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barbarianprncess · 4 years ago

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of these rushing waves

(you’ll be the oxygen i breathe)

A week after the Titan War, Annabeth is drafting a temple to Hestia when the weight of being the only person in the world that knows Percy's weak spot hits her.

Like. Really hits her.

(or 2k words of annabeth discovering what she means to percy)

(the biggest of shout outs to @timelesslords for helping me make this coherent, and to @colorguardfreak97 for encouraging me every step of the way. enjoy <3)

read on ao3

A week after the Titan War, Annabeth is drafting a temple to Hestia when the weight of being the only person in the world that knows Percy's weak spot hits her.

Like. Really hits her.

And after about a day and a half freaking out about what it means and what she should do about it, she decides to go talk to him.

(Because not talking to him about what was bothering her led to the worst year of her life. Progress.)

They’re sitting on the beach, sharing Percy’s too small blanket- they both know he has bigger ones, but it’s an excuse to be almost on top of each other. She’s curled up resting on his chest, and he has one hand secured on her waist tracing patterns on her thigh, the other tangled in her curls. They watch the sunset and Annabeth is almost perfectly content.

Almost.

“How did you know?” The words tumble out of her without context.

He shifts to face her and raises an eyebrow. Annabeth finds it unfairly attractive.

“Know what?”

“When you told me your weak spot. How’d you know I could handle it?” The unspoken ‘because I don’t think I can handle it ’ must be apparent enough because Percy’s expression softens.

“Have you been worrying about this?”

Annabeth’s first impulse is to brush it off and change the subject. But then she hears Silena’s voice in her head: tell him how you feel. So she ducks her chin and forces the words out.

“Well yeah, I mean it kinda freaks me out that I just have this power over you. I don’t trust myself.”

Percy tilts her chin with featherlight fingers and an unadulterated fondness her seven year old self would kill to be on the receiving end of.

“I trust you enough for the both of us,” he said.

“How are you so sure about this?” ‘How are you so sure about me?’

He gives her a ‘duh’ look that she’s so used to giving him, it's a bit shocking to be on the opposite end of it. She decides immediately she doesn’t like it.

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t, hence me asking you why.”

She's watched Percy's face morph to pure amusement. He chuckles, and hesitates. “Well, because...”

He trails off clearly thinking about how to word his answer. As he thinks it over she allows herself to look at him properly.

He’s beautiful. Sharp jawline, defined cheekbones, devastatingly symmetrical features. His eyes are deep and content, looking out at the sea as if it has the answer he’s looking for. He can’t seem to find what he wants amongst the waves, but his eyes meet hers and the words seem to come to him.

“It’s you, Annabeth.”

He says it like it answers not only her question but thousands of others. It does neither.

“What’s me, Annabeth?” She attempts at light-hearted sarcasm despite her impatience.

He looks at her with a glint of mischief in his eyes and she knows that look. She hates that look. That look means she’s not getting an answer anytime soon.

“Oh my gods, you really don't know?”

She glares daggers.

He smiles winningly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” She bites at his shoulder in retaliation.

“You’re the smartest person I know-” Percy starts.

“True, but flattery will get you nowhere-” Annabeth cut him off.

“So figure-’ He presses a kiss to her temple.

“It-’ A kiss to her left cheek.

“Out.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he kisses her before she can get out the words. And His knuckles are gentle under her chin, and he smells like ocean breeze, and his lips are chapped yet achingly soft, and he tastes like home. Annabeth resigns herself to find out what he means later, and allows herself to get lost in him and saltwater and home.

...

She digs up every legend about the curse of Achilles she can find. She scours Daedales’s laptop until it runs out of battery. She didn’t even know that was possible.

She researches.

And researches.

And nothing.

She has no idea what he means. Annabeth famously hates not knowing.

And. Percy. Won’t. Budge.

She has tried every trick in the book. She tried baking blue cookies (she burned them), refusing to kiss him till he tells (she caves), and asking Grover to get it out of him (something about the bro-code).

Everytime she asks him he just looks at her with his dopey, baby-seal love eyes and says those same two words.

“It’s you.”

She hates him.

...

It’s three more days before she figures it out.

Nico is looking at her skeptically. His all black get-up makes it so he almost blends in with shadows of the Big House’s basement.

“You need my help?” He deadpans, leaning against the wall looking almost bored.

“Sort-of,” Annabeth shifts on her feet, “So, I know you were the one who took Percy to the River Styx, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well he’s explained to me bits and pieces about how the curse works, and told me where his… you know… spot is.”

“Ok.”

“So my question is-” Annabeth stopped short. “Wait doesn’t that surprise you at all?”

He shrugs noncommittally, “Not really, no. You were saying?”

Annabeth clears her throat and soldiers on.

“Uh yeah. Right, well it sorta freaked me out how readily he told me about it and I asked how he knew I could handle it and he just said ‘it’s me’. And he refuses to elaborate, and it’s kind of killing me so, do you know what that means? And if you do, could you please explain?”

She’s been staring at her shoes while she rambles on and when she looks up she sees…

Is that humor in his eyes?

“So, I'm guessing you've done your research on the curse?” She nods. “So you know that when Achilles mother dipped him in the Styx, she held him up by his ankle, which then became his mortal point.”

“Like a sort of anchor.”

“Exactly. Now what the legends don’t mention is that the mortal point wasn’t just the ankle. When his mother pulled him out she became part of his mortal point. Still with me?”

“Not really.”

“Perfect. Going in on your own is no different. You still need someone to help you out of the river, just not physically. You need to picture someone pulling you out, someone to motivate you, someone to bring you back to earth.”

He looks up at her, silently asking permission to continue. Annabeth nods with urgence.

“It's not just someone who can keep you mortal, but the one person that makes you want to stay mortal. That person and your weak spot become intertwined.” He looks up at her and must still see traces of confusion.

“Your mortal point isn’t just the point of your body that’s unaffected by the River Styx, It’s the person in your life that you saw that gave you the strength to survive the Styx at all.”

Oh.

“So when he says ‘it’s...He literally means…” She trails off and looks up at Nico. His smirk is patronizing, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“It’s you.”

…

She vaguely recalls thanking Nico for his help, but how she ended up in her bunk staring at the wall is a mystery. Annabeth has never truly understood the word dumbfounded until now.

...

It’s her.

...

By the time she comes to, it's dark out. Annabeth is already grabbing her invisibility cap and pulling on her shoes. She should probably change out of her pajamas, but her urgency to get to Percy outweighs the little vanity she has left in her. Percy has seen her in far worse conditions than messy hair and sleep wear.

Normally she would climb in through his window, but tonight is strictly business. Percy is still up waiting for her like he has been every night since the war ended. His face brightens when his eyes land on her face then immediately scrunch in concern when he sees what must be a manic look in her eye.

“You ok?”

“It’s me.” A whisper- she says it like she can't fully comprehend the words.

“It’s me?” A question- not necessarily for him just unsure.

“It’s me!” An accusation- this time it’s directed at Percy, who smiles with unnecessary pride.

He tugs at her hand and pulls her to sit on the bunk.“You figured it out.”

She’s briefly tempted to explain the whole visit with Nico, but she has other things on her mind.

“That’s how I knew on the bridge. That feeling that you were in danger, even though you hadn’t told me where the spot was, I knew.”

He shrugs, “It would make sense, but to be honest, I actually have no idea.”

She entwines their fingers and he lifts her hand up to press kisses to her knuckles.

“You saved me.” Percy says it soft and reverent, like a prayer.

“On the bridge?”

“No. Well yeah you saved me on the bridge, but I’m talking about the Styx. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I was burning alive. It was like I was back at Mt. St. Helen’s all over again.”

She feels a swift wave of guilt that she quickly pushes down so she can pay attention to the rest of his words.

“Except instead of the lava being thrown at me, I was dunked in it. And it was ten times hotter. I was drowning.” He laughs mirthlessly, and she squeezes his hand. “I was in so much pain I couldn't remember who I was.”

She knocks her forehead against his, partly to bring him back to reality, partly to remind herself that he did in fact survive to tell her this story.

He looks up at her, green eyes wide with a wonder and reverence she doesn’t believe she deserves.

“Then I heard you. Your voice. I heard your voice and I saw your face and you held out your hand. You didn’t just pull me back. You put me back together. The thought of you put me back together. I took your hand and I survived because of you. You saved me Annabeth.”

Annabeth is stunned into silence.

She has no doubt in her mind that if it were her in the Styx, she would've seen Percy and he would’ve saved her in the same way she saved him. But, it's different hearing it from him. It’s a rare feeling to know that this full-bodied, utter devotion (the kind she feels for him), is mutual. To hear it spoken out loud is almost unheard of.

She doesn’t have the words to articulate the supernova of emotions exploding her chest, so she kisses him. She kisses him with everything she has. Percy kisses her back with the same intensity. Percy’s kisses are safety and contentment and light. He’s so good with words (better with them than she is), and she thinks it translated into the way he kissed. He kisses her like he’s trying to say something--typically some shy declaration of the love that they both know is between them but tiptoe around speaking into existence.

He kisses with his whole body. He clutches at her waist like he couldn’t bear to let go, and she arches her back because she doesn't think she could bear it either. He occupies all five of her senses, the only thing she knows is him. Her hands are buried in his hair. He’s the sun, and kissing him is sunshine personified.

When she finally pulls back, he removes one of the hands gripping at her waist to slip into the junction between her collarbone and her jaw to keep their foreheads together. He keeps pulling her in his orbit, freckles like constellations, breaths mingled like they could survive on kisses and shared oxygen alone.

She thinks she’d like that.

Percy ends up curled on top of her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. One of her hands in his hair, the other on the small of his back like she can protect him with force of will alone. They fall asleep the way they survive- anchored to each other.

...

#my first fic yall so pls be nice to me lol #rbs are appreciated!#ask box is open for prompts #percabeth #percabeth fic #missing scene #annabeth chase #percy jackson #the last olympian #nico di angelo #percy jackon and the olympians #grover underwood #my writing #omg i can use that tag now #fic rec

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the-a-word-2214 · 4 years ago

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Wise Beyond Her Years

summary: Pierre realizes he’s in love with his childhood best friend

pairing: Pierre Bezukhov x reader

word count: 1,489

warnings: fluff, soft Pierre moments

My dearest (Y/N),

Helene has become unbearable. She admitted to not wanting children although I persuaded her with having any amount of money she could ever want. I would like children one day, maybe Helene isn’t meant to be in my life after all. Thank you for listening.

Pierre Bezukhov

—————————————

As you carefully read Pierre’s letter, you cannot help but feel his unhappiness. He didn’t even originally want to marry Helene, her father thrust marriage upon them.

You’d known the man since you were children, you always felt a growing sense of love when you saw him but it was much more than a friendly love, it was a romantic one.

Once Pierre had come into the sum of his father’s inheritance, women were falling over themselves to get to him. It’s as if the socially awkward man they once saw had been erased from their minds.

He was still your Pierre though, the man that you loved and had since childhood. Your heart leaped anytime you saw him, but that was long ago. After getting thrown out of St. Petersburg, you hadn’t seen him in many months.

Once you received his letter, you immediately wrote back.

—————————————

Pierre,

I’m sorry to hear about your misfortune with Helene. Just know that there is a silver lining to your problems, my dear. You must come visit me, I get lonely most days without you here. The ice has frozen solid over the lake, it is now perfect for ice skating.

(Y/N) (L/N)

—————————————

The wind whipped through your hair as you skated across the frozen lake. Your warm coat kept out the cold. You skidded to a halt as you saw a figure in a fluffy ushanka marching towards you. It was Pierre, your Pierre.

He rushed towards you, nearly falling on his face. You met him in the middle, squeezing him tightly in a hug.

“Pyotr! So good to see you.” You exclaim, your mouth buried in the fur of his coat.

“Dearest (Y/N), it has been too long.” He mumbles into your hair as you pull away to look at him, your hands on his forearms.

“Come, let me show you how to skate.” You carefully pull him onto the ice with you as you skate backward, your eyes remaining on him. His gaze is wary as he slowly begins moving on the frozen water.

“This is much more fun than I ever anticipated.” He laughs softly as he looks down at his feet.

*******

Once you both return to the warmth of indoors, you take off your coat. You run your hands down the length of the smooth fabric of your dress. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you sit down next to the fire, the only sound being the popping of the fire.

“How have you been, (Y/N)?” Pierre startles you with his voice as he sits down in a chair next to you.

“Oh my! You gave me a fright.” You laugh softly as you put a hand to your chest.

“I’ve been lonely, Sonya and Natasha keep fine company but I miss our talks. I miss the way you used to make me laugh.” Your eyes flit to him, taking in his appearance. His hair a little longer than what you remember although the same glasses adorn his face.

“I see. I’ve missed you too, dearly. Helene only thinks of me as an oaf and a brute. She’s decided that she won’t mother any children either. The words she used were ‘you know I’m not the motherly type.’” He sighs, running a hand over his face.

“You deserve someone who will treat you better, Pierre. A kind woman who will happily bear your children.” You gently take his hand, he looks down at it. His eyes turn to you as he moves your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly.

Your breath catches in your throat as you turn to look away, your cheeks dusted with a faint blush.

“Pierre, you always flatter me.” You whisper as a smile graces your lips.

“You know that I’ve always found you to be wise beyond your years. You’re extraordinary! I’m four years your senior and yet you could outsmart me in almost any situation.” He’s doting on you now, making wild gestures with his hands. It always humored you when he became over dramatic.

“Oh, stop it Pierre. You’re too kind.” You laugh softly as he stands up, pulling you with him by your hands.

“It beguiles me that you can’t see your worth. You deserve a good man, (Y/N).”

*******

Pierre begins writing to you once more after he sees you. He would tell you about how many times Helene would be out and about and how each time he was more and more tempted into divorcing her.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the truth of him finding out that Fedya Dolokhov, his own friend, was having an affair with Helene. Her restless behavior when he was around made sense now.

Pierre had challenged Dolokhov to a duel, in which he won. It was a miracle that he remained unscathed through it all. He wrote to you about his good fortune and each day after that. He began writing so often that you couldn’t keep up.

—————————————

My dearest (Y/N),

There is a ball being held soon. I would hope that you would be in attendance. This will be one of the first times that I make an appearance in public after separating from Helene. Please consider my proposal.

Pierre Bezukhov

—————————————

The thought of seeing Pierre again enticed you enough to bare the festivities of aristocratic life. With a heavy sigh, you prepared for the ball that’s taking place in the evening.

*******

The gold that lined the walls of the palace was illuminated as the darkness from outside seeped in. Everyone looked regal in their white clothes, especially the girls who lined up to meet their suitors.

You stood by your lonesome with your parents at your side as you surveyed the crowd. Andrei was somewhere in the crowd along with Pierre. You followed their gaze to see Natasha playfully looking away from their watchful eyes.

You felt wrong for coming, you felt like a fool. Of course Pierre could never love you when he was always so close with Natasha. Tears filled your eyes as you rushed off to another part of the palace, leaving your parents and the emotions of the ballroom behind.

You cried softly as you sunk to the floor, the only other bodies in the room being that of the footmen. The sound of boots against the tile filled your ears as you remained in your previous position.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright? What is the matter?” Pierre squatted down to your level as he beckoned you to look at him.

“I saw the way you looked at her, you love her don’t you?” You sniffled as you whipped your head up to look at him.

He opens his mouth to speak before closing it again, at a loss for words.

“...Never mind.” He stands up again as he begins to pace the small space.

“Never mind what? What is it, Pierre?” You demand as you approach him.

“I don’t love her, I love you.” He blurts out, his eyes a mix of fear and sadness.

You choose your words before vocalizing them.

“I love you too, Pierre. Ever since we were little.” You whisper the last part, staring at your shoes. He pulls you closer to him, his hands on either side of your face. He leans down and captures your lips in his own. The kiss is tender and soft as your lips move together as one.

Once you finally part, you feel as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Your feelings no longer harbored, now out in the open.

“I’m delighted to hear that you feel the same way. Now, might you allow me the honor of dancing with you? If you’ll have me, that is.” He holds out his hand to you. You take it without a second thought, his deft, gloved fingers warm in your own.

He leads you out to the ballroom, this time your view of it is different. The faces seem a little more welcoming and you now notice just how handsome Pierre looks in his pale grey jacket. His eyes never leave yours as he holds you close. A slow melody fills the air as you hold him close.

Your hand in his, the other on his shoulder. You feel peace for the first time in years as you gaze at the man who loved you in return. That’s all you ever wanted in the end, is to be loved and love in return.

This was just the beginning of your new life with Pierre. Just the start of something wonderful.

#paul dano x reader #paul dano #pierre bezukhov #pierre bezukhov x reader #war and peace 2016 #war and peace

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dadolorian · 4 years ago

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Seven Days of Valentines, (Diamonds and Daddies side story) Whiskey x F!Reader CH 2

A/N: Thanks to @talesfromtheguild for Beta reading and helping me with many ideas for this! This will be a weekly series leading up to Valentines Day

I try to keep Readers physical appearance as open as possible for this story, but please note in these chapters shes going to become more of a ‘character’, some specific interests of hers are going to come into play.

This is canon to the main Diamonds and Daddies story, but i am uploading as its own thing. You do not need to have read Diamonds and Daddies to read this, just know its a fic about Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels being a Sugar Daddy and the reader is a professional Sugar Baby.

Fandom: Kingsman the golden circle Ship: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Cis F!reader Warning/tags: established relationship, fluff, semi-public sex, sex against a window, P in V sex, fingering, Oral (M and F receiving) , multiple orgasms, slight over stimulation, dirty talk, choking, Daddy kink, DD/LG/BDSM style relationship, creampie,biting/marking, possessive language, aftercare, Jacks both a gentleman and a DIRTY BASTARD, Reader is 100% into it all

Word count: 6K +

My master list Seven days of Valentines masterlist AO3 LINK Buy me a Kofi

Summary: Whiskey whisks his Sugar baby away for a romantic Valentine’s getaway. Day two he takes her to see her favorite work of art.

Tuesday 9th of February

The second morning in Rome started with an early morning makeout session, soft, gentle kisses roused you from sleep, followed by a shower and a traditional Italian breakfast delivered to your suite as the two of you sat watching people make their way to the coliseum.

