. ‘This could be treasonous’ he said, battling with whatever thought was running around in his brain. ‘The Empress confided in me that she does not know if the Emperor was capable of giving her children.’ He whispered. I looked back at Harald, a quizzical look on my face. ‘It’s only been a short time…surely that is not enough time to?’ I said, miming a bulging stomach with my hands. ‘She had expected to be at least a mother to his children from his previous marriage…but he had not sired a child at all.’ I looked at our hands, realising they had reconnected, my fingers mindlessly trailing around his palm. 

It had begun to make sense. It was no secret Elena was infatuated with Harald long before we stood on the shores of Constantinople. But her effortless flirting and amorous suggestions around him…her need to sire an heir to secure her own marriage.  While her desire for Harald was still longstanding, her efforts since her wedding had been newly developed. Having Harald to herself would be a bonus, but having a child would be everything for her. As a woman, as a wife, but in her position, as an Empress, not bearing children for her husband was not an option. ‘I promise, I have been a faithful husband to you since we wed’ he insisted, wrapping his other hand around mine like a security blanket. My heart felt heavy for The Empress…her desire to have a child. Something I hadn’t ever struggled with myself. ‘Speaking of Twyla…when she’s older she may ask questions about her father…and if you weren’t to come back…’ I whispered, bringing my other hand to cup Harald’s. He let out a heavy sigh, his forehead pressing against mine. Something neither of us wanted to think about, but we both knew we had to be practical about it. He took a deep breath, his hands giving a gentle squeeze. ‘Tell me about your father y/n’ he quietly questioned. 

I leaned back, looking at him cautiously. My stomach was turning in knots. It felt like a forbidden subject. I remember asking my mother when I was younger, but her response was clear. Never ask. We had never discussed it, but nobody had ever asked me. ‘When I asked my mother about it…she scolded me. There was no attempt to lie or make something up about it. She just said it wasn’t worth discussing ever.’ I shrugged my shoulders, it didn’t seem as much of a deal to me as it appeared to Harald as he glared at me with a pitiful look. ‘I remember I would wonder, for a period of my childhood always intensely looking at the men my mother was around, trying to find any similarities between us. It drove me mad for a while… I suppose I just learnt to live with it.’ Harald nodded, taking in my words as he sat pondering in contemplation. ‘What about your father?’ I asked, sliding further onto the comfort of the small bed. 

‘My father Sigurd Syr, he wasn’t a man who chased political ambition as much as his sons. My brother Olaf, my father was very supportive of his leadership and command. But he was modest with his wealth, and took much care of his properties…he was promised the throne…but he didn’t seem to mind so much that his sons wanted it more.’ I admired the way he smiled when talking about his father, similar to the way he smiled when he was with Twyla. Deep down, maybe Harald was similar to his father, a simple family man. But Harald was also very dutiful to his famous lineage, with an equal desire to keep the legacy of his ancestors alive. But how was Twyla going to fit into all of this? 

His fingers twined with mine, the words dragging out sorrowfully. ‘I don’t want Twyla to worry about me. That is too cruel a fate to force onto a child’ he whispered, leaning forward slightly. I didn’t know what that meant, but I too didn’t want the same fate for our daughter. I simply nodded, sliding off the bed, and placing my feet gently on the floor. ‘If we don’t see one another again, I will make sure she knows that her father is kind, loyal…and brave’ I mustered out, my throat tightening as the words came out. The aura was depressing, I wanted to leave…but part of me didn’t want to leave Harald Sigurdsson just yet. I stood up slowly, unravelling my hand from his as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I gently cupped his cheeks, bringing myself down and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. I leaned down and whispered against his ear, his long hair resting on my lips. ‘Come back to us.’ 

His eyes rose from the floor, connecting with mine, his eyes flickering as they searched my face. It was like a trance, my limbs no longer in control of my body, an urgency taking over. Instead of slipping my hands away and walking to the door as I planned, instead, my hand moved across his face, smooshing his lips into an awkward purse as my fingers squeezed his cheeks. I knew it would just make things harder…but I couldn’t resist. I pulled his face to mine, pressing my lips tenderly on his. Our lips locked together in a sweet embrace. Harald’s hands quickly cupped my cheeks, pulling my face tighter towards him as he stood up, his lips desperately chasing mine. I slid my hands down to his neck, tenderly pulling away from his lips to connect my lips with his neck. 

Gentle pecks on his neck turned greedy as I softly nipped and sucked on his salty skin. He groaned gently, his hands wandering down my chest, one hand cupped gently on my breast, the other balling the fabric of my dress into his palm. I begrudgingly pulled my lips from his neck, the hairs on my arm standing as I whispered into his ear. 

‘Take it off’ 

He didn’t hesitate. Our hands almost fought as he clawed at my dress, the fabric of my dress emitting a gentle rip as he pulled from the collar, revealing the skin of my shoulder, his lips attacking my newly exposed naked skin. I pulled him closer, my hands on the firm curve of his bottom, a firm bulge pressing into my stomach as I dipped my thumbs into the waist of his trousers, basking in the feeling of skin I had not touched in so long. I ran my thumbs around the perimeter feeling the soft hair around his pubis. I reached my fingers inside the front of his trousers, gently slipping one hand to cusp the bulge. He let out a heavy groan, but in typical Harald fashion, was not willing to relent control that easily. 

He reached down, pulling my hand from his groin, spinning me around, his hands running from my shoulders, down my arms, until his calloused hands gripped tightly to my wrists, pinning my hands against the wall. His lips attacked my neck, as he pulled my dress down, his lips trailing down my body following each inch of exposed skin. When my dress finally pooled to the floor, my naked body fully exposed, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. He placed his hands on my hips, spinning me back around the face him. His trousers were only slightly unbuttoned, exposing just the top of his erection. I so desperately wanted to fall to the floor with him, to feel his skin pressed against mine. But instead, his hands still gripped my hips, he pushed me back against the wall, his tongue gliding down from my belly button, as he seamlessly hooked one of my legs over his shoulder.  

The pressure of his lips, the swift kisses, the running of his tongue. I quietly tried to contain my moans, but the feeling was too electrifying. But as my hot breaths turned into pants, muffled sighs turned into moans, this only encouraged his efforts further. It was like my skin was on fire, a powerful surge radiating, my legs becoming weaker. 

Harald unhooked my arm from his shoulder, sliding me down the wall by my hips, pulling my chest firmly against his as I straddled him, a new wave of pleasure rushing over me as my pulsing heat grinned against his still-clothed bulge. Our tongues collided, but instead of a rushed desperate kiss, it was slow and sensual. I desperately rubbed against him, my hips grinding as my hands caressed his back, pulling him closely so that no gap was left between our skin. He slid his hands around my wrists, pulling my arms around his neck, his arms then looping around my lower back. With no warning, with no effort, Harald lifted me, shuffling onto his knees, and lowering me gently onto the floor without even breaking the contact of our skin. Finally, he reached down, pulling his trousers off. 

I waited desperately for contact, for that feeling I hadn’t felt for so long. I arched my back in anticipation, pushing me further against his chest. ‘Do you want this y/n?’ He whispered, the hair in my ears standing to attention. I lifted my neck from the floor, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I want my husband’ I breathlessly moaned out. Harald’s lips reconnected instantly with mine. 

As he entered me, I let out a little squeak. The feeling was so tight, I had not expected it after having a child. He stopped immediately, trying to pull out gently. But I ran my hands down his back, gripping onto his butt cheeks to halt his movement. ‘Stay. Right. There’ I whispered between kisses. He stayed there, our lips doing more work as I slowly pushed his hips forward until I felt him completely inside me. Slowly he began to move, the slight sting going away, and the feeling of him inside me became electrifying. His movements were slow, our foreheads pressed together. The only sounds emitting from either of us were our panting breaths. 

