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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Ready Or Not

Warnings: nonconsensual sex

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You make a run for it but how far can you make it?

Note: This was supposed to be a drabble for the incorrigible @lokislastlove but you know, I got carried away. That being said, I might just add more to this in the future because it was fun.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

One wrong step and you were toast. You didn’t hear Steve but he heard you. It all happened too quickly, you could only kick your dangling feet as he held you against the side of the house, his hand firm on your throat. It was all over and you’d barely gotten past the front door.

By your count it was nearly two weeks trapped inside; windows boarded, door locked, and your occasional yet unwelcomed visits from the only other person within miles. Your keeper, your warden.

But you waited, and waited, and waited. One slip and you were out. How could he have expected you to get out when you hadn’t done more than laid on that thin mattress and stared at the ceiling for the last five days. Or was it six?

It didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. Not the thoughts that had gotten you through it all, that you might one day be out of there, away from that room; away from him.

His hand was like a vice and your own was nothing as you clawed at his iron grip. His eyes flared in anger as he came close. His breath glossed against your lips as it came heavy in his ire.

“You think you can run from me? That you can just leave me?” He snarled and he squeezed tighter.

“Ple--” Your voice caught in your throat as all air escaped you.

“I’ve clothed you, fed you, put a roof over your head and this is how you repay me,” He dropped you suddenly and it jarred your legs. “But go ahead, run. See how far you get.”

You blinked at him, terrified. You looked behind him to the endless crowd of trees and then to the house behind you. You felt the siding and squished the leaves beneath your feet. He shrugged.

“Well,” He backed away. “You’ve got twenty minutes…”

“Twenty minutes?” You touched your sore throat.

“Let’s even the playing field, huh?” He crossed his arms. “That’s a good start.”

“I don’t-- I don’t--”

“What’s that, nineteen minutes and… fifty seconds?” He taunted.

You looked around, your chest rising and falling as the panic swelled in your chest. You glanced at him again and he smirked as he turned to look out into the treeline. Then his gaze fell to you and he lifted his brows in challenge.

Startled by the glint in his eyes, you charged forward towards the forest and plunged past the trunks as your feet were scratched by the twigs and stone mixed in with the dirt and leaves. You were out of breath within minutes and your legs ached but you pushed yourself onward. You had to get as far as you could. If you had any chance at all, you had to keep going.

You tripped over a root and went flying, barely missing a thick walnut tree as you stumbled to the ground. You turned over with a groan as the air was knocked out of you and your ribs felt as if they would crumple inward. You sat up and listened. Only the birds and the distant feet of the critters in the trees.

You coughed as you stood and fought to regain your balance. You were dizzy from the fall and the muscles in your legs were starting to throb now that you were still. You stumbled one way then the other as you tried to get a sense of which direction was which.

Then you heard it. A stick cracked and your heartbeat pattered even faster. You searched around and hurried over the overturned tree across the forest floor. There was a space below just big enough for you to slip in. You shimmied under the thick trunk and swept a pile of leaves and dirt over yourself until you were content you could not be seen.

You could see with one eye from your vantage, not that it was very good. You breathed through your nose as the boots dusted through the dirt and you were assured of your pursuers approach. Had it already been twenty minutes? He hadn’t been very far behind, had he?

You listened as he got closer and closer then you saw his figure emerge from between a pair of trees. He looked around, hands on his hips, and bent to examine the remnants of your fall; the dirt showed the disturbance clearly. He stood and chuckled to himself. He pushed the leaves around with his foot then strutted around the small space encircled by brush and branches.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” He called out. “I can hear you.”

You bit down and squeezed your eyes shut as he continued to walk around.

“Your heart is racing, you know that?” He taunted. “You’re fucking terrified aren’t you?” You opened your eyes and he was turned away from you, staring into the trees opposite you. “You should be.”

You rolled over and scrambled out of your hiding spot. You didn’t care. You had to get out of there. You fell into a sprint as you dodge between trees but you didn’t hear him in pursuit; well not running. You only heard a few decisive steps before you could hear only the wind whipping past you.

You came upon a clearing and sped up, hoping you weren’t headed back to the house. You didn’t make it far as you were suddenly swept off your feet. You were flipped by the rope that snagged around your ankle, spinning until you were left dangling from the branch above. You reached out to try to still yourself, sick to your stomach as the blood rushed to your head.

Steve emerged as you spun to face the trees you’d passed only moments before. He didn’t hurry, only paced around you as he laughed.

“I always have a contingency plan,” He said. “You should know that by now.”

“Steve, please,” You begged, reaching helplessly to the ground below. “Please, you can’t keep me here.”

“I can’t?” He scoffed and squatted down to look you in the eyes. He grabbed the back of your head to still you. “No one’s looking for you. No one. These things go cold after forty-eight hours and we both know you don’t have anyone to push it past that.”

“Please--” You put your hand on his. “Please--”

“Shhh,” He brought a finger to your lips.

“I--I--” You stuttered and he rubbed his finger against your lips gruffly. “Can you-- can you cut me down?”

“Cut you down?” He tilted his head.

“My head hurts, please,” You said softly.

He looked at you a moment and reached to his belt. He pushed back his flannel shirt and grabbed the thick handle of the knife sheathed beneath. He pulled out the large hunting blade and your eyes widened. He brought it forward, twirling it as he pressed it where his fingers had just been against your lips.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” He said. “Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

You winced in defeat and he dragged the blade up along your jaw and neck, over your chest as the tip caught in the vee of your drooping shirt. He unhooked it and stood. He grabbed the rope and you stretched your arms out as he steadied you. He began to saw the rope and you caught yourself in the dirt as you came loose.

You grunted as you managed to roll onto your back. You were wrenched up to your feet within seconds as Steve grabbed your arm. He sheathed his knife as he reached for the end of the rope above him and tugged your wrist up. He held the rope and your wrist in one hand as he forced your other one up.

You struggled with him a moment but he was far too strong. He wrapped the rope around until you were on your tiptoes. You hung before him and he once more took out his knife. He brought it up and pointed it at your nose.

“You tried,” He smirked. “As pathetic as it was.”

"Please," You sobbed, trying to pull at the rope.

"I'll cut your fucking tongue out," He snarled and pressed the knife to your bottom lip. "I should do worse considering."

You stared at him and he dragged the blade down your chin and neck. He hooked it in your shirt and tugged, cutting the cotton wide open. It hung from your arms and bared your breasts to the chill autumn air that only now began to bite as your adrenaline petered out.

The cold metal of the blade touched your pelvis as he slid it down the front of your loose shorts. He made quick work of them and they fell to the dirt. You shook and swayed from the rope, unable to do more than hang helplessly.

He traced a line down your stomach with the tip and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He brought it up under your chin and made you look at him.

“I’d hate to mess up that pretty face,” He growled. “So I’ll just have to find another way to punish you.”

He retracted the knife and shoved it back into its leather sheath. His tongue poked out between his lips as his hands ran along his belt. You squirmed as he gripped the buckle, his hands moving swiftly beneath the hem of his flannel shirt.

“Please, don’t--” You begged.

“I won’t tell you to shut up again,” He spat as he loosed his belt and nearly broke the button from his fly. “I’ve waited long enough. It seems too long.” He shoved his zipper down. “I’ve been too nice but I thought you’d get it by now.”

You sobbed quietly and hung your head, your arms straining against your weight. You gasped as he grabbed your leg and pulled it up. He bent it against his side as he swung you closer. He took your other leg and placed it around his other hip. He squeezed just above your knees as he let out a gristly breath.

“You don’t wanna keep pushing me, girl,” He warned as his rough palms slid up your legs and to your ass. He urged you closer and you felt his bulge through his open fly. “Because I will push you back.”

He snaked a hand around your hip and along your thigh. He shoved it between you and reached into the front of his jeans, bunched the top of his briefs as he pulled himself free from the layers. You stared at him, frozen, frightened. You gave a shaky breath as he pressed the head of his cock against your clit. He urged himself along your folds and rubbed against your entrance.

“I wanted you to like it,” He whispered as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Now I really don’t fucking care.”

He impaled you at once. You squeaked and pushed your head back. His hand flew from between you and he grasped the back of your head, forcing it up so that his eyes bore into yours. His nails dug into your scalp as you closed your eyes.

“No,” He sneered. “Keep ‘em open.”

He thrust, hard, and you yelped. It hurt terribly. Your walls were snug around him. Your lashes fluttered but you didn’t close your eyes. You nodded fearfully and he crashed his mouth into yours. He forced his tongue past your lips as he rocked his hips. Each tilt made you whine, the pain never relented, even as your nerves began to buzz in pleasure.

He nibbled at your lip before he dragged his wet mouth along your cheek and down your jaw. He pulled your head back so that you stared up at the sky through the shroud of leaves above. He nuzzled your neck and bit into your throat as he rutted harder and harder, his deep snarls undercut your brittle moans.

Your legs tightened around him and you sucked in your lip as you tried to resist the swelling waves within. You could feel the orgasm mounting, even as you fought against it, and you quaked as he forced you over the edge. You mewled and the tears trickled from the corner of your eyes. You felt so helpless, not just against him but against your own body.

He sped up and removed his teeth from your neck. He raised his head, his nose pressed to your chin as he bounced your body at the end of the rope. Your pathetic groans floated through the air as you wrapped your fingers around the rope. The cool air swept over your back and sent a shiver through you as the heat of his body seared your front.

He jerked into you as hard as he could. You cried out and sniffed back the tears which had started to rise with your second orgasm. You gulped it back as it rippled over you, your body overwrought and weak as he used it so easily. He barely seemed to notice as he hammered into you harder and harder, his boots crunching the leaves below him.

His hand moved from the back of your head and he grabbed your throat. He grip tightened as he fucked you faster. You struggled to breath as his fervour crested and he let out a dusky yet ferocious growl. His hips crashed into you painfully, sharp thrusts which jolted your hips and sent and echo along your spine.

He spilled into you, easing himself through his climax until he was still, lingering inside of you as his hand fell from your neck. You lifted your head, dizzy, your arms achy and your body humming.

He pulled out of your carefully and his cum dripped down your leg into the dirt. He zipped up his pants and buckled his belt as his panting slowed. He closed his eyes and his chest raised as he inhaled deeply. When he opened them, his pupils were small pinpoints, eerie and startling.

He reached up and grabbed the rope just above your wrists. He yanked, once, twice, three times. You heard a branch snap and the rope came free, falling in a coil over you. He gathered it around his arm and hand until there were only a few feet between you. He turned and tugged so that you nearly tripped.

He didn’t look back as he led you into the trees; didn’t say a word, and you had no choice but to follow him, just a dog on your leash.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader smut #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #one shot?#one shot #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #hunter!steve #nomad!steve rogers

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wildlyglittering · 4 years ago

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The Journey Begins with a Smile

So ages ago (and I do mean ages) I asked people to give me some Nessian prompts and I had four requests. Not many so that’s completely doable I thought.

Since my request, things didn’t go so well for my personal life and then, on a global scale, a pandemic hit. Both those things meant I wasn’t writing or even reading much.

BUT I was determined to fill those requests - even if the requesters had forgotten or no longer cared! Luckily I have managed to get my groove back so am trying to ride the writing train for as long as it will carry me!

@ekaterinakostrova requested something where Cassian made Nesta smile for the first time. I’ve taken some liberties to fill the prompt but here it is. Finally.

I hope you enjoy!

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The multi-level gardens of the Day Court stretched outwards like a labyrinth.

Unlike the Night Court, whose gardens were sensibly flat, Day’s held winding staircases which lead to a plethora of mezzanines, stacked one after another. Each offered a new delight; pools of water swimming with gold and white fish, pagodas draped with ever blossoming honeysuckle or fountains carved with the curved forms of caressing lovers.

Some paths appeared to lead to dead ends, but the experienced visitor long learnt appearances were deceiving. As long as the explorer had the foresight to move thickets of ivy and trailing roses aside, they would find smaller paths twisting towards secret grottos.

Aside from the romantic allure of mystery, the garden’s contained an energy which reverberated through Cassian’s bones. Although the deep calm of the Night Court lands was his preference, Cassian found staying in Day was never an unpleasant experience.

Wandering the gardens would have been its usual satisfying activity if not for the frustration simmering in Cassian’s veins. Not an hour before he’d bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the copper of his blood before storming from the bedroom suites, leaving the other occupant behind.

His anger, and hers, were twins to each other. When the subject matter at hand arose, rational discussion dissipated like smoke in a storm and, as they were both apt to lose their tempers, that’s exactly what they did. After those times, it was best they stayed apart.

Being away from the Night Court brought up the familiar argument.

Cassian scrubbed a hand over his face, they were in Day on Rhys’ orders otherwise they wouldn’t have been there at all.

The knowledge of who Lucien was to Helion, and who the Lady of Autumn had been, was now widely known. Now, the painful possibility of civil war loomed over the Courts, brought on by the betrayal of an unwritten code of conduct. Helion was thinking ahead, reaching out to all potential allies in the hopes if he gained enough, Autumn would be dissuaded to start conflict.

There was no question Rhys would pledge to Helion.

It didn’t hurt though, Rhys said, to pay Day a visit.

Rhys spoke about contingency planning and counter-measure tactics but Cassian had known Rhys long enough to understand the guise. Under everything lay the ripple of the question of Spring’s allegiance and the inevitable shift of power towards the next generation of High Lords, including those Rhys was unable to befriend.

Custom dictated High Lords, and now High Lady, were the only ones to be allowed in the sanctum to speak politics. However, Rhys requested the attendance of his Inner Circle - where Rhys went, his most trusted followed.

What was less clear was the rationale behind Rhys’ request that those connected to the Inner Circle also attend. It was, Cassian believed, Rhys’ attempt to keep his friends compliant and a way to curry favour from others - namely Lucien who always hungered for time with Elain.

This secondary request was the one which opened the festering wound close to the surface of Nesta’s skin.

In an effort to find some calm, Cassian took to walking the gardens, like he had many times before. Like those times before, his steps took him a familiar route. Maybe, in the depths of his subconscious mind, he sought out what would bring him solace no matter how measly a sliver.

He ventured down a staircase, overflowing with floating lilacs, and onto a terrace which was surprisingly spacious for such a narrow-arched entrance.

This particular mezzanine was paved with sand coloured stone and framed by apple trees, their branches reaching towards each other like fingers. The waist high balcony overlooked the next level down – the glass domed ceiling of the sunken library.

This terrace, tucked away in the constructed gardens, housed the collection of seven statues who all faced inwards, into their circle, for eternity.

Like all statues in Day, the figures had been carved from marble run through with thick veins of gold and silver. Unlike the other statues, Cassian held an interest for these and these alone.

Whichever sculptor Helion found, he found one with talent. Despite the fact they were rock the sculptures contained something so painfully real. They were motionless yet their bodies held motion, they were emotionless yet their faces held emotion. When Cassian reached out to touch them, he swore there was bone beneath their stone skin.

Day was never more glorious then how she was now, in the full swing of her namesake and the wide blue sky called to Cassian to dance. Though his muscles ached to obey and his wings quivered in anticipation, he wouldn’t fly. Day was filled with sharp, ornate spires and he’d navigated a similar path unsuccessfully before.

But being trapped on the ground did nothing to help his mood; his legs shook, his eyes stung. Cassian was tired of the burning sun, tired of being apart from his friends, tired of the endless political deliberations of the other High Lords.

When he was unable to fly, Cassian needed to find other ways to curb his energy. One of those ways often involved his willing mate.

Except, at this current time she was not quite so willing. The blush pink rooms they were guests in were uncomfortably close to the rooms of others so Nesta didn’t want to make love to him here. She was even less likely to be inclined towards Cassian’s persuasions following their argument.

This was a radical departure from how they were in the isolation of their mountain cabin, especially in those final days. Time had turned into hourglasses and the sand of their lives trickled through their fingers fast then they breathed.

They couldn’t move to each other quick enough then, couldn’t remove their clothes fast enough, couldn’t press their bodies close enough.

Since their return to Velaris it was as though Nesta was turning into stone as cold and hard as the material of the statues Cassian now stared at.

Cassian sighed, drawing a deep breath of the lilac scented air into his lungs and walked towards one statue in particular. The one he thought of as his twin.

The stone fae stood high on the ends of its toes, as if it couldn’t bear to have any part of itself touching the ground. The arms stretched over its head, fingers straining upwards, begging for the sky to claim it. The figure didn’t have wings but Cassian imagined them, stretched out behind, broad and strong.

Cassian’s own wings, tangible flesh and bone, twitched as a breeze drifted past.

The circle existed for centuries but grew in number over the years. The first ones, the original ones, hadn’t changed but the way Cassian looked at them had. Once a carefree nature danced about them but, like all things weightless, that had floated away.

The invisible weight on them now was hard and heavy. Even the figure for the sky had something buried under the surface that hadn’t existed before.

Cassian was no fool – he recognised his own transference. What he saw; fatigue, anger, sorrow – these were his own burdens and in turn he projected them onto the poor stone creature in front of him willing it to absorb what he didn’t want.

Cassian ran his hand once more over his face. He wanted his effigy to take Nesta’s words which today were sharper than usual with insults flung towards his family with flippant ease. He reminded her that when she spoke with venom against them, she spoke venom against him.

Take your antidote then, she’d sneered, beg your friends to draw it all out if you think I’m such poison.

Nesta hadn’t been fully happy in the mountains but she’d been as close to peace as he’d ever seen. Finally, a part of Nesta was at rest, and the female Cassian loved was in a place he loved. All had been right for a time, their hearts in full growth, only to shrink into themselves when they were summoned back to Velaris.

Cassian would be misguided to think their arrival in Day was what agitated Nesta to begin the fight that morning. He could pretend she picked up on his restlessness or that she didn’t care much for the Court however the latter was a lie.

During her lengthy rehabilitation Nesta had visited Day on numerous occasions, sometimes with Cassian but often without. On the instances he visited her he was forced to choke down his jealousy at seeing Nesta and Hellion walking arm in arm, understanding that the High Lord of Day was playing a significant part in helping her heal.

Nesta would spend every minute in this place if Helion asked her to.

No, everything triggered from Rhys’ request that Nesta come to Day.

In Nesta’s eyes, Rhys’ request was a command; a command which served only to appease Rhys’ ego and prove he would always be able to demand the lives of those around him bend to his will.

Rhys wanted Cassian to be in Day and Rhys wanted Nesta to provide a pleasant distraction for Cassian’s restless nature. There was no other purpose.

The bitterness bled into Nesta at the fact Rhys demanded her attendance in a place she adored and would visit without complaint. Rhys had smirked it was the ‘without complaint’ he’d wanted from her for once.

She came only because Cassian had pleaded.

The heavy honeysuckle cloyed at Cassian’s nose and he decided to leave the gardens before he drowned in the scent of flowers. He’d find Az, a permanently sympathetic ear, who would patiently listen to Cassian’s complaints about how suffocated he was in a place he longer wished to be.

As he turned, a flash of marble hidden in the trees caught his eye.

Cassian hadn’t noticed anything else on this mezzanine before but it was no surprise, the white figure among the deep green leaves was set apart from the circle and tucked out of sight.

Drawing closer he saw the statue stood with its back to the rest, head titled downwards. The marble designed to be the hair splayed outwards as though caught in a tumultuous wind. Something about the statue, something about her, hollowed out Cassian’s chest.

“Why didn’t Helion put you with the others?”

“Because she doesn’t belong with the others.”

A voice, smoky and deep, carried across the space and Helion appeared from behind a wall of ivy onto the terrace next to him.

Cassian quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about that secret passage.”

“That’s the whole point of it being a secret,” Helion said with a wistful sigh. “Now I’ll have to move it.”

“Don’t on my account.”

“And have you get here quicker to start your sulking? I don’t think so.”

Cassian opened his mouth to refute Helion’s words but the High Lord spoke over him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said with a nod to the statue. “Out of all them, this one’s my favourite.” Helion turned to Cassian, dark skin glowing from the light within, mischief in his eyes.

Cassian bit his teeth together.

She was beautiful though, curves and angles, and the strength of stone. But who were they speaking of? The statue or Nesta herself?

“Why is she over here and not with the rest?”

The smugness slid from Helion’s face, his dark eyes scanning Cassian’s face, categorising every imperfection and scar as though he searched for something. Perhaps he wasn’t able to find what he wanted and a sad smile crept onto his face. “I told you – she doesn’t belong with the others. If I put her in the circle where would she gaze? At the ground? I won’t have that for her.”

Cassian’s mouth twisted, “She’s already looking at the ground.”

Helion cocked his head to the side, like one of the curious dogs in the mortal realm who sensed an invisible Cassian without truly perceiving him.

“Interesting how we can view something so differently. Tell me,” Helion said, “what are you seeing?”

They stood, arm length apart, one a High Lord and one a General. One draped in white and gold silks and the other clad in black leather. Winged and grounded.

Centuries existed between them with decades of Helion’s decadent parties where his fingertips would trail across the skin of Cassian’s muscled forearm, his mouth curled into a sensual smile. They’d not gone to bed with each other but shared at least one female over the years.

Here they stood in the sun; no lustful invitations, no pulling of rank. They were two males, competing in a game with stakes Cassian didn’t care for.

Still, he described her. Head downward, eyes downcast, eyelids. No sculptor would ever be able to create something so fine but Cassian swore there were delicate, long eyelashes casting a shadow against the sharp sculptured cheekbones. The graceful neck curved into a collarbone and clavicle with strands of stone hair caught in a storm of her own making.

Head and eyes down. This is what Cassian relayed to Helion. “Are you satisfied?” he growled, “I’m tired of playing.”

Cassian had jested over the years that Helion had a way of undressing him with his eyes, of looking beyond the armour and siphons to the male underneath. Helion had roared with delight and asked Cassian if he wanted to put that feeling into action.

Now, with the High Lord’s dark eyes on him, Cassian believed Helion was witnessing something deeper, that he was now staring beyond bone and blood.

“I know when you’re upset,” Helion said, glancing away, “and where you go when you are. You’ve walked this pathway numerous times and besides, these are my gardens, they tell me everything.” Helion’s eyes flickered back to Cassian, “You’re not as prone to idiocy as Rhys would have you be. Look again and try and do it properly.”

