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ninjahiccups · 1 year ago

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The Songbird of Asgard

Chapter 12: Effort

AO3 Masterlist Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: Suggested adult themes, but nothing explicit; language

Okay, I know it's been a while, but it's because I'm releasing three chapters at once! I'll be posting the chapters with a day between them on tumblr to avoid spamming, but they'll all be up on AO3 if you can't wait :)

And I'm terrible at saying it, but thank you to everyone who leaves notes and comments on this. I read all of them, but I never know what to say. I appreciate every single one, and the fact that people are enjoying this. Thank you so much! <3

When Eivor awoke she thought he truly had duped her.

Heimdall had returned to his cabin very late last night, as he predicted. Even so he immediately set his attention on her, to make up for the time they lost as promised. They were up speaking about all manner of things for hours, Heimdall being noticeably more tame than he ever had, pausing and hesitating so often that Eivor had to resort to completing actions as a means to give consent. Even a simple reach for her hand made him stutter long enough for her to close the distance for him. He wanted to spend the entire night with her, he said, but Eivor insisted they sleep. Neither of them had gotten good rest in a while thanks to their separation, and he had just spent a stressful day catching up on his duties. Even gods needed rest after so much exhaustion.

The morning came. Heimdall had promised things would be different, and yet Eivor found herself alone when she opened her eyes. Her hand went to the abandoned space next to her, feeling how cold it was. He'd left a long while ago.

Despair. Then she sat up, hugging her knees. A deep breath, a sigh. She couldn't jump to conclusions already, to give up before they even got started. Doubt, however, was still difficult to dismiss, pulling her lips into a frown so severe that her cheeks hurt, all while a longing look was cast to his side of the bed. That was when she caught sight of something on Heimdall's neat pillow next to her, placed perfectly and deliberately in the center of the surface. Puzzled, she reached down and realized it was a square of parchment, adorned with neat, eloquent handwriting that she immediately recognized.

Good morning, my love.

I thought it best to let you sleep in. You were the one who was so adamant about getting enough rest, after all.

I look forward to seeing you.

-H.

A hand covered her mouth as joyful tears dripped down her cheeks, feeling her chest tighten in pleasant shock. Of course he wouldn't have the guts to sign his full name, she thought to herself. She threw the sheets off to stow this card away somewhere special, never wanting to let such a beautiful and, frankly, in-character message be lost and forgotten. She stopped mid stride when a notepad on Heimdall's nightstand caught her eye. Never had it been placed there before, making her curious. Upon flipping the top page over she found several other cards hidden underneath, all of them containing half completed messages. Some of them were torn in half, others having every rune furiously crossed out, serving as evidence of his frustration.

Not only did he want her to know he had thought about her, he even took the time to craft the right words to do so.

Eivor shook her head. How long had he stood there, wondering how to leave without making her feel forgotten? How long had he stared at her, thinking about what he could say before settling on a combination of sincerity and their mutual sarcasm? How many times had he kissed her cheek and tucked her loose hair behind her ear even though she wouldn't feel it?

What a serious but silly man he was.

It wasn't perfect, but he was trying. And that was enough.

So many disapproved of their reunion, Sif especially, even if the elder goddess did resign to Eivor's decision quickly. What none of the naysayers saw was that Hemdall really did try, maybe even too hard at times. On some occasions it was even surprising to see just how determined he was to keep his word.

Some aspects were more subtle. When they ran into each other during the day he was less eager, but still just as attentive. Instead of dragging Eivor away to satisfy whatever itch he needed her to scratch, he would simply approach her and speak to her like they used to, maybe give her a light kiss on the cheek if no one was looking — something he had never done before. There was so much more he wanted to do, she could see it in his face, the clench of his controlled jaw, yet he still wore his usual smirk and initiated the same taunts they always exchanged. It felt so much like the early days, when just time together was all they needed to be content.

Even so, Heimdall was far too dedicated to perfection to feel like that was enough. No, he couldn't just revert to the past; he had to build upon it. What else could he do to be better?

Gifts, he decided. And a bit too heavy handed at that.

He was rather blatant about it, sometimes practicing it daily. Jewelry, like earrings that matched the cuff she gave him, gold bangles and bracelets decorated by jewels, far too many things for her to ever wear at once. Still, he felt compelled to give her anything that he found pretty. When she told him she had nowhere to put any of these trinkets, he responded by finding her a jewelry box — which had given her a good laugh. Heimdall pivoted to clothing sometimes, maybe even a few plants for her to keep in his cabin. He would have given her books if she still didn't have so many of his to read.

Eivor was pleased to find that he didn't rely solely on the materialistic, forming a habit of giving some sign that he thought of her before leaving in the morning. A few times it was one of his aforementioned gifts, other times a piece of fruit or sweet bread, which felt special considering he had to return from the lodge before starting his work. More often than not it was another note, not unlike his first. He had no idea that she kept every single one, loving them so much that she almost regretted getting better at waking up early enough to see him off a few times a week.

Communication in general was an area he sought to improve. When she did little things around his cabin that she'd always done, such as dusting, making his bed, things of the like, he actually said something about it. Not criticism, but praise. Well, it was vaguely kind, but for Heimdall that was close enough. It was something as discreet as "my collection appears quite lustrous, it seems," or "an organized wardrobe, one of my favorite things to see." No direct thanks or compliments, merely acknowledgement. And that was already a leap from his nitpicky nagging. Of course, he still did have some complaints here and there, but an amount that was normal for him. He was still Heimdall, after all.

Though these adjustments would have been enough to start, his most astounding shift was in the actions he displayed during those romantic moments that no other saw. Gone were the impatient nips, the aggressive kisses, the groping and teasing. No more waiting for her to warn him that he was pushing beyond her comfort zone or asking him to pull back. In fact, Eivor even felt that he might have toned his physical affection down a bit too much. He began being so gentle, rarely doing more than holding her hand or placing small kisses on her lips, barely even touching her at times, like he was afraid she would break if he applied more than an ounce of pressure. It took about a week of missing his usual passion before she realized that he wasn't playing it far too safe, but was allowing her to control how far he went. Heimdall would invite her in, informing her with these subtle touches that he wanted her in his arms, then wait for her to decide just how much she wanted to give. They were in the lodge on the day she figured it out. All the servants had left to do their other chores, giving Heimdall a moment to reach for her and brush a hand across her cheek, smiling softly while he just looked at her. Eivor's eyes widened when she noticed that he was waiting, then threw her arms around him in joy.

What Eivor was not aware of was exactly how difficult it all was. Heimdall was a master of never showing an iota of weakness. As such he never revealed just how awful and demanding it was to mediate the struggle between his desire and his heart every single waking moment he spent with her. Standing before her in the lodge, he felt his hand twitch, meaning to move upward and seize her by the waist to pull her in for a deep kiss. Then he'd pause, clenching his fist before gathering his wits. He was in control. He was better than his impulses. And to prove that he would relax his hand, merely sweeping it over her cheek while swallowing the mounting impatience within. For her, he would wait.

Despite the level of control he managed to maintain, it got painful at times. Standing next to her at the top of the wall, he wanted so badly to reach over and put his hand across her back and hold her waist, but he would always stop. Sure, he could have just used his foresight to see how she felt, but that wasn't enough. Not anymore. He didn't want to squander every one of their sweet, secure moments by letting in all the sensations he could feel from all directions. If he brought her any discomfort, he would see it with his own eyes. He could get by without his foresight. If anyone could, it was him, and he owed her that effort.

In time, however, that required effort seemed to fade, surprisingly. He almost…enjoyed the work that he put towards their relationship, liked letting her control the pace and come to him rather than taking everything he wanted. To know that she would want him just as often as he wanted her gave a level of fulfillment that he didn't even know of. But now that he did he wasn't sure how long he could hold back his delight. Eivor's hand dragging his to her waist, reminding him that she had no problem with his touch, feeling her snuggle close to him while he was trying to decide how much was too much, listening to her say that she wanted him next to her — it was all so sublime yet made him so much more aware of the building need he was reigning in constantly. How was he supposed to be mindful of what she wanted if his thoughts were consumed by the ocean of want churning within? Where did he channel that energy?

One day he found the answer.

Heimdall returned home a little early, solely because he wanted to see her, waltzing into his bedroom to find Eivor sitting in the alcove. The waning sunlight highlighted her form so beautifully, accentuated every tuft of her styled hair, every gentle curve of her limbs as they grasped the book she read. In the moment all he could do was stare, idly leaning on the archway with a dreamy smile replacing all the fatigue and annoyance that had accumulated throughout the day. That urge to rush over and claim her returned, but he silenced it. Somehow this image before him was far more tempting.

Then she finally looked up, grinning at him. "Yes?"

For a second his mind was blank. Then he opened his mouth to say at least a greeting, but it was shut again, no words ever getting through. All he could manage was shaking his head. He needed to do something, had to release this love somehow.

"You know, you're welcome to join me. This is your home."

Heimdall chuckled, rolling his eyes before taking her suggestion. Slowly, measuring every movement and monitoring every reaction he could see, he reached the alcove. With her seated in the middle and her back to one side, legs hanging over the edge, he chose to take the place behind her. Carefully, like he was handling the fabric of the realms, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Eivor sighed, leaning back into him. It was so lovely.

That's when he realized how familiar this was. He remembered. He used to do this often, just sit there and feel the peace her presence brought him, never looking for any more than that simple moment. After abstaining from it for so long he had forgotten how enjoyable it was. How happy he was with something so small. He missed this.

Acting on distant muscle memory, he reached up and released her hair from the clip, burying his nose into her radiant locks and taking in her scent, her aura, all the emotion that had him frolicking in the clouds. He wasn't looking for any outlet for all this feeling. He just ruminated in it.

That was it. That's what he was missing. He was so convinced that there was no way everything he felt could be contained, that every emotion required some sort of outlet, that he failed to recognize that he once expressed his love just like this — before he knew it was love. There was no reason to escalate it, no need to convert all of this passion into touches. This could make him just as happy as any physical action would. This made him feel just as loved, and let him release his love.

How had he forgotten the times when this was enough? How had he forgotten that this would always be enough?

For a few weeks he had been so distant, so on edge and alert, when all he had to do was feel. Just feel, and let go, and there would be nothing more he had to do to express the emotions bursting from him, no need to wonder if he was doing too much. It was that simple.

All this effort he had been investing wasn't effort at all. He just didn't know that it wasn't — no, he didn't know that such a small amount of effort could be so rewarding.

No more. No more overcompensating, no more making this so hard. All he had to do was love, and that was it.

Eivor had no idea that he changed that evening, thinking nothing of the heartfelt "I love you" he whispered in that moment. She would only learn after it began to manifest.

The gifts mostly stopped. Now that he didn't feel compelled to give something at certain intervals, nothing felt worthy of a token for his Songbird. No jewelry was lustrous enough, no clothing fine enough, no plant fragrant enough. Instead of impulse he relied on memory and attention — two things he excelled at. Any little scrap of information that could be tucked away for later was scarfed down and stored for the perfect opportunity.

The first was a book. Heimdall brought up the book she had just finished reading from his collection, asking for her thoughts. When she explained that it reminded her of a story she missed, he inquired further. Apparently she had lost a novel some time ago while in Alfheim, a rare copy that was one of the few left from an elven author. She expressed how much she missed it. He was determined to find it.

It took over a week of sleuthing and demanding answers from anyone with knowledge on the author and their work in both Asgard and Alfheim, but finally he found it.

Unlike all his previous gifts, he felt…giddy. He was excited for her to have this, so ecstatic to see her glee. He presented the book to her, her bright eyes lighting up and gasping as soon as she recognized it. Eivor squealed and hopped in place, exclaiming just how incredible of a gift it was, saying that no one had ever done something so nice for her. Her arms flew around his neck as she jumped at him with enough height that he had to catch her before she dragged them both to the ground, chuckling as he gently set her back on the floor. The words of gratitude engulfed him, giggled and danced across his heart. There was no urge to take any more. He reveled in her happiness, could feel it even without his second sight, and that sensation was so much more potent by comparison. That was enough. That embrace was all he needed to feel whole and satisfied.

The second instance came when her flimsy wooden hair clip broke. Unsurprising, since it was only intended to be a temporary replacement after her first one broke months ago, during their final search for Odin's relic. Once the metal spring snapped Eivor sighed, lamenting that she had yet to pick out a new one. Heimdal nearly slapped himself for not thinking to do so himself sooner. He truly was an absolute moron before his recent revelation.