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We lay on the floor, our legs tangled into one another, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead as I rested in his arms, my arm lazily draped over his stomach. It was like the high was pouring from my body, where I had felt full, I now felt low and empty. My brain rattled, wanting to scream my innermost thoughts. ‘Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave us. Let’s just take a boat and run away.’ My mind racing with any possible scenario, any way of escape. But I knew Harald too well. His loyalties to his family, to his men, to his duty were strong. 

‘You have endured so much my love…so I will not lie to you, but I will do everything I can to come back to you both’ he whispered, pulling a blanket from the bed with his free arm, draping it across our bodies as we lay solemnly in each other’s arms. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but the emptiness of his words hit me hard. This could likely be our last moments together forever. 

When I finally parted from him in the early hours of the morning, our final exchange was simple. ‘Goodbye, Y/N’. ‘Goodbye Harald Sigurdsson’.

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True to his style, the Emperor wasn’t going to lead his army off into battle without the grandest of ceremonies. I held Twyla on my hip, Mathilda at my side as we watched from the crowds as the Emperor grandly announced how he had trained and built the finest army the empire had ever seen. The Empress sat dutifully at his side, clothed in grand gowns and covered in expensive jewels. 

‘Let me introduce to you, our experienced, loyal, and skilled warriors. Harald Sigurdsson!’ The crowd roared in applause, I clutched tightly to Mathilda’s hand, the noise overwhelming. The Emperor stood on the stage, his smile visible from afar, beaming as Harald walked on. He was adorned in uniform, a large helmet within his grip as he obediently bowed to the Emperor, waving at the crowd. ‘He looks so natural up there, don’t you think?’ Mathilda spoke. I simply nodded. But I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so happy standing up there, considering the circumstances. When the crowd’s cheers began to die down, the Emperor need only clap his hands together for his constituents to fall to obedient silence. 

‘I also introduce, my personal choice, a great and skilled warrior indeed, General George Maniakes!’ The crowd emitted even larger screams and cheers as the General began walking up the stairs. Like Harald, he bowed to the Emperor, but it was only when he stood and faced the crowd that I realised I had met him before. I leaned into Mathilda, my heart racing as she gripped tightly onto my side, steadying herself with my weight now leaning against her. ‘What’s wrong?’ She asked in a panicky tone. ‘That…That’s him…that’s…it’s his mother’s house’ I stammered. ‘He looks so different…’ I stated, confused by his imposing presence on the stage. My eyes flicked to Harald, who looked tensely at the General. 

The Emperor handed a goblet to each of the men, the priest having blessed the contents. The Emperor offered a cheers to the crowd. But the General struck my soul. I looked at him, his eyes directly on me and Twyla. He smirked a sinister smile, lifting his goblet in my direction, laughing deeply as he took in the expression on my face. His face said it all. ‘I know exactly who you are.’ 

Fuck. 

[lupinmoonlight]

Submission Part 4: Edge

Masterlist AO3 Submission Part 1 Submission Part 2: Establishing Rules Submission Part 3: Obedience

Summary - You sit in Professor Lupin's lap as he edges you with his fingers. You end up losing your v-card to him as well. (5,013 words)

Warnings - smut, teacher/student relationship, heavy D/s undertones, professor/sir kink, rules, fingering, LOTS of "good girl" and "Yes, Sir", age gap obviously, loss of virginity, teasing, edging, mentions of bruises and marking, very light innocence kink if you squint, choking, my grammar (english is not my first language).

Notes - This is not proof-read. So sorry for being MIA. I was burnt out from university and stuff. I still am but I wanted to finish this. I also have 5 hours of sleep left before I have to get up as I am writing this lol. This one is a bit different as I tried to incorporate more of how Remus feels and thinks.

Left alone in the quiet confines of his quarters, Remus sat back in his armchair, his mind racing. He was more than aware that what he was doing was dangerous, was wrong. He was aware of the risks, the potential fallout if you were ever discovered. His career, his reputation, everything could be destroyed in an instant. 

Yet, that day you came to him, desperate for guidance, for dominance, he couldn't say no. There was an undeniable attraction, a pull towards you that he couldn't ignore. He knew that if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else. Someone inexperienced, someone who could take advantage of your vulnerability, your innocence, and it filled him with a protective rage. He preferred having you explore this part of yourself with him, in a safe environment where he could ensure your consent...or at least that's what he liked to tell himself.  

Remus had always prided himself on his self-control, his restraint. He was known for his moral compass, for his respect towards his students. But with you, all his rules seemed to evaporate. The intoxicating mix of your innocence, your submission, your desire, was too overwhelming to resist. 

Every moment of your encounter replayed in his mind as he sat in his armchair. Your flushed cheeks, your trembling hands, the way you'd looked at him with such trust and submission. The memory of you kneeling before him, of you looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, was enough to make him hard again. The way you'd whispered 'Yes, Sir', the vulnerability in your voice, made his heart race. He could still feel the softness of your lips as he grazed his thumb over them, the warmth of your mouth around his shaft, could still taste you on his lips...taste himself on your lips. The marks he left on your neck and back, a visible sign of your shared secret, would be a constant reminder of his dominance, of what you'd done, of what you were about to explore. 

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the dark ceiling. He was in deep, and there was no turning back now. 

~

You made your way to DADA the next day trying your best to look as normal as possible. You were normal after all, and no one had any reason to suspect you had been on your knees before Professor Lupin the night before, gagging around him and swallowing him down. You couldn't even let your thoughts wander there. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and walked in the classroom like the most normal student ever. 

The moment you stepped into the classroom, his eyes fell on you. You did your best to look as innocent as ever, your eyes bright, your cheeks flushed with the morning chill. But the short skirt that hugged your hips, hiked up just enough to reveal laced stockings clinging to your thighs, told a different story, whispered secrets only the two of you shared. Your professor took a moment to appreciate the sight, practically devouring you with his gaze, his pulse quickening, his palms itching to touch, to explore. But no- he had to maintain his control- that was what you had asked of him, after all. 

Throughout the class, neither of you could focus on anything else but each other. Every time he looked at you, his gaze lingered longer than it should, tracing the curve of your neck, the shape of your lips. He didn't care how obvious his stare was, how inappropriate it might seem, how predatory it was. He noticed the way your eyes lowered when your gazes met, the faint blush on your cheeks, the subtle shift of your skirt as you crossed and uncrossed your legs. Each small action was a dangerous dance on the edge of forbiddance. He wanted you, needed you. His mind was filled with thoughts of you. Of how he could take you right then and there, on one of the desks. And you, you would just bend over for him, self-respect completely forgotten, dignity gone. 

After class ended, he found his voice, a low, steady command that made your stomach jump, your knees weak: "Y/N, would you stay behind for a moment?" 

Once the room was emptied, the sounds of chairs scraping and students chattering fading away, you found yourself alone with him. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs spread, silently inviting you to step into the space between them. The air was thick with tension, anticipation, the room suddenly too small for the two of you. 

When you were within reach, he reached out, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you closer. He watched as your eyes widened slightly, your breath hitching as he pulled you against him. He could tell how he affected you, and he loved every moment of it. 

"Look at me," he ordered softly, his gaze unyielding. When you hesitated, he repeated his command, his voice just a notch firmer, "Look at me." 

Slowly, your eyes met his, hesitant yet trusting. His hand moved from your waist to your thigh, his fingers brushing over the lace of your stockings, causing you to shudder slightly. 

"I want these on you tonight when you come to my quarters," he told you, his voice husky. It was an order, a declaration of what was to come. "Understood?"

