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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years ago

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Lady Gloucester, Chapter One: The Young Bride

Fanfiction of Shakespeare’s Tragedy King Lear

Pairing: Edgar of Gloucester x Female Reader

Summary: Your family has betrothed you to Edgar of Gloucester. He is a sweet man, if not shy. Bit by bit, you become friends, and realize there is something more. Though his jealous half-brother Edmund has eyes for you as well. Soon, before the wedding, disaster strikes. Edgar has vanished, his father is threatening execution, Edmund is now the future earl...and you must figure out what is wrong. And with kings and armies in play, things are getting dangerous.

A/N: Time to write for a different fandom! Since reading and watching the play, this idea haunted me forever, so it’s time I wrote it! Enjoy!

“Married…” the words tasted foreign in your mouth. “Betrothed. But yes, eventually married.” Your mother corrected. The words flew out of your mouth. You felt dry. Your heart was racing and the journey in the carriage just began. People waved goodbye. You barely could process all of the final wishes of luck from your loved ones. It was only a week ago it was announced you were to be brought to be married into some well off family. To someone you never met.

Some people stopped and waved to you, men tipped their caps in respect, women dipped in bows, and even dogs sat in quiet respect as if the carriage carried a spirit and not three cramped people. Your mother recalled for a hundredth time how it happened, you were surprised all of this was going on as you carried onto normal life, unaware. “We have been writing letters with Lord Gloucester. And Edgar as well. It’s been agreed that if for any reason you two would not be suited, we could break it off. You could even break it off if you wanted to, or Edgar himself even, if he wished. You have a whole year to know each other until the wedding. We aren’t like those savage Italians. There will be time to know each other until the vows…” she comforted. The carriage jolted up as it ran over a stone and landed. “We aren’t like those savage Italians! There’s a rumor that some poor girl met a prince on Sunday and her father threatened her to marry him within a week-marry the man on Thursday or else be disowned! They had a feast and a dress prepared and everything! What ruffians! At least you’ll have time” Your father caught you looking out in the window. The town dissolved to the greenery of trees with nothing but a dirt road leading close to the countryside at the heart of England. You felt him nudge you. Y/N, don’t you realize what a good match this is?” he drilled, his jaw tight. “I…I…how come?” you mutter. Though you knew the answer. And some of it had to do with the empty chests and piling bills at home. But enough saved to give you a good dowry to catch the eye of a good family. Then the rest would be taken care of for the bride and her family. “This is an Earl. Marrying into an Earldom…it’s not as high as a duke, but it will mean you will not lack,” your father said. And neither will you or anyone in our family and that’s all you care about… you thought. Lowering your head, you banished the taste of the words from your thoughts. Your mother placed her hands on her lap and then added on. “Y/N, you would outrank us! Wouldn’t you like to be a countess? Edgar is the first son to an earl, he will have the title, lands, and every last thing! And that shall be yours as well! And if that is not enough…he is a godson… to the king.” “The king? Of England?” you said, choking on the words. You kept blinking rapidly in surprise. “Yes!” your father confirmed with an amused smile. “The king!? King Lear? You must be joking!” your mind whirled. If Edgar decided to turn you down, it meant you had to return home the rejected woman of the king's godson, but if he was a wretch and you were married to him anyway, you couldn’t leave or else face insulting the king's godson. Either way, you thought you were doomed. Your father did a light laugh, nodding his head and continuing. “Not in the least! Can’t you see, your good fortune is starting! There is a letter, here from the Earl-Old Gloucestor himself. When he heard the news and our idea and suit, he was overjoyed. We told him all about you and we’ve visited him twice. He asked us to give you…give you this…” From the pocket of his trousers, he pulled up a delicate yellow paper with curved, smudgy writing. But you read it, surprised about his enthusiasm about a decision you knew little about until a week ago. “Oh Y/N, you are most blessed! I wish you to hurry here. You have here my dear son, a darling boy, loved even by the king. You will not want for a better, more handsome, goodly, honest, and honorable man for your husband! Edgar is my dear boy, my gem-I’ve spoken with your parents and you seem the perfect woman to be paired with my son. Your personalities match well, I hear you enjoy reading as much as he does, and every bit of praise on your good character could not be spoken of. That in age, character, nobility, education, beauty, and status, I was convinced no one could be better.” It seemed adorable. Babbling over how great his son was and how thrilled he was. Shoulders dropping, you felt yourself relaxed. Days passed with nothing but travel. It was an odd line-tediousness with your internal terror. Days turned into weeks. Every now and again, your mother drilled bit of etiquette. You had to write them down to remember it all. “These men are men of greatness. You must always call them my lord, not even their name-they are always my lord.” But eventually, you finally arrived. Pausing by an inn, you were bathed, dressed in a pleasant blue dress, and with your hair fixed nicely. Mother insisted on stopping at an inn before the two hours of the journey. Enough to become presentable in time to one’s future husband. Two slow hours passed. You wanted to scream. You wanted to get out the door and run out. Yet you stayed. As your parents kept reminding you of good manners and tried to distract you, your own bursts of emotion were locked inside of you. Finally, the Gloucester castle appeared in the distance. Getting bigger and bigger with each turn of the wheel of the carriage. Hands twisting, your heart began to burst at its seams as you felt the carriage stop. A tall, grey castle. Looming above you as if it was a giant and you were an intrusive but tasty morsel of human flesh. It was a cold part of England and you shivered beneath your fur cloak. The dark January sky dragged above you. Maybe it was a castle made of those same clouds, not of anything from the earth or of men. Servants began to make themselves out in a line like ducks, hands folded and waiting patiently. But none that seemed to be it. Your father and mother give you a reassuring smile. Your father gives you his hand to squeeze on and rubs your shoulder like he did when you were little and scared of the spiders in your room. But now you feared…well, everything that might and could happen. The rest of your life could be determined in minutes. Two younger men opened the door and walked out together. But one kept turning his head and opening the door a little, calling something out. The other one had a determined frown on his face. The one peeking out the door was a tall gentleman. With dark hair, a noble nose, and bright pink lips like a lady along with a neat beard. He wore a grey coat and a thick wool shirt beneath The frowning one kept glancing back. He was noticeably shorter, but not small for a man. You noticed the same nose, lips, and even the way his beard was cut was similar. But his own brown hair had blonde streaks in it and his eyes were dark. He was dressed in all black with a loose shirt despite the chill. As the carriage stopped, it struck you that you could not make out who was who. People dressed plainly, in blacks, browns, greys, or neutrals. Faces blended. Your coachman opened the door. Your father first stepped out. A resonant baritone voice announced as he landed on the grassy ground. “Lord Y/L/N…” Then your mother came out, one servant helping her down. Then every eye turned to your head as you emerged to the bright day of the afternoon. The leather glove was flat but you gripped it as your feet landed firmly on the earth. “Lady Y/L/N…and their daughter, the Lady Y/L/N.” Among this crowd, there was a bustle from the open door and a clattering of voices. You heard excited footsteps on stone. “Ah, where is she? Where is she!? Let me see her!” “Father, you’re late! Where were you!?” one of the men asked. “Which one! Which one is Y/F/N?” It was a thrilling voice, but not that of a young man. In front of you walked an older man, he was tall with grey hair, a grey beard, and small spectacles. He wore dark grey robes with a sash around his potbelly. Though his eyes were a lovely shade of blue and his hands were meaty and red. Your family was marrying you to an old man? Dizziness hit you in a second. This was Edgar? But no…Edgar had a father. A living father. He wasn’t an earl yet. Which meant this had to be… You took a step back, eyes dripping down. You had to leave your family and friends behind for these strangers. “Oh no…why are you shaking?” the old man asked. A small voice escaped your throat as you dipped into a low curtsy. “My lord…are you my…” “Your future husband? What no! Not at all! Days of chasing after ladies like you are done for-I am the Earl-your father-in-law, at least to be! Welcome to- What…look, she’s crying! Poor thing, she’s crying!” You realized tears had escaped. You had held it all in, but at the look of the castle and everyone coming out to gawk at you, the realization you were bound to one of these strangers in a year’s passing, it came out. The old man took your hands gently, pulling you forward. “Shhh, shhh. You’ll be alright. You have no reason to be afraid….look up here, child…once you’re ready…look up here…” The taller of the two young men handed you a handkerchief, you blew out the mucus and mopped the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m not a blushing bride right now…” you confessed. “This is a lot and…my lord, if I may be bold, I feel like there’s so much I’m losing…” You saw him smile. In the corner, your parent's concerned and guilty frowns haunted you. The taller of the two young men looked back, he stepped forward as if to interfere, but the shorter man grabbed his arm, holding him back. Gloucester’s hand lifted your cheek up to see him. “You have nothing lost, but everything gained. You have not lost your family, my lady, you have a new one. For here is your father…you shall in a year’s time become one flesh with my son, one bond, one soul and therefore, think of me as your father- is that what you wish to call me even…” “Then…my lord, no…father?” “Yes! That’s the spirit. But you need to be introduced to the man you’re lucky enough to marry- Edgar!” He turned around. The taller man in the grey jacket perked up his head and the other man’s grip on his arm loosened. His own face went pale. The other one glared at him. “Edgar-come! Come here and greet your sweet bride!” he cheered, waving him on. So that was the man your parents were desperate for you to marry. The one who gave you a handkerchief. He stepped forward, he offered you his hand and you accepted it. It looked huge, swallowing your own whole. But he did not grip your glove. “Hello, my lady Y/N. I’m Edgar, Edgar of Gloucester.” “I am Y/N…my lord…” you politely greeted with a slight curtsy. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it. Part of you felt a new excitement. Something foreign. But you shook your head, flexing it and shaking it off once it dropped to your side. “Now come here…we have to get her settled! We have much to do to make them comfortable…especially this young lady. Edgar, Edgar do you not think she is of a kindly heart? Everything she just said-how tender she is!” You had not left at all, they were discussing this plainly in front of it! “I trust she is,” he answered quietly. “And a beauty too!” Gloucester said with a twinkle in his eye, and patting his son's shoulder jovially. Edgar looked down in embarrassment. “Is she not the most adorable lady you ever saw! I chose well for you, didn’t I? Isn’t she?” You found yourself giggling. The tears earlier were forgotten. Behind you, servants hustled to bring in your luggage. “Ah hah! Especially when she smiles and laughs-isn’t she pretty, Edgar?” Edgar’s ears turned pink. Your parents looked at each other immediately and smiled. “She is loveliness itself.” The other young man walked by the side, listening. You saw him turn pale and clench his fists at the comment. Looking down, you bit your cheek to keep from smiling too big so soon. Your mother walked close behind. Edgar took his time to escort you in. Glancing, your mother gave you a knowing smile. And this time you returned it. As you walk by, you noticed the other young man nearby walking, commenting. Sometimes speaking. But he kept looking at you. “Have you lived here long?” you asked Edgar. Your mother gazed distractedly at a few portraits and then turned to you. “Why, yes…yes I have…” he answered politely. “My lord, do you not get lost, the place is thrice the size of our home…” ‘What is all of this ‘my lord’ talk?” he said, turning to you. Both you and your mother looked at each other in a slight panic. “But, my, uh, my lord…” “You don’t have to say that to me, only in public. Do you see any servants staying around? Or my father or the king even?” he reasoned with a shrug. Looking around, no servant was staying put to listen, only carrying in chests of clothes and things. “I don’t…” “Then you don’t have to call me my lord now, you can call me Edgar…I’d prefer that if you don’t mind,” he pleaded. “Edgar…fine my lo-Edgar.” You corrected, catching yourself. Passing by Armory of old knights and tapestries, you sometimes found yourselves both looking at them. Looking at the sharpness of the metal and the redness of the cloth on the wall. Your footsteps echoed down the hall. “And would you like to be ‘my lady’ or Y/N,” he asked quietly. Turning up, you got up to your toes to look him in the eye briefly. “I actually like ‘my lady’, I confess.” He laughed lightly. “Alright, then you are both Y/N and my lady. But ah, here we are…” He led you to a light tandoor. “Your own chambers, they will be in the east wing until…until we’re married. Then you’ll…uh, you’ll move in with me.” He glanced down to hide his flushing face again. “Of…of course…” you replied politely. Your fists clenched in nervousness at the thought. “It’s close to your parent’s rooms, at least as long as they plan to stay. But I will show you around tomorrow. There’s a library- that’s my favorite. A garden, a room for parties, and a stable full of horses…do you like animals, Y/N/” You nodded. “Have you ridden a horse?” he asked. “Not really” you confessed. Maybe it showed how above you he was. All the fine ladies you noticed rode horses bedecked with their jewels and silks. “I….I will teach you if you’d like..” he offered with a grin. “It won’t topple me, will it?” you fretted. “Of course not! You will be safe!” he assured, shaking his head. As your mother passed by, a young chambermaid walked up and curtsied. “My lady, I will take you to your chambers,” she said, waving her arms as if to push your mother away. “Its right next door-won’t be a bother…” Your mother nudged you. “We’ll talk later…” You settled your things into your east wing chambers. There was a window in the corner where you saw the sprawling fields and a few villages in the distance. There was even another castle futher away. There was a vase full of wildflowers in bloom with a small paper that read “Welcome Mistress Y/F/N” on it. “I wrote it, my idea…” Edgar commented as you admired the blooms. A messenger ran up suddenly, puffing from lack of breath. “My lord, your father the earl calls you to his office.” He huffed out. “My father? I…I will leave you, my lady. You must be exhausted of me already. I will see you by and by at dinner.” He bowed slightly before walking swiftly off. Quietly, you walked out of your room to see him as he went away. You even watched as he disappeared around the corner. “Must be another useless talk…” Jumping you turned the corner to see the other young man. The shorter one with blonde streaks from earlier. He was leaning against a corner outside of your room, arms crossed. “Do you speak of my lord, Edgar? The one who just left?” you asked. “Yes, who else?” “He’s just speaking with his father. Mine is just the same. You know parents, they are always wanting useless little talks about everything...” you commented lightly. But any humor meant seemed to be lost on him. “Yes, useless talks for those children they love…” “Pardon me, I don’t know your name, my lord.” He half-smiled. “No need for that but… I won’t stop you from calling me ‘my lord!’” he replied. “Why not?” Looking more carefully at him, you noticed the eyes, the shape of his face, and curve of his nose and lips matched that of Lord Gloucester and even that of Edgar. “Well, what becomes of my manners? But why should I need them- I’m Edmund. Edmund Gloucester.” “Are you Edgar’s brother?” you asked. His lips tightened and his eyes hardened. “Half-brother.” He corrected. “Oh, well, nice to meet you. I am Lady Y/N.” you said politely with a brief curtsy. “Oh, I’ve heard about you. This past month all my father could speak of was lady Y/N this and lady Y/N that. How thrilled he was that his dear son was going to get married. I know exactly who you are before you spoke a word.” He was clearly bitter. “My…my lord, we are to be in-laws soon. I might as well call you a brother now.” “Oh yes, a brother,” he mimicked. He walked around, getting a little closer to you. “Is there something you want of me? I’m tired, and I’d like to be alone in my room before my father bursts in…” “I want your ears. And your wisdom.” Edmund said. “Wisdom?” “Yes, if you have any, you be best careful around my brother and father…” “My lord, why do you think that? They seem decent men. I didn’t see anyone else running up to me when I started crying!” “Would a decent man impregnate his maid until she dies having his child? A man already married to someone else? That’s them alright! They’ll flatter you when they want something from you! And what Edgar wants is pretty obvious-he’s just like father!” He let out a little laugh. You felt yourself get hot and your stomach curled. “My lord, you aren’t implying anything indecent. Because if you are, I don’t…I don’t want to believe you!” you accused. “An honest woman! What a rarity! It just seems such a waste.” “What is?” He took off your glove and kissed the skin of your hand, looking right into your eyes. “They say not to throw your pearls to swine, and here you are, a pearl about to be tossed to that pig of my brother.” Electricity shot through you. You hardly knew what to say. “If you mean to flatter me, thank you, but I wish to rest. Goodbye.” He turned with a tip at his heel, his hands carefree in his pockets, and then waltzed away. Sinking into the bed, already wanting to sleep but unable to. Your thoughts were racing. Reliving the scenes over and over. But. Married. Married to a man who was an acquaintance. Even if he was nice, you didn’t know him. You tried to think of what married life would be like. There would be a wedding. Edgar would hold your hand at an altar and repeat some old words. A large party. You might wear some nice clothes and eat until your stomach burst. Then came the wedding night where you had to prove though you were pure you could please your husband so he would not stray. How it would hurt. How it made women bleed. How women didn’t enjoy it. How they whispered of things such as messes that would be made and the little death. How that night would then be repeated constantly. Or at least you would have to fall asleep and wake up next to this man every day and night, to dress, relieve yourself in your chamber pot, bathe, have any noise or thing from your body be released without a witness. You could not do anything in private completely alone anymore. Then to have to eat beside him, walk beside him, and always be at his side as if a string bound you both so tightly together that it could not be broken. Then, at least after the first night, you completed your marital duty to him (and everyone would know whether you did or not because the sheets would be inspected), you would get with child. If it did not miscarry from you before, how it would make you feel sick and transform your body. Then how you would cry and scream at the pain of delivery until you died. Or carried out a little baby. How that baby would become a person wandering around these halls that was half you and half Edgar. And how all this change arriving so sudden was supposed to be just swallowed and accepted. How it was mundane, but the most frightening and unknown element you could ever imagine. Your hands shook. You laid in bed, looking up at the ceiling for some time. Then there was the sound of footsteps on stone. The door burst open with a servant and your parents. “Lady, your parents are here and…and there is news…” “Y/N! Y/N- your clothes! Your clothes are here! You need to wear your nicest clothes today! And at once! Haven’t you heard!?” “Heard what?” Oh, you have to look nice-we all have to look nice when the time comes!” your mother fretted, pulling open chests of clothes. “My lady, he won’t be here for three days!” your father assured, slamming the lid shut. “Mother, what is it?” Your father walked up to you and said plainly. “The king of England and his daughters dine with us in three days…the letter just arrived. He wants to meet you, his godson’s fiancée.” It was unbelievable. The king of England wanted to meet you! Soon, you bet you would have been friends with a wise, wonderful king and his three splendid, sweet daughters. You bet that was who they were. You thought your immediate future was perhaps looking very bright. You didn’t know yet how horribly wrong you were.

