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ladybugsfanfics · 4 years ago

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The Case of the Blue Sweater | Tom Hiddleston

Pairing: Mob!Tom Hiddleston x cop!reader

Style: one shot

WC: 10.7k

Warnings: crime, alcohol, drinking, implied sexual content (very much so), uhh, theres no blood, also NB: THIS STORY IS INCOMPLETE AND I WONT BE THE ONE TO FINISH IT! (story is also unedited to please dont hate me for any mistakes)

Summary: Hey so I read your Mob!Tom x reader and it got me thinking.. Could you write a Fic where Tom is in the mob but the reader is a cop? And like they’re secretly dating but technically the reader has to make it look like they’re hunting him down but they really aren’t? (If that makes sense) Idk I feel like I just need this in my life rn 😂😂

A/N: i got this ask back in january i think and i jumped on it right away, but at some point tumblr deleted it so i cant tag who asked (and i know this wasnt anonymous bc i remember but i never put it in the doc annoyingly). anyways, i started writing it, got to 10k words and lost motivation and never finished it. i really like the AU but nothing ever really happened.... im so sorry. I hope you enjoy what i have ^_^

A loud ringing paired with the loudest on and off buzzing from your phone vibrating on the nightstand is what pulls you out of your slumber. The sounds screech in your ears and you reach over to stop it, to just slide the button over so that your ears can stop bleeding. However, as you lean out of the arms wrapped around you, their grip strengthens and you’re dragged back into the chest of the man sharing your bed.

“Tom,” you say. A smile plays on your lips, the set of events not unusual for an early morning.

He nuzzles into your hair, places a wet kiss at the base of your neck. “Five minutes,” he mumbles into your skin.

You shake your head slightly, as much as you can with the limited space. “Can I at least turn the sound off?”

His grip slackens, making you able to reach the little way over to turn off the blaring alarm. The silence that comes with is welcome in every way, but the relief isn’t long-lasting when Tom drags you back into his chest, his nose quickly nuzzling back to where it was.

Two seconds is what it takes before he’s pressing kisses to your neck. Rough, slender fingers graze up the side of your body until they reach your neck, where they brush away your hair. With Tom’s easy access, the soft kisses slowly turn into something more, something rougher, and the use of his tongue causes a slight tickle to trail through your body.

“Tom.” You shift a little where you lay, taking away his access as you turn your head. In the shift, the man easily moves to trail kisses up your jaw, and as you whisper his name again, his lips connect with yours.

It’s a hungry kiss. He sucks at your bottom lip and his hand grabs your jaw, holding your head in place. You lean into him, kissing him back with equal fervor, however, you’re quickly dragged out of the bliss, when your phone goes off again.

There is no mistaking the death glare Tom sends the mini-computer. You chuckle slightly and push him off you to reach it. This time, it’s not an alarm, but a phone call.

Your boss’s call ID lights up the screen, and you give Tom a stern look as you press to accept the call. With the phone to your ear, Tom shrugs and moves under the covers. His hands trail down your body, teasing you as his fingers trace up your inner thighs.

“Y/L/N,” you say.

A grunt is heard from the other side first, then, “I need you to come in ASAP.” Your boss’s voice sounds urgent, desperate.

You check the clock. “I’m not supposed to come in in another hour,” you reply. “Is it that important?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” It’s like you can hear him nod and roll his eyes at the same time. “We got a lead in the case.”

“What kind of lead? And which case?”

As your boss answers, you can feel Tom’s tongue on the inside of your thigh. In surprise at the feeling you barely manage to suppress the squeal that works up in your throat, and you miss your boss’s reply. (You don’t miss Tom’s smug laugh from under the duvet, nor how he continues to work his way closer to your clit.)

“Y/L/N?” comes from the other end of the line when you gain back… well, really some of your dignity, but mostly your mind.

“I’m here, sir.” You sigh. “Just something that happened that caught my attention. Cat nearly knocked down something made of glass.”

(You don’t have a cat, why was that the first excuse you could come up with? Your boss doesn’t know that, though, so it’s safe.)

“Didn’t know you had a cat, but that could happen to the best of us.” Your boss clears his throat. “The lead’s pretty good, but can’t say it over the phone so you gotta come in. It’s on the case about the Blue Sweater.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname of the case. One of the major criminals you were trying to take down is often seen wearing blue sweaters, and at a briefing you’d offered it as a code name; who knows who listens in on phone calls―they do seem to have a knack for being one step ahead of you, too.

But you don’t mention that to your boss. “Alright, sir, I’ll be on my way as fast as I can.”

“Make it less than half an hour and we’re good.”

“No problem, sir.”

Your boss is the one to hang up, and as you throw your phone down on the bed, Tom peeks his head up from under the covers. You send him a glare. “You should be happy you didn’t get started whilst I was on the phone.”

Your boyfriend smirks up at you. “Oh, you wouldn’t have liked that?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it.”

Tom shrugs. “You got time, right?” Though before you can answer he slides back under the cover, uses his hands to steady your hips and dips his head low. God, if only you had more time.

The moment the elevator door opens and you step out into the crowded office space of the police station, you hear your name being called. You wish you weren’t the head detective on the, currently, biggest case pertaining to crime bosses. Just once you wish you could come to work and not have at least five people at a time want to ask you a question or pepper you with information you already have.

You kind of wish you weren’t the head detective for another reason, too, but that’s a minor detail. Actually, that might be the reason you need to be the head detective; way easier to steer an investigation when you’re leading it.

Nonetheless, you have no choice in which cases you lead or not. And that’s usually the reason why there’s three people cluttering your desk as you sit down. You’re not entirely sure that’s the reason today.

You plop down in your chair and stare up at the talking men in front of you. The three of them notice you quickly (after all, it was them that yelled your name) and the chatter dies out.

“I’m here half an hour early and I would love to know what made me skip my morning shower.” (It would have been morning shower sex, and you are a little very annoyed that you had to skip it.)

Your boss coughs, gaining your attention. “Briefing room. Five minutes.” The man looks slightly uncomfortable, but that’s not a big surprise. You’ve been told many times that you have that kind of face that makes people squirm; just something about you is, apparently, intimidating.

“Okay.”

And he walks away.

“You two doing at my desk then?” you ask your coworkers. The two men are your right and left hand in most cases, but this one especially. You wouldn’t even be half the way you are now if you didn’t have them. (Though how much that says, you’re not sure, because you really have nothing.)

“Well…,” starts Mackie. His hand goes up to scratch his neck. “...really we just naturally gravitate here.”

You squint at him, and divert your gaze to Evans (who you know is a shitty liar). Even though you’re not opening your mouth to say anything and he isn’t looking at you, you can see the big man trying to make himself smaller.

“We were gonna try and see if you’d left a hint to who you’re sleeping with,” he says, and despite the way he doesn’t meet your gaze, he says it so casually you’re actually taken aback.

“Excuse me?” You let out a huff, and shake your head. “My sex life is my sex life. You two” ―you point at both of them― “have no business with it.” You stand up from your chair and shake your head yet again. “And if you really think I’d leave evidence lying around, I gotta figure out how to let you know that’s not something I’d do.”

(And if you had, well, your career would for sure be over. If not worse.)

But with that out of the way, you make your way to the briefing room. Captain Cheadle, your boss, stands at the head of the table. In his hand, he holds a wireless presenter, and a few papers are scattered on the table in front of him. You take your place at the table, and as you do, your phone buzzes to signal a new message.

The captain gives you a shrug and that’s all the permission you need to fish your phone from your pocket and check the text.

[08.38] twh darling, you left something at your flat

[08.38] you you talking about yourself? that doesnt count

[08.39] twh that too but no, you left your keys

[08.39] you you doing anything today??

[08.39] twh you know i am, but i can get them to you

[08.40] you gtg but yes please or there are other solutions…

You let out a slight groan knowing you’ll have to figure out how to get your keys without actually meeting Tom. You can’t meet in public, and there are few places where you can meet without being discovered; there’s a reason you’re always at your apartment and never at his house. (well, you’ve been there once, but that was with work and it doesn’t count.)

Whatever his reply is to the latest text you sent, you don’t get to read (though you do feel the vibration on your thigh). Captain Cheadle has called for your attention, Mackie and Evans having seated themselves in the room as well, and you can’t do anything but pay attention to your boss.

“The tip we got is an inside tip.” The captain steps aside to let the projector show a photo of the biggest crime boss currently in New York City, Tom Hiddleston. As with every other photo he’s in, he’s wearing a fucking blue sweater. “The source is reliable, as we know of their work with Hiddleston, but we’re not sure if the tip is.”

He clicks to another photo, which is of the same man getting into a car. Only, he’s getting into the driver’s seat, something that is unusual for someone that has his own driver. “We can’t know if the tip is true or not, but we’re guessing there’s some truth to it.”

You roll your eyes slightly (not enough for the captain to notice). “Can you tell us what it is yet?”

Captain Cheadle nods. “There’s been a mystery woman in his life. None of his men know, but based on a lift in spirits and an increase in nights gone from his own house, they believe he has to be seeing someone. Rumor amidst his men, according to our tip, is that it's been going on for a few months.”

A knot tightens in your gut. A few months is a little less than correct, but yeah… It’s been six months since you started dating Tom Hiddleston. Off work, on a weekend, you met him in a bar, you got drunk and your mind didn’t work in any other way than tell you how hot he was and how good he made you feel. There was little persuasion needed for Tom to get you in a bed, naked, and screaming out his name. And so far, he’s managed to do it most nights since.

(The case had been assigned to you a month after your first encounter. You’d known his name well before you met him, but that hadn’t stopped you. And, even as his girlfriend, you had no evidence on him whatsoever.)

Yet, after six months of no one knowing anything, you’d been fairly certain you’d get away with it. At least until either one of you got enough of pretending. Tom has enough money for you to quit your job should it come to it, the only problem being that you don’t want to because you love your job.

“Did your source say anything about who the woman could be? Where to find her?” asks Evans.

You wait patiently for the reply. Your gut stirs with the thought that they’d know, that just your face (usually a poker-face no one could read no matter how much you panicked on the inside) would reveal you. But you aren’t revealing anything but being deep in thought, as you can feel Mackie’s eyes on you as your own flicker across the room and a frown has pronounced itself on your face.

“The tip was slight, but the source believes that there might be something to check at a bar. It’s one Hiddleston frequents, High Rise.”

Oh, if only the name didn’t chime with recognition at the back of your mind. There isn’t much to do but accept your fate and follow up on the lead, only try your best to avoid being recognized as the girl who left with Tom Hiddleston half a year ago. That could be rather easy, seeing as the bar was dark and you’d been wearing more make-up than usual and the dress you wore hadn’t stood out in any way, and it being six months ago.

You nod at captain Cheadle. “Anything else we should know?”

He nods slightly. “There came one more thing with the tip, but this wasn’t a written message.” He roams around his papers for something and eventually fishes out an evidence bag. Inside is an envelope and something small you can’t see from far away. He slides it across the table to you.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of what lies in the bag. The envelope easily recognizable as one you’d written yourself (though you’d used a typewriter―fancy―so there isn’t any handwriting to check), and the content a barely visible silver and gold wristband inscribed with a phrase Tom has whispered time and time again in your ear (the most intimate you’ve been outside of sex); my safe spot is with you in my arms.

Your fingers graze over it as you look at the inscription. “That’s pretty intimate,” you say, and an agreed murmur comes from your captain.

“You traced it?” asks Mackie.

“Untraceable. Paid in cash, no receipt, and might even have been done illegally.”

At least you know that that’s not true, and if they’d tried just a little bit harder, it wouldn’t be that hard.

“Fingerprints?” you ask, though not sure exactly where it comes from. (Or, well, it comes from the fact that you’ve touched the wristband on several occasions and that, unless wiped, there should be fingerprints all over it.)

You look up from the evidence bag to see captain Cheadle shake his head. “A few around the clasp, but none enough to make a full print, and any other we could find are only Hiddleston’s. The envelope’s the same”

“The question is whether Hiddleston sent it to someone or if someone sent it to him.” Evans motions for you to slide the evidence over to him, and you do.

“He’s the biggest crime lord in New York, he’s gotta be real smitten if he’d make that to send to someone.” Mackie shrugs, not sold on the idea that Tom Hiddleston, crime boss extreme, could be sappy enough to send it apparently.

Well, if only you knew what Tom would do for the one he loves, if only you knew.

“Well,” you say and clap your hands together, “seems we have more to do today than reports.”

A slight chuckle comes from the three men in the room with you.

“I want you, Mackie, with me on a trip down to High Rise. Captain, is it possible to talk to our source other than written communication?”

A nod.

“Then I want you, Evans, to have a little chat with Hiddleston’s ex-buddy. Let’s see if he doesn’t have more information, and if you can’t get much, try a little harder on the wristband. There’s gotta be something to look for there, maybe mention it to our source?”

“On it.” Evans gives you a thumbs up, grabs the evidence and walks out the door. You and Mackie move to do the same, and on your way there, you fish your phone out from your pocket.

[08.41] twh i’ll have to get back to you on that, but you can probably count me in have a good day, darling

[09.27] you sounds great but, on some not so good news, you got a snitch amidst you and i have smth that belongs to you in evidence

You don’t wait for a reply, certain he’s busy and also because Mackie is a nosy asshole and you’re not gonna get caught on a text message.

“You know where High Rise is?” asks Mackie as you make your way to your desk.

“GPS exists, but I have a hunch,” you say as you grab your jacket. Unfortunately, that hunch is more a hunch that your relationship is getting threatened by your work.

(“A hunch. Yeah, right, you’ve probably been there.”

“Careful what you say there, kiddo.”

“I’m older than you!”

“And yet, I’m driving.”)

[09.53] twh name? and what might that be?

[11.16] you i didnt get one but one of my guys is questioning him smth i bought you

[11.17] twh ill figure it out, and that has to be my wristband. how?

[11.17] you you tell me

Mackie nudges your arm with his elbow as you make it inside the bar. It’s mostly deserted, highly unlike the life that was there the last time you set foot in the place. A man sits in the booth in the back sipping what looks like whiskey based on the glass and the brown liquid inside. By the entrance, a woman and a man sit across each other at a table. Each of them have a beer, though only the man looks to have touched his, and the woman doesn’t look too happy with him.

However, you turn your attention to the bar, and the bartender behind the counter. Fortunately, he’s not the same one that was here when you were. Making your way over, you note the exits (the one you came in through, a backdoor in the kitchen, and―one you noted the first time you were there―the window in the ladies’ room). You also note the man sitting at the edge of the bar counter, back hunched over and an old fashioned placed in front of him. Untouched.

“How can I help you?” asks the man behind the counter. A bushy beard covers his chin, ruffled brown hair the top of his head, and tattoos cover his upper arm, visible where his t-shirt sleeve ends. In his hands he holds a cleaning towel and a glass, but as you sit down, he slings the towel over his shoulder and puts the glass down. “Guessing beer for you, sir, and maybe a scotch on the rocks for the lady?”

You shake your head, and roll your eyes at Mackie’s almost nod. You’re at work, you’re not gonna drink. “Sorry, mister, but we’re here on other business.” You pull out your badge and give him a peek.

The bartender’s eyes go wide. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t know. You could've fooled me.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Tom Hardy, co-owner of this shithole.”

“Shithole?” Mackie eyes the man.

“Can’t say there’s a lot of good going on in here, really. Nothin’ illegal, though.” Hardy winks at Mackie and you roll your eyes. The last thing you care about is the tiny illegal things going on at the bar. “What can I help you with? There’s not been any complaints, right?”

Mackie shakes his head. “Relax, man, it’s got nothing to do with you. We’re looking for information on a man, also named Tom, but with a different last name. Hiddleston, heard of him?”

The scoff Tom Hardy comes with is barely audible, but you catch it and cock your head to the side.

“Who hasn’t heard of Tom Hiddleston? Supposedly a big mafia boss, but the police has got nothing on him.”

“We got word he frequents this bar. That true?”

Hardy nods. “He’s by at least once a week, sometimes more.”

You try to drown the ache that falls over your heart knowing he still comes by. “You know what he’s here for?”

The bartender shrugs. “Don’t get into that shit, but I know he has a deal with my co-owner, Luke Evans.”

Mackie pulls out a pad and a pen and writes down the name. “Hiddleston ever leave here with a girl in the last few months?”

Hardy shakes his head. “Nah, leaves with the same men, though he has gotten different. Before he used to indulge a little more with the women, but now he seems to not want to. They want him, though.”

The ache fades a little at that. He’s loyal, he’s trustworthy, he’s yours. “Did he use to leave with girls before?” you ask.

“Dunno. He’s usually here when Luke works, only some shifts we got together.” Hardy shrugs. “Though the times I have been here, he’s never left with a girl. He’s followed some into the bathroom, but never left with one. Gotta be some special girl for him to leave with her.”

You suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Thank you, mister Hardy. Could you get us in touch with your co-owner? We wanna have a little chat with him, too.”

“He works tonight. Sorry, can’t give you anymore.” The man picks up a glass again. “But if we’re done here, you’re gonna have me excused. I have a job to do.”

“Thanks for the cooperation,” says Mackie and pushes away from the counter. “We might come back for more.”

You say a small goodbye as you follow after your coworker. On the way to the door, your eyes stray to the man in the back of the bar. Something about him seems off, and even more so when he holds up his glass and tips it your way with a slight hint of a ‘cheers’. The creepy smirk that places itself on his face sparks no comfort, and you let out a sigh as you walk through the door Mackie holds open for you.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Got a weird feeling from one of the dudes in the bar. Might be nothing, might be something.” You shake your head, slowly, as your thoughts whirr around in your head. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s here tonight, I might check into it, but it’s probably nothing.”

Mackie shrugs. “We didn’t really get that much here either, though. Hope Evans got better luck.”

“Yeah, gotta hope. But I have a feeling our source might’ve changed his mind on talking.” You open the car door and get in, Mackie following your lead. “I have a feeling Evans might not have been very lucky.”

“You thinkin’ we might end up with… homicide?”

You shrug. “Can’t be sure, but wouldn’t be surprising. Don’t believe we’re gonna be able to connect it to Hiddelston, though.” You start the engine and pull out on the road. “Don’t believe we’re gonna have any connection other than the guy’s snitching.”

“Good enough to talk to him.”

“Good enough to blow what we have if we do.”

The police station became a place of chaos in a matter of seconds. One moment, you’re talking to Evans on what he could find (the source had disappeared without a trace), and the next, it’s like the station is on fire.

Evans, Mackie and yourself are out of the loop. You lean against your desk, your coworkers leaning against the neighboring ones, and look at the chaos erupted around you. People run from one place to another, screaming for help or otherwise.

Then silence consumes the crowd as someone turns up the sound of the TV in the background. You turn to see the screen. On it, there’s a picture of a fire and countless dead bodies, burnt crisps until there is nothing recognizable left to see.

“In just a few minutes the house, that belongs to the infamous crime boss Tom Hiddleston, went up in flames. Whether the man himself was in the house or not, we do not know. Police have yet to arrive at the scene, and the firemen are doing their best to put out the blazing fire. So far, we have no witnesses and no way of knowing what caused it. We’ll be back soon with more updates.”

You lock eyes with Evans and Mackie.

“Our source was in that fire, wasn’t he?” Mackie makes a grimace, and then shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “You called it. You fucking called it.”

“I didn’t want to call it.” You shake your head. “And we’re not the force to go out there either, so we’re gonna need someone to talk to Hiddleston about this, about his source, without it being suspicious.”

Evans gets up from his place. “I’ll ask Sebastian.”

“That buddy of yours?” you ask.

“This is the kind of case he gets called out on.”

“Go ahe―”

“Y/L/N!” You’re cut off by the sound of your captain yelling your name. “You’re going out with the team. Take one of the boys. Don’t alert Hiddleston, but he’ll know why you’re there.”

“You got it, sir.” You turn to Mackie and Evans. “Looks like we got some luck after all. Which one of you wanna join me?”

When you pull up to the scene, the fire has been put out. But the fire that is the press and the countless people that’ve decided this is something they need to see live, that has yet to be handled.

You and Evans walk up to the police barricade tape and shove it aside. An office tries to stop you, but you easily walk past after a flash of your badge. The head officer on the case is easily recognizable where he commands what looks like some junior officers.

“What’s the deal?” you ask.

He turns to you, and there you find Evans’s and Mackie’s friend, Sebastian Stan. He smiles at the two of you. “Got five casualties, one critically hurt on his way to the hospital. Medics think his fate’s been sealed. Other than that the fire’s been put out, and the owner of the house arrived about five minutes ago.” Sebastian points to a male figure pacing up and down the sidewalk. “Don’t know if I’d wanna talk to him though.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “We haven’t got much choice.” You’re about to walk from the officer, but you have one last question. “You got any identities on who died?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, and so far it seems the fire was an accident. No fuel used of any kind, nothing weird about the source, and the six that were in the house weren’t close to it. Three of them were asleep.”

“Didn’t the house have a smoke alarm?” asks Evans.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Nope. And you’re not gonna believe what they, as of now, believe to be the source.”

“What?”

“A hair dryer. Wasn’t turned off.”

You frown. “A hair dryer? Nothing else? It’s a pretty big house. Seems like a long shot.”

Sebastian shrugs. “So far we’ve ruled out arson, and seeing how annoyed the owner is over there, safe to say he wasn’t planning on burning his house down.”

Don’t say that. He wouldn’t care, seeing as that isn’t the house he uses mostly―that’s just the public one.

Even Evans knows that, and you give him a look as you move away from Sebastian and towards said owner of the house.

“Hiddleston,” you say as you near him.

The man turns around. His expression is curious rather than angry, but something tugs at his lips as his gaze flickers over to Evans. “Miss Y/L/N, what do I owe the lovely pleasure?”

“Your house burned down. Five of your men dead, and a sixth one just holding on. We’re thinking he’ll die, too, medics said it was critical.” You shrug. “But you already knew that, right?”

Tom smiles, and takes a step closer to you. You have to hold out a hand to stop Evans from coming in between, knowing you have somewhat of a bodyguard in the man. “Darling.” Tom’s hand comes up to cup your cheek and you have to fight the urge to lean into his touch. “How could I know that? No one wants to tell me a bloody thing.” His voice changes fast at the last sentence, the annoyance creeping in.

“Did you set the fire?” asks Evans.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t mean to ask that. But we would like to know if there are any of your acquaintances missing?”

Tom nods. “There’s one I wanted to talk to. Name’s Aaron Taylor-Johnson. Haven’t been able to contact him since last night, and that’s unusual.”

“You think he was in the fire?”

The male shakes his head. “I don’t believe he was there at all, but I do believe he would do this. I got the impression he isn’t quite happy with me, or my decisions lately.”

He’s the snitch.

“We’ll let you know if he was in the fire.” You use your hand to push Tom’s hand away from your face, his touch lingering a little too long to be a play (but you weren’t going to complain.) “I have one other inquiry.”

“Go on.”

You take a deep breath before the words leave your mouth. He should be prepared, considering you told him what was in the evidence bag, but you can’t be sure. “Any girlfriends or women in your life we should know about?”

He smiles (god, that smile). “Other than you, love?”

Smooth. You can practically hear Evans roll his eyes behind you.

“Yes, other than me.”

“Then no. I have a far too busy life to deal with girlfriends,” he says, and winks, “though you shouldn’t hesitate to contact me.” Tom leans in close, his lips grazing your ear and his hand taking yours―something cold grazes your fingers. “I can give you a night you won’t forget.”

You don’t let the hitch in your breath show, and when he places a kiss to your cheek, you only stare at him as he pulls away (and let your hand find comfort in your jacket pocket where you let go of your keys).. “Don’t leave town, Mister Hiddleston.”

“I won’t, darling.”

And then you walk away together with Evans. He keeps glancing behind him, and the confusion is written on his face.

“Just ask,” you say as you reach the car.

Evans opens the door. “How are you not fazed by that?” he asks.

You get into the car and shrug. “Because I don’t let it. He thinks it’s fun to play with me because I don’t have a reaction―” (ehehe, yeah right) “―I think it’s fun to let him. Eventually, something has to slip and we’ll be able to catch him on the spot.”

“But you gotta allow yourself to be harassed to do so?”

You chuckle. “I wouldn’t call it harassment, hon. I call it work.”

Evans frowns as you start the engine and pull out of the parking spot. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed? When it comes to sexual harassment, Tom Hiddleston is the least of my worries.”

It’s supposed to be a brief stop; get into your apartment, change into something that doesn’t drag attention at a bar on a Thursday night (probably not going to be too crowded anyways), and get out.

But when you walk in through the door, you see a pair of shoes kicked off in the entrance hall. A coat lies draped over your living-room armchair―a coat easily recognizable.

You hurry to close the door, and kick off your own shoes. The trail of clothes leads you further into the apartment. A dress shirt folded together and placed on the cupboard in your living room. Pants lie discarded on the floor in the doorway to your bedroom. And the man who it belongs to, you find tangled in your sheets, buck naked with the exception of the tie around his neck.

“What do you want?” you ask him, an amused smile plastered on your face as you shake your head.

Tom lifts his head a little. A smirk colors his face and he shrugs. “Thought I could surprise you a little, before I have to get going.” He checks the wristwatch on his arm (which you first now noticed he hasn’t taken off either). “But you’ve used quite a lot of time to get here, and now we barely have time for anything.”

You shake your head, smile gone. “Sorry, babe, but I haven’t got the time.”

“What? You have plans for the evening?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but it still slightly hurts seeing as you barely get out of the apartment when you get time off. Really, six months ago was a chance meeting unlike any other.

“I have work.” You move to open your wardrobe. “But if you want, you can help me figure out what to wear.” You turn your head to cast Tom a glance, eyebrow raised.

He turns a little, enough for the sheet that had covered him to fall off and leave him fully exposed. And with just the tie as a piece of clothing, you have to turn back around. God, what that man can do. You grit your teeth as you open the door and file through the few dresses you own, patiently waiting for his response.

“What is it for?” he asks, and his velvet smooth voice does nothing to ease the growing arousal in your gut, not with the image of him and that tie the only thing on your mind.