"Yes, Sir", you whispered, your voice shaky. 

He smiled at you, a small, appreciative smile with a softness only he could mutter. "Good girl," he praised. "Now go, and behave yourself today." 

With that, he released you and you walked away, your steps slightly unsteady, feeling intoxicated by the power he had over you. The arrangement was not supposed to hinder your academic success- yet, your mind was consumed by the memory of kneeling on the floor of his quarters, his length hitting the back of your throat. Everything had become a blur since then. Despite the rules he had established for you, you would never admit to him he had such an effect on you, the fear of losing the sweet feeling of being owned, dominated, too intoxicating, too good.

You were not surprised by your feelings. You were a horny teenager, after all. Inexperienced, desperate, touch-starved. And there was something about the way Professor Lupin held himself that made you want to surrender completely. He was attractive, yes. But it was more than that. It was the kindness in his eyes that made you know you would be safe with him. His quiet strength telling you he could be in charge, take control, make it hurt good, make you cry, make you beg, all the while making you feel like he was the safest, comfiest place in the world. 

Remus, on the other hand, had not anticipated the thrill he would be getting from this, from you. For the rest of the day, he had found himself caught in a heady mix of anticipation and unease, his mind never straying far from what was to come this evening, from what he wanted to do to you, with you. The knowledge that what you were doing was ethically wrong, taboo, only seemed to amplify his anticipation. He was acutely aware that he was crossing boundaries he had set for himself long ago. Yet, the intoxicating allure of the forbidden made every stolen moment feel even more intense. 

Later that evening, in the silence of his quarters, Professor Lupin sat in his armchair, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the armrest. He was nervous, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. He felt like a teenager again, debating what he was going to wear. Did it really matter? He doubted his clothes would stay on long enough. Still, he opted for something casual- comfortable grey trousers, a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a loosely tied tie hanging around his neck. 

Your nervous knock on his door snapped him out of his reverie. He was by the door in an instant, pulling it open to reveal you standing there. Your eyes wide, and your cheeks flushed in a way that made his heart pound in his chest. You were dressed just as he had instructed, your short skirt revealing the laced stockings from that morning. The lack of any underwear was invisible to the eye but he knew, and the thought sent a jolt of excitement through him. Your blouse was slightly see-through, the white fabric revealing just a hint of the mark he had left on your back. You looked every bit the innocent schoolgirl that you were (or that you pretended to be), and yet undeniably alluring. 

"Come in," he beckoned, stepping aside to let you enter. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but not unkind, silently communicating his pleasure at your obedience. He guided you towards the armchair positioned opposite to his own. 

"Sit," he ordered. You obeyed, your steps hesitant. You could feel his gaze lingering on you as you settled down on the chair, drinking in the sight of you in the outfit he had chosen. 

"You look beautiful," he finally said. There was a note of genuine admiration in his tone, an honesty that was impossible to ignore. You couldn't help but blush. You wanted to return the compliment, but you couldn't find your voice, suddenly too nervous to speak. Your reaction did not go unnoticed and he gave a soft smile, satisfied with the effect he had on you. 

"How was your day?" he began, his tone casual, as if you were merely two friends catching up yet his eyes were studying you intently. 

"Fine, Sir," you lied hesitantly.

He noticed the hesitation immediately and raised an eyebrow. "Just fine?" He continued, his voice holding a note of intrigue. "Did you eat properly?" he continued. 

You nodded, stuttering a "Mostly, Sir." 

"And did you pay attention in your classes?" He asked. He knew the answer would be no, but he wanted to see if you would be honest with him. 

You bit your lip, obviously flustered. "I...I couldn't concentrate...Sir."

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Couldn't concentrate?" He echoed your words, a hint of concern coloring his tone. "Did you complete your homework, at least?"

Again, you hesitated for a moment before responding a timid "I tried to, Sir." 

There was a silence as he digested your words, his eyes boring into yours. "If this...arrangement of ours interferes with your academics, or your health, it will end immediately," he stated, his voice firm. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, a soft 'Yes, Sir' escaping your lips. 

"Good," he approved, letting the stern façade slip away, replaced by an expression of anticipation. He took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, the nervous girl in laced stockings, awaiting his command. 

"Come here," he beckoned, leaning back in his chair and patting his lap. The command went straight between your legs. You hesitated, not trusting yourself to stand, but you obeyed, moving to sit in his lap. His hand immediately settled on your waist, steadying you. The other hand rested on your knee, his fingers gently tracing the fabric of your stockings until they reached the line of lace adorning the middle of your thigh. He let out a soft, approving hum as he appreciated your obedience to his request. 

"Good girl," he praised, his voice lowering into a whisper, stirring a thrilling shiver down your spine. His hand slid further up your thigh, disappearing under your skirt. He let his hand wander even higher, his fingers ghosting over your bare skin, noticing the lack of underwear. You squirmed, your body arching instinctively towards him. Your movements elicited a soft gasp from him and you could feel his length hardening against you. 

The hand that was resting on your waist snaked up to your neck and then reached to gently grab your chin, turning your face towards him, his thumb grazing your lips, pressing into your mouth. You obediently started sucking on it, your eyes never leaving his. The sight of you, eyes wide and innocent, your mouth working over his thumb, made his erection twitch in the confine of his trousers. 

He slowly withdrew his thumb, trailing it across your cheek, before tangling his fingers into your hair, tilting your head back slightly. His lips hovered mere millimeters away from yours, your breaths mingling. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a husky whisper. "Are you going to do as you're told?" 

You nodded eagerly, unable to trust your voice again. He let out a soft chuckle, seeing how flustered he could make you with only a few words and touches. He tugged on your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat. He pressed the softest kiss below your ear, before sucking a mark there. His. His mark. His territory. 

This was too much, you wanted more, needed more. You arched further into his touch, straining for a hint of contact, a fraction more pressure from his hand from his hand that had remained teasingly still under your skirt. But the man was not one to be rushed. 

"Now, now. Have we forgotten our manners already?" he gently scolded, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in an amused smile. His movements stilled completely, effectively freezing you in your tracks. He savored the sight of you: flushed, desperate, and teetering on the edge. 

"Use your words, ask nicely," he urged you. 

His directive sent a rush of warmth through you. You were flustered, your words stumbling out in a breathless rush, "Please..."

"Please, what?" he prodded, a soft chuckle escaping him again. The pleasure he took from your desperation, from your submission, was evident on his face. 

Your lips parted as you drew a shaky breath, finally adding the one word he'd been waiting for. "Please...Sir," you stammered, your cheeks flaming as the words left your mouth. His eyes softened at your admission, his lips curling into a pleased smirk. Your squirms and tiny whimpers sent delicious jolts of pleasure through him, his hard length pressing insistently against you. 

His fingers began to move again, trailing further up your thigh, ever so teasingly close to where you wanted him most. "Keep your eyes on me," he instructed you, watching as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Stay still," he ordered, letting his fingers dance around the most intimate part of you. The most desperate whimper escaped your lips, a sound that was music to his ears, pushing him to the brink of control. You involuntarily arched into his touch, making him withdraw his hand abruptly. 

"Did I not tell you to stay still?" he reminded you, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Good girls listen, remember?"

"I...I'm sorry, Sir," you managed to stammer out. You felt his hand around your waist tighten, anchoring you firmly to his thigh, not allowing you the satisfaction of grinding down on his fingers. This was his game, his rules, and you would have to play by them. 

Satisfied with your answer, his hand disappeared beneath your skirt again, your breath hitching in anticipation. His fingers ventured further up, tracing the damp path his touch had created until one finger pressed at your entrance. His eyes studied your reactions, your pupils blown wide with desire, your chest heaving. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice steady despite the clear arousal in his gaze. 