The coffee and crespelles were a perfect way to start the day, made all the more better by Jack’s large hand resting on your thigh, drawing gentle patterns with his thumb as you each sipped your mugs in comfortable silence.

By eight thirty AM the two of you were dressed in your warm clothes and out the door, ready to partake in whatever adventure Jack had planned.

You sat literally on the edge of your seat in excitement as you were driven around Rome to our destination for the day. Jack warmly chuckled beside you at your boundless enthusiasm, smiling wider to himself as you began snapping pictures along the way of the general beauty that was Rome.

Once you were dropped off Jack took your hand in his, leading the way up the road and round the corner. You practically hummed in excitement beside him, bouncing in glee as the large walls of Vatican City loomed over you.

“Jaaaacccckkkk!” you squealed delightedly, as he led you to the back of a growing queue. “Are we going where I think we’re going?”

He chuckled at your excitement again. “Couldn't take my girl to Rome without letting her see her favorite work of art could I?”

You bounced in place, trying to express your excitement and gratitude in any articulate way you could, you cupped his face and pulled him down for an expressive kiss on his cheek.

“You have no idea how excited I am Jack!” You elated, almost jumping for joy beside him.

He tried to calm you down and keep you still by resting his hands on your hips, pulling you to his front in a gentle embrace.

“I have a fair idea Sugar,” he hummed, kissing your brow affectionately. “I remember when you mentioned wanting to visit Rome, on our New Year's trip, just a passing comment, but your eyes lit up when you mentioned the Sistine Chapel, I just knew I had to take you one day Darlin.”

Your hands rested lightly on his chest, with your gaze cast down you smiled, tenderly remembering the brief exchange you had shared months prior. At the time you never took much note of your conversation, having forgotten all about it until Jack had surprised you with this trip, but clearly Jack had taken notice, and went through great pains to make your wish you had barely ever shared before a reality.

You had lost count of the amount of times he proved himself of how utterly perfect he was for you was incalculable.

He amazed you every day, outdoing himself with each little surprise or adoring words, each grand gesture or gentle peck, each casual touch or passionate kiss.

Jack Daniels, as cocky, ridiculous, and flirtatious as he was, was everything you had ever hoped for.

“I wish I knew, just how to show my gratitude to you Jack,” you whispered softly to him.

He gently pulled your gaze back up to meet his.

“Darlin, you don’t need to do anything other than stay with me. You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years, and that's more than enough for me.”

Your lower lip wobbled and your eyes threatened to spill, Jack preemptively stopped your sappy tears from spilling with a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Come on Darlin, lines moving.”

Jack walked arm in arm with you throughout the whole tour of Vatican city, your gaze was often fixed to the beautiful architecture or paintings, but everytime you glanced over at Jack, his eyes were fixed on you. You had his whole attention, not the paintings, not the tour guide, you.

“Jack?” You asked softly, concerned he was only humoring you and didn't actually care about anything you were seeing. “Aren't you interested in all this?”

“Oh I am Darlin,” he reassured. “But I love watching the way your eyes light up, better than any painting here.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up Cowboy,” you smiled up at him.

“Can’t help it Sugar, pretty thing like you on my arm? Who can blame me?”

“You flatter me Jack, You’ve been sweet talking me from the moment we met, I don't even think you would know how to stop,” you teased.

He chuckled and kissed your cheek.

“No Darlin, I don't think I would know how to either.”

It was impossible to express just how fantastical it felt to see some of the famous pieces found in the Vatican museum, Raphael’s ‘Transfiguration’, The statue of Laocoön and his sons, The Vision of St. Helen , Da Vinci's St. Jerome in Wilderness, masterpieces you had only ever seen photos of on the internet or in your meager collection of art History books. Completely indescribable. But these experiences paled in comparison to seeing Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, photos could not compare to how breathtaking it was. It loomed above you, alongside dozens of other High Renaissance masterpieces, but your eyes were pulled back to that one each time.

You imagined Michelangelo, centuries ago, in his genius, laying on his back atop the precarious scaffolding as he painted it, how grueling it was, how long it took.

You never thought you would ever see it, not in person, it had been such a fantasy to you you had never really mentioned it before until Jack had asked you those months ago.

Daddies had taken you on vacations before, trips to sunny beaches and tropical getaways, when they wanted to impress you and have you show some skin, but not once had they ever asked you where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see.

There had been no desire to share your interests, to take you to experience culture and art over bikinis and parties. Jack had been right, you had been with some shit Daddies before you met him.

The picturesque beaches and clear oceans may have been pretty to look at, but it couldn't hold a candle to the beauty above you.

Standing there, with your neck strained up at the ceiling, your eyes began to water for the umpteenth time since you had landed in Italy, but you willed them away this time, focusing on the painting to burn the experience into your memory and refusing to let the tears fog your vision as emotions overwhelmed you once again.

“Baby?” Jack’s soft voice cut in, his arms wrapped around your middle as he came up behind you, kissing your forehead. “You good?”

“Perfect, Jack,” you whispered back, giving your neck a break by resting the back of your head on him.

“Everything you ever dreamed about?” He asked, following your gaze to the painting.

“Better,” you sighed, squeezing his arms around you.

You clung to Jack’s arm as you made your way out of Vatican city and back to the streets of Rome. He patted your hand affectionately, placing a kiss to your temple.

You had been so...so... moved, by Jack's surprise, by the artworks, by the experience and you knew you couldn’t express it to him. And you knew he knew.

You were beginning to understand the magnitude of his affections, he wasn’t just trying to impress you, to show off and boost his ego like many men before him.

No, Jack's masculinity wasn’t so fragile that he had to prove himself like that, he may flash his money for you, to buy you trinkets and clothes just as they all had before, but the way he went about it was so different.

Stuff wasn’t what he relied on to keep you with him, no, he kept you by his side by paying attention, by caring about you, for you.

He wanted to make you happy, truly, and he expected nothing from you in return apart from your companionship.

His words from earlier in the day were really starting to strike a chord with you.

“You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years.”

You looked up at him from the corner of your eye as he led you through the streets. He seems to know where he wanted to go, and you trusted him not to get you lost.

“Jack,” you whispered softly. “I-”

“Don’t need to say a thing Baby,” he interrupted. “I know.”

“But, I-” you sighed. “How?”

“How do I know?” he asked, amused. “Baby you thank me every damn time I do something for you, no matter how big or small, I've picked up on a few things. I can tell when you’re struggling to figure out how to thank me.”

He stopped in his tracks, guiding you to his front and pulling one of your hands up to his lips to kiss it.

“You tear up when something specially meaningful, those are the times you can’t figure out what to say,” he cupped your face in his large, warm hands. They felt nice against the chill that had clung to your cheeks. “But you don’t need to say anything Sugar, I can tell just by lookin at’cha you’re grateful. It made you happy, that's all I wanted. I don’t need a ‘thank you’, I just need you.”

Your lip wobbled and you pouted up at him, making him chuckle.

“See? Just like that, and I get yer waterworks running,” he teased, thumb wiping a tear that was threatening to spill.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his chest playfully.

“None of that Darlin” he laughed, ducking his head to kiss you. “My Baby gets all sappy for Daddy’s sweet words huh?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you giggled, trying to duck from him gleefully.

“Thought you liked me ‘cocky’,” he joked as you turned and tried to walk off, pulling you back into his grip, back flush against his front. “Specially when it’s inside-”

“Jack! People are watching!” you laughed, swatting at him over your shoulder, grateful at least your conversation wasn't too loud and probably not understood by the locals who rolled their eyes at the childish tourists as they passed.

He laughed merrily, letting you go and gently taking your hand.

“Such a killjoy,” he joked, leading the two of you again. “Come on then Sugar, lets get some lunch.”

Lunch turned out to be in this adorable local cafe hidden down many sidestreets.

Jack told him a work colleague told him about the hidden gem, unknown to most tourists, and had made a point to bring you there.

You sat inside, safe from the bitter cold as you sipped your hot drinks and shared croissants and muffins.

Silence passes between you, as you watch from your window the small trickle of locals walk by, trudging through the remaining snow slush, on their way to wherever it was they were going. It was a perfect way to relax after your tour, Jack told you to enjoy it while it lasted, because he had one more surprise for the day.

Jack’s second surprise was a tour of Castel sant'angelo.

It was originally built as a mausoleum, over the centuries it became a fortress and castle, in modern times, it had become a museum.

“Two museum tours in one day?” You asked, humming as the two of you walked over the beautifully sculpted bridge leading up to the impressive building hand in hand.

“Well with it being so close to the Vatican, I thought ‘Why not?’ , and I know how much my Baby appreciates her art and history,” he smiled.

Taking his words from earlier to hear, you thanked him with just a kiss on the cheek.

Jack insisted the two of you could walk back to your hotel by the time you were kicked out of the castle at closing time.

‘Just a forty minute walk’ he promised.

You pouted at him, shaking your head no.

“My feet are killing me Jack,” you whined.

“Won't it be romantic though Baby?” He asked, trying to convince you.“Walking through the streets of Rome at night? Just the two of us?”

It did sound nice, in theory, but the sky was clouded over, your feet hurt, the ground was covered in slush and it was starting to seep into your supposedly waterproof boots.

“My toes are going numb and it’s freezing Jack!”

“But Baby-”

“Daddy,” you sniveled, trying to appeal to his dominant, caring role over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to block out the cold as the temperature dropped further. It was bearable in the day, sunlight and warm clothes enough to keep you reasonably warm. But you weren't dressed with the expectation of being outdoors too long, and as the snow began to fall you pulled yourself to his chest, snuggling into his warmth.

“Please Daddy, I don't want to walk like this.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm around you, caving to his instincts to care for you.

“Alright then, let me call a cab Honey Bee,” he relented, pulling out his phone.

You groaned when you made your way into the hotel room, throwing the keycard on the table and collapsing by the door , tearing off your boots and letting your soaked, numb toes free.

Jack chuckled at your dramatic behaviour, not removing any of his gear much to your confusion.

“There’s a few more presents on the bed for you,” he smiled, heat in his eyes and flashing his canines at you as he crouched down in front of you, stroking your cheek. “Want you to go in there and put them on-”

“Jack, my feet are too sore for any heels toni-”

“No heels, Honey Bee,” he said, his tone and use of your moniker a clear warning for you to fall in line. “You’ll like it, I promise. Now go open your presents and get dressed while I go pick up dinner.”

He stood up as you nodded and took his hand when he offered it, helping you up and grabbing the keycard from where you discarded it.

“Be back soon Baby,” he smiled as he opened the door and left.

Alone, you padded into the bedroom, your feet grateful for the plush carpet as you made your way over to the bed.

Laid out across the sheets was a beautiful little pair of pink and black satin sleep shorts, a matching bralette, a cute pair of pink fluffy bunny slippers, and a long fuzzy pink gown. You ran your fingers over the material of them all, amazed at how soft they all were.

Atop your outfit for the night was another folded up note. You picked it up carefully and opened it up, greeted by Jack’s familiar scrawl once again.

“Day two of seven, I know your feet must be real sore today Baby, I hope a relaxing evening with Daddy makes up for it. Get dressed and go pick out a movie out in the livin room for me. Happy Valentine’s Week Sugar, Love Jack”

You softened, reading his words, again as you folded the note back up and began redressing.

The satin felt even smoother as it covered your skin, and the fuzzy robe and slippers helped warm you up after your cold trip back to your suite.

Once dressed you wandered out into the living area, delighted to see the couch covered in soft blankets and pillows, a gift hamper sat on the coffee table containing sweets, a bottle of wine, glasses and some foot lotion. Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of it all and how intimately comfortable it was.

As you snuggled under one of the blankets and flicked on the TV, scrolling through movie options you heard the keycard beep and the door unlock.

“Back Darlin!” Jack called from the entranceway , you heard him put something down and head to the bedroom.

He joined you a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and his trademark stetson, carrying a large pizza box.

You smiled and bit your lip, admiring his little tummy that you loved so much.

He placed the box on the coffee table and snuggled under the blanket with you.

“Pick something out Baby?” He asked, one arm over the back of the couch and other hand wandering up your thigh under your robe and resting there.

“I think so,” you hummed, relaxing back into his embrace and warmth, head resting on his shoulder. “Sci-Fi movie by the looks of it.”

“Prospect?” Jack questioned. “Don’t usually sound like our kinda thing Darlin.”

“Yeah, but one of the actors caught my eye in the preview clips,” you giggled. “He looks like you Daddy.”

He quirked his eyebrow at you and gave you a shrug, letting you click play as he pulled the pizza and wine over for you to share.

You almost choked on your pizza when the actor showed up and Jack exclaimed in annoyance that he looked nothing like him.

“What are you talking about?” You laughed. “He could be your twin!”

“I know for a fact my Mamma only gave birth to one Daniels boy thank you very much!” He proclaimed.

You giggled hysterically, curling into him, trying not to knock the pizza box onto the floor.

“He’s just you with more scruff!” You gasped for breath between your laughter. “Listen to him he’s even got a southern accent too!”

“I resent being compared to a scruffy, sweaty, bastard space man who talks so damn weird Darlin!”

You covered your mouth, biting back a sassy comment about the ‘talks weird’ comment and tried to compose yourself.

“How can you not see it?” You asked when you finally calmed down. “The similarities are scary.”

The two of you eventually agreed to disagree as you finished your pizza and wine and moved on to a few after dinner chocolates from the hamper.

Jack rubbed your feet with the lotion as you lay on the couch sideways, easing the tension and soreness from your feet in his lap as the movie went on. You melted to his touch, unwinding from the long day on your feet.

You had taken quite a liking to the southern spaceman with the silver tongue, much to Jack's growing annoyance, he grumbled as you cooed at the man on screen.

But as irritated as he was, he pulled you to his side in comfort as you watched your little crush have his arm amputated, hiding your face in Jack’s chest throughout the difficult scene.

“Poor Ezra,” you murmured when the scene was over.

Jack rolled his eyes and kissed the crown of your head. “I don’t know what you see in him Darlin.”

“He’s your scoundrel, space-cowboy twin Jack. What’s not to like?”

“Think you need your eyes checked Darlin. I might actually be bothered ‘bout your little infatuation if you didn’t insist so damn hard that he looked like me.”

You giggled and settled down again against his bare chest.

“Hmm...”

“What are you hmming about over there?”

“You’d look good with a little blonde patch.”

“Shut up.”

When the credits rolled Jack switched off the TV, shrouding the room in darkness and stood up, gently pulling you up to your feet beside him. You were tired after such a long day, and the movie and snuggles afterwards only made you more tired.

He rested his hands on your hips and gave you a tender, soft kiss.

“You like your new jammies Baby?” He asked, smiling when you nodded. “Yeah? You look so dang cute in them.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours.

“Is my Baby too tired tonight? Or do you want to have some playtime with Daddy before bed?”

You whined in response, resting your hands on his chest.

“I always want to play with you Daddy.”

“Oh I know you do Baby, but Daddy thinks you need your rest. Bed time for you I think.”

“I don’t want to go to bed Daddy.”

“Think you’re awake enough for it Honey Bee?” he asked, gently shoving your new robe off of your shoulders and onto the floor.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Prove it,” he rasped, firmly pushing you to your knees in front of the couch and pulling his sweats down enough for his balls and hardening cock to hook over them.

You licked your lips and looked up at him, taking him in your hand at the base. His eyes burned into yours as you opened your mouth and began kitten licking at his tip, circling your tongue around him.

You kissed him, from base to tip, worshipping his cock.

He moaned at your teasing little touches and you felt him twitch in your hand, hardening slowly under your touch.

‘That's it Baby, Get Daddy nice and hard,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to lose himself to the feeling of you coaxing his cock.

You felt the crotch of your sleep shorts become wet, aroused by his raspy voice and lewd moans. But you kept your hands where they were, on his thigh and cock, knowing if you touched yourself without permission his ‘playtime’ with you would become a (delicious) punishment.

You relaxed your jaw and took him into your mouth, letting your tongue run along the underside of his length as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your mouth.

He let out a loud guttural moan, hands cupping your head to keep you in place.

“Hmmmmm fuck Baby!” He spat, looking back down at you and gently thrusting his hips into your face, careful not to choke you. “You’ve gotten so good at that! Can take me so well now can’t cha? Almost all the way!”

He rocked into you slowly, now fully erect in your mouth, you concentrated on breathing through your nose as he pushed himself deeper with each thrust.

You had succeeded in taking him easier than when you first had gotten together, but it was still a struggle to truly deepthroat him and supress your gag reflex, so far you had never managed to take him all in before you backed out. You kept your hand on his thigh, ready to tap out when needed.

Your eyes never left his face, and his never left your lips, watching as inch by inch his cock went further into your mouth.

“Breathe Baby,” he encouraged, hungrily watching his spit covered cock push and pull in and out of you. “If you can take me all the way in tonight Baby, I’ll give you a big reward.”

You mewled around him, excited by his promise of a reward. He always delivered on those promises in a spectacular way.

You took a deep breath through your nose and relaxed your throat as best you could, successfully taking him further, your jaw hurt and your throat protested as he pushed in even deeper.

Your eyes watered as your lips finally met the groomed hair at his base. You blinked up at him, waiting for approval and praise for having taken him all the way for the first time triumphantly.

“Hnnng! Fuck! Good girl! Good Girl!” he panted, watching you, transfixed on the way his cock looked shoved all the way down your throat. “Perfect, warm wet little mouth fuck!”

He reached down cautiously, fingers tracing over your neck gently, feeling the bulge in your throat. You whined, feeling light headed as he gripped your neck and squeezed lightly, he gave an experimental thrust, even with the awkward angle and groaned at the feeling of his own hand squeezing your throat tighter around him.

“Oh fuck Honey Bee I’m so deep,” he moaned, squeezing tighter, making you more light headed. “Doin such a good job, you need to tap out Sugar?”

You shook your head no as best you could, head swimming and body buzzing as he chokes you with his hand and cock.

“Can feel my fat cock moving inside you Baby, so damn hot, making me even fucking harder.”

He kept thrusting into your throat slowly, careful to not actually choke you. You were getting a little high from the lack of oxygen, far more aroused by it than you ever thought you could be. You only tapped out when black dots started to swim in your vision.