Taglist: @rhapsodyrecs @queenlover05 @ewanmcgregors

#shakespeare #king lear #shakespeare fanfiction

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chanceuseladynoire · 5 years ago

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Snow Angel

I started posting my fourth work. You can read it on AO3 here.

Rating:General Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Relationship: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Alix Kubdel | Bunnyx, Tikki, Plagg

Additional Tags: Time Shenanigans, aged-up, Fluff, Angst, Kidnapping, Searching, Getting help from unlikely places, Adrien has gone a little crazy, Adrien is in denial, lost kitty, Bunnyx _really _needs to get a lock for her burrow, Miraculous Wish, Relationship Advice, Worried Friends and Family, Season 3 Spoilers, Chat Blanc Episode Spoilers - Freeform

Summary: Where is Marinette? It is a popular question this morning and Adrien is starting to worry. The 17-year-old lycée student (and teen heart-throb supermodel) can't do anything about it, but perhaps a certain cat-themed superhero can pick up her trail.

*Warning: Season 3 Spoilers Ahead*

Chapter 1: Missing

Adrien dropped his school bag next to his usual desk, took his seat, and waited for class to start. He scrolled through his calendar on his phone. Only three photoshoots this week, and the regular piano, fencing and Chinese practices. A chemistry quiz today, history paper due on Friday. It was actually shaping up to be a pretty light week. He might be able to sneak in a few more patrols with Ladybug.

Or perhaps get Marinette to slip one of Paris’ favorite heroes a few cookies on her balcony. Either option sounded fine to him.

Speaking of Marinette, where was she? Class was going to start in two minutes. She’d been making a special effort to squeak into class five minutes before the final bell since starting their second year of lycée and no longer having the luxury of living across the street from school. She probably overslept again.

The seconds ticked by. The bell rang. The history class started. The desk next to Adrien remained empty.

He didn’t start to worry until class ended and there was still no sign of the bluenette. Adrien hoped she wasn’t ill. She had seemed fine yesterday.

He could text her and ask if she was okay, but he felt that might be overstepping. Besides, he didn’t want to disturb her if she was feeling unwell. He decided to try the next best thing to messaging Marinette directly.

[Adrien] Hey. Have you heard from Marinette this morning? She wasn’t in class.

A reply popped up almost instantly.

[Alya] I haven’t. Give me a sec.

Adrien pocketed his phone and walked down the hall to his calculous class. He set his phone on his desk and unpacked his tablet and stylus. The phone’s screen lit up a minute before the bell rang.

[Alya] She’s not answering her phone. I’ll try the bakery next.

[Adrien] Thanks. Class is about to start. I’ll check back in with you later.

Adrien pushed the budding sense of unease away as the teacher began lecturing about integrals.

With his math class over, Adrien once again packed up to move to classical world literature. They were studying Shakespeare’s sonnets. He was gleaning so much glorious material for Chat Noir to use later. It was almost better than his Sunday night ritual of scouring the internet for new cat puns and memes. Almost.

Adrien did his best not to bump into anyone on the stairs as he headed down to his next classroom with his attention focused on his phone.

He had received six new texts and a missed call in the last hour.

[Alya] I talked to Sabine. She hasn’t seen Marinette since last night.

[Alya] She assumed that she just missed her leaving this morning.

[Alya] Mari still isn’t answering her phone.

[Alya] She wasn’t in our French class last period.

[Alya] Let me know when you see her. Okay?

That uneasy feeling from earlier had lodged itself in the pit of his stomach and was growing.

He typed a quick promise to Alya that he would notify her when he saw their friend.

The missed call and sixth text were from Mme. Cheng.

Adrien rounded the last step and stopped out of the flow of traffic before opening the text. The squirming feeling in his gut was getting worse.

[Mama Cheng] Have you seen Marinette this morning? Alya just called and no one seems to have seen her since last night. Tom and I are starting to worry.

Adrien failed to notice his foot tapping out a nervous staccato against the floor tiles.

[Adrien] I haven’t seen her this morning either. I will have her call you the minute I do.

He pressed ‘send,’ hoping that his optimism in stating ‘when’ not ‘if’ he sees Marinette was not unfounded. He didn’t want to start thinking that way.

He stood there, staring at his phone, trying to decide what to do, as the halls emptied and the next period of classes began. He felt Plagg start nudging his hip from inside his book bag. It was the final push he needed.

Adrien hurriedly stopped by the school nurse and told her that he wasn’t feeling well and asked to be excused from his classes for the rest of the day.

The nurse took one look at his pale face and agreed to let the rest of his teachers know of his absence. Having a reputation for being a model student had its advantages.

Adrien walked out the front doors of the school as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. As soon as he had the freedom of the pavement outside, he ran to the shadows of the nearest alleyway.

Usually Plagg talked to Adrien from wherever he was lounging at the time, but as soon as they were hidden from view, the kwami of destruction phased through the bag and floated at eye level. His tail was flicking back and forth agitatedly. He crossed his stubby arms over his chest and narrowed his toxic green eyes at his holder.

“Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” Plagg drawled exasperatedly, but Adrien could read the subtext after four years of partnership. His kwami was worried.

He finally had a name for that feeling crawling its way up from his stomach and grasping at his throat now. Fear. It was definitely fear.

“Plagg, claws out!”

----------

Five minutes later Chat Noir landed on Marinette’s balcony with a soft flump.

Nothing looked out of place, but something... wasn’t quite right. Chat couldn’t quite put his claw on it just yet.

He moved the information to the back of his mind to let his subconscious work out whatever it was. His attention turned to the skylight hatch leading to his friend’s bedroom. He eased the door open and poked his head inside.

Still nothing seemed amiss. Her bed was unmade (not uncommon with how quickly she usually needed to leave for school after hitting snooze on her alarm four times). Bits of pink fabric were strewn across her sewing desk and pinned to the dress form in the corner. Pictures of her friends were taped to the walls. It all looked perfectly normal for her room.

Chat Noir dropped onto the loft, careful to land next to the bed to keep his boots from dirtying her bedding. That’s when it hit him—the thing that was out of place.

There was an unfamiliar scent in Marinette’s room.

He sniffed around the bed. It smelled mostly of pleasant things that he associated with the young designer, like vanilla and sugar. Underneath the comforting scents was another, unfamiliar one.

Chat Noir wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. It smelled... cold. It was like the sharp sting of ice on a bitterly cold day when the wind bites at your ears and nose and burns your cheeks with snowflakes like shards of glass. The scent stood out in sharp contrast to Marinette who smelled like everything warm and comforting.

He took a few minutes to sniff around the rest of her room. He didn’t pick up the foreign scent anywhere except near the bed. He did find Marinette’s phone under her bed. It was on silent and the battery was nearly dead. She had forty-six missed calls and messages. Chat was willing to bet that most of them were from Alya.

He left the phone where it was and pulled himself back up to the balcony.

The icy scent was on the edge of the hatch door. He also smelled it on one of the many potted plants surrounding Marinette’s oasis. Whoever it was must have brushed against the leaves.

The intruder had entered through the skylight from the balcony, just as Chat Noir had.

A string of events started taking shape in his mind. He didn’t like where they led.

A stranger had come to Marinette’s balcony, let themselves into her room, and taken the girl from her bed.

Someone had kidnapped Marinette.

----------

Chat Noir spent the rest of the afternoon sniffing around rooftops near the Dupain-Cheng bakery in an ever expanding radius. From time to time he dropped to ground level as well, but that didn’t seem right for some reason and he inevitably returned to the roofs.

After a few hours, he got lucky. (No one was more surprised than him since good luck was not his forte.)

Someone in a building to the south had left a pool towel hanging out to dry on a balcony railing. A brush of odor on the colorful material matched the one locked in Chat’s scent memory.

He continued searching to the south. He had never put so much effort into tracking before. Why hadn’t he thought to practice before now?

An hour later, he found his next clue. He followed the scent along a straight line of roofs at a full run on all fours. Chat’s mind presented him with two pieces of information as his claws dug into the roof tiles and his legs propelled him forward.

First, the scent was getting harder to follow as more time passed. Second, Chat knew of only three groups who took routes like this. None were great options.

He slid to a stop at the end of the roof line and stood easily on the edge. His breathing was labored and he could feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Anxiety and exertion were flooding his system with adrenaline. Chat’s tail twitched behind him just as Plagg’s had before transforming that afternoon. A low growl slipped past his clenched teeth.

He’d lost the trail.

Chat needed help. He opened the map feature on his baton and searched for Ladybug’s icon. She wasn’t there. It was a long shot anyway. They usually weren’t transformed this time of day unless there was an Akuma attack. Fortunately he hadn’t had to deal with one of those today. Chat could only handle one crisis at a time.

He switched his baton to phone mode and called his partner. It went to voicemail.

“Ladybug, I’ve got a bit of a situation here. Do you remember Marinette Dupain-Cheng? I think she may be a friend of yours, but that’s not important right now.”

He did his best to keep the strain out of his voice. Ladybug didn’t want an update on his emotional state. She only wanted cold, hard facts.

“Look, I think she’s been kidnapped. No one has seen her all day. I went by her house to check if I could find anything and picked up an unfamiliar scent. I’m tracking it south through the fifth arrondissement right now. And, LB, I’m tracking it across the roofs. We might be looking at an akuma or sentimonster, though it’s been pretty quiet for one of Hawkmoth’s games. There’s a possibility it might be a—another miraculous holder.”

He paused for a moment to let that sink in.

“Anyway, call me when you get this. I’m going to keep looking. Bye.”

Chat Noir ended the call and continued his pursuit.

Frustration outweighed his anxiety hours later as the sun started to set beyond the Paris skyline. He hadn’t been able to pick up the trail again. He tracked it as far as he could, but he lost it.

He groaned as he slid down a brick wall protruding from the roof he was currently on. He sat on the plaster and released his transformation. A crackle of bright green energy washed over his body and Plagg sprang from the ring. Adrien handed him a piece of Camembert before the grumpy little cat could ask.

“How’s it going, kid?” Plagg asked, then tossed the chunk of smelly cheese in the air and swallowed it whole. Normally with him it was eat first, ask questions later.

“I lost the trail.” Adrien thunked his head against the bricks behind him. The small pain this caused was a slight comfort in the face of Adrien’s disgust with his tracking skills.

“I know, kid. But, honestly, you did great. It wasn’t an easy scent to find. I’m impressed that you were able to follow it this far.”