"Yes...Sir," you panted, your voice trembling with need. 

His finger pushed further inside you, a low growl escaping his lips as he felt your warm tightness clench around him. His thumb began to trace lazy circles on your clit, his touch maddeningly slow. Your hands instinctively clenching onto his shirt, desperate for some form of stability. Your knuckles turned white with the effort of staying still. He set a steady rhythm that had you trembling, your body fighting the urge to move, to chase the pleasure he was so expertly teasing out of you. 

He continued his rhythm, bringing you to the edge of release only to stop abruptly. He was enjoying this too much, the control, the power, the trust you had placed in him. He could feel his arousal pressing into you, the tightness of his trousers now bordering discomfort. But he ignored it. This was about you, about taking care of you, making you feel good. 

"Sir..." you whimpered, the loss of contact making your hips buck up in search of his touch. But he held you steady, his hand on your waist keeping you in place. His rhythm was cruelly timed, just enough to build your anticipation before denying you release. 

"Please...Sir," you cried out, the words a desperate plea. 

He chuckled, his voice laced with an edge of amusement. "Poor thing," he cooed, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy. "Look at you, so needy. Can't hold on any longer?" 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, ashamed of yourself for being so desperate, so vulnerable. But in this moment, it didn't matter. You were so close and you didn't want to dare reaching that sweet release without his permission. 

"Tell me, what do you want?" he asked, pulling his fingers away once more and smirking at the whimper of protest that escaped your lips. 

You were a blushing mess, your eyes pleading with him as you struggled to find your voice. "P-please...I n-need...," you stammered, unable to finish the sentence. 

"Yes?" he prodded, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the evident arousal in his eyes. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before speaking again. "I-I need to...to come, Sir. Please..." you admitted. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest at your admission, the sound sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "Good girl," he praised. His finger, slick with your arousal, ventured back inside you, this time adding a second one. You gasped at the stretch, the pressure, but he kept his pace slow, steady, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. 

"Relax," he instructed, his fingers moving in rhythm with the steady circling of his thumb over your clit. Your body obeyed, relaxing into the touch, and soon his touch was robbed of all gentleness, setting a pace that had you panting and moaning beneath him. The relentless assault had you whimpering, your mind focused on nothing but the waves of pleasure he was eliciting from you. 

"Let go," he encouraged, a soft whisper in your ear. "You're such a good girl...let go for me." 

With a final whimper, you let yourself succumb to the pleasure, your body convulsing in his hold as you rode out the waves of your climax. Your body arched into his touch, your hands clutching at his shirt. He didn't stop his movements until you slumped against him, completely spent. 

"That's my girl," he praised, a note of pride in his voice. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to your lips. His eyes met yours with a silent instruction. You obediently took his fingers into your mouth, cleaning them with your tongue, your taste mingling with the salty remnants of your climax. He watched you, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you, flushed and sated and completely at his mercy. 

"I think," he said in a low, husky voice, "we should move this to the bedroom." You swallowed thickly, your pulse racing, but nodded, letting him guide you up on your feet. 

His room was a reflection of him. A large, comfortable looking bed sat in the middle, the sheets rumpled and inviting. Dark wood furniture filled the room, bookshelves lined the walls. There was a distinctly masculine scent to it, a mixture of parchment, leather bound books and something else, uniquely him. 

He led you to the bed, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back. You could feel his gaze on you, it was heated, predatory. "Sit," he commanded. You obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of you, your eyes at the perfect level with the bulge in his trousers. 

His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer. "I want you to see what you do to me." 

His grip in hair tightened, the sweet pain making you gasp, your lips now mere centimeters from his erection clearly outlined against the fabric of his trousers. You could feel your cheeks burning at the sight. It was a powerful thing, to know that you could evoke such a reaction from him. It was intoxicating. 

He took a step back, his gaze taking in your shivering form. His hands reached out towards the buttons of your blouse, the touch making you flinch slightly. His fingers worked slowly, undoing each button with meticulous care. "Relax," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm as the material fell away, exposing your delicate skin. 

Reaching behind you, he unclasped your bra with practiced ease, discarding the fabric with a flick of his wrist. You trembled, exposed and vulnerable, yet you held his gaze. His hands traced down your sides, stopping at the hem of your skirt. "These," he stated, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your skirt and stockings, "stay on." 

He gently pushed you, guiding you to lie down on the bed. His figure loomed over you as he positioned himself between your trembling legs. Your professor, still clad in his clothing, a cruel barrier between your bodies, pressed his hips into yours. The friction drew a sharp gasp from you, and you instinctively tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. 

He was quick to catch you, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing your gaze back to him. "Look at me," he commanded. His hand slipped from your face, down to rest on your throat, his grip just tight enough to make you swallow nervously. 

He stilled, studying you under him, his thumb pressing ever so slightly into your soft skin. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper against the silence in the room. You wanted him to dominate you, to control you, even if this meant giving you permission to breathe. Your response was instinctive, your hand reaching up to press on his, urging him to tighten his grip. But he simply smirked at you, "Use your words."

You swallowed, your eyes flickering with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Y-yes, Sir," you stuttered, the honorific rolling off your tongue, only fuelling his arousal. His thumb pressed deeper into your skin, feeling your pulse there. 

Maintaining the pressure on your throat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. The tenderness of the action stood in stark contrast to the dominance he held over you, the grip on your throat sending jolts of pleasurable fear through your body. Breaking the kiss, he moved to straddle you, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Deliberately, he began to loosen his tie, pulling it free from his neck and discarding it with a carelessness that had your breath hitching. He started on his shirt next, each button revealing more of his toned chest. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bare skin, your mind foggy with the realization that you were probably the first student to see this part of him. Sure, no other student had been on their knees gagging around him, but seeing this part of him, like this, felt different. It was more intimate. 

He caught your wandering gaze, the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement. He took hold of your hands, guiding them towards the buckle of his belt. You hesitated, your eyes darting up to meet his, silently seeking his approval. A low chuckle escaped his lips, "Go on," he encouraged. 

Your hands trembled as you reached for his belt, the metal clinking softly. Once you had the buckle undone, you moved to his trousers, pulling them open to reveal his black boxers. Your hands froze at the sight, your eyes looking back up at him, uncertain. 

"Keep going," he reassured you. You swallowed, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, letting his erection spring free. He shifted back, pulling his boxers off completely before settling back between your legs. His bare skin against your was a new sensation, a very welcomed sensation. It felt warm, strangely soft, and safe. 

His tip brushed against you, teasing your entrance, yet he made no move to push forward, causing you to whimper softly, your breaths coming out in short gasps. He stilled, his dominant façade melting away for a moment to reveal the gentle, kindhearted Remus Lupin you knew so well. He looked down at you, his gaze soft, "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his hand to stroke your hair comfortingly. "We can stop at any time if you're uncomfortable." 

You loved that he was so caring, you felt safe, but you also wished he could read your degenerate mind. You didn't want him to be so gentle, so attentive. You wanted him to be rough, to use you, even if it was your first time. You shook your head- no, you absolutely didn't want to stop- a breathy plea of "Please, Sir," tumbling from your lips. Your hands came up to his shoulders, clinging to them in anticipation. The sight of you, so willing, so eager under him, had him teetering on the edge of losing control. 

He started pushing in, slowly, agonizingly slowly. A groan escaped his lips, the tightness around him was almost too much. You held your breath, the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched causing you to tense up. 

He paused, fully sheathed within you, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, "Breathe, love. Relax," he instructed gently. 