Jack pulled free without hesitation, crouching in front of you to check you were alright as the obstruction in your throat was gone and your lungs heaved in oxygen.

You gulped down air hungrily as Jack kissed your face in praise.

“Did so well baby, so proud of you, you took me all the way,” he murmured, nose nuzzling along your hairline. He waited for you to be ready to continue , and when your breathing had calmed and you gave him a nod to continue, he kissed your forehead, stood up and pulled you to your feet with him.

“As promised, my little girl deserves her reward,” he growled, nodding over to an armchair by the sliding door. “Go sit,” he ordered softly.

You scrambled to comply, anticipating your reward with glee.

He sauntered over, discarding his stetson on the coffee table before kneeling down in front of you, hooking his fingers into your sleep shorts.

“Up,” he gently instructed, pulling them down your legs as you lifted your hips for him.

He brought the shorts up to his face and inhaled your scent, licking up the crotch of them to taste the juices that soaked them.

“My baby tastes so good,” he praised, discarding the shorts over his shoulder. “Spread ‘em wide for me Sugar,” he said, gently coaxing your leg apart and licking his lips.

He didn’t tease, intent on giving you your much deserved reward as he drank you down and shoved his tongue deep into your dripping hole.

Your back arched, eyes closed and thighs shook, he pulled them over his shoulders to give himself more room, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs to hold them still.

You whimpered in delight, gripping his hair and pulling him deeper, his eyes cut up at you, letting you know that at any other time, an action would not be tolerated, and he would have you reprimanded for being greedy.

But this was your reward, you deserved it.

Jack did not hide his messy noises as he ate you out like a man starved, wet smacks of his lips on your lower lips, the sound of his skin coming into contact with your dripping thighs, his moans and your sounds of pleasure filled the room.

You gasped when you felt a thick finger prod at your hole, pushing up into you beside his tongue. Your head snapped down to watch as he slowly pumped his finger into you, his tongue began lapping up your folds until he reached your clit, suckling on it gently.

“Daddy!” You whimpered, pushing your hips up further into his face.

He gave you a cocky grin as a second finger joined the first, stretching you out so perfectly, his fingers were so much thicker than yours, fuck you loved his fingers so much, and he knew just where to stroke to make your body sing. In such a short time he had learnt your body better than you ever had.

“My Baby wants to cum?” He asked, running his tongue over your folds again.

“Yes, please Daddy,” you pleaded.

“Daddy prefers when you’re patient Baby. But you earned it tonight,” he growled, standing up with his fingers still inside you. Your legs dropped from his shoulders as he leant over you to nibble at your ear, you felt your juices that still coating his jaw as his skin met yours.

He abandoned his slow pumps of his hand, fucking you hard and fast with his skilled fingers. You keened under him, writhing at the sudden change.

“Look outside that window Baby,” he ordered in your ear hotly. “There's still people out and about, all they have to do is look up here, and they’d see you getting fucked by my hand.”

You felt your core clench around his fingers at his words, a wave of your arousal flooding out, soaking his hand.

“You like that idea Sugar? You like the idea of some stranger seeing my fingers buried in this pussy?”

You whimpered and tried to thrust up into his hand.

“Answer the question!” He growled.

“Y-Yes Daddy!” You cried, panting hard as you felt your pleasure building.

“Yeah? You get off on the idea of someone else seeing you? Seeing what’s mine?”

He sucked a mark into your neck, hoping it would show tomorrow, his secret little claim.

“Want everyone to see you? Like some kind of common whore? You’re mine Baby, don’t you forget that.”

“T-that's what i want them to see!” You whined, racing towards the edge, hoping he wouldn’t deny you as he often did to tease. “I want them to see who-who I belong to!”

He growled in approval.

“Yeah? What else Baby?” He asked, encouraging your line of thought.

“W-want them to see...That you’re- you’re the only one who can make me cum, that you’re the only one good enough!”

“Oh Baby you sure know what to say to stroke your Daddy’s ego,” he hummed in pride. “Go on then, show them, show anyone watching how hard Daddy makes you cum.”

You were already well on your way to your pleasure when he gave you permission to cum, but he helped you along by diving down and sucking hard on your clit.

Your back arched further as you screamed out his name, your walls clenching hard over his furious fingers, as they attacked that sweet deep spot inside you on a mission.

It hurt how powerful your orgasm was, how hard his fingers fucked you through it. And as it washed over you you were ready for him to pull out, for him to let you come down from your high, but his fingers did not slow.

You mewled, sensitive and sore from your first orgasm as you felt him forcing your body towards a second one already.

“D-Daddy, too- too much!” You whined, wriggling in his grasp.

“Yeah?” he asked, his teasing tone told you he didn’t believe you, he moved his head away from your clit to look you in the eyes, speeding up his fingers. “What’s your color then?”

Your hips began thrusting up to meet his hand again.

“Color Baby?” He reminded.

“Green,” bucking up hard now into his hand to chase your fast approaching second high.

“Thought so,” he hummed, taking your nipple into his mouth through your bralette, gently sucking on it and tugging it with his teeth.

When he had soaked the fabric and thoroughly teased you he released it.

“You’re going to cum again for me, that's your reward. Daddys going to make you cum so hard your pretty little pussy will be ruined tomorrow.”

You sobbed under him, anticipating how tantalizingly sore you would be with great delight.

“Come on, be a good little girl for me and cum,” he cooed, grabbing your jaw with his free hand to make you look at him, his face only inches away from yours.

“Cum for Daddy, and I’ll fuck you right up against that window for everyone to watch.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought and your core tightened around his fingers again.

“If it weren't so damn cold out there I’d fuck you right on that balcony, so the whole of Rome can hear your screams for me.”

He brushed your clit with his thumb as the words fell from his mouth, pushing you over the edge for a second time.

“That's it Baby, cum for Daddy,” he cooed softly, lips ghosting yours. “Squeezing my fingers so tight. Can't wait till my cocks all snug up in there, my favorite, perfect little hole.”

His words made your second orgasm just as powerful as the first, you shook hard in your chair and screamed loudly until your voice was hoarse. You tried to muffle the scream with your hands which, until now, had been gripping the armrest for dear life ever since Jack removed himself from between your legs.

He was having none of that however, grabbing your wrists in his hand and pulling them away from your face to hear your screams of pleasure.

He coaxed your orgasm as long as he could, slowing his fingers but still thrusting them hard inside you. Dragging it out.

You shook from the aftershocks each time his fingers shoved up against your cervix, whimpering as your breathing struggled to return to normal and body tried to unwind.

He pulled his fingers free from you, loving how your pussy tried to suck them back inside. You mewled at the loss despite how oversensitive you were.

He held up his hand to inspect it, proudly displaying how drenched it was in your cum.

“Look at that Baby, down past the wrist...You horny little thing,” he rasped, letting you watch as he wrapped his slick coated hand around his neglected cock, pumping it slowly, you could hear the wet pass of his hand with each pump.

“Stand up,” he ordered gently, not helping you as you stood up on shaky legs, struggling to comply as your legs threatened to give out underneath you.

“Top needs to go too Honey Bee,” he instructed, watching you with predatory eyes as you raised your arms, taking the sexy little Bralette off and discarding it somewhere behind you.

“Up against the window, arms up.”

You wobbled over slowly, sighing as your body touched the cool glass.

You felt so exposed up against the glass, despite the fact there was no one currently walking about outside, and there was no light in the living area now that the TV was off, the only light source being the lights outside, lighting up the coliseum.

You could see Jack's reflection in the glass as he came up behind you, stepping out of his sweats. You could hear him still pumping his cock with you slick.

Your back arched as he ran the tip of his cock over your dripping folds, making you gasp and shudder.

“Poor Baby, still so sensitive,” he teased, pushing you against the cold glass with his free hand, making your nipples tighten painfully at the chill. You wriggled slightly as he pushed his hips forward, tip entering your hole.

“Shhhh Baby, Daddy needs his fair share too, needs to fuck your pussy,” he sighed, your tight wet heat slowly enveloped him as he slowly inched his hips forward.

“Need to make you cum. One last time.” He emphasized the statement by snapping his hips forwards, filling you up completely as his hips slapped up against your ass.

He gave your oversensetive body only a moment to adjust to the stretch before wrapping an arm around you and fucking into you hard and fast. His free arm grasped your neck, lightly choking you again as his cock hammered into you.

“Fuck, so wet baby. Your cums soaking me, dripping down Daddys balls,” he rasped into your ear.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap, filled the room as you were shoved up against the glass with each thrust.

You cried at the delicious stretch, at how he made your tender, sore hole buzz with pleasure every time he shoved himself inside, at how your body stung from the cold glass, and at the filth he rambled into your ear.

“My perfect pussy, Daddy’s pretty little princess. Think about how anyone could walk past. Could see you,” he teased, turning you on more. “Stuffed full of my cock, wouldn’t be hard, this low down, just need to turn their head a lil bit, ‘s all it would take to see you.”

You moaned at his words, tightening around him.

“Fuck, squeezing me so tight,” he whispered in awe,thrusting harder into you.

You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the delirium of being fucked by him, trying hard not to cum around him until he gave you permission.

He didn’t like it when you came without his permission.

He chuckled darkly into your ear, slowing his thrusts down to teasing rolls of the hips. “There's someone now,” he rasped, watching someone walk by further down the street, you cracked your eyes open and could see just how close they were, close enough that if you called out with the window open, they would hear.

“I don’t think they’ve spotted us. Let’s see if we can change that shall we?” He suggested with another dark laugh, letting go of your neck to grip your hips with both hands, making it much easier to thrust inside you and leaving nothing to silence your noises as he slammed into you again with the same speed as before.

You shrieked, watching with wide eyes at the passer by, hoping he did not hear.

It was annoying just how arousing the idea of this stranger catching the two of you was.

Before you could even stop yourself, you came around Jack’s cock without warning. No build up, no tensing, it hit you so suddenly you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you had tried.

He growled angrily behind you, pausing his thrusts as you squeezed him hard, as your walls fluttered and tried to milk his cock.

There was no way you could hide what you just did, it may have snuck up on you fast but he felt it. Felt you squeeze him and shake in his grasp.

“Did you just fucking cum Baby?” He snarled. “Without Daddy’s permission?”

“I’m sorry!” you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to, it happened so fast!”

“You got off to the thought of some stranger seeing you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered pathetically, not wanting to anger him further by lying to him.

“Such a filthy little slut,” he berated, rocking back into you. “If Daddy didn’t need to cum so bad I'd punish you right now. Throw you over my knee and remind you that Daddy owns your orgasms.”

“I know Daddy! I’m sorry! So sorry!”

“I believe you Baby, but that don't change the rules. Doesn’t mean you get away without some sort of punishment.” He licked the shell of your ear, nibbling at you lightly.

“Tomorrow night, I really will destroy your pussy. I’ll hold you down and fuck you so hard, till you cum so many times you pass out, never letting up until you’re beggin me to. Daddy will choose how many times you cum, when you cum, and how hard you cum, to remind you your pleasure belongs to me.”

You sniveled, panting as your breath fogged up the glass.

“Y-Yes Daddy,” you agreed.

“Now stay still, Daddy gonna fill you up, get you nice and creamy.”

His rocks built back up to the harsh thrusts, reserving no gentleness for you as his grip would no doubt leave bruises on your hips the next day.

He growls, the steady slap of his thrusts, bumping of glass and the blood rushing in your ear was all you could hear.

And even though you had already cum three times, you could feel a fourth bubbling deep inside, warming you up.

He pounded you against the glass.

He cursed as his thrusts became frenzied, violent bucks up against your ass as he chased his release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, here it comes!” He bellowed, digging his teeth into your shoulder and marking you hard. He groaned against your skin as his hot cum flooded you. You felt it fill you and warm you up, even if he didn’t let you cum again, you adored the sensation of him filling you up each time.

His thrusts slowed as you felt his seed begin to leak out around his length.

You mewled at the loss of the orgasm you knew he wouldn’t have given you anyway.

He pulled out slowly, releasing your shoulder and watching as his softening length fell from you.

Your knees buckled, but Jack was quick to catch you before you fell and scoop you up into his arms.

“There we go Baby,” he murmured, gently nosing at your temple. “Let's get you sorted.”

As usual Jack’s aftercare consisted of his soft praises as he tended to your physical needs.

He washed you, tended to your marks, dressed you back into your new pajamas, and tucked you into bed. You drifted in and out of his care, only catching a few words here and there.

“Good girl”, “Did so well,” and “So proud,” were the familiar praises you heard.

He joined you under the warm blankets when he decided you had been thoroughly cared for, pulling you close to his chest to snuggle and murmur affections at you. You nuzzled deeper into his warmth, completely boneless and spent, listening to the gentle timbre of his voice as you drifted off.

That night you dream about old castles and handsome southern princes.

credit to @talesfromtheguild for this little bit

“Hmm...” “What are you hmming about over there?” “You’d look good with a little blonde patch.” “Shut up.”

Tag list:

@thats-one-tender-foot @luminescentlily @nuttybeardetective @ishqinbbc @ben-is-a-hoe @calamity-queen @phoenixhalliwell @talesfromtheguild @the-arctic-violet @jeeperky @mando-amando

#SugarDaddy!Whiskey #7dov #DIamonds&Daddies #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #my fic #thots #smut

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bipercabeth · 4 years ago

Text

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists.

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight.

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

continue on AO3

He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional.

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much.

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen.

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds.

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything.

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads.

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.”

“But you came here.”

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago.

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words.

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from.

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy.

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it.

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this.

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him.

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that.

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him.

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it.

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright.

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?”

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth.

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries.

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?”

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.”

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—”

“Percy…”

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.”

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.”

“But I didn’t save the others.”

“No one could’ve.”

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?”

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him.

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them.

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.”

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?”

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will.

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.”

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight.

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?”

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—”

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him.

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before.

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him.

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can.

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting.

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.”

He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. “I always feel safe with you.”

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can.

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers.

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.”

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess.

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability.

“Tell me about them.”

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.”

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.”

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest.

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…”

Percy takes a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.”

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck.

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small.

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.”

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?”

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.”

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.”

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.”

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity.

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time.

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters.

#i hurt myself writing this i am not going to lie #if u read this on tumblr all i ask is u give it some love on ao3 bc engagement with tumblr is Trash but i try to keep commissions accessible #commissions #my percabeth #my fic #mericatblackwood

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years ago

Text

“Mr. Rhodey, I’m telling you! It’s fact, hotdogs are tacos!”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and Tony laughed.

Peter’s ridiculous arguments were nothing he wasn’t used to, and he loved listening to his kid ramble.

Peter leaned against his side. “When will the food be here? I’m starving!”

Tony frowned and worriedly felt his forehead. “Didn’t you get enough to eat at lunch? Petey, you need to eat-”

“Mr. Stark, I’m fiiiiiiiiine! I just need food! Stop worrying!” Peter interrupted.

Tony didn’t look any less worried. His “Peter Alarm” as many called it, had been ringing in the back of his head all day.

“You’re such a mother-hen, Tones,” Rhodey muttered. Tony snorted, but didn’t deny it. He was.

He got up from the booth. Call him overprotective, but Peter was hungry, and needed food.

They were the only ones at the restaurant, (Tony had made sure of that) except for their server, an elderly woman with waves of gray hair.

Why was the food taking so long?

Tony walked to the counter. No one was there.

Suddenly he knew. Something was wrong.

He spun around to see Peter, standing up and looking at him with a scared expression. Tony had just enough time to yell, “Peter!! Get down!” before the roof caved in, lighting the room in a golden red explosion.