You swallow before you reply, but you don’t dare turn around. “Gotta talk to the owner of a bar, and don’t wanna drag attention with people there so we agreed to act less like police. Might have to have a drink or two.” You sigh, and close your eyes. “You should have waited with this until then.”

“What?” His voice is in your ear, warm breath fanning your neck. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. “You don’t like it? You’re not enjoying it?” His hands find the hem of your shirt. Fingers graze up along your skin and you find yourself complying when he makes a move to drag it off.

“Tom,” you whisper. You lean into him, into the fingers tracing along your bra and the way his lips ghost over the skin on your shoulder, up your neck. “I don’t―” You shudder as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Ba― Babe, I don’t have―”

He tips your head back and his lips find yours. Barely touching, you close your eyes, and the image of Tom in bed and you using the tie to drag him to you has you swallow, almost succumbing to the pleasure you know you’ll get. His voice is low when he speaks. “Don’t have what?”

You don’t answer as your hand shoots up to press his head closer to yours, to push your lips together. Everything you can think about is him, your boyfriend, and in a matter of seconds your clothes are off as well, and you sink into the mattress as Tom throws you down on your bed. Your eyes open briefly, to see him study the contours of your body and, even as you do give into Tom and your desire, the haste is still on your mind.

With determination etched into you, you drag him to you with the tie and capture his lips in yours. There is no limit to what this man does to you, and there is no limit to what you let him.

With the already extra time you used with Tom, you didn’t have the time to shower. You’d tried your best to fix your hair and do something extra with your make-up, but Tom didn’t have it in him to let you dress and time was wasted.

Evans and Mackie pick you up outside your apartment complex in Evans’s car. As you approach, the two of them lean against it, deep in conversation. They barely notice you coming, but when they do, both give appreciative looks.

“Looking good,” says Mackie, eyes travelling up and down your body. Evans remains quiet, the way his eyes dance over you the only comment you get (and you have to admit, you’re not really complaining.)

You’d opted for something nice, but nothing too much. A skirt that stops mid-thigh, knee high boots with a thick heel, and a slightly revealing shirt. (You’d also opted for a thigh holster so that you could still bring your gun.

“You’re wearing that.” It’s more a statement than a question from the naked man resting on your bed.

You nod, and glance his way. “Problem?”

Tom’s eyes graze over you, hunger evident in them. “I would certainly like to take it off.”

You lift the hem of your skirt, revealing the thigh holster with your gun. “This too?”

“Yes, and right now.”)

In your hand, you have a clutch and you’re also wearing a coat to keep some warmth in the cool evening air. “Shall we go?” you ask.

And the two men both get off from where they’re leaning against the car. Mackie easily offers up the passenger’s seat to you, even though whenever it's him and Evans fighting over it, it’s first come first serve. You smile a thanks and then you’re on your way.

Evans parks a few blocks away from the bar (his expensive Audi with tinted windows certainly drags some attention), and you use the walk there to go through the course of action.

“Mackie’s the cop-cop. He’ll talk to Luke Evans, try something else. We try to talk to some of the people there. Whether that’s as a cop or not, I don’t really care. All we really need is a lead. If anyone sees any of Hiddleston’s associates, please alert the others.”

The two nod. “Sure, but before we go in there, you have to fix your hair.”

You raise your brow at Mackie. “Excuse me?”

“You got sex hair.” He gives you a ‘sorry’ smile and a shrug. “Like, we’re not judging you for having it, but if you’d told us you had a visitor we would’ve waited to come to give you more time.”

“Fuck.” You shake your head and stop. “One, help me fix my hair. Two, I wasn’t planning on it. I was ambushed.” Something that isn’t really that far fetched, it’s not like you knew Tom would be there when you came home.

Evans stops in front of you and asks with his face if he can help, and you nod. His hands move to brush a little through your hair, and fix a little on what probably stands out.

“How could you get ambushed?” asks Mackie.

You roll your eyes. “I got home, there were some clothes lying around, I followed the trail to a naked man in my bed and seeing as it’s the guy I’m currently seeing it wasn’t a bad sight. I tried to tell him I didn’t have the time, but he can be quite persuasive.”

As you talk, Evans tugs a little harshly on your hair and you let out a pained sound. He apologizes, but continues to try and fix your hair.

Mackie shrugs. “How long have you been seeing him?”

You shrug. “Few months.”

“How many months are a few?” asks Evans, his hands letting go of your hair and an approving smile on his face. He steps away to get Mackie’s blessing and the man nods affirmative.

“Uhh, six.”

Both Mackie and Evans stare wide-eyed at you.

“You’ve been dating a dude for six months and not told anyone?!” If you didn’t know better (and you’re not always sure you do), you’d think there was a layer of accusation in Mackie’s voice, but you don’t believe there is.

You shrug and begin to walk again. “What does it matter? It’s not like there’s a need to know about those things.”

“I thought we were friends.” Mackie shakes his head, a small friendly glare sent your way.

“What made you think that?” you ask, but the same friendly feel to your words as there was to his glare. “But can we let it go? I don’t want to talk about my private life.”

Evans nods. “We’re here anyways.”

And you sure are. You look up to see the blinking neon sign of the bar. The bass from the music drifts to where you stand by the door, and with a quick glance inside, you can see it’s fuller than you expected for there to be another work day of the week left. Though you do notice the age of the people; it's possible the college kids don't have class tomorrow, or don’t care.

The three of you make your way inside, gaining a few glances as you step in, but everyone quickly turns back to their own lives. You give a small sign to the two men you came with and move away from them.

It’s easy to step up to the bar, and you easily recognize the bartender as the one who was there when you met Tom. You’re guessing he’s Luke Evans, and you take a breath before you signal him for a drink. Hopefully, you won’t be recognized.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“A whiskey, thanks.”

He pushes away from the counter, and easily grabs a glass and a bottle and pours. When he puts it down in front of you, his gaze lingers. “Have I seen you before?”

You shake your head. “Has to be somewhere else than here in that case.”

“First time?”

You nod.

“Recommend not drinking a lot. We get some sleazy people in here.”

“I hear you also get crime bosses. This the place to meet the Tom Hiddleston?”

Luke chuckles. “Hon, if you want to meet Tom Hiddleston, I suggest you start being careful what you wish.” He nods to the back of the bar. “Best luck is sitting down in that reserved booth. It’s his usual.”

You cock your head. “He’s coming here today?”

The bartender nods.

“Ain’t I lucky,” you whisper and smile at him. You easily get away from the counter and make your way to the empty booth in the back.

Sure enough, a sign reading reserved is placed on the table. Who it’s reserved for doesn’t say, nor is there a time stamp. You make for sliding into it, but a hand grasps your wrist and pulls you away.

As you fall into the chest of the stranger, you turn your head. The man who you’d seen earlier today is the one holding you back. Up close, you notice bags under his eyes and he reeks of alcohol. You pull away from his grip and raise a brow his way.

“I wouldn’t sit down there if I were you,” he says, and slides into the same booth he had earlier.

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Tom Hiddleston isn’t a man to mess with.”

“And how do you know so much about Tom Hiddleston?”

The man pats the seat next to him. “Sit and I’ll tell you.”

You hesitate, but eventually slide in. You leave room between yourself and the stranger. If anything were to happen, you do have a gun.

“You got any relation to Hiddleston?” you ask (you have to admit, no matter how much you want your boyfriend not to be caught, you wish you knew more about what he did do).

“Name’s Aaron.” The snitch.

You motion for him to go on.

“I was hired by him three months ago. He felt the cops were gaining and wanted something, or someone to try and put a stopper to it.”

“So, Tom Hiddleston hired you to snitch on the cops?” You want to laugh, seeing as you snitch enough for Tom to never know exactly what you know, but enough to cover his tracks.

Aaron shakes his head. “He hired me to snitch on a cop. A specific one.”

You frown, sure if he was hired to snitch on you you’d know and he would have recognized you. Perhaps he had.

“The cop’s here today.” Aaron’s gaze travels into the crowd of people in the bar. You see where he looks. Evans. “His name is Chris Evans.”

“Why did he want you to spy on him?”

Aaron shrugs. “He never said. And eventually, I got sick of it. The guy’s obviously not a threat to Hiddleston and his business. Y/N Y/L/N is, but it’s impossible to find out anything about her. Don’t even know what she looks like.”

You try not to let it show that you flinched at the mention of your own name. And you find it weird that he can’t find anything on you. Tom did so, easily. But there’s no need to dwell on that. You glance at Aaron again, unsure how to ask.

“You say you got sick of it. What did you do? Just stop doing his bidding, or something else?”

A smile colors Aaron’s face. “Snitched to the cops. Left a message. Anonymous, but I gave them a way to contact me for more information.” He shakes his head. “Got contacted today, but never replied. But I saw you here this morning, talking to the bartender.”

You cock your head. That could be an easy way to draw the connection to you as a cop, not necessarily as Y/N Y/L/N, but you had been seen with Mackie, and usually Mackie and Evans were seen with each other.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says. “One that means getting close to Hiddleston, and that includes spying on him. Mics, cameras, whatever. I need him in jail.”

“I’m gonna have to say no. I was just hoping for a night, a friend of mine told me he was real good in bed.” You shrug. “But if you have angered him, I got told by the bartender that Hiddleston comes in today.”

Aaron smiles. “You’ll have to excuse me, then. I hope you don’t anger him with only the intention of a one night stand. Based on how you look, I’m pretty sure you’re his type.” The male slides out of the booth, downs his drink in one go, and waves goodbye. You watch as he moves to the restrooms, and you roll your eyes when he winks.

[10.47] you snitch is alive, in the restrooms hiddlestons supposed to come in today

[10.48] evans no snitch in the restrooms, window’s open tho guessing it was the guy that slipped past me just now

[10.48] you guess so mackie u got anything from the bartender

[10.50] mackie that hiddlestons coming in that their deal is just renting of the venue from time to time

[10.50] you well just have to do the best of it then im sitting in his booth so if he comes hell notice

[10.51] evans sure thats a good idea??

[10.51] you would very much like to know why he put someone to spy on you evans snitch was hired to keep tabs, got annoyed he wasnt keeping tabs on me

[10.51] mackie dam i wanna know that too be careful

You look up and meet the gazes of your coworkers. Evans looks uncomfortable, worried almost, judging by the crease between his brows. Mackie gives you a look of understanding and a pair of thumbs up.

You down your drink, try to cover the hiss as pain sears down your throat, and make to sit down in Tom’s booth. On the way in, you knock over the reserved sign, making it fall to the floor. Now, it’ll look like you didn’t know.

[10.57] mackie Incoming

The front door opens slowly. Heads turn to look who comes through, and unlike when you arrived with Mackie and Evans, everyone’s eyes stay on the man who weaves his way through the crowd.

Tom stops by the bar, has a small chat with the bartender and turns his head to look your way. A smirk grazes his lips as your eyes lock, but he quickly turns back to the man he was talking to.

You swallow. You have to steady your beating heart, have to shove the thought of the night’s previous events to the back of your mind, and kill the deep swirling feeling in your gut at the sight of Tom in that blue fucking suit. God, if there was something Tom Hiddleston was made to do it’s wearing suits.

The blue color suits his very being. It’s tailored to fit him perfectly; long legs encased in blue fabric that shows off his bum, suit jacket that fits his shoulders and back in a way that has you swallow. You can see his broad shoulders and some of the tightness that drags at his muscled arms. What you can’t wait to see, is how well the shirt underneath fits him. You simply can’t wait for him to pull off the jacket.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wait very long. With two drinks in hand he makes his way up to where you sit. He doesn’t say anything as he places them on the table, nor does he say anything when he pulls up the reserved sign from where it lies on the floor. He places it back on the table, eyes you warily, and sides into the booth.

Long arms grasp for the drinks. He pulls them in and pushes one to you. “Can you drink, darling? You’re working, right?”

You take the glass and swirl the liquid around inside it. “I can, actually.” And you take a sip. “But I won’t drink a lot.”

Tom moves closer to you, knocking his thigh against yours. You take a deep breath at the touch, the only one you can return―Tom flirting with you whilst you work is no news, but it would be quite different if you did the same. “Have you been waiting long, darling?”

“No, I haven’t. I managed to preoccupy myself.”

“Oh, can I hear?”

You shake your head. “What good would you have of that?” you ask. When you get a shrug in return, you roll your eyes and take another sip of the whiskey. “I have a question for you, though.”

Tom cocks a brow.

“Why did you need someone to spy on Evans?”

Your heart beats fast as Tom moves even closer, lips coming up to ghost across your cheek. You can see that the two in the crowd of people keeping a close eye on you flinch, but you don’t make a gesture to show any discomfort. “Have you not noticed, love?”

You push him away by placing a hand on his chest. “Noticed what?” You try to pull your hand back but Tom places his over yours and keeps your touch on him. A small hint of the love he usually offers you shows through the blue of his eyes.

“The man likes you, darling. A little too much. Can’t have another man try anything with my woman.” Tom’s gaze flickers out to the crowd, and as you follow it, you see how it lands on Evans and how your coworker squirms. “Now, if only I could show him.”

“Tom,” you say, voice bordering on affectionate. His eyes flicker to you in surprise; he’s only ever been Hiddleston in public. “There’s nothing to worry about, and if you try anything, anything at all, you will have a gun to your head.”

Tom chuckles. “Are you threatening me?”

“You know where the gun is.” And the hand that travels up and under your skirt, grazing by the thigh holster, has you swallow. You take a deep breath as his hand travels a little further, and the only way to stop him is to grab his hand. “I didn’t say you could check.” You push at him a little, creating more distance between you two (even though you would like to sit close to him).

“I didn’t think I needed permission, love.” He smirks and you shake your head.

You smile innocently at him. “Usually you don’t.” You go to slide out of the booth. “Bye, Hiddleston.”

Tom grabs your arm and pulls you back to his chest. “Have you really made that big a dent in the case of the Blue Sweater?” he whispers in your ear. You writhe in his grasp, but a firm hand turns your head to him and his face draws closer to yours. “Tell me what I need to do to have the lead again, darling. I’ll do anything.”

And you can’t stop the sound of surprise that escapes you when Tom presses a chaste kiss to your lips. The surprise is so big you only stare wide-eyed at him, not able to kiss him back (and good is that seeing as you’re in public), and when he pulls back, you push away from him and shake your head.

“You’re an idiot,” you say (no teasing or play in your voice), and then you walk away. You rush out of the bar, feel Evans’s and Mackie’s eyes on you, and when you get out of the front door you lean against the wall. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re panting, and you can feel the rush of adrenaline making its way through your body.

You may like to play with fire, letting him flirt and show affection in public, but you wouldn’t ever go this far. You wouldn’t ever think he’d even risk it.

“Are you okay?” comes a voice from next to you. Evans and Mackie have made it outside, and you push off the wall to start walking to the car.

“We’re not talking about it,” you say.

Neither of them make a move to say more, and you can hear them follow after you. Tom might be the worst person in history to be in a secret relationship with. Or maybe the best. You haven’t decided yet.

It’s no surprise to see the people surrounding your desk when you get to work. Your two usual pests sit at their own, and though not a part of the group waiting for you, they shoot you glances as you sit down.

You try not to glare at the group, but when they all just quietly stare at you, the anger bubbles. “What?” you ask.

A small murmur goes through them, until your impatient glare becomes too much and one voice squeaks out, “did Tom Hiddleston kiss you?”

He has more than once, you think.

You don’t reply, only giving them an unamused look in return. They quickly scatter, and you can hear the chatter that bubbles up amongst them.

Not only do you not have the patience for stupid pestering (and annoyance at Evans and Mackie for spreading the word), but your morning was the worst in a while. It’s almost become a usual for Tom to sleep over, whether because he falls asleep after sex or if he just wants to cuddle, but when you came home yesterday, there was no Tom.

And no Tom means no morning cuddles, or a goodbye kiss as you leave out the door. On top of that, he hasn’t texted either. No saying why he didn’t show. No explaining why he risked a kiss in public.

A text you did get in the morning, was a journalist asking for an interview. Especially interesting was the lack of respect for an ongoing investigation, and the bold way to ask whether or not you were secretly helping Tom not get caught (you want to know how they would even guess it. That’s a pretty bold assumption to make about the lead detective on a case).

Tired, you rest your elbow on the desk and lay your head in your hand. You massage your forehead slightly, and there’s no mistaking the groan that leaves your lips as your thoughts swirl.

A knock on your desk pulls you out of it. You look up to see Mackie leaning against it. “You okay?” he asks.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. We gotta talk about what information we got, though. But I don’t trust… I don’t want to talk out here, so, briefing room in five minutes. I don’t know if Evans heard, but make sure he did.”

Mackie scrunches his nose slightly and presses his lips together.

“What’s wrong?”

“Briefing room’s occupied.”

You curse under your breath and shake your head. “We got a meeting room, that occupied?”

Mackie shakes his head. “Not that I know.”

“We’ll meet there.” And as he gives you a thumbs up, you get up from your desk and move to the captain’s office. With a knock and a mumbled ‘come in’ you walk into the room and close the door behind you.

Cheadle looks up at you. “I heard what happened.”

You nod. “Yeah, but there’s something else I’m here about.”

He quirks a brow. “Oh? Important?”

You pull out your phone, ignore the new message you’ve gotten and find the text from the journalist. You hand the captain your phone. “Got this this morning. I want to know how they got my number, what made them think I’m colluding with the guy I’m trying to catch, and what the hell made them believe I’d ever talk to a news source about an open investigation.”

“That is weird.” Captain Cheadle hands you back your phone (just in time, too, because a message chimes in from twh). “When you have time, come back in here. I know you’re gonna talk to the guys now, but I’d like for it to be soon. And check if they haven’t gotten the same one.”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh and walk out again. You head for the meeting room and on your way you pull open your text thread with Tom.

[08.18] twh darling we need to talk i think i have some information you’d like to have

[08.23] you gonna talk about smth else too or just your problem??

[08.23] twh im sorry, darling, i got caught up in work we can talk about both tell me when you have time and ill show up at your flat

[08.23] you tonight, 8

The reply goes by you as you open the door to the meeting room. Evans and Mackie already sit down, Evans with papers in front of him and Mackie with his phone out on the table. You frown, but sit down across from them.

“I don’t know who wants to start.” You look between the two men, and when neither say anything, you shrug. “Guess I’ll go then.” You take a deep breath. “Our snitch’s name is Aaron Taylor-Johnson, the man Hiddleston mentioned yesterday when we questioned him about the fire. He isn’t dead because he was in the bar. He says he was hired a few months ago to keep tabs on Evans, but he got sick of it because, according to him, you’re not the threat. On the other hand, I am, but he didn’t know he was talking to me.”

“Did you find out why Hiddleston got him to spy on Evans?” asks Mackie.

You shake your head. “Hiddleston didn’t answer that. Snitch didn’t know himself, but he said he tried to keep tabs on me, too, only he couldn’t. He didn’t have anything to go on, no information, no way to know what I look like. And I find that interesting. Why would Hiddleston go out of his way to make sure they couldn’t do anything to make me a culprit or anything?”

“Maybe because Hiddleston has the biggest crush on you?” asks Evans, and there’s no mistaking the hint of spite in his voice as he says so. “Or, he finds you that big enough a threat he can’t have his guys going around doing stuff to hinder you because you’re smart enough to be able to connect it to him?”

“I hope the last,” you mumble. “But there was definitely something he wasn’t telling me. He seemed to know more than he let on, but I couldn’t push like I usually do because then he’d know. I want to see if we can contact him again, because he knew we tried yesterday without luck.”

“We’ll try, but I don’t think we’re gonna get much either.” Evans nods, and all three of you let out sighs.

You motion for them to start talking instead. Evans slides you a piece of paper. Not much is on it, but the words are clear. You look up at him.

“There were some regulars there that have witnessed Hiddleston many times. The man I talked to said that.” Evans coughs. “‘He’s always alone, at least when he sits, but he leaves with men. Never has a girl around him unless they come up to him, hasn’t had one in a long time. Only once did he leave with one. She was pretty, looked rather intimidating, actually. Don’t think it lasted.’ The man also went on to ramble about how after that, Hiddleston hasn’t been seen with a girl. Well, before you.”

“So he has left with a girl once.” Mackie confirms. “Luke Evans said the same thing. A pretty little thing that edged in on the man unlike no one he’d seen before, and that surprisingly got to leave with him. He’s never seen the woman again, and he found that odd. He doesn’t believe Hiddleston’s got someone in his life, though.”

You bite your lower lip. “Well, that is something. Any descriptions?”

Both shake their heads.

“There is one thing I noted, though,” says Mackie. “If Hiddleston does have someone he likes, is with, whatever. He so openly flirts with you that that woman has got to be furious, and he probably wouldn’t have kissed you either. I think the wristband was sent to him, not from him.”

You nod. “I believe you’re right there.” You know he’s right, but that’s details you’re not sharing. “But I have something more interesting.” You fish your phone out of your pocket (ignore the new messages from Tom) and open up the one you got this morning.

“What’s going on?” asks Evans as you place your phone in front of them on the table. They read over the text and cast eyes up to you. Something in the look both send, they’ve seen something similar before.

“Got it this morning.” You snatch your phone back, seeing the almost pop-up about a new text and not risking who it’s from. “I need to know who believes I’m colluding with the enemy.”

Mackie nods as he opens up his own phone and slides it across to you. “We got the same text, though slightly altered. They’re asking if we know anything about you colluding with Hiddleston.”

[06.53] unkown Hi, I’m a reporter from New York Times. I was wondering if there would be released more information pertaining to the Hiddleston case, and what you know about Hiddleston and Detective Y/L/N’s relationship to the man. I heard last night that they kissed, and maybe the reason you haven’t caught him yet is something entirely else than him being good at what he does.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. You slide Mackie’s phone back to him and let out a loud sigh.

Things are not looking very bright.

A/N: thats what i have. if you want to, reblog this with a continuation, but please dont steal any of this and act like it’s your own. i worked a lot on this when i still had motivaton but i wanted to at least share it even if i wont finish it, to which im deeply sorry

would always want to know what you guys think...

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #twh #thomas william hiddleston #reader insert #x reader #unfinished #tom hiddleston imagine #imagine

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junie-bugg · 4 years ago

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The Heartrender - Chapter Four: Flames

Here it is! The last chapter of ‘The Heartrender’!

In which I finally post the Everlark smut, lmao.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Happy reading💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter Four: Flames

He was shivering on the front stoop when she brought him a cup of nettle tea. The smell was similar to that of the tea he’d had back home, though in his mother’s house they made sure to only steep birch bark and angelica root. Giving a guest nettle tea was a sign of poverty and god forbid the Mellarks confirm what the entire town already knew to be true. He sloshed the steaming gray-green liquid around, eyeing it warily. The ceramic felt rough against his palm. The heat was welcome after so long outside, but instead of accepting her peace offering, he set it down on the stone step.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said sharply. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He scratched at his beard, a bitter laugh bubbled out of his throat. The perfect picture of forced nonchalance. “But you’d burst my heart. So much for that truce.” He had tried to avoid looking at her but couldn’t help but glance up when she didn’t respond.

Her eyes were rimmed with red and she had changed out of her nightgown. She now wore a simple white and blue frock. It was the kind that milkmaids wore in the Sjorkden countrysides during the summertime, though this one lacked the swirling embroidery and was made of a warmer, thicker cloth. The sleeves shone white against her deep skin and her hair floated loosely about her face, the inky color of obsidian pulled from the depths of the very earth. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively.

“You have no idea…” she started but then trailed off.

“No idea of what?” he pressed.

“You have no idea how much you scare me.” She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and then turned away from him, looking out into the mountainous distance. He was struck with how young she looked in that moment. Just a girl really. Frightened and cold and half a world away from home.

“At first I was scared of…” Her eyes darted back to his. “Well, look at you. You’re massive. But also the fact that you despise me without even knowing me. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Peeta didn’t respond. From infancy, he had been taught to fear her kind. Witches were monsters. Demons. Barely even human. First instilled in him by his mother and after he ran away from home, the masters. Those fears were settled as deep as his very bone marrow and wouldn’t be so easily uprooted. But as he watched the breeze play with her hair and the subtle movement of her skirts as she shifted from foot to foot, the hateful voices of his kin quieted ever so slightly.

“Say something,” she said weakly.

“You could have killed me…but you stopped yourself… ” He was trying to make sense of it all, and once again, the only conclusion he came to was that he owed her. He had owed her the moment she pulled him from the sea and perhaps he would never stop. She was always sparing his life. What had he done in return?

She stared down at her feet and Peeta realized with a start that he was admiring the slender curve of her neck, the same soft stretch of skin he made a habit of caressing at night when she wasn’t aware of him. This wasn’t right. He bit the inside of his cheek, summoning his anger back up. It wasn’t as readily equipped as it had once been.

“If you had drawn a sword on me a few days ago, I think I would have killed you. But now I… I don’t want you to…” She swallowed, the words were as thick as a paste in her mouth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her confession made him uncomfortable. It was like she had rolled over and was showing him her soft underbelly. It wasn’t like her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want us to trust each other.”

“That might prove to be a mistake,” he pointed out. “We haven’t had the best track record.”

“I know,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “But I’m tired of being afraid.”

She had spared him, more than once, even when it could prove dangerous for her to do so. She had kept his heart beating and his blood warm even when it would have been easy to let him freeze to death. She said she was tired, Peeta realized that he was too, and without him even meaning for it, the iron chains of his preconceptions shifted.

“No matter what you paint me to be, I’m no monster,” she said as she bent down to pick up the tea. Her hair brushed the stone step.

“Then what are you?” Peeta asked.

“A survivor. Just like you.” At that moment, her face was unreadable, stone-like, as if she carried a whole uncharted world inside herself that Peeta would never touch. But there, if you looked closely as she placed a gentle hand to his shoulder and pressed the tea back into his palm, there was a chink in the armor. Like when she had allowed him to listen to her heartbeat, something so intimate and out of place between the bickering and long stretches of wary silence between them.