If Plagg was trying to comfort him and willingly handing out compliments, it really was the end of days.

Adrien appraised his old friend. “You’re really worried about her, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Plagg stared off to the south. Adrien was sure the little glutton had heard him, but was declining to comment.

Plagg had always seemed partial to Marinette. Adrien didn’t know why. His kwami had never met the girl, but he did seem to bring her up more than Adrien’s other friends.

“Let’s go, kid. There’s nothing more we can do tonight, and I’m sure Pantsuit is wondering where you are by now.”

Adrien pushed himself to his feet. He had no idea what he was going to tell Nathalie, but he didn’t really care right now. Maybe he would do something crazy and try telling her the truth that one of his friends was missing and he had been out all day looking for her. Telling Nathalie the truth. He scoffed. There was a concept.

“Plagg, claws out.”

#Snow Angel by mostlovedgirl #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fan fic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #adrienette #marichat #ml season 3 spoilers

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amandaoftherosemire · 6 years ago

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Sing For Me -- Chapter Thirty-six

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC (Sasha)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Sasha, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, OFC Zoe, OFC Kat, OFC Maddie, Princess Shuri

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,473

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst.

Summary: Sasha has a dream. Kat does what she has to.

A/N: Not consistent with Marvel canon. I was commanded, in no uncertain terms, to fix what I did in the last chapter. I don’t know if this is exactly what you meant, @suz-123, but I’m working on it! Sometimes I think I do these things just to get you guys to yell at me. 🤷

Banner by: @hellzzzbelle

Sing For Me Masterlist

Chapter Thirty-five here

Chapter Thirty-six

Sasha opened her eyes to find herself sitting on the front porch of her childhood home. She breathed deep, and the familiar scent of warm hay and cool pine whispered summer. Summer nights at home, at least. It didn’t matter how far she roamed, what other places she called home, this was first and best for her. To her amused chagrin, she had a low-grade urge for a cigarette.

Apparently, it also didn’t seem to matter how long ago she’d given up nicotine, her brain was still throwing temper tantrums over it. When a cigarette appeared between her fore and middle fingers, already smoldering, she shrugged and brought the filter to her lips. She imagined she looked a sight, a grown woman for some reason decked out in a replica Princess Aurora dress, down to the random changing from blue to pink and back again.

The brick and cedar house at her back was typical for its neighborhood, large but not massive, dignified rather than ostentatious. Sasha’s fathers had preferred the elegant and understated. Perhaps that was how she’d ended up so loud and vibrant, her own minor rebellion.

She sat on the railing that bordered the wrap-around porch and looked out across the painfully familiar stretch of green lawn and cheerful flower gardens. Her papa had loved his flowers, the wilder the better, though he had had a soft spot for peonies that he’d recklessly indulged.

Sasha lifted the cigarette between her fingers to chapped lips that ached as she smiled at the image and the memory. How or why her lips were chapped in what amounted to a dream state, or so she hoped, she didn’t know, but she appreciated being able to smoke. She’d broken the habit years ago after a long and brutal battle with herself, but she sometimes still craved it like air.

Her chapped lips were the only evidence of the brutal war she’d been fighting ever since her shield fell, followed by the eternal plummet through nothingness. Her golden skin was perfectly smooth and shone with an almost unreal luster, not a blemish nor a scar to be found. Her hair fell in flawless barrel curls, as though she’d spent hours under the curling iron of the most meticulous of stylists.

Sasha mulled it over as she dragged on the cigarette in her hand, her face pensive, even as she noted in her peripheral vision the presence of the handsome blond giant leaning on the railing next to where she sat.

Magnus Fredriksen raised one thick, blond imperious eyebrow. “That’s a filthy habit.” His voice was a low rumble, his habit of speaking softly yet to the point adding to the overall impression of the kind of strength you could build a foundation upon. That had been an entirely accurate impression.

Sasha took a long pull off the cigarette and hummed happily. “I know, right?” She smiled cheekily at the man next to her. The carved in granite quality of his face had always inspired a little healthy fear; her Dad had been slow to anger but once his temper was provoked it had been a powerful thing. However, she had long ago learned to push through it to tease. Magnus may have been a sternly intense Scandinavian giant, but she’d always known how to make him laugh. “How bad do you want one?” she asked slyly.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she had to hold back the snort of wicked amusement. “Don’t be a bitch,” he groused as he reached out, and as he had done countless times before, grabbed a hank of her hair to tug exactly twice, a gesture of genuine affection mixed with a benign exasperation. With a bittersweet ache in her throat, she thought of her own hand reaching to tug on Zoe's ponytail. She wouldn't be surprised if the look she gave him was the same as the expression of mischievous unrepentance that crossed Zoe's face at such times.

Magnus rolled his eyes and leaned in, hiding his face from the window on the other side of her shoulder. His voice low, he looked around furtively as he muttered, "Give us a drag, then, dammit."

Sasha threw her head back and laughed out loud. She had no idea what was going on and was finding it impossible to care when she was laughing and joking with her dad again. She lifted her hand to her shoulder in a practiced motion, twisting her wrist to put the filter next to her dad's lips. He took a drag and waited for her to do the same so that he could exhale when she did to camouflage the smoke coming out of his mouth. The man had been fearless, except when it came to the disapproval of the love of his life.

"You have never once fooled me with that, you know." Charles O’Dowd had had the driest of voices; everything out of his mouth sounded vaguely sarcastic. When he had wanted to, he could infuse a statement with enough contempt to peel the bark from a redwood. When Sasha had wanted a tone for the word Barnes that would say everything in the shittiest and most insulting way possible, she'd emulated her Papa. She grinned like an idiot at the sly-eyed redhead when he continued, "Sasha, love, what the hell are you wearing?"

As he’d always believed that a good defense is a good offense, Magnus tried to deflect in an attempt to escape the evil eye under which he shrank. "It’s the dress from Sleeping Beauty. Do you have eyes?" Charles merely lifted a skeptical eyebrow over sharp hazel eyes.

Magnus had also believed that discretion was the better part of valor and had steadfastly ignored any reminder that such wisdom came from Shakespeare's famous coward. Without a qualm, and hardly for the first time, he threw his only child under the bus to save his own skin. "Apparently our little girl is playing the damsel in distress."

Though Sasha and Charles shared not one drop of blood, the expression they fixed on Magnus was identical, a testament to the power of nurture over nature as he became the target of amused disdain in stereo.

Sasha's face changed first as the sudden feel of a weight in her palm made her look down. "Huh.” She looked at the object in her hand with both resignation and dismay. "I seem to have acquired a sword.” She looked up, across the lawn to where the quiet street that curved past the house had become a wall of briars steadily climbing upward. She sighed a little, regretful that her rest was at an end. “I'm betting it's for all that."

"There's a storm rolling in, too." Her Papa spoke softly, the dry edge of his voice blunted by the compassion rich in his tone.

Sasha smiled sunnily despite the knowledge that the pain would soon return, but only if she was lucky. "Yeah, but that's my storm. I better go grab it." She hopped down off the rail and stood in the flower bed, a tall and well-built woman in a dress flattering in neither cut nor color(s), a stupidly shiny short sword in her hand. Out over the top of the wall of thorns, she could see a bank of blue-silver clouds rolling speedily in her direction.

Her Dad came around and down the steps to slide his arm around her shoulders. He squeezed gently. "If you're going to make it, you'd better go before those get any thicker. Or sharper." Sasha turned to him with tears in her eyes and smiled.

Her heart breaking all over again, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged tight, burying her face in his chest. She felt her Papa wrap his arms around them both and tried to re-memorize the feeling of being held once more by the first two sets of arms to never let her down.

"I miss you both so much." Sasha's voice was a raspy whisper, her throat thick with the tears that fell unchecked.

Magnus pulled back to look into Sasha's face, Charles releasing them both to move to his husband's side. Her Dad had a lean and ascetic face that prevented his expression from softening much, but his voice was infinitely tender as he answered. "Death is only painful for the living." He smiled sadly, but with a wry quirk to his lips. "But it's brutal."

Sasha hiccupped a laugh and smiled up at him through the tears, her heart breaking all over again. "I'm all about no more pain, but it seems to be the price of admission." She kissed his cheek before pulling out of his arms. "I love you, Dad." She turned to slip her arms around her Papa's waist and hug him tight, kissing his cheek also as she pulled away. "I love you, Papa." When she stepped back, Charles reached out and took Magnus' hand.

Sasha continued to slowly back away, a smile sparkling with both love and tears spreading over her face. For years she had carried with her a final memory of her fathers, one spattered with blood and grief. She soaked in this new image of them to take with her, whole and happy and handfast, the house at their backs, the flowers at their feet.

Before the picture could blur with the tears she struggled to hold back, she blew a kiss, picked up her skirt and turned, sword in hand, to run for the wall of briars. As she ran, tears streaming down her cheeks, she heard her Papa as though he spoke softly in her ear. "You were already Sasha the first time I looked into your eyes. You know it. All you have to do is remember it."

When she reached the briars, she couldn’t help but turn back for one final glimpse. She looked around, astonished to find the house and the men gone. All that remained was an unfamiliar meadow sprinkled with wildflowers and peonies and the whisper on the wind. Do svidanya, Sasha. Ya tyebya lyublyu.

And for the first time since her captivity, the sound of Russian didn't send a chill down her spine. "Ya tozhe tyebya lyublyu, Papa." As she spoke, she turned back to the wall of thorns that separated her from the tempest.

The vines continued to grow unchecked toward the sky. They seemed to have a life of their own as they coiled together, leaving little room to wind through. Determined, she swung the sword back, and on the word Papa, brought it down as hard as she could on the thick branch in front of her, cleaving through it like butter. With a savage grin, she swung the sword back again. She had to get through. Bucky was waiting on the other side.

To her astonishment, Kat felt tears pricking at her eyes as she watched her little sister sob inconsolably. Zoe had her arms wrapped tightly around Bucky's waist as she cried into his sternum. Her voice was muffled, but Kat could hear her crying the words "my fault" over and over again. For his part, Bucky was watching Sasha with devastated eyes, but he was rubbing Zoe's back with his flesh hand and quietly murmuring vague reassurances.

Vague was all he was capable of, his mind blank and reeling as he tried to comfort the sobbing child against the horror in front of him. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't her fault, but he couldn't think beyond this timeless eternity between hope and heartbreak. Shuri flitted back and forth, her motions nearly a blur as she worked tirelessly to start Sasha's heart. Bucky's heart seemed to flit with her, trembling as it followed her every motion. Only her continued determination to keep moving, keep trying held him together.

Kat's eyes were burning with unshed tears as she watched desolation settle onto Bucky's face, as she saw the fear begin to fade into grief. Guilt was crawling up her neck as she stalled, still afraid to trust and hoping Shuri would make the guilt unnecessary.

Her stomach knotting, she noticed Shuri's movements become more frantic, but with no indication of greater success. As she worked ever more feverishly over the still form on the bed, Zoe’s little body shook ever more violently with the force of her sobs. Kat was terrified she knew what Zoe read in Shuri’s mind to make her cry so viciously and the guilt pierced her ever more deeply.

Next to Bucky stood Steve, his ridiculously handsome face crestfallen as the seconds turned to minutes and Sasha still hadn't responded. Natasha was by his side, her hand holding tightly to his as she muttered under her breath, her eyes never leaving Sasha's face. Clint had his arm around Wanda, who seemed to be losing hope as her face was wet with tears.

Those tears broke through Kat's determination to keep her secrets. She had been holding on, desperately hoping Shuri would bring Sasha back without her. If she showed them what she knew, Shuri would be able to deduce the rest and she could not risk that knowledge falling into the hands of those who would exploit it. She didn’t know these people and thus couldn’t trust them.

But she could not let Sasha die, not for any reason. Every morning she'd woken up next to the woman who even now held her hand, she owed to Sasha. If she could claim even a shred of decency, if not courage, she had to try to save her. She looked down at Maddie's face and reminded herself she was trying to deserve this woman. She squeezed Maddie's hand once before letting go to step forward.

The room was silent but for the soft croon of Zoe weeping and the gentle whisper of Bucky's attempts to soothe. When Kat spoke, it cut through the silence like a cleaver and had every eye whipping her way.

"Give me your arm," she said to Bucky as she stepped to his and Zoe's side. He looked at her like she was crazy, his face a study in incredulity. With a roll of her eyes, she snagged his metal bicep in a firm grip and began pulling him forward.

"The hell?" Bucky didn't resist, that tiny flame of hope that still burned inside him glowing a little brighter, but that didn't mean he didn't want an explanation for Kat's sudden spring into action.

Kat didn't answer, having no interest in wasting time on unnecessary information. She had already dithered for far too long. Instead, she spoke only when they were next to Sasha, as she placed Bucky's hand on Sasha's bare shoulder. "Put your metal hand against the nape of her neck."

Zoe, who'd followed in Bucky's wake, gasped a little and Kat wondered what she might see in her mind. When she'd read that particular piece of information in the file, she'd had to laugh despite the chill that had run down her spine. Her blood ran cold at the thought of what Valentin could have done, would have done, had he known he had a mind reader at his mercy.

Bucky didn't hesitate, slipping his hand beneath Sasha's hair to press his palm firmly against her skin. To his astonishment, he could feel three pinpricks of heat against his palm and forefinger and breath caught at what it might mean. When his hand was in place, Kat nodded to Shuri and the kimoyo beads in her hand.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath as Shuri tried to start Sasha's heart one more time.

This time, Bucky felt a song, beautiful and somehow familiar, flow into him just as the monitor registered the beat.

His heart, which seemed to stop when he heard Zoe scream, finally began to beat again, too.

When he looked up from Sasha's face to grin at Shuri, he found the princess had fixed Kat with a serious and implacable look. Kat sighed a little as she replied, though her answer made no sense to Bucky at first.

"Tuned vibranium," she murmured, her voice remorseful if not penitent. "And yes, if you'll allow it, I can probably wake Sasha. But I'll need Zoe's help."