I have, Cassian wanted to tell him but he hadn’t.

Her stone feet were planted on solid ground, the stone hands down by her sides with the palms facing upwards. Her head was still down as were her eyes.

The figure seemed to change the longer he looked, one expression melting into another, completely different from before; disinterest, anger, peace. Cassian followed the line of her eyes to the gold domes roof of the sunken library glinting in the sunlight on the mezzanine below.

The statues full lips were tilted upwards into a smile, small but there.

“You don’t love Day,” Helion said to him, his deep voice breaking through the storm of Cassian’s thoughts.

“I enjoy it.”

“But Day will never be home.” Helion raised a robed arm towards the sky, long dark fingers stretching out, the light greedily swimming around his skin. “You seek freedom and you can’t find that here. So, my question to you oh miserable one, where do you find freedom?”

Cassian shrugged; this was an easy question and though Helion already had the answer, Cassian would play a little longer. “Velaris. The mountains.”

“And who are you free with?”

Helion’s tone was sly and conspiratorial as though he was inviting Cassian into a darkened room and asking him to share all his secrets, whispering across velvet pillows or through draped curtains. It was like honey dripped from Helion’s mouth.

Cassian’s fists clenched, tendons sliding over bones as he flexed his fingers.

Helion was skilled at drawing out confidences that most fae wanted to keep hidden. He emitted some strange magic which made Cassian want to dash to the nearest scribe and spill everything he had. Names and faces swam into Cassian’s mind, seemingly at Helion’s bidding, the most prominent being the one who spent her morning scowling at him.

Her name took shape at the end of Cassian’s tongue.

“You know who,” Cassian choked the words out in lieu of the ones that was forming, “don’t play your games.”

Helion stepped closer to the statue with a sigh and trailed a graceful finger across the carved lifeline on her upturned left palm. The line cut off not long after it started before beginning again, half a nail width away. It matched the real version perfectly.

Helion pouted and peered over the ledge. “It’s no fun if you don’t want to play but let’s not then, let me share with you a truth which your own truth speaker doesn’t care to bring to you. Nesta isn’t free in Velaris, but then you do know this.” Helion’s eyes glanced from the sun glinted library roof to Cassian’s face.

“She’s free here though. My statues, my darling beauties, represent the hearts of my most welcomed guests and while you are quick to immediately assume that Nesta spends her time staring at the ground, I see she is simply seeking her own peace.” Helion shrugged, gold and white silk sliding over smooth dark skin. “Freedom looks different for everyone.”

“I know that,” Cassian snarled, teeth bared, “I don’t need some heavy-handed lecture.”

The air began to pulse as an energy reverberated around the stone of the terrace. The tree branches shook and the leaves rustled. One growl of power to a disobeying dog. A warning; never bear your canines at a High Lord in the very Court his blood runs through.

Cassian uncurled his fists, splaying his fingers in Helion’s eyeline. Acquiescence. Cassian was guilty of foolish behaviour but he was no fool.

Helion’s tone had bite. “I’ll forgive your misjudgement on account of your poorly developed emotional response mechanism but only this once. You get away with burying your head when in the Night Court but I won’t have it here. Let me speak plain - this statue is an everlasting part of my garden but it’s rock, expensive rock, but rock. I would happily welcome the originator of its visage to become a permanent member of my Court. I think she’d accept, don’t you?”

Although the power of Helion still sang its presence, Cassian restrained the urge to turn feral. He didn’t, wouldn’t, because despite what others thought, Cassian was no animal. Besides, some part of Helion’s words wormed their way through Cassian’s brain.

Perhaps Helion discerned the calm Cassian was desperately trying to maintain because his voice was soft when he next spoke. “You have two options my handsome friend; go together to a place where you are both equally as free or find your freedom apart. Sacrifices have to be made and they shouldn’t all be hers.”

The sweet scent of roses and lilacs drifted through the mezzanine and Cassian looked down at the statue’s open palm.

“You can spend your time out here staring at an exquisitely carved piece of stone or you can reach for something real,” Helion said. “Your choice.”

Cassian thought of the circle of statues at his back, most especially the one on its toes spending centuries reaching for something that never came.

The squeeze on Cassian’s shoulder was gentle. “You’ll find her in the library,” Helion told him, “but then, you already knew that.”

Cassian sighed and closed his eyes and when he’d opened them, Helion had gone. Only the hanging ivy swaying by the wall was any indication of where he’d gone. Cassian looked back at the statue’s calm and serene face before trailing a fingertip onto the other open palm, half expecting her hand to curl around his, finding that he wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I knew.”

Cassian wanted everything; Nesta, the Inner Circle, Velaris. He wanted his freedom; long fought for and hard won. He could have all those things if he pushed hard enough - but only for a time. His desires co-existing side by side would have lasted as long as a breath in the span of his lifetime.

There will be cost and Cassian understood the price.

He left the mezzanine and its sculptured delights behind. They were just statues, fixed to stand forever. Living things were meant to move.

The library was cooler than outside, filled with white marble columns and an expansive white marble floor making the space larger and lighter. Ivy weaved its way up the columns while the golden domed roof provided a welcoming warmth, counterbalancing the coolness of the stone.

Nesta was exactly where Cassian knew to find her, tucked away in her favourite loveseat under an arch in the romance section.

In the mountains Nesta told him how she spent her days in the Day Court; meals with Helion, walks with Helion, talks with Helion.

They all made Cassian’s stomach twist.

Nesta also told him she learnt to be alone with her thoughts. In those moments she went to the library, one of the few places she found comforting. There hadn’t been many safe spaces on offer to her in Prythian.

Cassian stood a small distance away behind one of the larger columns, folding his wings in as tight as he was able.

Nesta would always be one of the most beautiful females he’d ever seen. As she was now, with her head bent to her pages, she matched the statue above their heads; watchful and waiting.

Her face, smooth and still, could have been carved from stone, a testament to how expressionless she could be. If Cassian hadn’t experienced the passion, the sadness and the rage which existed underneath he would have believed she felt nothing at all.

Her cool voice carried across to him.

“Are you going to spend all your time lurking in the shadows?”

“I don’t lurk.”

Nesta looked over briefly, a delicate eyebrow raised, her pink lips downturned. Those blue-grey bore into him. She wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Cassian sighed and walked toward her. At least, he thought, Nesta shifted on the loveseat to make room for him. After their argument he thought she would be more inclined to try and beat him with the book she’d turned back to read.

They sat in strained silence. Nesta’s soft breaths out of sync with Cassian’s. She inhaled on his exhale. Everything was out of sync with them, even down to the core.

Cassian let out another sigh. Maybe he could fix this, re-set where they were going wrong. He shifted, his leg brushing against hers, so he could see her while he spoke.

“I was speaking with Helion,” he said.

Nesta kept her face to her book but raised an eyebrow again, “Oh.”

“Yes, in the garden.”

“Hmm,” she murmured and turned a page.

“He found me through one of his secret passageways.”

Nesta’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Now he’ll have to change it, so you don’t find it.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“He has many that he’s always changing. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

The silence fell over them again like a fog. They’d reduced themselves to small talk between strangers, Cassian at a loss for what to say and Nesta with no desire to help him find his words.

“He found me in the statue circle.”

She was about to turn another page, although she hadn’t really been reading since he sat down, but her fingers stumbled and she dropped the book which landed with a thud.

Cassian picked it up, the gold embossed words on a cover of rich green telling a story of love. Nesta reached out and as she did, Cassian used his other hand to grasp her wrist, “Nes...”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Let me go.”

It was a weak command, her voice shaking as she spoke but Cassian would always obey her will and he released her wrist. Nesta snatched at her book.

She didn’t open the cover, abandoning her pretence of reading and instead placed the volume on her lap, staring upwards towards the ceiling.

“I hate those statues,” she said.

“I know.”

“You have to visit them every time you’re here.”

“Not every time,” he replied but she turned, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, every time. I’ve seen you and I’ve felt you through the bond.” She looked away and started to trail the lettering on the cover with a fingernail. “Besides, Helion tells me you visit them a lot.”

Well, Helion is a spy and a snitch, Cassian wanted to say but bit those words down. This was Helion’s court and those were his garden’s, his statue’s. He went where he pleased and talked to whomever he pleased, and that, unfortunately, included Nesta.

“After our argument this morning I knew you would go there instead of coming to see me,” Nesta continued, “you and that damned circle.” Her voice cracked and she bent forward, placing her face in her hands so Cassian couldn’t see. Strands of hair fell from her crown braid over her forehead.

“Nesta,” he said, and Cassian took her wrists in his hands, gently pulling them away from her face.

Her face had blanched a stark white and the rims of her eyes were tinged pink. Despite the sheen of tears in them, Cassian knew she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Nesta always found a way of shoving everything into a box in her soul.

“You all get to spend eternity gawping at each other in every Court in every form, don’t you?” She snatched her hands away, smoothing down the frayed hairs away from her face, wiping at her eyes.

“They’re just statues,” he said.

“I know,” she hissed, “Don’t be belligerent Cassian, we both know you’re too smart for that.”

“I’m not being-” but he stopped speaking and sat back against the marble wall, his wings hitting them with a bang.

Cassian closed his eyes, trying to think of what to say to make any of this better. He thought back to their argument in the bedroom, mere hours ago which felt like days, surrounded by excessive amounts of silk in various shades of pink.

“There’s a statue of you,” he said, envisaging it like some lost old memory and not something he had been staring at less than hour ago. The image was clear in his mind; the windswept hair, the upturned palms, that lovely but sad face with its hopeful, delicate smile.

“I know.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“It’s set apart from the others.”

Cassian heard the rustling of her dress as Nesta shifted. “Helion told me he wanted it separate from the rest because it didn’t suit the others.”

Cassian’s heart picked up its pace, “What do you think about that?”

“I agreed. The statue should be away from the rest. It doesn’t fit with the others.” Nesta let out a gentle sigh. “I don’t fit with the others.”

Cassian opened his eyes and stared into the distance.

The gardens were a labyrinth and the sunken library even more so, rows of white bookcases lined with vibrant colours, pastels or even shimmering golds stretched outwards until they stopped short of the central atrium, right underneath the top of the dome. The light shone through in beams and specks of dust danced amongst them.

They both sat rigid and unmoving with muscles locked into place and stared ahead, not at the rows of books but at the future in front of them, at decisions that would take them away or bring towards.

“Would that suit you?” Cassian asked, his voice thick. “Being apart from us? Elain? Amren? Me?”

Nesta’s fingers twitched on her lap, digging deep into the material of her skirts. “I don’t need to consider Amren in my plans and she knows this. Elain will understand in time; besides she has her own life now and gets to live the way she wishes so I don’t understand why I cannot.”

She paused. “Feyre will be irritated but she’ll come around in time. She’ll have to.”

“And me?”

The seconds of silence lasted longer than Cassian liked. There was no definitive answer, no immediate outpouring of emotion. His breath rasped in his ears and now he could hear Nesta’s, finally in time with his own. Her voice was quiet, travelling from a universe away.

“You can’t seem to understand why I don’t love the Night Court as much as you do so I don’t know whether you’ll come around in time.” Nesta picked at a loose thread on her dress. The more she pulled, the more it seemed she unravelled the sinews in his heart. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait until you do, if you do. I don’t heal in the Night Court; I can’t heal among those who hate me.”

Cassian wanted to reassure her; to say he would understand why she couldn’t love the Night Court, that eventually she would heal amongst the copper roof tops of Velaris and she was never amongst those who hated her. The words stuck in his throat and burned.

His love for the place he called home was built in his bones, constructed as part of him as he had wings on his back. Without his home he wouldn’t be Cassian of the Night Court, he wouldn’t be anyone.

“Helion has offered me a home here,” she continued.

Cassian nodded, his head bobbing on a neck that now felt too thin. Cassian understood Helion wanted to offer Nesta a home in Day, he wasn’t aware he already had. “Would you be happy here?”

“I think so.” Nesta let out a mirthless laugh, “Day is the opposite of Night and so the Court would suit me just fine.”

Something burnt inside his chest. His overworked, overwrought centuries old heart was now in flames and this was the beginning of it turning to ash.

“I can’t live in Day,” he said. “The Court is fine enough but this place would become to me what Night is to you. It wouldn’t sustain me.”

“We’re at an impasse then. The road ahead of us is splitting.” Nesta spoke the words with cold, impassive authority, the kind of tone she used for others which led them to assume she was a heartless creature.

But Cassian could feel her as he always had. A crack across her heart ran deeper than anything before. She’d been through hell and come out the other side carrying what pieces of herself remained within her clenched fists. This couldn’t be the event which broke her, he couldn’t be the fae that broke her.

Sacrifices, Helion told him less than an hour ago, needed to be made. But not all sacrifices needed to be a bad thing. Sacrificing something didn’t mean you would always lose; it may mean winning something more valuable.

“Yes,” he said, voice soft, “if you think the road only has two paths to choose from.”

Nesta took in his words, and Cassian could sense the moment they landed in her mind, how she sounded out their meanings. A strand of wavering hope rose between them.

“Oh,” she said but her voice held a tremor, the edge of anticipation she was clinging to and the thread wound itself tighter round her finger until her flesh turned white.

“I believe this morning an angry female hissed at me about retreating back to the mountains and staying in the cabin forever.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Well, I believe the female had a right to be angry as I believe said female was being abandoned by her mate.”

“He would never.”

“Hmm.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want to leave them,” he said.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged and her hope dissipated from her like smoke. “I know,” she said, “I just-”

“However,” he interrupted, “that doesn’t mean I won’t leave them. At least on a semi-permanent basis.”

Nesta took a deep breath in.

“I can’t live here,” he gestured outwards to the marble pillars and trailing ivy and streams of violently bright light. “Day isn’t for me but Night isn’t for you. My life is in Velaris and I have responsibilities that I can’t leave and friends I want to see, but as long as I’m somewhere near, somewhere I can fly to them I think that will be fine.”

Nesta released her breath and Cassian carried on. “I can’t lose them Nesta but I won’t lose you. I’ve waited a long time for you even before I understood what I was waiting for. If Velaris will destroy you then at some point the city will destroy me too.”

He continued to stare ahead but Nesta’s arm brushed against his as she moved, her slight frame against his broad one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her pale face gazing at him and if he turned to her, he would see her hope anew.

“The cabin needs more work to make it habitable all year round and the winters are hard and isolating. I’ll need to fly to Velaris more often than you would want and you’re still going to have to visit your sisters. Honestly, I’d hate to make Elain angry.”

There was a soft sob next to him. “I’d hate to make Elain angry too,” but she smiled through her tears.

“We’ll have to think of a way to transport all your books. I’m not flying them to the cabin, not if you’re bringing that twelve book saga you’re into with the-”

Nesta grasped his chin in her slender fingers and turned his face to hers. Shining in those blue-grey eyes through the misty layer of tears was pure delight.

“Thank you,” she whispered and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was sweet on his lips, soft and slow and filled with the promise she would always love him. Cassian deepened the kiss, sliding his hands over her waist before trailing upwards on her back to tangle in her hair.

They stayed like that for a while, his tongue seeking out and sliding against hers; wet, luxurious kiss after kiss. Cassian groaned and gripped Nesta’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her dress and he swung her up and over onto his lap.

She pulled her mouth away and gasped, “No! Not here, not in front of the books!”

“The gardens then?” he joked and received a flick to his chin for his trouble.

“Helion will be disappointed.”

“That’s perverse.”

“No,” Nesta crinkled her nose, “that I won’t be making my home here.”

Cassian trailed his hands up Nesta’s back to her hair, tangling the strands around his fingers, looking forward to when he could make it took as disordered as her glorious statue’s. “Make this place your holiday destination. I’m sure you’ll frequent Day every time I’m in Velaris.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“And when we’re done appeasing the world we’ll be together again, at home.”

Nesta’s eyes scanned his face, the way Helion’s had done earlier, but instead of an assessment that had left Cassian found wanting, her eyes were soft and the blue-grey was the colour of the sky in the Night Court just after a storm.

“Yes,” she said, “at home.” She leaned in to kiss him again and before Cassian closed his eyes he soaked in the image, letting it burn forever into his mind. A perfect picture of Nesta in the flesh; her fluttering eyelashes, freckled nose and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #helion #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nessian fan fic

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

Text

The Never Ending Cycle of Proposals

This is a continuation of this post and the idea was presented by @mystery-5-5 . I was so excited to finish it and hope you like it! :)

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Damian had made sure of it. He found and destroyed every contingency plan that Jason and the others had formed. He flew Marinette back to Paris, to her parent’s bakery so that they could be a part of the moment. There should be no possible way things could go sideways.

Clearly he had underestimated the members of Date Duty.

“-and then Marinette fell down the stairs! Can you believe it? It was her big debut at the Wayne Gala as Damian’s girlfriend and this girl got so nervous that she tripped over her own two feet.”

“That’s our Marinette. As graceful as ever.”

A boisterous laughter filled Damian’s ears as the bakery door snapped shut behind him. Checking his watch, he tried to recall how long he had been gone. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. How did Jason get to Paris?

“Oh! Damian sweetie, look who just flew in to check in on us and low and behold, he didn’t even know that you and Marinette had the exact same thought! How crazy is that?”

Damian plastered on his best fake smile as his eyes attempted to burn Jason’s smirk off his face.

“Very crazy indeed Sabine. Do you mind if my brother and I excuse ourselves for a moment?”

“Oh! Not at all, we should really be getting ready to open anyways. Please, feel free to head up to the apartment. Marinette should be back from Alya’s soon, but make yourselves at home boys.”

They both nodded as Damian stalked behind Jason, forcing him to take the steps two at a time. As Jason threw open the door, he finally released the laughter that he had been holding back.

“I really didn’t think you were going to make it. If you actually had any powers, I would’ve been scared for my life down there.”

“I don’t need powers to kill you Todd.”

Jason reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair, his smirk only fueling the smaller boy’s rage.

“What are you doing here Todd? This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation for Marinette to see her parents. You are neither relaxing or her parents.”

“Oh don’t be coy with me Dami, I know what you’re really here for, we all do in fact. Did you really think you could get away with proposing to Marinette without getting through us first? You only tore up some fake plans, plans meant to lure you into revealing when you were going to propose. Considering how quick you were to get Marinette on a plane without saying goodbye tells me you plan on doing it this week.”

Damian counted backward from ten as he tried to consider all of his options left. He had taken into consideration that the plans could be fake, but there should’ve been no way that they could’ve tracked him to Paris. He paid in cash at the airport for the tickets and flew economy, economy for crying out loud!

“I thought your whole little club was to protect Marinette from heartbreak, there was no mention of protecting her from proposals.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong Damian.” The look on Jason’s face was unnerving to say the least, but Damian refused to back down. This was his girlfriend, his soon to be finance, and the only woman he wanted to love for the rest of his life. There was no way he would let some street rat like Jason stop him.

“I refuse to allow you to ruin this Todd.”

“Allow implies that you think you have control over this and I can assure you that you don’t. Marinette will not be leaving Paris with a ring on her finger, marriage is out of the question. You are lucky that we have allowed you two to be together for so long. You are too dangerous for her demon spawn and marriage places an even larger target on her back than the one she already has.”

“Are you prepared to be defeated protecting your ideals Todd?”

“Are you Damian?”

Damian felt the low growl in the back of his throat itching it’s way forward. He was so close to Jason’s face, he could end this right here and now, throw him in the guest room and never look back.

“Damian? Jason? What are you two doing here? And alone at that?”

Both turned their attention to the door where Marinette stood, a sheepish expression on her face as if she could feel the tension radiating off the two men.

“Hey princess! I was just stopping by to check in on your parents and I definitely had no idea that you and Damian were here! You two lovebirds should’ve told someone before running off to Paris like that.”

Jason pulled Marinette into a tight hug, sticking his tongue out behind her head at Damian.

“Well, I did. I told Adrien just in case anything happened.”

One look at Jason’s smug expression and Damian knew. One little blonde went racing to his brother before he and Marinette had even boarded the plane.

“Oh that’s good then, I’m glad someone knew. I’ll leave you two alone now, after all, I have places to be and people to see and I’m sure you have a wonderful vacation planned for Damian here.”

Marinette nodded with little enthusiasm as she waved bye to Jason, locking the door behind him.

“Damian, what was that about?”

He shook his head as he pulled her forward placing a small kiss on her forehead.

“I wish I knew habibti.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Damian was on full alert for the next couple of days, unable to relax and enjoy his time with Marinette’s family for fear that one of his nemesis would pop out at any moment and steal the ring hidden safely inside his coat pocket. Every once in a while, he would find his hand absentmindedly searching for the box, just as a reassurance that it was still there.

He wasn’t scared of the members of Date Duty, but he was scared that the moment that he had planned out for so long would be ruined by a handful of imbeciles.

“Oh look! It’s Chloe and Luka! I didn’t know they were in town.”

Damian's attention became hyper focused as he narrowed in on the suspicious couple waving them over. There was no way that two members of Jason’s little club decided to fly back on the same week that he and Marinette did.

He smiled and shook hands with Luka as they chatted idly for a few minutes. Marinette promised to catch up with them later before leaning in to hug Chloe. The blonde turned her attention to him as she leaned in and hugged him bye as well. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious, nothing-

“Fuck.”

Damian’s hand went straight to his now empty pocket. He searched frantically to be sure that it hadn’t fallen in any holes that he wasn’t aware of, but alas, it was gone. Marinette held onto his hand tightly, concern filling her eyes, but he waved her off.

If that’s how Todd wanted to play, then fine. Damian was ready. It was time for Jason to bring it on. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Damian wasn’t sure how he thought the rest of the week would play out, but this was not it.

Monday he had gone to buy another ring when he ran into Tony Stark. He claimed he was there to get his wife a unique gift from Paris. Turns out a unique gift meant buying her every jewelry store in Paris, or at least majority shares, effectively destroying Damian’s chances of finding a new ring.

Tuesday he decided to just propose without the ring, after all, it just meant she could pick out a new one whenever they hit stateside again. They had made it all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower, watching the sunset with her curled into his side as they leaned on the railing. He wanted to wait until the tower had cleared a bit, right when the sun dipped below the horizon, but much to his fear a large squeal erupted from the platform.