It was a softening of sorts, a slivered glimpse through branches and into the clearing beyond, as if all other encounters he had witnessed before were of shifting leaves, ripples in a lake, half versions of a girl, and this was the first time Peeta had the courage to look closely and really see her.

He wondered what she saw in him.

There was a tenderness in her eyes, and in response to the pressure of her hand, a blooming warmth opened in Peeta’s chest the same way a door opens on rusted, unused hinges. Slowly and with great difficulty, as if out of practice, but open all the same.

That was until her eyes narrowed, her lips twisted unpleasantly, and she said: “Don’t ever point your sword at me again, or I swear to god I’ll make you piss yourself.”

They followed the coastline, sleeping in abandoned whaling lodges some nights and huddled together behind boulders on others. The times when they had no lodge were the toughest on the witch since she felt it her duty to stay up to keep them warm. She’d be drained and sleep-deprived the next day and their speed would be greatly diminished.

Peeta offered to carry her. It was the least he could do in exchange for all she had done for him, and she was so light it’d be no burden at all, but her pride was a delicate thing and she refused every time. That was until they hadn’t set foot in a lodge in three days and she was on the verge of collapsing. Peeta didn’t ask this time, he just scooped her up and let her sleep with her face pressed into his chest.

“You’ve started smiling in your sleep. Did you know that?” she mumbled groggily one day as Peeta walked with her in his arms.

He chuckled, the crystallized mist of his breath swirling around his head. “How would I know that? I’m the one sleeping.”

She laughed lightly and curled her hand in the wolf’s fur of his cloak. He could hear a smile tinging her voice when she responded. “What do you dream about?”

He lied. “Home. Sjorkden.”

“Do you have a family, lieutenant?”

“I do,” Peeta said solemnly. “Or I did.” He wasn’t thinking of his blood. Older brothers with a taste for cruelty. A timid father who retreated into a mixing bowl whenever trouble brewed. A mother with a short temper and an even shorter supply of love for her youngest son. She had called him ‘runt’ before he worked up the courage to run away and enroll in the academy.

Whoever first said “blood is thicker than water” was a fool. Peeta had seen barrels worth of blood wash away in water. He had seen his home town swallowed up by mists from the deck of a ship. He had seen his mother weeping over another lost child running down her legs and then turn to beat her living, breathing sons the same day. Blood meant nothing.

No, he did not think of his blood. He was thinking instead of his brothers in arms, the men he’d known as boys, the sparring circles and the holiday feasts, the proud slaps on the back, the dirty inside jokes, and the secret drunken parties held when the masters went to bed. He felt a hollow ache deep in his chest when he remembered most of his friends were dead, lost in a never-ending crusade that had been handed down to them like a dusty, blood-soaked artifact of another time.

And then he thought of her and with no magic involved, his heartbeat quickened.

She was all he had left.

“I had a family too,” she whispered and Peeta heard the words she wouldn’t say out loud.

A raid.

“When?” he pressed cautiously, afraid of pushing her to open up to him again. It happened so rarely that she would let a scrap of her life from before The Bloody Rose loose. He knew she had lived in Ellsworth for a few years, the merchant town where the commander had found her, working off a steep indenture in a pleasure house. But she was a Heartrender, originally from the southeastern country of Krell, a land thick with forest and swamp. She was a girl of humid summers and wooden houses, not the chilled stone harbors of a trading port.

“I was eleven when they took my father, thirteen when my mother disappeared, and-” her voice trembled, though she tried to hide it. “They burned Primrose last year.”

The witch said they but all Peeta could hear was you. He wanted to console her but what could he say when he and his people were the cause of her suffering? Peeta had turned in plenty of young women to the council. What if one of them had been her sister? Guilt gripped his throat, his stomach, his lungs. He felt heavy with self-loathing.

Perhaps it wasn’t her that was the monster. Perhaps it was him.

Perhaps it had been him all along.

With words stuck in his throat, he walked with just the wind and the crunching of his own steps to break up the silence.

“It’s nice that you’ll have somewhere to go if we get out of this,” she said in an attempt to change the subject.

Peeta had flashed her a small smile, but his insides withered like flowers in a frost.

He didn’t really. Not anymore.

At least, not in Sjorkden.

The witch walked near the cliffside, peering down at the black sand beach every once in a while. Peeta knew she stepped lightly and was careful with her footing, but still, he didn’t like her so close to the edge. He pulled her away.

“Stop,” she grumbled, twisting her arm out of his grasp.

Peeta clenched his jaw but didn’t try touching her again.

She narrowed her eyes at his sour expression. “I’m being careful, I swear.”

“What are you looking for?” he demanded.

“A way down. I’m sick of this cliffside,” she said as she returned to the edge.

“We don’t have time for a stroll on the beach.”

She scowled. “The last time I checked, we have all the time in the world.”

“We need to stay on course or we’ll never get to Fjordhingă.”

“About that…” The witch pursed her lips, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I’m not going.”

“What?” he sputtered. When had she decided this?

“There’s nothing for me there. It’s just another merchant town and I’ve had my fill of those.”

Peeta scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers grazed the thick stubble on his jaw. “We’re not going to be staying there.”

“Then where will we be going?”

His lips started forming the word Sjorkden, but that wasn’t right. His homeland was no place for her. So what was he going to do when they arrived in Fjordhingă? He couldn’t bring her back to Sjorkden and turn her in. She’d be imprisoned, tried, and then burned. That was no longer an option. But if he let her go…

He couldn’t bear the thought. Not being with her. If he watched her board a ship and stowaway to her homeland, a raid ravaged country she didn’t even seem to want to return to, he knew a piece of himself would be carried off with her. A piece he’d never get back. But what choice did he have?

A small part of him missed when she had just been ‘the witch’ and not something more. He missed when things were black and white, not muddled shades of gray. Nothing made sense now. Not the golden warmth that passed through him when she smiled. Not the sickening, vengeful bottoming out of his heart when she cried. He found himself hating the men that had touched her, used her body for their own lustful releases. He daydreamed of hunting each and every one of them down and cutting off their fingers, one by one. But why stop at the fingers? Why not make a brilliant bloodbath out of it? A final crusade.

Perhaps that’s what they would do.

But just as Peeta opened his mouth to answer, unsure of what exactly was going to come out, the rock gave and the witch plummeted down the cliffside.

The masters had taught Peeta not to give in to panic, to take danger in both hands and bend it to his will, until what he had wasn’t a dangerous situation, but a controlled one, preferably in his favor.

All those lessons went out the window as he watched her scrabbling to find purchase on the cliff face.

Instead of eerily calm, he felt the world tilting in and out of focus. A fiery rush of adrenaline alighted his nerves as if he were made of oil-soaked paper and someone had thrown a match at him.

He wrenched his pack off and dove, just barely managing to grab onto her wrists before she lost her grip on a loose root, but not before he cut the inside of his forearm on a jutting rock ledge. The rock sliced through fabric and flesh, the hot, tearing pain erupting up his arm as the weight of the witch and her pack pulled him down. His screams echoed out across the sea.

“Don’t let go,” she whimpered. Below her dangling body was a six-hundred-foot drop, more than enough to shatter her bones and dash her brains from her skull if she slipped. He thought she had been cut as well when he saw dark red seeping into her skirts, but as his vision blurred and blackened around the edges he realized it was his own blood running down her body. His hand and her wrist were slickened with it and soon she only clung to him by one arm. Peeta braced himself and slowly lifted her up the cliff, digging the tops of his feet into the ground to keep himself anchored.

She was shaking like a leaf, her heart beating so hard Peeta could feel it under his palms as he hauled her onto stable ground. When her legs cleared the edge, she crawled on hands and knees to vomit into a dead bush while Peeta rolled onto his back to cradle the throbbing, torn flesh of his arm against his chest. Perhaps it was only a minute or perhaps it had been many when the witch finally crawled to his side, her face swimming above him. She lifted shaking hands to his wound, her fingers slipping over muscle and blood as she began chanting lowly in Krellian.

There was a tingling warmth, an emerald green light, the feeling of flesh slowly knitting itself back together, fiber by fiber. He lifted his good hand to caress her cheek, wiping the tears away. He hated when she cried.

“Stay still,” she ordered tremulously. “Please, just stay still.” As the edges of his vision blackened and he was pulled down into unconsciousness, only one thought registered.

What a terrible hunter he must be to have fallen in love with his prey.

Before the shipwreck and the nights spent pressed against the witch, Peeta rarely had good dreams. He had nightmares or he had nothing, so when he dreamed of the sound of her footsteps at the door after a long day, the thrumming heat of her body in a moonlight bathed bed, or of the fluttering of two heartbeats underneath his palms, he thought perhaps he had died and this vision was his reward for one good act in a lifetime drenched in blood.

He had saved her. They were even.

He could die with that.

But all too soon the dream ended and he sank into a shallow realm between sleep and consciousness.

Animal skin walls. Ashwood beams. The fragrant smoke of a cooking fire. The press of warm lips to a cool forehead.

The passing of time blurred. The only constant he was aware of were hands. Gentle caresses to his brow, his cheeks, the pad of a thumb caught on his chapped bottom lip, knuckles against his jaw, a single fingertip running along the slope of his nose. She sang Krellian lullabies in husky tones, whispered prayers against his throat, traced cool runes into his skin with water, rubbed the warmth back into his numb feet.

Trӕvani ᶌala ką.

Stay with me.

“Always,” he mumbled in his mother tongue.

“You need a haircut,” she said accusingly as she lifted the knife above his head. Her silver eyes flashed dangerously, a warning, that if he didn’t cooperate, she’d make him.

The shipwreck had been nearly two months ago, his injury about a week, and in that time his hair had grown in waves well past his ears. He’d had close shaves when he was in training, a clean face too, but he liked the feel of shagginess on his neck and a thickening beard. Though apparently, the witch liked when his hair was more manageable.

“You need a bath too,” she grumbled as she swatted his hands away and carefully started trimming.

“You offering?” he quipped.

The witch snorted, undeterred from her task. “You wash my back, I wash yours. That’s how it works around here.”

Peeta wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no.

They sat together by the fire. She was perched upon her knees, a ring of blond forming soundlessly on the hard-packed dirt. As she worked, Peeta traced a finger over the jagged, pink scar on his forearm.

The witch had saved his life. Again. If it wasn’t for her and that spell, Peeta would have bled out. The cut was deep, almost to the bone, and had severed many nerves and arteries. The muscle tissue would normally be beyond repair, but now, besides the scar which the Heartrender had sheepishly admitted she wasn’t skilled enough to erase, there was no trace of injury. No pain when he circled his wrist, no twinge when he flexed his fingers. Almost as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. He felt the shift almost as soon as he was conscious enough to sit up and drink on his own.

This was no longer a game of survival, a cease-fire between warring parties. They had come to cross some invisible threshold. The first truce had been borne through words alone, the second through her restraint, but this partnership was borne through Peeta’s actions, the risk he took in that dive, almost dying in her stead.

She wouldn’t forget that.

The witch came to kneel in front of him and set the knife down, brushing the remaining strands of hair from his shoulders. Peeta watched her thoughtfully. Her lashes were as dark as dried ink on parchment paper and her face looked fuller than it had on the ship, her cheeks glowing like polished bronze medallions in the firelight. Peeta admired her lips the most. Pink, full, and slightly parted. Plump as a dew crusted rose in spring. Her tongue danced behind her teeth when she opened her mouth to speak.

“You should kiss me.”

Peeta’s mind went blank. “What?”

“Or don’t. It’s up to you.” She had shrugged then, a small smile curling her lips as if she knew a secret he didn’t. “I’m a very good kisser though.”

Peeta had never kissed a woman before, and she had worked in a pleasure house. Surely she was used to men with more experience than him. Though that had been a job to her, a means to get by, an indenture she had been forced to agree to.

This was something entirely different.

His cheeks flushed as his body responded, his mind going fuzzy with desire. He wasn’t just thinking of kissing when he said: “I don’t know how.”

“I’m a good teacher. Besides, I like that you’ve never known another woman. That means I have no competition,” she said lowly as she leaned into him.

“You wouldn’t have competition even if I had,” he breathed, and then she closed the scrap of space between their bodies.

If he was back in Sjorkden, if he had completed his blood cull and turned in fifty witches, if he had been granted his talisman, a polished stone artifact that would symbolize his ascent from soldier to honored veteran, he would be spending the winter in fruition. He would have chosen a noblewoman to court, dined with her family, brought her gifts of ice wine and shimmery sapphire cloth, and only after their intertwined hands had been bound by silken Siyana ribbons, only after her golden bridal plaits were undone and left to fall loosely across her shrouded shoulders, only after they burned a winter rose and let the fragrant smoke settle upon their skin, would he be permitted to kiss her for the first time, under the eyes of god and before the eyes of her father. As was proper.

This was not that kiss.

It was better.

The witch’s lips were soft and tasted of salt, though something deeper lay beneath the remains of their last meal. Drops of amber honey, the bittersweet juice of frukkala berries, the earthy notes of pine bark.

Her mouth guided his as she twined her arms around his neck. Slowly at first, and then something snapped and she pressed her tongue into his mouth with a desperation bordering on hunger.

Peeta trembled where he held her, running his fingers down the soft fabrics of her dress, circling the dip of her hips and then climbing up the even bumps of her rib cage. He didn’t want to break the kiss but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush his lips against the hollow of her collarbone. She sighed in appreciation when he did just that.

Her skin was flawless, smooth, pliable. Heat radiated from her like coals, the silky steadiness licking at his flesh as he undid the ties of her dress. The fabric fell away and Peeta’s eyes slowly raked over her nakedness. She was small but she was stunning, her body lean and sinewy like a willow nymph from a fairytale. Her breasts were pert and Peeta watched firelight dance over her pebbling nipples. The sight sent heat straight to his groin until the building pressure was almost painful.

“Your turn,” she said as she lifted his tunic over his head, lightly tracing silvery white scars across his collarbones, chasing them down his chest, his navel, until she reached the line of dark blond hair that disappeared past his trousers. Her fingers stilled, her gaze flickered up to his, and Peeta took the opportunity to wind his hand into her hair and pull her down for another kiss.

He remembered the press of her naked body the first night they’d slept against one another. His desire then had been shameful, sprung up from some twisted part of him he had tried to hide behind hatred and mistrust. But this. This desire roared unchecked through his body, burning infinitely hotter now that he knew she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her.

“Maybe we should move away from the fire,” Peeta suggested breathlessly in between kisses.

“No,” she murmured huskily. “I’m going to take you right here.” She pushed him down onto his back into their nest of furs and lifted her legs to straddle him, grinning when she felt the press of his hardened erection under her hips. She pinned his wrists up by his ears as she lay her body on top of his, rubbing her core against him in slow, even circles. His cock throbbed, straining to get out from the confines of his pants.

“You’re such a tease,” he groaned.

“It’s more fun that way,” she whispered cheekily, and then she released his wrists and clasped his face between her palms, kissing him ever so slowly, worrying his bottom lip between her teeth. The sensation made him dizzy.

“Have you ever felt this good before?” she asked in a sigh.

“Only in dreams,” he responded as he chased her lips and pressed his palms into the small of her back.

She pulled away, an intense curiosity alighting her eyes. “What do you really dream about?”

“You,” he whispered. “And me.”

Her lips curled into a sultry grin as she softened and leaned down to press her mouth to the hollow below his ear. He turned his head to give her more room. “And what do we do together in these dreams?” she purred as she sucked on his neck.

“Everything.”

She laughed against his skin. “You’re being cheesy.”

“It’s the truth,” he said defensively, but the smile threatening to crack his face open seeped into his voice and made him sound as if he were joking.

She moved away again and Peeta was about to object, pull her back, crash those beautiful lips against his own once more, but there was no need as she ran a gentle hand down the line of his abdomen and then slowly, inch by inch, pulled his pants down his thighs. He hissed when his cock sprang free and bounced onto his stomach. She was so close he could feel the wet heat of her breath fanning over his skin.

The witch raised a brow, admiring his size. Peeta knew from spending nearly a decade at the academy and then a number of years on witching vessels that he was… well endowed. You don’t spend that much time among men without seeing something, and to compare one’s self to others was human nature.

He pulsed in her soft hand as she pulled his foreskin down, revealing the glistening pink head. She ran a gentle thumb along the ridge. Then she leaned down and slowly took him into her mouth.

Peeta had never felt so vulnerable.

It was like she commanded full control of him. She simply had to twirl her tongue around the head and he would groan and buck his hips without even meaning to. She worked the base with her hands and hollowed out her cheeks, flicking the ridge with her tongue, caressing the slit, tasting him as no woman had before.

Peeta moaned loudly and clenched his abdomen. His thighs trembled. Suddenly, she stalled, squeezed the base in her hands, and then lewdly popped his length out from between her lips.

“Eager aren’t we?” she purred.

Another moan escaped him as she began pumping, using her saliva as a lubricant. The delicious feeling of her hands rucking up his skin was almost enough to make him unravel. The wet sounds of her attentions filled the lodge as his nerves kindled, blazing like a wick burning from both ends.

“Slow down,” he begged, embarrassed by how ragged and breathy his voice had become. He felt weakened from being wrapped in her hands but he realized he didn’t mind. It was a good weakness, the kind that left you warm and a little watery in the knees. The tight pleasure coiling in his body was mounting past anything he had ever reached on his own. It was agony when he stalled her hands and his pleasure plummeted.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he panted, lifting his head to look at her. She still grasped him in her hands. His rounded tip was blush red where her tongue had been. It was perhaps the most deliciously erotic sight he had ever witnessed.

She drew her eyebrows together, revealing that cute little brow crease.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he said, brushing the hair off her shoulder.

“What do you have in mind?” she challenged before running the tip of her tongue up along a bulging vein of his shaft. It was wholly distracting.

“You… you’re going to have to stop that first.” He lifted his eyes upwards.

“Are you praying?”

“Maybe.”

She picked up on his nervousness, folding her tongue back into her mouth. “Look, if you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” she said, but that wasn’t it at all. He was ready, he was just hesitant. He didn’t know the workings of a woman’s body. He knew only his own, the strength he possessed and the burdens he could bear, the battles he could wage and the soaring pleasures he could summon using his own two hands. He knew her, he just didn’t know how she was put together, and therefore, he didn’t know how to make her fall apart. But that would all change if he could just swallow his insecurities.

“Come here,” he beckoned, wetting his lips nervously.

He had grown up surrounded by boys of all ages, and though they were never permitted to indulge in the union of flesh, both because there were no girls at the academy and because it was forbidden for witch hunters to do so, he had still heard raunchy tales of all the things men and women could do in bed together.

And he had one particular act in mind.

She softly tapped the head of his cock against her lips as if deep in thought. Each brush sent sparks traveling down his shaft. “That’s a tad ambitious for your first time,” she murmured, but Peeta could tell she was happily surprised at his offer. He had fingers and lips and tongue. Peeta was unpracticed, but he knew with her guidance he could satisfy her.

“You said you were a good teacher,” he reminded her, the timbre of his voice taking on a gravelly deepness. “Teach me how to please you.”

She set him down and then slowly, with back arched and eyes hooded, climbed over his body. Her long black hair fell from her shoulders like a spill of water.

“Higher,” he instructed, allowing the pads of his fingertips to stroke the springy flesh of her breasts and then the planes of her bare stomach as she continued climbing. She settled her thighs on either side of his head allowing Peeta a good view. He looped his arms under her legs to anchor her in place and splayed his hands over her lower back. Underneath a thick tuft of hair was her core, pink, swollen, and blooming like a flower in spring. Peeta’s cock jumped at the sight.

“If you want to please me you’re going to have to do more than stare at me, lieutenant,” she laughed.

Peeta steeled himself and swept a finger along her folds. It was a shallow caress, a tentative touch, but his fingertips came away glistening with her essence.

He exhaled slowly, watching as the witch’s slit leaked her arousal. There was a heavy moment, the air pregnant with the crackle of potential, until eventually, Peeta gathered the courage to flatten his tongue and taste her.

She tasted sweet. Musky.

She tasted human.

Her body tensed, responding to his touch. “Right here,” she breathed as she pressed a set of fingers to a small bud at the apex of her entrance. He lifted a thumb to the spot, thankful when she guided him in slow circles. With her instruction, he used his tongue to gently caress her lips and his thumb to circle her clit, humming appreciatively whenever he felt her flutter.

“Your beard tickles,” she laughed when she determined he had gotten the hang of it. She leaned back to rest her hands on the corded muscles of his thighs, thrusting her chest up to the ceiling and bucking her hips slowly along with his rhythm. He was moving more on instinct than anything else when he dipped his tongue inside of her.

It took time and he knew he was being clumsy, but the witch wouldn’t let him stop. His tongue was heavy and jaw sore when she replaced his fingers with her own, increasing the pressure and riding his mouth to release.

Her spine snapped, her eyes slid closed, curses fell from her lips, and something primal within Peeta awakened. He found himself desperately pulling her closer, lapping at her entrance, milking her release, and swallowing her arousal.

When it was over her core pulsed faintly and she opened her eyes to smile languidly down at him. Peeta’s tongue slowed. “You have something…” She broke into giggles and then brushed at his lips with her fingers, managing to smear even more of herself on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled, lips tingling. He liked this view. Her dewy skin seemed to glow like the very embers smoldering not three feet away.

“Before we do this,” she said, unhooking her legs from around his head and coming to once again grasp him firmly in her hands, “I need you to promise you won’t finish inside of me.”

His breath caught as he imagined it.

Being inside of her.

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” she pressed, pumping him idly.

It was an absurd situation. Surely a man would promise anything to a vixen grasping his very manhood in her hands. But to Peeta, it was more than that. He had her trust and here was a chance to prove he deserved it.

“I promise.”

With their deal struck, the witch mounted him. Peeta admired her figure in the gilded firelight once more, brushing his fingers against her peaked nipples and kneading the comely flesh as he watched the shadows dance and pool in the dip of her navel. This was a sight he would never be sick of.

She positioned the head of his shaft at her entrance and slid the tip along her slit to gather slickness, earning a few strangled sounds from Peeta. Her folds were soaked after her orgasm and he slid his hands down her body, gripping the backs of her knees in anticipation.

“I want you to watch my face as I take you in,” she whispered. “Every last inch.”

There was a tight, building pressure that suddenly broke into a slide. He slid past her folds, embedded within her. The feeling of the witch’s hot, silky heat molding around him, squeezing his shaft and cradling the head, was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Her core fluttered. So did her eyelids.

“Watch me, lieutenant,” she reminded him as she raised her hips to slam down on him. The wet slap of skin on skin rang through the air.

“Peeta,” he grunted.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Peeta.”

“Peeta.” She sighed his name like a prayer, letting the vowels roll off her tongue as if she were tasting them, and Peeta thought he had never heard it spoken so sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Peeta.”

His laugh melted into a groan as she clenched around him. He looked down between her legs at where their bodies overlapped. He was embedded to the hilt. She was taking it all.

Her breasts bounced with her body, and as she pressed down on him, Peeta raised his hips to meet her.

“Harder,” she begged.

Peeta slid his hands up her thighs, squeezing the flesh through his fingers like clay and rolling his hips sharply upwards. The head of his cock bumped her cervix. “Like that?”

The witch gasped, her body clenching with his thrust, and let out a little giggle. “Yes,” she moaned, allowing Peeta to take control of their rhythm. She leaned down to kiss him as he palmed her ass, spreading her open so he could set a faster tempo.

The small lodge filled with the lewd sounds of slapping skin and heavy grunts. It was ecstasy, being inside of her, and with each thrust Peeta felt warmer. His skin burned against hers.

Peeta wanted it to last longer, but as his thrusts stuttered and he felt that familiar tingle in his balls, he knew he couldn’t hold on. The witch started grinding on top of him, tuned into his body’s tells; the increasing cadence of his breath, the tremors in his hands, the intensity of his thrusts. It was time to keep his promise.

With a toe-curling shudder and a string of unintelligible curses in his mother tongue, Peeta pulled out and finished onto his own stomach, his hot seed quickly cooling on his skin. The witch panted above him, one hand splayed over his chest, another by his head, supporting her weight. Her skin shone with sweat and the loose hairs on her nape were damp.

“Let me clean you up,” the witch purred and Peeta watched in disbelief as she unhooked her legs from around him and shifted down. Her pink tongue darted out to lick the spend off his skin, and then she slowly traced up the ridges of his cock to capture the last pearlescent dribbles off the hypersensitive head, licking that clean too as if she were finishing something delicious. She stuck out her tongue to show him.

She had swallowed it all.

“You are something else,” he laughed giddily. He had never felt so satisfied and tired at the same time. He laid his head back on the pelts as the witch gently toyed with him softening in her hand. Her palm glided slowly, slickened by her arousal.

“I knew you were a virgin but I didn’t know you were a virgin,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Peeta asked, suddenly embarrassed. Had he done something wrong?

“You never got a blow job when you were younger? Not even a handy?”

He wasn’t sure how she could possibly have known that, but perhaps he had been too loud. Was that possible? His face flushed with heat. “No. I… I was never really around girls. Not until now at least.”

She smiled softly, carefully placed him down, and then crawled up his body to rest her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, tugging gently on her scalp. The strands were slightly knotted, but after Peeta had run his fingers through the tresses a few times, they felt as soft as silk. A spill of ebony satin. Any fabric that wasn’t the rough spun texture of his tunics.

“That was rather good for your first time,” she said. “I thought you’d be more… instantaneous.”

He chuckled. “I’m a soldier, not a priest.”

She smiled into his chest hair. “So you’ve satiated your urges all on your own?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I thought all Sjorkden witch hunters were pious and pleasure starved.”

“Perhaps not pleasure starved but pleasure...hungry. It’s not as fulfilling when you’re alone.”

There was a pause as they listened to the soft crackling of the fire, felt it’s comforting heat on their skin, and watched it’s muted light dance across the walls.

“Is it bad that I’m happy? That I’m your first, I mean,” she mumbled softly. “I know we don’t owe each other anything, but I’ve wanted this. At least once.”

“Only once?” he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

He could never go back. Not to his country. Not to his old ways. Not to a life without her. Did she think after they made it back to civilization that he would abandon her? After everything they had been through? After everything she had made him feel? And what was this about him not owing her? He didn’t even know her name but he owed her everything.