Chapter Thirty-seven here

Taglist:

@marvel-lucy @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @lovely-geek @wantingtobekorra @diinofayce @ashesandfire @suz-123 @theresaskankinmyboot @ddysis @caplansteverogers @getbuckylucky @california-grown @rnr1274 @capandbuck @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @magellan-88 @mizzzpink @curiositywillbethedeathofmee @colie87 @bibliophile1773 @henrietteoaks @hellzzzbelle @same--old-shit @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @rishlo

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #sing for me #pantswrites #series wip #angst

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huntersandwerewolves · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Charlie Bradbury Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Bookstore Owner Castiel (Supernatural), Mechanic Dean Winchester, Pining, Mutual Pining, Epistolary, Writing, Letters, fairytales - Freeform, Dean Winchester Reads, POV Castiel, First Kiss, meet cute, Awkward Flirting, Castiel (Supernatural) Reads, Castiel recites Shakespeare Summary:

Cas enjoyed a quiet, pleasant life. A little lonely in the love department, perhaps, but he had a pleasant rhythm to his days thanks to running his basement bookstore, Subtext.

His days got a pleasant little shake-up when a hurricane blew a fantastically beautiful book-lover into his store; Unfortunately, Dean wasn't from Sioux Falls, and Cas wasn't sure if he was interested in any more than a dry place to pass the time.

Obviously, Cas didn't pine.

He was far too sensible for that. Or so he told himself.

Spoiler alert: Castiel does pine for Dean, a lot! A wonderful story for all those minute-meetings with people you never see again. This one does have a happy ending though. Enjoy 🖤

#fanfiction #destiel #bookstore owner!cas #mechanic!dean #meet cute #first meeting #letters #mutual pining #first kiss

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nachtgraves · 6 years ago

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Andreil Week 2018 - Day 1

Ey. I’ve never participated in a fandom week type deal so I thought this might be fun. I’m not doing all the days, but gonna attempt to do every other instead :D

If you squint, I technically incorporated all three of today’s prompts in some form. As per usual, given a prompt, chances are I’ll stretch it to the point it probably doesn’t count anymore. I can’t read a map and following directions sans detours is hard.

Influenced by Nekojita’s Heartlines and you should read that if you haven’t already. Just read all her work, honestly.

Title: A Midsummer Night’s Fib // AO3 Word Count: 3,620 Warnings/Tags: G. Urban fantasy AU, bastardization of midsummer practices and festivals of past and present, an abnormal amount of glitter and sparkles Prompts: shakespeare | mythology | fake dating/fake exes

Neil doesn’t know why he did it but Nicky wasn’t going to quit and Allison had her phone out with that plotting gleam in her eyes and Dan and Matt were looking at him in certain ways and he just blurt it out: “I’m going with Andrew.”

They all fall silent, staring at him in various forms of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming confusion. Maybe he can make his escape while they process his words.

Nicky recovers before he can give the escape attempt more thought, however. “Andrew? You definitely mean an Andrew that isn’t my cousin, right?”

“Why are you going with the monster?” Allison demands.

“So much makes sense now,” Matt mutters and Neil would like to know what he means by that but, as if summoned, Andrew enters the room. He looks around at the various faces staring back at him before turning around and leaving without a word.

“Andrew, wait!” Nicky is the first to recover, chasing after his cousin before Andrew can get too far. “You’re going to Midsummer? With Neil?!”

Andrew stops in the middle of the doorway and turns back around. His face is blank but he meets Neil’s eyes for a brief moment before answering Nicky, bland and dry, “What I may or may not be doing is none of your business,” and then leaving.

Allison comes up to Neil, looks him up and down then directs her gaze to where Andrew had gone and sighing. “Why? I will never understand why you always go for the monster when there are way better options you could pick from. That woodland druid we ran into grabbing things for Abby a few days ago, for instance. He was so into you and not a psychopath.”

Neil just blinks at Allison. He thinks he knows what druid she’s talking about but that’s about it. Allison just sighs heavily again and shakes her head. “Whatever. I guess I should commend you for getting Andrew to come to Midsummer for the first time in forever.”

Neil frowns. “He’s never gone?”

Dan answers him. “Andrew’s not really big on the quarter day festivals, really any sort of festival, in case you hadn’t noticed. And he’s not Fae so he’d need to be taken as a guest, not that he’s ever accepted anyone’s offer for as long as he’s been here.”

Neil himself isn’t quite up to date on what Fae festival and celebration etiquette is. Between Baltimore and being on the run, Fae celebrations were never something he partook in. For most of his life, his mother’s Fae heritage was beaten down and he recoiled against his father’s warlock practices.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on his past for too long. Nicky, having lost Andrew, comes bounding towards Neil with a broad grin that has Neil worried.

“Since you’ve got yourself a date, that’s part one done,” he starts. Neil really doesn’t want to hear part two, or if there’s a part three and four to follow. But Nicky barrels on, his eyes doing that sparkly thing it does when he’s excited about Erik or shopping or matchmaking. “Now, we need clothes!”

Neil regrets everything.

Midsummer lands on a Saturday this year, and the festival starts midday Friday to the sunset on Saturday, just over 24 hours of celebrations. Basically, it’s just a drinking marathon with interspersed traditional events, as far as Neil knows.

Shopping ends up being a team activity. They split up into the various cars, Neil going with the twins, Nicky, and Kevin. Once at the mall, the group splits up, agreeing to meet up at the food court in a couple hours. Dan, Matt, Renee, and Allison go off, Allison knowing exactly where she wants to go. Aaron dips away to meet up with Katelyn, leaving Andrew, Neil, and Kevin to follow after Nicky.

They wind up in stores that Neil would only ever expect Renee to shop at, but he learns that Midsummer attire consists of light, airy, or floral. He can’t imagine Andrew dressing in anything on the racks around them.

Neil’s eyes flit to the man, picking blankly through some loose, long sleeved shirts, and worries his bottom lip. He hasn’t had the chance to speak with his apparent date, never able to catch Andrew alone. So far, it seems like Andrew is going to play along. At the very least, he hasn’t thrown Neil under the bus. But Neil doesn’t want to force Andrew into doing something he doesn’t want to, the guilt eats up at him.

Looking around, Nicky’s looking through jeans, a pile of clothes already over one arm, and Kevin’s on his phone texting. Neil makes his way over to Andrew, pretending to look through the pile of shirts next to him.

“You don’t have to pretend to be my, uh, date,” he says.

Andrew makes no sign that he heard Neil, or even acknowledges him. He just grabs one of the shirts from the rack and throws it at Neil. Neil only just catches it. It’s soft and light, a faded dark red. Andrew moves on to a pile of jeans and grabs a light beige pair after looking through sizes, tossing that to Neil as well.

“Go try those one,” he orders. Neil frowns but does as told when Andrew just stares at him. Like previous times, the clothes fit well in that they’re not too big on his frame per his usual preference, but these are still light and loose. The shirt has some sort of crisscross lacing at the neck that dips down his sternum, and the sleeves are a smidge too long, coming halfway down his palms. The jeans are tight, formed to his legs, especially at his calves. They’re ripped at the knees with other signs of distress low on his thighs and along his shins.

He changes back into his own clothes and goes to find Andrew and the others. They all finish up relatively quickly and go to pay. Andrew dumps his collection with Neil’s with a pointed, “This is your fault.”

Since that’s about as close as Neil is going to get as a response to whether or not Andrew’s on board with the charade, he pays for the both of them and only winces slightly at the resulting cost. Nicky has a few other shops he wants to go to so they follow after him until it’s about time to meet back up with the others and grab food.

Dan, Matt, Allison, and Renee are already there. They’ve commandeered a table big enough for all of them and two extra chairs are piled with shopping bags. They’ve also already gone and grabbed food, trays ranging from burgers to pizza to what looks like Thai. Andrew’s crew dump their bags and go off to grab food of their own before returning. Neil pays for Andrew’s burger and tooth-rotting milkshake.

“Successful day?” Nicky asks, plopping down and immediately going into conversation about purchases with Allison and Matt. Neil quietly takes a seat at the end of the table next to Andrew, busying himself with his salad. Aaron and Katelyn show up and Katelyn joins in talking about Midsummer plans and excitement. Neil keeps half an ear on their conversation, piecing together what Midsummer with the Foxes entails. It really doesn’t sound like much more than a big party involving all the Fae courts in the area.

Neil’s content to listen and pick at his salad, but not everyone else is on board with that. He’s pulled into conversation by Allison cupping her chin in her palm and leaning across the table, staring him down. “So how long have you and Andrew been enough of a thing to go to Midsummer as a pair?”

Neil looks to Andrew who continues to work on his monstrosity of a milkshake. The only sign of him paying attention to the table is the way he loudly sucks up the chocolate and brownie ice cream mix.

Neil rolls his eyes at Allison. “It’s not anyone’s business. It’s just a party.”

“Midsummer is not just a party,” Nicky butts in. “Of all the quarter days it’s the one that’s all about relationships! Erik proposed to me at the last one I went to with him in Germany.”

“It does focus on relationships, but not only of those romantic in nature. There’s an emphasis on women and family as a whole, as well,” Renee adds.

Neil frowns. “But you were trying to set me up with strangers.”

Allison just looks at him like he’s a fumbling child who doesn’t know anything. “You don’t go to Midsummer stag unless you intend to get around or your partner can’t make it for whatever reason.”

Neil still doesn’t get why they care so much. He stuffs his mouth to keep from having to continue the conversation and is relieved when Renee distracts everyone by talking about the upcoming fall semester.

Neil finishes his salad and slides his eyes to Andrew who’s dipping his French fries into what’s left of his milkshake. Andrew meets his gaze and raises a brow mockingly at him. “Enjoying your first Midsummer?”

Neil really doesn’t need his input on how much of a hassle one little fib’s turned into.

Midsummer Eve starts like a normal day up until Neil is nabbed by Allison and Nicky to get dressed and made up. He’s given a pile of clothes and told to get dressed. In addition to what he had tried on the other day, he’s given knee-high leather boots that lace up all the way and an assortment of braided leather and hemp bracelets in varying shades of brown that all together cover a good three inches of his wrists. He’s made to sit through a bit of make-up, Allison lining his eyes with dark red-brown eyeliner and smudging some sort of gel, shimmery with specks of red glitter, on his cheeks. He draws the line at the equally shimmery lip gloss Allison is poised to smear on him.

Allison isn’t too disappointed. “I figured the lip gloss would be too much for you.”

Nicky, however, sulks openly as he gets his turn to arrange Neil’s auburn curls. He adds some sort of spray to it on top of the styling gel. Neil catches sight of the can, seeing it’s some sort of gold glitter spray suitable for skin and hair.

When he’s allowed to see himself, Neil scrunches his nose at his appearance. He looks, well, Fae. There’s no other word to describe it. If he pulled down the glamour that rounded his ears, he’d look like something out of a fairy tale storybook, scars ignored. It’s almost too much, but seeing how the girls and Nicky are done up, he’s grateful that this is all they’ve done to him. He could have had glittery lips to match his hair and cheeks and a lot more sparkly jewelry.

They meet up at the court when they’re ready. Everyone’s dressed in ways to complement their natures or alignments, or matching their Fae date. They’ve all got shimmery glitter on them in some form. Neil wonders if Allison and Nicky bought out their favourite stores of everything that contained glitter and sparkles.

In essence, they look like they got lost going to a Renaissance faire. Even Andrew’s deigned to look the part, although he’s stuck with his black, just in different cuts. Neil finds himself staring at the way the shirt, similar to his own but a deep black, hugs Andrew’s shoulders. Somehow, he’s been convinced to partake in the glitter, his jeans glittering silver in the light and a matching shimmer in his hair.

Andrew comes up to him. “Staring,” he accuses, but he stares Neil up and down before reaching out and tugging at the leather necklace around Neil’s neck, pulling Neil down and leaving barely inches between their faces. He reaches up to thumb at Neil’s cheek, some of the red glitter staining his thumb.

“Couldn’t take the lip gloss? Andrew smirks.

Neil narrows his eyes. “Not like you’re wearing any either.”

Andrew shrugs and lets Neil go, moving to stand beside him waiting for Wymack and Abby to finish up lighting up the first fires. Since they can’t go around lighting full bonfires across campus and the court, they light candles that will burn until they get back. They’re put everywhere from Wymack’s office to around the court to the dorms.

“Now, most of you know how this works. We’ll be there until tomorrow morning unless one of you idiots manage to do something that’ll have us leaving before someone dies or gets cursed,” Wymack says as Abby gathers together what she needs to create a portal to the Fae realm.

Where Midsummer is held differs every year and by regions, but it is always within the Fae realm. Abby and Wymack, with help from Renee, create the portal and they all file through once it’s set up. Non-Fae enter with the Fae who invited them and Neil watches as Allison takes Renee, arm in arm, while Dan ushers Aaron and Katelyn in, and Matt takes Nicky, Nicky cheerfully clinging onto Matt’s arm. Kevin escorts Abby, so Wymack can keep the doors open and Neil realizes it’s his and Andrew’s turn.

Andrew offers an arm and a quiet, “Yes or no?”

Neil nods, says yes just as quietly, and lightly slides his hand into the offered crook.

There’s nothing overly shocking about stepping through the portal, it’s a smooth transition for the most part. But Neil feels his glamour fall the second he and Andrew are through and into a clearing alight with lanterns and the beginnings of the biggest bonfire he’s ever seen. He panics, hands going up to his ears, now pointed and distinctly elven, and he can only imagine that his pupils have turned into cat-like slits, mirror images of his father’s.

A hand comes up and grips lightly but firmly at the back of his neck and after a second, Neil sees that it’s Andrew’s. He allows Andrew to guide him to the side, towards a copse of trees decorated with little lights.

“Glamours have no effect in places like this,” Andrew says. Neil knows that there are such places, it just didn’t cross his mind that Midsummer was held in one of them. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Neil takes some controlling breaths and shakes his head. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” He looks around and sees that it’s true, no one appears to have glamours, an array of various Fae and their companions in full form. Matt’s arms are patched with bark, Dan’s hair is littered with tiny flicks of flames, and Allison’s translucent wings are tucked behind her back as she walks with Renee towards where the bonfire is being set up.

Andrew releases his hold on Neil’s neck, and Neil finds himself missing it. But he focuses and grounds himself, tries to ignore how open and vulnerable he feels without his glamour, something he’s far too used to constantly having on his person.

When he feels more or less in control again, Andrew’s staring at him. Neil raises a brow and Andrew shakes his head and starts walking towards where food is laid out. “You Fae better have alcohol at these things.”