None other than Jagged Stone had decided to do an impromptu concert on top of the Eiffel Tower. Soon, between the noise and the crowd, Damian couldn’t even think straight, much less make space to go down on one knee. They called it a night with the question still on the tip of his tongue.

By Wednesday, Sabine had caught on to the real reason they were there. She pulled him to the side along with Tom where the both offered her engagement ring. Damian finally felt like he had caught a break. How foolish that was.

They walked into Marinette’s favorite restaurant that night only to find out that it had been bought out for the night by the Agreste family. He apparently decided that this would be an excellent date night spot for him and Kagami.

Thursday came and went with no attempts made. He had barely made it out of bed when he heard two voices in the kitchen. Praying to whatever God would hear him, Damian opened the door only to feel his heart drop. Tim and Dick sat in the kitchen while Marinette heated up some coffee, telling her all about the business deal they were taking care of in Paris.

Lucky for them, they had a day off and wanted to spend it with their favorite couple.

As Friday’s sun rolled in, Damian felt defeated.

“Mon amour, are you even listening?”

Damian nodded absentmindedly as he fiddled with the ring in his pocket.

“So do you want to go to this little reunion dinner tonight?”

“With who?”

“With my old classmates? I think Dick and Tim might stop by if they get out early today. Should be fun!”

He attempted a smile for her sake as he sent her a small nod. So on their last night in Paris, they all decided to gather in one spot making it impossible for Damian to sneak out with Marinette. It felt pretty foolproof.

“Damian, why have you been so out of it lately? This whole week you have been constantly checking over your shoulder. Are you worried about something?”

Marinette gathered his hand as she sunk on to the bed beside him.

“I just wanted this trip to be special, but a couple of special idiots have proved to make that nearly impossible. I don’t know how you dealt with them over the years.”

“Well, it felt nearly hopeless. I was convinced I was going to be single forever, but one man swooped in and saved me making me feel like there was nothing those special idiots could do. I’d like to think that he feels the same way when it comes to me. After all, a proposal doesn’t need to be in some big memorable place, it just needs to be between two people who love each other.”

Damian’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water as he tried to stutter out a denial, but it was hopeless. His cheeks felt like they were a hundred degrees as her laughter floated through the air.

“How did you know?”

“Date Duty had been disabled for a year and a half now. For them to all conveniently show up in Paris on the same week that we did? Well I’m not a big believer in coincidences when it comes to that group.”

Damian reached inside his pocket, pulling out the delicate ring that Sabine had given him a few days prior. A few tears formed in the corner of Marinette’s eyes as she covered her splitting smile with her hand.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you have amazed me at every turn since the first time I saw you many years ago. You are a strong, creative, loving and beautifully confident woman. You are my first thought in the morning and my last as I drift to sleep at night. I can’t imagine living with anyone else by my side. Please, will you marry me?”

Marinette nodded as she offered her left hand, allowing him to slip on her mother’s ring. It was no where close to the proposal that he had planned, but as her lips crashed into his, it couldn’t have made him happier.

Maybe when he saw Jason’s little club tonight, he would thank them.

After all, they lead him to the woman he loved and without their persistence, his relationship wouldn’t be as strong as it is today.

He had finally broken the never ending cycle, and man, did it feel good.

Tag List:

@mystery-5-5 @iloveitwhen @fusser90

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @mialuvscats

#daminette #maribat #sequel

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klbwriting · 3 years ago

Text

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 16

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: Kaz reports what was discovered at the prison then everything goes to shit

Notes: oof this was not fun to write and its only going to get worse

Taglist: @mcntsee @amwitherspoon @cxlpxrnia @fcvcritecrime @aysegust @sagewrites111 @spawn0fsatan @itsemy01 @thedelusionreaderbitch

Kaz, Inej, and Jesper had reported their findings to the leaders of the resistance and an emergency leadership meeting was called. Inej was the only one of the three allowed in so when Y/N approached to go inside Kaz pulled her aside. He didn’t like that he was going to be outside of this, especially when he knew that Y/N would probably be asked to lead a team to confront him. He gripped her hand tight in his and kissed it. He was going to say something about making sure he went with her when he caught sight of the ink on her wrist. He turned and saw the Dregs insignia tattooed on her wrist and felt his heart do a leap.

“You…got the Dregs symbol tattooed on you?” he asked. She nodded and blushed a little when he kissed it softly. He was about to say something more when she was called inside.

“I will tell you everything that happens,” she promised, kissing his hand and heading inside. Damn how easily she could distract him. She would ask him to come anyway, she always asked him. She knew he would protect her. He headed back to his tent to rest up and get ready to head out with Y/N for the confrontation.

Y/N hated the back and forth that was going on in this meeting. Everyone knew what needed to be done but they were dancing around it, even Mal who had just agreed with her the other night about needing a confrontation. She finally had enough and stood, placing her hands on the table in front of her.

“I’ll go meet him, I will take the Fabrikator who is making the amplifier, hopefully it will be done when we arrive,” she said. One of the other leaders narrowed his eyes.

“Will you take anyone else?” he asked. “Your thug friend perhaps?” It was easy to tell that this guy was remembering the failure at Chernost, as were a few of the others. Most of the leaders didn’t like Kaz in the first place, the trip to the festival had made them even more distrustful of him and his actual abilities. She knew that Kaz wouldn’t like this but she needed to get these guys on board with her idea to get this all over with.

“I will not be taking Brekker, but I will be taking Helvar with me,” she said.

“Fahey will be going behind them as backup, he is useful in a long distance encounter,” Inej said. The others thought about it for a time, putting in a vote.

“This has been approved, you leave immediately, the Darkling was last seen about thirty miles south of here. Once you finish the confrontation come back and report what has happened” Mal said. Y/N nodded and they were all dismissed. She turned to leave when Inej was in front of her. She jumped in surprise, the Wraith still able to sneak up on anyone without warning.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a little annoyed that she was being kept from Kaz. Word about this would spread fast and she wanted to be the one to tell Kaz he wasn’t coming.

“Kaz isn’t going to like being left here,” Inej said, folding her arms. “And you didn’t even try to get him approved to join.”

“I know he isn’t, but I can’t have him out there with me. The Darkling isn’t losing strength, that rumor has to be a lie, and I can’t be there worrying about Kaz,” she said. She felt bad even saying this, it felt like she didn’t think Kaz could take care of himself, and that’s what Kaz was going to think if she didn’t get to his tent and explain herself.

“He’ll just follow you,” Inej countered. Y/N was afraid of that, but she wasn’t going to start demanding that he follow orders from her.

“I can’t stop him from doing that,” she said. “But I’m going to ask him to stay behind and if I don’t do it soon he’s going to hear about this before I can talk to him.” She shoved past Inej and headed back to Kaz’s tent to find him pacing angrily and knew it was too late.

“So you’re taking Jesper and Helvar with you but I’m not invited?” he said, glaring at her. He was seething, gripping the crow head of his cane enough that it looked like it would crack. “I’m a liability?”

“Kaz, its not that,” she said, sitting on their bed. “The Darkling is not just some gang leader to beat down, he’s the most powerful Grisha ever to live and I’m not even sure I can defeat him. I know you would run in head-first to protect me and I can’t be worrying about protecting you when I’m trying to take on him. You’re reckless and I know that you would do anything for me.” Kaz glared more at her but then sighed.

Kaz knew she was right about that, he was reckless when it came to her. Every other job he did he was ten steps ahead, he had contingency plans on top of contingency plans, but put Y/N in the middle of it and everything went out the window. He was still angry about not going but he understood.

“There’s something else I need to tell you Kaz,” Y/N said. He looked her and saw the guilty look in her eyes and knew this was not going to be good. What had she done?

“What is it?” he asked even though he wished she wouldn’t tell him. She reached into a small box she kept on the wash table and pulled out a small vial of jurda parem. She had lied to him. She hadn’t smashed it 7 months ago at the prison, she had kept it. He felt anger flair up in him again, this time it was feral. Why did she never tell him?

“I need you to keep this for me, make sure no one gets it. I can’t take it to the Darkling or everything will be lost…”

“Why the hell should I do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. He was gripping his cane so hard he thought he might snap it.

“At first I didn’t know if I could trust you, that you wouldn’t see kruge and run off with it,” she said. He could agree with that, he would have done that, but after everything else? Everything he had told her about himself and his past and she still lied to him?

“I told you everything about me! Didn’t you trust me at all?” he yelled. She looked so upset but he didn’t care. She had stabbed him in the back, and he wasn’t going to let her tears sway his anger. In fact, it was feeding off her sadness. She should feel terrible, and he was going to make her feel worse.

“Kaz…I didn’t want word to get out. Someone could have heard…”

“And what if someone heard? What that they would take it? No one heard us talking at the stream all those times we met there! No one was around for that, but you still didn’t tell me. Still didn’t trust me. What else have you lied to me about? What else haven’t you told me?”

“Kaz, this was it, there’s nothing else…”

“And I’m supposed to believe any of that? I can’t believe I trusted anything you ever said. You did say that you would do anything to get me to stay in the resistance, its nice to know that even I am capable of being deceived. I guess Kaz Brekker met his match,” he ranted.

“I love you Kaz…”

“SHUT UP! Get out Y/N, nothing you can say will make me believe you. I give up, I thought, dammit I thought you were worth it, you were everything to me and now…I just want to forget you even exist,” he said. Y/N stared at him and he felt what little was left of his heart shatter. She set the vial on the basin and quietly left the tent looking so sad that Kaz almost went after her. He immediately wanted to take everything he said back, tell her he was angry, and he had been lying, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He stormed around the tent, once again destroying everything in sight. He took the parem and almost smashed it himself but then thought better of it. If she had thought he was nothing more that a money loving criminal then maybe that’s what he would become. When Jesper and Helvar got back from their little mission with her he would convince all the Dregs to leave with him, and he would leave Y/N and this whole broken country for good.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz brekker #kaz #unexpected allies series

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littlemissinvisible101 · 4 years ago

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From Replacement to the Original pt.1

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types

Relationships: Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne

Characters: Tim Drake, Janet Drake, Selina Kyle, Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Good Parent Selina Kyle, Somewhat good parent Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Catwoman, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Child Neglect, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Was Robin, Protective Selina Kyle, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had just woken up on his once-a-month mandatory rest day when he saw that the Drake Family Lawyer contacted him about a contingency letter left by his mother. Apparently, word of mouth travelled fast that he had come back from his supposed soul-searching trip around his parent’s favorite dig sites.

Mr. Fletcher had asked him when he was free to come get the letter his mother had left for him. Tim had wanted to get out of Gotham as soon as he could so he set up an appointment for that afternoon.

Tim had whipped together a quick breakfast and taken his antibiotics before he spent the rest of the morning finalizing his 2 weeks’ notice since Bruce had been able get back into Wayne Enterprises for the week. It had just been a little over a month since Tim had brought Bruce home from the Time Stream and while Tim had expected things to change, he had hoped it would be for the better.

Bruce hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Damian wearing the Robin suit. Hell, he had congratulated Dick for the way he had managed to keep Gotham and everything in line. Bruce had even found the time to fix up his relationship with Jason before he talked to Tim.

He didn’t even bother to thank Tim for saving his life and for taking over his family business. Instead, they talked business and acted as if nothing was wrong in front of the WE employees. If it wasn’t in business suits, then it was in the other suits when he called in Red Robin to help with a case. Tim hasn’t stepped foot inside the Manor in months.

If this was Bruce’s way of saying he didn’t need Tim anymore, he got the message loud and clear. After all, he was just the replacement, right? The pretender who forced his way into their lives and refused to go peacefully so he had to be kicked out. Well, here he was, bowing out silently out of their lives.

Tim had planned meticulously for how he would be able to leave without them noticing. In a week, he would submit his 2 weeks’ notice to Lucius Fox before heading on business trip to Japan to finalize a deal. He would be spending the next week there before heading to Austria for another week for another business deal. After, he would simply go wherever he wanted to go.

He preprogrammed a message to be sent to each of the Bats, as a farewell of sorts because even if they didn’t think of him as family, he still loved them as if they were his family. He had even prepared a message for the Titans in case they would ever need him again. They were the only ones Tim trusted enough to keep in contact with. Everyone else, even Alfred would have to be left behind.

Tim viciously pushed these thoughts to the side as he decided to enjoy a quick lunch before he made his way to talk to Mr. Fletcher. As he mindlessly prepped ingredients for a simple salad (because his immunity was shot so he needed all the help he could get), he wondered what would be in the letter.

His mother was not the touchy-feely type. She wouldn’t put something about them loving him. Most likely, it would be business instructions to ensure that Drake Industries would still be the empire that it had been under his mom’s command. Unfortunately for his mom, his dad had been the one to wreck the empire.

Tim had thought about reviving Drake Industries but had ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it. The amount of time that went into running a business wasn’t conducive to being a teenage vigilante and Tim wanted to be free to pursue the things he wanted in life. He had more than enough money to live off on and he had invested his money wisely so it had been turning a profit since he had left Gotham the first time.

Even if he continued his vigilantism, he had more than enough money to support himself. He didn’t need their help anymore, just like they don’t need him anymore. As he started cooking his breakfast, he marveled at how he had gotten to this point of independence from the Bats.

Ever since he came back with Bruce in tow, the rest of the Bats didn’t even bother to contact him unless it was for patrol or for a case. Oracle only kept in contact for business. Dick basically ignored their issues and tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Damian liked to act as if he didn’t exist. Jason was, oddly enough, the only one he could stand even if they did only work together for cases. Cass was still in Hong Kong.

If he was being honest with himself, Tim desperately missed being home at the Manor but after everything happened, it was clear that the Manor was no longer his home. Home used to be with the Bats and occasionally, with the Titans. Now, Tim would have to find a new home for himself, hopefully away from Gotham and the Bats.

Tim ate his salad mindlessly while he let his mind wander on his active cases. He would need to tie up his loose ends before he left without the bats taking notice. He popped his next dose of antibiotics into his mouth after and finally decided that he’s wasted enough time to start getting ready for the appointment.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Timothy Drake-Wayne was ready and presentable to the public again. Tim debated bringing his motorcycle but the address of the office was only a couple of blocks from his apartment and he could use the walk to clear his head and get some fresh air.

As he left his penthouse, Tim’s mind debated again about what his mother could have possibly written about. His inheritance had already been secured since he was born so it couldn’t be that. The business had already sunken and drowned under the guidance of his father. It didn’t make any sense for Janet Drake to write a contingency letter and yet, here it was.

Tim didn’t know why but every step felt like it was weighed down with lead and his stomach dropped as he got closer and closer. By the time he was at the office, Tim’s mind was buzzing about theories as to what could have been so important for him to know that his mother, famed Iron Dragon of Gotham wrote a letter just in case she died.

Mr. Fletcher must have been eagerly awaiting him by the looks of it since Tim had scarcely knocked on the office doors before it was opened. It’s been a while since Tim had seen Mr. Fletcher given that he had retired before the Drakes passed.

“Timothy, you’re early!”

“Mother taught me that it was better to be early than to waste other’s time. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fletcher.”

“That does sound like something Janet would preach. I wished we’d met again under more ideal circumstances but you’ve grown into a fine young man. Your parents would be proud.”

“Thank you. Your email mentioned a letter from Mother?”

“Ah yes! As you know, ever since my son took over my position at the firm, I had relinquished all of my active duties to him but this was more of a request made by your mother to me as a confidant and friend. Jacob, my son had been cleaning out my office a few days ago when he found the envelope. He contacted me immediately about it and I remembered what it was about. I made the trip out here because I had to give it to you before I forgot again. I owe your mother that much.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Fletcher?”

“I think it’s best for you to read it, Timothy. I already know what it contains but I’m here to answer any of your additional questions.”

This suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal than Tim originally thought it would be, especially since Mr. Fletcher had left his retirement in Metropolis to give this to him in person. With bated breath, Tim opened the sealed envelope and began to read.

~~~

Dearest Timothy,

If you are reading this, then there are two possible options. Either I have passed on before your 18th birthday or I was too much of a coward to talk to you about this in person and I gave you this letter instead. As I write this, your father is asleep, holding you after a nightmare from today’s ordeal at the circus. I have tried to sleep but my mind will not be quieted about the possibility of that happening to us before I could tell you the truth so I decided to make this contingency letter just in case. By the time

you’re reading this, you will have grown into an intelligent young man who I know is capable of so much more than Jack and I could have ever dreamed of, partially because you are more than Jack and I could ever produce.

Timothy, you are not our biological son. I had gotten pregnant but the child I had borne was stillborn. Jackson Timothy Drake hadn’t been able to take his first breath before it was taken away. Luckily for me, your father was out of town on business and I rushed to Gotham General against my earlier wishes and they had stuck me in a room with another woman who had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy, you.

You were both born on the same day, in the same room, with different fates. Your mother was a young woman from the seedier side of Gotham and your father was out of the picture, or so she said. She was planning to give you up for adoption anyway and so I made the only impulsive decision I have ever made since marrying Jack and I told her to give you to me. I told her I would give you the life of luxury you deserved and that you would never want for anything if she gave you to me. She agreed on one condition: I tell you the truth about your parentage on your 18th birthday so that she could have the opportunity to get to know you too.

She didn’t even let me pay for her hospital bills because she didn’t want to be indebt to me even though I was forever indebted to her for giving me you. I had John rush over to Gotham General and make a contract for both of us because I could not allow Jack and the rest of Gotham High Society to find out about this. The only ones who knew about you being adopted were me, John, your mother and the medical staff who helped us. Since Gotham General was severely underfunded prior to my intervention, it was easy to get them to change the records to make Timothy Jackson Drake be born and for Jackson Timothy Drake to disappear. I had gotten the staff involved to sign NDAs and to make sure that none of this got out.

As I write this, I have seen you grow into this absolutely marvelous and intelligent child, talented in ways I could have never expected. It is bittersweet for me because as I see you grow, I cannot help but think of what my biological son could have been had he survived. Would he be as smart and as capable as you? Would he be different compared to you? Would I have taken you in had he survived? I have never regretted my decision to adopt you but I could not stand to watch you grow when I know my biological son never will. I know I will most likely grow to be distant from you and I already regret it but I cannot stop myself from seeing my dead son in you.

However, I can already tell you will be stronger than I ever could be. You take to your lessons like a duck to water and you see a magic in the world that I could never see. I want you to know that even if you are not mine biologically, I still love you even if I cannot show it. I love you even if you cannot feel it. I love you but I also love the son that I lost and I cannot help but mourn for him while I watch you grow. Your father does not know so his love is genuine and pure for you.

I want you to know this, Timothy. I took you in on an impulsive decision but I have never regretted it. Sure, I wish with all of my heart and mind that my son had survived but I was able to have you and you more than made up for it. I know that this does not excuse my future actions, my possible neglect of you but I hope you understand why I cannot bear to be close to you. I love you even if I do not show it. I love you even if you cannot see it. I love you and I hope you can forgive me for not telling you sooner.

Love,

Mother

~~~

Of all of the possibilities Tim had considered, this was not one of them. This explained so much but also left so many questions but the only thought passing through his head was the fact that, even at birth, he was a replacement.

“I assume you have questions?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, to be honest. You’ve known the entire time?”

“Yes. I was the one who made the contract for your mother and she swore me to secrecy.”

“So, let me get this straight. I was just a replacement for her son who died?”

“No! Of course not. Timothy, I know it must not have seemed like it but your mother and father truly did love you as if you were their own. Your mother has some leftover problems from her childhood that negatively impacted her ability to show her love even if she does. She would have never bothered to put in the effort otherwise.”

“I’m trying to believe that but my recollection of Mother is not that different from the Iron Dragon of Gotham.”

“That’s because she fought to give you the best education and care possible which she knew was not her own. That’s why she constantly changed your nannies and tutors because as soon as she felt they inadequate for you, she was searching for the next best thing for you. Janet didn’t really care in the normal ways, Timothy. I know it’s hard to see but she really did love you and take care of you in her own way.”

“I just. I never expected this.”

“I knew this day would come but I was honestly hoping your mother would be here to explain her side of the story before she told you who your birth mother was.”

“Do-do you know who my birth mother is?”

“It’s not written in the letter?” Mr. Fletcher seemed genuinely surprised at this.

“No. Mother didn’t include her name, just a vague description of her. Can you tell me who my mother is?”

“I guess by the time Janet wrote it, she had forgotten the name. I think I have the contract hidden here. Let me look for it.”

What followed was the tensest five minutes of Tim’s life. He didn’t even know if his biological mother was still alive but he wanted to find out. After all, his birth mother had wanted to reconnect when he was older. Maybe, she wanted to have him in her life, just like Mo-Janet had apparently wanted him in her life.

Maybe, she would be there with welcoming arms. Maybe, she was one of the many civilian casualties of their nighttime escapades. Maybe, she had gotten lost in the seedier side of Gotham and she had never been able to make it out. There were so many maybes that Tim wanted to figure out what was true and what wasn’t.

“Aha! Here it is. According to this, your birth mother is Selina Kyle.”

Holy shit. His mother was fucking Catwoman.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #selina kyle #tim drake angst #ao3 fanfic

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eruden-writes · 4 years ago

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Wretched Creature - Part 5

A Beauty and the Beast retelling.

After taking on her father’s punishment, Bellona finds herself imprisoned at a castle with Larek, a man who has an incessant need to self-depreciate himself despite being decently attractive, and a contingent of sentient objects.

Needless to say, it’s a confusing time all around.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

“You’re all orcs.” Bellona said after a moment, pressing her hands to her face, the groan sifting between the crevices of her fingers. She felt as if she’d been emotionally dragged by horses after everything that had happened so far. “What happened?”

“I was cursed by a faerie to become human,” supplied Larek, without restraint. Though he winced a bit, realizing how offensive it sounded. She still frowned, obviously displeased with the thought of her own people being used as an enchanted punishment.

“They cursed us for being ‘tools of his enabling’ or something,” added Lumi with a snort, as she rolled her eyes. Fruk nudged her in the side, giving her a pointed look to shut up.

“Anyway, we weren’t given any particulars on how to break the curse, so we… uh… figured true love’s kiss might do it.” The green of Larek’s cheeks darkened what color and his gold eyes darted away from Bellona. She had to keep from laughing, staring up at the behemoth of an orc as he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Though, that amusement didn’t stop an embarrassed flush from creeping over her cheeks. Especially when he finally found the courage to look at her and ask, “What happened after I died?”