He hit the ground hard, blacking out.

~~~~~

Rhodey came to with a gasp. His head was throbbing. Small cuts covered his arms. He could hear shouting, screaming, and sirens wailing in the distance. Small fires crackled around him.

Explosion.

Shit

He didn’t know what had caused it, a faulty gas pipe or some vengeance-seeking criminal. Whatever it had been, the threat was gone for now.

He knew there was something else. What was he forgetting? “Snap out of it, Rhodes,” he whispered.

Tony and Peter.

“Oh Lord!”

He bolted up. The kid had been closest to him. Rhodey remembered Peter jumping across the table, in front of him.

Peter must have taken the worst of the explosion.

And at what cost?

“Kid!” he shouted. He scrambled across the wreckage, easily spotting Peter’s red sweatshirt. “Peter!”

He knelt next to his small body, frantically feeling for a pulse. “Oh, thank god.” His heartbeat was slow but steady.

“C’mon kid. Wake up.” Rhodey lifted Peter’s eyelid, checking his pupil.

As far as he could tell, it had to be a concussion. A bad one.

His best bet was trying to wake the kid up. He carefully rolled Peter on his side, tapping his cheek.

“Kid. C’mon, kid, wake up. Tony’s gonna kill me if he finds you like this.”

Assuming Tony was alive in any shape to kill his best friend.

“Peter! Wake up, kid. Tony’s gonna freak if he sees you. C’mon.”

To his surprise, Peter blinked slowly, cracking his eyes open. “Dad?”

Rhodey winced. “No, kid. It’s me, Rhodey.”

Peter groaned blearily. “Want… wan’ Dad.”

“I know you do, kid, we’ll find him,” Rhodey tried to reassure.

The boy muttered something he couldn’t understand, frowning loopily. “Dad. Dad. Wan’ him.”

“Peter, I’m gonna get your dad, okay?”

Where the hell was Tony? He hoped he was okay.

“Dad? Dad… it hur’s. Hur’s.”

“Your head? Peter, does your head hurt?”

The boy didn’t register his words, just blinked wearily. “‘M tired.”

“No! No, kid, you can’t sleep! Stay awake, hear?” Rhodey tapped his cheek again. “C’mon. Stay awake. I’ll get your dad if you stay awake, kid.”

Luckily, Peter seemed to want Tony more than sleep. He blinked his big brown eyes open. “Dad.”

“That’s right kid.” Rhodey turned around. “Tony! Tones! Get you ass over here! It’s Peter!”

Rhodey heard coughing and shifting, nearly ten meters away. “Tones? Get over here! Peter needs you!”

Groaning at first, and more shifting. “Pete?” came Tony’s confused, worried voice. “Peter?”

“Tony! He’s here, I got him!” He turned back to Peter, who, thankfully, was still awake, staring up at him with half open eyes. “Tones!”

“Peter! Pete!” Tony screamed, staggering to his feet. He ran over as best he could. “Petey! What- what’d you do?!” he slurred, glaring at Rhodey.

Tony knelt next to Peter, frantically feeling for any injuries. “Petey. Oh, Petey,” he whispered, over and over. “Baby.”

“He’s got a pretty bad concussion, Tones. I don’t know if he’ll recognize you.”

Tony didn’t seem to hear him.

“Dad?” Peter muttered, finally noticing Tony.

“Petey. Petey. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Does anything hurt? Anything at all?” Tony asked frantically, looking more awake every minute.

“Mmm. Head. Hur’s,” he whispered.

Tony went even paler, looking terrified. “Petey. Oh, sweetheart. I got you, Dad’s here. Oh Pete.” He kissed Peter’s forehead. “I got you, baby. I’m here. Dad’s here.”

Tony clutched Peter’s hand tightly in his, stroking his soft curls, kissing his cheek. Tears were running down his face.

Rhodey could hear him humming softly, sounding absolutely wrecked, but trying desperately to keep it together for his kid’s sake.

Rhodey searched through the wreckage for Tony’s phone. Of course, the one time Tony didn’t bring the suit, disaster struck.

Hurriedly he called Helen Cho, trying his best to describe Peter’s various injuries. She assured him that she was on her way. He then joined Tony.

“Tones? Peter’s gonna be okay, you know. There’s nothing too major.”

Tony’s eyes hadn’t left Peter’s face.The boy stared vacantly into space, completely out of it. Tony stroked his cheek gently.

“He has to be okay, Rhodey. I need him,” he whispered dully.

“He will be okay, man. He’s just got a bad concussion. He’ll be springing out of bed before you know it,” Rhodey assured, setting a hand on his shoulder

“Rhodey. I love him so much. So much. I- I can’t lose him. I need my kid. I need him.”

“I know, Tony. Peter knows that too.” He looked at the kid, who still stared blankly.

Tony bit his trembling lip, ignoring his tears. “He- he looks like he’s gone.”

Rhodey shook his head. “No, Tony. He’s right here. He’s alive, he’s breathing. Maybe he’s listening to everything we say.” He took the man’s hand and rested it on Peter’s pulse point.

“See? He’s gonna be fine, man.”

Tony felt the steady thump of his baby’s heartbeat. And suddenly, sob after sob rattled his chest. “Peter, Peter, PeterPeterPeter. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. I love you so much. So so much.”

It felt like hours as tears streamed down his cheeks. As he repeated, over and over and over, how much he loved his baby.

More than anything.

Peter was his world, his everything

He loved him more than it seemed possible

His kid

His baby

His Peter

~~~~~

Tag List: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @roxanac34 @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @hold-our-destiny @pixiethefirecat7 @scwene-qween