Nothing in Gladsheim's market was good enough, nothing fit Eivor's taste or her beauty. Heimdall could almost picture the perfect accessory, but it was just barely out of his mind's grasp. So he had one custom made. Then that one wasn't satisfactory, prompting him to condemn it and demand another. And another. And three more until the jeweler, exhausted and quite terrified after so many missteps, finally produced something that made him say to himself, Yes, that's the one. Silver, which was a contrast to his usual preference for gold, but this shade would bring out the color of her hair. The swirling patterns forming the body were elegant and organic, feeling almost Vanir in nature, but still unique enough to match her. Purple gems, small and tasteful, were sprinkled across, and when seen from a short distance they formed the shape of a bird. She would adore this, he knew it.

He chose a different approach this time. Like he had been doing for some time, he left the clip in a box on his pillow when he left that morning, his heart nearly stopping when she stirred as he was heading out the door. Thankfully she was too drowsy to notice that anything was amiss, accepting his kiss before dozing off again.

This presented an entirely new level of excitement. He kept his eyes open, waiting for her to appear and see the elation in her expression when she found him. He was practically bouncing on his feet all morning as he waited. Outside of Gulltoppr’s pen, just as he was about to mount his beast, was when Heimdall was nearly tackled, his foresight being the only thing keeping him from being launched into the dirt. Eivor was nearly swinging from him as she hugged him, exclaiming frantically, "Thank you, thank you! I love it, thank you!"

Heimdall, after regaining his composure, laughed while he pulled her into him. "I'm assuming it's to your liking? I honestly can't tell."

Eivor backed away to lightly scold, "Yes, Heimdall, I came all this way just to tell you I hate it." Unable to say more, she grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him down into an open mouthed kiss. It was enough of a spectacle that when she hugged him again he had to glare at the bystanders to get them to cease their staring. Eivor none the wiser, he pointed out, "Well, if you did like it wouldn't you be wearing it?"

Referring to her loose hair, Eivor backed away and replied, "I wanted you to do it."

It was impossible to repress the grin from blooming on Heimdall's face as she handed him the accessory and turned around. Sending one last glower to the few onlookers who were too daft to get the first warning, he gathered up her hair into the loose bun she always wore, pinching it into place with the new clip. "Hmmm…it seems your suitor has excellent taste," he teased.

Eivor only shook her head and buried herself in his torso again. She mumbled into his shoulder, "You're so sweet…"

Caught in the moment, still enjoying the feeling of love for what it was, he replied without hesitation. And he replied in a way that he, up until this point, would have to coach himself into spitting out.

"Anything for my Songbird."

It took all of Eivor’s self control not to kiss him again.

It began to feel like a dream that had overtaken their waking lives. Heimdall had returned to his tactile ways, though this time he was rather subdued. He resumed touching her whenever he could, discarding the diffidence and distance that he resorted to, but his hands remained in innocent places. No longer did he wonder when it was too much because he didn't feel the need to be so intense. All of that passion was poured into every caress of her hand, every kiss on her hair. He didn't push for more because anything was enough, and with every simple touch being enough he could put all of his attention into it. He even surprised himself when he was standing next to her at the top of the wall. Out of nowhere he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, planting a firm kiss on her knuckles. It was just as satisfying as taking the skin of her neck between his teeth or feeling her hips in his hands. Actually…it was more satisfying. Eivor could sense it too, the unabashed love spreading from him and staining her heart in the best way. These changes that came between such meaningful gifts made the bigger, more extravagant expressions so much more.

Communication habits were edited further. His disguised praise evolved. From, "The bed looks especially comfortable tonight," to, "I see you've been taking good care of me," all the way to, "You're making this cabin into a wonderful home" while hugging her from behind and kissing her shoulder. Sure, those words weren't direct, still shrouded by that "language" Eivor always hounded him about, but they were clear enough that there was no second guessing her value.

Those notes that he left in the mornings, once so stiff and formal, transformed into tiny love letters, appearing almost every morning.

Good morning, Songbird,

I'll be out of the realm today, so you'll have to manage without me until tonight. Do try to survive.

-H.

The next week:

My beloved,

It seems you were up too late reading again. Not to worry, I still kissed you goodbye with all the love in my heart. Free of charge, for you.

I love you.

-H

Until they all were:

Morning, my dearest love,

A raven pulled me away earlier than usual today. My sincerest apologies, I do wish I was there to greet you. I'll be looking for you until I can kiss you good morning. Don't keep me waiting too long.

Forever yours,

-Heimdall

Despite how regular they were becoming, each and every one meant the world to Eivor, and they all went to her growing collection of stored notes. She wasn't sure exactly how he would feel about such "incriminating" letters floating around, keeping them tucked away and out of sight. It was her secret stash that she would go through when he had to be away for longer than usual.

Such a dramatic change. Just like that, it felt as magical as it did the night they shared their first kiss, just as fresh and pure. It felt like falling in love over and over again. And all Heimdall had to do was feel this love instead of exploding with it, putting in just the tiniest bit of work to make that possible. Hel, it didn't even feel like work because he wanted to do it, just like he wanted to protect Asgard for Odin. Keeping his promise to her was just as natural as keeping his promise to protect the realm. He took pride in what he did for Eivor, was more than happy to provide her with anything she could ever want to be happy. And she was eager to repay him with songs and kisses and all the time he wanted to spend with her.

Neither of them had ever felt so in love. So full of life.

After a few months of this, the irony revealed itself. Their roles switched; the one who was content becoming the one who wanted more.

With that, the next phase of Odin's plan could begin.

The door to the All-Father's study swung open slowly, meekly. Even though Odin responded to the knock by inviting Eivor in, she was still cautious, mindful that she was entering a sacred space. "You needed to see me, All-Father?"

Odin was browsing one of the bookshelves in the back of the room, taking one thick volume from the shelf before returning to his desk. "Yes, just for a moment. Don't worry, this will be quick and painless." He busied himself with organizing the documents on his desk, tucking some papers under others before looking up at her. "So, how have things been lately? The Einherjar giving you any trouble? Or the armory?"

With Eivor's unique magic Odin had given her duties relating to enhancing weapons and putting protective spells over Einherjar before they trained to prevent severe injury. To say the least, it was rather boring and mundane. That couldn't be the reason she was summoned. "No trouble at all, not yet. Unless…I'm doing something wrong?"

Odin chuckled, sitting at his desk with his hands folded together. "No, I have no complaints, just wanted to ask." He paused, something in his gaze becoming calculating. "Though, there is something I've noticed. You and Heimdall are…pretty close now, aren't you?"

Eivor felt the blush creep up her neck and to her face. Odin was always so warm and charming, it was easy to forget that he really did live up to his reputation of being all-knowing. "Oh, um, well…yes, I suppose you could say that."

"And you two are happy, yes?"

"We are."

The light mood fell when Odin grew serious, looking almost cold. The All-Father leaned against the backrest in a way that felt imposing as he replied, "I can certainly see that." Eivor flinched as a shiver ran down her spine, but she couldn't pin down exactly what made her so fearful. These were simple questions, nothing too probing or judgmental, no sign of anger or disappointment. It was just…the air about him. His very aura suddenly felt unsettling.

Before Eivor could inquire about this shift, Odin seemed to lift their spirits without a hitch, like nothing ever happened. "There isn't exactly a problem per se, I just want to point out that Heimdall has been distracted at times. Considering he is the protector of the realm and Gladsheim's first line of defense, that's not something I can ignore for too long."

A blink. Then two. "I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

One more laugh. "Nothing much. I just want you to know that Heimdall is very important around here, and although you two are happy, I still need him first."

Oh. Odin just…wanted to make sure she wasn't taking Heimdall away from his work? Well, that made her feel foolish. Had Odin ever given her a reason to think he wasn't going to be fair and reasonable? No, she was just overreacting. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize that we were having such an impact on the realm."

"No need to apologize, there's been no major disruptions for some time, I'm just communicating before there's a real problem. You can calm down, my dear." The goddess sighed in relief, thoughts preventing her from formulating a response. Odin didn't ask for one, continuing on, "That's all I needed, you really aren't in any trouble. So if you don't need anything from me you're free to go."

Since she had nothing more to say, Eivor merely bid him farewell with a bow.

Odin sat there, thinking. No suspicion. Perfect. Everything was progressing as he expected.

Outside of the office, Eivor attempted to decipher the cause of such a meeting. She and Heimdall hadn't been doing anything more than usual as of late, making this friendly reminder seem a bit too out of the blue to make sense. Then again…it had been established just how observant Odin was. He may have noticed that certain…feelings were changing with her. Perhaps his summons was justified in that regard.

Heimdall had kept up all the sweet gestures and patience he developed. The notes, the gentle touches, the thoughtful words and gifts, it was like he had finally met his full potential in terms of romance. After experiencing it for some time, she found that she began to understand where he was coming from before their disagreement…

It started one night some time ago, when the weather was a bit warmer than usual throughout the day and night. Eivor was reading in Heimdall's bed, finishing the last few pages of a book while Heimdall was changing in his washroom. She heard his footsteps just as she closed the book, holding it out as she asked without looking his way, "Could you be a dear and put this away, Dall?"

The watchman scoffed while snatching the book. "Why of course, m'lady. I do look like a lowly servant, don't I?"

A smirk appeared and a retort was rising until he walked past her, leaving her awestruck. Due to the heat Heimdall had decided to forego a shirt for the night, which was rare. The last time she had seen his bare torso she'd had a typical reaction, but this time…something was different. Her eyes raked over his form as he wandered over to the alcove to place the book back where it belonged. The subtle dips and bumps across his back, the cute moles and freckles adorning his skin, the strength and confidence in his posture, the lean muscles in his arm as it rose and flexed — wait, flexed?

"I can practically feel you staring," Heimdall teased, looking far too pleased with himself as he tightened his arm a bit more, sliding the book in place as he did so.

Eivor finally ripped her eyes away and crossed her arms like a sulking child. "You don't have to show off."

All she got in return was a chuckle as he blew out the candles, climbing over the bed to plant a sweet kiss on her temple. "There's no need to hide it, darling." Of course he would relish in the attention.

She had to close her eyes before she was settled in to make sure she wouldn't ogle at his chest while she curled into it. Then they woke up the next morning, and she was surprised to find that she had stirred just moments after Heimdall. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, taking a minute to stretch. Bare skin and freckles was the first thing Eivor saw and it nearly made her groan. That same excitement, the same…temptation to touch him bubbled up again. He was right there, so close, and still unkempt and drowsy. A state only she had seen him in. The slight turning of his head indicated he knew she was awake. Shaking off a yawn, Eivor scooted closer to him, reaching out to put a hand on his tricep. "Morning," she rasped, stuck on the forms across his shoulder. She wasn't sure if he was paying enough attention to know how she was feeling.

"You're up early. What an accomplishment."

As usual, he had to ruin the moment with sarcasm that made her roll her eyes. "And you're not dressed yet. Look at how slow you are."

Heimdall looked over his shoulder at her, smirking. "I have a feeling you don't really care."

Shrug. "Maybe not…" Her self control seemed to wane as she sat up and shifted closer. She stayed right behind him, both hands gently landing on his back, making him sigh. His eyelids fell while her fingers moved along his back, heartbeat quickening despite how calm he felt. Then she sidled up even closer, her hands wrapping around to feel his front, chest and cheek against his back. Slim fingers slid across his pecs, her breath blowing onto his spine. It made him tense and clench the furs in his fists, jaw tightening as that very familiar aching need rose in him. How he wanted to return the favor, kiss along her neck and drag his hands down —

One of her nails grazed across his ribcage as she pulled one hand towards his side, taking them both off guard when he let out a small grunt in response.

He had to stop himself. One hand flew from bed to take her hers and hold it in place. Eivor winced at how tightly he gripped her fingers, unaware that he was holding back his own daydreaming. It was far too overwhelming, this desire washing over him, for him to read her and see what she wanted during this exchange. The wiser choice, as far as he could see at the time, was to withdraw rather than take his chances guessing. Carefully, Heimdall raised her hand to his lips as he shakily mumbled, "I'm afraid now isn't a good time." A tender kiss was placed on her wrist. Then he lost himself for just a second, leaning in to let his teeth gnaw at the thin flesh. His clouded mind failed to pick up on the mounting anticipation coming from Eivor. This was the only time she didn't want him to slow down. With his control back, he added, "I do have matters to attend to."

As much as Eivor wanted to shout that she couldn't care less for his duties at the time, she relented, her forehead resting against his back. Unsure of whether it was to distract Heimdall or herself, Eivor pouted, "You don't actually like me, do you?"

Heimdall sighed in annoyance. But revenge would come after he slowly turned to meet her gaze, leaning in to kiss her sweetly before pulling away with a snarky smile. "No, I don't."

Eivor yanked herself away to roll back onto her side with a grumble, facing the opposite way. "You can go now," she harrumphed, not at all liking the mocking laughter she received. Then Heimdall circled around to reach the washroom, his hand landing on her bent knee as he passed, just to satisfy that suppressed need while he still could. It made her smile.