A lump rose in Bellona’s throat, feeling all the orcish eyes on her. The streak of red across her cheeks crawled further to consume her ears. Her gaze flickered from one face to another, her brain buzzing with excuses and answers. Instead of what she said to Larek’s dead body, her mouth instead asked, “Why did they even curse you?”

Larek answered with a shrug. “They were mad, since our tribe ran the last nobles out.”

“‘The bacchanals were hilariously tacky and gaudy and you stopped them?’” Lumi pitched her voice high, taking on a slight haughty tone as she waved her hand about imperiously. Evidently mimicking the fae that had cursed them.

Fruk snorted, crossing their arms over their chest. “The nobles had been run out two generations ago, so shows how often the fae even visited.”

“Bellona, you don’t have to tell me or say what you did,” sighed Larek, glaring at the others for derailing the conversation so far. He turned to Bellona, the knot in his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “How do you feel about me? In this form?”

Bellona fell silent, eyes traveling over his body. Height, tusks, different hair, bulging muscles, more scars. But the same freckles and earnestness in those eyes. He patiently waited, though he shifted, fingers twitching with nerves.

She had to keep from smiling. A familiar sensation of being powerful to him fluttered over her. It was the same feeling when she pressed up to him in the library.

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, a hand pressed to her shoulder. Half-turning, Bellona found Lumi grinning down at her, leaning close to stage-whisper with a wink, “If he’s not to your liking, I can throw my hat in the ring.”

“Oi, are you serious?” Larek looked about ready to thank Fruk for presumably stepping in, before the stocky orc marched over to Lumi, jabbing a finger against her chest. “Do you really think you can coax Bellona into your bed without opposition?”

Stumbling back from the two bristling orcs, Bellona fumbled against Larek. A shiver ran down her spine as he growled, lowly in her ear, “I will fight the lot of them for you, Bellona.”

Her attention snapped to his face, mouth half-open in dissent. Then she noticed the amused grin behind his tusks. A quick glance back to Lumi and Fruk, noticing their own amusement as they shoved and scrapped at each other. While it wasn’t gentle, it surely wasn’t enough to hurt either one of them.

The tension in her shoulders eased, her back pressing further into Larek. Her body melted further against him, brief memories of his warmth in the library taunting her thoughts. With a laugh, she shook her head, “This isn’t like the wolves in the forest.”

“Yes, this will be easier,” chuckled Larek, his arms folding around her, like a protective barrier. Though, he seemed careful not to hold too tight, to keep a buffer of air between their bodies, still uncertain of her comfort with him. “I know Lumi and Fruk’s weak spots.”

Before Lumi or Fruk could retort, pounding footsteps sounded from inside. The wheezing panting of labored breathing came after, and Bellona gasped as her father pushed through the crowd of orcs.

He gasped down breath, trying to fight the desire to double-over as he shot a finger at Larek. “Unhand my daughter!”

“Papa!”

“You again.” The words came out exhausted, but not quite angry, from Larek’s lips. It was as if he should’ve expected the reappearance of Bellona’s father.

“Me, aga-” The old man had stood up straight, pointing his thumb at himself in a defiant way. However, the words stuttered to a halt, his brows furrowing as he eyed Larek. Papa stepped forward, looking the orc up and down and pointing, a little limply, at him. “Weren’t you a human last time?”

“Yes,” Larek answered, quickly and simply. “The curse has been lifted.”

“Oh…” Again, Papa’s brows furrowed, and then his gaze jumped from the orc to his own daughter. Bellona could see the cogs turning. “Oh. Should I- uh… should I ask how?”

Bellona groaned, her cheeks seared with a blush. All eyes were on her again, and she could feel her ears warming with her body. Embarrassment churned inside her, especially as Larek leaned close to her ear and chuckled, “Should he ask how, Bellona?”

She twisted in his arms, glaring up into his smarmy smile. Narrowing her eyes, a brief flicker of curiosity shot through her thoughts. Without much warning, she reached up and grabbed Larek’s tusks, firmly guiding him down into a sitting position. Shock shot across the orc’s face and, with surprising compliance - or perhaps stumbling from surprise - he ended up on his rear.

From the other orcs, amused and choked laughter caught in their throats. Some raising their hands to hide their grins while watching the two with knowing eyes. Bellona’s father shuffled back, a surprised ‘oh’ mumbled.

“I said you were unfair, Larek. To hold me captive and restrict my freedoms, then to free me feeling so confused over you and then dying before I could even understand these feelings.” Bellona still grasped Larek’s tusks, leaning over him. Her eyes locked on to his gaze and she couldn’t help but notice the dark coloring on his cheeks, despite the uncertainty in his wide eyes. Unable to stop herself, her lips tilted in half-smile. “I admitted I didn’t know how I felt and I wanted more time to know you.”

Larek opened his mouth to speak, but Bellona’s hands released his tusks, one hand going to cover his mouth. “I’m not done.”

Almost at once, he closed his mouth, a muscle in his jaw twitching from how nervously he clamped shut. The two stared at one another for a silent moment. One, aching to hear what was to be said. The other, trying to find the right words.

“Whether human or orc, I still need time to figure out how I feel.” At that, Larek’s pointed ears drooped a little, but he nodded, understandingly. Bellona’s smile grew a smidge, before her hand dropped from his lips and she leaned forward. His eyes widened as she kissed him, chaste but lingering. Once it broke, she grinned down into his flushed features. “You’re off to a pretty good start, though.”

Relief melted over his face as a slow smile pulled across his lips. The delight turned into something else as teasing glinted in his golden eyes. “Still want to teach me how to love myself?”

“And you’re back to square one.” Bellona snorted, planting her palm against his face and shoving him back. Turning on her heel, she went to her father, looping her arm around his elbow as she cheerfully said, “Papa, let me show you around.”

“Alright,” answered her father, seeming a bit dazed. Consolingly, she patted him on the arm. She wasn’t entirely sure the shock hadn’t worn off in her own head, as well.

As Bellona led her father back into the castle, she glanced back at Larek. He hadn’t moved from where she’d left him and he’d been evidently watching her. It almost felt as if she could feel his eyes on her. And it wasn’t an altogether unsettling sensation.

A sudden thought struck through her. Had he stopped their kiss in the library, because he felt bad for deceiving her? They’d never mentioned they were orcs, but Bellona doubted she would’ve believed them. Was that why he claimed it unfair? At that, something swelled and shivered in her chest.

“We’ll pick up where we left off in the library later tonight, Larek.” Bellona’s chin jutted out, her words imperious. Though, she wasn’t really suggesting, was she? In tone, it was a definite command. As her eyes swept over the other orcs, all sharing hues of amusement in their faces, she added, “And no one else better be nosing around.”

She turned away, just as excitement lit up in Larek’s eyes and the others clamored to either congratulate or complain in his ear. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, realizing how warm and delighted she felt. It had been a long time since she felt at home anywhere and, somehow, the castle and the inhabitants had weaseled their way into her heart.

#exophilia #orc #monster x human #monster lover #wretched creature part 5 #wc part 5 #beauty and the beast retelling #beauty and the beast #bellona #larek #wretched creature #wc #sfw

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soartfullydone · 3 years ago

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No. 2 - TALKING IS OVERRATED garotte | choking | gagged Delethil/Riven/Eravin requested by @editoress

DnD prompts are for me and my five closest friends.

Delethil knew claiming Aeranth for his own would mean inheriting her enemies. He also knew he would make new ones, some of which would already be inside the walls.

“You’re mad for doing this,” Eravin had told Delethil years ago when he’d trusted him enough to share his plans for revolution. He said the same thing a few days ago, too, when Delethil told him how he was going to lure the remaining dissident moon rabbits from their dens.

The difference between then and now was that Riven had been in the Circle tower with them. She’d sat perched on the edge of his desk, worry furrowing her brow, unusually silent. Always a sign that she wasn’t sure or happy about what she was hearing.

To Eravin, reasonable: “The sooner we deal with the problem…” To Riven, wheedling: “The less we’ll have to watch our backs in our own home.”

He would follow through with the plan regardless of their feelings, but he wanted them both on his side. Survival, if nothing else, would be more likely.

Eravin had sighed roughly and stormed halfway across the room before the fight gave out. There wasn’t time to waste arguing but to start making contingencies. As for Riven, she didn’t uncross her arms, didn’t move from the desk. But she said, “If you die, I won’t forgive you, Del.”

He smiled, satisfied. “I can’t have that! So I won’t, love.”

In the present, Delethil worked at loosening the ropes binding his hands behind his back, willing them both to get here, now. A masked elf walked purposefully toward him, a length of damp linen in his hands. The cloth wouldn’t break once it was wrapped around his throat. Delethil knew because all the attempts to chew through the cloth in his mouth hadn’t made the slightest difference. He could barely make any noise without the gag choking him.

So many times, he’d seen the shadows in the room move just so. So many times, he’d thought it was Riven, his wild lass coming to his rescue. It never was. Just the shift of the leaves through the high window or the slow, slow arc of the moon in the sky. He would need to assume everything had gone wrong, that he was on his own.

His wrists were chaffed, but he kept moving them. A bit of blood and stinging pain barely balanced against the value of his own life. Then, he’d kill this would-be avenger who thought his wood elf blood wasn’t good enough for Aeranth’s seat of power. He wouldn’t make the mistake of ignoring rebellion festering right in front of him as Lunhaven had.

The eyes that glared down at Delethil were full of hatred and sorrow. They were black in the dark, the slightest glint of light the only feature Delethil could make out from the elf’s masked face. But Delethil didn’t have to question the man’s allegiance. The cultured, haughty accent bared all.

“This is for Cetan Lunmina, you bastard,” the elf half-snarled, half-sobbed, and they were not the words of vengeance Delethil had expected to hear. He stalled, and in the next second, he couldn’t breathe.

Delethil’s lungs seized uselessly. His throat burned as he thrashed in the chair he was tied against, welts forming where the garrote rubbed his skin raw. A slight creaking noise, and the elf before him was pulling the cloth tighter, tighter. His attacker’s body was shaking with effort, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen. He was so close, yet Delethil couldn’t do anything to him. Only struggle fruitlessly as the moon elf strangled him to death. Or perhaps, he would break Delethil’s neck first.

Stars scattered across Delethil’s vision, and his head felt like it had been removed from the rest of him already. Floating, floating…

I think I’m floating, actually, Riven had said to him once he’d finally, finally kissed her, those teal eyes of hers he loved so much dazed yet overjoyed.

You’re far too pleased with yourself. What d’ye need me for? Eravin. His plain, provincial, perfect Eravin.

He wouldn’t see them again if he didn’t…

“You’re just a thug, a killer,” another voice was saying. “I can’t let forest muck ruin this country any—ack!”

The garrote fell away, and the gag in his mouth was ripped out. Delethil coughed violently, his head falling forward. Strands of auburn hair clung to his face as he inhaled desperate gulps of air. He thought he felt a light pressure touch his chest, but then it was gone.

“You…” That voice from before was speaking again, but this time his words sounded wet. “You traitor!”

Delethil raised his head.

Riven stood between him and the moon elf. She was winded as if she’d just sprinted a mile. Enough of her face was turned toward him that he caught the wideness of her eyes, the indignant curl of her mouth. Her favorite dagger was in her hand, and the blade was slick with blood from its pointed tip to its opalescent hilt. In her other hand was the linen that had been in his mouth. It dropped from numb fingers.

Sprawled on the floor, the moon elf clutched near his ribs, his robes and hand becoming stained with red.

“How dare you hurt him,” snarled Riven, taking a threatening step forward.

“How dare I?” Blood flecked the moon elf’s trembling lips. Trembling not with fear, but rage. “I’m not the one who threw my country away and spread my legs for a Forest Father worshipper.”

“He’s agnostic, ya fuckin’ loon!” She brandished the dagger irritably. “And I slept with him after the hostile takeover, so get your facts straight.”

“Ye don’t need to tell him that, Riv,” Delethil rasped, but he couldn’t stop the rush of affection for her.

“Shut up. Don’t talk.” Ah, she was furious. Erry would be worse.

“I can’t imagine,” the moon elf continued as if they hadn’t spoken, “how ashamed Erosen is of you.”

Riven went completely still. “Don’t,” she warned, “act like ye give a shite about me da.”

Delethil found he’d had enough as well. “Kill him, and let’s be done with this act.”

She gripped the dagger harder but otherwise didn’t move. Just watched blandly as the moon elf labored to his feet. He threw one last look of purest loathing at both of them before stumbling out of the door.

“Riven, what are ye doing? Dammit, lass, he’s runnin’ free!”

“He won’t get far,” she told him, and then she cut him loose.

It was still dark once they emerged from the small storehouse. Delethil didn’t need support to walk, but Riven refused to leave his side, fussing over the bruises forming around his neck and the blood crusting his wrists.

But Delethil’s temper was flaring. He swore he could still hear the moon elf bastard fleeing through the brush. “Enough!” He pulled his hands from hers and bore down on her. “If he makes it back to the city, this will all have—”

She shoved him back. “I didn’t find ya alone!”

That was when he heard the release of an arrow. The woods, seeming so loud before, abruptly went silent.

When Eravin emerged from the trees, he had to drop down several limbs before he found ground level. A longbow was slung across his back along with a quiver missing quite a few arrows. He took in Riven’s eyes, shiny with unshed tears, and Delethil’s damaged body, and glowered.

“Did I say ye were mad before? What I meant was right barmy, even for you!” He poked Delethil hard in the chest, expression turning thunderous. “This wasn’t the plan!”

“The plan,” Delethil said smoothly—or would have if almost being choked to death hadn’t roughened his speech, “was to get rid of anyone bold enough to contest my rule.” He continued with a sly grin, “And we did.”

“We did.” Eravin gestured between himself and Riven. “You decided to get captured and tortured like ye don’t know your arse from your elbow.”

“The burdens of leadership!” Delethil explained with a grand air, which was ruined by his scowl. His damned throat hurt. “Sometimes peace talks don’t go according to plan.”

“Not much talkin’, though, was there?” At Eravin’s incredulous look, Riven supplied, “They had him gagged.”

That part hadn’t left a mark, but Eravin’s gaze flew to Delethil’s face all the same. He knew what it meant, Delethil robbed of his greatest and final weapon. His hand came up to run a finger, feather-light, across Delethil’s tender neck. Just as quickly as it started, Eravin jerked his hand back and turned away.

“Ack, well, gag him again, Riv. I dinnae want to hear any more shite spew from his gob tonight.”

#whumptober2021 #oc: riven arnor #oc: delethil aismere #oc: eravin glenmere #campaign: last resort movers inc #dnd #thank you as always liz for letting me borrow eravin and making him do things against his will #cue scene

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spacesnail3000 · 5 years ago

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Let It Snow - Chapter 1/4: Oh The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: She was his Omega, and Steve had a plan. She would love him. He knew she would.

Word Count: 4,049

Warnings: Dark!Steve Rogers, stalking, ABO dynamics, mating cycles/heat, noncon and dubcon, very explicit sexual content in future chapters (18+ ONLY)

A/N: Remember when I said I had an ABO one-shot planned and it was gonna be really filthy? Remember when I said that I would have it out before Christmas? Well it took me like three weeks but I did it and I basically piled all my kinks into one story hahahah sorry guys.

Here is the first installment of this new story!

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

She hadn’t wanted to go—not that day, not on a Friday, not with all this snow. There were a few other reasons that she was too shy to tell him about, but Steve knew. He knew everything about her.

Compared to when they left the city, the snow was coming down heavy when they finally reached the cabin an hour away from Lake Placid. Steve’s speeding had cut the six-hour drive into three, and throughout the entire trip he had feigned ignorance of her white-knuckles on the door handle, the sound of her racing heart, the blood draining from her face as he took sharp mountain turns at fifty miles per hour.

He had insisted on the whole thing, really.

“Steve, it’s just a really inconvenient time.”

“I know, but it’s the only day I have available until after January. I need you to see the inside so you can choose some furniture.”

“That can wait, Steve—"

“And I was really hoping to have the plans for the backyard done by next weekend so we can start arranging it with the landscaper. I have an appointment with him in two weeks.”

She sighed, heavy. Long fingers plucked her reading glasses from her face and they fell with a clatter against her desk. “I already have so much to plan for the barracks Tony wants to add to the compound.”

He mimicked her sigh, laced with just a hint of annoyance. “Well… If you can’t help me out I suppose I could hire someone else, but you’re really the only person who knows what I like and need.”

Steve hit his mark, her face crumpling with guilt. “It’s just so far away.” A thumb pressed against the bridge of her nose and her eyes fluttered closed, long lashes brushing her cheekbones. “It’s six hours, Steve.”

“Then we’ll leave early,” he said simply. “Seven o’clock? You know how fast I drive. We’d be back by evening.” When she still seemed unconvinced, he kneeled down in front of her and took her hand in his, locking her gaze to him with the earnest expression in his vibrant blue eyes. “Please? You’ve got me on my knees. I’m begging now.” A hint of a smile flashed across her face and he continued. “Are you happy? The woman to topple Captain America—and it’s his architect. Please? How much more do I have to beg?”

By the time he finished, the teasing lilt to his tone had gotten to her, and she was giggling and trying to pull away. “Fine!” she finally cried and her hands slipped from his as she got to her feet, pacing away from him and his intense gaze, trying to put more space between them in her small office.

“You’ll go?” he asked brightly, turning to face her.

“Fine, I’ll go,” she acquiesced. Then she pointed at him with a lilac-painted fingernail. “But you owe me, Rogers.”

He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

It had taken months, but he had planned everything perfectly—he hoped. He was a master tactician, could formulate and revise logistical plans blindfolded. Each component was perfectly laid out, his strategy flawless. He had a backup plan, and a backup plan to his backup plan, and potential solutions to every possible contingency. The espionage he had undertaken, the careful preparation of the day before them—it had been in the works since the previous spring, but it would be worth it.

He had met Tony’s personal architect first when she was planning out the additions to the Avenger’s Compound. She was responsible for most of the new buildings, and as they had been built, he had seen more and more of her as she oversaw the construction. Immediately he had been drawn to her—kind, competent, certainly adept at overseeing architectural projects, but with a docile streak running through her.

When he had introduced himself, she had looked down, respectfully avoiding his eyes, giving a polite smile, shaking his hand with a delicate grip. The scent coming off of her was delectable, sweet and fresh, earthy and cozy, something distinctly homey.

Out of all the women Steve had ever met, the perfect Omega for him showed up at just the right time.

Then the third time he had seen her, there was something more. Something a little heady, something rich in her scent. Of course, he recognized it at once. She had looked a little tired, a little flushed, and her hand was so warm when he shook it. When he had run his thumb along her knuckles and his index finger up across the inside of her wrist, he had felt the fluttering of her radial pulse, more rapid than usual, and that’s when he realized that her heat was coming on and he had barely restrained himself from taking her right there.

He didn’t, of course, nor did he say anything to her about the change in her scent or the way her body was preparing to be bred.

Next time he saw her, a week later, he had simply smiled and asked, “How do you feel?”

She had looked at him with a tilt of her head, a nervous smile, but he moved on before she could respond and asked her if the materials and support structure of the training facilities would hold up against a team of superheroes.

It took time, but they became acquainted more and more. She was almost always on the grounds, overseeing building, or meeting with Tony about new plans. She made him feel at home, but frustratingly, their relationship remained professional at all times, one-sided, even. It was as if he didn’t affect her the same way she affected him, her scent wrapping around him every time he was in her vicinity like smoky tendrils, a homemade meal, custom-made just for him.

But he knew, in his heart, that she would feel the same about him, if she just gave him a chance.

Then he overheard Natasha asking about any potential significant others in her life, and she replied that she doesn’t date while she’s working on big projects.

Steve didn’t want to admit his initial anger at that, the hurt deep inside his heart, as if it was a personal rejection of him. For a few days afterwards, he had even ignored her, avoiding running his routes around the new constructions, turning away every time he saw her in the meeting rooms or cafeteria. Then, he came up with a plan.

That was all over a year ago.

The first step of Steve’s plan was to hire her to plan and build a house for him in the Adirondacks. A hefty investment, sure, but one that would be worth it in the end. At the very least, it ensured that she remained single, off the market to any other Alphas threatening to swoop up a beautiful sweet little Omega like her.

Now, more than six months after he approached her with the initial proposal, the house was almost completed. It had provided more than enough time for Steve to get to know her. Bringing her breakfast or lunch during their scheduled planning meetings, finding out all of her tastes and preferences as they went through the process. He deferred to her judgement on the house more often than not.

“What would you do? I can’t decide on an open or closed floor concept. I don’t know enough about this stuff.”

She had flourished under his gentle praise and request for guidance. It certainly helped that every time he praised her, he sensed her getting warmer, her heartrate increasing.

“This is perfect. This plan looks so great. You’re so good at this.”

Every shy smile and mumble of thanks was his undoing.

Like a flower growing throughout the sudden appearance of spring, she had opened up to him, telling him about her friends, her family, her interests, her hobbies. Gradually, she let him into her life—only ever as friends, not anything more, but the promise was there. Once, he had asked her out to dinner, but she had declined and explained to him, an apology on her lips, that she doesn’t date clients, and she doesn’t date during projects.

“Then I guess I’ll have to ask again once the house is done and I’m not your client anymore, won’t I?”

Oh, he loved how flustered she got.

It was easier to get into her house than into her mind or soul—of course, it helped that she worked from home, a little brownstone in Brooklyn.

When he had complimented the house, she mentioned it was her childhood home, renovated recently once she took ownership. Raised in Brooklyn, as if she couldn’t be more perfect for Steve.

It didn’t take much to break into the house when she was out—off overseeing construction of the cabin, or getting groceries, or going for a run. When he visited her for their appointments, he usually only saw the front entrance and the hall leading to her home office. When he got the chance to be in the house unhindered, he thoroughly explored the entire place.

Mediterranean-themed interior décor, which she had done all by herself. Beige and cream color palate with bright pops of color, teals and yellows and vibrant green house plants everywhere. A slight coastal theme, bright and airy and still so cozy.