There are various types of alcohol, mundane and Fae tinkered. Andrew sticks to the normal drinks and piles a plate high with various desserts after making Neil figure out what some of the unfamiliar ones are. Neil sticks to the array of fruits, berries, and cheeses.

Neil finds Midsummer to be interesting on the whole. The bonfire is built quickly and people in pairs or groups dance around it. Nicky flits between couples and people who appear to be single, dancing and running around cheerfully. He even takes Katelyn for a round around the fire, the two twirling amongst other couples and groups. Abby and Wymack stick to the small lake where mermaids and water aligned Fae linger. There looks to be some sort of flower garland making camp set up, rings of woven flowers and foliage set to float into the water. Neil notices that a number of attendees have flowers in their hair as the night goes on, ranging from crowns to being woven directly into their locks.

At some point, Renee comes by, a rainbow crown of flowers in her hair, and hands Neil and Andrew flower crowns of their own. Neil’s is made of flowers in hues of red and white and Andrew’s of dark purples and grey. They’re lightly dusted in glitter and Neil both wants to and doesn’t want to know where on earth they’re all getting it from. Andrew scowls at it but puts it on and dares Neil to comment on it with a glare.

“Who’s the one that looks like some woodland elf?” Andrew sneers when Neil can’t stop his smile quick enough.

“At least I don’t look like some goth pixie.” Neil gets shoved for that, dropping his fruits. He glares at Andrew who just smirks. But when Andrew goes to refill on drinks and sweets, he has an extra bowl of sugar glazed berries he claims he lost interest in on the walk back to Neil. They’re almost too sugary sweet but Neil eats them all, licking his fingers of the glaze after.

He finds Andrew watching him before Andrew looks back to the fire, watching his brother and cousin and Kevin who’s been off with Thea who came separately. Neil grabbing some more of the sugar covered fruit is met with narrowed eyes. It only encourages him to smile as he offers some of the fruit to Andrew who only scoffs and takes a swig of his drink.

As the sun begins to set, young Fae take part in some tradition involving jumping over the bonfire that’s settled down to something a little more reasonable. Couples go after and Neil watches Matt and Dan, Allison and Renee, Aaron and Katelyn, and even Wymack and Abby. He doesn’t know if he and Andrew are expected to do so, but he sees some other pairs only watching and stays settled in the grass beside Andrew. However, once it begins to grow dark and the lanterns and lights in the field grow brighter, Neil and Andrew are tracked down by the Foxes, none sober, and forced to join in the new round of dancing around the dying bonfire.

It’s not terrible, and Neil finds himself laughing and smiling at the Foxes’ actions. And then Nicky ushers Neil towards Andrew exclaiming something about how the two haven’t danced at all together the entire night and Neil just barely stops himself from crashing fully into the scowling man.

“I’m going to kill him,” Andrew mutters but he holds out a hand and directs to Neil, “Yes or no?”

Neil blinks in surprise but he finds himself taking Andrew’s hand and saying, “Yes.”

“Hands don’t go below my shoulders,” Andrew states, his own going to Neil’s waist after pausing for Neil to nod his consent. Neil lightly places his hands on Andrew’s shoulders, feeling the muscle and warmth through his thin shirt.

As they dance around the fire, Neil thinks back and realizes he’s not entirely clueless as to why Andrew’s name was on his tongue. They may have started off rocky when Neil first met the Foxes, but Andrew’s safe. Andrew is strange and dangerous but safe. He’s not safe in the conventional way, but he understands Neil and Neil knows he can trust the other man.

He doesn’t know what look is on his face but Andrew stares just as intently at him for the duration of the dance before they break apart. Andrew leads the way to the side, finding a patch of grass barely touched by the firelight. Neil sits down beside him, just short of their shoulders brushing.

The festivities die down, people dozing off around the fire, going into the woods to sleep for a few hours. The Foxes all gather to where Neil and Andrew are, eating and drinking until one by one they nod off and Neil and Andrew are the only Foxes awake.

“The autumnal equinox is next,” Andrew says quietly. “Now that you’ve agreed to this one, fat chance of evading any of the others.”

Neil groans, falling over his bent legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. “I have to deal with Allison and Nicky trying to set me up four times a year now?” He turns his head when the expected jab from Andrew doesn’t come, staining the knees of his pants with the red glitter that is still stubbornly stuck to his cheeks.

Andrew’s looking at him, considering. His flower crown is tilted and in the flickering lights of the fire there’s something unearthly about the human. Neil wants to reach out and touch the curve of his jaw, feel the strength of his shoulder again.

“Staring,” Andrew says.

“So are you,” Neil replies.

“Why did you lie?”

Neil frowns. “About?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and gestures around.

“Oh. I just wanted them to get off my back,” Neil answers. “I just blurted your name out.” The shuttered blankness of Andrew’s expression has Neil offering more, a truth he’s still figuring out. “At first I didn’t know why I picked you, but. I think I would have asked you anyway.”

Neil doesn’t know if he’s said too much, revealed too much, but Andrew only reaches a hand out towards Neil’s face. “Yes or no?”

Neil sits up, pressing his cheek into Andrew’s waiting hand, keeps his hands in the grass.

“Yes.”

#neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #all for the game #aftg #andreilweek2018 #my writing #tumblr fic

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years ago

Text

Growing (Dino x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Prompt/Ask: Pls can you make a smut with Dino? >_<

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Dino x Reader

Warnings: Masturbation, language

Word Count: 2581

A/N: Here you go! I hope you enjoy it, I went kind of a different direction with it. Thank you for the request, I love Dino ❤️ Happy reading!

For all of Chan’s life, he was always made aware of the fact that he was an ever-growing human being, going through the mental and physical changes and developments a person makes throughout their existence.

Oh, Chan! You’re so tall now! He hardly thought 5’7 was that tall for a guy, envious of the heights his older brothers like Mingyu and Wonwoo were blessed with.

You’re so manly now, Chan! What happened? He got older. Simple as that. He worked out, shed the baby fat, and gained a stronger image for himself, despite being the resident ‘child’ of the group.

You’re so much older. But you’re still the cute baby I always know and love! Sure. As much as it might annoy him at times, he could live with that. Whatever people wanted to say, as long as they respected him, he couldn’t care less.

It seemed everyone always commented on the physical aspects of his growth; his chiselled jaw, his broad chest, his muscular arms. They talked about his age, his aspirations and accomplishments, anything really, so long as it was regarding his body after the joys of puberty.

But something that always got pushed under the rug, ignored in favour of admiring his youth, was the fact that he was, indeed, a growing boy. And being a growing boy meant changes in attitude, interests, and…well. Sexuality, to put it bluntly.

Getting older meant looking more at girls, at women, and finding out things about his body that he originally didn’t know how to handle. The members would make jokes about it – that he’s finally becoming a man, that he’s going to be a lady killer and have women all over him, that he was going to be an expert in the affairs of the heart.

It seemed they were wrong. At least, in a way.

When girls talked to him, he’d stutter his way through the conversation until they either left or he felt somewhat comfortable around them to continue talking. When girls giggled and brushed their hands against him, he’d go bright red, as red as a ripe tomato, the darkest and hottest of hues overcoming his face as he mumbled out a response. And when girls blatantly flirted with him, poor Chan would simply freeze on the spot as if time stopped, as if his body had just lost the ability to move, and that was when Chan involuntarily left the conversation.

But, sadly, most of the time, he just didn’t bother. Not necessarily because he wasn’t interested, because that would be untrue. The main problem would be the fact that he’s too busy being a star at such a young age. He made the conscious decision to place his career over love, and now he lives with that decision and its consequences, a life of loneliness and emptiness. But it wasn’t all bad, he reasons, he’s achieved more in a few years than most do in a lifetime, and he’s damn proud of himself. Yes, he may not have had the opportunity to live a normal life and date whenever he wants, but really, he’d choose Seventeen any day over a boring life. And he made peace with this in his mind, and managed to, essentially, forget about his relationship status that everyone seems so keen on knowing.

That is, until, you joined PLEDIS Entertainment and ruined him all over again.

You, who was fresh out of college with a degree in your hands and the doom of impending job hunting and the inevitability of becoming an adult with responsibilities weighing heavily on your shoulders. You, who walked in the front doors of the PLEDIS Entertainment building a little over 6 months ago with your head held high and your hands clenched at your sides to hide the subtle shake to them as you began your first day. You, who was introduced to the group briefly during one of their dance practices and announced as one of their new managers in training, taking the opportunity to gain experience and working with the other managers to get the most information that you can on the business. You, who stole Chan’s breath away in a split second with a bit of simple eye contact and a smile as sweet as his favourite candy, sending him floating high above and feeling lighter than air for the rest of the day. For the rest of his life.

He was so sickeningly love struck since the day you entered his life, with your dulcet voice that would say hello to him without fail every day, singing words of praise to him that would simultaneously boost his ego faster than a race car and make him crumble and blush like a fair maiden in old romantic novels. Your gentle hands that would caress his back after a hard day of training and offer him some water, sending his heart into overdrive at your closeness and your caring nature, so selfless and wonderful you were. Your beauty, a beauty that would make even a goddess envious, sending radiant smiles in his direction whenever he was blessed to be in the same room as you, your smiles ever the source of his happiness, his drive to do even better than before, to impress you and makes those smiles only his to look at.

The list on what he liked about you was endless, no sonnet in any of Shakespeare’s finest works ever capable of truly expressing how he felt about you, the flowers seeming dull in comparison to your shine, the fires cold as opposed to your never-ending warmth that reminded him of the cosiest places he knows. Yes, you were amazing in every way possible, and Chan was well and truly, positively and absolutely, in love with you with all his heart could handle.

But Chan was a growing boy.

And when you think of someone 24 hours out of 7 days a week, your brain starts to create new scenarios and thoughts about this person. Some were sweet and as innocent as a bunny hopping around in a field of daisies on a sunny day. But others, well. Others were as dark and sinful as they come, thoughts of sweat not formed from dancing, scratches not earned from accidents, more skin showing than what was considered normal in public appearances. These thoughts were fast, rough, hot, and left Chan panting as if he had just run a mile straight and had not stopped once. These thoughts, these daydreams, always left Chan in a rather compromising position, an urgent problem that needed to be dealt with immediately lest he go insane.

More often than he’s proud to admit he finds himself sorting this problem in the confines of the dorm’s bathroom, the steam of the shower his only companion as he washes away the day’s hard work and lustful shame. He’s in such a situation once more, having lost count of how many times he’s experienced this long ago, leaning with his forearm on the wall and his member hot and throbbing in his other hand, eyes clenched shut in concentration. Today’s reason? Well, seated directly in front of him in the team meeting, your white blouse just happened to be of a lower cut, paired unintentionally with a lacy black bra that had Chan’s mind spinning faster than a hurricane in a storm. Your outfit, that you looked absolutely gorgeous in, paired with the action of bending over to pick up a dropped pen from the floor, revealing more than normal for Chan’s dark eyes, sent all blood in his body travelling south and left him with an uncomfortable tightness in his pants for the rest of the day until now.

Since that incident, he’s thought of nothing but tearing that shirt off of your body, placing you on the desk and fucking you hard, right then and there. It is with that thought in mind that he begins to move his hand up and down his shaft, keeping a loose grip on himself as he allows his imagination to take him to the wildest of places.

There’s no one but you two in the room, your soft mewls sounding like honey to his ears echoing throughout the space as he lifts your body on the table, laying you down flat on your back as he nips and sucks on the smooth expanse of skin on your neck. He rips your pretty silk blouse clean off your chest in one swift motion and you cry out in shock, indignation on your lips before he takes the words right off of them with the press of his own lips, tongue rubbing against yours sensuously as he grinds his growing bulge roughly to your clothed centre.

His hand moves faster as he envisions himself pulling your pencil skirt off your frame and onto the floor, making quick work of your bra and panties to make sure they join the other articles of clothing strewn around the room, and he kisses his way down your body, nipping lightly at your breasts, revelling in the beautiful whines you create before moving lower down your body, his tongue swirling around your belly button playfully as you watched in anticipation.

Finally, he reached both of your most desired destinations, and you leaned on your elbows to get a better look at Chan as he kneeled to be in line with your swollen, dripping core. Leaning in, he inhaled your sweet scent, before diving in, licking a long stripe with his tongue up your slit, circling around your clit for a second before repeating the process. You moaned out his name and his eyes rolled in their sockets at the sound, his hand squeezing his member briefly in pleasure, and he continued with his dream, eating you up like his life depended on it, his tongue plunging in and out of you at a rapid pace whilst his hand came up from its position on your thighs to toy with your poor neglected swollen bud. You latched onto his hair for dear life as his tongue worked wonders on you, and Chan groaned at the feeling of you pulling at the strands, urging him on to bring you closer to your high.

But Chan wanted to be inside of you when you came, and so it was with great reluctance he pulled away from your soaking core, licking his lips dry and fixing you with a dark stare, eyes blown black with desire. Standing up, his hands trailed up your sides delicately, and you giggled lightly at the ticklish feeling. His heart burst at the delightful sound, and he bent down to kiss you passionately, thumb rubbing circles on your jaw so tenderly, because he felt that you only deserved the best. And he was certainly going to try and give you the best. Detaching himself from your lips, he pressed his forehead to yours as he stared into your dazzling eyes, getting lost in the sea of colours that was so inherently you it made his stomach feel fuzzy. The head of his cock brushed against your folds, and he smirked at the moan escaping your lips, pushing into you so slowly it almost drove him crazy as your warmth encased his member.

His hands trembled at the thought of your pussy around him and his hand moved faster and rougher, fingers gathering precum at the head and smearing it all over his cock. His panting was lost to the steam in the bathroom, teeth biting at the flesh of his forearm to keep from screaming your name aloud as he went deeper into his fantasy.

Fully sheathed in your wet heat, he granted you a moment to readjust to his girth until you gave the signal, a subtle nod of your head, and then he was moving, pulling out of you agonisingly slow only to push in hard. His paced gradually picked up until he was in a position where he had you with your legs thrown over his shoulders, your tits bouncing with every hard thrust he gave and your hands searching for purchase, settling on pulling on strands of your own hair as your face contorted into one of the most amazing expressions of ecstasy Chan could ever see. He could feel that delicious coil in his stomach getting tighter and tighter with each push he gave, dragging him further and further to the edges of oblivion as he fucked you, pecking your legs at his sides and holding them close. His veins felt like pure fire; lava flowing through him, fuelling him to bring you to the end with him and watch you writhe in euphoria.