At your needy whimper, he began to move, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching in your throat. Your small noises of pleasure spurred him on. "You feel so good," he groaned, his hand moving up to cup your breast before resting on your throat once more, pressing down just enough to slightly restrict your airways. 

You arched into him, your body begging for more. "H-harder...please, Sir," you begged, your words coming out breathlessly. His heart pounded in his chest at your plea. "Such a good girl for me," he praised, his movements becoming harder, driving you into the mattress. 

He moved his hand to your hair, tugging harshly to expose your neck. His lips descended upon your exposed neck, sucking a possessive mark into your skin. His other hand slipped down, tracing the line of your thigh, over the lacy stocking that clung to your skin. "Mine," he growled, the statement punctuated by a particularly harsh thrust. His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer to him as he buried himself deeper within you. His rhythm was relentless.  

Your breaths were becoming shallower, your body tightening around him. He could tell you were close, so close to that edge he had brought you to earlier. His movements became rougher, more aggressive as he began to lose himself in the pleasure of the moment. "Please..." you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies coming together. 

His body was coiling tighter, the pleasure mounting as he thrust deeper and harder into you. "Come for me," he rasped out, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. Your body tightened around him, your moans growing louder as you neared your second climax of the night. "That's it, good girl. Let go." 

With a final thrust, he stilled inside you, his body tensing as he spilled his seed within you. The pulsing sensation was enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you in waves. You clung to him, struggling to catch your breath. 

He remained still on top of you, your bodies pressed together, intimately connected. "Good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your cheek as he planted soft kisses on your flushed skin. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he looked down at you. Your body felt heavy, exhausted. You could only manage a weak nod in response, your eyes still half-closed. 

"Did I hurt you?" he pressed, his gaze lingering on the mark he had left on your neck. You shook your head. He watched you carefully, his eyes studying you for any sign of discomfort or regret. All he saw was exhaustion and bliss. 

Slowly, he pulled out of you, the action causing you to let out a soft whimper in protest, leaving you feeling oddly empty. You barely registered his movements as he got up from the bed, only becoming aware of his absence when you felt the warmth of a cleaning spell between your legs. Your skirt and stockings were discarded, your body tucked under the comfort of his bed sheets. 

He settled next to you, pulling you close to him, cradling you in his arms as he murmured softly "I've got you." He kissed your temple, the action tender and loving, a contrast to the intensity of what had just happened. As much as you loved being manhandled, owned, dominated, right now, this is what you needed. His heartbeat, steady against your ear, was the most comforting sound you had ever heard. 

You knew this was not going to last forever, the reality of things pulling you out of your post-climax bliss. You would have to go back to your dorm soon, pretend to be a good, innocent little schoolgirl. But for now, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep.

[techs-goggles9902]

Can you do at Tech lives fan-fic (like if Tech is CX-2)??

CX-2 is all that remains

Warnings: prosthetic stuff, mentions of blood and stuff, contact lenses 💀 scars and stuff, bacta usage, memory issues (ik nothing super bad but what if you had a fear of contacts??) TBB SPOILERS

Word count: 1457 (WHOA I WENT OVERBOARD)

A/N: IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG ANON. I genuinely love the bad batch but I HATE WRITING THEM SOMETIMES 😭 I feel like I’m butchering their characters. But I gotchuuuuu!!! Lmk if I should continue this.

Requests are open! See Masterlist for details!!!!

IMPORTANT NOTE: some of this was supposed to be italicized but my copy and pasting removes it, so some of this stuff are their thoughts. Just an FYI

“You recognized it, too,” Hunter whispers to Crosshair as the group hurries up the rocks.

”I did. You said he died on Eriadu,” the sniper replies in a low mumble.

“He did… Wrecker watched him fall.”

”Well, obviously he survived. Next move?”

”Follow through with the plan, Cross. I’ll have Echo double back and take us down there.”

”But… it’s him?”

Hunter pauses. When he speaks, his voice cracks, “Tech’s alive. And with the Empire.”

Tech - no, CX-2! He had to get used to that - needs to get out of the water, and fast. The current pulls at him as he grips a narrow rock beneath the surface.

His helmet can only keep him alive for so long, he needs air sooner rather than later.

This isn’t ideal. The cybernetics will never last if their circuits are drenched.

His slender fingers lose their grip on the rock. One, two, three. The Shadow loses his grip entirely, his gloves ripped apart at the seams as the sharp ridges cut into the calloused flesh of his fingers.

The current throws him back into another rock, his backpack absorbing most of the impact.

There, he thinks as the water starts to seep into his body suit, I just need to make it to that ledge and my odds of survival increase significantly.

He feels his cybernetics digging into the tender flesh of his legs. The part where the river meets land was so close, yet so far. Reaching out a bloody hand, his shredded fingers are met with rough sediment.

Finally…

”Echo, Rex, please. It’s him! I feel it,” Hunter says, trying to keep Echo from making the jump into hyperspace.

“Hunter, what if it’s n-”

”Rex, your buddy isn’t coming after us. He let us go. There’s no risk in going down there,” Crosshair cuts in. Echo and Rex glance at each other.

Rex, Echo’s expression says, what if…

Echo, Rex’s body language reads, you said it yourself. He’s gone.

You didn’t give up on me.

Rex’s gaze softens. “Fine. You have ten minutes.”

Hunter lets out a breath, clasping Rex’s shoulder. He says, “I owe you.”

”You owe me a lot, Sarge.”

Echo lands the ship just off the riverbank but is still hidden in the trees in case Wolffe changes his mind. The ramp opens with a soft hiss and plants itself on the rocks with a gentle thud. The river laps against the rocks like white noise, the water running down the cliff adds to the effect.

And there, lying on the rocks, still half in the water, lies the Shadow. Barely conscious and panting, his bloodied fingers groping the sediment.

“Maker… Gregor, get the med kit!” Echo yells back into the ship as Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker trip over themselves to get down to the riverbank.

“Shit… Hunter, is he…” Wrecker asks in a low tone, kneeling down beside the semiconscious clone.

“His heart’s beating,” the sergeant replies.

“Damn… Wrecker, can you get him on the ship? Gently?” Echo asks, leaning down to check the assassin’s pulse.

“I got him.” Wrecker slowly turns the clone onto his back and snakes an arm beneath his knees and back. “I gotcha, I gotcha…”

CX-2 feels himself being lifted up off the ground, his helmet removed, his head resting on someone’s shoulder plate. He hears voices calling out to him, hands lowering him down onto something somewhat comfortable. A bunk?

His armor taken off his wet bodysuit, said bodysuit is either peeled or cut away from his body.

“Cybernetics aren’t the best quality… just a pawn in Hemlock’s game,” a gruff voice says.

“Oh, Tech…” a softer voice says.

“I told you that you should’ve taken medic training,” a different voice comments. A scoff follows.

“Stow it, Cross.” Cross… that seems so familiar to CX-2. All the voices do, even the soft, feminine one. A warm liquid oozes out of where prosthetics meet flesh. Blood.

“Shit, Gregor, hand me the gauze,” He knows this voice…

“Echo, keep pressure. I’m getting him bacta,” Echo… warm hands trail down his body, checking for further injuries.

“Crap… these prosthetics are absolute trash, I should know. Not even connected properly… Tech, if you were awake to see this mess…” the voice, Echo, scoffs. CX-2 hears a smile in his voice.

“Are…are they as good as yours?” CX-2 hears his own voice ask that. He doesn’t know why he said that. In fact, his mouth moved on its own accord. All sounds around him cease and everything’s quiet except the soft hum of the ship.

“I… no, sorry, bud…mine are cooler,” Echo responds. CX-2 feels a subtle smile tugging at his own lips. Why? These are the enemy. Someone tends to his mangled hands, cleaning them and wrapping them tenderly.