The kitchen, everything immaculate. She liked to cook and bake, and she had countless tools and appliances for it. One time, she had given him a taste of her homemade almond cookies, nutty and sweet, crystalized almonds on top that melted in his mouth.

Most of the living room was commanded by a cozy sectional sofa with soft cream blankets and more throw pillows than he could count. A vase full of lavender flowers, a few candles with wooden wicks. Vintage sconces and a restored fireplace. A grey cat laid on the back of the sofa, blinking up at him disinterestedly. Still, it let Steve pet it, a few brisk strokes behind the ears and it was purring.

The bedroom smelled like her. It was so potent, he almost blacked out with how quickly the blood rushed to his cock. She had scent diffusers downstairs, but upstairs, her scent permeated the air, the linens, the walls.

He bent before her bed and sniffed the scent on her pillow. She hadn’t made the bed that morning—she had to be in the mountains by noon to receive updates from the construction manager, and it clearly hadn’t crossed her mind in the rush.

Steve appreciated it, as the sheets still had a slight hint of that sleepy Omega smell. There was a duvet and at least five fluffy blankets, along with a handful of feather pillows scattered across the bed. He inspected each blanket and pillow, their different designs and fabrics and pillowcases. He found one pillow tucked underneath the duvet, twisted around, a hint of that heady scent wafting up towards Steve.

He brought the pillow to his face, breathing in deeper, scenting her arousal concentrated in one part in particular. It was still a little damp and he could only imagine her rubbing her slick pussy against the soft silk pillowcase until she came, crying out, clutching the makings of the nest around her, cozy and warm and so, so domestic—sweet little Omega, yearning for an Alpha to take care of her—

It took all his concentration to not come in his pants right there.

After taking care of the aching problem in his trousers, Steve explored her bathroom, looking individually at each toiletry and makeup product strewn across her vanity.

All of her food, her cleaning supplies, her cosmetics—everything in her home was natural, organic, and eco-friendly. She had mentioned once that she tried to be environmentally conscious, and he could see it manifested everywhere in her life. Steve liked that about her—it reminded him of a simpler time, before plastic covered the entire planet, before mass production of pointless garbage littered everyone’s lives.

He suspected that had something to do with her not being on suppressants, either—which he confirmed over some months based how potent her scent seemed to be and how it changed in depth and tone over her cycle.

Not until his third walkthrough of her house alone—she was out with a friend doing yoga and getting coffee, a Saturday morning ritual for her—did he see the calendar. It was pinned to the wall next to her bed, each month with different pastries as the cover photo. There, in blue pen, from the 12th to the 16th, five little H’s marked in the corner of each date.

He knew it must signify her heat. And he knew she wasn’t on suppressants, that she had heats before—and looking back through her calendar, her heats were very regular, every month on the dot. But now he knew, now he had a way to find out when her monthly mating period would begin, when she would be ripe for his taking.

Another piece of his plan fell into place.

Designing the outline of the cabin took less than a month and from that point until the end of construction, five months, Steve took a great effort to get to know her more.

He would bring her treats to their meetings; scones, cookies, coffee. Often, he would try to schedule the appointments for midday, if only to have the opportunity with each meeting to ask her for lunch after they had finished discussing all their business.

She showed him so much of Brooklyn that he didn’t realize had changed, and he showed her a few places that hadn’t, since the war.

Sometimes she would dress up for him. Instead of dress pants and blazers, she would wear long skirts and dresses that accentuated her curves—not too sexy, though; sweet, but still modest. Although he loved when she wore pink lipstick—simple and elegant—she would sometimes don darker shades, deep reds and purples, and he had to admit it made his Alpha rumble inside.

By the time the house was built, it was only November. Tony contracted her to build a new barracks near the compound, and Steve was running out of time. The perfect circumstances never arose. He had asked her on dates, but she was too busy, out of town for most of December for a conference and then for the holidays, always declining his advances with a soft smile and regretful apology.

Time passed into the New Year and Steve still hadn’t claimed her heart.

Steve needed some kind of excuse to keep her in his life. He was getting desperate.

When he had asked her to do the interior decorating for his new house, she blanched.

“I’m not much of an interior decorator, Steve.” It had taken months to get her to call him Steve instead of Captain Rogers. It was necessary for the progression of their relationship although Steve’s cock twitched every time she used his formal title.

“I like the way your house is decorated. Can’t you do something like that for me?” The look of sweet hope on his face was too overbearing, she had to look away.

“You haven’t even seen the rest of my house. Only the office.”

“Then why don’t you show me?”

Of course, he had already seen the entire house—many times, in fact. Still, he let her give him a full tour of the house, and at the end, he asked her again to do the decorating for his house. Mercifully, she accepted.

Her next heat was coming up—he knew based on her calendar and her delectable scent. It was scheduled over the long weekend, and much to Steve’s delight, there was also a blizzard coming their way for the exact same dates, the middle of January and the peak of winter providing the perfect conditions for his plot.

Getting her to agree to the journey up to the Adirondacks was easier than he had anticipated; the guilt-trip worked wonders on her, his submissive, sweet Omega.

He had picked her up early that morning, his big truck parked illegally in front of her brownstone as he knocked on the door and waited for her, coffee and pastries in hand to gain her favor.

When she opened the door, she looked perfect, dressed in a collared white dress and black tights, classy and beautiful, skin vibrant with that pre-heat glow, lips painted a berry pink.

“Hi, Steve,” she breathed, clearly having rushed downstairs for the door. Her scent wafted through the house and out the door, burying him in her sweet scent, more woodsy than usual with her impending heat. “Let me just get my shoes and a jacket. Oh—is that for me?” Her eyes zeroed in on the coffee.

He nodded, handing it to her. “Got your usual.”

She sipped from the cup and let out a contented sigh, perfect pink tongue darting out to lick a droplet from her upper lip. Steve didn’t know how he managed to contain himself. “Perfect. Thank you, Steve. Just give me a minute—oh—come on in. I won’t be long.” She came back downstairs minutes later in pointy heels and a peacoat, and she was ready to go.

The truck was lifted rather high off the ground, necessary for off-roading in the Adirondacks, so she always needed a little boost, and he helped her this time with his hands on her hips, lower than he would usually place them. From the breathless smile she gave him before he closed the passenger side door, she didn’t seem to mind.

Throughout the car ride up to the cabin, she was tense and stiff; whether it was due to his speeding or her heat, Steve wasn’t sure. However, he could smell her scent growing heavier by the minute, and he made sure to crank the heat up in the car to amplify it. He was rock hard in his pants the entire way, but she had been distracted from that by his reckless driving and the snow coming down from the sky.

He had lost count of the number of times she asked him to slow down, only to be silenced when he pointed out that he would have to drive fast if she wanted to be back in the city by nightfall.

“It’s snowing pretty hard.” Her voice was soft as she looked out the window at the ice piling up on the side of the road. It was almost whiting out the windshield, and Steve would have been worried about driving in this weather if Tony hadn’t decked out the truck with plenty of enhancements, to include chains on the wheels and sensors to enhance navigation in dangerous conditions.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” he said, keeping his tone casual, unconcerned. “I’d never let anything bad happen to you.” She was thrumming with worry and it was starting to take over her heat scent, the sharp tinge of anxiety growing stronger. He tried to distract her with conversation. “You know, I stayed up here the other weekend. It was pretty nice. You did a great job.”

She looked flustered at the praise, and he could already smell that heady scent again. “Oh?”

“I was sleeping on an air mattress, though. It was kind of cold until I got enough wood for the fire. I’ve brought some supplies up with us today because I’ll be staying there over the weekend.” True to his word, in the back of his truck, he had plenty of blankets, pillows, and food supplies for them to use over the next week.

“That sounds nice…” she mumbled.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be relaxing. Not having to be around so many people. What’re your plans?”

She seemed embarrassed, looking down at her knees, picking at the black tights she wore. “I’ll be alone, too. It’s not… not a great time…”

Steve knew, because of her heat, she wouldn’t be able to be around others for the long weekend. However, he feigned ignorance and frowned. “Oh, why is that? Everything okay?”

She nodded hastily. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine…” He didn’t push her because he could smell the scent on her growing stronger. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and he noticed she was squirming in her seat every now and then. He could smell her building arousal, sense her quickening heartbeat, hear her heavy breathing.

Her pre-heat was hitting her hard, which meant her heat was approaching faster than he had anticipated.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah… It’s hot in here… is it hot in here?”

Her hand shot out to lower the temperature in the car, but he caught her hand in his. “I thought it was cold.” The concern in his tone was contrived but sounded convincing to her. “You’re so warm.” His fingers brushed along her wrist, and he could hear the way her breath shuddered in her chest. One eye still on the road, he brought his hand up to feel her forehead, pressing the back of his fingers against her temple, her cheek, her neck. “You’re burning up.”

He could feel her tremble, the flutter of her heartbeat in her carotid artery. All too suddenly, she pushed his hand away, voice shaking as she spoke, “Y-yeah, I’m okay, Steve. I’m fine. Just a little under the weather.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Uh—uhm… not long… but I don’t want to… to… get you sick.”

By that point, they were pulling up the long road to the cabin. Steve sent her a reassuring smile. “I have the serum, sweetheart, you can’t get me sick. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

She was silent then, but every bump on the rocky dirty road made her squirm in her seat, thighs clenching together. Her breathing was still labored, and when he parked, he quickly rushed to her side of the car to help her get out, hands on her waist making her shiver.

Once she was outside, she took a deep breath, hands clinging to Steve’s jacket as she let the cool air consume her. Snowflakes fell down into her hair, on her cheeks and eyelashes, a crown of crystalized ice piling on her head, but she didn’t seem to notice the blustery weather as she relaxed into Steve’s arms.

“Is the cool air helping a little?” he asked, lips close to her ear so she could hear him over the heavy winds.

She nodded absently, eyes closed, but he knew it wasn’t the cool air. It was his touch—skin contact with a strong Alpha, exactly what she needed right now. After a moment or two, he adjusted his grip, arms encompassing her, and she didn’t notice herself when she turned her face in towards Steve’s neck, deeply breathing in his scent, drifting closer and closer until her nose was pressed against his scent glands through his sweater.

“Omega,” he growled, half in questioning and half in warning. It was enough to snap her out of her trance, movements sharp as she pulled away from Steve’s embrace and distanced herself from him.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, pressing her hands to her heated face. “I—I—I—” She was shaking, shocked at her behavior, nervous about the implications.

“It’s okay, darling,” he said, approaching her with hands raised. “How do you feel?”

Closing her eyes again, she took another few deep breaths, this time faced away from Steve. Finally, she sighed, and nodded. “Better. The fresh air is helping.” He maintained a concerned expression until she turned back towards the house. “Let’s get going. It’s snowing pretty hard.”

Indeed it was, fat flakes coming down harder and harder the more they stood outside, falling on their heads and shoulders and soaking into their hair and clothes. The ground was covered in a thick blanket already, and the wind was picking up more and more.

She hadn’t realized yet, but Steve knew that by the time they were finished looking over the house, the snow would be too deep to drive in, and they would be trapped here for the duration of her heat.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #Dark!Steve x Reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #ABO #alpha!steve #Alpha!Steve Rogers #Omega!Reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #MCU #MCU fanfiction #captain america

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the12thnightproject · 3 years ago

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Chapter 8: Lessons in Seduction

Taking a moonlight bath in a lake near Kasugayama was a really bad idea. Trying to bargain with a strategist... a worse idea.

Notes for a future life: if the audience is screaming ‘don’t go into the basement, don’t go into the basement,’ then don’t go into the basement.’ Or in this case, don’t go skinny dipping in an unsecured location.

As I continued to curse my luck, Shingen looked at the ground, leaned over, and casually picked up my “towel.” (No, bath towels haven’t made their way over from Persia yet, but for simplicity’s sake, I’m mentally using the word towel, because it’s faster than using the phrase ‘large piece of fabric that I intended to use as person-drying-device’… and yes, my brain did short circuit into ramble mode because for the first time since we’d met, Shingen directed the full wattage of his charisma at me, and… it’s a lot. It was surprising that the water closest to him hadn’t started steaming. Yet.)

He examined the towel. “Not a mermaid then. A Moon Goddess, bathing in the light of her celestial sister.” Ok, there was a quarter moon out, I’ll allow him that one. Thankfully, it was no brighter than that, or I’d be worried he’d connect this me with Katsu.

Now leave me alone sir, before I freeze. It felt a lot colder once I was no longer splashing around.

He opened the towel and shook it. “Do you want this back, Angel? I imagine you do – I can tell you’re very cold in there.”

Yes, of course I want the - then my brain kick started with embarrassment. How exactly could he tell that I was cold? I sunk lower until the water covered my chin.

“Your teeth are chattering.” Oh. So they were. Ok. At least he didn’t see- “And,” he directed his gaze to the water line. “Other reasons.” I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking, “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you dead.” When I opened my eyes, he was still there. Could the developers please hurry up with the ‘kill you with my mind’ patch?

Keeping one arm over my “other reasons” I edged closer to reach for the towel, but he was holding it just out of range.

“I’m proposing a trade, Angel. You want this,” he shook the towel again. “And I would like one kiss from those very blue lips.” He looked at me, then the same slow smile that he had loosed upon the women at the teahouse last week spread across his features.

Why hadn’t I kept my eyes closed? His smile is lethal.

If I answered him, would he recognize my voice? Thanks to Aki’s training, I was used to pitching my voice as ‘Katsuhira’ lower than my normal tones. I should be safe, but I also had thought my bath would be uninterrupted and Mai had thought the water would be warm enough, so the women of Kasugayama were 0-2 in judgment today.

My poor judgment further manifested when I began shivering.

Shingen stepped closer to the lake. “Get out of there before you freeze to death. I’m catching a cold from looking at you.” There was an edge to his voice that suggested he’d come in after me if I didn’t hurry. Of course, if he really wanted me to get out of the water, he should leave me alone, but that didn’t seem to be on his agenda.

I raised my hand, and circled my finger, hoping he’d get a clue and turn around. He folded his arms and leaned back against a tree, clearly prepared to wait me out.

Right. Didn’t think that would work.

Ok. What were my options?

Plan A. I could swim to a further part of the shore and book it out of here. I was certain of my ability to outrun him, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of streaking barefoot through the forest. If Sasuke was leaking ground spikes again, I’d be risking foot injury – which would be difficult to explain tomorrow.

Plan B. Stay here and freeze. No, let’s avoid any solutions that would involve cryogenics.

Plan C. Game this thing out. After considering that idea, I realized he had left me a loophole.

I held up my index finger, signaling “one.”

“Right. One kiss in exchange for this nice, dry, warm, blanket.” He held open the towel.

Alright. I guess we’re doing this.

I took a deep breath for courage and bolted out of the water, zipping squarely into the towel he held open like a target. “There you go,” he murmured as he wrapped me up. His body radiated a potent heat compared to the lake water, making me aware just how close I had come to courting hypothermia. He briskly rubbed my back and shoulders, then grabbed a corner of the towel and scrubbed it over my hair a few times. Maybe he had truly been concerned that I would freeze.

Then he leaned closer, his voice scorching my ear. “Kiss me, Angel.” He brought that beautiful face closer to mine.

I rose up on my tiptoes and at the last moment, changed the angle to briefly kiss his cheek. (Loophole!). I almost laughed at his chagrined expression.

Then I pulled back and tugged at the towel. He did not let go. Again, I tried to pull away. “That didn’t count,” he said.

Risking a verbal response, I said, “You didn’t specify where you wanted to be kissed.”

“She speaks!” He ran his thumb across my lips, his touch doing much to counteract the cold of the lake. With a smile, he continued. “You are correct, Angel, I did not specify.”

I gripped the towel to my body and again tried to leave, but his arms were firmly wrapped around me. Though I wasn’t frightened, I was annoyed enough to give him my best glare.

He tapped my nose with his finger. “Our agreement was for one kiss in exchange for the blanket. You are holding the blanket, are you not?”

I was, but…

“If you wanted to leave with the blanket, you ought to have specified.” Then he winked (!) at me.

One, all.

Forgot I was dealing with a strategist. Let’s try this again. I drew myself up to my full height and spoke with as much dignity it was possible to muster when wearing only a towel and a warlord. “I would like to leave right now with the … er, blanket, alone, and be assured that you won’t follow me.” That, hopefully, would cover all contingencies from sneaky warlords.

“An Angel who negotiates. I’m intrigued.” He pulled me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head. I made a half-hearted attempt to scoot away, but he massaged more warmth into my shoulders. “You’re still shivering. I’m only trying to warm you up.”

Yeah. No one with half a brain would believe that one. Even the chorus of crickets in the background was going, ‘nope, nope, nope.’ “And next, you’re going to try and sell me a castle that you don’t own?”

I could sense him smiling into my hair. “You opened the negotiation with three requests. One proper kiss of a suitable duration, per request – for a total of three kisses.”

“I can count,” I muttered. If I had to kiss him, then at least then I would know what it was like to kiss him, and I could stop wondering. I’d have to stop at one kiss though – one kiss, then this ‘Angel’ was going fly away forever. I felt a slight pang of disappointment about that, but staying with him too long only increased the chance that he’d find out that ‘Angel’ was also ‘Katsu.’ So. That was that. I counter-offered with, “One for the lot.”

“Two. Two proper kisses of a suitable duration.” He lifted a clump of wet hair out of my eyes, flicking it behind my ear.

That … was vague. Too vague. I leaned back and looked at him. “What do you mean by a proper kiss of-”

I got almost through that question and that Star Wars Fish Alien whose name I can’t remember broke through my obviously hypothermic brain (I normally would not have made such a stupid miscalculation), yelling ‘it’s a trap!’ then Shingen said, “Like this” and closed the gap between our mouths.

Oh.

Oh!

He really is good at this.

His lips glided over mine, gently at first, merely brushing past before pausing, hovering, almost touching, but not. Maybe I should have moved, but instead, I held my breath, until he pressed his mouth to mine again. He held me firmly against his body, but didn’t try to overpower me, and as I relaxed into his kiss, he brought one hand up to cup my cheek.

His hair tickled the back of my hand - only then did I realize I had put my arms around his neck to bring him closer. He took his time, acting like he wanted to savor me, like I was one of those pastries he loved so much. And with that image, came the taste of sugar – I don’t know if he actually tasted like sugar, or if it was because I associated him with pastries – but I had not expected such sweetness in his kiss.

Then he flicked his tongue across my lower lip and nipped at it. Surprised, I gasped, and he slipped his tongue inside my mouth. He placed his hand on the back of my head to draw me closer still. His kiss was warming all over, defrosting my lake frozen-body, and I wanted to get closer to that warmth, let it burn through me even, and that was my last coherent thought for a while and I went with it.

Yes. Him. Now.

Then bargains and agreements went out the window, as he slid his mouth down to the base of my throat and pressed a kiss to it that had me catching my breath in a moan and I grabbed his shoulders to keep from sliding to the ground in a boneless heap.

“I knew you’d like that, Angel,” he murmured. There was both laughter and triumph in his voice, and finally my brain woke up and broke free of that seductive hold.

Angel. Goddess. He wasn’t kissing me. He didn’t know me. I could have been any woman. The realization, as cold as the lake, help me retake control of my senses.

No, I would take my chances with the ground spikes.

Flipping the towel up and over his head, temporarily blinding him and tangling him up in fabric; I used that element of surprise to make a run for it.

I dashed through the underbrush, then swung up into the tree I had secreted my clothing in earlier. In a flash (literally), I was sitting on a thick branch, clutching the bundle of ‘Katsuhira’s’ clothes like a security blanket. I pressed my hand to my mouth to silence my rapid breathing – my lips were still tingling from his kiss.

Somewhere below me, Shingen was crashing through the trees, calling for “Angel”.

The calls stopped suddenly with a muttered oath.

Watch out for ground spikes.

*******************

Luckily, the night guards didn’t examine me too closely when I returned to the castle, my damp hair tucked into my clothes and creating a giant wet spot on my back. They were used to Shingen’s staff coming and going at all hours. Once inside, though, I had the sense that someone was watching me as I hurried through the corridor to my room. I paused, looked around, and noticed that a doorway that had been closed when I passed it a moment ago was now cracked open.

After a brief mental debate – I was wet and armed with only a dagger – I crept back, and peered through the tiny sliver of open space. It appeared to be a storage room, I couldn’t see anyone in it, though they could be lurking behind the door. I listened for movement, breathing… anything, but the only noise I heard was coming from the corridor behind me – two vassals were heading my way, engaged in some nonsense argument over the best brand of sake in the area. Not wanting to be caught lurking, I gave up on the idea of investigating further, and returned to my room. I’d return to this one tomorrow and give it a thorough examination.

To my surprise, I managed to fall asleep without much difficulty, especially considering the effect my night swim and the aftermath had on my imagination. My brain basically just shut down in self-defense. I woke up once a bit later when my brain produced the name of the Star Wars Fish Alien (Admiral Ackbar), fell asleep again, only to be jarred awake again by the sound of my door sliding open.

I reached for the dagger I kept next to the futon.

“Don’t be alarmed, it’s just me,” Shingen stood in the doorway, a lantern in one hand, and a packet of letters in the other.

Actually, I found that pretty alarming. Had he figured it out already? Had ‘Angel,’ like Cinderella, left something behind?

He gestured to the messages. “Can you deliver these first thing?”

Oh. Ok. He hadn’t figured it out. “First thing as in right now?”

Please say no and go away.

“No, I’m simply dropping them off. It can wait until sunrise.”

Good. Now, go away.

My mind control was working about as well as it had earlier this evening – which is to say not at all. Perhaps I should have added the phrase these are not the droids you’re looking for to it?

He moved from the doorway and came into the room, and I was suddenly conscious that I wasn’t wearing the binder over my breasts, and that my hair, though pulled back, was still wet. I pulled the blanket over my head and rolled into a ball and did my best impression of a lazy teenager. “Will do.” I mumbled, trying to give every indication that I was nearly asleep again.

“You’re not terribly alert for someone who’s already legendary for getting up and around early in the morning,” as he placed the letters on my writing desk, then sat down behind it.

I risked Kilroying my eyes and nose over the edge of the blanket. “Being a morning person usually requires being asleep at this particular time of the night.”