His hips take on an erratic pace as he feels his orgasm fast approaching, and you cry out in pleasure, screams of his name leaving you like the breath in your chest, and you’re done when his calloused hand reaches down to rub harshly on your nub. Your orgasm washes over you like a white light from a beacon, crashes of ecstasy flooding through your body, back arching beautifully like a bowstring pulled taut, mouth dropping open to let out a lengthy moan of his name. He feels your walls clench around his cock and he hisses at the feeling, moving faster and faster as he watches you collapse in bliss, getting oh so close to his end, just one more thrust, one more airy whisper of his name-

Chan cums hard on himself, spilling his seed over his hand, stomach, and even the wall in front of him as his hand pumps furiously up and down his length, prolonging his orgasm as long as he could, biting his lip to silence the onslaught of moans that would inevitably spill out if he were to let even one free. Coming down from his high, distractingly trying to push away the mass thoughts of you still floating around in his hazy mind, he grimaces at the mess he made, his cum dripping down his fingers much like the ever so familiar shame dripping down onto his conscience in the wake of his orgasm. A knock on the door jolts him out of his zombie like state of washing his hands, nearly sending him to an early grave until he was reminded of how long he had spent in the bathroom.

“Chan, how much longer are you going to be? I need a shower too!” Jun yelled, and Chan replied with a quick ‘one minute’ before he heard the footsteps of his bandmate recede from the bathroom door. Sighing, he finished washing up and removing any evidence of relieving himself from the shower before turning off the water and stepping into a towel. Looking in the mirror, Chan shook his head sadly, pushing wet locks of his hair out of his eyes as he stared in his reflection. A growing boy indeed, he thought, not recognising himself from the kid he was two years ago. He was a man now, a man in love with a woman who saw him as no more than a co-worker, a talented performer, a kid. He would never get to indulge in his fantasies of kissing you, touching you, loving you. Nothing. No matter, he thinks sombrely as he exits the bathroom, at least he’s blessed with the ability of seeing your face every day. It’s enough for him. It has to be.

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mellicose · 7 years ago

Text

Strawberry Sweet

A Chris and Eva Flashback

Fandom: Chris from Learners, David Tennant

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3300

Warnings: none

Summary: Chris and Eva have been dating for over two months, but they haven’t really kissed yet. Chris finally finds his nerve while listening to a bit of Shakespeare.

She leaned into him, and slowly wrapped her arms around his waist. Her eyes were soft, sleepy, as she looked up at him.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“Oh I didn’t cook it - the benevolent ladies of the Foreign Missions League did,” he said.

She giggled. “That’s quite a name for a knitting circle,” she said, biting her lip.

His cheeks tingled with blood. His sister insisted on finally meeting Eva, but he did not expect the whole peanut gallery for dinner. Her and her church friends fired a thousand questions at her, some of them personal, but Eva dealt with it with her usual humor. She never lost her temper.

“They do other things besides eat and knit and gossip. Like plan charity events and such,” he said.

“Of course. Naturally,” she said. She tugged gently at his glasses. He pulled them off and put them in his chest pocket.

In all the time they spent together, they had not kissed yet. She tried, but he spouted what he hoped were believable reasons to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear the thought of doing it wrong - not with her. There had only been the one girl in the States, but that was a decade ago.

They were alone in his kitchen, which still smelled sweet from the pie his sister warmed in the oven for dessert. She was long gone, but not before giving him a warning look and a sniff at the fact that Eva wasn’t leaving with her and the other ladies.

Her thigh slid against his, and he exhaled shakily. She fisted his shirt at the small of his back, then extricated herself from his arms.

“I should go,” she said, and opened the small fridge underneath his counter. “And by the way - I’m taking the rest of the pie.” She dipped her finger in the half-eaten strawberry rhubarb pie and purred as she sucked it clean. “This was so good. Top marks for sis.”

He nodded and dipped his finger in as well. Just as he was about to lick it clean, she grabbed his hand and sucked it. He made a squeaking noise as she gently bit his fingertip and winked at him.

“My pie,” she said, and walked out of the kitchen.

“Wait!” He could still feel the velvety heat of her mouth on his fingertip.

“Mmhm?” she said, turning as she grabbed her bag.

“You don’t have to go yet. We can … uhm … watch telly for a bit. Or listen to the radio - they’re playing a brilliant version of Twelfth Night at 10.”

She gave him a half-smile, then looked at her wrist watch.

“I dunno. I feel like your sister’s parked ‘round the corner, waiting for my car to pass by,” she said. “And I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Why do you care?” he said without thinking.

“You know how I’m the oldest?” she said, putting the pie down on a table by the door.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I understand how it’s like. To be protective. To want the best for your siblings,” she said. She put her bag down as well.

“We’re all we’ve got left,” he said, and shrugged.

“What about your father?” she said, then wished she hadn’t. He stiffened.

“We don’t really talk much,” he said, but he turned and walked into the living room. It was small, but the furnishings were cozy. He sat on the flowered sofa and worried a doily. His mum loved doilies, and he didn’t have the heart to put them away yet.

She leaned against the threshold. “I’m sorry I brought him up.”

He waved his hand dismissively and patted the spot beside him. She smiled and sat down so hard he bounced beside her.

“Hey! Watch the furniture!” he said playfully, and put his arm around her.

“I’m excited. I love Viola. She’s one of my favorite Shakespeare heroines,” she said, lacing her fingers through his.

“Why?”

“Because for once, I’m not brought to tears by her plight. She’s brave, and resourceful, and brilliant, and not punished for it.”

He smiled down at her. She caressed him gently, grazing her knuckles on the five o’ clock shadow on his cheek.

“You have the most entrancing eyes,” she said breathily, tracing his eyebrow.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who says things like that?” he said, suppressing a smile.

She put her hand on his chest. “Am I to understand that I can’t compliment you?” She furrowed her brow. “Is this some kind of sexist thing?”

“Oh no! It’s just that … you do it all the time. Graceful hands. Beautiful hair. A brilliant smile. Entrancing eyes,” he said, and exhaled. His cheeks reddened again. No woman ever spoke to him like that - not about his physical attributes. It was surreal.

She sighed. “Well, maybe you’re right. I should compliment your sweet sense of humor. Or your kindness. Or the fact that you’re insanely clever, but are too shy to crack wise.”

His face got redder. “You’re not helping.”

She leaned into him and pressed her lips to his hot cheek. She gave him butterfly kisses up his jaw.

“But I am. It’s about damn time you know how amazing you are. That is, if you don’t know already. I don’t want to assume,” she said, and kissed his temple.

“I’m not amazing,” he said. “You are, though.”

“Of course I am,” she said, winking at him. “But it’s a matter of perspective.” She looked at her watch again. He touched her cheek. “It’s almost 10, and I don’t want to miss the beginning of the play.”

He jumped up to turn on the large, old-fashioned radio by the window. She kicked off her flats. He turned it down low and sat by her.

“Perspective?”

She linked her arm in his. “Yep. I am amazing because you think me amazing. That being said, I know you’re amazing. It’s all quite scientific,” she said.

“Is it?” he said.

“Do you remember that day in the supply closet?” she said, holding his hand.

“Yeah.” He squeezed.

“You didn’t have to do that. You couldn’t just given me a pat on the shoulder and gone to your class. Just about anyone else would’ve done that, and it would’ve been enough.”

He shook his head. “Not if they looked you in the eye. At least, anyone with a heart,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her.

“That first afternoon together was honestly one of the nicest times in my life,” she said into his shoulder.

“Really?�� He remembered it very well. He needed some dry erase markers. When he went into the closet she was crouched in the corner, weeping silently.

“You were so gentle with me. You - reliable as the atomic clock Chris - took off the rest of the day to drive around with me and talk, and buy me ice cream. You didn’t have to do it.”

“But I felt you needed me to do that. At least, needed someone to do it,” he said.

“And I’m so fortunate it was you,” she said, and kissed him again. Her lips lingered by his. “You have such a beautiful heart.”

“There you go again,” he said.

“Then make it even. Say something nice about me.”

“That’s easy. You’re a fantastic teacher. And you were so kind with my sister, and I know that takes patience. And you have a lovely singing voice. And your eyes shine like jewels and you smell like a flower and you’re so beautiful you make me nervous….“ He ran out of breath.

She smiled. “I smell like a flower?”

He looked down at his lap. “Yes. Like some beautiful tropical bloom. Like the orchid house in the botanical gardens in the city. Warm … and deep.”

“I smell deep?” she said, joking, but now her cheeks were warm.

“It’s a mix of things. Like a hothouse, in which you can smell both earth and flora. I like your scent, even when you’re not wearing any perfume.”

She put her hand on his cheek. Sweat dampened her fingertips. She wanted to kiss him so bad it made her dizzy.

“Chris?” He looked down at her.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“You were just kissing me,” he said.

“You said I smell good. Don’t you want to know how I taste like?” Her hand moved down to his neck, where she caressed.

“But the play’s about to start.”

“As much as I like a bit of Shakespeare, I like you much, much more,” she said. She moved closer, but made sure not to crowd him.

“Yes,” he said. Her dark eyes shimmered with that look that made him sweat. He wanted to taste her - he had wanted to for a long time. He turned, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Eva,” he said softly. “I’m not - I don’t - It’s been a really long time since I kissed someone. You’re a-“

She pressed a silencing finger on his lips.

“I’m here. For you, and only you,” she said. “This I can promise you.”

He squeezed her shoulder, then moved her hand. “I don’t really know how.”

She smiled. “No two people know how to kiss each other in the beginning. But the fun’s in the learning.” She wiggled her brow at him. “And I want to learn you,” she said. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, which was pink and full. She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, and sighed when she felt its softness. His breath was hot on her hand.

“Me too,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her heart beat faster. She leaned back against the sofa and finally, after two months, he kissed her. It was chaste, gentle, just his lips against hers, but still she whimpered. He pulled away, his eyes questioning.

He pulled her close, pressing his chest against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Do it again,” she said.

He gave her soft little kisses, pecks that got steadily more lingering until she kissed back, rubbing her lips against his panting mouth. His breath was so sweet, and she wanted him to part his lips just a little, just enough to softly suck his plump lower lip- He pulled back again, his breath short.

“That was nice.”

“Mmhm,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “Can you do it, just one more time?”

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he felt himself getting rigid with desire. Everywhere. Her mouth was still floral with rhubarb, and warm and soft in a way he had willed himself to forget from his previous kissing. It was delicious. He felt like a jack in a box, tense.

She noticed, and rubbed his arms. “It’s okay, sweetie. Let’s listen to the play.”

“If music be the food of love, play on…” a melodious male voice declared.

“That has to be one of the best openers in dramatic history,” she said.

“…give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and die. That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour,” he mouthed along with the actor.

“Impressive,” she said. They were still in each other’s arms.

“I’ll have you know that I played Sebastian in my school’s production, as well as being understudy for Orsino. I was hoping the kid who played him would get sick, but he never did.”

She pursed her lips. “You wishing someone sick? That’s not like you,” she said, tracing the shell of his ear.

“I felt guilty for it, and duly confessed my sin to mum - after the play was over. In any case, acting isn’t my thing. I tend to freeze up in front of a crowd.”

“Oh. Who played Viola?”

“A mate of mine, Cora. She was brilliant. She moved to Vietnam with her husband after we graduated - he’s in the military. I still get emails from her.”

“That’s nice,” she said, but she was distracted by his eyes. With the glow coming from the fake Tiffany lamp on the side table, they were gold on gold. She wanted another taste, but she got comfortable beside him and listened intently. He watched her. She was so lovely. Her blouse had red flowers on it, which echoed the blush on her cheeks. Her wavy hair flowed over her right shoulder, silky and heavy. He wanted to cover her with kisses, and bury his nose in her neck until the desperation that mounted in his chest subsided. She would understand, he knew. She had been so patient with him thus far, never pressuring him, but he saw the look in her eyes, sometimes, when they were alone.

Her gaze moved like electricity along his body, making his hairs stand on end. Is that how his gaze felt to her? Because sometimes, his hunger felt nearly impossible to control. He tried bravely to suppress it, but at night, when there was nothing else he could think about but her-

She bounced beside him. “Viola - or better said, Cesario!”

He smiled. “That actress is amazing. I loved her in that police drama that won all the awards,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder, but didn’t dare look at her any longer.

He felt a steadily growing heat on his face. When he looked up, she was staring at him.

“What is it?” she said. “Why’d you look away?”

“Mum said I should respect women, always. So does my sister.”

“And they’re right,” she said, poking at the dimple on his cheek.

“My intentions should be pure,” he said, and his mum’s voice echoed in his head as he said it.

“Of course, mostly. But not entirely.” She giggled.

“Not entirely?” He sounded weak.

“You can’t be 100% pure all the time. You’re not made of stone,” she said.

He wheezed a chuckle. “You don’t make it easy.”

“What?” she said.

“The pure intentions,” he said, blushing.

“Are you suggesting that you don’t want a completely pure and chaste relationship with me? Take me on long walks and hold hands and give each other side hugs-”

“Stop it,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“It’s not that. I know you’re kidding. But is it hard?”

“Huh?” she said.

“To be funny about it. You can have anyone you want and you’ve dated interesting men who are nothing like me…”

She put her head on his shoulder. “That’s why I care for you so much. You’re nothing like any of those men,” she said, and sighed. He put his hand on her cheek.

“Are you sure?” he said.

She sat up and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “How am I different?”

“You’re kind, and respectful, and unselfish, and you don’t pressure me-“

“But it’s not because I don’t want you,” he said. He ran his fingers through his hair. His jaw was tight. “I want you to know that. I know I seem like I might not, but I really,” he swallowed hard, “really want you.”

She was silent. He looked genuinely miserable. And she knew exactly how he felt. She wanted him since that first afternoon together. She felt ashamed to admit it, but had he been a different man, she might’ve invited him to her apartment that night, and not regretted a moment. But he was different.

And she thanked God for it.

Oh God. She hadn’t believed in his existence a year back. In fact, she secretly thought people who did were fools … but look at her now, sitting in this miraculous man’s living room, underneath a decorative wrought iron cross, sexually frustrated and joyous.

Joyous, because he wanted her. He wanted her. And although they couldn’t have each other that very moment, the promise was enough to fill her with hope. She chuckled.

“What?” he said.

“You like me,” she whispered.