If anyone wants to be added/ removed let me know!

~~~~~

/DO NOT TAG OR REBLOG AS ST*RKER/

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falling-feuilles · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 6

TW/CW: Major Character Death, Childbirth, Blood

The days following the letter's arrival were hard. To keep Lise from worrying, Marya and Y/N were forced to keep up appearances, made to quietly grieve during the night when the rest of the household slept. The Old Prince’s already miserable attitude was exacerbated to the point where Y/N refused to eat meals with the man, opting to dine in her own quarters instead.

One particular day, Y/N spent its first half attempting to write her letter to Pierre, to no avail. If only it had come as easy to her as it did to the employees who wrote to first inform them of his passing. After spending nearly an hour trying to write the first sentence, she dropped her head, laying her cheek upon the smooth chestnut, letting out a weary sigh.

“N/N, are you quite well?” Marya stuck her head through the door, noting Y/N’s disheveled appearance.

“Yes, I… I’m trying to write to Pierre to… to tell him about Andrei. He deserves to hear it from one of us rather than in passing at some ridiculous fete.”

Marya sighed, peering out into the hall once more before closing the door, stepping fully into the room.

“You’re right, it would be best to hear it from you as well, you and him are quite close.”

“Quite… I only wish he could just know without me having to tell him… it’s going to send him spiraling Marya, I almost fear he won’t recover…”

“I know… maybe you should put it off for a few more days; you, father, and I are the only people who know, not even Tikhon and the servants are aware. You said Pierre was traveling, yes?”

“I believe so, or he will be shortly, why do you ask?”

“If you send the letter and it arrives when he isn’t there, who do you think will open it?”

“Helene.”

“Precisely, and we both know she won’t be nearly as kind about it. Until we know for sure where he is and where Helene isn’t, I think you should bide your time.”

“You are right, as usual. Marya,” Y/N placed her hand on Marya’s shoulder, “Thank you, you are a true friend, I surely would have gone mad with worry were it not for you.”

Marya smiled, weary face breaking into uncharacteristic joy.

“I am merely returning the favor. Now, I should head to Father’s study, he has me working on a new lesson today, I barely understood the last one.”

She sighed, turning to the door.

“Supposing I were to go to your chambers at, say, eight o’clock? Would you perhaps have the time for a tutoring session?”

Marya nodded, leaving the room. Y/N, after ensuring Marya was out of earshot, slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the various bottles and trinkets placed upon it to jump in the air, clattering back down to the darkly stained surface.

“Damn it…”

The fields surrounding the Bolkonsy property were vast, colored dark emerald by the night sky. Had it been in the city, Y/N would never have risked walking at such a time. However, in the country, escorted by a large shire, she felt perfectly safe. The stars, while visible in the city, shown twice as bright in the clear skies, unclouded and free from the countless buildings decorating the streets of St Petersburg. From her perch on Emil's broad back, the rolling meadows stretched on for acres, encumbered only by the wooded groves sprinkled across the estate. The thin, winding path beneath her was neglected, unused by the members of the household. The vast property had many paths strewn throughout, only a small number remained in use. Although Prince Bolkonsky regularly walked the property, he only ever used the same trail. He was a man of habit, exact to the point of madness.

A small rustling to her left startled Emil, causing him to shuffle away, snorting indignantly.

"Easy, easy..."

Lightly, she sprung down from the saddle, landing firmly on the mottled path. Unwilling to move closer, and unable to flee her side, Emil stood perfectly still, hot air issuing from his snout.

Calmly, she moved towards the brush, noting the movement of the grasses. Carefully parting the grass, she found a small litter fox cub, rolling around in the leaves, struggling to re-orient itself. A few meters away, she noted the familiar signs of a fox burrow, tucked into the side of the small mound to her right. Kneeling next to the small creature, she heard it whimpering, calling for its mother. Gently, she scooped the small creature into her arm, creeping quietly towards the den. By the moonlight, she saw a few other small figures curled up, guarded by their mother. Her head was up, pitch black eyes fixed on Y/N, ready to pounce should the need arise.

"Don't fret, I'm just here to return this little one."

Y/N held out the small ball of fur, catching the attention of the mother. She shuffled forward, wary, but determined. Nudging her nose into the cubs fur, she bit down on the nape of its neck, lifting it from her gloved hands.

She stood to leave, but the ribs pushing through the mother's silvery fur gave her pause. Holding out a hand, hoping she would understand the gesture, Y/N hurried back to Emil; he was calmer, knowing the mysterious creature was just a fox seemed to calm his nerves, though he still watched the malnourished canine with his large, muddy eyes.

Digging through Emil's vast saddlebags, Y/N searched for the small tied bag hidden deep in its recesses. Finally, her fingers brushed the familiar canvas, drawing it out of the leather satchel.

"Here," she held out a hunk of salted meat, allowing the mother to inspect it. After a few good sniffs, she gingerly removed it from Y/N's fingers, scarfing it down. The cub was nowhere in sight, presumably hidden back in the darkness of the burrow.

Expectantly, the mother looked to Y/N again, nudging her hand. Chuckling, she held out another piece, feeling the fox's damp nose brush her fingers.

After ensuring the mother was properly fed, Y/N stood back up again, tentatively placing a hand on the fox's head, scratching the spot just behind her pointed ears.

The cubs began to whine, calling for their mother. With one last look towards Y/N, she stalked back into the den, disappearing from view. She swung her leg back over the saddle, grasping the reins with her hand.

"Come, Emil, let's head back before someone notices we've gone."

He huffed, trotting along the path, back towards the faint lights of the house.

The next morning, she made her way to the small dining room to break fast with the ladies of the household. Marya, seated primly at the head of the table, looked to her as she entered, gesturing for her to take a seat. Lise, seated to her right, looked highly uncomfortable.

"Lise, are you quite well?"

Y/N sat beside her sister, placing a hand to her forehead.

"Yes, yes... something in my breakfast must have disagreed with me-"

"Look at her. She's very pale!" Bourienne stood, looking closer at Lise's face.

She let out a sharp whimper of pain, dropping her spoon.

"Lise... I think it's time."

"We'd better send for Maria Bogdanovna," Bourienne moved forward, placing her hand on Marya's arm.

"Yes, I think you're right, I'll go and see to it." Marya sped away, muttering frantically under her breath.

"Courage, mon ange!" Bourienne pressed a kiss to Lise's cheek,

Lise was in clear distress, grasping her sister's hand. Y/N stood by her side, brushing Lise's blond locks away from her damp face.

"No! Can it be, so soon? But surely it's just a stomach ache?"

"It's best to be on the safe side, ma cherie."

With help from Bourienne and another of the maids, Y/N managed to get Lise into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.

"Lise, look at me, you have to breathe, you'll be just fine."

The next few hours passed in a miserable tirade of screaming, stress, and no small amount of fear. Like her father, Lise had a weak heart; while not nearly as detrimental to her health, it was the main reason physicians were so insistent she rested frequently, even more than the average expectant mother would. Y/N, although she begged to be let inside the room, she was denied each time. Instead of being by her sister’s side, she waited by the window, eyes searching desperately for the carriage bearing the doctor. Marya stepped nearer, lowering herself to sit beside Y/N.

“Have you heard anything from the midwife?”

“No,” Marya placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “But, they did say you could see her for a moment or two.”

“Truly?” Marya nodded, moving so Y/N could pass her, making a beeline straight for the room.

Inside, Lise lay sprawled on the bed, coated in sweat, face twisted into a pained grimace. Her breath came in short pants, dry and uneven. Y/N dashed to her side, nearly pushing over a nearby maid. Lise reached out her hand, grasping tightly at Y/N's as another painful contraction wracked her frail body.

"Sister... you... y..."

"Shhh, hush, my darling Lise, all will be well, you're doing wonderfully, I'm so proud of you."

The midwife moved to Y/N's side, all but shoving her away.

"My lady you must leave."

"I... yes, of course, Lise," she bent over her sister's prone form, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek, "I will see you as soon as I can, alright? I love you."

Y/N was pushed from the room before Lise could murmur a response. Down the hall, she noticed Marya jump from her seat next to the window, dashing down the stairs. Y/N followed on her heels, skirts bunched in her hands.

The night air was fresh and cool, a drastic change from the warm, stale air of Lise's room. Stepping outside, Y/N could see what drew Marya out the door, the doctor's carriage.

"Thank god, what took so-" Y/N stopped, eyes catching the face of the man exiting the carriage. "A... Andrei..."

Marya rushed forward to embrace her brother, leaping into his arms. Y/N stood back, eyes wide, open-mouthed.

How?! I thought... she said...

"Andrei, Lise is inside." Her voice was quiet. Even. But dreadfully quiet. Was it the shock? Fear, even? Regardless, the group didn't have much time to waste, the doctor hurried up the front steps, guided by Marya. Andrei followed quickly behind, leaving Y/N to take up the tail end of the chase.

"You..." Lise gasped as he entered the room, reaching for him.

"My darling..." He took her face in his hands, pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead. Before any further words could be exchanged, the doctor moved to Andrei's side, placing a hand on his arm.

"If you would wait outside, your Excellency. I must insist, it's for the best." Andrei, despite his wish to remain, left the room, wincing as Lise let out another pained yell.

Y/N, still grappling with Andrei's return, sat outside, stiff as a board. With each of Lise's cries, her fingertips dug more and more tightly into the ball of her thumb; soft flesh yielding beneath the increasing pressure. Andrei, seemingly unable to stand by any longer, made another futile attempt to enter.

He barely managed to open the door a crack before it was slammed in his face.

"No, no, you mustn't come in!"

A few more moments passed.

Another intense scream. A few seconds of silence. Then, the cry of a baby. Andrei flew into the room, Y/N hot on his trail.

The doctor stood, holding a small, damp bundle in his arms. At the sight of Andrei, he quickly transferred the swaddling to the new father's arms.

"Your son, your excellency..."

Y/N moved to Lise's side, noting the blood staining the sheets. It was everywhere. Coating her skin, pooled beneath her, leaving a sticky, scarlet film on the midwife's hands.

It was too much. Far too much.

"Lise...? Lise please..."

No response. Y/N moved closer, grabbing her hand. It was limp in her grasp, lifeless. She knew, and yet, she refused to believe it.

"I'm sorry, your excellency... she's gone..."

#bbc war and peace #pierre bezukhov #pierre #war and peace #the great comet #x reader

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wowweeharrystyles · 5 years ago

Text

Part 11 | Fringe & Change | 7.2k words

Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Masterlist

a/n: 6 weeks later & we’re finally back !!!! thank you all for your patience & thanks to gwen for listening to me complain about writers block week after week. I’m very excited to get back to sharing this story with y’all.

as always, reblogging helps a ton & comments & feedback are ALWAYS WELCOME !!!!

Warnings: brief mentions of anxiety & panic attacks

Here’s part 11 !

Aurora’s standing next to Harry, a drink in her hand when Niall launches into “Drag Me Down.” She flashes Harry the biggest grin before singing along, just as she has with every song. Harry smiles back at her, she doesn’t see it but he doesn’t care. He finds himself singing along to a song he used to sing night after night on stage. It’s strange to watch Niall sing his own version and Harry figures Niall felt the same when he sang his own arrangement of their old tunes back in Dublin. Harry looks back to Aurora. She can feel his eyes on her but waits for the song to end before turning to him.

Her fingers are delicate and barely touch Harry’s neck as she reaches up to him. Her lips brush against his ear before she speaks. “I miss your bit at the end,” Aurora shares and Harry chuckles lowly. She doesn’t pull away though and Harry takes the opportunity to pull her into him with an arm around her waist. His fingers find where the hem of Aurora’s shirt meets the top of her jeans. As Aurora presses her lips to the warm skin of Harry’s neck she can feel his calloused fingertips press into her skin.

“Havin’ fun, love?” Harry assures. Aurora doesn’t have to verbally respond because the smile on her face after pressing another lingering kiss to the base of his neck says it all.

Aurora feels warm and it’s not just because of the hot humid air of Buenos Aires. It’s the heat that's radiating from where Harry’s hand is pressed against her skin. The heat that flushes the tops of her cheeks from the cheap alcohol. The heat in her jaw because she hasn't stopped smiling for the better part of 2 hours. She gets to see Harry perform live almost daily, she gets that concert feeling every night, but to share it with him is something different. To share this experience in the traditional way for the first time is another one of those moments she’ll look back on forever.

Many things are similar to the aftermath of Harry’s shows - showing their passes to the security guard at the gate near the stage, the ringing in Aurora’s ears from the screams, the scratchy feeling in her throat from singing (badly, at that), the buzzing feeling that lingers in her body from the music. The difference is the feeling of Harry’s hand in hers as they slide backstage to find Niall.

Aurora also notices the striking difference between Niall’s backstage post show and Harry’s. Niall and Harry may have done this together years ago, running off stage together and onto a crammed tour bus but they’ve both found their own way on their own. It's a different kind of loud and chaotic after Niall’s show. Niall’s band is following him to a large green room that is equally as rowdy as a group of guys headed into a party. They’re high off the show and honestly so are Aurora and Harry.

“So how’d ya enjoy the show?” Niall asks, his Irish accent thick, before taking a chug of water.

“Rory enjoyed it the most I think. Belted out every single word,” Harry answers as he tucks Aurora into his side. Aurora crosses her arms in front of her in lieu of wrapping one around his waist.

Niall’s dropped to the couch, his chest still heaving from the performance.

“Hey,” Aurora whines as Harry and Niall laugh together. “You didn’t miss too many lyrics yourself, Har,” she playfully bites back.

“Know all the words to my album, Haz? That’s what I like to hear.”

“Don’t trust a thing she says,” Harry jokes before kissing the top of Aurora’s head. Niall’s laughter echoes off the walls.

“Hey, I’d be a bit nicer to Aurora. I like her quite a bit. Don’t want you to chase her away so soon,” Niall advises with a wink to Harry.

“Unfortunately, I think it’d take a lot more than that to chase me away,” Aurora tells Niall. “Anyways, who else is gonna get him dressed?” Niall’s laughing again and his band joins in, Aurora as well. Harry rolls his eyes trying to subside his own laugh but eventually joins in.

Aurora relaxes into one of the leather covered chairs and Harry sits on the wide arm rest when Niall asks them if they want to stay for a bit and have beer or 2. Aurora leans forward to rest her elbows on Harry’s knees, her chest falling against his thigh. Harry presses the cold bottle of beer to the back of Aurora’s bare neck making her jump from the sudden change in temperature. He switches the bottle to the opposite and lightly digs his fingers into the muscles in Aurora's shoulders. Bending down he kisses her temple before whispering, “We can go whenever you want,” softly, reassuringly.

Aurora’s extent of her anxiety had been brought up in conversation a few nights ago, Harry wanting to be able to help or at least do what he can to subside it if possible. Nobody had ever asked her how they could help or understood enough to want to know more. Her parents tried to understand, they really did, but something to do with the generational gap made it hard for them to really get it, to believe it even. So when Harry asked about it out of nowhere Aurora was shocked.

She explained what it's like in different ways and how it comes about. The social anxiety aspect of new people and new places is what triggered Harry’s question just now. She told him about how she’ll feel trapped like she can’t go anywhere and she doesn’t want to create a scene, doesn’t want to offend anyone by leaving. She talked about the anxiety she had from the thought of a new hotel room and new arena every day before she left New York. But she was pleasantly surprised when it felt okay, that the faces became familiar and even though they were new arena’s daily, the pink flowers and TPWK signs became comforting. Harry’s heart swelled when Aurora shared the last bit. After she answered all his questions and told him about how she copes and what he can do that would make it easier, better even, Aurora thanked him. She thanked him over and over again when she crawled into his lap. She thanked him as she pulled off his shirt and kissed the swallow tattoos on his chest. She thanked him when she sank down on him. She shared everything that night, her mind, her body, all of it. She had never felt so understood, so safe.

Harry can tell Aurora’s in another world, squeezing her shoulder, he says her name softly. She looks up to him, a hint of worry in his eyes. She smiles, the memory of nights prior still floating in her head. The worry washes away when Aurora takes his hand that’s on her shoulder and presses a kiss to the palm of it.

“I’m good right now,” she reassures him. “Thanks for asking.”

“What're you thinking ‘bout?”

“I’ll tell ya later.”

She does tell him later, after they’ve said their goodbyes to Niall, after the car ride back to the hotel, after they get into Harry’s hotel room. She tells him between kisses. She tells him how nobody has ever said “we can go whenever you want” in any way and meant it. She tells him how she was thinking about how she thanked him and how she couldn't stop thinking about it.

It doesn’t take them long to rid each other of their clothes. It was early morning by the time they fell asleep, their bodies sticky with sweat but too tired to shower now.

Morning comes too fast and Harry groans into the back of Aurora’s neck when the alarm goes off. He turns away from her, his arm sliding from her waist to call room service. Aurora only pays enough attention to make sure he orders plenty of coffee and then lets herself succumb to sleep again.

She wakes up only a little bit later when there’s a knock on the door. Harry’s curls hang heavy from his shower and Aurora can’t help but giggle as he tries to blow some of the curls from his forehead as he sets her coffee on the bedside table nearest her.

After Harry and her eat breakfast, Harry has to jump on a call and Aurora decides to shower back in her own hotel room where her suitcase still is. Considering they had spent most of the past 10 days together, the morning and afternoon apart is nice. She takes a nap and catches up on a few shows, somewhat of a normal day for her.

Aurora is excited to get back to the shows. To get back to seeing Harry on stage, to seeing Helene, to tour life again. It may have only been just over a week but she misses it. She gets it now, when Harry talks about touring being his favourite part. Aurora’s surprised how much she loves it.

| | | | |

Aurora’s in the middle of sending a text message when Harry comes from nowhere and pulls her along with a tight grip on her hand. Aurora’s eyebrows furrow as a giggle leaves her mouth after his name does. When she gets a good look at him she smiles. He’s preemptively put on his black St Laurent trousers for his show tonight in Santiago but instead of the green glittery shirt he’s meant to be wearing, he has a white Treat People With Kindness t-shirt tucked in.

“Come on, Angel,” he says with a smile as he walks them through the hall. The music and noise from the audience grows.

“Harry, where’re we going?” Aurora almost shouts so he can hear her over the ever growing music. He flashes her a smirk, a dimple showing up.

He nods his head at one of the security guards at a double door and they open a door for them. Aurora thanks the guard with a smile before getting pulled along behind Harry. He slows his pace so she can catch up with him. Once she’s standing by his side, his hand drops from hers and throws his arm around her shoulders. He leads Aurora the rest of the way to where a set of metal stairs lead to the stage. Aurora smiles up at Harry when they stop. He quickly kisses her cheek and his arm slides further over her shoulders, his hand hanging off casually. Harry hums along to ‘Shy’ as Leon Bridges performs on stage.

Though a moment like this isn’t deemed normal by most, it feels completely and utterly normal for Harry and Aurora. Both loving the time spent together at Niall’s show, they grasp onto that feeling - the feeling of music making them closer, reaching a new spot in their souls. He continues to hum and sing along throughout Leon’s set and Aurora finds herself closing her eyes, soothed by the live music and his low humming near her ear.

Harry moves to stand directly behind Aurora, his hands sliding up and down Aurora’s arms while kissing the back of her neck as “Bet Ain’t Worth the Hand” finishes. As the audience cheers for Leon, his hands pause at her shoulders before falling forward, hovering over the front of Aurora casually. He sneaks a kiss behind Aurora’s ear and she giggles at the soft touch, her hands reaching up to settle on his forearms. Aurora turns her head just enough to leave a light kiss at the hinge of Harry’s jaw as “River” begins.

She sighs, remembering the night in Harry's car in London, her body relaxing completely into his. She can still remember the sparkle in his eye, even in the dark of the car, and the small smile when Aurora mentioned loving this specific song and her excitement to hear it live.

There’s a warmth radiating off of Harry’s chest and spreading across Aurora’s back. She can feel the rattle of his chest from the vibrations of the speakers mixed with his quiet singing. His lips are centimeters from her ear. Every couple of words they brush against the shell of her ear, sending continuous shivers down Aurora’s spine. Aurora settles a kiss on his arm, on his bicep near his anatomical heart tattoo. Aurora lets her lips graze there for a moment, completely caught up in the music and the incredibly safe feeling she’s overwhelmed with being wrapped in Harry’s arms. The broadness of his shoulders and his height allows for him to completely envelope her when he crosses his arms over her chest, pulling her into his chest even more. Aurora continues to sink into his chest, melting into his t-shirt and feeling like there is no end to how far she can fall into him. Aurora can feel his slight scruff rub against her cheek every so often. The roughness mixed with the softness of his voice is a feeling that she can’t describe but it makes her heart beat a little faster.

Harry sways every so often, perfectly in time with the strum of the guitar and rattle of the tambourine. The song is nearing the end and the audience is singing along with Leon, the lyrics echo through the arena. Aurora lets her hands drop from his arms and twists around to face him. She wraps her arms around his neck as his wrap around her waist, hands clasping his opposite elbows to pull her in closer. Her hips are square on his, a place she finds herself more often than not. Careful not to ruin the curls Ayae has already set in place, Aurora barely weaves her fingers in the hair at his neck. Harry brushes his nose against hers before he looks her in the eyes. The vocals coming from stage are just as vulnerable as they feel right now. Not a single person in the crew that is bustling around backstage is relevant to them right now. Aurora and Harry feel as if they are the only people standing there in the dark, Leon singing to them and only them. They meet in the middle, Harry’s lips taking in Aurora’s bottom one first. The kiss is slow and deep. When Harry pulls away barely a millimeter it’s only to tilt his head to deepen the kiss.

A 4 minute song. A moment for just the 2 of them. A memory from weeks ago. Aurora wishes somehow that there was a way that she could have 2 Harry’s - one to perform his show on stage and one to love on as she enjoyed the show. Show him how much she loves him. How much she loves listening to him, watching him perform. She’ll have to think of more ways to show how much moments like these mean to her. Ways to show him how she wishes she could hold him as he sang has heart out. Show him how he really is that shining light.

And that’s when the opening lyrics of “River” hit Aurora. Lyrics she’s heard a million times.

“Been traveling these wide roads for so long

My heart's been far from you

Ten-thousand miles gone”

It may be a spiritually inspired song, but for Aurora, especially in this moment with Harry's lips on hers, it's all about them. Coming from miles away from each other, only to travel thousands and thousands of miles together. Hearts finally feeling safe again.

| | | | |