He laughed. “Don’t mind me, I just realized I need to write another.” He grabbed some paper and the brush off the desk and I was suddenly glad that I was the organized type of person who did not leave incriminating things lying about. (Actually, that is exactly why I am organized).

As I once again retreated under the blanket, I wondered if maybe he had figured out my disguise and was torturing me for the fun of it, but the rhythmic and determined scritch of the brush across the page convinced me he truly was writing an urgent message. Finally, my curiosity won out, and I asked, “What’s going on?”

He bent over the desk, the light of the lantern turning his hair from auburn to burnished red. “I’m looking for a woman.”

“Aren’t you always?” I muttered, as I mentally swore at myself for asking. That catch-all nickname “Angel” still stung my ego, even as I rationally knew it shouldn’t. I hadn’t told him “Angel’s” name, and for all he knew, we had just “met.”

“A specific woman,” he clarified, the brush still scribbling furiously on the paper. “Part Mermaid, part Moon Goddess.” He mumbled something else under his breath that may have been ‘imp.’ Or limp? Well, he had stepped on a ground spike.

“What makes that one special?” Ego damage repair sequence initiating.

He rolled the handle of the brush over and over his fingers like a magician manipulating a playing card. “We were playing a game of sorts, and the next move is to be mine. But I need to locate her first.”

I needed to shut this thing down. Though it might be a good idea to learn what he had in store for Angel, so that I had a next move of my own. Or, better yet, avoid getting into a situation where a move needed to be made. “A game? Like shogi?”

“Somewhat, although I’ve never found that particular game all that exciting. But it does involve thinking several moves in advance.” He smiled, and I got very very worried. “Of course, if we play this game correctly, we will both win.”

I might be in trouble. I inched further under my blanket.

“What have the messages to do with it?” Did he write Angel a note and address it to the North Pole? Or the Moon, probably, because of that goddess thing.

“I’ve asked my mitsumono to search for her, as the lady is probably a spy.”

I am definitely in trouble.

He tapped the pile of letters. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Katsu.” And then he was gone.

Link to complete work, Twelve Lies I Told Shingen Takeda here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32812042?view_full_work=true

#ikemen fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen shingen #shingen takeda #fanfiction #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #ao3 link

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olivinesea · 4 years ago

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Off Souls, pt. 3

Part 1 Part 2

a/n: We’re back. Things are still serious but maybe not as rough? Let’s call it soft-anxiety. This part and the next were supposed to be one but it got out of hand. So stick with me for a few more feelings and I promise there will be a little action soon. ~3.7k

Some problem solving.

There was no miraculous recovery to their friendship. Things remained tense between the two of them. Emily was on edge for obvious reasons and he still wasn’t sure where he stood with her. The split had shaken his trust more than he wanted to admit. Still, he knew he needed to be there for her. Despite her best efforts he saw how delicate she was right now. He saw her tensing in crowds, grinding her teeth whenever someone brushed past her, hanging back ever so slightly as they entered buildings. He was familiar with all these little grasps at safety. He could have made a list without a second thought. They were all things he had seen his mother do, things he had felt himself doing. Emily was scared and she wasn’t sure when that danger would reappear.

He did what he could, staying close and being mindful about the spaces they went to. He first realized he needed to be more cautious after they tried to go to the dining hall during the midday rush hours. Emily didn’t eat anything. She spent her whole time stiff, searching the faces of the other diners. She had been worried about running into him ever since the first time he had appeared unexpectedly. Now she had to worry about Hotch, too. She distinctly did not want Hotch to know his identity. He was unable to mask his fury whenever the topic surfaced. She knew nothing good would come of their meeting. She appreciated that he wanted to fight for her but what she really wanted was for this to never have happened. Hotch getting involved, bringing some sort of vigilante justice to him, made it much harder to pretend.

Plus she didn’t want him getting in trouble over her. She knew how hard he worked to keep his clean record, his scholarship contingent on high grades and good behavior. In a less concrete way she also knew what it would mean for Hotch’s relationship with his parents if he were to find himself in trouble. He was evasive but had slipped up enough for her to have a rough picture of the Hotchner household. It wasn’t all so so different from her own, she thought. Opposite sides of the same coin perhaps—love that didn’t exist within normal boundaries, too present or too distant. The lonely place in her heart hollowed by frosty absence, his carved out with a heated knife. She didn’t want to be the catalyst for any conflict there.

That first day he found her she had been unable to discuss options. Far too overwhelmed by her current reality, she waved him off when he tried to bring it up and curled into herself in a way that made him kick himself for asking. A couple of days later while they were walking back to the dorms he tried to tactfully broach the subject again only to be surprised by her short reply.

“I’m going in Friday.”

“Oh, ok. Good. That’s good?”

She looked at him, squinting slightly. “Yes? Are you surprised?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“What? Did you think I wasn’t going to get an abortion? That I was going to have a fucking baby?” She stopped and rounded on him, growing angrier with each word.

He stopped also, but carefully backed up to the side of the path, pulling her gently with him. He dropped his hand when she snatched her arm away. “No. You just didn’t seem like you knew what you wanted to do before. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it before you decided.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He rubbed his face with his hand, not sure how he had offended her. He spoke through his fingers.“I know, Emily. I just want to be there for you. For whatever you need.”

He looked up and she was glaring at him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered.

She wanted to stay mad. The anger felt good even though she knew it was a little misplaced. She remembered how she had imagined he would look at her once he knew. She hadn’t let herself hope for understanding. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but having him back in her life had been a huge relief. She didn’t have the words to properly express to him what it meant to her that he was there. That he hadn’t hesitated to hold her close, hadn’t questioned or abandoned her.

Now she was acting ungrateful, lashing out at him when he was only trying to help. She had worried he might second guess her decision, have some moral hang up bred of his conservative upbringing. She hadn’t wanted to involve him in this step, didn’t want to need help. She was afraid to discover a limit to the grace he’d given her. She hugged her arms around herself and nodded, feeling too awkward to look at him directly.

“Please.”

“Then I’ll be there,” he said simply and started walking again. She followed a half step behind.

The time between that conversation and Thursday dilated uncomfortably. Every moment she was aware of what was happening inside her: cells collecting and dividing, a slow, sinister act of creation. She knew she couldn’t literally feel what was happening but her skin crawled with the knowledge. If she let herself think about it, it would consume her. Frozen by the thought it felt like hours before she she could move again, only to find just moments had passed. She could only keep track of the passing time by the different foods that were available in the dining hall. Waffles, it must be morning; stir fry, evening again. She followed Hotch around and he led her to class, to eat, back home again.

She looked up from her plate, still filled with untouched potatoes and greens. He was looking at her and she knew he’d asked her a question but she didn't know what it was. She thought she remembered him asking if she wanted more water, though that could have been during a different meal or a dream.

“Yes,” she said, faking confidence.

He stared at her blankly.

“Sounds good.” She hoped she wasn't agreeing to anything serious.

His stare became somewhat anxious.

“I have no idea what you said,” she admitted reluctantly as she looked at her full water glass.

He exhaled sharply, everything still too bleak to laugh. “What time do we need to be at the clinic tomorrow?”

Was it tomorrow already? For her it had been weeks since yesterday and yet only this morning that had been the Tuesday before last.

He waited for her to answer, watching the wheels turning slowly, gears mismatched and stuttering. She pressed her thumb hard against the sharp end of her fork, trying to pull up the relevant information.

“Noon. The appointment is at noon.”

He reached out and touched her hand gently. “Okay.”

They left early to walk to the clinic. Rather than use the campus health center and risk detection by her mother, she found a local clinic about a twenty minute walk from campus. Their walk was quiet, both attempting to appear more stable than they felt. She was eager to be done with this whole experience. He was not sure what to expect, everything about it still a mystery to him. Too uncomfortable to ask questions, he hoped his presence would be enough. As they approached the low cement building, she slipped her hand into his. Only slightly surprised, he squeezed her fingers softly.

They went inside and were struck by the quiet. There were people sitting in about half the chairs, mostly young women. Everyone looked similarly focused, no one spoke unnecessarily. Emily walked up to the counter and gave her name and appointment information. The receptionist was kind, smiling patiently as she stumbled over her words. Once checked-in she was given a clipboard of forms to fill out. She turned to find Hotch still standing awkwardly by the door. She eyed a couple empty chairs between them and nodded to them with her chin. They met at the corner seats and she dropped her bag onto the floor beside the chair as she sat down. He sat a little more reluctantly, still scanning the waiting room.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She was focused on filling in birthday and address and didn’t register what he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you wanted me to go up there with you or…” he trailed off. He hated that he was so nervous. He had waited in dozens of rooms like this before, many far more chaotic than this. It was tense in here but it was also hopeful. He stopped looking around and dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. He traced a nail with his thumb, feeling all the bumps and edges.

She looked over at him, saw the apprehension shadowing his eyes. “I’m going to be ok,” she promised. She was not yet convinced of this but it felt good to say.

He nodded. “I know that. It’s just—“ he swallowed. This was no time to be bringing out his own problems. Regardless of what he wanted though, he could feel his stomach tightening, a conditioned response to the danger presented by medical offices. He hated doctors with their cold gloved fingers pressing into fresh wounds, only to act surprised when he shrank away from the pain. It was always harder to lie when they confused him like that, the sensations blocking out thought. His well-practiced story would seem to slip out of his mind and his mother would look at him, terrified, as he grasped at the correct details. Waiting rooms were not his favorite place to be by a long shot.

She was too involved with her paperwork to notice how he’d retreated into himself. After skipping the section on insurance (it’d be much easier to hide a couple hundred dollars pulled out of her checking account than a claim for abortion on the statements her mother received), she’d come to a form asking more specific questions about her body. She was trying to count back weeks in her mind but kept getting tripped up. She pulled out her phone to look at the calendar and her heart sank when she confirmed the number she had been hoping was a mistake. Had it really been two months? She’d lost so much time.

She finished filling out what she could of the forms and leaned back into the vinyl chair. She did feel more calm now that she was here. The anticipation had been difficult but now all the pieces were in place. She’d gotten herself here, now she could just follow along with the rest of the ride. She leaned her head onto Hotch’s shoulder. Absently he turned his face towards her and kissed the top of her head. His only reflexive act of affection, he had done that to soothe Sean more times than he could count. He had never done it to Emily, however. She closed her eyes and smiled, again thanking the universe that she had somehow earned a friend like him. They waited for her name to be called.

Though she was expecting it, hearing her name still made her jump a little. They both stood up and turned towards the nurse.

“That’s me,” her voice sounded squeaky, unable to get enough air into her lungs.

The woman smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid your friend will have to wait out here. We can bring him into the recovery room as soon as your done though. Is that going to be ok?”

Emily and Hotch looked at each other, exchanging silent messages. They had known this was probably how it would happen. She didn’t really want him to see her like that anyway. But still, it was hard to let go when she had been spending the past week relying on him to keep herself standing. He knew she would be taken care of but he still didn’t want to let her disappear into the back hallways and exam rooms of the clinic. In his mind the building stretched out infinitely, hallways becoming mazes, folding and twisting into inescapable loops. Once she was beyond that door he wouldn’t be able to get to her quickly; once she was out of his sight, he couldn’t make sure she was safe. What if she needed him and he wasn’t there again?

She settled on a quick hug. “I’ll see you on the other side.” She was trying to be light but it came out sounding grave.

He nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Em.”

She followed the nurse through the door and he returned to one of the stiff chairs, this time deliberately choosing one with a view of both doors. He looked at his watch. It had already been more than an hour. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to be but he figured he could safely assume it wouldn’t be quick. He’d brought a book because the thought of flipping through waiting room magazines made him uneasy. He opened to the scrap of paper he’d been using as a bookmark and stared at the page. His mind refused to focus as he read and reread the same three paragraphs.

Eventually he gave up and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, narrowing his eyes but never fully closing them. No one paid attention to him, everyone there was too tangled in their own personal dramas. He started making lists in his head: adjectives starting with each letter of the alphabet, working backwards from Z, animals that migrated, the different license plates he had memorized. The last one had begun as a way to drown out the fighting as his family traveled to and from his grandparents’ house several hours out of town. He would try to remember each license plate that passed, whispering them to himself in a long string of letters and numbers, an incantation to prevent disaster. It was never clear whether it was ineffective or if his definition of disaster was too small.

Emily was led to an exam room. The nurse checked over her forms, following up on some pieces of information she hadn’t properly addressed. The nurse explained how the procedure was going to work, how the anesthesia was likely to make her feel and what she could expect in the following days. Emily nodded when she was supposed to, affirming that her decision was hers alone. She made fists with her hands to stop from picking at her nails, determined to appear calm and in control. The nurse gently patted her shoulder before she left, promising that the doctor would be in as soon as possible.

As soon as possible wasn’t all that soon it turned out. After sitting nervously at attention for twenty minutes, Emily laid down on her side on the exam table. The white paper crinkled beneath her as she tried to find a good position. She kept an eye on the door, alert to any sound or movement coming from its direction. She didn’t want to be caught sleeping, already feeling far too vulnerable in this place. She stared at the white paint of the door for so long that she started to see shapes floating on its surface. They grew and melted and she was mesmerized by it until suddenly the door swung towards her. She sat up quickly, trying to look as if she had been upright the whole time, but the creased paper gave her away.

This time there were several people that entered. She got more considerate smiles as she was introduced to the doctor, the anesthesiologist, the nurse from before. Again she stayed quiet, just nodding when it was appropriate and wondering what Hotch was doing out in the waiting room. There was more explanation of what was about to happen and she shifted uncomfortably, partly wishing that she didn’t need to know quite so much detail.

Finally things got started. It was not a pleasant position to be in and she second guessed her decision not to choose the at home option. Her dorm room just hadn’t seemed like the best place to try to go through something like this. The promise of a quick procedure, in, out and on with her life had landed her here. In a cold white room, outnumbered by people in white coats and sterile gloves. She felt her heart rate picking up, panic threatening to overpower her. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned her head to see the nurse smiling at her.

“You’re doing great.”

Emily closed her eyes. The anesthesia started to work and she felt herself begin to drift. When she opened her eyes the nurse was still there, still smiling at her. She had said something but Emily hadn’t registered it.

“All done,” she repeated.

“Oh,” was all Emily could say. She thought she had only blinked a little long. But sure enough she saw the doctor straightening up the different medical detritus on the counter. The anesthesiologist was busily wrapping up some tubing.

“Let’s get you dressed and over to the recovery room.”

“Is Hotch there?” Emily felt a sudden pang of worry. What if he had left, had decided she was too much trouble after all?

The nurse looked confused for a moment then realized what she was asking. “If you have someone waiting for you we can bring them back once you’re settled.”

Frowning, Emily accepted that answer. If she had someone waiting. Did she? The drugs were making her mind hazy. She remembered coming in with Hotch but she also remembered him being upset. Had he been upset with her? It was hard to be sure when it felt like all her recent memories had been shuffled like a deck of cards.

She let the nurse guide her to another room down the hallway. This room was softer, lacking the metallic equipment and raised exam table. Instead there were a couple arm chairs and one particularly soft looking couch. A side table held individually wrapped snacks and tea bags. Without invitation, Emily dropped onto the couch, leaning heavily against the arm and enjoying the pressure of the cushions behind her.

The nurse asked her if she wanted something to drink but Emily only looked at her with glazed eyes.

“Where’s Hotch?” She did her best not to sound desperate but there was a tremble in her voice she couldn’t contain.

“Ok, I’ll go get him. But think about having something to eat and drink. It’ll help.”

Emily nodded to show she would obey and the nurse left her, closing the door quietly. Emily leaned further into the couch, she was feeling a little nauseous and the colors around her appeared upsettingly bright. She closed her eyes and tucked her face into her arm. She completely forgot about eating or drinking anything.

As the nurse walked Hotch to the recovery room, she listed advice on how to take care of Emily. “She’s going to be tired and probably a little confused for the next couple hours. It’s best to just relax, watch a movie, nothing too strenuous. Make sure she eats and drinks plenty of water. We’re sending home some painkillers if she needs them.”

They reached the door. “Take as long as you need but she will probably be ready to go in half an hour.” She open the door. “Emily?”

Emily turned her face up from where she’d pressed it into the couch. Her vision was momentarily clouded by black spots that scattered in the sudden change of lighting.

“I’ve brought your friend, Mr. Hotchner. He’s going to sit with you until you’re ready to go. I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.”

Emily nodded vacantly.

Hotch thanked the nurse as she left and crossed the room to Emily, who was still looking dazed. He crouched down in front of her, one hand on the arm of the couch. He looked closely into her face and she stared back at him with her wide brown eyes. She blinked.

“You’re very pretty Mr. Hotchner.”

He snorted, ducking his head, hair falling across his forehead. She reached out to push it back, running her fingers through it.

“So, so pretty.”

“Alright you,” he said, standing up, trying to hide a smile. “Let’s get something in that drug-addled brain so we can get out of here. What sounds good?”

She sat up and shrugged one shoulder. It didn't matter to her, she was just glad he was here. He grabbed a peppermint teabag from the basket and put together some tea for her. She watched him from her spot on the couch as he considered the snack options. He sat down next to her, pressing the paper cup into her hand and tearing open the package of dark chocolate cookies. She yelped when the boiling water burned her tongue.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking genuinely apologetic, as if he had intentionally overheated the water. She just shook her head and tilted her face down into the steam coming from the cup. The smell was soothing even if she couldn't drink it yet. She heard crunching next to her and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Those are supposed to be for me.”

“There’s more,” he defended himself, mouth half full.

She laughed and he felt himself relax. He had been painfully on edge for days, probably weeks. She had been so distressed and he hadn’t known what to do to fix it. He hadn’t been sure how this experience might complicate things further. Too familiar with disappointment, he had prepared to find her still broken, still consumed by grief. But here she was, laughing at him again. It was the thing he loved and had missed most about her. He allowed himself to hope a little. Maybe this was going to work out. Maybe they could get past this and everything would be okay again.

~Part 4~

#Criminal Minds #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #college hotchniss

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

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Clear Skies

aka, The Honeymoon Fic. Luka and Marinette have faced down their share of storms over the years. Their honeymoon is a break they badly need, and the calm gives them a chance to just enjoy being together, and reflect on how far they've come.

This story *is* set during their honeymoon so there is plenty of innuendo and implied sexy stuff and maybe I waited slightly longer than usual before the fade to black, but there's nothing really explicit. If you don't care for it, once the makeout starts you can skip down to the section break.

“Luka.” Marinette frowned slightly, head turning as they passed their favorite beach bar, The Cove, its porch overflowing with brightly colored flowers that Marinette had spent a lot of time sketching in the past few days. “Where are we going?” she asked, with one longing look back at the Cove’s purple roof. She’d been hoping for the Cove’s breakfast special, but apparently Luka had other plans.

Plans he wasn’t going to share with her, as a sly smile curled his mouth and he said simply, “You’ll see.”

Marinette pouted, but leaned into him, wrapping her other arm around his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Luka bent down and kissed the top of her head, and her pout pulled into a smile almost against her will. It was hard to be put out when she was on her honeymoon with her gorgeous, newly-minted doting husband, and whatever surprise he had in mind was bound to be wonderful.

She kept turning possibilities over in her mind as they passed possible destination after possible destination. Marinette noticed the corner of Luka’s mouth twitching and knew he knew she was guessing and that she was also completely lost. She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.

Finally, Luka stopped and took her hands. “Do something for me?”

Marinette looked up at him. “Hm?”

“Close your eyes.”

Marinette’s eyebrows went up and she cocked her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

“Because you trust me and I asked you to,” Luka grinned, squeezing her hands and leaning in to rub his nose lightly against hers. “Please?”

Marinette sighed, and closed her eyes. She felt Luka’s lips press hers lightly in reward. “Thank you.” He moved behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “This way.”

Marinette walked, responding to the pressure on her shoulders as Luka guided her.

“Step up,” he warned, and Marinette did, suddenly feeling wood under her sandaled feet instead of sand. The hollow sound as they walked made her think they were on a bridge or a pier.

Luka stopped her and then turned her slightly, reaching up to cover her eyes with his own hands. “Ready?”

“Of course I’m ready,” she said dryly, blinking behind his hands. “Are you going to keep me waiting forever?”

Luka’s deep chuckle in her ear made the brush of his lips against her neck all the more electrifying. “You’re so impatient.”

Marinette folded her arms and pouted for real this time, and Luka laughed. “All right, all right.” He took his hands from her eyes, and Marinette blinked in the bright light reflecting off the shiny white paneling in front of her, and then blinked again in surprise.

“It’s...a boat?” she said blankly.

“It’s a boat,” Luka confirmed behind her, and when she looked up at him his face was shining with happiness. “Isn’t she beautiful? I’ve been scouting for days to find the right one.”

A cold tendril of fear curled in her stomach. “Luka, please tell me you didn’t buy a boat.” She knew her new husband was impulsive, but boats were so expensive, surely he wouldn’t have—and what would they do with a boat? A sailboat, at that. The Seine was—and how would they even get the boat back from Hawaii? They’d just picked out their apartment! They were all moved in! How was she supposed to—

Luka interrupted her panic with an incredulous laugh and a kiss to her cheek. “Of course not. I’d never make a decision like that without you. I rented her. She’s ours for the next three days.”

“But,” Marinette looked up at him. “The hotel—”

Luka shrugged. “We can go back to the hotel for the night if you want. I just thought you might—I mean,” he paused, running his fingers through his hair, and Marinette realized he was getting nervous. “We don’t have to even use it, if we don’t want to, but I thought—the seas and the skies are so beautiful here, and I thought maybe I could show you…but if it’s just going to make you anxious, then we don’t have to.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, and he fidgeted, waiting for her decision. Patiently, of course. He was always patient. It was clear that this was important to him, though, and he’d be terribly disappointed if she shot him down.

Luka had tried so hard to make sure she’d be able to relax while they were away. Of course, the Miracle Box stayed with them at all times, but Tikki and the other kwamis were sealed inside, ensuring that she and Luka had complete privacy and a vacation from superhero duties during their honeymoon. They had a burner phone so that Chat could text in case of an emergency, though emergencies requiring Ladybug were few and far between these days.