She thought it would be a one time thing. Proof of the opposite came as the heat wave continued, the same feelings arising with each night Heimdall slept underdressed. It was this tension, this impatience — restlessness, even — that she hadn't experienced before. But she wanted more.

With that longing for Heimdall's more passionate side Eivor let little bits of it back into their relationship. On one occasion, Eivor was sent to Svartalfheim, tasked with using her magic to reinforce metals that would be forged into weapons for the Einherjar — a job she hated, feeling like the dwarves were afraid of everything and everyone, but she tried to show them kindness in any way she could. It was a larger job than she expected, carrying on late into the night. So late that, much to their mutual disappointment, Eivor would not be back until after Heimdall usually retired. She opted to stay in her own cabin so he could sleep. He was always so easy to wake up.

Both she and Heimdall failed to realize what kind of effect it would have after spending almost every night together for ages. The scion remained in bed for hours, tossing and turning until he gave up and resorted to glaring at the roof. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore, not after he was certain Eivor had returned. Without a second thought or grabbing any of his gear — including Gjallarhorn — Heimdall marched out of his home and whistled for Gulltoppr, taking the beast to Eivor's residence and letting himself in. As expected, he found her asleep in her own bed. Quietly, and far more relieved than he ever wanted to admit, Heimdall slipped in behind her, immediately thrusting his nose into her hair and wrapping an arm around her waist. He couldn't remember the last time he fell asleep so fast. So fast that he didn't even stay awake long enough to catch Eivor stirring and turning her head to see him, smiling once she caught a glimpse of his visage.

Her bed was so much smaller than his, and they were reminded of it in the morning. For once, Eivor woke up before Heimdall. Amused, she carefully rolled over to face him, finding his eyes open by the time she was settled. "Miss me?" She asked cheekily, sweeping a finger across his jawline.

"Don't push it."

Eivor giggled, finding it so funny that he was too embarrassed to even consider addressing it. Feeling like she had the upper hand, and flooded with love after such a sweet display of yearning, she moved even closer to him, voice dropping low. "Well, if I can't push that, then…" To Heimdall's shock, he felt her leg rise and settle over his hips. The exact same position she was once too uneasy to withstand. "How about this?"

The impish smirk and teasing gleam in her eyes made him tremble, hiding it behind a chuckle. "Well, that—" A break in his statement when her hand took his and placed it on her thigh. Licking his dry lips, he managed to mumble, "I have no objections." A laugh and a kiss was his reward, as well as several minutes of staying just like that, enjoying the moment. It was impossible for Eivor not to snicker when he realized he had nothing to wear or even Gjallarhorn with him, graciously taking Gulltoppr to retrieve them for him. The watchman would never be seen underprepared, after all.

In time she began to miss his rougher kisses, his teeth on her bottom lip and hands drifting down her waist. It became so unbearable that she was the one to track him down to let it all out, asking him for a moment in private to do just that. He obliged, and was even surprised when she would swipe her tongue across his lip, smirking as he drew her closer. That urge to yank her closer and practically devour her came back with a vengeance, this time much more demanding now that it was given and not taken. It was astonishing, actually, how much harder it was to keep those desires to himself when he knew she was willing to give him what he wanted, to know that she wanted it too. Unfortunately it was him that had to end these moments, hoping to avoid rushing her into things she wasn't ready for, much to both of their frustration. That didn't prevent him from counting down the minutes to their next meeting, however. And even when it was abundantly clear that Heimdall was trying to step away before he went too far, he always took a moment to give a heartfelt goodbye before letting her go. He'd taken to the habit of taking her hand and kissing her knuckles with a charming smile before that familiar smirk returned.

With so much more confidence Eivor became more bold, more comfortable with taking charge of what she wanted. Creativity struck her, thoughts wandering to things she wanted to do that he hadn't done — or in this case, couldn't.

It was a lazy evening, the sun still letting in some light while Eivor hummed and played her lyre at Heimdall's desk and the watchman sat in the chair in the corner, reading. He was smiling, relaxed, clearly listening while he read, yet Eivor still felt like he wasn't paying enough attention to her. The lyre was set on the table, careful not to disturb the neatly organized papers on it, and Eivor stood, crossing her arms playfully. "You really are just sitting all the way over there, hm? It's almost like you're ignoring me."

Without looking up, Heimdall replied snobbishly, "I am fond of this spot."

Eivor let out a hum, allowing impulse to take control as she stepped over to him and pushed the hand holding the book to the side. He looked up, then his eyes widened as she sat across his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck with a sneaky grin and a sultry look in her gaze. Without thinking Heimdall put one hand on her knee as she taunted, "How do you like it now?"

Throat dry, spine tingling, palms sweating, Heimdall swallowed the thick lump in his throat. "Well…this chair is made for only one."

The goddess threw her head to the side with an exasperated sigh before turning back to him and laughing, "I hate you."

She got no response other than a chuckle before they leaned in for a deep kiss. They pulled each other closer, hands drifting to and caressing whatever they could reach. The book slipped from Heimdall's fingers, abandoned on the floor like an egg falling from a nest — precious, but left behind in favor of what was left. He wasn't able to hold himself back, so pleased and delighted by this newfound teasing in her. It was a wonder he was even surprised. Fiery, sassy, and daring, of course she would find a new way to drive him mad. The thought did…things to him. Things he couldn't keep behind bars. Especially when her mouth found his jawline and tugged on the skin with her teeth. He was powerless to object, his hands wandering from knee to hip and from the loose strands of hair to her lower back before he could stop himself. And once he started it was too delicious to stop.

As always, there was a point that Eivor wasn't willing to breach, still uncertain. She pulled away, leaving them both panting with their foreheads pressed together. In no time she pulled him in to rest her cheek on top of his head, bringing his nose into her neck while she started to sing. Just like that, all the tension melted, even though it was the good kind, and Heimdall felt himself give in to the intimacy he had grown to adore so much. So much happiness, and he didn't even know he could have it this way until she gave him another chance.

Then the subject suddenly changed, as if they weren't in what some would consider a "compromising" position. What Heimdall loved about that moment was how seamless it was, how it was so comfortable that she thought nothing of it anymore. "Dall? Do you think you could sing to me now?"

If he wasn't so relaxed he would have groaned and rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time she had asked, and he was certain it wouldn't be last, regardless of his answer. "I still choose to leave that to you."

Eivor pulled back, giving him her most convincing pout and whining, "Why not? You might be good at it."

"Oh, I'm sure I would be." The arrogance of his reply ruined her exaggerated pout and turned it into an annoyed frown. "But it's not at all a good use of my time."

"Are you saying that my singing is a waste of time then?"

"It isn't for you, but for me it's frivolous."

An eye roll was her response. "You don't always have to do something useful or productive. You could just do it for fun. I'll teach you!"

"The answer is still no." Despite the stern tone he felt himself smiling warmly.

She finally gave up the fight, sighing as she lowered her cheek onto his head again. "I'll change your mind someday."

In most situations he would have insisted that she never would. This time he was too lost in thought, feeling her comfort, her enjoyment of the moment, her willingness to stay like this. It was confirmation. He was no longer causing her stress by doing something so intimate, giving her no reason to second guess his intent. These tender times had become as natural as holding hands, and she wanted to have more of them with him. And that, contrary to what he would have said months ago, felt better than any touch or kiss he could ever have.

Gods, he loved her so. And she was equally enamored with him.

So much passionate affection boils over eventually, and it did once Heimdall's magnum opus of gifts came to be.

It came from unpredictable circumstances. On an average day Eivor chose to play her flute in the lodge, only the occasional servant passing by at that time of day. She was trapped in the melodies, the brief audiences lost to her as all her focus went to the sweet tune. Only one thing managed to catch her attention, and that was the lumbering thumps coming from the lower level of the lodge.

Green eyes opened as Thor made his way into the main room, looking as glum as he always does after he speaks with Odin. The giant stopped just in front of her, seeming slightly less inebriated than usual. "Hey, Birdie."

"Hey, Big Guy. Need something?"

"Nah, there's just somethin' I gotta ask," Thor slurred, crossing his arms. His seriousness made Eivor retrieve her thin leather bag from the tabletop and place the flute back inside, pulling on the string to seal it before setting it on the bench beside her. There was a brief pause, then Thor harshly spat out, making no attempt to hide his suspicions, "How's he been treatin' ya?" Eivor almost laughed. Sif must have vented to him many times now if even he felt compelled to take a moment to check on her.

Eivor stood, her neck hurting from looking up at Thor. "He's doing quite well, actually. I have no complaints, honestly."

The giant god harrumphed. "Well, if that changes, you know who to ask for."

"And you'd do something about it even if you can't hit Heimdall?"

"My boys will find a way." The new voice belonged to Sif, who made her way into the room with Magni at her side, the young god's lip bloodied. He and Modi must have been going at it again. "I doubt even he can take all of my brutes at once."

Eivor couldn't hold back a chuckle this time. "And do these 'brutes' appreciate your nickname for them? Thor, Magni?"

The god of thunder only grunted while Magni defended,"I won't say in front of my mother," making the two goddesses laugh. So focused on the conversation, they all failed to notice the figure coming from the stairs, sneaking over to the group.

A warcry rang from behind the Aesir, Modi sprinting from the stairway to tackle his brother. Thor seized Eivor wrist and pulled her away as Magni stepped aside and tripped his brother, the younger god slipping and slamming into the table. She saw his backside land directly on the leather bag she left on the bench. Before Thor could even open his mouth to scold his sons Eivor gasped, "My flute!"

Modi, dazed from the blow, had little reaction. "Huh?"

"Modi, up! Move!" Sif ordered, scaring her son into full consciousness.

"The fuck are you two doing?" Thor barked as Eivor hurried to the bag.

"Me? I didn't do nothin'," Magni protested.

Despite the small bit of hope Eivor held, she knew her flute was destroyed as soon as she picked up the bag, hearing the bone shards rustling inside. "No…"

"It's just a flute," Sif consoled softly. "It's replaceable."

"It was my father's…"

Sif's bright blue eyes landed on the young pair. "This is what happens when you two act so carelessly!"

Such an insult did nothing to intimidate the young gods compared to the fury in their father's voice as he growled, "You fucking idiots! Can't you do anything with some finesse?" The irony of such a statement coming from a drunk wasn't lost on anyone, but it couldn't be noted before he added, "Do I need to beat the sense into you two again?!"

Sif was just as menacing, even as she went to her friend's side and put an arm around her shoulders. The fear from Thor's sons was so palpable that Eivor had to look up at them, needing no time to deduce just how terrified they were of the very real threats from their own parents. "No," she intervened, setting her grief aside to minimize their punishment. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have left something so valuable and fragile lying around."

"I disagree," Sif added stubbornly.

"Really, it wasn't their fault. It's okay."

The devastation was still present in her voice in spite of her efforts to hide it. With a sigh and a vow to lecture her sons later, Sif pulled Eivor towards the door as she shot Thor a demanding look. "There must be a tradesman in the market who can repair it. Let's see what they say."

Once the two were away, Thor glared at his two sons, only faltering when Huginn flew in with an exaggerated squawk, ordering him to take care of their business. The god of thunder growled, "I'd beat your asses when I get back…" he stepped to the raven, soon swept up by black feathers, "but I know Heimdall will do worse."

With their father gone, Magni slapped the back of his brother's head, knowing that was exactly what was going to happen.

Eivor knew it as well. Which was why, after it was made clear that her flute could not be repaired, she decided she would not tell Heimdall, maybe even find a replacement before he notices and come up with a cover story.

And that worked. For a week, until Thor stormed up to Heimdall in a drunken rage asking why the watchman hadn't beaten his sons yet. Eivor didn’t even want to know what the pair looked like after she heard about Heimdall's revenge.

Once the Sons of Thunder were thoroughly thrashed, Heimdall wasted no time seeking to undo the damage — without telling Eivor, knowing she wouldn't ask him to try to match the value of her father's flute. Which he was certainly going to do anyway.

He recalled a specific artisan in Gladsheim, well known for his mastery of crafting all manner of tools, from weapons to decorations to jewelry, and instruments were included in his repertoire. If his memory served (which it always did), even some of his own spare gauntlets and belts had been made by this craftsman, and if Heimdall found his work adequate enough to accept, then it could potentially be enough for Eivor. When the scion tracked down the shop and went inside, he heard rummaging from behind the workbench, clearing his throat impatiently when he was not immediately welcomed. An old man with round glasses shot up, clapping his hands together to brush dust off of his gloves as he gave a crotchety, "Heh? Who's that now?" The older man, who was apparently half dwarf, barely came to Heimdall's shoulder, but he had no issue matching the god's disrespectful sneer. His dark stubble was sprinkled with gray spots and his nearly bald head matched, synergizing with the wrinkles around his eyes to sell his age and experience. The lack of decorum also gave away how long ago he had abandoned formality. "Are you really gonna walk into my shop with a look like that?"