“Tech…” CX-2 hears that name being called over and over again. Whispered in his ear. Murmured into his forehead as soft lips make contact with the scarred skin. Breathed into his hands as someone holds them gently.

His eyes open, just for a moment, meeting the gaze of five pairs of brown eyes. “Tech is gone,” he says. “CX-2 is all that remains…” He’s out like a light a second later.

Hunter’s heart felt like it was stabbed, trampled, cut out of his chest, and thrown out onto a rock to die. Tech is gone… the words echo through his mind all the way back to Pabu. This wasn’t the reunion he had in mind when he realized the Shadow was actually his little brother.

Crosshair doesn’t know how to feel. He abandoned his squad, his family, for the Empire. Is this karma, he thought.

Nonsense, Tech’s voice whispers in his head, this has nothing to do with you. The rational explanation is that the Empire succeeded in turning me into an assassin where they failed to turn you. Do not blame yourself, Crosshair. There was nothing you could do to stop this.

But I could’ve known, Crosshair’s voice whispers back to Tech’s, we would’ve been at Tantiss together.

And how could you possibly have known that, Cross?

Wrecker just tries to keep Omega away from their unconscious brother. “He needs his rest, Meg.”

“I won’t leave until he wakes up,” the blonde replies, crossing her arms. “I’m not bothering him, anyway.”

Wrecker sighs, placing a hand on her scrawny shoulder. He mutters, “Tech’s always been the one to take care of us… it’s weird that we’re taking care of him.”

“I know… what did he mean by ‘Tech’s gone’?”

“I… I don’t know. Cross said the Empire erases their previous lives while they turn them into… this. He’ll pull through and we’ll be losing to him in dejarik in no time.”

Echo was confused. Tech had just asked him about his cybernetics, meaning he did in fact remember them, at least somewhat. He stares out the viewport in the cockpit, his fingers picking at his scomp link. Tech always hated when he did that.

The next time CX-2 resurfaces, he’s staring up at a - wooden? - ceiling, definitely not a ship’s. A house? Hut? Cabin? He groans, lifting a hand up to pinch the scarred bridge of his nose. His face was littered with thick, ragged scars. Ever since Eriadu.

He looks at his hand in surprise as he sees its bandage has been changed recently. Where is he? CX-2 sits up slowly, orienting himself as he goes. The room is warm, small but not small enough that you feel claustrophobic. A window is above the bed he’s currently lying on, soft light filtering through the translucent curtains. He strains his neck to peer out of it.

Pabu…

He gets off the bed, looking down at his prosthetics, which start just below the knee. They’re sturdier as he stands and they don’t restrict his movement like they used to. They’re… comfortable.

He quietly - as quiet as you can get with two durasteel feet - leaves the room, examining the hallway. A kitchen is down the hall, so he heads there. Wincing, he looks around the corner to see if anyone’s there.

There is.

Crosshair…

“C’mere, Tech,” the sniper says, gesturing to the seat at the island beside him. CX-2 hobbles over to it, taking a seat silently.

“I’m not the brother you remember,” he rasps, looking out the window.

“No shit… no goggles?”

“Hemlock thought I should wear contacts so the goggles don’t break out on a mission.”

Crosshair hums in response.

“Why did you come back?”

The sniper takes a moment to respond, “Couldn’t leave you behind.”

It’s CX-2’s - no, Tech’s - turn to hum in response. He feels Crosshair leaning against him slightly.

“You’re not who you used to be, but we’ll get there. Right?”

“Possibly.”

Crosshair scoffs, “Good to have you back.”

Taglist: @will-is-silly @fionajames @sevdidntdie @hellhound5925 @dangraccoon @skellymom

Please let me know if you want to be taken off or join the list!!!

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

They’re stuck in the Upside Down. 

Nancy. Robin. Eddie. And Steve’s so fucked up from the bats, every breath, ever movement, has him in agony, and he just keeps seeing Eddie here, and it makes it all so much worse. This was never supposed to happen. And how was Steve supposed to keep him safe, keep them all safe, when he could barely stand upright from the pain?

Eddie walks a little way ahead with Nancy, fled after saying, “for your modesty, dude,” and throwing his battle vest at Steve’s face. It leaves Steve with Robin as they navigate the vines and random earthquakes to get to the Wheeler’s house. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Robin asks. 

Steve narrows his eyes. “You mean other than being dragged across a dry lakebed and eaten by fucked up bats?” 

“Is it. Eddie?” 

He bites his lips between his teeth. Of course Robin knows. She always does. “I hate that he’s part of this, Robs. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think it’s your fault.” It’s not a question.

“How can I not.” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You got dragged into this just by being friends with me. And now Eddie? If he wasn’t our friend—if he wasn’t my—he would be safe.”

“Steve. You know that’s not true. Chrissy was cursed already. She would have always died that night. Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, tears pooling along his lash lines. “We kissed,” he croaks out.

“What?” Robin shrieks loud enough to echo across the desolate, cursed landscape. 

Eddie and Nancy glance back in time to see Steve knock his shoulder against her arm. “Quiet,” he hisses. 

“Sorry,” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner! When? How? Are you together now?”

His mouth twists. “No. I think I fucked it up? It was—fuck—when he came over after Chrissy. He was so upset, and I was comforting him, and it just happened. I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“So, you haven’t talked about it?”

He gives her a look again. “When would we have had the time?” 

“Okay, okay. But he doesn’t seem mad. I mean, he still gazes at you all lovestruck and ridiculous.”

Heat bursts under the skin of Steve’s cheeks. “He does not,” he mumbles. 

“But you do need to talk about it. Obviously. You two have been pinning for years.” 

“It’s a year and a half. At most. Not even.”

“Feels like years to me.” 

Steve scoffs, falls silent. “I’m scared, Robs. What if he doesn’t like me back? He was too upset when I kissed him, and—I pushed it too far.”

“You did pick a truly terrible time to kiss him, and you two should probably talk about that, but Eddie isn’t going to be upset that you have feelings for him.”

“How do you know? There’s no way you can be sure. I don’t want to risk everything.” “Steve, I—” Robin’s mouth contorts into a complicated series of o’s as she fishes for words. “We’re already risking everything,” she says. “With the Upside Down. With Vecna. When we’re back topside, you should take the time you need to talk to him, okay? I promise that, even if he doesn’t like you like that, he’ll still love you as his closest friend.”

He can’t think of the words to argue with, so he nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of Eddie’s battle vest. His finger catches on something deep in the right pocket, accompanied by a telltale burst of pain. Steve hisses, retracting his hand, a drop of scarlet beads from a small slash at the tip of his index finger. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. He wipes the blood on the vest—it’s already soaked with it, anyway. 

“You okay?” Robin asks, her blue eyes sharp at Steve losing more blood.

“Yeah. Munson’s keeping sharp shit in his pockets again, is all.”

He reaches back into the pocket to find the offending weapon and finds a crumpled sheet of paper. An amused breath bursts out of him as he realizes what it must be, and he fishes it out with hesitation. 

It’s crinkled and grimy with age, but Steve unfurls it anyway. It’s his own handwriting at the top: “You ever been in love?” 

He doesn’t remember writing it, not clearly. There’s a vague recollection of wobbling around, crossfaded in his bedroom, scrawling words on the first acceptable surface he finds. Doesn’t remember giving it to Eddie, but he’s responded; it’s scrawled right there beneath Steve’s question: “No, but I think I’m falling.” 

Steve stops in his tracks, staring at the note, eyes darting from the paper to Eddie. A bright pulse of hope sticks in his throat. They’re going to get out of the Upside Down, and when they do, Steve is telling Eddie everything.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He doesn’t. 