Luka had agreed to all of this for Marinette’s peace of mind, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to relax without assurance that her responsibilities were taken care of. He had let her plan and overplan for every contingency, and once the necessities were settled, had gently taken the rest of the trip out of her hands, knowing that given the chance, Marinette would plan every minute of their days. Instead, Luka kept their schedule open, presenting her each morning with a few options for things they could do that day, while leaving them plenty of time for lazy mornings and late nights during which Luka ensured she wasn’t thinking about anything outside of their room.

And now he had something he wanted to share with her, for once asking for something he wanted to do, and she was balking. Suddenly she felt terrible.

Marinette made up her mind in an instant, flashing a smile up at Luka and putting her arms around his neck. She could see in his face that he wasn’t convinced—he had always seen her, and she couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t really understand,” she told him honestly. “I’m a little nervous, but I trust you, so let’s just do it.” Luka grinned at those words and put his arms around her waist. She cupped his cheek in her palm. “This is your honeymoon too. We should do things that you want to do.”

He looked away and smiled, tongue wetting his lips before he leaned in to say, “We’ve done plenty of things I wanted to do.” Marinette shoved his face away and he pulled her into a hug, chuckling. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it?” he asked, voice low.

Marinette smiled. “You’d know,” she said, thumb stroking his lower lip. “Even if I didn’t tell you. You always know. But I promise.” She drew him down and kissed him softly, slowly, the way he liked, and he sighed when she pulled back, his hand coming up to catch hers as it slid from his cheek.

“Okay,” he said, smiling, some of his enthusiasm returning. “Come on then, let me show you around.”

“It looks awfully big,” Marinette commented as Luka helped her aboard. It felt a little cramped and narrow, and yet huge and heavy at the same time. “You’re sure you can sail this by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself,” Luka said cheerfully. “I’ve got you.”

Marinette whined. “That’s not helping my confidence, Luka.”

“Relax, Marinette,” he laughed. “Yes, I can sail single-handed, and I wasn’t entirely kidding. It will be easier with you to hold the wheel steady when I need to work the sails. Besides this thing can practically sail herself. She’s got all the modern conveniences. And before you ask, she’s got an engine so we can’t get stuck.” He grinned at Marinette and she stuck her tongue out at him. “I can’t believe you thought I bought this,” Luka chuckled to himself. “When I’m as famous as Jagged, I might be able to afford it. Look at this, this is teak decking back here on the swim platform.” He pointed it out, and then pulled the—Marinette wanted to call it a tailgate, honestly, but she was sure that wasn’t right—up behind them and latched it to close off the back of the boat. He turned her around and pointed to a bunch of dials around the steering wheel. “It’s got a full GPS and electronic charts, throttle for the motor, and a compass of course.” He tapped each of them as he spoke, and then grinned at her with a wink. “And a queen-sized bed in the berth below. I’m not going to brag about the galley, it’s going to be too small for your tastes, but just trust me when I say it’s really nice for a boat this size. Before you ask, it has a fully functional bathroom with a shower.”

Marinette covered a smile as he rambled on about the features and amenities of the boat, moving the whole time in the narrow space. It was surprisingly easy to forget that the Couffaines were a sailing family, since they spent so much time anchored in the Seine, but Anarka came from a long line of Scottish sailors and her love of the water had not diminished even when she traded the turbulent seas of her homeland for the calm waters of the Seine. “Just please don’t tell my mom I got one with a wheel instead of a tiller,” Luka sighed, rolling his eyes. “She’ll never let up on me about it.” Marinette giggled and he grinned.

When the tour was over, he sat her down on one of the benches forward of the cockpit, and went to work rigging the sails. There wasn’t much for her to do besides watch him work, but that in itself was...kind of amazing. He was just so...capable. Sure. Confident. Able to see what needed doing, and do it, effortlessly handling what was just a jumble of ropes and cloth and moving parts to Marinette. She couldn’t help the fond smile that was growing on her face as she watched him. Some people scoffed at Luka’s easy-going nature. They thought because he was quiet that he was easily swayed; that because he was deliberate and gentle, he lacked drive or ambition.

But they were wrong. It was true, Luka didn’t fire up easily, but he burned slow and steady. There was so much passion in everything he did. His energy might be different from hers, which came in flashes and bursts and bright moments, but it was just as strong, and usually a lot more focused.

Luka paused as he passed her, one hand going to her hip as he leaned in and kissed her. Marinette caught the collar of his open shirt and tugged him back, and he obliged her with a deeper, slower kiss. He squeezed her hip, left one more kiss on her nose, and went to start up the engine to get them out of the harbor.

When they were clear, Luka pulled her up in front of him and let her get the feel of the wheel as they steered. When he was confident she could hold them steady, he left her at the wheel and moved up onto the foredeck to raise the sail. Marinette gripped the wheel tight, simultaneously thrilled and frightened by the feel of the ocean pushing against the rudder, trying to keep straight on the compass like he’d shown her, and watched Luka with anxious eyes.

Once the sails were up, Marinette relinquished her place to him and Luka killed the engine. She watched with fascination the focus and concentration in his face as he steered with one hand and handled the rope (the main sheet, he called it, and part of her was annoyed because who knew a sheet would be a rope and not a sail, and if he’d told her about this whole adventure she could have researched it so as not to look like an idiot) with the other, until the sails filled and the boat sliced through the water, listing slightly with the wind. Luka grinned as Marinette lost her balance and grabbed onto him.

“Careful,” he murmured, rock steady as ever, and apparently unbothered by her grip on his arm. “It’s a little different than the Liberty.”

“I’ll say,” Marinette breathed, scrunching up close to him as the wind whipped past them. It kind of reminded her of swinging between buildings in Paris, except it smelled a lot better.

She didn’t let go of Luka, but moved a little behind him, adjusting her hold to around his waist, and laying her cheek on his shoulder. A familiar peace filled her as she pressed against his strong back. Luka turned his head and nuzzled her temple briefly

“Okay so far?” he asked, and she nodded. He grinned and turned his attention back to the steering. “There’s food below,” he commented, and Marinette realized with a start that she was still hungry. “I didn’t want us to eat much beforehand in case you got seasick, but if you’re feeling okay, you could go grab us some breakfast.”

“I feel fine.” Marinette rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I bet you’re hungry too.”

“Yeah,” Luka admitted with a sheepish grin. He’d been ravenous ever since they arrived. He claimed he always got that way by the ocean, and seeing how much work he’d done this morning, Marinette supposed it made sense. She made her way carefully across the deck and down into the cabin.

She paused to peek in the storage cabinets, unsurprised to find Luka’s guitar case carefully wedged and padded in one. In another, she found the miracle box, and breathed a sigh of relief, releasing some tension in her shoulders she hadn’t known she was carrying. Her husband was a sly bastard, she noted, opening the tiny closet to survey the clothes he’d packed. When had he even had time to do all this? She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, as she surveyed a selection of swimsuits and lingerie that was surely more than they would need for this little trip.

Well. It was their honeymoon. She couldn’t blame him for picking out his favorites, and there were some sensible clothes in there as well. Although—she frowned, picking up one of the lingerie sets. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to know about that one yet. “Sass, you rat,” she muttered, putting it back and closing the closet. “Should’ve known you couldn’t keep a secret.”

The galley did look really small to her, but it was kind of nice that she could reach everything without moving. The gimbal stove made her giggle as it swayed to stay flat despite the motion of the boat. The refrigerator was set into the counter and opened more like a chest freezer, but when she dug around in it, she found it was pretty well stocked. She poked through more carefully, assessing her options. She snorted when she saw the fruit had been pre-sliced. Apparently, Luka was taking no chances. She wondered how much this whole expedition had cost, and immediately put the question out of her mind. It was important to Luka, so the money didn’t matter. He must have felt it was worth it, so she wouldn’t think about it.

She carefully assembled a plate of fruit and lunch meats that she didn’t think they’d have too much trouble eating with fingers while under sail, and went back up on deck. Seated behind the wheel at the back of the cockpit, Luka looked absolutely blissful, the wind whipping his hair and the sun on his face, his smile small but contented. He turned just as she came up the stairs, scanning behind them before facing forward again. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his smile widened when he saw her.

“So,” she teased, squeezing in next to him and offering him a piece of fruit from her fingers. “Are you taking me to the edge of the earth?”

Luka laughed and waved his hand at the horizon. “Baby, we’re already there.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, not that he could see them behind her own shades, and popped a strawberry between her lips, watching the bob of his throat with satisfaction as he swallowed and looked quickly away from her. “I called in some favors—” he began, and Marinette raised her eyebrows at that, but the Couffaines had contacts everywhere, it seemed. “—and found us a tiny little island out here that has just enough of a bay to anchor in. It’s privately owned and I was promised it’ll be completely deserted while we’re there. The island itself isn’t very appealing for anything we’d want to do, but the bay will give us a calm place to anchor up and just...do whatever we feel like. The weather’s supposed to be amazing for the next few days, so I thought we’d stay tonight and tomorrow and sail back the day after. It should be great for swimming, and I brought snorkel gear for us.” Marinette brightened. They’d done a bit of snorkeling already and she’d loved it. Luka grinned. “Thought you’d like that.”

Marinette fed him a bit of pineapple and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

Luka smiled warmly at her. “I love you too.” He checked the GPS, and modified their course slightly. Marinette leaned back to stay out of his way as he picked up the main sheet again and adjusted the sails. He glanced behind them again, and then settled back onto his seat��more of a perch, really, he was practically sitting on the side of the boat, but she supposed that must be normal. He looked comfortable enough there, anyway.

They sailed on, munching through their food, Marinette feeding Luka from her fingers though he didn’t seem like he was too busy to feed himself. They were both enjoying it and some of the fruit was messy, anyway. Marinette had just licked a trailing bit of juice off the heel of her hand, and popped one sticky finger in her mouth when she glanced up and realized Luka was smirking to himself.

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you looking so smug about?” she asked suspiciously, and the smirk only grew when he looked at her.

“Ask me when I’m not driving,” he told her, his voice deepening to a register that sent a shiver through her.

“Shameless,” she huffed, and Luka grinned as he checked the GPS again.

“What have I got to be ashamed about?” he asked easily. “I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve done since we got here.” He paused. “Well. Maybe the hot tub. That was taking things a bit far.” Marinette blushed deep red at the memory and he grinned. “Only a little bit though. It was worth it for the way you jumped me when we got back to the room. If you think I’m going to be ashamed of myself for spoiling my wife on our honeymoon, I don’t know what to tell you. Besides—” He stopped, and looked away for a moment.

Marinette frowned. “What?”

Luka shook his head slightly. “I’m going to upset you if I say this wrong, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Then take your time, and say it right,” Marinette told him, rubbing her hand along his shoulder.

She kept rubbing as Luka mulled over what he wanted to say, his shoulder tense under her hand from more than managing the boat. Finally he took a deep breath.

“You...have a lot of demands on your time,” he said cautiously. “And that’s fine. I’ve always known you weren’t somebody who could ever belong to any one person. You give a little piece of yourself to everybody you meet, and I love that about you. You have a huge heart, and you’re creative and driven and I know that I can’t be your focus 100% of the time. I’m fine with that. I love that, even.”

“But?” Marinette prompted.

Luka shrugged slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. “It’s nice to have you all to myself for so long a time. I love every moment that we spend together, but the times when you can be really focused on me and just be in the moment with me, those are...really nice. I have two whole weeks where I don’t have to share you with anybody or anything, and I plan on enjoying it.” He actually blushed a little bit. “Not—not like that. I mean, some like that, but not just like that. I just...I’m enjoying being together, and not having to worry about anything in the world except making sure you’re as blissed out and relaxed as can possibly be. Especially after all the stress leading up to the wedding.” He shrugged again, the blush darkening. “So yeah, maybe I’ve been feeling like I get to be a little bit selfish this week.”

That explained some things. Not that she’d been surprised at the amount of thought and care he’d put into the trip. Luka was definitely a “don’t sweat the small stuff” kind of guy, but it was clear that this vacation was not “small stuff” to him. And since they’d been here, Luka had been—not selfish, never that, he was always a very generous lover, but more vocal about asking for what he wanted. Marinette liked it, actually, loved having Luka murmur his desires in that low, growling voice—

“Marinette.”

She blinked, and Luka grinned at her, clearly amused. “Hold whatever thought that was,” he told her. “It’s not fair for you to have that look on your face when I’m too busy to do anything about it.”

Marinette turned cherry red and huffed, turning away from him. Luka diverted his attention back to the boat before he could get any more distracted by her. It made sense, he supposed, given the level of hedonism they’d been indulging in since they arrived, that it was easy for his mind to wander. He wasn’t particularly sorry. It was their honeymoon, after all, and with all they’d been through, a little indulgence was due.

A part of him wished they could stay here forever. That he could be this selfish forever, sail away to some tiny island where they could live on fruit, be free of responsibilities and commitments, and just stay wrapped up in each other forever.

“So, now what?” Marinette asked, and he glanced at her. She was fidgeting a bit, her fingers toying with the last bit of fruit. Luka caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth, enjoying her indignant squeak as he snagged the fruit in his teeth. He ignored her scolding as he ate the sweet treat and then locked eyes with her as he playfully licked her fingers clean. She was back to that fetching shade of red by the time he finished.

“Now you relax, and do whatever you feel like, and enjoy the trip,” Luka told her, grinning when she shoved his shoulder and pretended to pout. “It’ll be afternoon by the time we get where we’re going. I packed that book you had on the bedside table, and your art supplies. Probably should leave the sewing stuff alone while we’re underway, but your knitting is down there, and your bag of samples. You could even go below and take a nap. Whatever you feel like.”

Marinette brightened and hummed thoughtfully, tapping her lips as she considered her options, and Luka smiled to himself. As appealing as it sounded to just whisk her away, to sail into the sunset and never come back again, Marinette wasn’t made for solitude and selfish idleness. Neither, at his heart, was Luka; they were both too attached to their lives, and the people in them, to ever really give them up. No, they would have to go back, and that was okay. Luka was content with what Marinette could give him. It was enough that she chose him to be her home.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy this time while he had it.

Marinette seemed to make a decision, straightening from where she’d been leaning on him. She pressed a kiss to his lips, and made her careful way to the cabin. “Sunscreen,” he reminded her, and she waved a hand to let him know she heard. It would really ruin their trip if she burned to a crisp because she forgot to reapply. Luka was used to it from life on the Liberty and slathered the stuff on almost out of habit at this point, but it was one of those little things—like eating and sleeping and hydrating—that Marinette occasionally needed a reminder for.

Luka sighed a little; he was honestly still hungry, but he couldn’t very well cook anything himself at the moment, and he didn’t care to risk his new wife, whose mind was almost never entirely on what she was doing, in the galley until they’d found a calm place to anchor and he was sure she’d gotten her sea legs. He stifled a chuckle when she came barreling back up the stairs, only to pitch sideways onto one of the benches. She recovered quickly, though, pulling herself onto the bench like she meant to do it all along and scooting herself into the corner opposite of him. She tucked earbuds into her ears and dumped a small, simple knitting project in her lap. She gave him a blinding smile and blew him a kiss. He sent one back to her as she put her feet up, her shoulders lowering just the slightest bit. Luka watched in satisfaction as she let out a deep sigh, twined the yarn around her fingers, and curled her lips in a small, contented smile.

Smiling himself, pleased beyond measure to see her so at ease, Luka checked the GPS to make sure he was still on course, and settled onto his own seat.

People just...didn’t get it. He’d heard a lot of things over the years in regards to his feelings for Marinette. Words like whipped, simp, nice guy, second choice, backup boyfriend, desperate, creepy, settling. Luka has never particularly cared, though he wondered at their blindness. For one thing, he had never been waiting for Marinette. It wasn’t that he thought that if he just waited long enough she would see him. She’d always seen him, and if she found him lacking in some way he could hardly blame her. He just wanted to see her happy, he wanted to see her shine.

Because to him, it was abundantly clear that Marinette was unlike anyone else. Luka knew it as soon as they met, though he hadn’t fully understood it at first. He’d just felt it, in his gut, all the way down to his bones, that he’d never met anyone like her. Luka had pondered that first meeting for years, trying to put his finger on why he was so certain about her, but he never could nail down just what had so floored him about her.

Now, of course, he had plenty of reasons why he loved her so fiercely. Extraordinary was maybe an old-fashioned word, but it was the one he always came back to, the best word he’d found to fit her. Marinette was just more. More determined, more creative, more generous, more kind, more committed, more brave, more alive, just...more in everything she did, and Luka, despite having no shortage of larger-than-life personalities in his life, had been hopelessly captivated by her from the start. He wondered how much more she could possibly be, what she could accomplish if she grew out of her fear and her awkwardness and learned to balance being more with being human. He hadn’t been waiting for her, he just...wanted to be there to see it, and maybe be a small part of it if she’d let him.

Luka looked over his shoulder, scanning the wake, and stood up for a moment to look at the bow. He glanced at Marinette, happily knitting away and mouthing the words to one of his songs as she bobbed her head slightly. He grinned and sat back down.

There’d been a time where this had all seemed so far out of his reach that there’d been nothing to do but resign himself and mourn what could have been, if he himself had been just a little bit more. Still, he wanted to be a part of that journey, even if just a tiny one. Even if it just meant being one of the hands that lifted her up in her weak moments, or a sympathetic listener.

But they were here and she was his, as much as she could be anybody’s, and she loved him with all the more in her being, and it was more than he’d ever had any right to hope for. Even now, though they’d been together for years, he sometimes experienced a sensation not unlike when he reset Second Chance, that one dizzying moment before reality snapped back into place.

Well, if he’d fallen into some alternate dimension or timeline or whatever, that was fine with him. He just hoped Sass would leave him here.

Luka turned his head and scanned behind them again, and finally spotted what he’d been hoping for.

“Marinette,” he called, pitching his voice to carry over the wind and the music, and she looked up, taking her earbuds out. Luka jerked his head to the back of the boat, and she craned her neck to look, frowning. Luka was watching her face, so he didn’t see what happened, but he knew the instant one of those grey bodies he’d spotted cleared the water from the dazzling smile that crossed Marinette’s face.

“Dolphins!” she cried, looking back at him excitedly, getting up on her knees for a better view of the sleek animals leaping and zipping along in their wake. She made her way excitedly to the back of the cockpit, leaning on the back of the boat next to Luka as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

Luka lived for the days when he could put that look on her face, when he could share something new and wonderful with her and see her light up with pleasure and surprise. Marinette had dealt with so much of the magical, the supernatural, the miraculous, and it always came with burdens and responsibilities and worries. Luka wanted her to experience mundane, everyday miracles that made life beautiful and precious, so that she would always have an anchor for those times when the miraculous threatened to overwhelm her.

She giggled like a child, racing from one side of the boat to another for a better look. Luka had to stop her from going up on the foredeck when the pod decided to pass them, sending her down in the cabin instead to look through the water-level windows there. When she returned, her eyes were shining, and Luka grinned.

She went straight to him and threw her arms around him, laughing as she hugged him. Luka guided her over to perch sideways between his legs, and steered the boat one-handed while they snuggled. “Thank you,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his, and Luka kissed her lightly.

“I didn’t exactly summon them,” he teased, and she giggled, cuddling against his neck. “I was hoping we’d get lucky, though. Maybe you should thank Tikki.”

“I will,” she told him loftily, sitting up to look at him. “But I can still thank you too, for bringing me out here.”

He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her was worth more than words, and Marinette had to kiss him. Luka leaned into it, and they didn’t separate until the boat lurched. “We’re falling off the wind,” Luka laughed against her lips. “Come on, up. Plenty of time for that later.”

Marinette relented, allowing him to evict her from his lap so he could get to the main sheet and “tack into the wind,” whatever that meant.

Marinette was in too good of a mood to mind her snuggle partner (much). She went back to the bench and sat up on her knees, looking out over the water for a moment, before settling back to her knitting. She should have known better, she scolded herself. She should have known whatever Luka planned would be wonderful. It was beautiful out here, she loved the salt smell of the ocean, and knowing her frenetic nature, Luka had packed plenty of things for her to do. Maybe she’d go get her sketchbook in a few minutes. There was a little too much motion in the boat for real sketching, but she could journal, and jot down thoughts, impressions, and ideas to flesh out later.

Luka himself seemed perfectly content just enjoying the moment, directing the boat and watching her putter about with that soft look on his face that was hers alone.

Marinette gasped when she saw the little atoll that Luka had promised. The island was small, and pretty in its way but too rocky to be appealing for walking or picnicking. The little bay in its crescent was a gorgeous shade of blue, though, and once they were anchored, Luka opened the swim deck at the back of the boat so they could plunge into the clear blue water. The water was warm, and the exertion felt good to Marinette after sitting on the small boat all morning and most of the afternoon. Luka had been doing a lot more work sailing the boat, so it wasn’t long before he hauled himself out of the water and sat on the deck, watching Marinette play with a satisfied smile. When she was finally tired out, she joined him, and nearly tackled him to the boat floor as she kissed him enthusiastically.

“I love you,” she told him as he grinned up at her with that utterly stupid, lovestruck grin that she never got tired of seeing on him. “Thank you for bringing me. I’m sorry I was such a stick in the mud this morning.”

“It makes it all worth it when you tell me I’m right,” he said, pinching her side, and she giggled.

“You were right,” she said decisively, with a little nod to complete the statement, and Luka laughed.

“Music to my ears,” he teased. “But the deck is killing my back and you’re going to be freezing in a minute.”

Marinette got off of him and let him get to his feet, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. He was right though, the wind chilled her wet skin anywhere he wasn’t touching, and she was shivering from more than his kisses when he let her go.

“Let’s get cleaned up and dried off,” he suggested, grabbing a towel from a bin along the side of the boat and wrapping it around her. “I could use a real meal, to be honest.”

There wasn’t room in the boat’s tiny shower for them to clean up together, so Luka went first, and by the time Marinette had rinsed the salt from her skin, changed into a fresh bikini, and put her shorts and tank top back on over it, Luka had food ready for them, cooked on that funny little two-burner stove. He smiled sheepishly at her when she complained that he’d started without her, but she only teased him a little since she knew he had to be hungry after their meager brunch. They took the part of their dinner that Luka hadn’t already eaten back up on deck and ate, reclining together on one of the benches, enjoying the view of their tiny island and glad to be close.