It was so tempting to teach him a lesson, but Heimdall refrained. Mostly. "Are you really going to give me a reason to stab you?"

"Look here, whenever a god walks into my shop — All-Father's orders or not — they don't just wander in. They come here for my work, so we both know you ain't doin' nothin' to me."

Heimdall had to hold back a sigh. This felt too much like dealing with one of the Huldra brothers for his taste. "Kerr, was it? If you're somehow capable of living up to your reputation then you can make quality instruments."

Kerr placed his hands on his bench and fixed Heimdall with a cynical look. "Yeah, yeah. Truth be told, they're one of my favorite kinds of jobs. What are ya in the market for?"

"A flute."

"Ah, for your goddess girlfriend, I bet."

"That's not your place to say, mutt." Heimdall could feel the smugness coming from Kerr after his snappy retort.

"Ohhhh, mutt, he calls me. Well, if you live up to your reputation, you're gonna be picky. So if you want a top notch flute, you better drop the attitude."

Admittedly it was rather impressive that Kerr was so unaffected by his insults or his demeanor, even if it was exceptionally annoying and inconvenient.

"I'm assumin' you want it to be pretty. You got a design in mind?"

Heimdall rolled his eyes. "Isn't that your job?"

"I gotta have a starting point, ya know. You have an idea for color, motif, material?"

"Still your job."

Nearly slamming his hands down on the table, Kerr proposed harshly, "Alright then, watchman, how bout this; you're a mind reader. How about I think something, you tell me how it is?"

"That might be the most decently intelligent thing you've said yet."

For far longer than Kerr anticipated, it became a long string of silence followed by disapproval.

"No, that's hideous."

"Horrendous. Try again. With effort this time"

"What a sorry excuse of an artisan you are."

Kerr proved to have surprisingly thick skin, not even blinking when Heimdall would shut down one image after another. This method was intended to be the fastest way to work with Heimdall, yet an hour later he was still unimpressed and losing patience.

Then they had a breakthrough.

The design Kerr had in mind made Heimdall pause. It felt right. Delicate, yet striking, and integrating designs that were similar to the Vanir engravings on Eivor's lost flute.

"...It's an improvement."

Kerr slapped his knee with a guffaw and shouted, "Now we're gettin' somewhere!"

Minute changes from then on. Altering the color, the engraving placement, precious stones accents …it was so close. But not right just yet.

Heimdall sighed in frustration after a vague flaw just wouldn't disappear. "Do you truly have no unique materials? What good are your ideas if they aren't feasible?" With an obvious groan, Kerr dug out a metal box full of shards of metal, stones, glass, all manner of shiny baubles to add. Yet none of them felt right. "Still nothing. That can't be all you have."

Kerr grumbled something under his breath that Heimdall didn't care enough to listen to. Then something caught his eye as Kerr rested a hand on the table while he reached underneath to dig through more samples. He had a jewel of some sort at the back of his gloves, used to fasten them closely to his arm. "What's that?"

"Huh? What now?"

"That," Heimdall growled, pointing to the clip in question.

"Oh, this? This here's labradorite."

"Labradorite…I've never heard of it," Heimdall commented while Kerr searched for something in a drawer. He honestly would have thought the craftsman was making it up if he couldn't see the truth so easily.

"It's a rare material. That's why." Two palm sized pebbles were placed on the tabletop, the stones mostly dark grey other than where the light shined on it, revealing streaks of blue and green on one and purple and gold on the other. "It's from Alfheim, a crystal in between regular, crummy stone and Twilight Stone. Y'see, Twilight Stones form when the Light of Alfheim binds to stone and crystallizes. Labradorite has the same process, but with limited exposure to the Light, making the colors more muted and varied and having less shine."

Heimdall picked up one of the smooth rocks and turned it, admiring the waves of color flashing across the surface, not unlike the lights in the sky that are seen in winter. There was just one detail that left him on the fence. "The color is inconsistent in these. Can they contain only one color?"

"Depends on —"

"Purple."

"Yeah, they can come in purple varieties, just harder to find."

A brief pause as Heimdall inspected the stone. It was so much like Eivor. So humble and smooth on the outside, but with a beauty and light that could only be seen from within. The place of origin was fitting as well. A lovely jewel hidden among the filthy sands, just like her. If there was a hint of this instead of those strips of gold…

"This will do. But only in purple."

Kerr shrugged. "Sure. It'll be costly."

"Do you think I care?"

"Nope, but I wasn't thinkin' about you. The elves aren't fond of giving it up. It takes some time to negotiate and get it over to Asgard."

Not ideal, but better than settling for subpar. "How long?"

“Well, it usually takes about a month to reach an agreement.”

Nevermind.

“I’m not waiting that long. That’s unreasonable,” Heimdall lectured, irritated that his goal was just barely out of reach.

Kerr threw up his hands and chuckled, “Well, waddaya want me to do? Unless you go there and get it yourself, that's what you’re gonna get.”

“Consider it done.”

“Wha'?”

Heimdall turned on his heel and was on his way to Alfheim before Kerr could process that he was gone. True to his word, he returned with a good handful of the stones he needed, demanding that he receive the highest quality product in a timely manner.

In the end he wished he had given a strict deadline. After a few days he was already tingling with anticipation. About a week later he was told the flute was ready, along with a matching case for it. To his shock, Heimdall had no complaints, no minor blemishes he wanted fixed. It was perfect. Perfect enough for Eivor.

That perfection ended up weighing on him, like he couldn't hand something so special over at any time. It had to be the perfect moment. The perfect moment for the perfect gift for the perfect person. Anything less was unacceptable to him.

Another week had gone by when the opportunity came. Eivor came to his cabin in the evening, agitated and exhausted. She went straight to Heimdall's place on the bed as he was reading and plopped down next to him, half laying on top of him with her face in his shoulder and arm over his stomach. "I'm not a pillow."

"Shut up," came her muffled groan.

Chuckling, Heimdall put the book down and placed a hand on the back of her head, taking the clip out of her hair to free it. "Care to talk about your day with the Einherjar?"

Tilting her head to look at him, Eivor whined, "You don't have to rub it in."

"It's merely a question. So touchy." Eivor ignored him, prompting him to press, "So, what'll it take to end your sour mood?"

Eivor's face lit up, making his heart skip a beat. "Will you come with me up to the wall?"

"At this hour?"

"Please? We don't go there as often anymore. I miss looking at the stars with you."

Heimdall's gut tied itself in a knot, and not because he agreed with her. Instinct told him that this was the time. Giving her a dramatic sigh and dragging his hand to his face, he whistled for Gulltoppr to wait outside the front door.

"Thank you, Dollface!" Said with an exaggerated sweetness to match his feigned reluctance.

She squealed when leaned down and kissed her ear. "Go on, I'll join you in a moment." Eivor, now full of energy, leapt up and headed for the door, flowing hair drifting behind her and cooing at Gulltoppr as she went outside. Heimdall, on the other hand, dashed to his wardrobe, opening a drawer that he asked Eivor to avoid and finding the gift he was so eager to give stashed inside. A part of him hesitated. Was this the right time? Did he wait? Would he ruin it if this wasn't the perfect moment?

He cut himself off when he heard Eivor call for him. Without taking more time to second guess, he tucked the long wooden box into the back of his belt. Eivor was too absorbed in the lovely ride on Gulltoppr to notice how tense Heimdall had gotten, nor did she when she leaned against him on their way up the lift. He only began to relax when they were at the top. Eivor wrapped her hands around his upper arms and rested her head against his shoulder, letting him lead her to wherever he chose to take them. It wasn’t a conscious choice at all, not a single thought making him do it, but he ended up stopping in one very particular spot. A spot that had never felt the same since that night.

It only took a few minutes for Eivor to bring it up. “So…any reason you stopped here?”

“Not particularly.”

Eivor rolled her eyes at the bored reply, harboring no doubt that he was pretending not to notice. “Really?” A pause while he shrugged, then she leaned closer to his face. “Not at all because it’s been almost two winters since we kissed here? Hm?”

Heimdall wasn’t fond of the mischief in her tone, and he had no intention of letting her get away with it. “Why would I bother with remembering that?”

“Hmm…you’re right. You did make it pretty forgettable, didn’t you?”

All he could do was smile. He could do nothing to stop her from turning it around on him, ever true to that sharp tongue that he adored. Never had she disappointed him with a mundane reply, a half-hearted joke, or polite agreement just to earn his favor. Always so genuine, so pure, so engaging. So flawless.

The subject was dropped immediately. “I have something for you,” he whispered, unable to contain himself any longer.

Taken aback by such an unexpected reaction, Eivor released him with a furrowed brow, letting him reach back and retrieve the long wooden box from his belt. “What is this, Dall?”

“A good way to find out is to open it.” Another eye roll from her. “Go on,” he urged gently, his impatience overflowing.

It was so rare to see Heimdall this excited, it almost made her nervous as she unclasped the metal clips and lifted the lid. At the sight she gasped, frozen in place. “Oh, Heimdall…” was all she could force out, staring too intently at the absolutely gorgeous flute nestled into the cushioned interior. The body was white, smooth and polished like it was made of fine marble. Near the mouth piece the gold weaving patterns of vines and leaves trickled into elaborate circular formations that wrapped around to the back, reappearing at the bottom holes and dwindling into a single line. The tapering gold line was complemented by feathers painted in beautiful colors that gradually grew more sparse as they reached the base. Two bands adorned it, one at the top between the mouthpiece and the other under the last hole, the gold patterns overlapping them. Those bands were lined with more gold, and within those borders was a break in the light tones with nearly black stones, ones that she recognized as labradorite. A rare variety of them as well, the gleaming colors almost exclusively shades of violet. There was no way the elves would have given them up so soon, so how he got it was beyond her. It was without a doubt the most beautiful instrument — one of the most beautiful things — that she’d ever seen. And Heimdall was giving it to her solely because she was down a flute. Her hands floated above the box, hesitant to even touch something so incredible, as if it would be tarnished by her fingers.

Heimdall lifted the box a little higher and teased, “It’s not just for show.”

Eivor shook her head at his smirk, gingerly picking up the fine flute as carefully as possible. After turning it around to admire the patterns in their entirety she lifted it to her mouth, playing a portion of one of her favorite songs, totally enveloped in the richness of the sound it made. Not only was it gorgeous, it was also a quality instrument, much better than the old bone flute that she had.

With that thought Eivor lowered the flute, a part of her still missing the memento she had from her father, though she tried not to look disappointed. Heimdall must have been paying close attention to every part of her and sensed that longing. “I see it doesn’t hold the same value,” he began, giving her a look to stop her when she tried to reassure him that she loved it, “but I hope it at least comes close.”

Tears were welling up in Eivor’s eyes, feeling every bit of emotion and dedication in his voice. This was no small matter to him. He put so much thought into this, went to any length to ensure it was one of the finest things she would ever own. All because he cared about her and couldn't live without her music. Heart swelling so much that it felt like it would burst, Eivor calmly placed the flute back into the box and closed the lid, slowly taking it from his hands and putting it on the boulder next to them as Heimdall watched, bemused. He felt it before he could stop it, only able to catch her as she flew at him and gave him a deep kiss with her arms around his neck, leaving him a warm, bubbly mess on the inside and a clumsy recipient on the outside.

It was so much.

Heimdall was such a prick, and pompous, and rude, and somehow shortsighted despite his abilities, but none of that outweighed this side of him. The one that would have gone to the ends of the earth to make her happy, that would put thought and energy into making her feel secure, loved, and wanted. The one that encouraged her to be herself, and in turn listened to her when she wanted him to grow beside her. It was still baffling how a man that she despised so vehemently upon their meeting managed to not only care this much, but also change his ways to prove it. He was so much more than she ever expected him to be, and was eternally grateful that he was willing to show her that. That he wanted to be hers just as much as she wanted to be his.

She wanted so much of him. His touches along her waist, the softness of his lips on hers, the love radiating from his very being. Somehow, for the first time, this wasn't enough.

More. She needed more to satisfy this hunger for him, to express all of the love that she had in her. To feel him closer, take all of his warmth, feel every bit of him, everything. Her mouth seemed to act beyond her control as it attempted to acquiesce the growing need within, her teeth clamping down on his bottom lip, making him gasp. He returned the gesture by securing his hands on her hips and gripping them like his life depended on it. He was holding back, she knew he was. But not this time. She didn’t want him to hold back anymore. Her hands wound into the hair at the base of his cranium, tangling into the knots and loose strands to give them a tug. His reaction was instant, his tongue darting out to taste her as his self control slowly faltered. The rigorous response knocked the wind out of him, the intensity of her tongue against his sending electricity through his veins and setting him on fire from the inside out. Momentarily he pulled back, trying to collect himself before he pushed her too far, his mind too muddled to get a clear read on her current state. That was exactly why she was able to release her frustration by pushing him until his back hit the huge brick behind him, allowing her to press her body flush against him before her mouth locked on to his once more. The tiny grunt he let out was embarrassing.