Absolutely everything.

She lifted her head off his chest and met his eyes. She was searching for something in his expression and the raw intensity of her gaze made him gulp.

“I don’t want this to have just been once,” he whispered, coming to cup her cheek in his palm and running a calloused thumb over the delicate skin under her eye.

“Any sane woman of my talent would be afraid of you, valkrӕlla,” she said lowly, her lips parting delicately with her words. She raised her hand to hold his palm against her cheek. “Instead, I find myself unable to let you go.”

A fierce rush of affection crashed through Peeta’s body. He understood because he felt the same way.

She was his.

He was hers.

Anything else was unthinkable.

He traced his fingers down the dip of her spine, catching small droplets of sweat. “You must know you have nothing to fear from me,” he insisted, pleading with his eyes, trying to make her understand that he felt it too. That he had been wrong before. That perhaps he didn’t deserve her forgiveness for the way he had let himself despise her, for the way he had treated her. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her at all. But maybe…

Maybe she would still have him.

“I’m sorry I was so cruel to you, valjakka.”

Beloved.

Her breath hitched. “I know,” she whispered, and then she drew closer, tipping her mouth to his.

He tasted himself on her tongue.

Peeta gathered her up and pressed her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her slender body atop his chest. The other kisses had been lustful, desperate in the same way a flame sucks the oxygen from a room. But this one kindled hope. Life.

It was as if she was air, and he, a drowning man.

When they had exhausted themselves their lips broke apart and they lay on top of the furs, lapsing into a comfortable silence as Peeta grabbed one to cover their naked bodies. The fire was nearby but the bitter air from outside still managed to creep through the walls, slowly cooling their sweat-slicked skin.

“Peeta,” she breathed, a small sound of happiness escaping her lips. “Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.”

“Don’t wear it out,” he joked, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue and languishing past her lips was like a shot of pure energy. He was keenly aware of how it affected his body, reawakening his lust as he shifted uncomfortably on the floor beneath her.

“My name is Katniss,” she offered shyly.

Katniss.

He let the name caress the inside of his skull. The syllables fell from his lips and tangled in her hair. It suited her, hard and soft at the same time. Just like the way she made love.

He told her so and she laughed.

Epilogue

Peeta’s old hatreds finally died as he looked into her eyes and saw humanity reflected back at him. He thought of her as precious and wondered how he had never seen it before. She was a blizzard, an earthquake, a monsoon, all at once. What a beautiful thing it would be to succumb to her power.

She may have looked all hard planes and edges, but when she made love, she didn’t act like it. Her body was soft, flexible, willing to bend to any shape Peeta pushed her into. In the accompanying weeks, they trekked further north and found shelter not only within lodges but within each other. She had particular tastes and wasn’t afraid to tell him so, and she always claimed ultimate control of what was done to her.

She was quivering beneath him, legs spread, clawing at his body for dear life when he uttered the ultimate promise against her skin:

When they arrived in Fjordhingă, he would find honest work as a laborer to pay for their passage onto a ship. They’d sail south past the Narubi Canal, away from the waters of the Undersea and to Xenen or Prӕna Gaul or Caɦn, someplace hot and out of Sjorkden’s reach. They’d make a living off the land and build a house with their own two hands, with walls of salt-aged wood and pink marbled stone, not animal skin and ash. They’d thatch the roof with golden grasses, paint the wooden slats orange or yellow, something bright, and fill the deep window boxes with heavily scented wisteria blossoms and honeysuckle. The garden would be overridden with dragon fruit and mangoes and persimmons which they’d slice and eat for breakfast. They’d dry the salt from seawater and keep a pen full of pigs. Wear the light cotton clothes best suited for heat and humidity and tear them off each other to make love on the beach. Every night, they’d watch the sky catch fire, a brilliant dying world of smoldering citrine and blood blush clouds. They’d carve out a new life away from the titles of ‘witch’ and ‘witch hunter’. A fresh start without the black shadow of Sjorkden or the bleak memories of Krell to hang over the domestic and companionable goings-on of each day.

And when she allowed it, any child they created together, any seed of his that sprung from the wet earth of her womb and wailed itself into existence, he promised, just like her, would wield dominion over his heart for as long as he lived, and perhaps even after that.

THE END

#The Heartrender #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #everlark smut #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #last chapter

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lifeofroos · 4 years ago

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Part 34: This chapter is made up of two parts: The first part is just your dose of This Might Be Crazy. The second part is a story I wrote years ago, which I think fits the main story.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, sits down for a talk with Hephaestus. The rest can be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! Also in Tumblr tags like Nico di Angelo, Dionysus, fanfic etc.

This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 34: Cappuchino

I knocked on the gates to Hepaestus’ workshop. The doors opened without making a sound. I peeked inside. There was no-one to be seen, but I did hear the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil. I didn’t know whether that was because Hephaestus was working on something or if it was just for dramatic effect.

Slowly, I walked inside. As soon as I was a few metres in, the gates began to close, causing me to quickly jump further into the workshop. With a slow thud, the doors closed behind me.

A little shaken through, I looked around. ‘Eh…’

Out of nowhere, an automaton in the shape of a giant insect appeared in front of me. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

I stared at it. ‘Not exactly…’

‘Then you leave.’

‘Hey! I did not come without cause! I got something for Hephaestus!’

The automaton did not budge. ‘No appointment…’

‘Let him in.’ The automaton dissappeared at once, while Hephaestus limped into the room. In the background, the hammering went on (Which meant that it was definitely for dramatic effect).

Hephaestus studied me from head to toe. ‘Nico di Angelo, right?’

I nodded. ‘Yes.’ I could not see his entire body. There wasn’t enough light. I wondered whether Hephaestus had done that on purpose.

He scratched his ear. ‘What is it?’

‘Eh… I need decorations for a cabinet.’ I wasn’t going to mention that I got it from IKEA.

‘I can do that. Is it at camp?’

‘Yes, in my cabin.’

Hephaestus nodded. He snapped his fingers and in a second my cabinet appeared.

He laid his hand on the top for a second. ‘Hm. I know what I can do with this.’ He looked back at me. ‘Maybe you should come with me while I work.’

I nodded while I walked after him.

After five minutes of watching Hephaestus work fast as lighting, I scraped my throat. ‘You know I get therapy from Dionysus, right?’

‘Therapy, is that what you call it?’ The blacksmith looked up from his work for a second.

‘Yes.’

‘Hm. When I had it, they just called it ‘dragging you back to your senses.’’

‘Ah-ha. Eh, that is what I came here to talk about, actually.’

Hephaestus let his work rest and leaned back for a second. His metal brace clicked.

‘I am not ashamed that I needed his help. But neither am I ashamed of what I did that made him realise I needed it. It might have been wrong, it might still be wrong, but I am not ashamed.’

He meant tying Hera to her throne as revenge. Right. ‘I think I understand.’

‘I don’t think you do.’ He coughed and adjusted his leg brace. I did not see what needed to be adjusted, but okay.

‘You probably know the story. All the gods try to get me to free Hera. They all fail, except for young Dionysus, who managed to get me so drunk that I willingly came along. Except, no.’

I was confused by the last sentence for a second. ‘He… you mean he didn’t get you drunk?’

‘Does he intoxicate you? Of course not. Neither did he intoxicate me. The other gods just couldn’t fathom the fact that he had been a puny mortal so soon before.’ Softly, his hands stroked the silver decorations he had just attached to my cabinet.

‘Eh, this does not surprise me,’ I said after a pause.

‘I am not surprised it does not. You seem clever enough.’ He coughed again. I moved back a little.

‘Hm.’ He snapped his fingers. A table came walking over, with two cups of cappuccino on top.

I took my cup, even though I had little interest in drinking it. The last cup of coffee I had gotten from Hephaestus was abhorent. I did not expect this one to be much better.

‘I don’t think he knew what to expect when he came to see me,’ Hephaestus continued, ‘Maybe someone in a fury, maybe someone who was depressed. Probably something in between. But no matter what, he treated me like it didn’t matter. The way he would treat any other guy. Came by, helped out in the workshop…’ the blacksmith rolled his eyes for a second, ‘... So called help, at least. Half of the time he was ‘helping’ me, he was an inconvenience. But when I needed someone to talk to…’ he shrugged. ‘You know that yourself.’

‘Yes.’ I did.

He took a sip of cappuccino. ‘Well, slowly, we get onto the subject of Hera. Why I had chained her up, what it did with me to live with my actions, and what would be the best thing to do next.’ He took another thoughtful sip. ‘Dionysus did not want to talk about what would be best for the universe. He meant what was best for me.’ Hephaestus shrugged. ‘Now, that turned out to be the best for the universe as well. Yet, I know I would have been worse off if I had kept Hera chained up.’

I raised my eyebrows. The universe would have been worse with Hera chained up?

‘You can look at me like that, but it is the truth, young man.’

Sure, sure, balance and all that. I took the tini-tiniest sip of my cappuccino. And would you have it, it actually tasted good.

‘Eventually, I was the person who said we should go back to Olympus. Now, that wasn’t easy for two outcasts. We had to travel by donkey, which…’ he sighed. ‘But still, he kept helping me. Kept talking to me. And I began to feel like we would get to Olympus, and it would be fine.’

There was something in his tone that got me concerned. ‘What happened next?’

‘You’re an observatory young man. What happened is that your therapist, as you call him, caught a horrible fever, so that I had to take care of him instead of the other way around.’

Wait. What? Dionysus had been immortal at this point. ‘How did he even catch a fever?’

‘He must have been more mortal then he seemed. I…’ the god sighed, a little sad. ‘I was worried. It might have been the most worried I have been in my entire life. He was terribly ill and I was afraid I would lose him. After all that happened, I couldn’t afford to. If he would have died, I would have gone back.’

‘But… he didn’t.’

‘No, he didn’t. That is why I am the blacksmith of the gods, Hera is free, nature grows as before and my friend got to live his life.’

The god took a sip of his cappuccino.

‘Sorry for asking,’ I muttered. I stared into my cup.

‘It’s okay. I was actually expecting you to come over someday, after what I said when you were here with Hades.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And I know you won’t blab.’

‘Of course not!’

‘Good.’ He looked at my cabinet. ‘I just need a few more minutes.’

‘Take all the time you need.’

Indeed a few minutes later, my cabinet was just the way I wanted it. ‘Here. I hope you get some use out of it.’

‘I will.’

‘Good.’ He wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘I also hope you learned something today.’

‘I think I did.’

‘Hm. If you take away anything, please let it be that Dionysus wants to help you for you. Not for anyone else.’

I nodded, a little slow.

Hephaestus gave me a single nod. ‘Okay. Then Sierra will see you out.’

The automaton from earlier appeared in a second.

Swiftly, I stood up. I scooped up my cappuccino and took a large gulp. ‘Okay, Thanks, bye!’

‘The cabinet will follow you.’

Thanks, that is horrifying. I walked after the automaton, to the gates of the forge.

When I was back in my cabin, I stared at my cabinet and thought. Yes, I learned something today.

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A/N: Bonus chapter, maybe? Anyway, Leo and Hephaestus story, which I wrote ages ago and I thought fitted the This Might Be Crazy chapter.

Leo was alone in bunker 9, repairing something for Frank which he had promised to repair ages ago. It didn’t go so well, even though repairing a sword was usually brainless work. His mind was constantly trailing off. A lot of things went wrong the past few days. Aside from screwing a few screws the wrong way and latting a vat of mild greek fire explode, he had forgotten Annabeth’s birthday, camp half-blood’s 3900 year anniversary and the weekly get-together of the Hephaestus cabin, and who knows what else that people just had not told him about yet.

The third time Leo accidently hit himself with his hammer, he screamed and angrily threw it across the room. ‘Curse this whole damned world and everything that can go wrong in it!’ He screeched.

‘That’s not very nice. I didn’t expect to hear that from you.’ Leo gasped and turned around. Hephaestus had appeared behind him.

Leo lowered his arms. ‘I am sorry if....’

Hephaestus shook his head. ‘I think you are having some problems with the world around you.’ Leo nodded.

‘I just can’t seem to remember my appointments, I drop everything I hold and now my thumb is bleeding as well.’

‘We can fix your bleeding thumb.’ Hephaestus pulled a band-aid out of thin air and put it around his sons’ finger. ‘So. Slightly better?’

Leo shrugged. ‘I guess it is one issue less.’

Hephaestus nodded a bit. ‘One step at the time. Someone told me that once.’

‘Someone did?’ Leo looked up when there came no answer. The gods’ gaze was muddled, as if he was somewhere else with his thoughts.

‘Thetis, I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you allowed me to live in your house but I have to leave. I need to get back to Olympus.’

Hephaestus looked at the nymph in front of him, who was rubbing her hands together. ‘Are you sure about this, Hephaestus? Your mother threw you out, back when... aren’t you afraid she’ll do it again?’ The god shook his head.

‘I have a plan. It will be okay.’ The nymph sighed. ‘Take care and don’t forget that if things go wrong up there, you’ll always have a place here, where I live.’ She gave him a small smile.

‘I will. And I’ll never forget that you were the one who raised me and cared for me, I promise.’

Thetis’ smile became broader. ‘Have a save trip, Hephaestus.’

‘Dad? Dad!’ Leo’s voice brought Hephaestus back to reality.

‘What? Oh, I was just thinking about something.’ the god scraped his throat. ‘Have you taken a moment to think about why you have been forgetting your appointments?’ He asks. Leo shrugged.

‘Not really, I guess. It just keeps happening.’

‘Maybe you should think about it for a little while.’

‘Alright.’ Leo looked at his hands, and quickly trailed off in thought, not realizing that the same happened to his father.

The other Olympians stared at Hephaestus with wide eyes. Some of them backed away. Hephaestus was looking at his mother. She was furious, afraid and a little sad at the same time. Hephaestus took a deep breath. ‘Once again, thanks for the way you treated me, mother. And to the others: don’t try to release her, because nothing will work.’ He looked around the room one more time, before walking away. No-one dared to say anything.

With a start, Hephaestus looked up. Leo was talking.

‘I did have a lot of appointments the past few weeks and I must confess that I didn’t write those down anywhere. Yet, that doesn’t explain why I forgot our cabin meeting or the anniversary of Camp Half-blood, because everyone was talking about those all day long. It is not like I had a lot of projects that were distracting me. I mean, maybe…’

Four gods had already tried to persuade him into freeing Hera. Ares had threatened him, Athena had tried to reason, Poseidon had told him he would flood the forge and Demeter had said she would let all the plants around the forge die. None of it had had any effect.

Hephaestus looked over at the door, just as the fifth ambassador walked into the workshop. He looked extremely young and somehow didn’t feel like the others. He wasn’t mortal, but he wasn’t fully immortal either.

He didn’t say anything, until Hephaestus spoke: ‘If you are here just to ask me to free Hera, just go away already and don’t waste my or your own time.’

‘That’s not why I am here.’ Hephaestus shook his head.

‘Then why are you? Listen, kid, four gods have tried to persuade me the last few weeks. So just get onto that, alright?’ The stranger chuckled.

‘My lord, I am not here for that, and even if I was, I do not think there is a lot I could do. I do not have Athena’s wit or Poseidons’ power over the sea. And I could not try fighting you if I wanted to. Why, you are at least fifty centimetres taller than I am.’

‘I…’ Hephaestus stopped talking. He hadn’t realized that this stranger was, in fact, very small compared to him. Actually, he seemed to be the same height as most mortals (maybe even on the slightly short side), which confused him even more. He narrowed his eyes. ‘You might be right. Tell me your name and what you want.’

‘... and I think that might be why I have forgotten nearly everything in the last few weeks.’ Hephaestus jerked his head up. He hadn’t heard anything Leo just said. His son sarcastically raised his eyebrows. ‘So I think I might get a diary, ask people to remind me of my appointments and make sure I work extra carefully the next couple of days.’ Leo smirked. ‘You know, dad, you were right. This whole thinking thing really works. Now, can you tell me what you were thinking about?’

Hephaestus shrugged. ‘You notice more than people think.’ Leo nodded.

‘I tend to.’

‘We are really walking all the way from Lemnos to Olympus, so I can free Hera from her throne.’

Dionysus sighed. ‘True. It is strange that we are technically helping the other Olympians now. I mean, what have they ever done for us? We are outcasts, we don’t have any fancy flying chariots or great magic like they do and they are still relying on us for help!’

Hephaestus laughed. ‘I guess that is the Olympians for you!’ He sighed. ‘Another thing. Deep inside, I want to be an Olympian and I don’t know why. Maybe it is the feeling of inclusion?’ Hephaestus turned his head to his companion, who had stopped walking. ‘Dio? What do you think?’ The other god sighed as well.

‘Could be. For me, I think... I just became a god, you know. No warning, no-one asking me if I even wanted to, nothing. Maybe I am reaching for Olympus because if I have to be a god, why not go the full way?’

Hephaestus nodded. ‘You might be right. So, how far do you think we can get today?’

‘I was thinking about my own past. I was cast out as a small child and it didn’t seem like I had anybody I could trust on Olympus.’

Leo slowly nodded and beckoned his father to continue. ‘After chaining Hera up and retrieving to Lemnos, I only really cared about my forge, not about anything else. Not even myself.’ Hephaestus thought for a second. ‘Well, I think I cared about Thetis and about my donkey. Yet, Thetis wasn’t there, and my donkey… was a donkey. The person who showed me how to care again was Dionysus. He hung around the blacksmith just because he appreciated me and he was the one who got me so far that I admitted I wanted to go back to Olympus and right what I did wrong. He showed me some people did care about me. About me, and not just about what I did. It made me care for him as well.’

It was nighttime, but Hephaestus was wide awake. A few metres away from him, Dionysus was finally asleep. They were close to Olympus now, only about two days of walking away, but they had not moved forward at all in a week. Dionysus had caught a fever, and there was no way he would be able to climb Olympus in his current state.

Dionysus moved and yelped in his sleep. Hephaestus sighed. He didn’t know if fever dreams were always this bad, or if they were worse because of Dionysus’ relation to madness. With a scream, his friend woke up, just half an hour after falling asleep. Hephaestus quickly moved over. Dionysus stared at him with damp eyes. ‘Dionysus….’

‘It will go away, it always does.’ He shivered and Hephaestus quickly put another blanket over him. ‘Are you sure? I did occasionally meet mortals every now and then, back on Lemnos, you know. A lot of them had relatives or friends who had caught a fever, and they had...’ Hephaestus swallowed. ‘I don’t want you to die, Dionysus. Please, you can’t die, you can’t.’ Dionysus closed his eyes. Yet, he was smiling.

‘I probably could have gotten that from anybody else as well. But I didn’t. I began to trust Dionysus and he never broke that trust once during our entire trip from Lemnos to Olympus.’

Hephaestus walked into the throne room, with Dionysus by his side. The gods turned their heads, every single one of them surprised. Hephaestus didn’t say anything. He walked over to Hera’s throne, spoke a few words and the cables loosened. It took a few seconds before she felt comfortable enough to step down. ‘Thanks...’

‘Keep your thanks,’ Hephaestus muttered. The other Olympians began crowding around Dionysus, glad that there was someone they could safely call a hero. The wine god looked over at Hephaestus, who nodded.

‘After I got back on Olympus, the other gods quickly got used to me. Hermes and some others made the effort to get to know me, and slowly I found my place. Sometimes, I still feel like I don’t belong, or that I am just a nuisance. But then there is always Dionysus, who is there to support me.’ Hephaestus stopped talking. Leo was listening with his mouth open.

‘That was a wild history lesson, dad.’ Hephaestus smiled.

‘I hope you learned something from it.’

‘I sure did.’ He jumped up. ‘But now I have to go buy a diary in the store and apologize to a few people. Thanks again, dad. I hope you’ll come visit me some more.’ Leo ran out of bunker 9, leaving his dad behind. Hephaestus hardly noticed his son was gone at first, until he sighed, with a little smile.

‘You are a god.’ Hephaestus nodded, while he looked into the gorgeous eyes of Esperanza Valdez. The woman stayed calm, as if she knew all along. Hephaestus laid his hand on her cheek. ‘I can’t stay for much longer.’ He tried to smile. ‘Please stay safe, Esperanza. I want you to live a happy life.’ She laughed.

‘I hope so, too.’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek, before he left.

From up on mount Olympus, he could see her. She stood by the door for a long time, with a hand on her belly, before she walked back into the house.

A/N: I freakin’ love the tale of Dionysus and Hephaestus. If I ever write a retelling of greek mythology it would be about the tale of Dionysus and Hephaestus. They are my boys.

Okay so, myth-accurately, Dionysus gets Hephaestus drunk. Except I dislike that version so I made my own (sue me). Also Dionysus didn’t catch a fever, that is just for the drama (again, sue me).

I must have written the second part at least three years ago. Of course, I re-wrote it for a bit, but it surprises me how many elements of it survived the test of time.

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talpup · 4 years ago

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Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

If you read anything I'm offering this week it should be the chat in chapter 87 comments that I had with @XYZ25 over on ao3.

SERIOUSLY!! Their questions are always SO good and never fail to drive and inspire me; but this week things went off on a 'plot bunny' tangent about this fics version of Nozel eventually becoming Wizard King and Solid becoming King. To better understand Solid becoming king you'd have to read the thread and the way the line of succession works in this fic.

Anyway, I HIGHLY suggest you read the thread. @XYZ25 came out with the BEST PS that I could totally and WANT to build a fic around.

Chapter 88

Teris woke up squinting at the bright sunlight shining through her bedroom window. She wondered if only the night had passed or if she had been out longer. Taking it as a good sign the she was home; she washed her face, brushed her hair, and changed. She was still filthy and reeked of smoke, but a bath would have to wait until after she found out what happened.

Following her sense of Yami’s mana, she made her way to the Captain's office. Finding the door partially open, she knocked and entered.

“Good. You’re awake.” Jax greeted.

“Hornsby?” Teris asked, taking a seat next to Yami before the Captain's desk.

“No one was lost but their crops completely were, and the town’s as good a gone. Hage lost several crop fields but more than half were spared, and the town itself untouched.” Jax told.

“From the sounds of it the high winds you all had at Hornsby spread the Wild Fire far and fast. The Sorcery Lance’s that attacked us also didn’t hang around as long, nor did they go around lobbing jars of Wild Fire.” Yami turned in his chair to face Teris, expression hard as concerned eyes looked her carefully over. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Teris’ eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I told him how you tackled the Sorcery Lance readying to throw a jar of Wild Fire.” Jax told Teris.

“Oh.” Teris pulled at a hang nail. “Sorry.”

“It that an apology or a question?” Jax complained of her tone.

Upset and concerned as he was, Yami couldn’t stop his smirk. “She has a knack for that.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jax echoed Yami, scolding Teris.

“I—I didn’t. I just acted.” Teris said.

Jax ran a hand roughly over his face.

“Sorry.” Teris said in the same questioning tone.

“Damn right you’re sorry! You could have died. Instantly.” Jax’s throat bobbed at how close he’d come to losing another Vice Captain. Swallowing the emotion, he joked. “Where would I have been then? With Yami as my sole Vice Captain.”

“Captain’s right. This only works if one of use acts without thinking; and that’s my thing, you can’t have it.” Yami jested, squashing his needless worry. Teris was here, safe and alive.

Teris looked between Yami and Jax, easily reading their concern. This time her apology was genuine. “I’m sorry.”

“No more leaping at foes throwing jars of Wild Fire.” Jax told.

Teris couldn’t help but smirk at how crazy it sounded. But that’s exactly what she had done. She recalled the mans chard form crumbling to nothing beneath her and wrinkled her nose. She met Jax’s eyes remembering what the Sorcery Lance that had stood above her said him.

Jax looked away, seeming to read her mind. He cleared his throat and stood, suddenly needing some air. “Don’t let her take away and do anymore of my work.” He told Yami, exiting the office.

Yami grinned at Teris. “Yes, sir.”

Teris looked after Jax in concern. She had never known the Captain to date. Not that she had ever paid attention to his private life. But if what the Sorcery Lance had alluded to was true; remembering something like that so soon after his best friends death--

“They think the Spade Kingdom started the Wild Fires.” Yami said, breaking into her thoughts.

“What gave them that idea. The fact that Sorcery Lances attacked throwing jars of it?”

Yami’s lip twitched upward at her heated sarcasm. “Greywright said it was cause they wanted us to know they started the Wild Fires and did it in retaliation for Rayla’s death.”

Teris scowled. It was pointless telling Yami what he already knew. But even if they had killed Rayla, it would’ve been justified. Then again Rayla had said her King hadn’t known of her actions.

Teris rubbed her eyes, hoping this mess wouldn’t cause a war. Along with Sir Jorah, it would be Greywright’s job to make sure that it didn’t escalate to that. Did she really want such a job? Would someone come along during her time as Magic Knights Commander and create a similar mess to the one that she and Yami had caused? She hoped not. Even if Teris didn’t want the job, which she did, she didn’t have much of a choice. Only the rank of Magic Knights Commander or Wizard King would save her from banishment. She refused to have Yami fight to free her from her family. Even if the brother Yami would face was Fyntch and not Julius.

Yami looked Teris carefully over again. With her not having bathed yet, it was difficult to tell how injured she was. Clearly there were no terrible wounds and she didn’t appear to be in obvious pain. Still, he wished they could feed off of each others mana. It had been almost a year since they’d been able to do so. Almost a year since the Summer Solstice had churned the core of their mana so badly that they couldn’t trust letting their mana get near the others. It was like living in a too small cell; unable to take a full, deep breath.

Yami gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. “What’s the matter? Still weakened from playing catch with Wild Fire?”

Teris would’ve laughed if her head hadn’t been buzzing with everything she had learned the past few days. Jax’s possible tragic love life the least disconcerting discovery. She had barely begun to examine what had been done and said while they were captive in Rayla’s lab. She hadn’t even started to process what they’d been told about Advisor Ellara...