The stage set up is different for the South American leg. Without the rising screen, Harry walks on stage in full view as the opening of ‘Only Angel’ begins. The second he’s on the stage, the minimal lights that are shining on the stage catch the sparkle of the rhinestones that cover each strip of fringe. He faces Sarah’s drum kit, takes a swig of water then raises his arms out to the side showcasing the beautiful detail of his jacket - fringe hanging down from his arms and a row across his back. . Aurora can’t help but smile and the second he turns around as the music kicks off there’s a giant smile on Harry’s face as well.

Aurora’s standing off to the side of the pit, leaning against the wall of the tunnel that leads you in and out of the arena. She sinks her hands into the pockets of her pants as a sigh leaves her lips. Subconsciously, she sings along, song after song. She admires the way he almost saunters across the stage, how he effortlessly draps his hands on the mic stand, the way his hair, even when completely disheveled, is always just so, how he exudes confidence and inclusion, how his voice transports the entire audience to a new place.

During ‘Ever Since New York’ he has to stop singing a few times because he can’t avoid the smile that appears on his face. It makes it impossible to sing the lyrics and Aurora smiles too. She knows that smile. He’s explained it before, it’s like he can’t believe what he’s seeing in front of him, can’t believe it’s real.

Aurora’s heart feels heavy in her chest every time he slows down and sings ‘Meet Me In The Hallway’. The care and focus that goes into every note. The pained look on his face that she wants nothing more than to erase. The softness of his closed eyes contradict the tension in his jaw when the words “you left me in the hallway” come floating out of his mouth and echo through the arena.

He’s back on the main stage, guitar slung over his shoulder after running back from the Bstage. Laughter rumbles through the audience every so often during ‘Anna” as the fringe on his sleeve gets stuck on the pins at the bridge, then again on the strings. It doesn’t faze him though, he keeps going like it really didn’t happen. He does laugh at himself after the song ends, trying to talk with the audience but his habit of talking with his hands fires back at him. The fringe becomes somewhat of a spectacle after he has to yank it from the opening of the guitar when he eventually takes it off.

The fringe really adds to the chaos of Harry’s dancing during ‘What Makes You Beautiful.’ The rhinestones catch every light and just like many times before, he’s his own disco ball it seems. He tries to clip the mic back into its stand while he sings the chorus again, but the fringe flies and gets trapped before the mic fits in it’s home. He shakes his head as he messes with it and continues singing. The smile that’s become permanent on his face only grows bigger.

It’s during ‘The Chain’ and ‘Kiwi’ that she starts to see a few red strips of fabric fall to the floor. Aurora laughs for a bit as she watches Harry on stage but then it turns to a groan when she realises that she’ll have to fix the jacket for tomorrow.

“Guess fringe on your sleeves wasn’t the most functional thing,” Aurora says to Harry as she takes the jacket off his shoulders. “Looks like you shredded a few and ripped some off when they got stuck on your guitar strings,” she laughs.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes.

“No worries, I’ll just fix 'em tomorrow.” Aurora takes a closer look at the sleeves once it’s back on the hanger. “I could adjust it a bit if the fringey bits were annoying, just move them away from the cuff,” Aurora offers.

“Didn’t really notice ‘em until they got snagged, but even then it didn’t bother me.”

“Okay, let me know if you change your mind before I work on it tomorrow.” Harry hums.

“You did really great tonight, feel like I don’t say it enough,” Aurora compliments, a feeling of guilt at the bottom of her stomach. She takes the trousers from Harry, hanging them up besides the jacket. “You always do great,” she adds. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Aurora can see in the mirror off to the side, his dimple sinking in and a smirk coming across his face. “Didn’t realise how much I truly love watching you on stage until this past week.”

It wasn’t until Harry got back up on stage in Buenos Aires that Aurora realised how much she missed seeing him on stage. It wasn’t until then that she realised they’d be traveling back to the US and that they’re more than halfway through the tour. It’s not that she hadn’t been enjoying it. Aurora always gets this way when something is nearing the end. Like in the last semester of college and during the last few weeks of high school, she had gotten this weird feeling in her chest, something that almost resembled regret but she didn’t have too many regrets from high school or college. The same feeling appeared at the end of her internship with Harry Lambert, but there were absolutely no regrets then. She finally put it into words what this almost regretful, sad, deep feeling was. It was simply her not wanting change, not wanting to lose the familiarity of her current life. Why should things end when you’re enjoying them? Living in the moment, as cliche as it is, is what Aurora has to remind herself--remind herself to enjoy what’s happening right now rather than what will come later. So here she is, after watching him perform on stage, a range of emotions flowing through her, all interrupting what she’s trying to get out. How does she tell the rockstar in front of her that she loves him in every sense of the word. That she loves him on and off stage. How does she explain that she thinks she’s scared of what the end of the tour will bring. And at the end of the day, how does she, Aurora Marie Del Gatto from a small suburb in New York, get to love the rockstar that performs on stage every night to thousands of people and the man that is so inherently down to earth and loving?

Aurora takes his sweaty white button down from him and hangs that up as well and instead of bringing up what’s actually running through her head she says, “Should wear the black button down tomorrow, I’ll get the white one dry cleaned when we get to the US.”

She turns to Harry as he’s pulling down a black t-shirt over his stomach. He runs a hand through the mess of hair on his head, a soft smile on his relaxed face. The look he gives her organizes her brain in an instant it feels like.“I always knew I loved watching you on stage, but seeing you back up there-” she pauses and shakes her head. “Being with you is one thing,” she continues as she steps closer to him, a light touch of her hand along his jaw, “but seeing you up there… it’s something else.” Aurora’s other hand reaches for his face before she speaks again. “I’m- I’m- I don’t even know if I have the word to explain it properly.” A shake of her head like she’s rattling her unorganized thoughts around in her head. “Proud of you,” she says simply before she presses her lips to his. Harry’s arms wrap around Aurora’s waist tightly, simultaneously bringing her closer to him and opening his mouth up to kiss her more. It’s Aurora who pulls away first, both of their chest rising and falling more than before. Her hands move from his face, then scratch at his back before she’s properly hugging him. Aurora’s arms are heavy on his shoulders and she feels his jaw move slightly as she noses at the vein in his neck.

It could be 2 minutes or 2 hours later when Harry loosens his grip on Aurora, pulling away from her, his smile bright but tired. Harry hums as he kisses her temple.

“I’m gonna make the rounds, quick,” he says, his voice gravelly and tired.

“I promised Issac, I’d call him tonight.” Aurora’s mentioned Issac, her best friend from childhood, a few times to Harry. “He’s 2 hours behind us so it’s kind of a perfect time for him,” she explains. Besides her sister, Issac knows absolutely everything, maybe even more. He wasn’t the best with advice but he always listened. Issac and Aurora always joked about how they are pretty much the same person while they were growing up and even in adulthood not much has changed.

“Oh yeah,” he says, remembering Aurora mentioning it earlier. “I’m sorry, just tired.”

Aurora’s eyebrows furrow, “no need to be sorry.” She lifts a hand to his face, “get some rest, okay? and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she assures him.

“Ror, thanks for uh-” he doesn’t know how to thank her for what she said earlier. “Thanks for-”

“No need to thank me,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. She reaches up to kiss him one last time for the night. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you too,” he whispers with a squeeze to her waist then a hand through her hair.

Aurora waves to everyone in the arena saying goodnight and see ya tomorrow’s to everyone see passes. It's pretty much perfect timing when her phone rings as she unlocks her hotel room door no more than 15 minutes later.

“Issac!” she greets him when his face shows up on her phone. His hair is hidden by one of the many national park hats he owns and his face is covered by his thick beard.

“Roo!” he says excitedly. When they first met when they were 5, ‘Aurora’ wasn’t the easy name to pronounce and Issac being Issac came up with his own nickname for her and ‘Roo’ was it.

“How are you?” she asks, setting the phone down on the bathroom counter.

“I’m great! My last trip was amazing. The dogs loved it and I got some really good photos.” Issac is a photographer for the National Park Service which means lots of camping trip and lots of traveling. “I’ll have to send you some photos tomorrow when I edit them.”

“Yes please! Where are the pups?”

Issac turns his facetime to the back camera. His 2 Australian shepards are passed out next to each other on the rug. “They’re always so tired when we get back,” Issac comments as he flips the camera back to him. Aurora aw’s as his dogs as she wipes the makeup off her face. “How was the show tonight?”

“Really good.”

“I know that look,” Issac comments. “Tell me more.”

Issac reads her better than anyone, Aurora didn’t even know she had a specific look on her face. “I don’t know,” she says, drying off her face and then moving to drop herself on the bed. “Adult feelings are hard,” Aurora says with a laugh.

“You guys already said ‘I love you’ and are sleeping together… what else could there be?”

Aurora groans. “Him being an international rockstar messes with my head sometimes and tour is almost over.”

“Ohhhh,” Issac says realising what’s happening. He’s been there for every single ‘existential dread of change’ conversation--his name for it, not hers. “Roo, you’ve got a full month of tour in front of you and if you think Harry’s gonna drop you the second that last show ends you’ve got something coming.”

“You don’t know that,” she says with a frown. “Roo, do you not think he actually loves you?”

“No!” she says quickly. “I’m not questioning that!”

“If you’re not questioning that then why would you even think anything is going to change?”

“Things always change and touring is a different world. Once tour is over, everything changes.”

“Not everything will change. He’ll still love you after that last show and you’ll both start something new. He’ll make more music, you’ll keep styling him and maybe your boss will get you some other jobs in the meantime.” Aurora lets out a heavy sigh. “And he’ll tour again and you’ll do it again.”

“I know you’re right. You always are with these things,” she sighs again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Thanks for talking me down,”

“Always.”

“Now, shall we drink and talk or drink and watch a movie?”

Issac gets a cold beer from his fridge and Aurora orders wine via room service. They decide on a movie they’ve both seen a million times because without a doubt they’ll end up talking through it anyways. When the movie ends they continue chatting through the credits.

“Okay, you compare the tour dates with your calendar and then let me know which one works for you,” Aurora confirms.

“Maybe I'll just tag along on the rest of the tour,” he jokes.

They’re both laughing despite their tiredness but they eventually stop and say goodnight.

Aurora snuggles into the hotel bed after messing with the sheets and tossing the extra pillows to the floor. She falls asleep fast now that her head is clear, the feeling in her chest is not so heavy--the magic effects of a facetime with her best friend.

| | | | |

Aurora’s sat on the worn down couch in Harry’s dressing room, Harry’s fringe covered jacket that he wore the night before sprawled across her lap, those random Gucci pillows to her left. In front of her on the coffee table, her laptop is propped open, her mother’s smiling face looking back at her.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta reattach the ones we still have and then I’m making some makeshift ones to fill any other empty space.”

“You know better than anyone that you should always do a dress rehearsal,” Aurora’s mom reminds her.

“Mom,” she groans, “yes, I know that, but that’s kinda hard when there’s almost 100 looks. We didn’t have much time before the tour started.”

“Doesn’t he rehearse or something before each show?” Aurora rolls her eyes. She is more annoyed with herself than her mother right now.

“Soundcheck, yeah.” She lets out a sigh. “I should’ve had him wear the jacket for soundcheck at least.” Aurora threads a needle with red thread that matches the fringe. “Didn’t really cross my mind. Everything was already designed and made with him performing on stage and everything, but I didn’t think about things getting stuck in his guitar. I was only thinking about how amazing the fringe would look as he danced around.”

“Rory, sweetie, it’s okay, this is your job anyways, yeah? Making sure he looks good on stage, making repairs and all. I saw a few videos and you were right about how amazing it looks.”

“Yeah it’s fine. I just can’t believe it didn’t cross my mind.” Aurora shakes her head with a laugh. “Anyways, how’ve you been doing?”

“Busy at work but Leila came to visit last weekend. She tells me you’re pretty smitten,” her mom shares.

“Leila,” Aurora hisses. “What on earth did she tell you?” She asks with her eyes narrowed. She does a quick look at the door and it’s still only ajar like she left it. She’d prefer not to have this conversation with everyone being in earshot but this is the best she could do now.

“More than you have.”

“Mom, come on! You can’t expect me to tell you everything or that I tell you everything I tell Leila!” Aurora drops her head back and it lands on the back of the couch. “Leila has something else coming for her when I see her.”

“Aurora Marie,” her mother scolds. Aurora groans. “If it makes you feel better I don’t think she told me everything, but it was still more than you’ve shared.” Aurora looks at her mom through the webcam on her laptop. “She said you stayed at his house in London,” her mother’s eyes soften, trying to relay that she's concerned and skeptical before she continues, “and that he also acted extremely jealous-”

“Do not,” Aurora warns her mother. “Do not pretend like you know anything.”

“Aurora, I’m just worried,” she pleads.

“Harry is not Adrian.” Aurora can’t believe she even has to say that sentence out loud. She can feel her chest tighten up. She catches a glimpse of what she looks like in the small rectangle at the top of the screen and she’s met with her own scowl. Aurora closes her eyes and lets out a breath through her nose. “It was nowhere near the same situation, Mom. I can promise you that.” She can’t believe her mom had the audacity to even think about comparing Harry to her ex boyfriend, Adrian.

“It’s hard not to make those conclusions if you’re keeping things from me.”

“Can you see why I didn’t tell you?”

“Rory, please, you have to understand that I worry, it’s my job.” Aurora can see her mother is trying to apologize.

“Mom, you have to trust me. Yes, Adrian was a jealous asshole and it ruined me. You don’t have to remind me, I was the one in the relationship.” Aurora doesn’t want to go through this. At this point she’d rather Leila told their mother about her sex life. “But this is not Adrian, it’s Harry and the situation was completely different.”

“A jealous man is a jealous man,” her mother says with what seems to be an all knowing tone.

“Mom, stop, please. It was so far from anything that I have ever dealt with before,” Aurora’s growing frustration is boiling in her chest now. Neither of them speak for a minute. Aurora is running through her thoughts trying to find a way to explain this in a way her mother will understand. “Harry’s different. The whole situation was completely different.” A memory sparks and Aurora takes a deep breath. “Okay, look at it this way. You know how I used to get during dance competitions? When I was overly exhausted and stressed? All my emotions at an all time high? That’s what tour is like, but times 10. Harry’s on stage almost every night and add in the traveling and sprinkle in the stress of our new relationship, which at the time was not official. I was stressed over the last part. I had just met his mom and sister and all his friends and I won’t go into it but there was a lot going on. There was a lot going on for both of us and in the midst of the exhaustion and stress and all the other emotions that were floating around, Harry jumped to conclusions. His brain played tricks on him.” Aurora pauses for a moment, her mom nodding along with the explanation. “My brain did the same to me during competitions. You know what that looks like, you know exactly what happened all of those times. I always needed a reasoning voice to calm me down, to explain to me what was really going on. You had to be tough on me sometimes, but you did it because you love me. I dealt with Harry the same way, with love and care but didn’t take any bullshit.” Aurora’s mother sighs then purses her lips together in thought. “Harry did not act on his jealousy like Adrian did. He came to me, we talked it out. I made him apologize.”

Okay is all her mom says so Aurora goes on.

“Mom, you’ve gotta trust me. I’ve learned from the past. I’ve grown up. I’m doing good. and god, I’ve never been happier.”

“I can see that,” her mom says with a smile. “I don’t know how much I have to say this, but I will always worry about you.”

“Please just try to not worry so much.” They look at each other through the screen. “I love you,” Aurora reminds her mother with a smile.

“I love you too, sweetie.”

“Any other burning concerns?” Aurora jokes. Her mother shakes her head with a soft laugh. “Good, anyways, not long till I’ll see you and you’ll get to meet him.”

“Can’t wait!” Her mother beams.

“Well, I called ‘cause I missed ya but also ‘cause I had a question.” Aurora hears the door creak and she turns her head to see it open and Harry come through. He’s wearing an old red t-shirt and black workout shorts. It’s clear he’s just finished training with the sweat clinging to his curls, the water bottle in his hand and his headphones in his ears.

“What was the question?” Aurora’s mother’s voice brings her attention back to the screen and the jacket in her lap.

“Yeah, so I have to make a few more fringe pieces to replace the missing ones and I couldn’t decide which fabric would match best,” Aurora reaches to the side of her for the few pieces of fabric she pulled from her case earlier.

“Hiya, Ror,” Harry says softly as he rounds the back of the couch. “Oh hello,” he says surprisingly when he sees an older woman on the screen. “You must be Rory’s mum,” he concludes. “Ror, looks just like you.” The eyes that stare at him through the computer screen are familiar and her hair is just like Aurora’s only with some flecks of grey throughout the dark dark brown strands.

“Well hello, Harry,” Aurora’s mom responds with a smile.

“Don’t want to interrupt,” he comments quickly, “just grabbing a quick kiss and then off to shower.” Aurora’s cheeks heat up quickly as she lets out a disbelieving huff. And with a promise on his word, Harry bends down, tilts Aurora’s chin with his free hand, lands a fleeting kiss on her lips and walks out of frame. Aurora’s mom has a bright smile on her face.

“What is that look for?” Aurora asks her mom through a giggle she can’t suppress.

“He’s sweet.”

“Shush, now help me decide which fabric to use so I can get back to work,” Aurora begs.

“My mom thinks you’re sweet,” Aurora says as she stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the hotel room. Harry’s ears perk up and he follows her voice. When he leans against the door frame of the bathroom he smiles at the sight in front of him.

The pair of cotton cut off shorts Aurora is wearing are rolled at the waistband to make up for the fact that they’ve stretched out over the years she’s had them. One of the few tour t-shirts she’s acquired over the past few months hangs loose off her shoulders and is tucked into the waistband of her shorts. Hot pink fuzzy socks cover her feet.

“Does she?” Harry asks as he crosses his arms over his chest. Aurora’s face is covered in soap now. She reaches for a clean washcloth to wet and wipe the soap from her face. She smiles at him through the mirror as she hums back to him. “and why’s that?”

“Well we were talking about you, had to clear some things up but then you came in and said Hi to her and then she didn’t question a thing.” Harry’s eyebrows furrow at the answer. He decides to walk into the bathroom and leans against the counter, his back to the mirror and head turned towards Aurora. She’s applying a new product from a blue bottle to her face, Harry doesn’t pay much attention to what it is, more interested in Aurora’s admission.

“What d’ya mean clear things up?”

“Oh,” Aurora says softly. She reaches out a hand to one of his forearms that’s crossed over his chest. She squeezes it before dropping her hand and grabbing another beauty product from her makeup back. “Nothing you have to worry about. She brought up my ex from a few years ago. He wasn’t-” Aurora pauses and looks to Harry, “he wasn’t the greatest.” She applies moisturize before she continues, Harry's eye’s not moving from her face. She takes a deep breath then turns her whole body so she can comfortably look at him. “My mother worries that every guy I meet is going to be like him. No need for me to go into detail but, he was obscenely jealous. No matter what I did he got upset over it. I thought I loved him at the time and didn’t really see how bad it was. Took a lot of convincing from my friend and Leila and my mom that he was bad news. He really messed with my head for awhile.” Aurora sighs as she searches Harry’s face. She can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking but his brows are furrowed, a crease in his forehead and there’s tension in his arms that wasn’t there before. “But I learned from it, know how I deserve to be treated now.”

“You deserve the world,” Harry says and it surprises Aurora. “Just hope I can give you it.”

Aurora’s eyebrows raise in the middle of her face and her lips part. Never has anyone said something like that to her. She releases a breath before a small smile creeps up on her face.

“Think you might deserve even more than the world,” Harry adds.

Not even a full second passes before Aurora is cradling Harry’s face and placing a bruising kiss to his lips. Just as fast, Harry’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her body into his. “I’m gonna try my damndest to give you it though,” he says against her mouth when they pull apart momentarily. Twisting them around, he grips her waist tighter and lifts her onto the empty space on the bathroom counter.

“I hope to do the same for you, ya know,” Aurora whispers back to him. Their foreheads are pressed together and they just look at each other for a moment. They end up giggling and Aurora can’t help but kiss each and every crinkle that appears on Harry's face as he smiles that smile, the one she’s pretty sure he saves just for her. She starts at his dimples, which are so deep that they seem never ending. She kisses high on his cheek, leading to the creases at his eyes. It’s here she can see the brightness of the green in his eyes even through the squint he has right now. Her kisses land on the bridge of his nose and travel down following the lines that appear as he scrunches his nose, giggles still leaving his mouth. She gives up on trying to land a kiss on every single crease and line and divot and decides to kiss every square inch of his face before she finds his lips again. They’re both giggling lightly still and thought it makes it hard to kiss properly, they don’t stop. Their teeth knock together several times, kisses barely landing on each other's lips but they don’t care.

It’s long past midnight but neither of them care to move from where they are. Tomorrow’s a travel day, they can catch up on sleep thenn. And anyways, standing in the crappy fluorescent lighting of the hotel bathroom Harry can’t help but think about how he’s falling more in love by the second.

Her laughter mixes with his and it echoes off the tiled walls and it sounds just like a song.

__________

thanks for reading !!! I hope you enjoyed !!!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #sequins & zippers #aurora on tour #harry styles fanfiction #one direction imagine

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thelightiningthief · 5 years ago

Note

first of all, SORRY that this is coming much later than probably expected!!!! i’m So Bad at writing things in a timely manner

second of all, timelines are....not my strongsuit, so i’m gonna make this idk the summer between botl and tlo so PLEASE bear with me here

chilly summer evenings

Percy lay on the bottom bunk of Cabin 3, staring up at the pictures stuck between the frame and the mattress above him. His arm had already gone numb from propping up his head, but that was the least of his worries.

It was the first of August. The beginning of the month that decided his fate. Well, Percy would be the one making the decision, but it was still the Big Month everyone had been waiting for: the prophecy coming true, the imminent war, Kronos’s impending return in Luke’s body. All of it put a sour taste in his mouth that the fresh sea breeze from the Long Island Sound couldn’t whisk away. It wasn’t like he could do anything right now, though, so why was he still up?

Well, there was one picture in particular that kept drawing his attention: It was him and Annabeth after they’d just won the chariot race together, right before Thalia had been de-tree-ified. The edges of the photograph were frayed from how many times he’d held it in his hands, shoved it into his pockets, and crammed it into whatever small space he could. While it was supposed to be in the Big House on Chiron’s cork board, Percy had asked him if he could hold onto it until the end of the summer. Chiron knew this might be his last summer (hell, it might be the last summer any of them would enjoy), so he relented it to him. Ever since, Percy had stared at it any chance he got, memorizing the happiness it held. A small glimmer of hope.