��Is this familiar too?” She asked against his lips.

This time he wouldn’t try to deny it. Yes, they had done this before. Only on the night of their first kiss he was the one pushing her against the wall. Now he was on the receiving end, and it was divine.

Still, he was hesitant. He made a promise, and he was a man of his word — even if it meant giving up one of the most euphoric sensations he had ever felt. He turned his head to the side to catch his breath, his spine tingling when Eivor’s mouth went straight to his jaw and kissed along it, tongue occasionally giving his stubble a lick. Eyes glued shut, Heimdall forced himself to calm down, already feeling the effects of the heated exchange. It was then that Eivor lost patience with him and demanded, “Look at me.” He did as she asked, panting as she did nothing but stare into his eyes. She wanted him to see for himself what she had to say. After a moment of recentering, he was able to take a stable look into her thoughts.

I want you.

His eyes were wider than dinner plates and his breathing stopped as he heard it, staring at her for several more moments to be absolutely certain his foresight wasn’t playing tricks on him. The first word in his mind was "finally," feeling all of his desires that had been suppressed march back to the forefront at the warhorn calling them to battle. Then he felt anger, hating how he was so eager to give in to the very thing that almost chased her away. He wouldn’t make the same mistake. Never again. Barely able to catch his breath, he managed to get out, “I…I didn’t do any of this to…” He couldn’t finish, hating the suggestion that this was all for his own gain, like he would break his word as soon as he got something out of her.

All the worry faded when she smiled warmly at him. As irritating as it was that he was holding back right when she wanted him the most, her heart recognized the sweet gesture. He wanted this so badly, it was clear as day and had been for a very, very long time. Yet when the opportunity was right in front of him, when it would be so easy to get it in the heat of the moment, he was still more concerned about her. He would only do this if she would have no regrets. “I know,” she breathed, still staring deeply into those glowing eyes to ensure he would know she was being truthful. "But that's why I want it."

Heimdall, ecstatic but wary, still gave her another moment to cool off and think before confirming, “Are you sure?”

Having little patience left, Eivor yanked him down by his neck to bring their noses together. “You tell me,” she dared.

There it was. Her desire, wanton need, all wrapped up in a box of certainty and confidence. She was ready. And the realization that the lust he had felt for her was now equally matched boiled his blood in the most delicious way. She wanted him, fully and completely. The feeling of being loved so deeply, being wanted…

“Well,” he exhaled, tucking her long hair behind her ear. But of course, he couldn't give away just how enthusiastic he was. Grinning devilishly, he teased, “I wonder what you would do if I decided to change my mind now.”

“You better not,” Eivor growled with a matching smile, slowly leaning up to kiss him again.

This was it. Finally, he wouldn’t try to keep himself at bay. Eivor was so overwhelmed by the insane desire that her hand wandered to his front and tucked underneath his tunic and under armor, needing to feel his skin right away. She almost snapped at him when he seized her hand, stopping her and pulling away, until he whispered, “Not here.”

She got the message, nodding as his breath became even more strained. He pushed off the wall and tried to drag her back to the lift, stopping only because she grabbed her new flute from the stone before they dashed off.

The raven watched, intrigued.

This was more heated than expected…but still compliant.

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

As a fair warning, next chapter will be NSFW. It'll have no critical events that you need to know, so if that's not your thing you can totally skip it :)

#songbird of asgard #heimdall #god of war #heimdall x reader #heimdall gow #heimdall x oc #god of war heimdall #gow heimdall #the songbird of asgard

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nelweensfic · 1 year ago

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The Sorrengails

Read the previous part from my Fourth Wing sequel here 💜

"Cadet Sorrengail!" A voice rips me away from my daydream. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"No, Wingleader Aetos."

Things have been hard between me and Dain since I returned to Basgiath. I pretend I didn’t know he saw my memories without my consent. But I’ve been feeling so betrayed. Yet after months in Basgiath, I now excell at pretending nobody can touch me anymore. Unless it's a woman.

"General Sorrengail wants to see you," Dain orders. He tries to reach for me but I step back just in time. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

He looks guilty, like he really does care about me. As if he really wants to check on me… about what happened…

"Yeah, I'm fine." I nod and sigh. "Let's not let her wait. You know how she can be."

He nods as I show indifference. If I have to pretend then I will pretend I'm bored of all of this.

Xaden's right. I have to focus on being a better rider. They're not ready for what is coming.Though, neither am I.

I walk into the hallways, knowing the path by heart now. The students think this is torture for me, seeing my mother everyday and coming back more defeated than before. Yet they don't know what happens there. They all think I’m getting tested all over and over.

As soon as I knock on the door my heartbeat increases.

"Come in!" Mom shouts from behind the door. "You're late, Violet," she says with accusation.

"Let me pretend I don't want to come. People will be suspicious otherwise."

Mom nods and stands up, walking toward the window next to her desk. The map behind her shows the real time ward problems. I’ve learned that it isn’t the real map. Not the one both of us know.

"Xaden contacted me," mom starts.. "Venins are coming our way, quickly."

My breath stops at the name. Xaden. I haven't heard of him since I left Aretia four months ago.

"Is he here?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate.

"They're at the Vale," she continues with a smile. "He's waiting for you, actually."

I look at her, confused. Not about the fact that Xaden is waiting for me. But why am I so excited by the news? I should despise him. He has lied to me.

"It's my fault, Violet," mom says suddenly, hands resting on my shoulders. When did she move so fast? "Don't forget that I wanted you to learn how to fight. A new revolution is coming. Our revolution with Brennan. I know Xaden did his best to hide the truth to protect you. Brennan and I didn't want you to know before your third year."

"I know," I whisper. "I need to be stronger."

"And you will be, Silver One." Tairn’s voice resonates in my mind. "Come see him. He's asking too many questions about you. I'll burn him if he doesn't stop."

"There is no training today," mom says. "I want you to bring me a list of names of the ones that will train with you."

I look at her. She wants me to train others and let them know about it? I feel like she already knows who I’ll choose. I always hang out with the same people anyway.

"We need allies, Violet. I want you to be sure."

"You know who I’ll choose. Xaden would agree, so ask him."

She nods. Why I talk about Xaden is beyond me. I miss him too much. Maybe not for the right reasons, though.

"You’re dismissed, Cadet Sorrengail," mom said firmly. "Go see him, we'll talk again tomorrow."

Edit: Next part here

#fourth wing drabble #fourth wing microfic #fourth wing sequel #fourth wing #violet sorrengail #nelweensfic

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nellie-elizabeth · 2 years ago

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His Dark Materials: The Intention Craft (3x03)

Oh boy, I can't wait for episode four, I have a feeling it's going to make me a little weepy. But let's talk about this one first!

Cons:

The effect on the Gallivespians is... weird. They've got the scaling situation going, but it doesn't ever really feel like they're in the same place? Like when Lady Salmakia is talking to Lyra and Will, it doesn't feel like they're actually physically near each other. And the scene where she attacks them, angry about the knife being broken, it really did feel like the kids were flinching away on cues from someone off-camera, not to an actual living person existing in their environment.

Mary Malone... it's strange that we're not making progress quicker with her. She's on her journey, and I know where it's going, but there are five episodes left the show, and we're just now getting to the point that I think of as the beginning of her story? So I don't know, that's a little odd, pacing-wise.

Also odd for pacing was to have Balthamos come back for like two seconds just to say "oh, you're going to the land of the dead. Okay, bye, then." I guess I'm glad to see him, but not really sure what the point was there.

Pros:

GOD, everything with Asriel and Marisa is so juicy and interesting. They really did steal the show for me this week. Asriel has control over Marisa, has her at his mercy, and yet Marisa cannot fully be controlled. The moment when he laments, why can't you be what I want you to be, was honestly so powerful and I think encapsulates so much of what this relationship is. There's a deep passion and intensity of feeling between them, but ultimately he cannot fully respect her, and she cannot consent to be subjugated. I love that Lyra's parents have what at first glance seems to be very gendered conceptions of parenthood: Marisa is the one frantic for their daughter's safety, while Asriel is impatient about the whole mess. But then you think back to their history with her: neither is a nurturing, supportive parent, but Asriel was at least willing to see her and admit to the family connection, while Marisa hid in shame, only entering Lyra's life when she feared that her own research would lead to her daughter's harm.

Asriel is so intense: his motives are, I think one could argue, good, in the sense that the Magisterium is evil and what they claim to worship is no good either. And yet we watch him torture an angel to get a message to Metatron. We see what a controlling, dismissive, inconsiderate person he is at his very core. His passion, however, makes him so interesting to watch. He's not some sort of pedestrian evil man grabbing for power wherever he can get it. And Marisa certainly isn't just her ambition, either. The look they share, as Marisa escapes on the Intention Craft, is one of mutual understanding; a strange, angry respect. I can't wait to see the end of the story play out between them. It's bound to be such an intense moment.

Will and Lyra are similarly moving to watch, albeit in a very different way than Coulter and Asriel. The warmth of their friendship is so obvious, and then when there's conflict between them, you get the sense that it hurts precisely because of how much they care for and trust one another. Will doesn't fully understand Lyra's plan to go to the land of the dead, but ultimately he's going to back her play. Yes, his father told him to bring the knife to Asriel, but his mother always told him to help a friend in need. Their hug was beautiful, and I'm already getting weepy about what's going to happen at the end of this show. It's gonna screw me up big time.

It was cool to see Iorek helping Will to reforge the knife, although I think they're cowards to not show Iorek's big huge meaty bear paws holding forging tools. That's kind of all I have to say about that. It's sweet seeing Iorek and Lyra together, and Lyra using the alethiometer again after so long was a treat as well!

I'll stop there. After I watch episode four, we'll already be halfway through the season. Say it ain't so!

8/10

#review #his dark materials #his dark materials review

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azrielhours · 2 years ago

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Warm Hands

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Synopsis: Reader gets her period unexpectedly on a mission w Az. She’s in a lot of pain and distress, and he takes it upon himself to take care of her and ease her pain. One bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel walks slightly ahead of you, leading the way to the inn you were staying at for the night, though his pace was noticeably slower than usual. He kept glancing back at you over his shoulder in worry, even though you’d already insisted you were unscathed. The two of you had just completed a minor spying mission where you’d gotten ambushed by a pack of rogue travelers between courts. It wasn’t hard to take them down, but it left you uncharacteristically fatigued, especially as the adrenaline wore off. Azriel looked back once more, and you felt a headache stinging behind your eyes, but you forced a reassuring smile on your face despite your urge to grimace. His jaw was clenched, eyes piercing as they raked down your body just as they’d done repeatedly over the past half-hour trudge to the inn. “I’m fine, Az. Just tired.” He nodded, not believing you, but continued as you reached your destination.

Azriel checked the two of you into a room, though you hardly paid attention, focusing your energy on not appearing disoriented as you stood behind Azriel’s hulking frame. He held the door open for you after leading you down the hall to your room, where a fire was already going. You made your way to the armchair by the fire and sat as Azriel began unpacking. You were close to nodding off when you heard Azriel’s footsteps approaching you, so you perked up. He stopped in front of you, blocking your view of the fire. You gave him another smile and shook your head to ward off his worries, but he still had that hard look on his face. “Can I at least double check to make sure you’re unharmed? I can scent blood on you.”

“It’s probably not mine, Az.”

“Please. Just in case.” That made your heart skip a beat, waking you up slightly. You nodded your consent, and he reached forward and gently grasped both your wrists in his hands. He rotated each one, inspecting the movement and your reaction to the motions. You didn’t feel any pain, no telltale signs of broken bones or skin. He continued, moving on to forearms, your elbows, then your upper arms, barely grazing your muscles with his knuckles, making you shiver. He beckoned with his head for you to stand, and you obeyed, taking a step away from the seat. He circled you, letting his fingers lightly touch your shoulders, then ran them gently down your back. Your eyes fell closed momentarily as he stood behind you, this time not due to fatigue. His fingers moved to your to either side of your waist, barely there. So gentle, and yet the warmth from his fingertips was so soothing. “You don’t feel any pain?” he asked. His voice was a touch rougher, making you swallow to gather yourself.

“No pain.”

He hummed in response and walked around to face you once more. You peered up at him and wondered if he would dismiss the flush in your cheeks as a reaction to the hearth. He ran his eyes once more down your body. For a fleeting moment, you didn’t want him to stop, part of you not entirely opposed to the idea of being harmed if only to receive his care like this. He was so stern, so completely focused that it made it a little harder to breathe. Something is definitely wrong, you thought. Probably a concussion. You pushed your charming masochistic thoughts aside.