She tugged against Yami’s grip till it loosened from her wrist. Her hand slid down his wrist to hold his hand. His presence comforted her like nothing else could. His calm, sure strength sheltered and steadied her. With Yami, she could do anything. Face anything. It had nothing to do with the combination of their magic and the destruction it could cause. Yami was her anchor in the chaos of this world. With him at her side. With him as her home. She had the inner strength and will to face whatever came their way.

“They lied.” Teris said.

Yami frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Who?”

“Greywright. Sir Jorah. Julius and Jax too I guess.” Teris said.

Her hand tightened around his. The other balled into a fists. Teris didn’t know if the built up mana would have killed Yami, or caused him to experience something similar to what she had gone through on the Summer Solstice; nor did she care. Rayla had put Yami’s life in danger. Fuegoleon and Nozel had been injured and put in danger as well. The fact that the Agents of Chaos had been the ones to find and help them left her with a strange mixture of anger, self loathing at her weakness, and a sense of indebtedness.

Swallowing those emotions, Teris said. “After the Summer Solstice, Sir Jorah said they would tell us everything. From the Agents of Chaos and what they knew of them, down to anyone else who had an interest us. Never once in that telling did they mention the Spade Kingdoms Magical Science division. Yet Greywright clearly knew of their interest when he spoke to Rayla.”

Yami pulled his hand free and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He hadn’t caught that, and understood why Teris would be upset about it. They faced so many dangers already. To learn that there were even more groups wanting at them only added to the danger. Yet what good would knowing do? Greywright had known of the Spade Kingdoms interest in them and had wound up in Rayla’s lab right along with them. They had thought they’d known the Agents of Chaos wanted them for the Winter Solstice. Wrong as they were, the Agents of Chaos had proven they knew exactly where they had been hidden and could get to them.

Yami shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe they forgot.”

“Forgot?” Teris echoed.

Yami scratched the back of his neck and admitted. “I’ve forgotten the names of all the other groups other than the Agents of Crazies. Maybe they forgot when telling us too.”

“Yami--”

“Do you trust them?” Yami cut in.

Teris stopped and blinked.

“Do you trust Julius, Jax, and Greywright?” Yami asked.

“Of course I do. But--”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” Yami said over her. At her expression, Yami plucked at her pant leg. “We’ve got bigger things, Ikigai.” When she didn’t respond to the nickname in the accustomed way, he sighed. “What’s this really about?”

Teris looked away. Learning that yet another group was interested in them. That Yami had been contacted by the page of Chaos at least twice and hadn’t told her. That the Wizard Kings Advisor was working either for or with the Agents of Chaos, and effecting Sir Jorah to some degree; and Julius, Jax, and Commander Greywright had kept it from them all this time. It was all too much. She was tired. Tired of the secrets. Tired of being hunted, wanted, preyed upon because of some supposed primordial power she didn’t understand, hadn’t asked for, and would gladly give up if it meant she and Yami could live in relative safety and peace.

“I don’t like secrets.” Teris said.

Yami licked his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the page of Chaos sooner. I should’ve.”

“Damn right you should have.” Teris snapped.

Yami’s tender, loving eyes met her fiery ones. “You were already upset cause of that mess with Rayla. I didn’t want to worry you more.”

“Don’t you think I can take it?”

“Ikigai.” Yami gave a chucking scoff at the stupidity of such a question. Of course he thought she could take it. Teris could take anything. But just because she could didn’t mean she had to. It didn’t mean he wanted her to. What kind of future husband would he be if he didn’t seek to shield and protect the woman he loved?

“What does that mean?” Teris implored, a slight tired whine entering her voice.

Yami smiled, chuckling further. “You want me to start keeping record of the times that blasted thing contacts me?”

“Yami.” Teris rolled her eyes.

“Don’t sound that like. I know how you love your notes. You’re almost as bad as the paper sniffers in Magic Investigations.”

“Am not!” Teris playfully smacked him.

Yami laughed.

Teris smiled and shook her head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you.”

“Stop it.” Teris blushed.

“It’s true. I’ve got it bad. Bad enough to be willing to keep some stupid record if you wanted me to.”

“You don’t need to keep record. But if it starts happening regularly, I expect you to tell me. I really don’t like secrets.” Whether it was the timing. The way Yami was looking at her. Or the fact the she felt like a total hypocrite having said such a thing. Teris said. “Nozel kissed me.” Her eyes widened at her confession, and hurried to explain. “I didn’t want him to. It happened a long time ago. More than a year ago in the stables at Nova House. I didn’t kiss him back. I—”

“I know.” Yami said, ending her babbling explanation.

Teris stared, breath caught in her lungs, leaving her unable to speak.

Yami inhaled deeply, shoulders relaxing as he slowly exhaled. He hadn’t realized there had been a lingering weight from it all until it was gone. No doubt Teris felt the same relief. His lips twitched slightly upward, though he was unable to hold the smile. “I’m glad you finally told me. Glad you finally trusted me enough.”

“I trusted you.”

“Not in this. Not back then.”

“I—I--” Teris lowered her eyes and mumbled. “I didn’t know what you would do. I was afraid you might do something that got you in trouble. Afraid you might think I wanted it and led him on.”

Shaking his head, Yami muttered. “How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

Teris’ head snapped up at that.

Yami huffed at the temper in her eyes. “That’s right. I called you stupid.” He stood and pulled her up with him. “Do you think I led Rayla on? Wanted her to kiss me?”

“What? No.” Teris said, fiercely.

“Well then?” Yami’s arms wrapped around her waist. “I mean it when I say I trust you with him, Teris. That I trust you with anyone.”

Teris hugged him. Yami was right, she hadn’t trusted him enough in this or else she would have told him sooner. Guilt over the unwanted kiss and having hid it from him gone, she murmured into his shoulder. “I love you.”

Yami’s arms tightened around her. “Thank mana for whoever dropped you on your head.”

Teris pulled back and looked at him.

“It’s the only reason I can find for you loving me.” Yami said.

“Shut up and kiss me.” Teris pulled him down and kissed him before he could obey.

88.2

‘Trust me. I got this.’ Jax’s eyes squeezed shut at the last words he had said to the woman he thought he would marry. He had been cocky. A newly promoted Vice Captain taking his girlfriend out on date. He hadn’t gotten a ring yet but he had been planning to. And then a team of Sorcery Lance’s, looking for an escaped citizen, had attacked a nearby village.

Of course they had rushed to help. Jax was a Vice Captain, and Belinda a Senior Magic Knight.

Both Bronn and Julius had told him it wasn’t his fault; their various reasons sound and reasons Jax had given others who had lost a comrade in the filed. But his friends words had rung hollow. Belinda had been more than a comrade. And they hadn’t been out in the field. They had been on a date.

If only he had pick somewhere else for them to go. If only he had made them wait for back up. If only... If only... If only...

Jax’s hand closed around a scorched piece of fabric. Threadbare from years of being carried in his pocket. From being taken out and rubbed. It was the only piece he had left of her. A torn piece of her squad cloak that had ripped when a wave of lava from a Sorcery Lance’s attack had crashed through and took her from him.

Until last night, he hadn’t revisited that horrible day in over three years. Sure she still occasionally came to mind, his hand often drifting into his pocket seeking the last remnant he had of her when she did. But he had finally stopped reliving the terrible torment of that day.

Or so he thought.

“Thought I’d find you here.” A familiar voice sounded from behind.

“It was where I use to pick her up when we snuck out of base after lights out.” Jax said, eyes on the scrap of fabric in his closed hand.

“And left me in a sticky situation cause as Vice Captain I was expected to stop such things.” Julius said.

Jax huffed, slipping the fabric back into his pocket and turned to his friend. “Doing your duty or looking away while your friend and your future Vice Captain had a secret meet up couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

“It was easier than you think.” Julius smirked, shrugging a shoulder. His smile fell. “She would've made a fine Vice Captain. Certainly more fun and forgiving than Jon.”

Jax nodded, feeling silly at the tears that still gathered after so long.

Julius produced a bottle. “I brought her favorite drink.”

“That crap.” Jax laughed, despite himself, remembering how he told Belinda it was nothing more than rotten grape juice.

Julius pulled another bottle out from under his squad cloak. “I also brought your favored whiskey.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Julius moved beside him. The two men sat on the ground facing the stream that was part of the border for the Azure Deers property.

Julius watched Jax open what use to be Belinda’s favorite wine. “I should've been there. I’m sorry.”

For a moment Jax wasn’t sure if Julius was talking about last night or that terrible day. Seeking to ease his friend's needless guilt, he threw the bottles cork at him.

“Hey!” Julius wiped at the stain on his shirt.

“Like you can’t use your magic to fix it or buy a thousand new ones.”

“Not if I hope to cover your tab this month cause of that stupid bet.” Julius said.

“You’re only calling the bet stupid cause you lost.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jax chuckled. “You’re a good friend, Julius.”

“I know.”

“And humble.” Jax snarked.

Julius smiled, watching Jax lift the bottle of wine to his lips. “I know that too.”

If you do go to ao3 to read that comment thread, feel free to jump in with any ideas and/or questions.

As always comments and reblogs are VERY MUCH appreciated.

Next chapter snippet:

“Don’t toy with me! I’ll don’t care what memory mage I have to use. I’ll know everything you do even if it leaves you drooling and catatonic.” Jax said.

“Just make sure you don’t call upon Advisor Ellara Shaw.” Iban said, hands lifted in yielding submission.

#yami sukehiro #julius novachrono #Black Clover #light in the darkness

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callmeunstable · 4 years ago

Text

Angels & Demons - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Characters: Reader, Godling, Healer

Summary: She finds herself in the middle of a unknown forest after falling asleep. It seems like a normal forest until she gets to meet a mystical creature that welcomes her in a different world.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the second part of my The Witcher Fic. I accidentally deleted this part so I had to reupload ot. Yes I cried, but thankfully I still had the draft saved on my laptop.

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: I couldn’t find the original one sooo

Absently, Alva wondered if most of the monsters were meant to be as beautiful and kind as James, or if this one was an exception to the rule, her mind struggled to hold on to one thought, with a whole new world opening in front of her.

“I know the healer of the village on the other side of the forest. She’s nice. She brings fruits to me from time to time. She will help you.” James hopped in front of her leading the way out of the woods.

She couldn’t believe anything her eyes captured. There are bad creatures. According to the Godling, there are a lot of them. The boy explained to her, that “Drowners” inhabit both natural and artificial bodies of water, from rivers and lakes to mill ponds and city sewers. It is commonly thought that these creatures are drowned men, somehow arisen from the dead to prey on the living. This opinion is as widespread as it is false, for the beasts are another post-Conjunction relict.

She couldn’t believe that this Godling just was a boy but knowing such crucial things about this life. She remembered James talking about the powers he has, that’s how he was able to save her.

“Hey, play some more of your music, please? I love the sound of it and we have to walk some time.” The Godling begged and gave his best puppy face.

She grabbed her phone and she had an idea. Maybe she was able to call or text her dad? Letting him know she’s okay. She wasn’t sure if this was the best idea she ever had, but still better than making him believe she was dead.

No signal. Of course.

“Music, please.”

She pressed the icons on her phone monotonously and a random song started playing.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I’m sorry

That you grew up so soon

A cold year and no high school parties

I’ve been drinking alone

Oh, I’ve been drinking alone”

“A blessing to my ears. What's the name of this bard?” The Godling started dancing along while walking in front of the girl.

“What is a bard?” These questions came automatically out of her mouth, wanting to know everything about this world.

Knowledge is power. Even in a world like this. If she knows what she has to be careful about, she can start to protect herself.

“You know the man and women writing songs and these lovely texts of legends, stories of their personal experiences, or their imaginations. I don’t care what they are about. I care about the melodies. I love the tunes.” James seemed to drift off in a state where he was admiring the artists and musicians at this time the whole way out of the woods.

He specifically talked about a Bard called Priscilla. A young woman famous for her poetry.

“So, don't fear, don’t fear their warnings

They’re bitterer than most

4 years of driving across the country

For empty seats at their shows

And they’ve been drinking alone.”

Less and fewer trees came along their way and after some more minutes, a village became visible. Still far away but the girl decided to turn off the music which was rewarded with an angry look of the Godling.

“Her cottage isn’t in the village. It's right here!”

He took a sharp turn between some trees and as told, a small cabin was revealed in front of them. It was old. Looked like a typical middle-aged, self-made cottage. Random kinds of stones were piled upon each other, connected by something that seemed to be a kind of cement. A small chimney was built on top and was busy blowing smoke out of it.

“Savilla! I want to show you, my new friend.” The boy shouted and Alva begged it was quiet enough so no one around could hear them. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone in this world, at least for now.

The old wooden door of the cottage opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out of the house. She was beautiful. Her Long black hair was braided down to the small waist of hers. Her long dress was colored with a dark wood green tone. A small V-neck covered her chest mostly and the butterfly sleeves made her look like a princess. A less fancy princess but a gorgeous one.

“Hello, my lovely James. How can I help you today?” Savilla had a warm smile on her face and holding her arms out for e hug.

The Godling happily jumped into her arms, to just leave them a couple of seconds later to point hysterically at Alva.

“This is my friend Alva. She got lost in my forest and a Drowner hit her. I think shes not from hear so she needs your help.”

Savilla laid her eyes on the small girl for the first time. Silently analyzing every single part of her. At this moment Alva realized that she was a unicorn in this world. Her clothes looked completely different from Safillas and James’. She was wearing a red lumberjacket that revealed her sports bra. Some pair of sporty leggings rested on her legs and short sneakers tied on her feet. Her favorite outfit for hiking. At least her fake leather bag seemed to fit the surroundings.

It wasn’t hard to tell that if the person in front of her wasn’t a cosplayer of Lord of the Rings, she had to be stuck in some kind of middle age century.

“Yes, she's not from here. I can tell.” The firm look of the women changed into a friendly smile. “Come in, I think it’s the best if no one sees you like this.”

Both Alva and James entered the cabin. Inside it was beautiful. Flower and herbs were growing every in countless pottery. An out of stone made kitchen area filled the rest of the room with a cozy fireplace at the opposite wall. Different kinds of fabric and papers stuck to the wall. It was filled with colors and smells that made you feel instantly relaxed, at least if you’re a person like Alva.

“You don’t seem to be in a lot of pain.”, stated Safilla while grabbing a wooden chair and placing it in front of her, guiding her to sit down.

“It’s pretty numb right now. It was worse about an hour ago.” Alva tried to give off a normal impression. But what is normal in this world.

er “That what I was inferred already. You seem to be in shock. Your body numbed itself to protect you from the pain.” While investigating the big scratch she explaining typical injuries caused by Drowners.

“You’re lucky that you had James by your side. He’s a loyal soul.” The healer tossed an apple to the boy who caught it happily.

Savilla mixed some unfamiliar herbs and bandaged it up with a clean cloth.

“It should heal fast, it's not a deep cut. You are lucky.”

The women put everything back in place and then grabbed a stool herself.

“Where are you from?”, she asked.

Where was she from actually? Maybe similar countries still exist?

“Originally my family comes from Sweden but I live in the USA at the moment.” The girl explained but ended up not receiving the reaction she wanted.

“I never heard of a place like that. I traveled a lot through Cintra, Temeria, and Lyria. How did you end up here?”

The girl got quiet. She didn’t want to cause any trouble. She was a stranger to this world. How much corruption was she able to cause?

Alva felt a hand on her shoulder. Savilla gently pat her and gave her a motherly smile.

“Look dear, I’m not here to hurt you. I can see you disturbed, even traumatized. You have no idea how you got access to this world, have you?”

The girl started to tear up and found herself in a warm hug of the healer. She couldn’t help herself but at this moment everything that was built up throughout the day suddenly burst out of her.

Every breath felt like acid burning heart throat, inflaming her lungs. Her heart felt like somebody was squeezing out every single emotion trapped in there. Like a sharp blade that is cutting straight through her chest.

“Mark my words, one day will come when you finally realize that fate is inevitable. One day you will get passed all this pain and realize it was a lesson learned for a better future, for a better you. You believe that this was an accident. But in our world, everything happens for a reason.” Savilla didn’t break the contact because she knew that this girl needed it. This wasn’t the first time something like this happened. The same happened decades ago. When the monsters first got into this dimension.

“I can teach you if you let me.”

Alva lifted her head and looked at the healer.

“I can teach you how to survive in this world until we figure it a way how to get you back. You just need to let me help you.”

“How do you know?” The girl was confused, more confused than she was, to begin with. How much does this woman know?

“This is not the first time a portal opened on accident. What we need to figure out is, if this indeed was an accident or if you have a mission you have to fulfill. I will help you. That’s my duty. Let me explain. I’m a mage.”

Savilla explained to Alva that mages are basically what she knows as a witch. Only rare individuals have the potential to become mages and many of those with this potential are doomed to madness. Unless the individual in question - known as a source - learns to control their power quickly, he or she may end up a half-insane, slobbering oracle. That is why schools of sorcery were created, where talented children study for many years, acquiring knowledge and mastering magical skills. Because of their powers, mages age more slowly than ordinary people. Savilla herself attended a school called Aretuza. But she didn’t believe in their morals so she left and lives on her own.

Mages can extract magical energy from the four elements, transport themselves long distances and heal, as well as kill, in the blink of an eye. They have extensive scientific and political knowledge; in the latter respect, many mages are the equals of rulers.

A witch that is connected so some kind of rule book.

“Know you know about me, but for now we need to get you out of your clothes. They reveal your true identity. There are people out there who will view you as dangerous and they’ll get scared. We need to give you a new persona. But for now, let’s start easy. No one will look for you because James took care of that. New clothes will at least give you the appearance of our dimension.”

Savilla walked in a different room and you could her searching sounds. Fabrics got thrown around after her steps came closer again.

As she walked into the room she showed off a dress similar to hers. The dress was white and it had some floral symbols embroidered in the fabric. Her sleeves were also long and wide, almost touching the ground. The White of the dress was mostly protected by a moss green light coat that had a corset on the front. The white dress was strapless but unseen due to the green coat. On top of that Savilla brought her some flat sandals.

“I can give you some pants to wear underneath the dress if you’d like. Is more efficient when you have to move quickly.” The mage was happy she could assist that young girl. She finally had a purpose to assist to.

Alva only nodded along, speechless by the kindness the woman was offering her.

Savilla walked up to her with a hairbrush and put her hair into different styles. “And maybe we can do something with your hair, putting it up or braid-“, she hesitated the moment when she was putting her hair up. “I think it looks fitting already.”

Quickly brushing Alva's hair down again.

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thefairygodmotheryoudeserve · 5 years ago

Text

Thank You, Dear Last Night’s Mental Breakdown.

| Barista!Han Jisung Au |

💌 Requested? Yes -- @jone-00

🌸 Genre: Fluff, a hint of a hint of Angst. As much angst as a Strawberry flavored La Croix has Strawberry.

✏️ Word Count: 2,600

!GIFS ARE NOT MINE!

T/W: Mentions of a mental breakdown, doesn’t go into detail.

A/N: Get ready, you bean. We about to enter some emotional and fluffy territory. Bring yo shades-- to look cool AND to make sure people can’t see you crying.

Also I’m sorry if this secretly sucks and I have no idea. Leave your thoughts so I can improve and know what’s good and what isn’t! I read all feedback and they all are important to me! <3

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

You breathe out, the light sunshine kissing your lashes as your eyes flutter open. The buzz of your alarm fills the air.

Your eyes glide softly to the dress you hung up on your bedroom doorknob. The early sunrise sets the warm shadows of your room across the lightly pleated skirt. The fabric’s rosy pastel-pink hues are cast onto the white paint of your door.

You breath in, and out again. Let’s begin.

You had a mental breakdown the night before. They aren’t an irregular thing for you, but you wish badly they are. After crying, trembling, and crumbling slowly for hours, you stopped suddenly. You clenched your fists and stared, determined, into your very own eyes through that mirror.

I’m not going to let you fall apart like this anymore. I can’t-- I won’t.

So you stood up, breathing shakily. Scared, you started making preparations for what you were determined to be a better tomorrow.

What can I do that would make my younger self proud? You jot down ideas that would suddenly come to you as you set clothes out, put trash in a bin, and tried your best to write reminders.

“Making your younger self proud” has always been a way to measure how happy you are with where you’re at in life. You saw it in a newspaper, or maybe your mother heard it-- it might have even been a popular Tumblr text post, who knows! You just know it’s been your compass to point you in the right direction for about three years now.

You have an emotional attachment to the things you went through as a child, and if you could go back in time and just hold her, and tell her everything would be okay, you would. Doing things that would make younger-you smile is your way of doing that.

I’ll go to the cafe in a pretty dress that makes me feel happy, you wrote carefully. You remembered as a child dreaming about romantic cafes and old books. You sighed, releasing pent up air, feeling your muscles relax, little by little. If I did that, I think that would make my younger self proud...

By the time you made it to your bed that night, it was only 9:12pm. You fell down in your bed and closed your eyes, feeling your space. Your favorite-but-forgotten dress that now hung there on your door; the sneakers you once bought yourself and have finally decided to wear; the alarm clock that, for the first time in three years, was set for 6:00am; and a notebook full of ideas to return to the person you never were but always wanted to be, that sits on your bedside table.

You fell asleep, muscles relaxing. You, melting into your bed, almost becoming one with it.

* * *

Fast forward to where we started-- you are sitting upright in bed and staring at your dress. It seems to stare right back at you. Can you really do this, Y/N?

“Can I do this?”

Yes. I will.

You swing your legs over your bed, and you feel the fear begin to fall away like an old skin being shed from a new body. Suddenly, you feel light and happy, slipping on the bright-white wedge sneakers. The dress glides down your body, the fabric sending shivers up your spine as it falls into place.

As you pull the zipper up the side of your torso. you think about what you’re going to order when you get to the cafe. I haven’t been there since my mother came to the university to drop me off. I miss her... what did she order that day? I hope I can remember once I get there.

* * *

The jingle of tiny bells above the door tickles your ears as you swing the glass door open. The cafe is mostly empty, other than a mother and her child quietly sitting in a booth by the window. Succulents and aged books lined hanging shelves on either side of the room. The hanging lights gave the cafe a soft industrial feel, and the glass pastry displays made the room that much sweeter. Mom had chosen this cafe because she said it felt like a secret place that only few knew about... She liked how special it felt because of that. You smile softly at the thought of your mother. I think ill come here more often. I miss her.

A boy from behind the counter snaps his head up to look at you, his blond bangs tossing lightly as he does so. “W.. would you like something?”

You snap out of your daze and realize how long you’ve been just standing there in the doorway, staring at everything. You lock eyes with the boy.

“Oh! Uh-- yeah, I’m sorry! Ahm...” You stutter.

“Don’t worry about it!” He waves it off.

You brush your hair behind your ears and walk to the counter. You quickly read his name tag. Jisung.

His bright smile puts you at a light and airy ease. Maybe I wasn’t as awkward as I thought I was being...?

“Have you been here before...?” He tilted his head to the side like a little kid, eyebrows raised curiously.

Wow. That was attractive.

“Um, kind of... i’ve only been here once. When my brother-- mother!-- brought me... yeah, haha..”

Sparkling conversationalist.

...Wait-- don’t insult yourself! Be positive, Y/N!! You can make your younger self proud today!!!!

You open your mouth to speak, but you don’t know what to say, so you immediately shut it again.

Why is talking to pretty boys so hard?

NO! JUST GO FOR IT! F L I r T !! WHAT DO YOU WANT IN LIFE, HAH?

“...So anyway, that’s basically all we’ve got at this cafe right now.” He looks at you, smiling patiently.

Wait, has he been talking to me this whole time? Agh! I haven’t even been listening!

“Oh! I forgot, we also have--”

“Do you come here often?”

Well. You just made things worse, didn’t you?

“What?”

CODE RED CODE RED CODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCO

This is not a thing that makes your younger self proud, Y/N. This is the opposite.

YOU JUST ASKED THE BARISTA IF HE COMES HERE OFTEN. YOU NOW HAVE PERMISSION TO RIP OFF YOUR ANKLES.

You watch in horror as he stares at you, frozen to the touch, with those eyes.

“Oh! Did you ask me if I come here often? I thought I didn’t hear what you said at first. Yeah-- I work here actually! Thanks for asking!” I smiles, oblivious to your failed flirting.

“Oh, um. S-sure thing!”

Mission... not abort..ed?

Well-- This means I don’t ever have to think what happened ever again! Wonderful.

You aren’t sure if he’s actually dumb or if you just suck at reading him-- but either way, there’s no escaping the situation now. Unless you’re willing to literally sprint out of the cafe and run all the way back to your apartment, lock the door, and cry in the shower.

But, unfortunately for everyone else, you aren’t willing to do that.

“Um, when my mom came here, she ordered something really specific, but I can’t remember what it was called or anything...,” You say hesitantly.

“Yeah-- Don’t worry at all! Do you remember what it looked or tasted like at all?”

His enthusiasm encourages you and you feel brighter. “Yeah! Uh, it had strawberries in it, and a special kind of cream-- I think? And then there was this special topping she got on it. It was green? The topping? Sorry if that sounds totally dumb, but I just now that it-- they-- were green, I guess, haha!” You feel your heart start to beat faster the more you talk to him. Why am I nervous? and stuttering?? It’s just a drink, jeez.

Suddenly excited, his eyes squint with a wide smile. “Ooohhh! Were they mint spirals, maybe? I love those soooo much!!!”. You don’t even know what those are, but that isn’t gonna stop you from nodding excitedly with him. It would have been hard not to. When he smiles you kind of just want to join on the thrill, I guess.

You notice a whisper of heat brushing against your cheeks as he turns to the chalkboard behind him and points at a meticulous drawing of a fluffy pink drink. “Did it look like that??”

Excited to have found your mom’s favorite drink, you nod, a big smile leaving your eyes in the shape of giggling crescents. “Yes! Yeah! That’s exactly it, I think!”

His sunshine-smile turns half shy. “Great! I’ll get that just for you then...,” He softly says. He turns his back to you as he hurries around behind the counter to concoct the drink.

Were his cheeks flushed like that this whole time?

... Whatever...