What he was really looking at, though, the thing that sourced all of that hope in a tiny bottle, was Annabeth’s smile. Percy must have already traced that giant and rare smile a thousand times, practically having imprinted it to the back of his eyelids, but he didn’t think he could ever get sick of it.

Things between them had been... Strange. Good strange! Well, sometimes bad strange... But overall just strange? Did that make sense?

Who was he kidding—nothing made sense anymore. They were on the brink of war for Zeus’s sake! But Annabeth had kissed him before he almost died (for the bajillionth time), but they still hadn’t talked about it. Every time Percy even thought about bringing it up to her, his head felt like cotton and he couldn’t feel his knees. At first, he thought a wood nymph was messing with him, but Grover and Beckendorf both said he was probably just nervous.

They were a lot closer than last summer. But he could say that about any of his friends! Him and Beckendorf had been talking a lot more, too! Most of their talks had to do with Annabeth and Percy’s giant crush on her, but that was besides the point.

Before he could even consider actually turning in for the night, there’s a sharp rap at his door. His body is up with a hand flying to his—oh, right, he’s in boxers. Percy considers his game plan when there’s another knock, a bit more urgent this time. “C’mon, Seaweed Brain! It’s freezing out here!”

His once held breath catches in his throat. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to late nights like this with Annabeth, but it was the first one since everything went down. Since they’d destroyed the Labyrinth. Since he’d practically killed himself. Since she’d kissed him.

“That’s it, I’m just coming in,” she huffed out, clearly annoyed. (Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last time.) Then Percy’s cabin door was opening right before his eyes to reveal... No one. Just a gust of cold wind that raised goosebumps on his bare skin. He shivered as the door closed just as eerily, and Annabeth finally took off her Yankee’s cap only to punch his arm.

“Ow!” he winced and rubbed the spot. “What was that for?”

“Dude it’s freezing out there, and you were just standing here? Figures,” she rolled her eyes and threw herself onto his scattered bed.

Percy bristled at the slight jab. “Well, sorry! You kind of just dropped in!”

“Excuse me, I came in the front door. And you had more than enough time to put on pants, at least,” she pointed out, covering his lower half with her hands with a giggle.

A harsh blush crept up his cheeks, and he quickly moved to his dresser as she continued to laugh at his embarrassment. He was just buttoning up his jeans when Percy noticed Annabeth was lying back on his bed, mimicking the pose he’d held just ten minutes before. In the dim light from the moon, he could just see a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Where’d you get all these pictures?” she whispered out.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking over to the fountain Poseidon had gifted to him. “Uh, all over, I guess? They just kept popping up, and I’d asked Chiron if I could have a few.” He said the last part faster than the rest, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on it.

Annabeth’s head perked up to look at him sideways, her gray eyes a bit wider than they had been a moment prior. She searched his own green ones for an answer to an unasked question. It wasn’t difficult for Percy to feel as though he were being scrutinized and start to feel self conscious about the whole situation. Was she seeing right through him?

“What? I just—I just wanted the memories, I guess,” he mumbled out, crossing his arms semi-defensively.

She peered up at him for longer, her eyebrows coming down slowly yet decisively. He didn’t know if he should say something, but he didn’t even know where to start. Yeah, I’ve pretty much collected pictures of us to stare at late at night, because I kinda really like you. In fact, you caught me in the middle of doing that tonight! Ha! Great timing, by the way. Gods, that’d just be weird!

Suddenly, she was up and dragging him by the arm out the door of his cabin. “Let’s go, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy barely had enough time to snatch his blanket from the bed before they were thrust out into the chilly evening air. There was no need to worry about harpies with impending war, but Apollo and Artemis seriously needed to work something out, because it felt completely unprecedented to be this cold at the beginning of August. His teeth were chattering by the time Annabeth had plopped herself down on the sand of the beach, dragging him down with her; she took the blanket clenched in his freezing fists and worked determinedly to wrap them both within it.

After a moment of simply basking in the sudden warmth, Percy became uncomfortably aware of how close he was to Annabeth. To make matters worse, if he scooched even a little to his right, the blanket would completely relent and let in that frigid sea air. So, he sat perfectly still, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

“You okay, Perce? We can go back if you want,” she said with a slight twinge in her voice that made him look at her for what felt like the first time that night.

Her hair was glowing in the moonlight, silver as if she had joined the Hunters, yet still that bright golden ray of light Percy was so accustomed to seeing a dirty blonde after weeks on a quest. The gray streak that matched his own was tucked behind her ear, and a reminder of a time of longing that he’d rather forget. It was difficult to see in just moonlight, but he could definitely tell her cheeks were flushed, especially with all the staring he was doing at her. In all honesty, it felt as if he were studying a painting. A splash of freckles and a few stray zits were scattered across her face, like brush strokes to a canvas.

However, it was her eyes that made him see the true meaning behind the work. People may call Percy dumb, but there was no mistaking the trust Annabeth was pouring into her downturned, storm-cloud eyes. They were focused so forcedly on his own, that he couldn’t help but come back to them each time he attempted to look at the rest of her face. It took him by surprise, because how could she trust someone like him so wholeheartedly? He’d nearly gotten her killed too many times—at some points he had almost been the one to do it.

“How can you do that?” he asked, looking out to the waves crashing on shore and breaking the trance that was Annabeth.

She had been leaning in just slightly, but jerked back just as much once he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Blinking slowly, Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “What d’you mean?”

He sighed almost exasperatedly, but it was too halfhearted to get anywhere. The next set of waves crashed a little harder than before. “I mean, how can you look at me like I’ll never do anything to hurt you? Like I’m not—not about to decide the fate of the world? Not about to destroy everything just by existing? St. Helen wasn’t even me trying, Annabeth. What else am I capable of?”

There was silence. As silent as it could get with a heavily breathing boy on a beach with a girl looking at him with that kind of look so full of something that everything has to be quiet, just for the time being.

“Percy...” Annabeth started, quieter than the now-swirling sea, “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

His eyes found hers again, both of their eyebrows knit together like the sweaters they’d wished they brought. Again, Percy was so aware of her warmth seeping into him, keeping him present. “Why wouldn’t you be?” His soft voice carried itself to span the few inches between them, once more holding the weight of the world in their midst.

For a second, Annabeth looked as though she was going to laugh, but decided against it. At first, it could be brushed off as a ridiculous thought, but she knew what Percy was capable of right now—what about when he grew more fully into his powers? She shook her head, No, not even then.

“Percy.” She said his name more resolutely this time, placing her hand on his shoulder to turn him towards her. “You may have power none of us will ever know, but...you’re you. It’s not like you’re some evil mastermind plotting against us.”

A single, unsaid name hung in the air.

“How do you know, though? You’ve heard the prophecy.” Percy’s eyes were searching her own again, looking for some hint of doubt.

Annabeth sighed sadly, letting go of his shoulder and pulling him into her arms. “Because—‘Cause the Percy I know wouldn’t destroy a world with his mom in it. The Percy I know wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.” She took a cold breath, smoothing her hand on his back. “And the Percy I know wouldn’t let some stupid prophecy try to stop him from protecting the people he loves.”

Percy stayed still, frozen, but not from the midnight air. “How do you know I’m that Percy still?” The whisper was slightly muffled from Annabeth’s curly hair, but she’d heard him all the same, as signaled by her hand stopping in the middle of its up and down motion.

“I just know.” And it was said with the finality only a daughter of Athena could possess, could hold within her, and could throw back at someone whenever they questioned her.

It was no use for Percy to fight it anymore, so he finally, finally, finally relaxed into her arms, pulling his own around her. The waves slowed on the beach, taking to being pulled by the moon once again. And, for once, they simply sat there, surrounded by a now-sandy blanket that he’d probably have to wash the next morning and an unrelenting breeze that hardly bothered them. Sure, in two weeks time Percy would most likely be dying at the foot of a crumbled Olympus, but he couldn’t worry about that with the cool sea air filling his lungs and Annabeth’s calloused hand rubbing circles into his back. No, that could wait with the blanket.

#asks #fic prompts #percy #annabeth #percabeth #ok this prompt is from...quite a while ago #but! i did it 😌#i hope it’s good??#i know it doesn’t exactly capitalize a lot on the chilly summer evenings #but i made sure to mention it more than once LMAO #pjo #mine

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adanfourty · 4 years ago

Text

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

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buddyxcollyhollis · 5 years ago

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@writervega once upon a time ago you commented on a Drabble about just how Buddy and Helene got to the aftermath of losing Colleen. This finally came to me. The ending storm came from my father’s passing, I’d like to think God sent the rain to bring him home. There’s also a side tidbit about our dear Col, she was born during a rain storm. Could be why she loves the sound so much.

All Ends Have a Beginning { When I’m gone verse }

“Ruth…you seen my gloves?”

Humming softly to herself behind the morning paper she thought for a moment. Stretching her legs for a moment Buddy caught a glimpse of long lean dancer’s legs and he smiled. Sitting there in the morning light, hair mussed and slightly curled and back lit by early summer sunshine his wife was a vision to his eyes.

“They should be out in the tool shed where you left’em, Bud.”

He felt her cool green eyes all but pin him to the spot. Her mind a steel trap as she took in his attire. Chaps and protective over vest and old beat up hat. He had gotten a call from his older brother last night about helping him to break a bronco and maybe putting his name back in the hat. One last ride as it were before closing that chapter on the book of his life. His life could be exponentially shorted judging by the looks his beloved bride was shooting his way. She was off like a shot towards the mounted phone on the wall before Buddy could even blink.

“Clyde Nemual Hollis I’m just about fixing to come on down there and castrate you myself. Did you get Boaz to out his name into the hat?”

Boaz. She very rarely used his given name unless they were intimate or he found himself in a whole heaping helping of trouble and seeing as there wasn’t a bed or a hay pile in sight he guessed he’d better brace himself for her wrath because it was coming. He watched as her face softened for a moment. Clyde must have told her that it was just a bronc he needed help with. It was the truth and his Ruth respected his brother and the truth. Why would Clyde lie to her? He’d never had reason to before this and she’d known damn near twenty-two years at this point.

“He hasn’t had anything to do with broncs since I quite racin’ barrels. You promise me you’ll keep him safe. But as long as it’s just bronc busting that you need help with. He so much as even looks at that bull I’ll be on you like white on rice you hear me?”

She hung up the phone and turned to him the sleeve of her cotton night dress had slipped off one of her slender gently tanned shoulders and she studied him just as intently.

“How badly do you want this?”

Pulling her close he smiled and didn’t hesitate to answer.

“As bad as I want you right now. This’ll be the last time, Ruth. I swear.”

Plucking the hat from his head she kissed him gently.

“Alright, I’ll get you a new set of gloves from Danver’s Supply. I’ve got to go into town for a few things anyway today. You’ll watch Abel today?”

It wasn’t unusual for her to venture into town on her own every now and then. It was the least he could do to keep their toddler entertained for a short amount of time.

“ ‘Course. Cae said he’d be by with those picnic tables you wanted for the fourth. I think between the two of us along with my Clyde Abel’s going to be kept highly entertained until you get back.”

Satisfied she hugged him and took off upstairs to get ready for the day and check on a still slumbering Abel.

The rest of the day was spent weeding the garden and repainting the chicken coop. Abel had just been fed and Colleen had just gotten off the phone with her mother when Buddy found himself with enough time to catch a second wind.

“Looks like I’ve got to go into Wallace for a few things. Daddy’s got something going on with one of the hunting dogs and Mama can’t leave Granny at the moment. I’ve got to stop by Doc Hatcher’s the pharmacy for Granny’s medicines and then I’ll be over to Danver’s and down to the Publix. You’re sure that you’re okay to make dinner tonight? You look beat.”

It was true, all that time spent hunched over in the garden and then getting a call from their neighbor down the road to help with a calf birthing had taken it out of him but he persisted. He watched her watching the sky for any sign of rain. She had been watching weather forecasts and a drought was nearly called. Leave it his wife to worry about just about everyone and everything, even her own garden.

“I’ll be fine ‘sides it’s only a little after one. I’ll be ready to go by the time Cae and Clyde show up and I’m just reheating what you made. I’ll make sure Abe’s cleaned up afterward. Drive safe and I’ll see you ‘bout…”

“Shouldn’t be any later than five or five thirty. Unless Mama needs help getting Granny cleaned up. I’ll call you either way.”

In a flurry of movement she did the usual little swing dance with Abel around the kitchen before depositing a kiss on the toddler’s chubby little cheek and putting him down to scamper off in search of the family dog. The song on the radio changed and before Colleen turned he grabbed her and gave her a twirl around the kitchen floor like he used to do when they went out on Friday nights. Clint had never sounded so good to their ears.

I never liked the rain until I walked through it with you

Every thunder cloud that came was one more I might not get through

But on the darkest day there's always light, and now I see it too

But I never liked the rain until I walked through it with you

“Even the damn radio’s mockin’ me and my poor water deprived garden. Hopefully we’ll get something.”

“Your garden’ll be fine.”

“It’s not just the garden I’m worried about. I miss the sound of it at night. There’s nothing like the sound of a summer storm to help you sleep.”

He never would understand why his wife liked the rain or summer storms so much. Maybe one day he’d figure her out.

She kissed Buddy as gently and sweetly as she always did before snagging his hat again and she was gone with a smile.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He watched as she climbed behind the wheel of her truck. She honked her usual shave and a hair cut honk and away she went. He didn’t know that that would be the last time he’d see her.

Two o’clock rolled around and true to his word Buddy had gotten his second wind. Clyde came by as did Caleb and between the three of them they got the picnic tables set up for the gathering of the clans as Colleen had taken to calling their annual fourth of the July barbecue. Clyde had forgone bringing the bronc anywhere near the Hollis farm and when asked about his he just shook his head.

“Colleen mentioned snippin’ me so Waco can wait another day. Stop on by next week, Buddy. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Abel had taken to situating himself atop his uncle Caleb’s shoulders while winding down for an impromptu nap. Three o’clock came and went as did four and then five. Dinner had been warmed up and the men had eaten and just gotten Abel to eat at least three big bites until the boy had become virtually inconsolable. Buddy figured it was just a case of being overtired and got the boy into the bath and ready for bed by six forty five. By seven Helene stopped over to see Colleen and was perplexed as to why she wasn’t home yet. A phone call from Col’s mother however worried each of them as Abel was passed around from person to person each trying his or her best to get him to settle.

“What do you mean she didn’t stop by? She’s not home yet here. She said she’d be back home around 5:30 at the latest. Maybe she ran into traffic or the truck was giving her some trouble?”

An hour later a vehicle pulled up into the side driveway and footfalls could be heard on the front porch. Jim Walker, a long time friend of both Buddy and Colleen and his deputy Red Gilley were the ones to break the news before the hospital even had a chance to call.

“There’s been a bad accident and…Buddy it’s best that you come with us.”

Clyde had offered to stay with Abel while Caleb and Helene made the drive with him to St. Gabriel’s Hospital a county over. They met her parents there and joined at her bedside. A whirl of activity and Buddy couldn’t understand a single word spoken to him. She had been an organ donor so there were papers to sign. Her body shutting down slowly, she wouldn’t make it through the night. Her Mama and her best friend combed out her long dark hair as Caleb and her father contacted the local minister. Buddy, never left her side and instead he sang to her. Softly, quietly and without shame.

Precious Lord, take my hand

Lead me on, help me stand

I am tired,

I am weak,

I am worn

Through the storm, through the night

Lead me on to the light

Just as he finished the first verse a thunder clap could be heard before great drops of rain pattered against the double paned glass of the hospital room.

“You got your wish, baby. Go with the rain. I love you, Ruth.”

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james-bucky-barnackle · 6 years ago

Text

Frostbite (Part 3)

Requested: can i request a fic between y/n and steve where they’re secret lovers but y/n chooses team iron man in civil war and then fast forward to infinity war she finds out about steve has moved on with nat. -@anon

Part 2 | Frostbite Masterlist

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: ANGST???

Word count: 4,623

A/N: I’m sorry it took too long! I’ve been a little busy I’m defending my thesis next Friday (wish me luck?)

There was a man in her room.

It’s been almost 15 months since the incident, and as strange as it feels, things have gotten back to normal. Months of planning and careful execution was done to alter the events through time travel, and everyone who’s blown by the wind was back in their solid physical bodies, but their lives will never be the same. Especially for the man in her room. As she laid there, her eyes closed and her breathing slow, he visited her every day, not knowing what to say but just wanting to be there when she finally woke up. Y/N’s body has crept into a deep sleep since the infinity war, her powers saved her from dying, but with her in what seemed like a never-ending slumber felt like it was all the same. Steve placed his hand on top of hers as he held it up to his cheeks, a thin layer of ice blanketing his skin. He’s gotten used to the cold. If pain was how it felt to be near her, he wouldn’t care. All he wanted was for her to wake up. He kissed her hand and left the room. He remembers that day, soldiers taking the bodies of the survivors, Y/N was picked up by the medics, taken into Shuri’s lab immediately as he looked on. He would never forget the first three days they waited for her to wake up, back then they wouldn’t have thought it would last months, thinking she would just wake up and go. Shuri did her best to treat her and it took her days to create a new device that will control her body temperature, but even so, she was still asleep. But the scars on her body were untraceable, seamless, better than they looked before, the wound on her head had disappeared. Everyone was mourning for the loss of the half that the titan wiped out, all of which were half of the reason they kept on living. When Tony found her, his heart sank, that same day he found out from Happy that Pepper was taken away by the snap. He didn’t even bother going back to the compound and went straight to where she was, Y/N was the only family he had left.

“I can take her back to the compound, I’ll monitor her health there,” Tony looked up at a surprised Shuri, his voice low. It didn’t take him long to get back from that foreign planet, a long story as to how he got back, no one will ever know, but there he was with a complicated request. His hair disheveled, face covered in dirt, clothes ripped, and his eyes we’re pleading.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. The device is already working, her body temperature has gone up and is almost in a normal level, she should wake up in a few days,” Shuri assures Tony, as she gently hands him a towel which he gladly accepts. He hasn’t bothered cleaning himself up, knowing that she’s gone through this without him around to protect her, but he couldn’t have done anything else, he’s been through so much himself. Little did they know, she wouldn’t be with them for more than a year.

And now she’s laid in the same bed ever since. Like a princess in a fairytale, with no one to kiss her to back to reality. The other avengers would walk past her room and feel a little ache in their hearts, she was alive but it felt like a funeral, for a beautiful being, gone too soon, and has taken too long to wake up.

Today it was gonna change.

The moment Steve left the room with the door lock clicking behind him as he closed it, her eyes fluttered open. She looked straight at the ceiling, breathed her first warm breath, and pulled herself up balancing her upper body on her elbows. She looked around and saw no one in the room, she looked at the bed and at her hands. There was something different about her, her heart beat faster, she was nervous. She carefully pulled the blanket away from her and stood up. A red light blinked on top her bed as a loud beep suddenly rung through her ears. Immediately, her head whipped to the direction of the door, the knob twisting and the door opening to reveal Steve. Her lips parted, but nothing came out, as he immediately ran towards her and hugged her tight. He felt like he was in a dream, Y/N felt like she was in a nightmare. Her hands stayed beside her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say. Steve was smoothing his hands on her back, telling her it’s gonna be okay. But he stops as soon as she continues.

“I don’t know you. C-can you tell me where I am?” she said almost a whisper.

Tony immediately runs to her room after being notified by the alarm. “Okay, who moved the body this time? I told you guys to st--- Y/N.” He stopped in his tracks, the moment he saw Y/N standing enveloped in Steve’s arms. She looked on, eyebrows furrowed, Vision was behind him, too many unfamiliar faces where registering in her brain. Her body was tensing up, Steve pulled away, violently, and when she looked to find why, she saw his shoulders covered in ice. She couldn’t understand what’s in front of her, where she was or who these people were. She stared at her hands, she was shaking, trembling in fear. The temperature in the room dropped, her body felt like it was gonna explode.

“I’m sorry, what… What is wrong with me?! Did I do that? I didn’t mean to! What is happening?!” She was backing into a wall, Tony was holding his hand out, like he was taming a wild animal. Her chest was raising up and down, tears uncontrollably falling on her cheek. “Don’t go near me! Please! I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Sweetie, you’re alright. It’s gonna be okay, you’re just shocked is all.” Tony was nervous, he didn’t want her to shut him out, but he wasn’t as scared as she was.

“I don’t- who are you? Do I live here?” She shook her head, she didn’t think this place was something she would be living in. “Am I a monster? I don’t know what to- I don’t know where I am.”

“I think my appearance would fit more for that description,” Vision remarked, he’s smile was soft.

“Come with me, I’ll help you, it’s gonna be okay.” She looked at Tony’s hand, as he nodded back to reassure her it’s gonna be fine, but she was afraid she’ll hurt him just like she did with Steve, who’s looking on, his eyes gentle not wanting her to think she’s hurt him. And when she saw this confirmation, she took it. A sigh of relief escaping her when ice didn’t appear on Tony’s hand at her touch.

-----

The afternoon was restless, news broke out that Y/N was awake, everyone was concerned and eager to see how she was doing, but they were still waiting for updates. They didn’t want to just barge in and bombard her with inquiries, after all, she wouldn’t even have the answers to any. Dr. Helen Cho detected she had post-traumatic amnesia, after losing consciousness in the battle in Wakanda, her head injury being the cause. After that incident all they were concerned about was when she would ever wake up, this was something they had forgotten was a possibility. Finally, after hours of waiting, Helen came out of the room and handed Tony her vitals, stating she was stable and her body temperature was back to normal.