“Yes. I do. I’m sorry I was so crass about it.”

“Crass? No. Desire isn’t crass. It’s the engine that fires civilization,” she said.

He pulled her closer. “You’re slightly dangerous,” he said, and kissed her temple.

“Me? No. I’ve retracted my fangs. I’m fangless, for you.”

“You don’t have to change for me,” he said, shaking his head. “And I like your fangs. They’re pretty,” he said, plucking her lip and flicking a canine. She bit his finger again. He leaned in as he pulled his finger out of her mouth, and kissed her. It was gentle, but warmer than before - this time, it was him to suck, then bite her lower lip. Her lips parted, and he flicked the tip of her tongue on her cupid’s bow, but he didn’t go further. The friction, so soft and slow, made her whimper. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t stop, but he squeezed the back of her neck and kept going, stopping only to kiss each cheek.

They kissed, with sighs and steadily intensifying caresses, until the end of the second act. When he pulled away, his eyes had that sleepy quality that let her know she had to go. He pressed his forehead against hers. She couldn’t help staring at his mouth. He was so hot and sweet, she could kiss him until daylight. Maybe, one day, she would.

“Gotta go,” she said, getting up and stretching. She ached everywhere that mattered. It made her smile.

“Don’t you want to stay till the end?” he said, holding her hand.

“With every cell in my body. And yet, I’m going,” she said, and put her shoes on. He stood up and put his hands on her hips. She rubbed her lips against his neck, which was fragrant with faded aftershave and his pheromones. Her hands turned to fists on his chest and he took her face in his hands and kissed her again, passionately. He pushed her gently against the wall and his tongue found its way into her mouth. When she arched and felt him hard against her hip, she moaned.

He stopped and took a step back. “Yeah, you should go.”

She nodded, but she was exultant. “I’m already on my way.”

She grabbed her bag, and the pie.

“I was hoping you’d forget that,” he said, his hands in his pocket to hide his condition.

“Never,” she said. “But we can share the rest at my place, tomorrow afternoon after work,” she said.

“It’s a date,” he said, and kissed her forehead. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him close.

“You know what you said earlier, about not having that much experience? You have nothing to worry about,” she said, and gave him a quick kiss. “Nothing at all.”

He blushed as he closed the door behind her.

Curious to know what happens on their wedding night? (Of course, they got married!)

Song of Solomon

#Chris from Learners #Learners #David Tennant #fanfiction #write all the fics about him #He's just the sweetest ever #Eva's so lucky #and gladly she knows it #Chris x Eva

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jugaddict · 8 years ago

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Ladder Talks

Fic: Ladder Talks

Fandom: Riverdale

Pairing: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones (Bughead)

Posting this before tonight's episode makes this impossible to be canon... If you liked this fic, my asks are always open for prompts! You can find me on ao3 as MoonlightShines.

Fred Andrews leaves a scatter of tools on his grass on the right side of his house. Among his miscellaneous equipment, there is a grey ladder propped up against the red brick that reaches right under Archie's bedroom window. When Jughead was little, he used to climb the ladder to sneak into his house at night. Not because he wouldn’t have been welcomed if he rang the doorbell, because he would have been. There was just no fun in that.

This night, Jughead took the ladder and walked across the lawn. Carefully, he set the ladder against the Coopers’ house, underneath Betty Cooper’s bedroom, the pink and white room right across Archie’s blue one. With steady steps, Jughead made his way up to Betty’s windowsill. He was about to knock on the glass when a flash of blonde hair entered view through the curtains. Betty opened the window and leaned over the ledge on her elbows. She quirked an eyebrow.

“Is this going to become a habit?” She asked, referring to the last time Jughead snuck in. When he comforted her and kissed her and smiled so softly at her she felt the edges of her world blur. Until she remembered about the car, that is.

Jughead smirked. “That depends, I don’t know if I feel like facing the wrath of the Capulets by knocking on the door every time I want to see my favourite sleuth.”

“Are you calling yourself Romeo?” Betty laughed, giving Jughead a hand as pushes himself up and into her room.

“I’d rather be Shakespeare.”

He stood up so that he was right in front of her and they both gazed shyly at each other, inches apart. Betty bit her lip and reached for Jughead’s flannel shirt. He watched her as she fiddled with it, eventually doing up the buttons. “The opened window made a draft,” she mumbled, as a way of explanation when he gave her an intrigued look. “It’s cold in here.” When she finished the top button, she crooked her finger to tilt up his chin. They both smiled into kiss, chaste and sweet.

“Not anymore,” replied Jughead, sighing and leaning in again.

It’s a lightheaded feeling, bliss. So lightheaded, Jughead momentarily forgot how to use one.

“Tell me you don't love Archie,” he breathed against her skin, but she goes rigid, and he let her go numbly.

“What?” She said, her tone instantly cold and hard.

He didn't clarify or take it back. He didn't say anything.

“Why would you ask me that?” Betty said, her blue eyes bore up into his.

“Tell me you don't love him, Betts.” He pleaded, internally cringing at the emotion in his voice. When did he get like this? To feel passion, to feel the swell of emotion rise from within him, for his passive, iciness in his veins morph into growing heat under his skin? To want .

“I can't.”

“Why?” Jughead snaps, and he's angry, mostly at himself, for being stupid enough to think it could be any other way. This wasn't how it worked. He knew that. Archie was the dreamer, Betty dreamed of Archie and Jughead doesn't dream at all. But then, she’d look at him. And she’d smile, she’d beam up at him and grab onto his arm with excitement at any new lead she thought up with and he’d think maybe, just maybe he could dream too.

“Because it would be a lie, Juggie.” Betty whispers, troubled by the subject, or maybe the volume of his voice.

Jughead took a further step back, burned. The temperature in the room dropped drastically, still he feels scorched all over. He imagines Betty Cooper pouring scalding hot water over his head and leaving him dripping to shiver in the puddles left behind.

But his Betty would never do that. Not intentionally. She’d reach over to hand him a cup of something hot and accidentally spill it. She would apologize profusely as he shook his head and swallowed down the pain, forever left with slightly charred skin. “It’s fine,” he would say, clenching his teeth. He’d smile too. God, he's an idiot.

He blinks.

“Does it matter?” She said.

Does it? In Romeo and Juliet, nobody remembers Rosaline. What if Jughead is Romeo, pining for Rosaline, chasing Rosaline, loving Rosaline, only to be rejected by her. Romeo and Rosaline, lost in the void of the world’s most iconic romance, what chance does Jughead stand in the face of that kind of fate and challenge it?

Or maybe Betty is Romeo yet to meet Juliet, willing to discard Rosaline for the chance to pursue her fantasy? Pining for Archie, chasing Archie, loving Archie, only to reject Jughead. Betty and Jughead, lost in the void of Riverdale’s most inevitable romance, what chance does he stand. How long will it last?

“Betty you know I don't do this.” For the first time, Jughead is tripping over his words.

“And What is this, Jughead?” She challenged, but not unkindly, “What is it?”

Jughead hesitated.

Betty sighs. “Because I don’t know what it is. You climbed up my window and kissed me, and now we're doing things but we’ve never talked about it.”

“Because I don't know what the hell I’m doing Betty Cooper! Kissing? Holding hands? I’ve never done this before!”

“I was your first kiss?” Betty gasped.

“Irrelevant.”

“I’m here because I like you. I like being with you.” Betty said, and he shrunk into himself.

“It’s not that simple, Betts.”

“Why not?”

He could plainly never tell her. He was never meant to starr in a romantic drama anyways. But she's so honest, so sincere, even when she's crushing him.

“Betty I have never felt for anything what I feel for you. I didn't even know I was capable of it.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a emotionless robot, Jug, that's not who you are. Is that how you think?”

Jughead shrugged, scuffing his worn combat boots.

Betty noticed his discomfort and her voice softened. “You never seemed bothered by this before. Everyone always assumed it was a part of your identity… What made you-”

“Aberrant?”

“-Jughead,” she finished. She gave him a funny look. Some would identify it as pity, but Jughead knew that expression well. It wasn't that.

“I never was,” he admitted, “not until you.”

It was true. All of his life he was disinterested in girls, in boys, in sex. It was like that part of himself-if there even was a part of himself that wanted lust, companionship or desire- was muted or barely existed. He knew others thought it was weird. An extra something that alienated him from the rest even more than he already was. Archie was well used to his blank stares when he asked his opinion on this girl or that one. It wasn't something he thought about. It wasn't something that mattered to him. It wasn't who he was.

But now things are different. Now there's Betty. It wouldn't be a case of melodrama, to know it's only Betty. There won't be anyone else. Jughead would be unaffected, if there was never anyone else for the rest of his life.

But it's Betty. And to lose her would be emptying, even if he never really had her to begin with.

Jughead took a deep breath and forced himself to not give in to his desperate urge to break their eye contact, or worse, run far away from Riverdale and never come back. Because after this…

“I-I love you Betty.”

Her eyes widened- they widened a lot actually. “Oh Juggie,” she sighed, and he sighed too, struggling to breathe with the hurt in his chest. Can you die from heartbreak? Jughead always thought that was overdramatic and would roll his eyes at romance novels and movies where the protagonist died from a broken heart, but now he was not too sure. He thought he might need a doctor. And if he thought he could never resent Archie any more than he does at this moment, he was wrong. For if Archie Andrews put Betty Cooper in a fraction of the pain Jughead was in right now, he may end up buried under Riverdale in the same earth as Jason Blossom.

“Yeah, I know.” Jughead forced a laugh, but it was dry and loud and laced with bitterness he didn't want Betty to hear.

Betty sat down on her bed and patted the space beside her. “Talk to me Juggie, you’re being distant or not really distant, but you're not present fully or something, I don't know. I’m confused. We used to always talk about everything.”

“When we were ten,” Jughead pointed out.

“You were simpler when we were ten.” Betty said.

“Life is simpler when you're ten,” he countered, but sat next to her anyways, the mattress of the bed dipping underneath him. Their thighs brushed slightly, her body warm and soft and it startled him, how much he liked it, so he moved an inch away.

“My feelings for Archie aren't going to magically go away.”

“Right,” Jughead says flatly.

“But that doesn't mean that I don't have any for you either. You've always been this constant in my life. Of course you mean the world to me. Especially now. Everything I’ve been going through,” she touched his shoulder, making him glance up at her, “ we’ve been going through. We did it together. I couldn't do any of this without you.”

“You’re making me sound important,” Jughead tried to joke. Betty shook her head at his self-deprecating tone.

“You are.” She insisted, with her signature smile.

Jughead didn't believe that. Not after his childhood, not after his life of being cast aside and left in the shadows behind Archie and Betty, but suddenly, it was true when she said it. He knew deep down that it has to be true. And yet-

“If Archie asked you out tomorrow…” He couldn't stop himself from asking.

“Juggie, Archie made it very clear that’s not going to happen. If it did…” her words tapered off, eyes looking out the window. The window she would look into every night for a glimpse of Archie. The blinds were down. She turned back to Jughead, conflicted.

“I don't know, I don't think I can make my feelings for him go away after them being there for so long. But I don’t think I want Archie anymore. I don't think he will make me happy.” she said simply. As if this mess of a love triangle- god, Jughead is in a love triangle, what the hell- was simple.

“Besides,” she said with a growing smile, “I have a boyfriend.”

Jughead’s pulse quickened. How bold Betty Cooper could be. How clever. Taking his words and throwing them back at him. Doesn't she know what she could do to him? How easily Jughead Jones’ iconic facade of apathy could crumble because of her?

Nevermind heart on his sleeve, Jughead felt like she was holding his literal heart in her hands. He looked down at them, face flushing and grabbed them with his own and squeezed.

“I thought I loved him, Jug. But he doesn't make me feel the way you do right now. Maybe I don't know what love is.” Betty frowned at that.

Jughead could see her concentration reflecting from the furrows of her brows as she thought. Jughead let go of one of her hands to tentatively reach up to her face. He stroked her left cheek lightly, hesitant, making sure it was okay. She blushed a soft pink, the kind of colour artists would use for a sunset piece. Her eyelashes fanned out as she looked up with her blue eyes, and Jughead was hit once again over how strikingly beautiful she is.

“Okay,” he accepted, and meant it. “Okay.”

She turns to wrap her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. Jughead's heart went from heavy to light so fast he thought he might faint.

“But I want to love you,” she said, after a moment.

His heart did that flip thing again, and the corners of his mouth twitched up into a small smile, briefly he thought maybe he really should see a doctor.

“I’m not asking you to, Betts.”

She shook her head, her golden ponytail swishing behind her as her eyes flickered to her vanity mirror. On the top left side there was an old photograph taken by Mary Andrews of the two of them laughing at Archie, a red blur half out of the shot. Her eyes then drifted to their reflection, a stark contrast of light and dark outfits sitting close on her bed. She turned back to Jughead, pensive.

“Juggie,” Betty proclaimed, confidently and so sure of herself the corners of her eyes were crinkling. She took his face in her hands, “I will love you.”

Good , Jughead couldn't help but think selfishly.

He drew her in even closer, pressing her against him, his insides exploding with warmth and she melts into his side.

“I know I will,” she murmured, leaning into his chest. He holds her in his arms, and thinks this is the longest he’s ever held anybody. He wouldn't mind doing it forever.

Eventually, Jughead had to leave. They both knew nobody would enjoy Mrs. Cooper finding the two asleep on the bed curled together, Betty with Jughead's flannel over her shoulders. So he opened the window at three AM, and climbed back down the ladder, after kissing Betty, bleary eyed with sleep goodnight. He hopped off the final step and lifted the ladder so that he could carry it across the lawn. It was dark and quiet, nothing but the sounds of dried leaves crunching under his feet. Jughead propped the ladder up against the Andrew's house where it belonged and began to climb up again. He has been crashing with Archie for a while now. When he got into Archie's room, he changed into something warmer and got into the air mattress he's been calling his bed. Archie, a very deep sleeper made no twitch.

He looked at the redheaded boy for a second and wondered why he was so jealous of him all this time. He was the one who blew his chance. That's when it dawned on him. Archie was Rosaline in this story. In their story. No Archie, no Riverdale mysteries, no crazy parents. Just them. Betty and Jughead.

He closed his eyes and slept.

#bughead #Jugaddict fic #Riverdale #Riverdale fic #jughead x betty #Bughead fic #bughead fanfic

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lonerangerinspace · 8 years ago

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Bellarke Fic Rec 1/?