You carefully sit down at one of the pretty little cafe tables closest to the counter so you can be ready to grab your drink as soon as it’s ready. You have maybe a few minutes, so you pull your notebook with the chestnut leather cover out from your purse. You open the middle of the book to where you urgently wrote down the ideas the night before.

things that would make my younger self proud of me:

- keeping a journal

- keeping my body clean

- wearing the clothes that make me feel peaceful

- waking up at a time that makes me feel happy

- wearing the clothes I’m scared others will judge me for

- going to the cafe in a pretty dress that makes me feel happy

- talking to people I feel like talking to but am scared to

- going on a cute date say sike rn

Smiling to yourself, you use a pencil to put a check next to the third-to-last one. You thought of scratching it out, but you didn’t want it to be gone from your precious list completely... you feel you’ll be coming back soon. You like how it feels.

Nevertheless, you are glad you’re here. You’ve gathered the courage to come here when it’s been so hard for you lately! You look down at your lap and give a sigh of relief. Closing your eyes, you take in how it feels to be here.

It’s different, but warm here. It smells of both exotic and familiar flavors. The lullaby effect of the fluffy low-fi music overhead mixed with the gentle metallic sounds of Jisung working behind the counter is somehow comforting. You lift your head and peak over at him slyly, watching as he leans against the mixing machine. He seems to be waiting on something.

You watch almost in shock as he slowly peeks over his shoulder to look at you, making quick eye-contact on accident. You smile instinctively-- not even knowing why.

He turns his face back to what he was doing as soon as this moment happens and you notice a smile he’s hiding and the blush that’s growing on his face. You turn your body to see more of his turned-away face from where you’re at, and as you do, you spy the massive smile he’s desperately trying to hide. Oh dear, he’s adorable.

Bubbles rise in your stomach and your lungs seem to fill with cotton candy as his undeniably-cute, blushing self hits you all at once.

-- o h. Oh n o.

You lean back in your chair again, suddenly very worried.

No? No. No!

It always gets bad once I get crushes on people.

You make an immediate promise to yourself to not at all drop any hints that you kind of want to mayhaps hold this almost-stranger’s hand. Flirting is fine when you don’t actually like the person-- once you genuinely develop feelings, it’s absolutely not a good idea anymore. Everyone knows that. Good, cute things with crushes only happen in fan-fiction and Wattpad stories.

Sike.

All of a sudden, you notice the sound of clinking and whirring has stopped from behind the counter.

“Am-- uh-- am I interrupting you... at all, or something?”

Reality crashes into your view again as you tilt your head up and to the side to lock eyes with Jisung. Ah.

“W--what?”

“Ahm, you just looked kind of... really worried about something.” He furrows his brows, confused. “Anyway-- here’s your drink!”

“Oh-- thank you! Yeah, I was just-- thinking about something! Haha!

He sets your drink on the table and pauses for a moment. “By the way, your dress is really pretty, I think.” Jisung Blush: Activated. “Don’t mean that in a weird way! I just thought you maybe might like to know...”

🎵 KISS KISS FALL IN LOOOVE 🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Oh, thanks! I actually tried this morning, haha!”

“Oh, yeah? Well I think you look great. But you already know that, i guess, haha..” Jisung Confidence: Boosted-- Reason: Compliment Accepted.

You feel your ears heat up as you avert your eyes, looking down at your drink. “Thanks again! It’s funny because I didn’t even have an occasion to dress up for. I just sort of did it to treat myself, I guess.” You smile softly, proud.

“Isn’t that enough of an occasion? I think celebrating yourself is a worthwhile thing.” He sits down across from you, muttering something about how nobody is going to show up to the cafe in a while.

You look up at him, smiling in agreement. “Right? It really helps to take care of yourself. I think it’s one of the best ways to pick yourself back up from something hard.”

He tilts his head like he did before, but this time with worry. “Are you going through something..?... Oh, you don’t have to answer! I pry without thinking first sometimes...”

“No, no! It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it to others, it’s good for people who need to hear it...” Why do I feel so comfortable with telling him about this..? I’m sure it won’t do any harm. He’s being genuine after all...

“Well, if you really do feel like telling me, we won’t be having customers again until about 10:30-ish. I’m all ears!”

Your heart said: Oof.

As soon as you start explaining the night before and all that lead up to it, he leans in, his hands cupping his face, intent on every word you say. You tell him about all the stress, issues, and fears-- both self-inflicted and otherwise-- that are holding you down lately. He nods and listens, asking clarifying questions.

You notice how his reactions remain compassionate when you talk about the hard things that are happening because of your own mistakes. A feeling of warmth and safety sets in after you finishing your monologue. You apologize for taking so long-- maybe thirty minutes?-- but he immediately tells you it’s all okay.

“No, please don’t say sorry!! I really am grateful when people share what they are going through with me... It helps me to connect with them better and find ways to help them feel better. Don’t be sorry.” He softly smiles and gently asks if you are all done.

“Yeah-- heh-- i’m done. Thank you so much for listening! I’m really grateful I have-- had-- someone to listen to me...” You rub your eyes worriedly, afraid you might have started crying at some point while telling him the whole story.

He stares down at the table for a moment, quiet. “Hey, wanna be random?”

You giggle. “Always.”

“Wanna go on a date?”

“What?”

“I understand if you don’t want to. You seem to be working through a lot of things right now... I don’t want to--” Jisung Blush: Reactivated And Intensified.

“Yes.”

“WhAT?”

“Yeah!.. I think that would be awesome.”

Jisung is suddenly beaming, which makes you instantly happier. Dang, mirror neurons are so cute.

62 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can (9/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta. I’m still leaving you on that cliffhanger for a little while, though 😉

You guys were really excited about the last chapter, and I think you’ll like this one too!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

Tag list: @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

How long can she stand outside of an apartment building before it become creepy?

Right now, Emma is verging on fifteen minutes, and she feels like that’s fine. However, once she starts creeping up into the twenty and thirty minute categories, that’s when it gets weird and she feels kind of stalker-ish even though she was explicitly told to come over.

Maybe she should go hang out in the Duane Reade that Killian has across the street from his apartment building. She needs chapstick, right? Everyone needs chapstick at all times. Lips get dry and kind of flaky, and no one likes that, especially if they’re currently in some kind of arrangement where making out with another human being occasionally occurs.

She’s in one of those.

Kind of.

She’s not sure, and she’s very obviously freaking out and going to lose her mind on east ninety-first street. Maybe she can buy something at Duane Reade to knock her out, and she’ll never have to remember any of this. That would probably be ideal.

Wow. She is outstanding at relationships. Or quasi relationships with a man who she has worked with for several years, rejected on national television, and then made out with at three different stadiums across the United States.

But secretly made out with.

Oh shit. They’re going to get caught if they keep doing that, and the only reason she agreed to this was under the promise of no one knowing.

(And because he makes her stomach swoop in a painful, yet good, way.)

She cannot handle anyone knowing. Her career cannot handle anyone knowing. No one can know.

Creepily standing outside of his apartment building holding the Vanderbilt sweatshirt she still hasn’t given back (it’s only been a week, okay?) is probably not the best way for that to happen.

Taking a deep breath, she looks to each side of the street before crossing the road and entering his apartment building. It’s already approximately one thousand times nicer than hers, which is to be expected, and she dodges the front desk guy and turns the corner to the elevators to punch in the code Killian gave her to get in, and then walks inside the doors to wait to go up to his apartment.

This isn’t weird, right?

Did she feel this way when she started dating Neal? Or Walsh?

Nope. No. Nope. She’s not going to start thinking of them right now when she’s already freaking out enough over everything.

Why in the world is she doing this?

Because you like him, you dumbass.

The little voice in her head sounds a lot like Ruby, and Emma’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

It takes two raps of her knuckles on Killian’s door for him to swing it open, and then all of the sudden he’s standing on the other side with a bright white smile on his face, his beard clearly not having been trimmed in a few days, and a bit of fringe hanging over his forehead. Her eyes scan over him, clearly trying to buy herself some time for how her heart is like a freaking drumline beating against her ribs, and she notices that he has on a loose-fitting t-shirt, some jeans, and he’s not wearing any shoes.

Why is she so charmed by the fact that he’s not wearing any shoes? He’s in his own apartment. Why would he be wearing shoes? Do people wear shoes in their own homes?

“Hello, love,” he greets, his own eyes flickering over hers. “Nice to see that you finally made it inside the building.”

Her mouth gapes open, but she doesn’t even get the chance to form a rebuttal before Killian is dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers with his palm coming to rest behind her back, tugging her forward and into his apartment so that the door closes behind him and she’s left with wood solidly against her back. Killian really likes kissing her against solid walls. That’s a thing she’s noticed. He’s also got this thing with his teeth and his tongue that makes her see stars in broad daylight. She’s noticed that too. Gooseflesh is rising on her skin, and she’s grabbing onto the soft material of his t-shirt over his biceps and about to open her mouth to him when he pulls back, leaving her gasping for air even though she now has access to it.

“Hi,” he whispers, greeting her again while she leans her head back to rest it against the doorframe.

“Hi. How’d you know I was waiting outside?”

“Darling, my windows open up right out to the street.”

She presses up on her toes to look over Killian’s shoulder, and he’s right. His windows do look out over the street.

Holy shit does she love his apartment.

His walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, which is so much more than she can say for her place, and everything is so…simple. And it’s not simple in a bad way. It’s just that she has a lot of junk with her throw pillows and blankets and miscellaneous plants everywhere. Killian’s apartment is all warm colors and clean lines, and his couch looks like the most comfortable thing in the world. And she’d probably cook if she had a kitchen that was more than five feet of space in the corner.

Is it too late for her to play some kind of professional sport so that she can live somewhere like this? Ruby and Graham would love it.

Wait, no. Ruby and Graham would not be moving in with her if she could afford to live on her own. She loves them, but no.

“You stare at me too much,” she finally says in response, her eyes looking back to Killian so that she’s overwhelmed by the blue. Seriously. That kind of blue should not be possible. “You’ve got to let a girl freak out on the sidewalk in peace.”

He raises a brow. “Why were you freaking out? I don’t bite. Unless otherwise asked.”

That doesn’t do anything to her. Nope. Not at all. Especially not because his voice got super deep when he asked that. She is so in over her head that it’s not even funny. Why in the world does anyone date when it causes this much anxiety?

“I’m not very good at dating,” she admits, kind of wishing she could melt through the door. “I don’t have a good history with it.”

“If you did, I very much doubt I’d get to kiss you hello like that.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Apparently because you’re super smart, Professor Jones.”

“Eh,” he protests, backing up to give her some space as he scratches behind his ear. Is he nervous too? “I’m not too sure about that. You want something to drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning. I think it’s too early.”

“Believe it or not, I do have things like water to offer you.”

“Oh. Yeah, water would be good.”

Killian nods his head up and down before leaning in and pressing his mouth to her cheek, breath hot against her skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely.” He pulls back then and walks the few feet to his kitchen, opening his fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, placing them on the counter. “So, I know that technically speaking you’re the one who asked me out on this date.”

“Only because you demanded it.”

“Semantics.” She watches as he twists open his bottle and takes a sip, practically swallowing the whole bottle at once all the while she barely touches hers. “But this is my apartment, and I feel like I should show you around. I already have lunch secured, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to pay. You’re stealing my date, twenty-nine.”

He smiles at that. It seems the man who is always calling her by every nickname in the book likes having a nickname of his own that’s not from Will Scarlet. Huh.

“I’m not stealing anything. I owe you half of a pizza.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a sailing accident.”

Her heart may actually lurch at that, and when she looks at Killian, he’s glancing away, obviously as uncomfortable with talking about his accident as she is even if he’s the one who brought it up. But he jokes sometimes when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and honestly, knowing that Killian may be just as nervous as she is for this whole thing makes her feel a hell of a lot better.

It’s the blind leading the blind with absolutely no expertise in the area.

“So pizza?” she questions, tapping her knuckles against his countertops. “What’s your poison while at home?”

Killian smiles, one side of his lips stretching into the others, and it makes her feel like she just consumed gallon after gallon of carbonated soda. “The oven-cooked margarita at Nick’s. Like I said, I’m a simple man and like simple things. You’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”

“Well, pizza is a bit more serious than us seeing each other.”

He winks. “Obviously.”

-/-

“I mean, arguably, NBC makes some of the best comedies.”

“Fox had a few good ones.”

“Fox dropped Brooklyn 99.”

“Okay, valid,” Killian laughs, leaning over to the coffee table in front of his couch to pick up another slice of pizza. It has to be his fifth by this point, and the food got here an hour ago. She hasn’t quite figured out his diet yet. Sometimes he eats like an athlete should and other times he eats like an athlete can. “That was a dumb decision on their part.”

“The dumbest. But then again, NBC picked it up, so that furthers my point.”

“I should have known you were a serious comedy fan when you knew I was quoting The Office.”

She watches as he takes a large bite of his pizza, not at all caring how messy he looks, and she tucks her feet further underneath her thighs. For as nervous as she was to show up here, to come inside, it’s oddly comfortable right now. Of course, they’ve had pizza (even if it’s not noon yet) and reruns of Superstore playing on the TV to distract them, but it’s comfortable.

Killian Jones makes her comfortable.

That should be terrifying, is kind of terrifying, but she’s having too nice of a morning to think too much about that. And this pizza is actually really good, and she doesn’t want to have to walk away from that.

This is for the pizza. It doesn’t have to be about anything else even though it most definitely is.

“I mean, I’m all about the dramas. I can watch a cop show any day of the week, but Graham always complains about how inaccurate it is and makes me change the channel.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “Graham?”

“Ruby’s boyfriend. He’s why I had to come over here for our little secret rendezvous. Ruby is at the offices, but Graham is home this morning. He’s got the night shift tonight.”

“Ah,” he sighs, taking another bite of his pizza. Was he just…jealous? No, that would be weird and kind of primal, but they’re…seeing each other so maybe also kind of normal. It’s like she’s sixteen again or something. How the hell do sixteen-year-olds handle this when she, a twenty-seven-year-old woman, cannot? “Sorry. I forgot his name for a moment, but I remember now. He’s the detective, right?”

“Yep.”

“That would explain why he hates any crime drama. Liam hates any and all medical shows and will turn the television off if anyone is watching it when he’s around. Elsa freaking loves those things, though. She’s got the ability to look past the things that are wrong.”

“I think it may just be a stubborn man thing.”

“Says literally the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Emma sticks her tongue out, like every mature woman would do, only for Killian’s warm, rough hands to wrap around her calves and pull her forward on the couch (which is the most comfortable thing in the world, as she expected), making her head land against the cushions and the breath she was holding escape her.

“I am not stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn about being stubborn,” he sighs, pulling her forward a little more so that he can lean forward over her, his knees on either side of her thighs and his hands next to her head as he hovers over her, the chain that’s always hanging around his neck falling out of his shirt so that it rests over her breasts, a shiny silver ring in the middle. What the hell is that? Is she allowed to ask? “I kind of like that you’re stubborn.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Mmmm, that’s not true,” he hums, dipping his head down and brushing his lips across her jaw, a shiver immediately running down her spine. God, she likes the way that his scruff feels on her skin. He should keep doing that and definitely never shave the stubble. “You’re an observant one. You know these things.”

He nips at her skin, and she arches up into him, reaching her arms up to trail her fingers across the muscles in his arms. The talking may be hard, but she can handle this. This is good. “You don’t exactly hide your affections for me.”

“I most definitely do.”

“You asked me out on TV.”

“You looked beautiful that day.”

“You looked sweaty.”

He laughs into her neck, rubbing his cheek into her skin, before moving back up her face and hovering over her mouth so that she can see the few freckles on his face and the blue of his eyes. She is never going to get over that blue.

His breath kind of smells like pizza.

He probably tastes like it too. She does really like that pizza.

“Now, Swan,” he sighs, visibly put out as he leans down and presses his mouth to hers in a quick, dirty kiss before pulling back, making her cant her hips up into his and tighten her grip on his arms, “I do believe that you asked me out the second time. I don’t think my rejected proposal counts anymore.”

“No, you’re never living that down. If I can’t, neither can you.”

“I feel like it’s worked out pretty well for me.” He waggles his brows across his forehead, and she slaps his arm, rolling her eyes even as she presses up to try to kiss him again. They’re good at that. She’d like to keep doing it. “Or maybe you’re just here for my pizza.”

“It is good pizza.”

“The best.”

“Jones, are we going to talk about pizza all day, or are you going to kiss me?”

“Why not both?”

“Shut up,” she gasps as he lowers his entire body down to her, the warmth overcoming her, and rests his elbows on the sides of her head as his lips cover hers, slowly but surely sliding over hers over and over again until she cannot think of anything else but the noise Killian makes when she pulls at his bottom lip.

She’d like another order of this pizza and Killian making that sound. That would be the perfect morning.

He licks into her mouth without any hesitancy, his fingers curling into her hair as his tongue curls around hers in a slick, wet slide of heat and desire and all of those little things that make the hairs all over her body stand at attention. It’s overwhelming and not enough all at once, and when Killian pushes her body further into the couch, the cushions gaining an Emma-shaped dent, she knows that she never wants to move away from the way Killian is hungrily devouring her and settling between her thighs, hips rolling against hips and desire continuously building as the air is very thoroughly kissed out of her.

Who needs air? She certainly doesn’t.

Arousal curls between her thighs, a warm and thick heat that spreads up her stomach and to her chest, tightening around her heart, and she scratches her nails down Killian’s back in response, wondering if she can leave marks even through his t-shirt.

“Oh fuck,” she mutters, both to Killian and herself, as he slides his lips against her jaw until he’s biting down on the lobe of her ear at the same time that she’s pushing her hips up against his groin to grind against him, little burst of pleasure exploding just under her skin.

“You taste like pizza,” he mumbles in a dark growl, one that’s definitely not how any normal person should sound when talking about pizza.

“You did say you liked that.”

“I believe that was you.”

“Semantics,” she gasps out when his tongue flicks behind her ear while her hands grapple for his ass and her legs snake around his hips to push him closer into her space. Killian’s hands are moving from her hair to between them, his stomach lifting up so his hands can fit between them, and then she feels the warm, calloused fingers against her stomach and nearly melts right then and there, officially becoming part of this couch.

How the hell has she ended up in this situation?

Why didn’t she end up here sooner?

Lips find hers again as fingers inch up her skin, Killian’s thumb brushing under the swell of breasts. She can feel the tingle of her skin as his fingers push up the cup of her bra, and she knows that she’s on the precipice of having Killian rile her up more when her phone rings, the loud buzz causing it to move across his coffee table.

Talk about a buzzkill.

“Ignore it,” she huffs, tugging on Killian’s bottom lip.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Her mouth continues to explore his, his hands moving over her body, and they’re on that precipice again when her phone buzzes once more.

“Fucking hell,” Killian grumbles, falling on top of her before inching back up to give her some space. His chest is heaving, his hair completely and totally disheveled, and she’s so distracted by his hooded eyes that she can’t even bother to look to see who it is that’s calling her. “You want to get that, Swan?”

She jerks in her spot, a different kind of shiver running down her spine, and leans over to grab her phone only for the call to end. Luckily, or not so depending on how she looks at it, Ruby calls right back.

“Shit.” “Well that is certainly a way to answer the phone,” Ruby huffs, the audible sound of music playing behind her. She must be in the editing room. “Why didn’t you answer your phone the first two times that I called?”

“I was showering,” she lies, guilt piling up in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, did you go to the gym?”

“No, just hadn’t showered yet. Lazy day and all that.”

“Do you want to go to the gym with me after I get off of work?”

“Sure. What’s got you in such a hurry to be calling me three times?”

Killian raises a brow, a little bit of blue coming back to his eyes, and he pulls her legs forward to settle them between his thighs as she listens to Ruby talk. “Oh, I’m bored on my lunch break, and I couldn’t get Graham to pick up his phone. He’s still sleeping I think.”

Oh shit. She forgot about Graham. How did she forget about Graham? She was just talking about how he’s at home, but she didn’t think about what happens if he tells Ruby she’s not home when she’s telling Ruby that she is. She is going to get caught in her lies so damn easily, and it’s been a week.

A week.

She really hopes Graham is actually still asleep and she can get away with this one. Maybe he’ll think she’s locked herself away in her room to nap when he wakes up. This is something she definitely has to get better at.

Getting better at lying seems like an awful skill.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him today.”

Killian traces his nail across her ankle, all of his attention focused on a little freckle that’s there. It’s distracting, but it mostly just feels good. This has been a much better morning than she thought it would be…not that she thought it would be bad. Not at all. Her nerves simply got the best of her.

“I’ll try him again soon. Can you get to work early tomorrow? I want to go over some stuff for when you travel for the Rays series. I’m so mad at David for taking me off of a lot of our travel dates. He let me go to Texas but not California or Florida. Why does he hate me?”

“I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to pay for your plane ticket.”

“Oh,” Ruby gasps at the same time that Killian tugs Emma forward a bit more, making her emit a tiny yelp as her head falls against the couch, “I forgot to tell you, but David told me to tell you that when the team charters a plane, you have gotten permission to fly with them. No more weird ass times for flights so that money can be saved.”

“Are you serious?” Killian raises a brow again, obviously far too interested in her phone conversation. She doesn’t blame him. This is the conversation that interrupted their very thorough make out session. “That’s freaking incredible. I’m kind of sad I’m going to lose my miles, though.”

“You have a million saved up. You could fly to Europe and back for free. Multiple times.”

“This is true.”

“I bet Jones tries to sit next to you on the plane.”

If she were drinking water, she’d spit it out. Right now, she might as well be choking on her own saliva. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Your lover boy. He’ll probably try to sit next to you on the plane. Or any of the other guys who have crushes on you. You live the life.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t do my job for the men it surrounds me with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Killian whisper-shouts, and she has to lean across the couch to cover his mouth with her hand.

“What was that?” Ruby asks.

“The TV.” God, she’s an awful human being for doing this. “Rubes, can I call you back later? My phone keeps going off with emails.”

More lies. If this thing works out, the first person she is telling is Ruby, and she will give her whatever she wants to make it up to her for lying to her.

“It’s probably David. He speaks in emails.”

“It’s definitely David. See you at home before we go to the gym?”

“See you at home.”

She ends the call and moves her hand off of Killian’s mouth after he lightly chomps down on her fingers. The weirdo.

“So what is this about the men who surround you at your job?”

Emma rolls her eyes and rises from the couch, adjusting her top and her hair, trying to make herself a little more put together. The heat is still simmering, but it’s deep below the surface now so that she can think of other things.

“I get to fly on the chartered plane with you guys now, and Ruby was making fun of you and your very public crush on me by saying that you’re most definitely going to try to sit next to me.”

Killian hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head and rest his head there as he lazily smiles up at her, the smugness practically radiating off of him. “Little does she know, I managed to do that already.” “Overachiever.”

“Always.” He tilts his head toward the television. “You want to delve into some more comedies or do you need to get going?”

“Comedies sound perfect.”

They lapse into easy conversation, and she realizes with every minute that passes, she becomes more and more comfortable sitting on Killian’s couch and simply spending time with him outside of work. He’s visibly relaxed, his arm slung over her shoulders and his hands playing with the tips of her hair. She doesn’t think he even really realizes it.

She could probably rattle off all of his best games, worst games, and all of those in between, hundreds of stat sheets piled up in her brain, but she realizes that she knows so little about Killian outside of baseball. Why would she? They’ve only ever had a working relationship, but little by little, she’s piecing together more and more information as he probably does the same to her.

The womanizing man splattered across tabloids and on the internet is actually a kind of nerdy man who bakes and keeps pictures of his nieces everywhere and laughs these big belly laughs at Jim Halpert and Dwight Schrute pranking each other. The womanizing thing tugs at her a little bit, curiosity and worries festering, but if she’s not willing to open up about her past right now, she can’t expect Killian to either. This is all so new, so fresh, and there’s no need to get into the heaviness of her past so that Killian gets scared away right now.

She feels good, and she wants that to last for a little bit longer while she figures things out. This whole thing is terrifying and exhilarating and makes her lose her mind a little bit all at once.

Ending up here is the last thing she ever expected.

“That was a good date,” she tells Killian when the hours have passed, and she has to leave so that she’s home before Ruby gets home.

“You want to go on another one?” he teases as he leads her from the couch to his front door, the spring sun shining through his windows.

“Why, Mr. Jones, who the hell said you could ask me out now?”

A brow rises, his lips curling into a half smile while her stomach swoops. “I figured I’d earned that right back.”

“Maybe. I think I might still take a bit more convincing.”

Killian leans into her, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear while his hands find purchase on her hips, tugging her closer. “Which method of mine would you like me to use to convince you?”

She tilts her head back, raising her brow in response to his own. “What are my options?”

“Well,” he drawls, breath hot on her ear, “I can do this.” He follows the words with a slow caress of her mouth that has her toes curling in her shoes. “Or I can feed you again.”

Emma chuckles, unable to help herself, and wraps her hands around the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair. It’s so soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy shampoo and conditioner. Is it weird that she’s kind of tempted to go look in his shower to see? That seems like a weird thing to do.

“Tell me more about that food thing.”

Killian pulls his head back, this vibrant smile on his face that is completely different under the warm lights of his apartment than under the bright lights in stadiums or the dimmed lights of the locker room. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.

“Well, we have pizza. We could also go the healthier option of some grilled chicken and rice.”

“Pass.”

“I’ve seen you eat both of those things.”

“Yeah, but they don’t entice me to want to go on another home date with you.”

Killian’s eyes flutter closed as his head leans forward so that she can feel his kiss against her forehead before he pulls back. “I can bake you something.”

“Now that,” she laughs, moving her hands down to press them against his chest, her fingers grazing a bit of chest hair and his chain, “is a brilliant idea. I like chocolate.”

“I don’t most of the time.”

“We’ll compromise. I also really like grilled cheese sandwiches”

“You eat like a small child. How the hell are you so in shape?”

“I’m pretty much a Gilmore Girl.”

“I’m not sure that you talk enough for that.”

A man who gets her pop culture references even if she’s pretty sure he’s never seen the show. She likes that. How many times can she think that in one day? Is that some kind of metaphorical sign or something?