“I’ve filled in her in with basics, her name, where she is, who you guys are. Well in a general sense, I just told her you guys are people she can trust.” Steve was silent, with Nat right beside him holding his arm, she looked up at him to see how he took the news in, as he mustered up a smile. He didn’t know if he was happy to have her back, or if it was a sign to let her go. She doesn’t even remember him. “You guys can come in, one at a time, for now. Tell her about small things from her past, to try to trigger some memory. Just try to be gentle with it, we don’t want her first memory to be violent, her powers might take over her body, just like what happened earlier, and she might fall into another sleep,” her last words are with caution, “or worse.” She nods and leaves the hall.

The rest of the week has been amusing for Y/N, everyone came in once a day to check up on her, introduce themselves and tell her stories about what she was like. It was confusing at first, but she quickly warmed up to everyone, well, with the exception of Steve, who she hasn’t seen since waking up, and Bucky, who thought his presence would trigger something negative and kept his distance. He didn’t even consider the idea of visiting her, since he wouldn’t have anything to say about her. Bruce and Tony have been visiting her often, telling her jokes and cheering her up with their crazy science talk. Wanda stopped by once with Vision to bring food they’ve cooked, and Y/N couldn’t wait for them to get back and taste what meal they’ve prepared next. Natasha has dropped by and she kept very much to herself, but Y/N figured she was just as confused as she was, having to talk to a friend with them not knowing who they were, it was unnerving. Today, Y/N was reading a book when she heard the door open.

“Hey there, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”

“Are you sure you’re not my father?” She asked, a smirk on her lips. His visitor looked up and pretended to think.

“Uhm, let me think, yep, positive.” Tony replied as he sets down a tray of food for her.

“Whatever you say,” Y/N puts her book down and grabs one of the plates. “Uhm Tony,” he looks up at her as he takes a bite of the apple from the tray.

“I’m ready,” Tony slows his chewing, thinking of what to reply but she continues. “I’m ready to leave this medical room and live in a real bedroom. Besides, it might help speed things up a bit if I get to see the people I’ve lived with before, every day.” All Tony could think of was how she might react to living back in the same floor with the rest of the avengers, this has been the most peaceful she’s ever been, not thinking about the problems she’s had in the past, or the heartache she felt from Steve. But he knew better than to take that choice from her. What peace could she be in if she doesn’t even know her past? All he could do was give her a smile.

“You’re right, we’ll get you settled in the morning. After I get your room defrosted,” Y/N laughed, but those powers never really made sense to her. She couldn’t remember anything about the existence of enhanced species, it felt too fictional. She feared herself, and what she could do, but she’s never been able to freeze anything since she’s hurt Steve’s shoulders. Helen has told her it’s okay to trust her senses and let her powers slowly come out so she could learn to control it, like she’s used to, but it’s never come out no matter how hard she concentrated, she almost felt like it was a blessing, she didn’t want to risk hers or anyone else’s life. It felt like that morning where Steve’s shoulders were covered in ice didn’t even happen at all, like a practical joke. But him not visiting her became her confirmation.

“Thank you,” she replied, “it feels kind of weird talking to people I don’t remember and being told to trust them.” She immediately wanted to take the words back, but Tony knew that wasn’t what she meant. “I’m sorry, it just – feels like I’m back at zero, and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Tony grabbed her hand and nodded. He didn’t know the exact words to say or the things to do, but he knew that whatever she needed he’ll support her, just as she’s done for him all those years. That same night, he had the monitors taken out of her room, the medical machines and all the things that made it look like a hospital. He’s gotten used to her room filled with all those equipment that when they were taken down it felt like someone else’s room. Maybe it was, she still couldn’t remember anything from her past but at least she was still with them.

The morning she arrived back at the floor wasn’t celebratory, the avengers were out on a meeting with the council, she had the floor all to herself. She walked around and looked at the place, familiarizing herself with the surroundings. It felt so new, like she was moving in to a new loft. She wandered through the kitchen, checked every cabinet like a kid, walked around the dining table figuring where she usually sat. Who was she kidding? She was gonna have to start fresh, which seat she sat on wouldn’t matter. After thinking to herself for hours, she found herself in the balcony, hugging herself as she looked at the sunset. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, she felt alone. Not knowing who she is, where she belonged, and anyone. Sure, there were these people who’s been taking care of her, and helping her remember, but she was slowly losing faith. What if she couldn’t remember? It was too soon to be concerned about, but she felt an undermining fear hoping there was at least one thing she could wrap her head around that she wasn’t completely gone. She felt small, and indifferent, what did she live for?

“Lady Y/N,” she heard a voice call out which made her jump a bit. She turned to see a tall man wearing a suit of armor with a red cape, he’s never visited before, she tried to look at him, analyzing his features but nothing came. When he saw her bewildered expression, he walked closer. “Apologies, I was told you have a problem with your memory. I’m Thor, son of Odin.”

She put her hands in her pocket and pressed her lips tight. It was embarrassing to meet people who probably know her more than she does herself. “Hey, I uh, still can’t wrap my head around my name…” she chuckled. “But yes hello, nice to meet you again- Thor.”

“I’ve brought you these, I remember you had a lot in your room.” He handed a small bouquet of flowers, they didn’t look store-bought. They looked beautiful, and Y/N felt an urgent recognition. She didn’t know what, but something about these flowers felt familiar.

“Thank you, Thor.”

“You’re welcome, I’ve also come here to ask if you wanted to join the rest of us for dinner, if you’re ready, that is.” She looked up, surprised, but this was the plan, she reminded herself not to be too overwhelmed when she sees all of them at the same time and for a moment looked at her hand. They felt warm she let a deep breath out and bobbed her head. Here we go, she thought to herself.

The table was full of chatter, as she walked towards it, it felt like she was intruding in a family dinner. But weren’t they her family too? She could do this, she will. Everything paced slowly as she looked around looking for an unoccupied chair. It was next to Wanda, thank god it was her. Wanda’s face lights up as she sees Y/N walking towards the dining table and points to the seat next to her. Y/N gave her a shy smile, never reaching her eyes, she felt like the new kid, and maybe she was.

“Y/N! Hey, nice to see you join us.” She didn’t reply, but only sat in her chair. She didn’t know what to say, she was still taking everything in. Luckily Sam was engaging her in his stories making her feel less awkward. This was one of the few times they appreciated his talkative mouth. He was talking about one of their first missions together, how she always forgot where her post was. Great, so I was already forgetful back then, she thought. Steve was there, sitting next to Natasha as she squeezed his hand. They were still together, he’s never gotten to fully process everything after Y/N was taken by the medics that day in Wakanda. And Nat was there to help him get through things. He waited for Y/N to wake up, days became weeks and weeks became months and months became a year, and he felt tortured, like it was his punishment for all the things he did to her. Nat knew he still visited her every day when Y/N was still asleep, but trusted him enough to not think anything of it. Steve thought the opposite, he knew he was being selfish being with Nat and being in anguish waiting for Y/N to wake up, but now that she has, she doesn’t even remember him. It was a slap to his face, she’s back with no idea of what happened in the past and here he was with all of their memories, and his guilt drowning him. She was back, and Steve didn’t know what to say or do, he only ever was ready to see her again, and now that she’s here, he felt shut in the dark.

He ate slowly, ever so often stealing a glance at her. She was smiling at Sam’s and Thor’s stories. Before he raised his eyebrows and shook his head, Bucky looked at him, and without any words, understood what he felt. Dinner finished and it was his and Bucky’s schedule to clear the table and wash the dishes. He felt a little conscious when Y/N insisted on staying out to help them.

“It’s okay, I want to do this. I haven’t been here in such a long time, a little housework could- I don’t know, domesticate my brain here.” Her eyes were bright, the eyes he loved looking at every morning and every night. Steve tried so hard not to stare too long, and turned his head to the sink.

“You need to rest, we got this.” Steve proceeded to pile the plates on the sink as Bucky started washing them.

“I’ve been asleep for months, I think I can handle a few more hours.” She bit her lip, she felt guilty around him, but she had to try. “I want to apologize for what happened last week.”

“It’s okay,” I deserved it, Steve thought. “I’m fine, a little bit of ice wouldn’t hurt anybody. Besides, it was a hot day.” Y/N let a laugh out but her eyes immediately went back to concern. She thought twice before she approached him, but she mustered up the courage to reach for his shoulder. He shivered under her touch.

“I hope we can be friends, again.” He couldn’t hide his agony. Bucky looked at his friend, he didn’t know how to make the situation better for him. Steve looked back at her, faking a smile.

“Of course, doll. Like always.” She beamed at him, she was a ball of sunshine. Steve was intoxicated with her, but he thought the last thing she needed was a reminder of her heart break.

“I figured you hated me, since I didn’t see you at the medical room,” he tensed up, “I didn’t mean to sound conceited, you didn’t have to. I just, really feel bad for what I did to you.” It didn’t sound right in his ears, he’s been visiting her every day, not minding the frost she gave his skin when he made contact, but here she was apologizing for physically hurting him, when he’s hurt her so much more. He stupidly considered her amnesia to be a good thing, maybe it freed her from him.

“No one could ever hate you,” it was true, she was too precious for this world.

“I would,” she shook her head, “falling asleep for 15 months and then waking up and not remembering anything? It’s like I’ve played myself.” She knew it was dumb to smile, but it was an expression she hid beneath and felt comfort in. He wanted to hug her, tell her to stop blaming herself for everything that’s happened, but he stood frozen in his place, thinking his feelings would only confuse her, it was too soon, or maybe it didn’t really matter anymore, she’s gone. This Y/N standing in front of him has no recollection of him, telling her anything would only ruin the bliss he saw she was feeling.

“That’s not true, Y/N. None of this is your fault, it was an accident.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard that before?” and before she could talk about it, Bucky interrupted to tell Steve to move on to another plate. He didn’t realize he’s been drying the same plate he first started out, he didn’t even realize it until his pal pointed it out. He let a low laugh and wrinkled his nose at him.

The night ended and Y/N went back to her room, it was a small step, but at least she’s gotten to sit down with everyone all at the same time. Her worries about being left out were out of the window. Maybe she’d be okay, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe not remembering anything from her past wasn’t such a bad thing, nothing seemed to be missing, although it would always come to haunt her. She’d have to face it another time, for now, she’ll have to deal with the present, and learn what it’s like to live again, she’s been given another chance at it.

As she walked up to her bed, she saw a book on top of her nightstand, the cover wrinkled and blurred, like something melted on top of it. She smoothed her fingers on top of the covers, reminiscing on what memory it could possibly hold. A yellow shade cast over its white cover, like a flower. She felt an instantaneous rush to be at the balcony, she picked the book up and walked out of the room. Her steps were ardent. It felt like she was chasing after something that might escape as soon as she gets there. Her breathing accelerated and her chest was pounding, Y/N couldn’t understand what she was feeling, but she found herself back in the balcony with the book in her hand, seeing no one there. Her eyes flickered, and every time they would blink she would see a shadow of a man standing in the balcony, moonlight hitting his skin just right, but his back was turned and before she could call out to him the visions disappear. She coughed, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She felt physical pain in her chest, and she didn’t know why. It was sudden, she gripped the book tighter, maybe she was ready to let go of her past, but her past wasn’t done with her yet.

Days had gone by, she still felt a little awkward waking up in her bed. She stopped joining the others during supper, she stopped coming after the first week. It’s not that she didn’t want to be around them, she just couldn’t bear another story about her. They all kept talking about who she was, or what she liked, disliked, but it only made her feel like they all wanted someone else. She couldn’t recognize the person they described her to be. It didn’t feel like her, or at least, not anymore. She felt like she was living under the shadow of herself. She hated her. They would go on missions without Y/N because she didn’t have any skill to offer. Her powers have yet to make an appearance, and her muscle memory didn’t pick up on any hand to hand combat. She felt useless. The only reason she thought was good enough for her to stay was that even with the absence of her powers, outside factors might trigger it and she wouldn’t be able to control it. Y/N wished she just stayed asleep, she was living a life in confinement, it was prison. At night she would walk to the balcony just to cry, it felt like a blanket.

“Why did this happen to me?” she huffed as she hugged her knees, wrapping herself underneath a huge sweater. She started smacking her head, she wanted to scream. Crying almost felt like an addiction, she was comforted by torment, her self-loathing had become her refuge. Every time she would fall into another episode, she would embrace it and pour her heart out into buckets of tears. She would wake up late in the afternoon, eat by herself, and went back to her room. She survived on one meal a day, having a messed-up body clock. Wanda stopped by her room once, her kind eyes curious to find out what was going on, but Y/N insisted she was fine and that she needed time alone. The only meal she’s shared was with Tony, who’s noticed her behavior, but she still couldn’t open up to him, even though he was the only one who hasn’t spoken about anything from her past self. She appreciated that.

The rain came swiftly, Y/N was covered by raindrops, masking her tears as she kept in the same position on the rooftop. She didn’t bother standing up, the water hitting the concrete was the noise she needed to drown her thoughts out. She couldn’t stop thinking about the man from her visions. She would stay in the balcony for as long as consciousness allowed her, like he might suddenly show up. But so far, he’s only ever lived on her mind.

“Jesus, Y/N! You’re gonna catch a cold.” a figure stood in front of her and pulled her up. Rain pouring on his back. She was stoic, her gaze locked on his electric blue eyes. He was speaking but she couldn’t hear the words, she just kept staring into his eyes. She searched his face, taking his features in like she was gonna fall into another deep sleep, like the last time she’ll ever get to see them. Something about his eyes felt magnetic, it was suddenly hard to look away. Her thoughts were fuming like static. Her chest was throbbing, her eyes were washed in fear and confusion.

“Steve?” He looked at her the moment his name rolled off her tongue, his eyes now reflecting the same confusion. Something about her tone felt all too familiar. Her hand lifted to touch his face, and he just kept still. Before her skin could ever touch his, she felt frost on her fingertips and quickly pulled away, a loud gasp escaping her lips.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Y/N?”

She held her hand with tiny specks or ice settling on top of them wiped it on her sweater’s sleeves. Why did her hand frost just as she was about to touch him? Why did looking into his eyes send a sharp pang of pain? The same pain she felt that night she found that book in her room. Why did his stare look like something she knew like the back of her hand? Who was he?

______

PART 4 | Check out my other stuff too? | M A S T E R L I S T

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years ago

Text

St. Augustine

Or, The Realization of Truth

Summary: After Mr Sinclaire storms off his own party, Lady Susan comes to find him at the yard.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1474

Notes: I reiterate I am not a sociopath who can only take pleasure on sex and the suffering of my fellow men. To prove it, have some fluffy fluff.

“Why, then, does truth generate hatred, and why does thy servant who preaches the truth come to be an enemy to them who also love the happy life, which is nothing else than joy in the truth—unless it be that truth is loved in such a way that those who love something else besides her wish that to be the truth which they do love. Since they are unwilling to be deceived, they are unwilling to be convinced that they have been deceived. Therefore, they hate the truth for the sake of whatever it is that they love in place of the truth. They love truth when she shines on them; and hate her when she rebukes them.”

~ Confessions, Book 10, Chapter 23

Ernest felt like screaming, shouting until his voice was hoarse, but he contained himself on the grounds he had humiliated himself enough tonight. No need to feed the likes of Theresa Sutton with more babble to spread through the city.

God knows she had enough already.

He breathed heavily and tried to loosen his tie, in hopes that it would help the flow of air through his throat.

If the simple fact of upholding this travesty of a party while he would rather be doing just about literally anything else, including touring an apiary farm covered head to toe in honey, was not irritating enough, that… that… thing who the Fates had the sick pleasure of making a Duke had the damned idea to crash it.

What was the sick obsession of that man with him? It was going on years, even before the death of his wife, the Duke’s tendency to trail behind him, like a demon who could not be exorcised. The man leaving him alone might not make Ernest hate Tristan any less, but it would make the exercise less taxactive.

Perhaps if he had not came without an invitation, the esquire might have contained his temper, he might have thrown a respectable, composed, adjusted act for the night. Yes, the coup de grace had been a courtesy of Miss Sutton, whom, be stated, he also had no intention of inviting, but the Duke chirped at his patience enough before.

Though, to be fair, he had placed great expectations on tonight. He set himself for disappointment. He had hoped he could prove, to his peers, to himself, to her, that he was capable of doing this, being a standing member of polite society, to live up to the training he received as a boy.

He wanted to reinforce that first image Lady Susan had of him when they first met, on the road to Grover. Of the staunch nobleman to her county peasant. Out of spite, yes, all their encounters were in some way humiliating to him, but also because, in his head, this was the kind of man she desired and respected.

Now, would be better, he considers, to be taken as a bumbling, wimp of a man or as someone who threw tantrums and conniptions left and right? Those seemed to be his options at the moment, perhaps he ought to cut his losses and invest in one of those personas.

The season had already started, and people would soon notice Lady Susan. Not only a dashing, young, ludicrously wealthy heiress, she was also highly intelligent, sharp and the very envy of Helen of Troy. She was a wild bird, he could not cage her, he did not want it, but he could convince her to stay of free will.

He could, too, curtail at all chances her contacts with possible competitors. Ernest had to hand it to himself. Sitting her between Mr Marlcaster and Mr Chambers was resourceful of him. Marlcaster was an engaged idiot, and while the esquire held appreciation for Mr Chambers, he was hardly blind to where his preferences laid.

Hence the also very convenient invitation to Mr Konevi, the Sephardi gentleman who seemed to be quite taken with Chambers.

He could not help but think it was going all so well until he lost his nerve and fled to the gardens. God, he was pathetic.

If it was not enough, he also left Lady Susan alone with the leering Duke.

That thought brought him another wave of anxiety. Lady Susan was inside his house, surrounded by a horde of useless ninnies and a rapist disguised as a peer of the realm.

He jumps to his feet and turns to race inside once again, but as he looks towards the house once more, there stood the very same woman he intended to protect, her eyes shining from the lights of his porch.

“I never understood why we hold the social season so late in the spring. I would much rather to face the heat at the fields, where it is windy, or to wash my feet on the river, than in the stuffiness of London.” Susan says, leisurely fanning herself. “That is to say, I know in the times of old, the landowners were needed at their estates during sowing and harvest, but the idea the likes of the Duke of Karlington to labour in any way makes me laugh.”

Ernest looks deep into her eyes and tries not to disclose the dejection he felt on the corners of his heart in saying, “Is your party not to your satisfaction, Lady Susan?”

“On the contrary, Mr Sinclaire, send my regards to your cook. I am yet to find such a tasteful roasted meat.” She closes her fan and walks over to the shade of the tree, where he currently stood. “Perhaps it was the herbs. You would not know what they use, would you?”

“I do not take much attention to those details, Lady Susan, I apologize.” The esquire punctuates his apology with a nod.

She hummed, unaffected. “Of course, I did not think you would. Foolish of me to ask. Tell me, Mr Sinclaire, what do you like to eat?”

The blond man scoffed. “From our earlier exchanges, Lady Susan, I was led to believe you detested to ‘beat around the bush’, so to speak.”

Susan smiles, amused. “Indeed, I do not favour this kind of behaviour, but I am nothing if not adaptable. I did not think you would appreciate if I came running and fretted over your hysteria.”

He frowned. “I do not have hysteria, Lady Susan.”

She chuckled, sitting on a bench he had installed years prior for reading on days of intense heat. “What would you call it then? Or would you rather me believe your urgent errands consist on circling around a tree and mumble to yourself?”

The brunette tapped the seat next to her, inviting him to join her. He complies with her request, but the slight pout does not subdue.

“You see, Mr Sinclaire, only because I have been taking under my responsibility your regular releases for the past few months, does not mean I cannot be of help in other areas of your life.” She places her hands on his, and he cannot contain a shy smile to spread on his face.

“I am a very capable and, dare I say, forward woman.” The brunette continues. “I understand your wife’s death might be a delicate subject for you, especially if Miss Sutton’s word is to be taken at face value, and I also understand the Duke’s presence is particularly unpleasant for you. I will not press you into details.

“Know that, however, I am here if and when you want to talk about it. I said it before and I will say it again, I do care for your well-being, and it stands regardless of both of our desires to wed at the season’s closing.”

She caresses the sides of his face. “Much as I appreciate your callings for our… nightly activities, I would not mind to heed your way for other business.”

Ernest smiles widely at her, his eyes glinting. “I am so very sorry, Lady Susan. I am a fool.”

She chuckles. “What for, Mr Sinclaire?”

“I once thought you were beneath me, I though you to be some bold coquette who was trying to bite more she could chew.” He breaks eye contact, ashamed of himself. “The truth is you are an extraordinaire woman. I came here to brood like a petulant child, and you had the grace to come and get me, to console me, and to offer more consideration I can possibly make myself worth.”

Lady Susan smiled at the man, and boldly kisses his cheek. “It serves you not to doubt me again. Shall we return to the party?”

Ernest stood tall and offered the woman his hand. “It would be my greatest pleasure, milady.”

Susan took his hand and they walked into the house. For the remainder of the night, her hand did not leave his own, and a smile was never seen away from his features.

Taglist: @catlady0911; @choicesyouplayandmore; @cocomaxley; @llholloway; @mrsernestsinclaire; @shelivesinthewoods; @tornbetween2loves

#desire & decorum #ernest sinclaire

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