Azriel stared at you for a second longer, and you couldn’t look away. Oh my, his beauty. He was certainly not making this easy. You swallowed again, reaching deep within yourself for an ounce of clarity in your mind to keep you from doing something stupid in the dimness of the room; the only light provided by the fire in the hearth and the one in your heart. Do you know how I burn for you?

Azriel finally broke the silence. “I’ll go get us some food.” You nodded, neither of you looking away. He finally took a step back and turned to leave. You sat back in the chair, letting yourself relax as the tension in the room left with Azriel as he closed the door behind him. You exhaled and began replaying the moment over and over in your mind as you stared at the fire. The lull of it all made you slump, the warmth seeping into your aching muscles, and you closed your eyes.

“(Y/N).”

You stirred in your seat. “Hm.” When he didn’t respond, you opened your eyes. He was crouched before you, hands braced on either side of you on the arms of the chair. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I just didn’t want to startle you by carrying you to the bed.” You felt your cheeks flush again at his words. That worried look made its way to his eyes again, and you had to resist the urge to reach forward and cradle his face. “How do you feel?”

Dizzy. “I’m okay, Az. Really,” you said earnestly to try to persuade him.

“Do you want to go wash up before we eat?” he spoke gently. You nodded. He took your hands before you could protest and helped you up. You laughed lightly at his fussing, brushing past him with your shoulder to convey your annoyance-tinted appreciation.

Once you made it to the bathroom, you felt it. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You pulled your pants down, and sure enough: your undergarments were soaked with blood. You’d gotten your cycle. You felt hot searing embarrassment course through you. You’d leaked straight through your pants. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to leave the room in this state to grab your change of clothes with Azriel outside. You also couldn’t take too long in here with him already worried and suspecting that something was wrong with you. You couldn’t think straight with the embarrassment running through you.

A knock on the door startles you out of your thoughts. “(Y/N).”

“Yes?” You prayed he didn’t hear the slight panic in your voice.

“I need to go grab something from downstairs, okay?”

Thank God. “Okay.” You waited until you heard the door to the room close, and you left the bathroom. You ran over to the bed, grabbed your change of clothes, and hurried back to the bathroom. You stripped down and changed into fresh undergarments, a tank top, and your pyjama pants. You began looking around the bathroom in hopes of finding sanitary products for your cycle to no avail. Your heart sank. There was no way in hell you were going to ask Azriel to go look for some for you. You’d need to go out yourself. Just as you planned on doing that before you soaked through your fresh undergarments, you felt the start of your cramps begin tearing through your abdominal muscles. Fuck.

You clenched the bathroom counter in pain, beginning to kneel over to ease the cramping. How could I forget to pack period products? You took laboured breaths, trying to ride out the wave of pain, hoping for it to ebb enough for you to go hunting for pads. You grimaced as the pain gradually grew, opting to fully kneel over at this point, crouching over on your haunches, gripping the counter for support. You closed your eyes at the familiar pain as you rested your forehead on the cupboard, the only solace is the small mercy of Azriel’s absence.

You knew you should have risen at some point before he came back to the room, but the pain and fatigue were making it hard for you to hide your laboured breathing. What I’d give for a good heating pad right now. You felt your heart rate increase as you heard the front door open and close with Azriel’s return. You weren’t surprised when he came and knocked gently on the bathroom door. “(Y/N),” he said softly.

You begrudgingly rose from your spot and opened the door. Azriel took you in, that worried expression enduring on his beautiful face; you had slightly lost some colour to your face, and you leaned on the door for support. “Az,” you whispered hesitantly, looking down as you spoke. “I got my cycle.”

“I know,” he said just as softly, making you look back up at him in surprise. “I brought you these,” he said, handing you a little bundle wrapped in a soft cloth. You took it from him, unwrapped the bundle, and felt your jaw drop. Inside was a row of neatly folded pads. Just what you needed. You looked up at him, still in shock. You felt the embarrassment crawl up your neck once again, as horrified as you were relieved. How did he know? “I didn’t want you to be embarrassed,” he said gently, reading your mind. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. There was just a small bloodstain on the quilt on the armchair,” he explained.

You broke eye contact at that, mortified. So embarrassed that you felt your eyes sting with tears. You covered your face with your hands. He gently took your wrists and pulled your hands away, and you sniffed, trying to suppress your emotions. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s just a little blood. I draw blood for a living.” You looked at him again, and he had a sweet smile on his face that only made you tear up further. “Please don’t cry.”

You let out a small, shuddered breath. “Sorry, it’s the period hormones,” you explained, laughing a little weakly.

“You keep doing that,” he said.

“What?”

“Apologizing.” He looks at you again, takes in your strained posture. “I’ll be waiting outside for you, then we can eat and go to bed. Yeah?” He tilts his chin down to face you wholly, his brows raised in patience. You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“Yeah,” you said finally. You took a deep breath and gave him a soft, genuine smile.

His smile deepened, making his eyes crinkle at the sides. He gently raised your chin with his knuckles. “That’s my girl,” he said, turning to leave you to change. Your feelings for him in the wake of the softness he was showing you made your chest ache.

You put on one of the pads in the bundle, washed your face, and braced yourself against the counter for a few moments to collect yourself. You felt better, save for the pain in your stomach that endured, which now demanded your attention with the distraction of the ordeal passing. You finally exited the bathroom and found Azriel waiting for you in the exact armchair, changed into pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, the quilt gone. He gave a sweet smile, and you smiled back but looked down. You subconsciously rubbed soothing circles in your lower stomach to ease your pain, and he began making his way over.

He had a flannel button-up in his hand, the matching set to his pyjama bottom for the chillier Autumn Court nights. “Here,” he handed the top over. You took it somewhat shyly and put it on without protest, knowing the warmth will help with the pain. It fell to your mid-thigh, and the sleeves required rolling. As you rolled them up, Azriel went to stand by your side, and he knelt forward and placed his strong forearms beneath your back and knees. You were up in his arms gasping in slight surprise before you knew it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked over to the bed.

“It’s not a big deal, this isn’t my first period,” you laughed.

“It is a big deal. Huge, in fact.” You laughed again, and he smiled at the sound.

Once he’d made it to the bed, you regretfully unwound yourself from his body heat; he remained standing where he was to support you as you took your spot, hands on his shoulders for balance. Once you nestled in, he brought the covers over your legs, then sat across from you over the covers. You’d been so distracted by the fatigue and pain before that you didn’t even take in the fact that you’d be sharing a bed with him. He seemed to read that thought on your face. “We’ll just eat, and then I can take the floor.”

You huffed in exasperation. “Like hell you will.”

He chuckled, pulling the tray from the nightstand to place it between where the two of you sat. The certainty of the action and how comfortable you both felt at that moment felt so domestic. Under different circumstances, you’d be more flustered, but you leaned into the comfort of it all in your tired state and let the feeling of intimacy wash over you. You and Azriel ate in silence. He then handed you a mug of tea, and you looked at him in question.

“The lady downstairs said it would help with the pain. It’s lavender tea and honey, and she put some painkillers in there as well.” You gratefully took it from his hands and took generous gulps, the warmth immediately soothing. He watched as you drank, your posture relaxing into the bedframe. You felt another wave of fondness overtake you, and an overwhelming urge to convey your gratitude.

“Thank you, Azriel. I don’t know what I would’ve done without all… this,” you gestured vaguely all around you.

He just shook his head, brushing off the thanks. “Don’t worry about it. I knew something was wrong.”

“Who taught you how… um, what to do and everything?” You asked timidly, taking more sips of the tea.

“I’ve seen Rhys care for Feyre this way,” he explained. You felt your cheeks burn at the comparison. He saw Rhys take care of his mate. Who he loved. Az seemed to catch your train of thought because his cheeks tinted slightly pink.

You decided to change the subject before your yearning for him betrayed you. “What did you do with the quilt?”

“I took it down to the laundry room. The ladies there gave me the cycle products when I asked.”

You bit your lip apprehensively. “You’re not… it doesn’t gross you out?”

Azriel scoffed. “Come on. Give me some credit.”

“Ah yes. My mistake,” you laughed lightly.

He shook his head more seriously. “No, of course not. Nothing you could do could ever gross me out.” There goes your poor heart again.

“Even if I stain the bedsheets?” He nodded his head, amusement in his eyes. “Okay, then prove it,” you said, patting the spot beside you.

His shock betrayed him for a moment before he schooled his features into his cool, charismatic charm. “I believe this is called coercing me into going to bed with you.”

You laughed, consciously aware of the fact that he watched you as you did, his eyes twinkling as he took in the sight. When you fell silent again, you caught his unwavering gaze. The intensity there had you swallowing again. “You’re sure?” He asked gruffly. You nodded without breaking eye contact. He got up at that, taking the tray away with him. You finished off the remnants of your tea and sank on your back into the bed.

He made his way to the other side and got under the covers as well. The fire was dimming, leaving the two of you in the dark as your fatigue began lulling you asleep. You marveled at the fact that you didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment. If anything, it felt so comfortable, so natural that someone looking in from the outside may have mistaken you for mates. Your cheeks burned at the thought. Like Feyre and Rhys, he’d compared the two of you. You tucked that thought away in your heart and turned to get a good look at him, the male who held your heart in the palm of his hand. You found him already watching you, laying on his side. One arm was bent beneath his head as a pillow, the other braced near his stomach on the bed beside you.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked lowly. You nodded. “Is there anything else I can do?” You thought about what you wanted for a moment and nodded again. You reached for his warm hand beside you, picked it up with both of your hands, and you placed it on your lower stomach.

“Just keep it there,” you said softly. “The warmth helps.” He began drawing soft circles with the tips of his fingers, gently massaging your muscles. You closed your eyes at the sensation. You felt the pain fade in your abdomen and the love grow in your heart.

“I’m glad you feel comfortable with me,” he said. The sudden vulnerability in his voice gave you the push you needed to show him just a crack of what you contained inside.

“You make me feel safe,” you said. You shifted a few inches closer to him, seeking more than just his warmth. Seeking him. Savouring him.

He matched your movement, also coming closer to you. You tried to resist the droop in your eyes, wanting to stay in this moment. To stay with him. But the comfort of it all had you sinking. He gently snaked his other arm beneath you, turning your body with it to face away from him. He cocooned you from behind, the warmth radiating off him sending you drifting off to sleep.

He made sure to keep one of his hands on your lower stomach where you wanted it. The last thing you registered as you drifted off was the sound of him speaking softly into your hair. “Go to sleep, angel.”

taglist: @iimisty-a

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel x you

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mcsstydia · 3 years ago

Text

Who did this to you? - Loki Laufeyson

prompt: You and Loki can't stand each other. But when a guy hits on you at a party, and is rather pushy doing so, Loki doesn't tolerate that at all; basically enemies to lovers

pairing: reader x Loki

Warnings: Sexual and verbal assault (a guy is repeatedly trying to kiss the reader without consent, hurts their wrist and calls them names); a bit of swearing -> angsty situation but fluff afterwards

Other than that, I could not think of warnings, but hit me up if you think I should tag anything else.

A/N: I love enemies to lovers and I love Loki so here ya go. Sorry for typos

word count: 2.3k

Masterlist

You couldn't stand him. You couldn't stand that grim, sarcastic, handsome face of his. Well, to be clear, you didn't want to hate him. You hadn't planned to. But when Loki arrived at the tower and introduced himself to the whole staff except for you, you were kind of offended. Especially because, out of all of Tony's science assistants, you were the only one actually living in the tower with the rest of the team.

After this incident, you showed him the cold shoulder for a few days, but it was not like he seemed to care. You tried getting along with him. A few times, you tried smiling at him in the hallways, or during lunch, but nothing. He simply looked at you funnily, never once returning it, so you stopped trying.

Loki got on the nerves on everyone once in the while, but the way he seemed to continuously ignore you and dismiss you as a person, he really blew his shot at you being friendly to him. Now, every time you passed him in between meals, you averted your gaze, not daring to look his way out of self-respect.

It was hard. Something in your body felt like it was drawn to him, and you hated yourself for it. Almost as much as you hated him for being so nonchalant about your presence. You got used to it, though.

Tonight was a night you dreaded ever since Tony told you about it. He was throwing a big kind of party, or event, or whatever, right in the tower, of course. And he expected (more like: ordered) everyone to come.

You sighed as you inspected your image in the mirror, not being entirely convinced of your look of the night. You rolled your eyes at yourself, then turned away from the mirror and headed for the door of your room. The door closed silently behind you as you exited your room, entering the hallway. Almost simultaneously, you heard another door was closed not too far from you.