“I can work on that.” Emma presses up on her toes and quickly slides her lips over Killian’s, knowing that if she lingers too long, she won’t be able to pull away and will end up staying far too long. She can’t do that. She’s not quite ready for it yet. And she has to get back to her apartment before Ruby gets home. Lying to Graham is kind of easy. Lying to her best friend, not so much. “You be thinking about what you’re going to bake for me, and I’ll consider coming back. I’ve got to go work off that pizza with Ruby.”

“Are you going running or to Pilates?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to figure out what kind of outfit you’re going to be wearing.”

“Okay,” she laughs, pulling back from him and ducking around him to open his apartment door, “I’m leaving now.”

“Bye, love. See you at the stadium tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Killian nods his head, his hand propped up against the doorframe so that she can see the slightest bit of his stomach as she walks away to the elevator with her lips curved upward. “And yoga pants, twenty-nine.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #Captain Swan

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vibranch · 5 years ago

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The Divine Rose -Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction excerpt

An excerpt from a longer set of stories I’m writing. Thought I’d separate the ones that contain that good SoKai for anyone looking for that specifically. Each one deals with a different Keychain Sora collects during his journey of Kingdom Hearts 1. As the name implies this was written for and prompted by the Divine Rose keychain Sora gets from Belle.

Word Count: 1,097 AO3 link to the whole thing here. (can also be found on my tumblr if you search through for the “My Writing” tag)

The Divine Rose

“This is for you. Use it to face the darkness, as the Beast has.”

With those words Belle gave Sora a single rose.

Maybe it was a little judgmental of Sora, but he never expected Beast to have someone who cared so much for him. Certainly not someone as beautiful as Belle. In fact, Sora felt a little jealous as he watched Beast and Belle wordlessly hold each other, just happy to have the other once again.

Face the darkness.

Sora couldn’t shake those words from his head. He’d been facing the Darkness for about as long as this journey had gone on for. But he doubted he could have faced half as much as the Beast had without the help of his friends.

Sora wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t accidentally arrived at Traverse Town. Would he have turned into a Summon Gem? Could he have done what Beast did? Find a way to travel the worlds without Donald or Goofy or even a ship?

Maybe Belle acted as a guiding light through the darkness? If Sora ever found himself in a position where he couldn’t reach the Gummi Ship, would his feelings for Kairi be able to pull him across Worlds like Beast’s had?

Sora didn’t have an answer for that, in fact Sora’s quick words with Belle had somehow filled him with more questions. None of which he felt like sharing to anyone.

Sora held onto the rose as he left the library with Donald and Goofy. One more question was forming in his mind. One that he did feel comfortable sharing. “What should I do with the rose?”

His two friends turned around at the question. “Well what do you want to do with it?” Goofy asked.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting to have to care for a plant.”

“You should give the rose to Kairi,” Donald snickered.

Sora rolled his eyes. “Would you be serious?” he said, trying to brush off the idea.

“Well, it’s not a bad suggestion!” Donald fired back. “Daisy loves it when I bring her roses. And plus, you wouldn’t have to take care of the rose anymore.”

Goofy scratched his head. “Gwarsh, I always figured Daisy preferred a different kind of flower, maybe irises… Or dahlias? Somethin’ beginning with a ‘D’.”

Sora was grateful for Goofy’s interruption, though he mostly ignored it. He had no idea how to respond to Donald’s suggestion. Somehow, the thought of giving Kairi a rose was much harder to imagine than his original idea of stabbing himself in the chest to release her heart. And yet, Sora didn’t want to just say no to the idea. He had to think of something meaningful to do with it.

In fact, all this talk about Kairi made Sora much more aware of her lucky charm poking at him through his pocket. Slowly, he reached for it as he tried to come up with an answer to Donald’s suggestion. pulling it out, he held it in one hand, opposite to the other holding the rose.

Sora had hoped that only Kairi’s Heart would be released from him when he thrust that dark Keyblade into his chest. But if he lost his own Heart in the process, at least in that moment, that would have been acceptable to him.

As a Heartless, Sora wasn’t very aware of what he was doing. He was mostly working off instinct. The only thing Sora could really remember after stabbing himself with the Keyblade of People’s Hearts was waking up again as a person, his arms wrapped around Kairi. All he could think to do was thank her.

Sora pictured Beast and Belle embracing each other after being apart for so long. Now that he thought about it, he and Kairi had done the exact same thing when they’d reunited. When Sora faced the Darkness he’d been swallowed up by it. But Kairi brought him back.

“Beast really loves Belle, didn’t he?” Sora said absentmindedly.

Goofy hyucked good naturedly, “Yeah, he sure does. In fact, they kinda remind me of Donald and Daisy!”

“What!” Donald yelped, turning around to look at Goofy suspiciously. “In what way!?”

“Gwarsh, just in the way Beast is so devoted to her.”

“Okay good.”

“But he gets angry just as quickly as you do too!”

“Whaddya mean gets angry quickly?! I’ll have you know, I’m the patient one of this group!”

Goofy turned back to Sora, ignoring Donald as he fumed in the background. “Gwarsh Sora, your face is getting’ red. Are you thinking about giving Kairi the rose?”

“I- uh, well…” Sora stuttered. Why was this such a hard decision? Was he embarrassed to admit he could like someone like that? Maybe it was fear that she didn’t see him the same way that held him back. Sora wondered if it would be unfair to tell her about these feelings while everything was still so weird.

“I can’t really think of anything else you could do with the rose,” Goofy said. “Well, I suppose you could turn it into a Keychain if you wanted to,” he added offhandedly.

Sora’s ears perked up at that. “That’s not a bad idea, Goofy.” Sora put Kairi’s charm away as he studied the flower. Yes, he could see it now. He could pierce a metal part through one of the petals and run a chain of that to connect it with the Keyblade.

“Oh no!” Donald shouted. “C’mon don’t be a scaredy cat! It’s just one flower, it barely means anything!”

Sora grinned at him. “What? You don’t want to see what form the Keyblade’ll take when hooked up to this?” Sora had found his way out and he was taking it. He could think about these feelings later. He emptied his pockets of the materials needed to make a keychain.

“It’ll probably just look like a giant flower or something! Goofy help me out here!” Donald looked over to his friend for support.

“Gwarsh, now that Sora brings it up, I’m kinda curious what the Keyblade’ll look like too.”

Donald threw his hands in the air. “Fine! I give up! Why don’t you just hook up everything that isn’t attached to the floor while you’re both at it.”

Sora gave a mischievous grin. “Don’t tempt me,” he said as he lifted the finished product and began hooking it to his Keyblade.

As Sora walked the halls of Hallow Bastion, he promised himself that one day he’d tell her how he felt. Just as soon as all this craziness is dealt with.

#Sora #Donald Duck #Goofy #SoKai #Talking about Kairi #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfiction #fan fiction #My Writing

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beatrice-otter · 5 years ago

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Some Thoughts about Tagging on AO3

(I originally made this post back in 2014 on the Yuletide LJ com, and I think it's still both helpful and useful, and other people have told me it is, but it's not actually in my own space, so here it is for posterity.)

There are a lot of people confused about what to tag their stuff on AO3. I mean, like, people who use AO3 regularly sometimes talk about not knowing how to tag their fic. And this is Yuletide; there are people who only post to AO3 for ficathons such as Yuletide, and they probably are even less sure what to do. There aren't many rules, and even the guidelines are kind of fuzzy. But yet there are many dedicated volunteers who spend many hours trying to make some sense out of the mess! It's chaotic and organized at the same time.

Fear not. I'm not a tag mod or anybody from AO3, but I am a power user of the site, and have been since it started, so I have a pretty good feel for the different ways people use the site and how people tag. So here are some suggestions, if you feel you need them.

ETA: Thanks to some wonderful feedback in the comments, I'm adding some other perspectives.

First, remember that the primary purpose of tags is to help people find stuff they'd like to read. No matter what your philosophy of tagging is, your goal should be to make it easy for people to find your fic and decide if they want to read it.

There are two basic ways people use tags when they're looking for fic.

1. Clicking on tags they want to read. Do you want to look for a particular fandom, character, or pairing? You can click on a tag and get all of them to come up. But you can use tags to find so much more than just the basics! Do you want to read wing!fic? Search for it on the archive and click the wingfic tag and you'll get a list of all fics tagged with "wings" or "wingfic" or something similar. The tag mods have done a lot of background work to make sure that similar tags (i.e. every permutation of wingfic ever used) are put together so when you're looking for wingfic you don't have to think of every possible permutation of what someone might have tagged it. They'll all come up. Now, if you click on the "wingfic" tag, it will bring up every wingfic in every fandom. Which is great if you're polyfannish like I am and don't necessarily care what fandom something is if it hits whatever kink you have right then. If you are more monofannish, then the sort and filter bar on the left side of the "Works" list is your friend, but either way, the tag is the first place to start. People look for a lot of things. Here are some categories that people may search tags for, either within a particular fandom or across the archive:

fandoms, characters, relationships, obviously.

AU types: is it a canon divergence, is it a highschool au, or a coffee shop, or whatever?

SFnal or fantasy elements: time travel, wings, magic, werewolves, telepethy, etc

Genres: angst, fluff, mystery, comedy.

Trigger warnings to avoid: mentions of rape or abuse (things not warned for in the warning tags).

Tropes: Aliens made them do it, kidfic, etc.

Sex stuff: kinks, positions, sex toys, polyamory, etc.

Social justice stuff: bechdel pass, character of color POV, etc.

Fandom specific stuff: is it related to a particular episode, or season, is it about a particular theme or backstory or trope or characterization that your fandom likes, is there any other fandom-specific thing that people might look for?

2. When they are deciding whether or not to read a particular fic. That is, a potential reader is looking at a fic in a list on AO3 (maybe they're going through the fandom's page, maybe they're looking at an author's works list, etc.) or perhaps have clicked on a link in a rec list and have opened the story up to see more about it, but the fic is in front of them and they haven't yet decided whether or not to read it. In this case, tags are one of a couple of things people will be looking at. The summary is the biggie; at this point it's usually the first thing people look at. They will also look at word count--they may be looking for an epic, they may be looking for a vignette, either way, word count matters. They'll look at the rating--do they want something hot and heavy, or not? They'll look at the comment/kudo/bookmark/hit counts--how popular is this fic? And they'll look at the tags. What is this fic tagged for? Characters, pairings, fandom, etc., all can be useful, but so can many other things.

This is why people add chatty tumblr-style tags, such as "Tony Stark has Daddy Issues." That tag tells you a lot about the story that may not be evident from the summary. You can add any tag like that you want, that will help people get a feel for your story. If it's unique, clicking on it won't help them find other stories like it and it won't help people find your fic, either, but it may well help people who have already found your fic decide if they want to read it. And, if enough people tag things with a chatty tag like "Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues," eventually the tag mods will take it and make it into a tag you can search on just like more general tags such as "wingfic." (There are currently 51 fics on the archive tagged "Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues.") Also, chatty tags like that can sometimes be made subtags for larger tags, so that "Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues." is a subtag of "Daddy Issues.", and then you can click on the Daddy Issues tag and filter by fandom and/or character.

3. Looking for things to avoid. If a trope squicks someone, they want to know before they click on the story. If someone hates a character or relationship, they want to know if it's in a story. Even if it's only in a minor/background way. Protip from tag wrangler liviapenn:

"if you are posting a story and you want to indicate that the character or ship appears in the story -- but only in a minor/background role -- you can tag for them in the "Additional Tags" field, with a modifier. For instance, "Minor appearance by Sam Wilson". Or, a tag like "Very minor background Tony Stark/Pepper Potts" or "Past Tony Stark/Pepper Potts" for a story where Tony and Pepper's relationship is only mentioned but not really important in the story. Then those stories won't come up when people are searching for Tony/Pepper in the Relationships field. You can also make 'warning' type Additional Tags more specific or accurate, with modifiers like "implied," "referenced," "minor," "mentioned", "non-graphic" or "past", if the story doesn't seriously focus on those topics, but you still want to indicate that they appear in the work, even in a minor or slight way."

(ALSO, if you are one of these people, the "Sort and filter" bar on the right side of the page is your friend. I hate, loathe, and despise Killian Jones on Once Upon a Time, and so whenever I'm searching for OUaT fic on the archive I go to the "Sort and Filter" bar, go down to the Exclude section, and I check his name and any pairings he appears in. Then I hit the "sort and filter" button at the bottom of that bar, and poof! It's like he never existed! It's wonderful.)

So how does this affect how you tag your fic? I'm so glad you asked. It means you need to take both uses of tags--finding fic, and deciding if you want to read a fic you've found--into account. As you tag, ask yourself: what in my fic might people want to read? What kind of craving would my fic satisfy? Tag for those things (fandoms, characters, relationships, tropes, kinks, whatever). Then ask yourself: once people have found my fic, what might help them decide they want to read my fic? Then tag for that. Then ask yourself: is there anything in my fic that might squick people or that they might want to avoid? Then tag for that, too. Autocomplete is your friend. As you start typing in the tag field, it will bring up tags people have already used, which are searchable, and which may therefore help people find your fic.

ETA: section edited because of youraugustine's feedback.

But beware! Before you hit "post," look at your tags and ask yourself: is there any deceptive advertising here? By which I mean, if someone is looking specifically for a fic with something you tagged for, are they going to be disappointed in your fic? Different people use tags differently, so you can't please everybody. But sometimes a selective approach can be better than a "kitchen sink" approach where you select every tag that might be half-way applicable.

As an example, take Sam Wilson. He is tagged in over 2800 stories on AO3 ... but in the vast majority of them, he's a sidekick, if that. Yes, he appears in each of these fics, but he's a very small part of the story in most of them. When I go looking for Sam Wilson fic, I sigh, because I may get three pages in to the list of works tagged "Sam Wilson" before I find one where he's important enough in the story to get mentioned in the summary. Having to slog through all those fics about other Avengers to get to the fics about the character I want to read about does not make me likely to read those stories. It makes me annoyed, because they're taking up my time and preventing me from finding the stories I actually want to read right now! I love reading about Steve's angst over Bucky, and Bucky's recovery, but if what I'm craving at the moment is Sam Wilson pwning everything, 50k words of Buck-and-Steve angst in which Sam appears in three scenes is just not going to scratch my itch. On the other hand, some people may find a mention that Sam plays a role in the story to be the difference that makes them read this Steve/Bucky fic over some other one. Even so, if he appears briefly but isn't significant to the plot, even they may be annoyed.

Now, as sandrine points out, some people have aversions to particular characters, pairings, and tropes, such that including them in your fic will completely ruin the fic for them even if all that happens is a one sentence mention buried in 100k of fic. For example, some Science Bros and Steve/Tony fans prefer not to read about Tony/Pepper. (I get it, because I loathe Killian Jones with the passion of a thousand burning suns.) liviapenn points out that (instead of using a regular character tag), if you put a tag with a modifier in the "Additional Tags" category (for example, "background Tony/Pepper"), it will be there for people who want to avoid it but won't pop up for people searching it out with the main character or relationship tags.

Just use some common sense, folks. Tag for everything important, and don't bother with the minor stuff. And you're the one who knows your story best; you know what's important in your story.

On creating new tags: This is particularly important for Yuletiders to know, since so many of us will be creating tags for characters and fandoms that did not exist on the archive before this Yuletide.

From tag wrangler liviapenn:

The only other advice I would give is for people posting stories in superhero comics fandoms. So many superhero names are very generic, or shared by multiple people within one canon (like the 3 or 4 different versions of "Robin", "The Flash" or "Supergirl" in DC fandom.) If there's a possibility that your character's cape name might have been used for another character (in your fandom or another fandom) maybe consider tagging with their "real" name instead of (or in addition to) their "cape" name. So for instance, "Tim Drake" or "Robin - Tim Drake" "Tim Drake aka Robin" -- any of those would be better than just "Robin". Finally, if you want to find out whether a tag already exists in some format you can use the Tag Search page: http://archiveofourown.org/tags/search So let's say I wanted to find out if there's a canonical tag for food carts or food trucks. I would go to the tag search page and type in "cart* " (which brings up any word that starts with "cart") and click the Canonical ticky box. This just brings up a lot of tags about Sam Carter and Peggy Carter though. So I hit backspace and type in "truck* " and click the Canonical ticky box, and this will bring up all canonical tags that have a word that starts with truck in it, and hey, one of them is Food Trucks. Freeform: Alternate Universe - Truckers ‎(10) Freeform: Truckers ‎(8) Freeform: Food Trucks ‎(7) Freeform: Episode: s08e07 Shawn and Gus Truck Things Up ‎(1) Freeform: Trucks ‎(11) If anyone has any other questions about tagging I'd be glad to answer them!

From tag wrangler lost_spook:

As another tag wrangler, I'd just add that the thing about cape names applies generally really - if you want to make a freeform (or any tag) involving your characters, remember the archive is a big place and expanding all the time with fandoms in multiple media, so the more you use full names etc., the more likely it is the tag can stay in your fandom or eventually become canonical. one of the joys of Yuletide is that it's about fic in rare fandoms or non-existent-till-now fandoms, but that does mean you might well find yourself posting the first fic in a fandom or for that pairing or character - and that means you have to create that tag yourself. So I just wanted to add - don't be nervous of doing that! You don't have to read through archive tagging guidelines and get it perfect; just be as clear and specific as you can, especially with fandom tags, where the wranglers dealing with those might never have heard of it. The same with new character and relationship tags - do add them! Just be sure to use full names in both categories, and if the names are very common or likely to cause confusion, add something like the fandom name in brackets to make doubly sure. Wranglers can link up any tags like these no problem - it's only when things aren't clear (ambiguous), that it gets tricky. (Wranglers in tiny fandoms love it when they suddenly have actual tags to wrangle! ♥)

From an anonymous tag wrangler:

One other thing I'd like to suggest is keeping each freeform/additional tag to one discrete concept! For example, "Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues" is a single concept; "Tony Stark has daddy issues and mommy issues and luckily lots of money too" includes several, and is unlikely to ever become filterable in any way. Also, if a single concept is split across multiple tags, a wrangler often can't do anything with the individual tags-- for example, the two tags "his heart", "it is so broken" is likely going to end up with both tags unfilterable instead of being linked to a canonical tag like Heartbreak.

When a new tag is created (i.e. when someone tags their fic with something that has never before been tagged) it is not yet canonical--that is, when you click on it, you won't bring up any other fic tagged with it, and even if someone else uses that tag, at this point it won't come up when you click on the tag. That only changes when a tag wrangler--a volunteer with AO3, in charge of wrangling tags for that particular fandom--looks at it and decides what to do with it. Most chatty tags get ignored (unless the wrangler has seen others very similar). New fandom tags and character tags get made 'canonical' and attached to particular fandoms, so that a) they will now be clickable so you can find other fic tagged with that tag once other people use it and b) it will come up in the autocomplete. Other tags that the wrangler thinks will be generally useful (i.e. anything that other writers might use) get made canonical as well, either attached to the fandom (Tony Stark's Daddy Issues) or not attached to the fandom (mpreg, wingfic, etc). Tags that are close to/mean the same thing as other tags already in use get 'synned' to those tags, so "Bechdel Pass" and "Bechdel Test Pass" become functionally the same tag--you click on one, you get all the fics tagged with one or the other, so you don't need to know the exact tag you're looking for if you can get close.

A note: the tag wranglers are awesome, and do a lot of work behind the scenes to make the Archive work right. To learn more, check out this post on AO3. And if you want to make life easier on the tag wranglers, here's something one of them posted on tumblr:

What actually makes life harder for tag wranglers? People tagging obscure characters or OCs who are not in the work. Private bookmark tags that use terms we’ve never seen before. Smushnames. Comma fail. Drafts that stay for months because people keep editing them. All of those are allowed, and hardly anyone ever says anything about them outside of wrangler spaces.

If you spot a tag that you think is wrong (wrong spelling of a name, for example, which I've come across a couple of times--for some reason Vulcan women often get their names improperly capitalized, T'lar instead of T'Lar, that sort of thing) you can report it! At the bottom of every AO3 page is a link to "Technical Support and Feedback." Your comment will be sent to the tag wrangler for that fandom, and they can then either fix or explain the issue. (Thanks for pointing this out, liviapenn)

If you're really interested in How It All Works, you can check out the Sekrit Decoder Ring of tagging, aka the Tag Wrangling Guidelines. It's designed for the Tag Wranglers, so you don't need to know it--they'll handle any fixes that need fixing--but it's there if you want it.

If you want a different step-by-step explanation of how to tag on AO3, here's a post by superhappygenki, an AO3 tag wrangler.

Hope this all helps!

#archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #meta

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talpup · 4 years ago

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Light In the Darkness:

Some much needed comfort and fluff for Yami and Teris as we end Part II of their story. Next update we'll be starting Part III with drama at the Magic Knights Entrance Exams. In case you haven't noticed, parts in this fic are sectioned by years starting with the Entrance Exam, and Yami and Teris' 1st year as Magic Knights.

To make it easier on anyone wanting to look back, I've put my timeline notes for Part II at the end of this chapter over on AO3. And have also added my timeline notes for Part I at the end of chapter 13. Please excuse my abbreviations and the unedited mess these notes are.

Chapter 63

It was the start of a new month. Both Yami and Teris had been home and out the that cursed infirmary Yami never wanted to see again for a little more than a week. Though their sleeping patterns were almost back to normal, they both got fatigued a lot sooner than they use to, turned in early and stayed in bed late.

Bran had thankfully helped Gendry tend to the Saber Wolves. Taking them out for rides and such when Gendry couldn’t. Today Yami had gone out to the kennels with Gendry to see Pilfer and No Name for the first time since this mess. Though his friend hadn’t so much as let him carry the bucket of meat, Yami still found himself winded and tired from the trek down as if he had put in a full day of hard labor.

Yami glanced back up the path in disgust, not looking forward to the trip up hill.

“You have to take it slow.” Gendry said, tossing the Saber Wolves a leg each. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll be back to normal in no time. We only got you back home nine days ago.”

Yami wiped the sweat off his brow and leaned against an iron post. “I hate this. Some Third Class Senior Magic Knight I make.”

Gendry shook his head at Yami’s self disparaging remark. “You make a fine one. And you’ll make an even finer co-Vice Captain.”

Yami looked up wondering how he knew about Jax’s plans.

Gendry smirked. “It’s easy to go unnoticed and overhear things when one usually doesn’t say much to call attention to themselves. Especially if the one not noticing is Bronn.”

“I’ll certainly make a better Vice Captain than him.” Yami said.

“That wouldn’t be too difficult.” Gendry said, dumping out the wolves drink pails and refilling them with clean water. “Let’s try to raise the bar a little higher, shall we.”

Yami smirked at his friend. “Let Pilfer out.”

Gendry did as he was told, the Saber Wolf rushing to Yami, almost knocking him over. Yami let out a huff, holding onto the wolfs neck until he regained his balance. He was grateful Gendry hadn’t rushed over to try and help him. Tobin was a good friend and all; but Yami had quickly lost patience with how Tobin hovered and tried to do everything for him. How was he suppose to get better if he wasn’t given the chance to struggle?

Yami patted Pilfer’s flank. “Missed you too boy. Promise we’ll go for a ride as soon as I’m able.”

“But not before.” Gendry said, petting No Name through the bars.

Yami scowled at his friend and told the wolf. “Don’t listen to him. He just wants to keep you to himself.” He looked up at Gendry. “What of the one that was snooping around and digging at their pens?”

“Moved on.” Gendry said.

“Good. Don’t think we could've managed another now. Even with Bran stepping up to help.”

Gendry nodded. While he could handle the trained Pilfer and No Name with ease, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but feed a wild Saber Wolf and keep it penned up till Yami had been able to train it. Gendry had assisted Yami a bit with training No Name; but he didn’t know much about the process. He certainly didn’t feel comfortable trying anything like that on his own; which would have spelled disaster from the start as the wild wolf would have sensed his timid unease.

“Bran has been a big help. He’s rather good with the wolves.” Gendry told.

Yami’s eyes narrowed. “Used his magic?”

“Not once. When he offered to help I had him come down with me and watched him just to be sure he could manage without getting himself killed or needing to use it. He’s got a good sure hand and easy confidence about him when he’s of mind.”

“He needs to grow up and finish growing a backbone but he’ll make a decent leader eventually.” Yami said.

Gendry lifted his brows and blinked. From someone like Yami that was high praise. Especially when said about Bran who Yami had always been particularly hard on. It struck Gendry that maybe that was why Yami treated Bran so. To bring out the hidden aspects Yami saw in the boy that would help see him grow.

Smirking, Gendry asked. “Already eyeing a future Vice Captain of your own?”

Yami grinned back. “Are you saying you don’t wanna be my Vice Captain when it’s time?”

“Hell no!” Gendry laughed, knowing Yami’s query for the joke it was.

Yami laughed as well.

Gendry sat down along No Names kennel. The Saber Wolf laid down, his tuft of fur poking through the metal bars. Patting the creature absently, Gendry asked. “How’s Teris?”

“As frustrated as I am, if not more.” Yami said, more falling than sliding to the ground to sit. “She’s even weaker than I am.” He thought about that day. “She went through a lot.”

“You both did.” Gendry said.

Yami shook his head. Recalling his utter fear and rage as he pleaded, prayed, and demanded for Teris to breath. “She died for a moment.” He confessed, throat bobbing with emotion.

Gendry started. “I didn’t know that.”

Yami shook his head again. “No one does.” He looked at Gendry, eyes deathly fierce. “And no one will.”

Gendry nodded, understanding.

Yami looked away, wondering what he would have done if Teris hadn’t come back to him and lived. Rain hell down over every living thing on the earth sounded about right. No one. Not even Gendry, Tobin, or Julius would’ve been safe from such consuming wrath. Whatever magic that was within him. Whether it was just dark magic or Darkness itself. He would have used it to do his bidding and ended a world that dared to go on without Teris Nova in it.

Yami blinked and shook his head, ridding himself of such thoughts. It didn’t bare thinking about. Teris had lived. He had called her back to herself, willing her to breathe. It wasn’t like him to think on past possibilities and annoyed him that he was doing so now.