Nancy is taken by Vecna and then they fall into planning mode, apparently RV theft mode too (“don’t cha, big boy” is never going to leave his head), and in the panic and fear, there isn’t time. 

There’s a little part of him, too, that doesn’t want to say, “I love you,” like it’s a good-bye. He meant it when he told Robin he still has hope, he does, refuses to accept any outcome that isn’t success, that leaves one of their rank dead. 

So, he doesn’t talk to Eddie, and they’re in the Upside Down for their last stand and all the words and emotions pile up on his tongue but can’t find flight. 

He, Robin, and Nancy turn to go, he’s already kicking himself for his silence, when Eddie’s voice rings out, “Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns fast, almost overbalances, but the meeting of their eyes steadies him. In the rich brown of Eddie’s, Steve thinks he sees all the things he wants to say echoed back. They gaze at each other in silence that thickens every millisecond until Eddie says, “make him pay,” and Steve lifts his chin in acknowledgement. He knows it’s not what Eddie means to say, thinks he understands why he can’t. 

There will be plenty of time for their confessions when they get out of this alive. And they will. Steve is sure of it. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It’s over.

It was hard. Bad. But it’s done. Vecna a smoldering ruin on the Upside Down version of the Creel House lawn. 

Steve doesn’t feel triumphant, exactly. They’d almost died, strangled by the vines, briefly outmatched by Vecna. He is relieved, though. Eager to get back to the trailer park, to Eddie and Dustin.

They traverse the Upside Down, silent now and free of earthquakes, closing in on the trailer park in record time. 

Up ahead, Steve makes out a hunched shape that must be Dustin in his ghillie suit. He wonders where Eddie is, but he’s not afraid. 

He picks up speed to close the distance faster. “Dustin!” he shouts. He means it to sound excited, triumphant, but it’s strangled. His heart’s beating too fast.

Steve is near enough, makes out the dark heap at Dustin’s feet. Someone is chanting a high-pitched, unbroken rhythm of “no, no, no, no, no, nononono,” and it takes him several long moments to realize the sound is coming from his own mouth. He can’t make himself stop.

“Steve,” Dustin sobs. He’s covered in red, leaned over Eddie’s prone form. 

There’s so much blood, congealing in dark pools on the grey earth.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, hey,” Steve falls to his knees, fighting off the panicked keen building in his throat at Eddie’s mostly closed eyes. 

“Babylove, honey, sweetheart, please, please look at me, okay?” There are bites on his cheeks that Steve avoids, tapping at Eddie’s cheekbones with shaking fingers. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter, try to focus, but drift. “S’vie?” he rasps. 

“Hey, hey, It’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here, but you got to stay awake for me, okay?”

“N’ver thought I’d go to heaven,” Eddie mumbles, he fights his eyes from rolling back.

Steve forces a laugh. “What a line, man,” his focus shifts. “Robin, Nancy, we need to stop the bleeding.” 

They work in a flurry of motion, Steve talking to Eddie, struggling to keep him alert. 

“You gotta stay with me, Eds. Okay? I can’t be without you. You know that, right? You’re everything, Eddie. Everything.”

Eddie smiles with teeth full of blood. “Whatever you say, angel,” he whispers. His eyes slide shut.

Steve swallows his scream, hefts Eddie into his arms, and runs.

(Part 7)

This is a rough one, please feel free to shout at me about it. Thank you so much for reading! One more part to go; and don't worry, nobody dies and there's a happy ending.

I can't add anymore tags, but I appreciate each and every one of you for coming on the steddie notes journey with me! 💜💜💜

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@trainchomp @anaibis

[chiquititaosita]

Maki Zenin x Latina fem reader 🫶🏼🌶️👹

¡! ❞ synopsis: maki x latina reader varying headcanons, with slight mentions of nsfw descriptions, and suggestive writing

osita note: yall im making more soon asap, writing is back in the groove more gay shit coming soon! hope y’all love it @kenruu @sanjisblackasswife @yourrfavzxri @chrollohearttags @chocolatetheoristcloud @sanjis-all-blue @euphofic @roronoaswifey @cookiepie111 @sierae @hqkalon

maki being the girlfriend to write you notes on a sticky note in places you’ll be looking for stuff. “have a good day at work! fuck that bitch (coworkers name).”

Maki who spoils you by buying you food, and even cooking sometimes. She comes to terms with accepting the use of vicks vaporub and newspaper cones.

Maki Zenin being the girlfriend that literally checks you out unintentionally, and her sister calls her out.

“You’re checking her out aren’t you?”

“So she’s not your type.” “but that’s my girlfriend.”

“Hey she’s mine back off!” she gets jealous so fucking easily, and is kinda tóxica but we stan it.

You yelling at Maki and slapping her hand with a wooden spoon with a small hit. Then itadori with a PAM! because they attempted to eat your cooking that’s still raw and needs to be cooked thoroughly.

“Wash y’all’s damn hands!!” You’ll be yelling that in Spanish and putting your hands on your hips.

I mean if you you yell at Maki or anyone in español She’s gonna get her pushy wet, call it Niagara Falls up in this bitch.

“AYO THOSE ARE MY TITTIES!!” she’s gonna cover you up if you have a nip slip or a fashion mishap. Or get nobara to help you. She don’t mess with taken women, nobara goes after married men PURR

here y/n is just being fussy; and crying if she gets hurt, “who did this to you!?…” at first in her head she’ll be like oh shit.

“What happened…?” bitch will fight the whole jujitsu society and even risk her life as a sorcerer for you. BECAUSE SHE LOVES YOU SO DEARLY INTO HER HEART.

ms girl loves your cooking and your body with stretch marks and freckles. “And I thought you were my breakfast.”

FaceTimes you when you’re on break, ALWAYS COMES HOME TO YOUR COOKING AND CLEANING. Because she’s never been taken care off because her dads a bitch. she starts showing affection to you slowly.

“i know you’re homesick, so i brought you pan dulce from the panadería.”

“you want me to help you with anything?” she really doesn’t know how to ask you for help, but instead she takes over the whole task on doing it.

“you need to be careful, okay?” overprotective 11/10

cuddles are necessary with her always

she’s always gotta be touching you on your thighs your ass or your titties, even the small of your back

“My girlfriends coming! And she’s gonna kick your ass!” The minute she feels somethings not right! 🏎️ nyooom!! She’s gonna use her cursed objects to find you AND KILL THEM MFS

Maki to the rescue. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She’s gonna kill these bitches with no mercy. Maki has already lost her mother and she can’t risk the chances of losing you.

She calls you mama, princess, baby, y/n love, love, love bug, sunshine.

Actually is learning Spanish for you. Even though it’s easy to understand by how you’re yelling at someone she’s just encouraging you with her hands up having a smirk on her face. “that’s my girl.”

especially for her voice being low and sounding like honey, when she calls you baby. she’s obsessed at how y’all dance together. Mai approves of you 9/10! only because maki didn’t tell her about you sooner.

if your cousins ask maki why her hair looks like mocos, she’ll just just not care. and whisper something super sinister in your cousins ears that’ll leave them terrified, and go back to eating.

kisses with maki are sweet and slow, even passionate at times, of course when it comes to pda she’ll show you off, but when y’all are alone and in private she’s mostly affectionate, and at her most vulnerable state

when you teach her how to flip a tortilla she instantly burns her finger, because the comal was hot. “fuck!” that leaves you to helping her with it. but you or maki wouldn’t change a thing

[flightyalrighty]

*Trips over several sacrificial totems on the way in*

Your favorite part about the comic (that has been revealed) so far?