You turned towards the sound, and immediately Loki's tall frame fell into your field of vision. He wore a plain black suit, accompanied by a black tie. For a second, you had to concentrate on taking a large, deep breath. He was breathtaking. But you wouldn't ever admit that. You despised him, after all. It seemed as if the god also noticed you, as you made eye contact only a second after you had checked him out. God, hopefully he didn't catch you.

For a few moments, the both of you held eye contact, simply staring each other down. Neither of you was smiling, but neither of you were wearing your spiteful grins, either.

You were the first to break it, looking at you feet, then hurrying past him down the stairs, out of his sight. At first, the evening was relatively calm; time passed rather slowly, but it was comfortable. When you went to the bar to get another drink, a man next to you turned to you. "Hey," he almost shouted over the loud music, a smile on his lips. He was older than you, but not by much. You didn't know him.

Somehow, you didn't know why, your eyes searched the room for Loki before you answered the man next to you. You spotted him, and he was staring right back at you, surprisingly. You returned your gaze toward the man in front of you. "I'm Tim. What's you name?", he continued. "Y/N.", you replied, trying not to notice how Loki's was still fixed on you from across the room. Why wouldn't he quit staring? It was getting annoying.

"What a beautiful name,", Tim commented. "Care to join me for a drink?", he asked. You decided to accept his request. Turns out, you had a really good time with Tim. He was a scientist himself, and you talked a lot about inventions, especially his own. He was charming. And good-looking. The evening continued and hours passed by, which you spent talking to and laughing with this man you hadn't known at the beginning of it.

"Hey, would you like to get out of here?", Tim asked when it was nearing midnight. You raised one of your eyebrows at him, not really knowing what he meant by that. People usually used this sentence to go and have sex. He seemed to notice your worried expression. "To take a look at one of my inventions, of course.", he clarified. You smiled and nodded in reply.

The both of you got up from the spots at the bar and left the party. Once you left the room in which all of the remaining guests were still partying in, a question arose in your mind. "Wait, where do you even have your invention?", you asked innocently.

Tim turned to you, now a weird looking grin playing on his lips. It looked almost....evil. "C'mon,", he whispered, suddenly in a low, raw voice that did not at all match the guy you thought you got to know just minutes prior. One of his hands took one of yours. "You know what I meant.",he stated, beginning to lean in to you. Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Ehm, no,", you clarified. "I don't know what you meant. I thought you wanted to show me one of your inventions.", you replied.

Your heart was beginning to beat faster as Tim took a step towards you. You took one away from him, but hit a wall with your back in doing so. His hand was now holding your wrist. Or, he was holding it in place, to be more precise. You tried loosening his grip on you, but he was too strong.

"You know what I want,",he replied, completely ignoring both your statement and your obvious need to get away from him. He tried to kiss you then, but you turned your face away from him. "No,", you whispered, tears springing to your eyes. He strengthened his grip on your wrist, and then began kissing your neck sloppily.

It was wet and disgusting and a tear flowed down your cheek. "Don't pretend you don't want it. I saw the way you looked at me.", Tim groaned against your neck. "No, please.", you whispered. The grip on your wrist was getting stronger by the second, and it really began to burn. Tim tried kissing you again, only this time, you didn't turn away. No, this time, you raised your knee, and kicked it into his groin with all your might. He immediately doubled over in pain, letting go of your wrist and giving you a chance to get away from the wall trapping you to him.

You quickly stepped away from him, looking at him, horrified. He looked up to you, when the pain became bearable. "Slut.", he called out through gritted teeth, before turning and re-entering the party.

Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks by now, as you stood perplexed and did not know what to do. You let yourself lean against the wall, and then slid down until you sat on the ground. You rubbed your aching wrist, and you were already able to see a bruise forming.

"Y/N?", a voice called out, and you startled upon it. You looked up, sight blurry due to your never-ending tear- flow. You could still make him out, though. You would recognise that figure anywhere. It was Loki.

You looked away in shame. The god dropped down in front of you, searching for your gaze. "Hey, are you alright?", he asked, voice soft and full of concern. "What happened?", he continued inquiring, slowly and tentatively placing his hands on top of yours. And that's when he noticed.

"What's this?", he asked. You finally looked at him, vision slightly less blurry now. He gently took your bruised wrist into his large, cool hands. "Who did this to you?", he inquired, eyes now boring deep into your own. New tears filled your eyes, and it didn't take Loki long to connect the dots. "That bastard,", he breathed out. "That disgusting little bastard,", he continued, obviously enraged. "I'm going to kill him,", he breathed out, and it was obvious that he hadn't meant to say this part out loud.

He looked at you again, one hand coming up to softly cup your face. "Stay here. I'm going to be back in a minute.", he ordered in a low, gentle voice. Realization hit you instantly. "What- Loki, wait." you tried, but he had stood up in an instant and was heading back to the party.

You hurried behind him, but you were too slow. When you entered the full, loud room, you could see Loki raise his fist on a direct course to hit Tim's face. Tim didn't know what was coming for him, being instantly knocked to the floor as soon as the god's fist collided with his cheekbone.

The whole room went silent for a second, before several of the Avengers arrived at Loki's side. "Brother,", Thor tried to intervene, holding Loki back from striking again. "If you ever dare touch her again, I will be coming for you.", Loki threatened Tim, who was still lying on the ground.

The others looked at him in confusion, obviously waiting for an explanation. "He forced himself on Y/N.", he explained. For a moment everyone's gaze was on you. Then, several of the teammates gripped Tim forcefully. No one was going to let him get away now. Tony finally arrived at the scene, eyeing Tim weirdly. "What the fuck, Tim? You weren't even invited, because I don't fucking like you.", Tony spit out, full of anger himself.

"Will you handle this?", Loki asked his brother, who nodded in response. Upon this, Loki turned away from the scene, and took several long strides towards your location. Usually, he would be towering over you, but now he ducked a bit to be able to look into your eyes. One of his hands again softly cupped your face. "Are you alright?", he asked again, and you managed to nod in response.

"Come now, let's get you away from here.", he proposed. You nodded again. Loki accompanied you upstairs, and followed you into your room. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked once he stepped into your room. He did not want to do anything you did not want him to do. "Yes, please.", you mumbled.

Upon your request, he helped you out of your clothes, so you could take a shower. When you re-entered the room after showering, a blank expression was written on your face. You felt almost emotionless. Nonetheless, you had so many questions you wanted to ask him.

Hair wet, clothed in only a large shirt, you sat down on your bed, next to where he was already sitting. For a moment, you both simply stared ahead of your, neither one saying a word. Then, you felt him turning his head, looking at you tentatively, before looking away again.

"Loki?", you asked, the question as quiet as a whisper. "Yes?", he asked back, looking at you again. You could his gaze burning into you, but you didn't mind it. "Can I ask you something?", you questioned further. "Go ahead.", he replied. Silence. Your side-glanced toward him, seeing he was still looking at you. You contemplated turning towards him as well, but decided against it.

"Why,", you started, searching for the right words, forcing your voice to be steady, to not break. "Why would you do that for me? When you so obviously cannot stand me, that is.", you dared to ask. Loki was speechless for a moment, which made you finally turn to him as well.

His eyes met yours, his lips just slightly parted, black eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?", he finally brought himself to say. "Why would you ever think I cannot stand you?", he asked. Now it was yours eyebrows that were knitted together in confusion.

He shortly averted his gaze, looking up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. "You intrigue me, Y/N.", he admitted, making your heart skip a beat. What? "I adore you, even. Which sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but it is true, you must believe me. I could never bring myself to hate you whatsoever.", he continued, searching your face for any indication of how you thought of his admission.

"But you-... you never introduced yourself to me, a-and you never greet me in the hallways.", you stated, still confused. A hesitant chuckle escaped the god's lips. "I was, uhm. I was too nervous, actually, to introduce myself to you. And after that you just intimidated me, I thought you did not like me.", he explained.

That made you chuckle as well. You took a deep breath. "But I do,", you dared whisper into the silence of your room. "Like you, I mean.", you clarified. A smile tugged on the corner of Loki's lips, and his eyes seemed to shine brighter than before. "Really?", he whispered back, not daring to believe what he was hearing.

"I would give anything to be able to kiss you right now.", he admitted. Another thought he had not really meant for you to hear. "Then do it.", you urged him, a small smile playing on your lips. His eyes widened just the slightest bit. "No, I mean. We don't have to. With everything that happened tonight-", he started, but you didn't let him finish.

"Loki,", you interrupted him. "I would want nothing more right now.", you admitted. Loki inhaled shakily, fa more nervous than you ever thought he could be. Slowly, he raised one of his hands to cup your face. You leaned into his touch in comfort. He slowly leaned in, giving you the opportunity to withdraw at any given moment. But you didn't. Finally, his lips were softly pressed on yours, and they began moving in sync with each other, finally doing the thing they had wanted to do for months. You sighed a comfortable sigh into the kiss, finally feeling whole, finally feeling loved.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago

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Laisse tomber les filles 10

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon, pillow humping.

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: It’s Monday, ugh.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your curiosity got the best of you, more so your restlessness.

After your ride with Lee, you couldn’t settle down. You gave up on sleep, late nights not unknown to any student. You flicked on your desk lamp and sat on the chair with a blanket around your shoulders and read a few passages before that peculiar twang made you put down the book.

The flagrant language of the lewd acts made your core hot and you longed for any touch to stoke it. You fidgeted and picked the book up again. Just one chapter… Lee was right, you were learning. You pushed the blanket away as you felt yourself sweating and you recalled that night with the sheriff, his leg firmly between both of yours.

You shut the book again and flicked off the light. You had a few more hours before you had to get ready for class. You needed some semblance of sleep to function and you knew another long night awaited you.

You sprawled out on your thin mattress and sighed. You closed your eyes and tried to drift off, tried to forget the lurid excerpts that kept popping back into your mind. You rolled onto your side then the other. You gripped your head and squeezed your eyelids closed. Just sleep.

You brought a pillow down and hugged it as you tried to get comfortable. The corner rubbed along your panties and a ripple tore through your core. You mumbled nonsensically and ignored the urge tugging at you. You couldn’t…

You pushed the pillow down and clenched it between your legs. You started slowly, carefully building the pressure as you hugged it tighter and tighter. Your breath caught and soon you were panting desperately as you chased that strange plucking deep inside.

You got up on your knees and kept the pillow sideways beneath you and straddled it. You rocked your hips as the wooden frame creaked with each move and you smother your voice with your palm.

You bit down on the heel of your hand as you hung your head back and became the woman in the novel. You imagined a man beneath you, faceless, nameless, and the mountain rose before you. Almost there, just a little more--

You gritted your teeth as you came and slowed, nails sinking into the pillow as you shook and stifled the weak moans. You fell back onto your side, the pillow caught between your legs and let your arm hang over the edge of the bed. Breathless, you felt the heavy drowsiness setting in. You drifted off before the guilt could set in.

📚

The club meeting came to an end but you hardly kept up with any of the discussion. You couldn’t help but think of the last time you saw Lee and everything that came after. You didn’t know what you’d been thinking, why you did what you did. Curiosity, mostly as you tried to recreate that same feeling you got on the sheriff’s lap.

You didn’t realise your weekly session was over until the chairs scraped and bodies began to move. You stood and your purse fell over as you did. You bent to pick up your bag and scoop up the mess that spilled onto the floor. Another knelt across from you and snatch the red-spined book from amid the pile.

Andre held up the explicit novel and looked it over with a chuckle, “so this is what you like to read?”

“Hey,” you snatched it away and shoved it into your purse and stood, “no, I…”

You shrugged and dragged the chair back to the desk and shoved it beneath. You turned back to him as he watched you. You surpassed him as you headed for the door and heard him follow. Your skin was on fire with embarrassment.

“You know, it’s not really literature but it’s… expression nonetheless. I think it’s good that themes like that are being explored in writing--”

“It’s trash, I’m taking it to the donation bin,” you lied as you came out into the warm summer evening.

“Oh,” he said without conviction, “that’s too bad. You must be one of those prudish girls, then. I always thought so with the way you dress.”

“What?” you glanced over at him as he kept pace with you. You searched around for the cruiser but you only saw your fellow club members and the beaten up lemons they drove.

“Well, you’re not exactly pushing the envelope,” he intoned, “I don’t see you at any parties, either--”

“What does it matter?” you kicked a rock as you continued down the sidewalk. You kept your eyes peeled for Lee but you assumed he was waiting back at your residence as usual.

“Oh, I was just thinking you might want to come to one,” he suggested, “you know, loosen up a bit.”

“A party?” you asked as you turned onto Greek row, “I don’t know… I have plans and--”

“You have plans,” he scoffed, “are you that shy or that stupid?”

You were quiet as you didn’t know how to answer. Both, probably, you thought, but sniffed and kept on.

“I’m asking you out,” he said as you reached the corner of your street, “you know, maybe you can do more than read about fucking.”