Gendry wanted to ask more but knew now wasn’t the time. Thinking now wasn’t the time for Yami to be left to his thoughts either, he volunteered. “I kissed Abril yesterday.”

Yami looked at his friend, brow raised in amusement. “What’s that make? Two kisses in the course of a year?”

“Half a year.” Gendry stated, dryly.

“You better slow down. You don’t wanna overwhelm the girl.”

Rolling his eyes, Gendry tossed a blade of grass at Yami.

Yami scratched the back of his neck. “That’s got to be the one of the few things I completely don’t understand about you.”

“We’re not you and Teris.” Gendry said.

Yami huffed. “That’s for damn sure. I kissed Teris for the first time twice in the same night and would've kissed her some more it we haven’t been interrupted. Are you two even together?”

Gendry plucked another blade of grass and toyed with it. “When are we not? She’s always following me around. Worse than my own shadow she is.”

Yami didn’t tell him that wasn’t what he meant, sure Gendry had understood.

“I think might want to marry her.” Gendry said.

Yami didn’t say that Gendry would have to do more than kiss Abril once every six months if he had hope of kids. Who was he to judge? Instead, he asked. “Does she know?”

“You laugh.” Gendry scowled.

“No. I didn’t. But I almost did.” Yami admitted.

Settling back, Gendry shrugged. “I don’t know what Abril wants. We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“What do you talk about?” Yami wondered. Gendry was even less chatty than him. Every time he saw the two together it was always Abril doing the talking. The girl rarely shut up. Yami didn’t know how Gendry stood it. Though he supposed after awhile it just became a sort of background noise like an insentient rain. Maybe more like an annoying cricket who’s chirping kept you awake; but no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t find it to shut it up and instead did your best to ignore it. It’s sound always present but sometimes buffeted when your mind traveled elsewhere.

Gendry shrugged again. “Stuff.”

Yami eyed his friend, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “Do you even get a word in edgewise?”

“Sometimes.” Gendry said, defensively.

Yami held up a hand calling for peace.

“It’d be nice to retire in five or six years. Get married. Open up a smith shop of my own. Maybe in Kiten or Neige. Somewhere close enough to the base so I can still come by regularly and help you with the Saber Wolves.”

“I’m part of this dream future of yours?” Yami questioned, brows raised. He felt slightly uncomfortable by that. It was one thing for him to fantasize about being married to Teris and Captain of the Black Bulls. But for someone else to make him part of their future plans? That put expectations and pressure on him that he didn’t want.

Gendry shrugged. “You are planning on becoming Captain of the squad one day right?”

Yami gave a slow nod.

“I don’t see you giving up on taking in wolves that pass your way. If anything I see you growing it into a sort of business.”

“I think I’ll have my hands full being Captain.” Yami said.

“I think you’ll have a tough time providing a life Teris is accustomed to and get in the gambling you want on a Captains salary.” Gendry countered.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Teris isn’t the typical royal. Her life here is what she’s happy and accustomed to. Not to mention she’ll be bringing in her own hefty salary as Knights Commander.”

“Do you know how much time a Magic Knights Commander spends out in the field?” Gendry asked. “You’ll need something to pass the time while she’s out, else you’ll go mad or broke gambling or both.”

“I’m well aware with how often she’ll be away from home.” Yami snapped. But oh, the time they would have when she was home. He might not even let her leave the bedroom, he thought smiling.

Gendry watched Yami smile wondering what he was thinking. “All I’m saying is it’s something to consider.

“I have.” Yami admitted.

Gendry gave a rough sigh wondering why Yami was always so difficult. “And?”

Yami shrugged. “It’s a consideration for future me to deal with and decide. I try not to think that far in advance.”

“But you have thought of it?” Gendry pressed.

“Once.” Yami looked at Gendry. “Twice now I suppose.”

63.2

Seeing Fuegoleon enter, Teris pushed up from her seat and stood. Her cousin rushed to her, wrapping her in a hug.

“Don’t scare me like that ever again! I’ll kill you if you do.” Fuegoleon breathed, squeezing her tightly.

“I think that makes the point of her frightening us like that moot.” Nozel said, from behind him.

“Leon.” Teris gasped, patting at his shoulder.

The Crimson Lion loosened his hold. “Sorry!” He pulled back looking at her as she caught her breath. “Sorry. You okay?”

“Step out of her space and give her some room to breathe and she will be.” Nozel said.

Fuegoleon turned to the Silver Eagle. “You got to see her. I didn’t.”

“Only for a moment. And I haven’t seen her since, so if you don’t mind.” Nozel stepped between the Vermillion and Teris, and gave her a gentle hug. His heart sung when she hugged him back. It was a brief, light touch; but receptive contact nonetheless. Reluctantly, he released her, not wanting to press his luck by holding her too long. Stepping back, Nozel looked at her. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Teris looked between the two and told. “Trust me. It wasn’t my intention to scare anyone in the first place. I certainly would rather never do so again.”

Fuegoleon saw her wobble. He and Nozel each grabbed an arm, steadying her.

“Let’s sit you back down.” Fuegoleon suggested, he and Nozel helping her sink back into the sofa.

The Vermillion ran his fingers along Teris’ brow, wiping her hair out of her face. He frowned at how clammy she felt. Mereoleona hadn’t over exaggerated. If anything, his sister had under exaggerated just how bad off Teris still was. He found himself being somewhat grateful that they hadn’t allowed him to visit her before now. He wasn’t sure what he would've done if he had seen her in a worse state.

He glanced at Nozel who was watching Teris with a look of devotion, worry, and barely controlled anger. Pulling Nozel back from her, the two men sat. Fuegoleon noted that Nozel opted to sit on the sofa beside Teris, but far enough that two full hand lengths could be lined up between them. Ever the perfect and proper gentleman, Fuegoleon thought. Well except for that one time when the Silva had kissed her.

“I knew you were jealous I got a double promotion. But did you really have to go this far to best me?” Fuegoleon teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Teris smiled. “I use to wonder how you two could think of each other as rivals but not consider me one. Now I know. It’s cause neither of you stand a chance against me. It’d be futile.”

“I don’t know about all that. But we’ll leave Nozel in the dust for sure.” Fuegoleon grinned.

“Never.” Nozel told, glancing at the Crimson Lion.

“What’s that, still Fifth Class Senior Magic Knight?” Fuegoleon asked, turning an ear to him.

Teris laughed.

Nozel let it slide for her sake. It was good to see her happy and smiling despite all that had happened to her. He had known Yami Sukehiro was nothing but trouble. But after everything that had happened, he couldn’t see how everyone else didn’t know it as well. If Captain Jax hadn’t welcomed the foreign peasant into his squad. If Teris had accepted another squads offer. If Yami had never washed up on the Clover Kingdoms shores…

As if pulling the name from Nozel’s head, Fuegoleon asked. “Where’s Yami?”

Nozel gave his friendly rival an icy look.

“Out with Gendry visiting the wolves.” Teris answered.

“Is that some sort of figure of speech?” Nozel questioned. Considering both men were peasants and weren’t much better than wild beasts, he couldn’t be sure.

Fuegoleon leaned back, crossing an ankle over a knee. “Yami has two Saber Wolves that he’s captured and trained.”

“Himself?” Nozel questioned, raising a brow. He remembered the one that had all but attacked him when he had walked Teris home and how Teris had brazenly mounted and ridden the thing.

Fuegoleon nodded.

Nozel looked away trying not to be impressed. Even if Saber Wolves were more difficult to catch and train, training animals was a tradesman's task.

“No Name’s mine.” Teris reminded.

“Then why aren’t you out there visiting him?” Fuegoleon grimaced, regretting the words as soon as he spoke them.

“Don’t do that.” Teris said.

“Do what?” Fuegoleon asked, catching Nozel’s glare at his tactless insensitivity.

“Don’t look as if you’re sorry for me. I’ll be back to full strength and better than ever in no time. You and Nozel should take this time to catch up. You’re not going to get another chance.”

“Is it true Captain Jax wants to make you and Yami co-Vice Captains?” Fuegoleon asked.

Nozel straightened. He looked between the two wondering why Fuegoleon hadn’t mentioned this to him.

“Who told you that?” Teris asked.

“I was filing reports in Mereoleona’s office when the Blue Rose Captain stormed in asking her if she’d heard. Unfortunately I didn’t get to hear more as Leona shooed me out.” Fuegoleon watched his cousin a moment before asking again. “So is it true?”

Teris shrugged. “Nothing’s true until it’s done.”

“But you’re of a rank where it’s now possible. And though rare, there have been co-Vice Captains in the past.” Fuegoleon pressed.

“It would certainly go a long way in helping me reach Knights Commander.” Teris said.

Nozel watched her out of the corner of his eye, furious at such a possibility. Yami had caused enough problems. The foreigner had endangered Teris. Tempted her. Laid his filthy hands and lips on her. And now Yami and Teris would share a position of power, assuring they’d work all the more closely together. Nozel almost wished the people his father had hired to kill Yami had been successful.

“At least you don’t have to spend your time searching in secret anymore.” Fuegoleon said, changing the subject.

“Lot of good it does. Other then having a name and a brief overview of what those crazies think and want, there’s nothing of use.” Teris’ gaze became unfocused for a moment, lost in thought. Finally she said. “They’re not done.”

“Yes they are.” Nozel said, fiercely. “They’re never getting near you again. Even if we have to rain mercury and fire down on the other three kingdoms and then some.”

“He’s right. No one messes with my family.” Fuegoleon said.

Teris almost pointed out that they weren’t really family, their connection so old and diluted as to be mute. Instead she tried to give the two a smile, and failed.

“Full disclosure was only given to the Captains. But they were given leave to inform the Senior Magic Knights in their squad most of what had happened and the events that led up to it.” Fuegoleon said.

Teris shook her head. “Maybe later. I’d really rather not talk about it right now.”

Nozel placed a hand on hers. “You don’t have to. You never have to if you don’t want to.”

She gave him a grateful nod of thanks and slowly pulled her hand out from under his. It wasn’t because of the past kiss. With everything that had happened, all of that seemed like forever ago and she was well passed any lingering anger or mistrust toward Nozel for it. No. The reason she pulled away was because her slow to fade wounds still stung when touched, and she didn’t want him feeling the bandage around her wrist that the cuff of her long sleeved blouse covered.

She wasn’t sure what either had been told. But even if they knew about her injuries, she didn’t want attention called to them. She had taken to buttoning the blouse over her tank top to all but the top most button so that the bandages on her chest weren’t easily visible. The look in Yami’s eyes every time he glimpsed the peek of white bandages never fail to send a shiver of fear down her spine. He looked like he wanted to tear the world apart. And given what had happened the morning of the Summer Solstice she thought he just might be able to do it.

“What about the dreams?” Fuegoleon asked. “The Captain,” he said, speaking of his sister, “mentioned that you had been having some sort of communicative dreams with that page you and Yami got from a labyrinths vault. But that you couldn't remember them.”

“My Captain didn’t mention any of this.” Nozel said, once again looking between the two.

“Guess my Captain has more faith and trust in her Senior Magic Knights than your does.” Fuegoleon said, not mentioning that Mereoleona had told him that bit privately.

“I know I remembered them for an instant.” Teris said thinking back, the two men turning to her. “I remembered them all so clearly. They’re what helped save everything.”

“Everything as in?” Fuegoleon prompted.

Teris shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember any of them now. Just that I did when it mattered most.” She closed her eyes, trying to force them back. “They’re there.” She gritted, and sighed, opening her eyes. “It’s like a mist you can’t see but can feel. It’s frustrating.”

She was grateful Julius and Marx hadn’t suggested they attempt to magically access them again. But another part of her wanted them to try.

“The Captain took away all my notes, including the book you copied for me.” Teris complained apologetically to Nozel. “Says I don’t need the temptation. That I’m still too weak. Whatever that means.”

Nozel wanted to say that he was glad. He was sorry he had ever copied the book in the first place. It was stupid, but a part of him felt responsible. As if in giving Teris those copied pages he had played a part in what had happened.

“It means exactly that. That you are still too weak.” Fuegoleon stated. “Trust your Captain, Julius, and Commander Greywright to know and do what’s best for you. Don’t push yourself. You’ll only delay your recovery.”

Teris made a face.

“I’ll dunk you in the Lava Springs if you don’t behave yourself.” Fuegoleon threatened.

Teris didn’t believe him; but given that he had carried out the threat once before, she wasn’t going to call him on it.

“I mean it Teris.” Fuegoleon went on. “I know you don’t like being told what to do. But this time you have to. For the people who care about you, if not yourself.”

“I know.” Teris sighed.

“Promise me. Promise us.” Fuegoleon glanced at Nozel. “That you’ll behave and take it slow.”

“I will.” Teris assured. “I promise.”

63.3

Teris found Yami just outside the kitchens, sitting under a tree. She slumped against the door frame watching him lounge, his eyes closed, face lifted. His color had returned for the most part. The dark circles under his eyes barely noticeable in most light. Other than him being so easily fatigued, the only other telling sign of what he had been through were the bandages around his wrists that Gilly came daily to change.

Teris had been so grateful that they had survived. That Yami had made it through. But after hearing Commander Greywright explain everything. After Julius told her that this event had been focused on her as it had been the Summer Solstice. She could only wonder what Alowishus Spade and his Agents of Chaos had planned for Yami come the Winter Solstice. It didn’t matter that Julius, Jax, and Greywright swore they would never let the crazies get their hands on Yami. Teris herself would make sure they never got near him. Still, a fear tugged at the pit of her stomach.

“Are you going to join me or just stand there admiring the view?” Yami asked, eyes still closed.

“You can sense my Ki now? Is that how bad off I am?” Teris questioned.

Yami leveled his head opening an eye to look at her leaning against the kitchen door. “It’s cause I heard someone but couldn’t sense their Ki that I knew it was you. Come here.”

He watched, waiting till she took a step his way before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Feeling her near he pushed himself up. Sitting more upright against the tree, he reached up helping her sit on the ground.

Teris’ legs trembled as she lowered herself, only getting halfway down before her legs gave out.

Yami wrapped his arms around her as she fell, pulling her over to fall on him. “I got you.”

Teris released a breath of disgust. “This is ridiculous.”

“Just imagine the time we’ll have getting back up.” Yami said.

“I think I’ll sleep out here if no one comes looking.” Teris said, adjusting her legs out in front of her.

She tried to push herself up against the tree trunk but Yami pulled her back to rest against his chest. She obliged, too tried not to.

“Is that why you’re still out here? Couldn’t get back up?” Teris wondered, relaxing against him.

Yami’s arms looped around her waist. “It’s nice out.”

“It’s hot.”

“Exactly.” He murmured, holding her closer, reveling in the heat she gave off.

Teris closed her eyes, soaking up the coolness his mana gave off. “You feel good.”

“So do you.” Yami breathed against her ear.

They sat silently for a long time, enjoying each others presence and comforting temperatures.

Finally, Teris asked. “How were Pilfer and No Name?”

“Happy to see me. We need to get you down there to see them. Even if Tobin or Gendry have to carry you.”

“I’m not letting Tobin or Gendry carry me.”

“Fine. We’ll work something out with a wagon or something.” Yami said.

Teris gave a growling sigh. “I hate this.”

“I know.” Yami ran a hand along her arm, kissing her neck. His chin rested on her shoulder, eyes peeking over to see the slight bubbling of her blouse where the bandages were. “I hate it too.”

“Do you think— I mean... Death can’t really reside in anyone any more than Light and Darkness can. Right?”

Yami’s fingers slid over her hand which rested on his knee. “All that stuff went over my head. I haven’t given it much thought since they told us. Never mind that you promised Julius, Greywright, and Jax that you wouldn’t go into study mode.”

Teris looked back over her shoulder at him. “I’m not! What can I do anyway? Jax took away everything I had. I’m surprised he didn’t try to take away my grimoire.”

Yami was sure their Captain would’ve liked to. He certainly would have.

“I’m only wondering what you think.” Teris pressed.

“I don’t. It’s why we work so well together. You do all the thinking for us.”

“Yami.” Teris said, unamused.

Yami sighed, eyes looking back at the flat of her chest. “I try not to think about it.”

Teris caught him looking at her bandages. “And how’s that working out for you?”

“Honestly?” His eyes lifted to hers. “Not as well as I’d like. I’m hoping it gets easier when we get back to normal.” If things ever get back to normal, he thought darkly.

Thoughts going along the same line, Teris said. “We’ll get there. We have to. I don’t think Jax would tolerate Vice Captain’s who couldn’t use their magic, let alone barely make it down the stairs for meals.”

Neither of them said it, but both wondered if their mana would ever calm enough for them to do as they had done before. They’d be healed up and better than ever if they could just trust the control of their mana enough to feed off of each others.

Needing to know, Yami asked. “You haven’t opened your grimoire to that damned page of Chaos have you?”

“No.”

Yami lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her.

Turning her head to meet his gaze, she said again. “No! Even I’m not that stupid.”

Satisfied, he told. “Don’t go doing it alone or without me.”

Teris looked away upset that he was being so protective, yet couldn’t care less about the reasoning behind why the Agents of Chaos were doing all this.

Yami sighed against her. As a man of action, he didn’t much care about a persons reasoning. He certainly didn’t care about the Agents of Crazies reasoning's. All he cared about was that Teris was safe and protected. Even if that protection was currently from herself. He had lost her once. He wasn’t going to lose her again.

“Jax still apologizes to me as if this was somehow his fault. It’s weird and disconcerting.” Teris confessed.

Yami shrugged. “He probably feels that this never would’ve happened if he didn’t tell us about the mission. It’s stupid. But it’s Jax. What can you expect?”

“He said something similar the day Greywright came and told us everything. Jax said something about how the threat and chance of danger from the start should have kept him from ever offering us the mission in the first place.”

Yami remembered the conversation he and Jax had in the Captain's office. He should’ve turned the mission down. Let Jax talk him out of it. If only he hadn’t been so arrogant and hungry to see himself and Teris promoted. Then again Alowishus and his people would've simply found another way to get their hands on them. No one that crazy, who had planned that long, simply gave up. The Agents of Chaos might've even attacked the base in force.

“What threat and danger was he talking about?” Teris asked, remembering the way the Captain and Yami had been that day.

“You’re fishing.” Yami rumbled, tone censuring.

“Cause there’s something to catch. Yami--”

“Don’t.” Yami silenced. “Just don’t.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Please. Ikigai. Just let it go and don’t.”

Teris closed her eyes knowing without a doubt that there was something there. Upset that there was apparently yet another danger, and this time Yami seemed to be in on keeping it from her. She wanted to accuse him of being like Sir Jorah and Greywright; but didn’t, knowing that would only further upset the both of them. She didn’t want to argue. She doubted she’d have the strength to do so if she tried. Letting it go, she told herself that she’d figure it out later if Yami refused to tell her.

Yami’s lips plucked at the fabric of her blouse in a slow, steady rhythm. He could sit like this with her forever and be happy. He found it darkly amusing that he just might if no one came looking and helped them up.

“Yami.”

Lips still pressed to her shoulder, Yami gave a low throaty hum.

“What did Julius mean when he mentioned you were the third seventh?” Teris felt him smile against her shoulder. “What?”

Yami raised his head and kissing her temple. “Nothing. Just thinking how alike you and Julius are.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Even just sitting here your mind doesn’t stop.”

“Is it suppose to?” Teris asked.

“It’d be nice if it occasionally did. Yeah.” Yami admitted.

Teris turned away from him, arms crossing. “Forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

“Don’t be like that.” Yami chuckled. “That’s not how I meant it and you know it.” He leaned forward, fingers caressing her jawline trying to get her to turn back to him. “Come on, Teris. I love the way you are.” His nose ran up the side of her neck.

Teris tilted her head away from him.

“I won’t tell you, if you don’t forgive me.” Yami warned, playfully.

“Which should suit you just fine. Since I apparently think and talk too much.” Teris snipped.

Yami smirked at her temper. “You really gonna take this out on me, Princess? I know you’re not that weak; emotionally or any other way.”

Teris exhaled. “Sorry. I’m— It’s just...”

“You don’t need to explain. I get it. All I want is for you to look at me.”

She complied, head turning back to him.

Yami’s smiled grew. “Now can we kiss and make up?”

He made her lean in and come to him, forcing himself to hold still and let her initiate.

Her hand moved to his chest, running up to his neck and tugging at him. As soon as her lips met his, Teris melted into him. Yami gave a low throaty hum which quickly turned into a growl when his muscled trembled, barely able to grip her waist and pull her closer.

Teris broke the kiss far too soon for his liking. But he saw how out of breath she was, and moved to her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed, unable to to much else but tremble in a mixture of pleasure and fatigue.

Yami’s hand ran up her side and around her shoulder, holding her closer still. His forearm bumped her wounded chest.

Teris winced.

Feeling a sudden jerk of tension in her, Yami pulled back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Teris said, moving to kiss him again.

Yami pulled his head back. Looking her over, he noticed the bit of white from her bandage that showed between her blouses buttons was tinted some with red.

Pointing, he told. “That’s not nothing.”

He wanted to tell her to unbutton her blouse and show him. Wanted to do it himself and see. But Teris was even more careful about who saw her still healing wounds than he was. The only person who had seen them since they had returned home was Gilly, who daily tended to them.

When Yami had refused to show Teris his, saying they were no different than the ones around her own wrists; Teris had barred him from being in the room while Gilly checked and changed her bandages. In truth Yami had seen the wounds around her wrists and they weren’t half as bad as his. Gilly had told him that his had cut to the bone in several places. That was why he had be against letting Teris see.

Teris returned his scowl with one of her own. Only unlike Yami, who’s eyes and ire were directed at the bloody bandage on her chest, her annoyance was directed at him. She held an arm up to her chest, as if to shield it from sight. Turning back away, she leaned back against him and changed the subject.

“It’s your birthday next month.”

“I am aware.” Yami smirked.

“What you do want to do?”

Arms wrapped around her, Yami nuzzled her neck. “This.”

“All day?” She questioned, smiling.

Yami kissed her pulse point. “Works for me. No planned outings. No gifts.”

“No? I thought you liked your day on the sea.”

“I did. Still do. And your gift means more to me than I can say. But… Let me plan something.”

Teris arched an eyebrow. “Dare I trust that?”

“Does it matter? It’s my day.” Yami thought about the kiss he had wanted for his birthday last year. If Teris let him, he’d get way more than the single kiss he had hoped for back then. Looking at her, he told. “My birthdays were never much of an occasion.”

“Never? Not even before arriving here?”

“Even less back there.” He said, unable to call it home since he had found a new, better home in her.

“That’s… sad.” Teris said, thinking that the great deal made of her birthday’s might not have been for her but rather for Fyntch and Nathyn Silva to torment her. For the two men to force her and Nozel together, while they planned on a future that would never come. But even then, at least something was done to mark the day.

Yami shrugged. “When you’re the seventh son, and the fourth or even fifth unwanted one at that, it’s not too hard to see why my parents never made a fuss.” He saw her perk at the mention of being a seventh son and told. “My grandmother came to the land of the Rising Sun from a place she called a land of Rain and Fog. She said it was a dark place with little sun. The days short and often dark with heavy cloud cover. She once told me that she had been a sorceress there. That it was a place of earthly and other worldly magic. She even showed me what had once been her staff. It looked like a useless wooden walking stick to me. Even more so when I asked her to do something fantastical with it and she told me she couldn’t. That there was so little magic in my native land that everyone thought there was none and most believed it didn’t even exist. She said then that magic would always find a way and that it had done so in our family. That she had married the youngest of seven brothers despite having been courted by the elder, more prosperous one. That she had let fate decide if she was worthy of bringing seven sons of her own into the world. My father hated her for calling him something special when he had never felt special. Every time she visited he would yell and ask her if this was the grand, special life she had told him about. A poor fisherman who didn’t even own the lean-to shack we lived in. Cursed with seven sons of his own to clothe and feed. He especially hated it when my grandmother told me that I was more special still. He’d tell her to stop putting ideas in my head. That if I did have a fate, it was to end up just like him, if not dead or in prison. She only visited once a year. Her eldest son and his wife looking after her up in the mountains where my father grew up. She came to visit early the last time. Before I went out and got caught up in that storm. She pulled me aside and said that I had to know everything. That she wouldn’t get a chance to tell me again. At the time, I had thought she was talking about herself. That she was sick and thought she would die before next years visit.” Yami paused recalling his grandmother’s lined, weathered face; certain that she had somehow known what would happen to him not more than three weeks later.

“She said that I almost died the night I was born. That she used the last of her magic to make my heart beat. That it was the least she could do for the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son. She said that I was the culmination of her life's work. The way she had spoken making it sound as if she had lived much longer than the ninety some odd years she was. She said that I was tied to the seventh form of magic. That where she was from there were six kinds of magic. Fire, earth, air, water, space, and time. But that it was foretold that there would one day be a seventh kind. Dark magic. She said I would one day see great magic and have my own unlocked, but I wasn’t to allow it to over take me least we all perish. That my magic could be used for great good but also cause great destruction if I didn’t control it. She told me that as the third seventh I held the fate of existence in my hand and it was up to me if I let it all continue or not.”

Yami shook his head and huffed. “My father came in raging at her for filling my head with nonsense. I thought her words nothing more than a tale to make me feel important. As if I mattered.”

“You do.” Teris said, firmly. “Even without all this. You matter. You matter to me. To Julius. To the Black Bulls...”

Yami kissed her temple. “All I need is to matter to you, Ikigai. Nothing and no one else matters passed that.”

Next chapter snippet:

Yami looked about. “You know I think Teris had the right idea after all. I’ll find my own way to the viewing room.”

Fuegoleon watched him go. Turning back to Nozel, his frown didn’t lessen. “You may have not deserved that for kissing her. But you certainly deserve it for the poor choice of timing you had in kissing her.”

“Filthy foreigner. I’m going to kill him.” Nozel seethed, holding his arm to his side.

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#yami sukehiro #nozel silva #fuegoleon vermillion #Black Clover #light in the darkness

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