Honestly I think it depends on the why. Like, I think the part I most looked forward to sharing with you all, like my favorite part for sure for readers to read, was that last page of Chapter 1 where Sonic shows up. You guys freaked out about it, it was awesome. I knew it was gonna get people gnawing on their fingers, and I love sharing moments like that.

My favorite, just for me, personally? It was when Shadow and Rouge were bored while exploring the cave and playing Ghost with each other. That whole sequence was pretty personal to me. Ghost was something I often played with my sisters on long car rides or in long lines for stuff. It was the go-to sibling game in my family. Shadow and Rouge's relationship is something I write based on my relationship with myself and my older sister. Also, trying to spell out a swear word, since most of those things are four letters, guarantees that whoever's not going first loses (in a two person game). So Rouge going for "u" was pretty much her letting Shadow win to be funny.

If he went for "c" he'd guarantee himself a win. Going for anything besides "fuck" could've risked Rouge winning instead. Her victory is making Shadow say funny cuss.

Ultimately, "fuck" ends up being a pretty fitting word in reaction to what the two of them had gone through in that cave. An exasperated "... Fuck." Out of relief.

[saphirered]

I saw your autumn/winter prompts

It’d be cool for you to do some fluff with Ashton for either cold nights or thunder and lightning

Love your stuff!!!

More prompt requests incoming! 😘

Miserable. This weather feels absolutely miserable. Ashton is uses to the rain and thunder but now it’s fucking cold. Freezing, frigid cold and fuck does it hurt. They can feel it in their bones, their entire body just hurts, more so than usual. The jungle is fine, perfect even. It’s like home. But they’re far from home. The heart in the jungle, lies far beyond sight and perhaps even mind. This fey bullshit is something else entirely and Ashton doesn’t quite like it. The weather seems to hate them especially. If there’s some asshole watching over them making this all happen, he’ll personally see to it that there’s a nice and comfy spot in the earth about six feet under. Fuck. 

All of those emotions disappear though. A burst of light illuminates the skies and with it your face. You look up at the sky and admire the tendrils flash before the disappear as quickly as they came. You’re a beautiful sight- It is a beautiful sight. Fuck. You’re beautiful. They’re in deep. Once upon a time Ashton thought this was fun while it lasted. A little teasing and flirting never hurt anybody but the line had blurred a long time ago. Ashton caught feelings and it’s very few times they’re unsure about anything. Your lips move but your voice is drowned out by the sound of crashing thunder. 

“Hah?!” Ashton leans in closer to hear as the ground shakes once more. 

“I said we should find some shelter!” You all but shout pointing at the sky and take their hand. So much for venturing off on your own and having a little voyage ‘back in an hour’. You hope the others have the mind to find shelter too. You send them a message just in case as you pull the genasi along through the trees and rocks until you stumble upon a cave. You’re not taking any risks and the lightning is getting closer. From here you’d be safe with cover, and still able to witness nature in all it’s grandeur. 

Letting himself be dragged along Ashton isn’t opposed to the shelter you’ve found because with his track record he wouldn’t put it behind any mischievous fey to set the gold in those cracks to attract the lightning. On the other side they too are a little curious to see what would happen… Maybe another time. Ashton curls and uncurls their fingers, rotates their wrists when you let go and take a look out at the oncoming clouds hiding the moonlight, or dusk-light should be more appropriate. You stay at the mouth of the cave to watch another rumble hit the earth in a cacophony and the lightning, quick as it passes makes this cave all the darker. Ashton can’t see shit and in an attempt to find a wall loses their footing. A crack, that’s luckily hidden by thunder saves most of the hit to his pride. But then fire glow appears in the palm of your hand. 

“Why are you on the ground?” You hide a chuckle as you watch Ashton give up on, life, existence, everything laying on their back, legs bent at the knees and groan. 

“I just wanted to be one with my element.” They speak as casually as they can but your brow furrows and you take a tentative step closer, and another and another. You kneel down and help Ashton sit up. Groans are not just a casual annoyance at this place, but something of discomfort. You caught on. Shit. 

“I can give you two a moment if you’d prefer but I don’t think that’ll do you much good.” 

“There’s room for one more. Plenty of the earth to go around.” Ashton jokes. 

“I was hoping there’d be plenty of you but I can settle for the rocks beneath my feet.” You jest and Ashton scoffs though the attitude is quick to slip when your arm hand touches their back. Even through their jacket, the warmth offers such a relief. “You doing okay?” Again your brow furrows. 

“Yeah. Yeah sure.” And so the comfort disappears. You pull back and just sit on your knees, hands gathered in your lap. Disapproval crosses your features. 

“Sure.” You deadpan and grab onto Ashton’s wrist, uncurling the fingers gently and clasping his hand between yours. You bring it to your lips and blow warm air. It doesn’t take much to see the instant relief cross their features. 

“Okay maybe I’m not entirely okay.” The look you give them is much akin to ‘ya think?’ and it hurts to admit to the way it makes Ashton feel inside. Then your features soften. You look out towards, the oncoming storm, to the lightning reaching out, and the wind rustling through the trees picking up. 

“Sit with me.” You simply say. It’s not quite a question as much as it is an order and Ashton does feel like they have a choice. It’s just a very tempting one despite their disdain for authority and following orders. You shift from your knees until you’re comfortable, looking out over the horizon. Everything seems so much easier when he looks at you. Everything is. You make it so because any doubt falls away. Ashton knows they’re on the right path because you’re there and as long as you walk it with them they’ll keep walking with you. 

Ashton shifts and sits next to you. He bumps your shoulder with his. You chuckle and bump back, though much likes the rock around, they don’t budge. The cold pain creeps up again and almost as if you know exactly what to do, you wrap an arm around their back, slipping your fingers under the jacket and lean your head on their shoulder. Just your sheer presence, and a little magic manages to numb the pain and that’s more than Ashton can say the majority of people they’ve had in their life have ever been able to do. 

“You’re so fucking confusing.” Ashton speaks before they think.

“Wow, so much affection.” You scoff but pull closer. 

“You are.” Ashton doubles down. “You’re a fucking disaster waiting to happen.” 

“But I’m your disaster.” You poke a finger at his chest. 

“Are you?” Again, speaking before thinking but that seems to be the right track. You take a deep sigh and Ashton’s heart stops, their breath stops. Time stops. There’s not but anticipation, both joy and dread loom overhead and they’re just stupid fucking feelings because end of the day you’re just you and you’re fucking amazing. That’s what you are. You’re fucking amazing. 

“I don’t know. Am I?” The both of you look at another lightning bolt striking close by. Ashton gives it a moment, letting the trembles of the earth fade and the light too, not but the dim orb behind the two of you offering the littlest of light. 

“Maybe you are. If you think you can handle it.” He looks down nudging your head from his shoulder. 

“First off, rude-“

“You’re the one using my shoulder as pillow, find a rock or something.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Will you now?”

“Yeah. A nice and comfy one.” You’re unreadable. That’s dangerous. Next Ashton knows you’re on your knees at their side, back facing the exit of the cave, your warmth has disappeared from their back but settles on their shoulders. It takes everything to not lean into the touch. Not that they have to because you lean closer. 

“This one seems plenty comfortable.” You close the gap, press your lips to Ashton’s. While you’ve shared your flirty kisses before they were just that. This kiss is different. This kiss is a lifetime unfolding however long it might last. This moment is as bright and beautiful as the flashes beyond the cover. You’re like a warm fire in the cold dead night and are simply a relief. You’re a certainty in their life when they have known so little. This might not be eternity but this is certain. You’re certain because you’re just fucking you and that’s all you’d ever need to be. Cover from a thunderstorm isn’t so bad out here.