The 100 Bellarke fandom has some fabulous writers and I’ve been saving some of my favorite fics. And now I’m sharing them. I tried to group them into basic genres and I’m planning to do more posts! (Fics under the cut)

Genres: Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Celebrity AU, Cannon Divergence/AU, Grounder AU, Historical/Fantasy AU

Modern AU

so put your hands down my pants and I bet you'll feel nuts

Summary: Clarke meets a guy at a party and drunkenly shares a lot of information with him that she is going to regret.

Don't Trust People Who Read Fight Club

Summary: Bellamy Blake is a librarian. And with that great power comes great responsibility. But it’s what he does, and he lives for those who are actually interested when they lean on his desk and ask for recommendations. That sort of people make him forget all about assholes like the blonde who drops by his desk one day, looking to check out Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Palahniuk’s Fight Club.

Aurora Borealis

Summary: Clarke sets up shop next door to Aurora's Tattoos; Bellamy takes issue with her flower shop's name. The rest goes from there.

Time Enough for Rocking When We're Old

Summary: boston > boston/camb/brook > housing > apts by owner$2-300 Roxbury small room in 3-br 1-bath house, spouse preferred (Roxbury) Pair of siblings looking for housemate. Due to extenuating circumstances I will share with interested parties, I would prefer a roommate who is willing to get married for legitimate personal reasons that do not include sex or anything sketchy. If not interested in marriage, room still available for $300/month plus utilities. Pets okay, no smokers, NO DRUG USE.Please don't just email me to tell me this is fucked up, I know it is, you really don't have to tell me.If you are interested in the marriage part, a female spouse is preferred, but male would be okay too. I promise I will explain this if you really want details, but I'm not putting it online.Serious inquiries only.

The Giant Squid's Got Nothing On You

Summary: “That is what stalking is though, technically,” says Raven, stirring cinnamon into her coffee. She’s joined her today on her sketching run, and the cafe is packed to the brim. “And it’s not normal either. Soon enough someone is going to show him those drawings and then there’ll be a lawsuit on your hands. And I’m not going to bail you out.”Objectively, Clarke knows she’s probably right, but she still can’t help but lift her chin determinedly and say, “He is not going to find it.”She can barely hear her scoff in reply over the din of the cafe. “Yeah right,” says Raven, “The internet is forever, Clarke Griffin. He will find it eventually.”or, Clarke finds her new muse at the local cafe

Soulmate AU

Livewire

Summary: Clarke Griffin finds 'Atlas' written on her wrist and Bellamy Blake sees flowers bloom on his skin. *Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soulmate's skin as well.

I Knew You'd be Trouble

Summary: A soul-bond AU where the first words that your soul mate will say to you are marked on your skin in their own handwriting.Wherein Bellamy is a giant sap and has spent his entire life planning the first words he'll say to his soul mate and practicing his penmanship so her marks will be perfect and Clarke sort of forgot that it was a thing entirely and never quite learned to hold her tongue.

and love, you taste like magic

Summary: For a moment she was sure she was seeing lightning marks, her lightning marks, but then the sunlight hit his arm just at the right angle and the black ink glinted under her fingers.But tattoos weren’t real soulmarks, no matter how much she wished them to be.

Where the Memories Flicker

Summary: It's very tempting, to get in touch with your childhood friend once he makes it big in Hollywood. But it's also very awkward, so Clarke's going to skip it. Really, she is.

Feel the Beating of Your Heartache Drum

Summary: Bellamy is seven when he feels his soulmate for the first time. He is also seven when he meets Clarke Griffin. And for the next eleven years, nothing makes sense about the person he is supposed to love, his soulmate. But loving Clarke Griffin feels pretty right.

Celebrity AU

Time Is Running out (but We Are Running Free)

Summary: It starts because of a show about space pirates and mojitos. And everyone loves an off-screen romance between co-stars. Or: Bellarke co-stars fake dating AU. “So, what? We just do this? Fake dating?” Bellamy asks, leaning forward on his forearms, bewildered.“I don’t see a problem, then. Just do what you’re usually doing. Tweet at each other, but don’t confirm anything.” With that, Anya focuses all of her attention on Bellamy and Clarke. There’s steely determination in her eyes as she announces, “We’re going to slow burn the hell out of this.”

Caught in a Riptide

Summary: Bellamy invites his best friend, Clarke, to the gala of his movie, and she just refuses to step on that red carpet. Because.

What We Do to Each Other

Summary: A Bellarke AU in which Bellamy and Clarke are childhood best friends, separated by life and trying to relearn each other again. *"You would, yeah."He frowns at her wistfulness, looking like he's caught between spreading his arms for her and rejecting every memory they made together. "I would what?""Fill your apartment with books, have a fire escape so you can run away a little and - and I bet you still keep sunflower seeds around, don't you?"Bellamy flashes her a rueful smile and she's back into the day they shared her bed, his body curled into hers as they watched their lives being pulled apart at the seams.This is the real distance, and it is not measured in miles. It is measured in time you spent away, time that is lost, time that can never be brought back.

Or, You Could Always Google It

Summary: “You know,” Bellamy muses, grin wide and a little conspiratorial, “you’re robbing our legions of fans here. They’re expecting a showdown and you’re being perfectly cordial towards me.”“Right,” she nods, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. “Well, it’s not too late. I could always pitch that glass of water down your shirt.”Someone really should have warned Clarke that the first step to becoming internet famous would involve acquiring a nemesis. (Or, Bellarke as rival YouTubers, basically.)

take the world

Summary: “Bellamy!” Monty greets, “Thanks for coming. I know you’re swamped with homework. This is Clarke. She’s new!” “Great,” Bellamy mutters, meeting the wide eyes of Clarke Griffin, who schools her features into boredom the second she takes him in. “Princess,” he says, nodding at her. “I will castrate you. ”Monty looks warily in between the two of them. “So… I guess you guys have met?” “Oh, we’re old friends,” Clarke says cheerfully, a smile plastered on her face. “This is going to be so much fun.” OR; a The Prince and Me AU. Bellamy and Clarke meet in college. Bellamy is just trying to make it through his last semester, and Clarke is trying to keep a secret.

Canon Divergence/AU

Let Me Show You How It's Done

Summary: Bellamy's a virgin, which wouldn't be such a problem if virgins didn't make such great sacrifices.

take what you can (give nothing back)

Summary: For Clarke Griffin from the Arcadia Colonies, being abducted by space pirates was not what she had in mind. Being ransomed back to her potential husband, was definitely not what she had in mind.

Love Will Come Through

Summary: "The vows were short, perfunctory; Clarke was asked to say I do, and she did. There were rings, too: Bellamy’s fingers were warm against her hand when he slipped a ring on her finger, and she put a ring on his. They were instructed to kiss. His lips were dry, pressing against her mouth for a moment, and that was it. They were done. She was a wife, and her husband was a stranger."AU. Clarke winds up in an arranged marriage with Bellamy.

bound by the secrets we share

Summary: Ninety-seven years ago, a nuclear apocalypse rendered planet Earth unlivable, leaving only the four-hundred people on the twelve space stations as its survivors. Over three generations, these twelve nations joined together to form the unified Ark Station.To preserve the human race, the leaders of the Ark implemented strict measures including: capital punishment for anyone over the age of eighteen, a ration system based on job placement, and the arrangement of marriages based on genetic compatibility. If the human race was to return to Earth, it had to be strong to survive.Clarke Griffin turned eighteen and celebrated her birthday with a marriage ceremony.

Son of Lycaon

Summary: From the ground Clarke can see that Amy was right; it’s not quite a wolf, but she doesn’t know what else to call it. The teeth are wrong, its spine elongated too much- it’s the stuff of nightmares, if Clarke had any room in her dreams for more horrors.

Grounder AU

And I Love This Place, the Enormous Sky

Summary: The Skaikru needs an ally, and the Delphi Clan is willing. It might not be their tradition to seal such alliances with a marriage, but Clarke Griffin has always done what her people need. Bellamy can't help admiring that. So he goes with her.

The Name of a Foreigner's God

Summary: Bellamy and the delinquents leave the dropship and run straight into the Ice Nation's arms. The Ice Queen only requires one thing to secure their allegiance: a marriage.Or, Grounder!Clarke and Bellamy in an arranged marriage. (Also featuring domme!Clarke and sub!Bellamy, just for funsies.)

Anywhere I Go (There You Are)

Summary: BFF fill for "I was wondering if you could do an 'In your eyes' (2014 film) bellarke fic, maybe when one of them lives on the ark and the other is a grounder? I love that film and can't find any fics for it" For valar-adorehaeris

In My Dreams We Are Always Together

Summary: 100 delinquents got sent to Earth and battled for survival against the odds. They landed in Trikru territory but that is not where they stayed. After weeks of battle and war, the Sky People finally lost. They were sent to a land far away, where a group of Grounders unlike any they've met waited for them.

Facing Tempests of Dust

Summary: Clarke Griffin has grown up in the perfectly controlled environment of the Ark dome, a city created to withstand the destruction of the world outside. Now, she's been sent out with 100 other delinquents to try to survive on their own, but she knows the truth. They weren't sent away for their crimes, but rather to buy time for others in Ark, as the city is failing. While Clarke struggles to lead her band of teenagers, she encounters a man with strange abilities and an offer she finds hard to refuse.

Historical/Fantasy AU

It’s Just That It’s Delicate

Summary: The main reason Bellamy gets Lady Clarke's hand is marriage is that her father was a traitor and he's the bastard heir of an unpopular baron. But it might work out for him, after all.

Your Heart and Your Mind (They Are Mine, and They're Lovely)

Summary: Bellamy Blake makes a deal with a witch.

Without Giving Anything Away

Summary: When Octavia gets married and leaves home, she's worried Bellamy won't be able to handle the ranch on his own. So she talks him into putting an ad in the paper to see if he can find a wife.

I Choose You

Summary: (Vague) Period AU: Just days away from her eighteenth birthday, Clarke is running out of time to find a husband. Conveniently, that's when Bellamy Blake shows up at her doorstep.

No Desire To Be King

Summary: Clarke is in love with him from their first adventure. But she's a Crown Princess then, and he's got no desire to be king.It's been ten years of him always showing up when she needs him the most - battles, armies, mythical beasts... even when she lost her parents. But they've just faced another battle side by side, and she's a Queen and he's got no desire to be King. And she's sick of saying goodbye.But this time, he doesn't seem to be leaving.

#bellarke fic #bellarke au fic #bellarke fic rec #my recs #bellarke au #the100 #the100 fic #the 100 fic #bellamy x clarke #blarke #blarke fic #my fic rec

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wonderfulchaos69-blog · 8 years ago

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339 A time to grieve ψ( ` ∇ ´ )ψ I feel evil when I wake up from my nap xD Licht has passed away (he died while saving an animal) and Lawless wasn't able to do anything since it was during the day, Hyde saw the whole thing happen.

Title: Left Alone AgainFandom: ServampCharacters: Licht, LawlessSummary: As many times as Lawless has stood before the face of death, has seen corpses pile up beneath his feet where he stood, he has never taken well to someone dying before their time.Warnings: Major Character DeathNotes: You’re a cruel, cruel princess. But hey, this prompt was an interesting one. Thanks for the idea! And er, Lawless is probably my favorite to write tbh? Purple prose does not feel out of place with him, at any rate xD

“Cowards die many times before their deaths;The valiant never taste of death but once.”- William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Valiant as it may have been, Lawless could not look upon the sight that met his eyes much longer than to realize that he had lost yet another precious person. Another folly, another farce. A life snatched away before it knew more of life than life itself knew how to give.

At the time, he had been following Licht out of curiosity, in his hedgehog form to go unnoticed. He hadn’t been spotted and he had taken that to mean he was sucessful in the endeavor. Maybe, at last, he could find out where his contracted human kept sneaking off to every morning. Then he rounded the corner of the alley Licht had disappeared into and he squeaked, hiding behind a trash can.

It wasn’t the sight of Licht kneeling before a box of kittens that made him uneasy, that much he expected, but there were other humans present and he didn’t want to be seen by them. He hadn’t pegged Licht as the type to have friends of their sort, but the companionable way talked might they at least knew each other. And admittedly, Lawless did not know as much as he pretended when it came to his Eve. He had the bare bones of facts to work with, and at the time, it had seemed like enough.

How easily a belief could shatter, as fragile as glass when something collided into it. A bullet to an unexpecting human, for instance; an explosion of pain setting his mind on fire as he felt what Licht felt while the blood dripped, wasted, to the ground. He could have done many things in that instant. He could have lashed out and destroyed, as was his right to foolish people who crossed the line. He could have run to Licht and held him one last time. A fickle world that did not deserve the talent that graced its hollowed halls.

Instead, he let the culprits escape. He approached Licht, still a hedgehog afraid of the sun with tear dripping from his eyes, and let Licht place a bloodstained hand upon his head, telling him, “Not your fault, you shitty rat.” As if he could tell what a vampire thought. As if he cared for a demon, truly an angel until the end.

Without realizing, he changed back, clutching at the hand that had reached out to him. He raised that hand to his forehead once more, whispering like a prayer, “O proud death, what feast is toward in thine eternal cell?” Tears continued to fall like petals to wash away the grime and blood, trailing paths in their wake. “That thou so many princes at a shot - so bloodily hast, struck?”

To take away his last lifeline, snapping it so readily in half, he had to wonder what fate was meant for him. Did he even have one left, that had yet to be ripped from his hands? Oh gracious was the deity that could spare him one pinch of pity.

“Stupid,” was Licht’s last reply as his eyes dulled and his hand went cold. A lifeless body beneath him, for once not of his own doing. Lawless wept with the sun still out until his tears ran dry, soaked up into the clouds that begun to build. A pouring rain driving into his skin suddenly and ushering him to pick up the body that would be forgotten should he leave it there.

A forgotten soul would not be what awaited his once Eve, though. Lawless would ensure that much, even if he had to carve the name into every wall that had dared to take this person from him. Every single person, every single thing in this godforsaken world would repent. Something he should have done when he had lost his first most precious person, but a mistake he would correct with all due haste. For there had been no wish to let peace prosper spoken to him this time. There was nothing to hold him back.

#servamp #greed pair #licht jekylland todoroki #hyde/lawless #chaos writes fic #500themes #theme - a time to grieve #choc0bunnyqueen

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