The sun was setting as they finished. Marinette got up and went to the back of the boat, leaning on the rail to look at the uninterrupted ocean stretching out beyond their little anchorage. Luka came up behind her, putting his hands on the rail on either side of her, and she shifted to lean back against him. She hummed in contentment as he put his arms around her waist and began to ghost soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“It’s so big,” she said, looking at the vast expanse of blue stretched all around them.

Luka coughed, his ears turning red as he tried to contain laughter, and Marinette twisted around to smack him.

“Dirty,” she huffed, turning back to the view with her nose in the air.

“You said it,” Luka laughed, raising his hands defensively. “More than once, as I recall.”

“I’m going to shove you overboard,” she grumbled. “Besides, you're my husband. I’m allowed to...appreciate.”

Luka hummed agreement, slipping his arms back around her and drawing her against him again. “Allowed and encouraged.” He lifted her hand, and kissed her palm, and then the inside of her wrist, and then her shoulder, and back up her neck again, soft and slow and deliberate.

Marinette bit her lip and resisted as long as she could, watching the sunset colors grow deeper in the sky, but finally she turned her head, pulling her hand free to reach up behind his head and pull him down into a real kiss, parting her lips invitingly. He accepted the invitation with a low groan, the arm around her waist tightening. She smiled into the kiss, trailing her fingers down his neck, grazing him with her fingernails ever so lightly and delighting in his shiver. He broke the kiss and turned her towards him, and she put her arms around his neck as they kissed again. He resumed his attentions to her neck with open, hungry kisses this time. She trailed her nails down his neck again and down along his spine, drawing another shudder from him. He was always so responsive to her touch and—she hummed in his ear, and giggled softly at his answering moan. It had surprised her at first, how susceptible he was to her voice, and later she laughed at her own stupidity, because it was Luka and she should have expected it. She loved the way his eyes darkened with every little sound of pleasure she made, and the way she could moan just so and bring his hands to her body without fail.

And oh, she thought, as his hands slipped under her shirt, brushing her bare stomach deliberately before lifting it off her, how she loved his hands. She stumbled, the rock of the boat and sudden weakness in her knees combining to throw her off balance. Luka’s hand shifted at once to grab her and steady her, helping her lean back against the boat for stability but his mouth continued its path without interruption, tracing along her collarbone before dipping lower.

Distracted as she was, Marinette didn’t register the tugs on the strings of her swim top until Luka was pulling it away and dropping it to the deck behind him, sinking to his knees as he did so. She gasped as the cool air hit her flesh, and then yelped as Luka’s warm mouth and one rough hand covered it.

“Luka, we’re—” she started to scold, and then stopped, the hands she’d automatically lifted to cover herself sinking into his hair instead.

“What?” he grinned against her skin, not even bothering to look up as he laid a soft, reverent kiss on a dark mark he’d left the day before. “Totally, completely, could not possibly be more alone? It’s almost like I planned this or something.” He nipped at her playfully, making her gasp. “No parents or siblings or even neighbors for miles and miles.” He laid some light kisses against her and then he did look up, a wicked grin curling his face as he rested his chin between her breasts. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when you don’t have to hold back.” His hands dropped to her thighs and rubbed gently just below the hem of her shorts. “But we can go below if you’d rather. It is a little cramped up here, and the bed is right there.”

He kept eye contact with her as he turned his head slightly and his tongue flicked out, and Marinette moaned, tugging at his hair. “In a minute,” she decided breathlessly, and Luka chuckled, sitting back on his heels to kiss the soft skin of her belly as he unfastened her shorts and pushed them down her hips, while she dropped her own hands from his hair to shove his open shirt off his strong shoulders.

***

Marinette woke to the feel of her husband’s lips on her neck and scrunched her shoulder, not sure she wanted to wake up just now even for him. Their berth belowdecks was warm and comfortable and she saw no reason to leave it.

Luka apparently felt otherwise. “Marinette,” he said, softly, but firmly, and she opened her eyes and frowned.

“It’s still dark,” she muttered.

Luka chuckled. “Yeah. There’s something I wanted to show you. Come on, get up. Please?”

Marinette grumbled, but dragged herself out of the bed, blinking sleepily. “Come on,” Luka said, holding out a pair of pants for her to step into. “You’ll wake up when you get up on deck, trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Marinette muttered, putting her arms around his neck to steady herself as she stepped into the pants. “Isn’t it too hot for this?” she asked as Luka slid the sweatpants up over her hips.

“Not on deck at night,” Luka assured her. He was wearing sweatpants and long sleeves as well, she saw as he picked up a shirt for her. “Arms.” She lifted her arms obediently, smiling a little as she let Luka dress her. The sweatshirt was one of his, of course, too big for her, but comfortable and welcoming.

“Are you planning on pushing me overboard?” she teased when he held up a lifejacket and insisted she put it on.

“If you go overboard, do you really think it’s likely to be because I pushed you?” Luka teased back, and Marinette gasped in offended outrage.

“You didn’t make me put one on before!” she pointed out, crossing her arms.

“Strictly speaking, we should have, but it was daylight, and I was there to catch you,” Luka reminded her. “Now it’s dark, and what we’re about to do isn’t exactly recommended in the safety manuals.”

Marinette lifted her eyebrows, and let Luka put the lifejacket on her and snap the buckles. “Oooh,” she teased. “Tossing out the manual? I feel like real Couffaine now.”

Luka caught her face and kissed her so passionately that she was beginning to wonder if they were going to make it back above deck after all when he finally let her go. Both of them gasped for air. “I love it when you say things like that,” Luka growled, and then he took her hand and twined his fingers through hers, tugging her along and up the stairs with him. When he led her onto the foredeck, she raised her eyebrows.

“You jump, I jump?” she asked, as they picked their way to the bow, and Luka chuckled, his hold on her hand tight and sure.

“Always, but that’s not why we’re here. No jumping tonight, lifejacket or not.”

He must have been awake for some time before he roused her, because he’d managed to clear enough space on the cramped foredeck to lay a pallet of blankets out. Luka held her hand tightly as he walked her cautiously out to it and told her to lay down and close her eyes. “Don’t move before I get back,” he warned.

Marinette lowered herself onto the blankets, wiggled a bit to get comfortable, and then closed her eyes and waited.

It felt like a long time before Luka returned, but then he was settling down beside her, nudging her so that she raised up enough to let him put his arm around her and cuddle her to his side. The lifejacket was annoying, and Luka wasn’t wearing one (hypocrite, she thought with some amusement and a little worry). There was a faint click, and then Luka’s quiet voice telling her to open her eyes.

Marinette opened her eyes, and then for a moment wondered whether she really had. Luka had turned off all the lights on the boat and it was pitch black.

No, she realized as she stared upward. Not black. As her eyes adjusted, she could see the grey shadow of the foremast with its furled sail above her, and beyond that—

“This is what I really wanted you to see when I rented the boat,” Luka murmured. “Paris is beautiful, but—” A shadow passed in her vision as he waved his hand towards the sky. “Nothing beats that.”

“It’s amazing,” Marinette breathed, blinking up at a sky so soaked with stars that it almost looked fake. Luka moved closer to her and for a moment they fumbled in the dark, until she was pressed against his side with her head pillowed on his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around hers. For a while, they lay in silence, watching the sky as the boat rocked in the gentle cradle of the sea.

“It’s not always like this,” Luka said in that same hushed voice. “The water. The sky, even. We’re lucky we got such good weather and such a clear night. But when it is like this...” He sighed, and she felt him shake his head slowly. “There’s nothing like it. It’s almost the only time I feel at peace without music. Like there’s nothing I could play that could make this better.”

Marinette hummed understanding, though not agreement. She was sure that Luka could find the right sound for this moment if he wanted to. But if he was content with just this, just the sound of the waves and the creak of the boat, the flap of the sails and their own sighs, then she wouldn’t disturb him by asking for more.

His arm shifted under her and his hand found her hair, fingers sliding slowly through the strands. Marinette turned slightly and pressed her face into his neck, breathing deeply the scent of sea and sweat and sunscreen, before pressing a kiss there and relaxing back again to lose herself in the swirl of stars above them.

If someone had told her, ten years ago, that she would end up here...that she would end up with Luka...she wasn’t sure how she would have felt about it.

Marinette actually tried not to think of that time too much, the time before Hawkmoth’s defeat, when she was small and young and frightened, shoulders burdened with responsibility when really, just navigating puberty and growing up and young love was more than enough to challenge the spirit of anyone. It wasn’t all bad. There were good moments, moments of triumph, of camaraderie and companionship. Moments of hope and faith in herself and her friends.

It’s just that there was a lot of other stuff too. Moments, often more than just moments, of frustration, humiliation, despair. Of loneliness, and sadness, and hopelessness. Times when she felt completely, utterly alone, totally spent, and absolutely uncared for.

Moments where Luka’s gentle hands on her shoulders, or smoothing across her back, were the only thing that made it feel possible for her to get up and go on.

Maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe she would have gotten up and gone on without him. But thankfully, she’d never had to find out. Luka was always there. When she had fallen, when she had broken, when it felt like she would never be more than a barely-adequate Ladybug and a half-assed Guardian. On the days when Chat’s blind faith and eternal optimism just felt like another burden she had to carry. Luka was there, as solid and warm as he was now. Gentle, but strong, supportive but unassuming, unquestioning and also unwavering. Just...Luka. Even when she had nothing to give.

Back then, even with all her starry-eyed fantasies about destiny and true love, Marinette had found it difficult to believe a love that pure existed in the world. She accepted his help, his comfort, because she couldn’t bear to be without it, but she hardly dared believe in it. It was a weakness, an indulgence, the one tiny bit of selfishness she felt entitled to.

But then he looked at her with those eyes, soft and intense, and he spoke so honestly and simply, saying only enough to buoy her up, and only when she needed it most. Little glimpses of his heart that he gave her before he hid it away again for his protection and her comfort.

It wasn’t something she had ever expected to be able to keep. She meant only to cling to it as long as she could, and then to stand on her own again when it was finally taken away—when he moved on, or got tired of waiting for her, or when she finally had to tell him that she couldn’t love him like he wanted.

Fortunately for her, Luka Couffaine was full of surprises. It was one of her favorite things about him, the spontaneity he brought to her life. Some of her best memories began with his voice saying, “then let’s do it.” Like it was that simple. Like you could just do a thing without planning and preparing and considering every possible consequence.

It was during one of those times where Luka had disrupted her entire way of thinking with a simple come on, Marinette, sure we can, let’s just do it right now, that she realized that, when she let go of the future, when she stopped overthinking things, when she stopped fixating on the plan she had for her life, when she let herself just be, the way Luka always let her just be...that she could love him. That she did love him. That she wanted all the things that he wanted to give to her.

That she wanted to kiss him.

Then just do it, Marinette.

She smiled at the memory. They were both so stupid. So young and stupid and ridiculously self-sacrificing. Marinette wanted to groan and hide her face as she considered the both of them; him, starry-eyed and stupidly loyal, prepared to play the romantic hero and die a noble death for her sake, and she, believing herself miserably entangled in the threads of destiny, without hope or escape, as if she didn’t cut and stitch together threads every day.

Sometimes it seemed nothing short of a miracle equal to the beauty stretched above them that things had worked out so well.

Marinette wondered what her younger self would have said. If she could take the rabbit miraculous, or merely close her eyes and wish on one of the countless stars, and go back and tell herself that there would come a day when those sharp, painful, shattered days of exquisite but agonizing feeling would be only a memory, and one that she would look back on with more embarrassment than anything else.

“You okay?” Luka murmured softly, nudging her temple with his nose and then kissing it softly.

Marinette smiled ruefully and made a contemplative noise. “Just thinking.”

Luka didn’t move, waiting for her to go on. “I wouldn’t change anything,” she said softly, and then winced. “Well. Maybe a few things. But only if I knew for sure I would still end up here in this moment with you. I wouldn’t trade this for any of those things I thought I wanted. Before.” She knew that he knew what she meant, because his arm tightened around her and his face pressed into her hair. “I do wish I could tell my old self that it gets better,” she murmured, squirming closer to him. “I wish I could tell my old self that the bad times don’t last forever.” She smiled faintly. “I’m not sure I would have believed me though.”

In the dark she couldn’t see anything but his silhouette against the stars as he rolled up on one elbow, but she didn’t need to see his face to know how he was looking at her, that look that managed to be soft and adoring and yet intense enough to make her breath catch every time, even though they’d been together for years now. She felt his familiar calloused hand find her face and cup her cheek, and he leaned down for a kiss as soft and sweet as their first.

“You made it even not knowing,” he murmured, stroking her cheek gently. “You’re so strong.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, finally able to admit that after all these years. “I am. But it was nice to know there were times when I didn’t have to be.”

#quickspins #the honeymoon fic #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #but not very #nsfwish fic #still more lime than lemon

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downwiththeficness · 4 years ago

Text

A Need So Great Chapter 20

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:~2,000

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty @anaeve @maouzon

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21

Eva did her very best not to fidget. She’d been in this building before, though not on this particular floor. The unfamiliar location coupled with having never laying eyes on the person she was meeting with made her anxious. And, when she was anxious, she felt herself begin to fidget. She was sitting in the lobby, one high heeled foot bouncing over her crossed knee. The décor was taupe, which she heard could be very soothing. It did not soothe Eva.

A hand landed on her knee, warm and heavy, stopping her movement. She looked over at Horacio, breathing deeply. His scent—that was what would soothe her. She wondered if it would be acceptable to lean over in her chair and bury her nose in his neck. He’d probably take it in stride, but she feared the displeased looks from the others in the lobby. She’d had enough judgmental stares to last her a lifetime. There was no need to add to them.

Eventually, they were called back and led to a sterile office not far down the hall. The assistant ushered them to their seats and asked if they needed anything, an offer that was turned down. A few moments later, a man walked in hurriedly. He was dressed in a gray suit that was a little too big for him, a striped tie flapping with each step. Middle aged, hair silver enough to tell her that he’d started graying early, though he had a good hairline that was only just now beginning to recede. His belt didn’t match his shoes.

“I apologize for the delay, I was caught in a meeting that went a little long,” he said in that warm Southern drawl that Eva had completely forgotten existed. As he sat and picked up a pen, he continued, “I’m agent Richardson.”

Eva introduced herself and Horacio, smiling as congenially as she could. A firm grasp of her body kept her from bouncing her leg, but she did stutter a little. It had been a long time since she’d felt so utterly exposed.

“Agent Peña said that you’ve got evidence that could helpful in my investigation?”

Eva gave a stilted nod, scratching at the skin above her brow, “I do.”

Hands turning up in question, he prompted, “And?”

She hesitated. Everything that had been ingrained in her from an early age rebelled against talking with a federal agent, no matter how long she’d been working with them.

He noted her reluctance, “You’ve signed the immunity agreement. Anything you say here can’t be held against you, as long as you cooperate.”

Eva looked away, swallowing back the fear of going back to prison. She’d talked with Horacio about it on the flight over. He’d listened intently to her distrust of the government, had held her hand when she started to cry. And then, when her tears were dry, he assured her that, if push came to shove, he’d smuggle her out of the country. The contingency plan was already mostly formed. They’d packed lightly, and he had a set of forged passports sewn into his carry on.

“Ardent Pharmaceuticals,” she began. “I created their tax system, I initiated all their LLC licenses as of fifteen years ago. They have holdings in at least three off shore accounts, I can provide you with those account numbers and with the banks they’re associated with.”

Agent Richardson’s face was very still, Eva wasn’t sure that he was even breathing. After a moment, he said, “You’re confident you can get me that information.”

Eva licked her lips, pausing only a moment, “Yes. I can do that.”

He blinked, rolling the pen between his fingers, “Alright. Let’s get started.”

When they were walking out of the building, Eva’s heels clicking on the pavement, Horacio took her hand. Their hotel was maybe a few blocks away and the weather was pleasant for the time of year. A cool breeze rustled her hair, the smell of street food coming along with it. This was nice. Really nice.

She felt a kind of heavy relief flow out of her body, the muscles of her neck and shoulders loosening with every step. It might come back and bite her in the ass, but she’d done the right thing. She knew it, deep down.

Horacio transferred her hand to the other side, his now free arm wrapping around her middle. Their stride slowed a little. Eva didn’t mind at all.

“I love this skirt, you know?” he murmured, the pads of his fingers running along the waistband.

She remembered him telling her how much he loved this skirt the first night they’d slept together. Dreams, he’d said. Eva smiled, leaning into him.

“I do know,” she replied easily, not even bothering to hide the affection in her gaze.

He kissed her temple, leading her through the doors of the hotel. The air conditioning blew at her, a sharp contrast to the soft wind outside. She shivered despite Horacio’s warmth around her. He noticed, the arm at her waist rising up to encircle her shoulders. She touched his fingers briefly while they waited for the elevator.

“I’m proud of you.”

She looked up at him, “Why?”

He shrugged, “It wasn’t easy for you to go through all of that. We were in there for three hours, Eva. You dredged up every detail of your work to hide your in laws’ criminal activity like it was… nothing.”

Lips parting, she felt her brows come together, “Because it was nothing.”

The doors to the elevator opened and he ushered her inside. Tapping the button to their floor, he shot her a look that said he expected a further explanation. Eva chuckled, leaning back against the railing.

“This year has been...fantastic,” she started, eyes on the dusty ceiling of the carriage. “I never could have thought that I’d end up here, with you.”

A ding sounded and Eva walked ahead of Horacio, pulling him willingly along by the hand, “All those things I talked about, I’ve spent years working through them. I still think about it, yeah, and I still have to work on it. But, what that was in there? That was simple math. I need them to be so tied up legally that they don’t have the capital to pay another hitman. And, I needed to get a little vengeance—more vengeance—than I already had.”

Horacio keyed into their room, tossing the key onto the table near the door. Eva followed him, sitting on the bed to remove her shoes. Though they were comfortable, a few blocks’ walk had earned her some relief. She rubbed at the arch of her foot with her thumb.

Sitting next to her, he took her hand again, gazing carefully at her expression, “Its not your job to take down their entire enterprise.”

The steadiness of his gaze, the sincerity of his expression, was amusing. He had already made her out to be a little bit of a martyr, which was pretty much the opposite of what was happening.

Eva rolled her eyes, “I have no aspirations of that. I just want to make a little trouble.”

More than a little trouble. She wanted to breakdown their ability to make moves the way they had been doing for so long. She wanted them utterly impotent for the foreseeable future.

His smile reached his eyes, the corners crinkling, “I think you’ve achieved that.”

Not yet, she hadn’t. There was still the matter of the fallout and Eva did not trust in the effectiveness of the American government. She would have to watch from the sidelines as they worked—or, didn’t work. Either way. Eva very much wanted it to work.

“I’ll admit that it would be nice to see Myra in one of those prison jumpsuits.”

Thumb rubbing at her palm, Horacio seemed to be trying to picture it, “When it happens, I’ll see if I can get someone to take a picture, for posterity’s sake.”

He sat another moment longer, and Eva could tell that he had something to say and was trying to find the words. She lifted a brow, in silent invitation.

Pulling his lips between his teeth, he was quiet another moment before his hand tightened on hers, “I put in my resignation.”

Shocked, Eva could only say, “When?”

“Before we left.”

“Why?”

He blinked, head cocking to the side, “Because you were right. Because I’ll be dead very soon if I keep on doing this.”

It took about thirty seconds for Eva to get her mind about what he’d just said. In those thirty seconds, she made a few decisions, and maybe fell in love just a little bit more. They would have to take a detour before they got to the airport.

“What are you going to do next?”

His work was his entire life, it consumed almost every waking minute. The man probably made plans to arrest dealers in his sleep.

He shrugged, “I’ve got some loose ends I need to tie up, and then I thought we could make the decision together.”

Her jaw dropped a bit. He wanted to make plans. Together. He wanted to make plans—plans for the future—with her. Plans they could enact. Plans that didn’t involve looking over their shoulder for the rest of their lives.

Eva leaned over and kissed him, sniffing back the tears that threatened. Really, she hadn’t cried this much since the first year of her marriage. Happy tears, though, were always welcome.

In the cab the next day, Eva prompted the driver to pull off the highway a few exits early. When Horacio asked what they were doing, she simply smiled and patted his arm. The neighborhood she directed the driver to was...an acquired taste. The building that they stopped in front of was decrepit, nearly falling apart on its foundation. The place had once been the office of the mausoleum next door, but had fallen into disrepair when another office had been built on the other side. She was surprised the roof hadn’t completely caved in.

“Is this...safe?” he asked, eyes looking over the building skeptically.

Eva smiled again, unbearably amused at his choice of words, “Safe is one way to put it.”

She walked ahead of him, moving through the first floor to the back room. It was small, and part of the floorboards were missing. She had to hop from joist to joist to get to the cold air return vent. The years had taken a toll on the bones of the place, leaving the hinges off center. It took several grunting yanks to get the cover free so that she could reach into the vent and pull the bag free.

Covered in dust, but still whole, the black fabric was thin in some places from use. She’d had the thing since middle school, her name embroidered on one side. Evangeline, written in white thread that had turned yellow over the years. With shaking fingers, she traced the letters. It was the only thing she had from before she was married, everything else given up somewhere along the way. This, she was definitely holding onto.

“What is it?” Horacio asked from the door, his eyes scanning the room, mouth thin.

Eva looked up at him, “My retirement plan.”

Hopping across the joists towards him, she made her way to one of the few stable points in the front room, dropping the bag carefully. On one knee, she opened the zipper, spreading the fabric wide. Inside was every dollar she could skim from the till, about a hundred thousand in total.

Horacio was standing next to her, looking down at the stacks with pride in his eyes, “I knew you were smart.”

Glancing at him from behind her lashes, Eva grinned, “I’m practical.”

He chuckled, “Same thing.”

Zipping the bag back up, Eva swung it over her shoulder, “Needless to say, this will be my carry on.”

He quirked a brow at her, amused, “Is that all you have hidden?”

“Here, at least.”

There was another couple of bags hidden here and there, none with nearly this much in them. She would have to make plans to touch base in those locations before they finalized their...Eva paused a moment. They had plans, or they would.

She smiled, “This is enough for now, I think.”

He held out his hand to her, “Then, we should go. The meter’s running.”

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