“Excuse me?” you stopped short and turned on him, “I’m not lying. I have somewhere I’m supposed to be and-- and-- maybe I’m not interested in going out with you. You’re mean.”

His brows shot up and he tilted his head and laughed, “you’re such a precocious little thing, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, “but you should get out of here before--”

The siren whooped and you cringed. You heard the slow roll of tires as they drew up and the engine clicked into park. The door opened as Andre scowled past you and rolled his eyes. You stepped aside and looked over at Lee as he placed his hat on his head.

“What are y’all up to, tonight, huh?” he asked with half a smirk.

“Just talking,” Andre spat, “some bodunk cop like you can surely understand that.”

“Scuse me, boy?” Lee’s hand went to his belt, just beside his gun, “is that how they teach you college kids to talk to authority?”

“It’s how I talk to pigs when they oink at me,” Andre rebuffed, “now I was just having a discussion with this young woman--”

“Now don’t be uppity with me, boy, you out here making a public nuisance,” the sheriff stepped up on the curb.

“We were just talking, really,” you said quietly, “I was just saying goodbye.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Andre dismissed him with a wave and turned back to you, “well, why don’t you just cancel and come up to Delt--”

You gasped as Andre was hauled off his feet and spun against the side of the cruiser. Lee twisted his arm back and bent him over the hood as he reached for his cuffs.

“What are you--”

“You saw that, girl,” Lee snarled, “he swung at me. That would be attempting an assault on an officer of the law.”

“Ummm,” you blinked and clutched your purse, “I don’t…”

“That’s an arrestable offence,” Lee snapped a cuff around Andre’s wrist as he struggled, “don’t look good on your record, neither. Think the dean will stand for it?”

“Get off of me!” Andre sneered, “I didn’t do anything--”

“You sure did,” Lee growled, “out here harassing young ladies and disrespecting an officer.”

“You’re insane,” Andre’s tried to pull away as the other cuff closed, “don’t you have anything better--”

“Honey, get in the car,” Lee ordered as he wrenched Andre up then slammed his face back down against the hood with a sickening crunch, “I don’t want you to see this.”

“Lee--” you said weakly, “please--”

“You know… this pig…” Andre huffed in a nasally voice.

“Y’aint talk to her, pretty boy,” Lee warned, “or I’ll break your teeth.”

“You’re--”

“Shhhh,” Lee hushed him and glanced over his shoulder at you, “now honey pie, get in the front seat. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

You swallowed and cautiously went to the front door. You slid across the leather seat and closed the door. You heard them arguing before the back door opened and Andre was shoved inside, barely missing his head as he did. You peeked back at him as he horked up blood onto the floor.

The door slammed behind him and Lee got in on his side. He pushed into gear and took off from the curb with the squeal of tires. He glared in the mirror than looked over at you as his expression softened.

“Not exactly how I wanted the night to go but we drop him at the station real quick then we can have some fun, huh?” he smiled.

“You’re dating this creep?” Andre snorted from the back seat.

“Boy, you shut your mouth,” Lee barked at the rear view, “I ain’t tell ya again not to talk to the lady.”

Andre snickered darkly and shook his head as he hung it. He leaned against his cuffed hands and shifted.

“Fine, take me to the station,” he said blithely, “my father will have me out on the hour. Bail in these parts can’t be more than a penny.”

“Oh,” Lee sneered at the road as he drove through campus, “is that so?”

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #laisse tomber les filles #the devil all the time #college au #au #series

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dykefight · 3 years ago

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I want to share some of the experiences of my loved ones and myself that started leading me to radical feminism

One of my best friends (currently a 19 year old college student) used to have an onlyfans and currently sells underwear online. She says that the most humiliating moments of her life happened on onlyfans and similar websites. She had guys ask things like would she have sex with her brother, could she cry on camera, or if she would piss herself for them. There were two men she encountered that still make me sick to think about. The worst one was a man who regularly paid for videos of her pretending like she was being raped by him without a condom. She would beg for him to stop, not to impregnate her, and she cried and screamed. She was not allowed to get any pleasure from it or she wouldn’t get paid. The man only found pleasure in the idea of a teenage girl being traumatized and abused. The other man paid her to dominate him over the phone. He wanted her to control every aspect of his life. He was nearly 30 at the time while she was 18. The worst part of this ordeal was that they knew each other from when she was around twelve or thirteen. During this time I watched her mental health rapidly decline. Her poor mental health ended up causing her to quit less than a year after starting her account. Now she sells underwear and the conditions are no better. She’s been asked to sell worn underwear, underwear she’s pissed in, underwear with her period blood in it, and underwear she’s worn while masturbating. She has been masturbating so frequently that her skin over her clit has begun peeling. The idea that this is empowering her as a woman makes me sick. It’s basically a form of self harm. Anytime I mention that she might need to slow down she explodes, ranting about how she loves doing it, how it’s good money, and that it’s her choice. No woman should be brainwashed into that mindset.

Two of my other friends have been coerced by their boyfriends into sex that they didn’t want. One of them was guilt tripped into having anal sex by her boyfriend. She didn’t want to have sex until marriage, which he already knew prior. She said he looked so disappointed that she felt like she had to let him do anal. She also said this was easily one of the most painful experiences of her life. She ended up being pressured into vaginal sex only a few weeks later. Another friend was VERY adamant about saving any kind of sex until marriage. Her boyfriend pretended like this was totally fine until around a year into their relationship. He starting persuading her into giving him handjobs and blowjobs, insisting that they were meaningless acts and no big deal. She complied but still wouldn’t let him do anything sexual to her. Eventually he got impatient and decided to touch her while she was asleep on a school trip. She admits to being scarred from this, but insists that he didn’t mean any harm and that he wouldn’t do it again. In March, they were at a party together and had a fight. My friend is known for being a lightweight. While she was furious and drunk, her boyfriend was barely tipsy. He apparently decided that the best way for her to get over it was to push her into a room and have sex even though she was fully unable to consent. At some point, someone walked into the room, saw them, and told everyone at the party about it, including complete strangers. People still bring it up to her like it’s some funny story. Neither of my friends see anything wrong with their boyfriends or their actions. I, along with mutual friends, have tried to bring it up but they insist that it was a one time thing, their boyfriends didn’t know any better, and that we’re being over dramatic. It hurts me to know that they’re just one of many girls who dismiss sexual assault just because they’ve never been told what is wrong in a sexual relationship.

My mom was raped by my father while they were dating. My mom was raised in a very religious family so she saw premarital sex as one of the ultimate sins. She was okay with everything except penetrative sex. At some point, they were naked together and he saw that as an invitation. She froze up and couldn’t bring herself to stop him. That was how she lost her virginity. It wasn’t until she told me that she realized he raped her and that was only because I told her. She didn’t know she was raped until over 30 years later. She said she always thought she asked for it since she was naked around him and let him get close enough for it. She didn’t know that there are multiple types of rape until much later in life, so she never connected the dots. If she had known, she might’ve been able to save herself from the abusive marriage that followed.

Speaking of my mother and her marriage, she was also taught that getting a divorce was a sin in the eyes of god, especially if the wife initiates it. My mom couldn’t bring herself to divorce him in the beginning and then once she had kids she couldn’t divorce him until she made sure he wouldn’t get joint custody of us. She suffered through 35 years of abuse all because of some bullshit she had forced upon her since she was young. My grandma on my moms side experienced the same thing and wouldn’t divorce my grandfather who cheated on her and had a child with another woman.

These last ones are my own personal experiences. I, like many women, have faced sexual assault multiple times. The first time was when I was 12 and sexually assaulted by my long time family friend who was 15. He was best friends with my cousin who I am very close to so he also became a friend of mine. We also went to the same school. One day the three of us were at my cousins house and I was sharing a blanket with the friend. Under the blanket, he began to brush his hand along my ass which I thought was an accident since we were on a small couch sharing a blanket meant for one person. It soon escalated to him grabbing my ass under my jeans and through my underwear and then cupping my boobs. This was all while my cousin sat five feet away. When I finally got the courage to get out I got a text from the guy begging me not to tell my cousin. It took me nearly a month to tell my family and the school. My family said they would cut all contact with his family and the school said they would make sure I never had to be around him in a school setting. However, almost immediately, my family went back to being friends with his family and my school went back on their promise. Even though the guy confessed and I had the texts as evidence, he faced no real repercussions. Another guy continually harassed me over the course of our freshman, sophomore, and junior year. He’d do things like grab me, slap my ass, stick his hand down my uniform, grind against me during class while I was bent over, and he always found new ways to contact me after being blocked. When I finally told a teacher mid junior year, the way the school “punished” him was by having his football coach talk to him. This is the same football coach that’s known to indirectly slut shame girls in front of everyone. The guys behavior towards me didn’t change so I just gave up. I was never taken seriously when these incidents came to light. Everyone just assumed it was something to brush off. That it’d go away after a gentle scolding. Even my peers who say they’re all about protecting and defending women basically responded with “that sucks” and moved on.

I turned to radical feminism because it’s given me a place to be heard. I can speak my mind. Even if someone doesn’t agree with me, they’ll have a civilized discussion or simply move on rather than start an argument.

#and there’s more obviously #radfem #terf safe #terfs do touch #gender critical #terfs please interact #radical feminism #drop the t #lgb #long post #sorry #mine

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sillyrabbit81 · 4 years ago

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The Instructor Part 2

Summary: You and Agent Walker meet again

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: angst, smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

The Instructor Part 2

A month came and went.

Then six weeks.

Seven.

Eight.

Then you stopped counting.

You felt used, and grew angry. The submissive part of your nature had been taken advantage of and you swore it wouldn’t happen again. Never again would you allow your desires to be seen by any man, let alone by Agent Walker. You collect your memories of him, gather them into a box, seal it tight and bury it in the darkest corner of your mind. You don’t even bring it out on lonely nights anymore, it hurts too much.

You focus on work and fall into your new routine: wake up, work out, work late, eat take out, sleep, repeat. The days soon melted into one, weekends forgotten as the routine is the same as weekdays. Your work was repetitive and uninspiring. You were a junior Agent after all. You knew to expect a few years of grunt work before anything meaningful. You kept your head down and did what you had to do, hoping your diligence paid off and the higher ups noticed.

Despite your hard work, you were surprised when you were called into your boss’s office for a new assignment. She tells you that an opening came up on a surveillance team in the field focussed on a group of foreign nationals. She told you strictly that there would be no interaction with the group, surveillance only. You agree to the new posting, thankful for the break in monotony and chance to develop your skills.

“Just a moment, here is the lead Agent now.” She says.

You turn as the door opens and Agent Walker strolls in, his clipped yet casual gait doesn’t falter as he notices you. A lump rises in your throat as you see him for the first time in months. You don’t know how to feel, but your body reacts. With a pounding heart and clenching stomach, you keep your features smooth as possible, allowing the smallest hint of a smile to widen your lips. An appropriate response to seeing your old instructor, nothing more, nothing less. His eyes flicker with recognition, his small smile and nod was just as appropriate. He says to your boss, “Is this the addition to the team?”

“Do you two know each other?”

You don’t deny it. You’re not stupid enough to believe your boss doesn’t know every Agent you’ve ever interacted with so you say, “Of course, Agent Walker was one of my instructors at The Farm.” Boldly you continue speaking more for Walker’s benefit than your boss, “But I haven’t seen him in… what is it Agent? Four months?”

“Four and a half,” he replies, with a tilt of the head.

“Four and a half,” you repeat. Like bile rising in your throat, anger fills you and for a moment you know he sees it. Forcing the rising tide of fury down you say, “Well, time flies when you’re having fun.” You bare your teeth at him in what you hope your boss takes as a smile and Walker takes for the ‘fuck you’ it was. Walker narrows his eyes at you then turns his attention to your boss.

You discuss more details of the case and travel arrangements then you are dismissed. Leaving the two of them together you tidy your desk of personal belongings since you didn’t know when or if you would return and go home to prepare.

Once you are through the gates of Langley and no longer under direct video surveillance you start to shake. Seeing him again rocked you to your core you hoped you hadn’t given anything away with your comments. Was it a coincidence that you were promoted and put in his team or had he asked for you? Neither Walker or your boss had given anything away. No time to think about it now, you had packing to do and less than two hours to get to the airbase where you would be sent to DC for the job.

You showered quickly, resisting the urge to release some of the growing tension in your gut. You hadn’t touched yourself in months and you wouldn’t start now.

Trying to push thoughts of Agent Walker from your mind was a futile task. Instead you focussed on keeping your anger raw so you wouldn’t fall under his spell again. You had accepted that he wasn’t coming back. Did he have a knack for that? Only showing himself to you when you had moved on. You wouldn’t let him take you easily this time, this time he would not get satisfaction, not after what he had done. You shake your head, ‘this time’ you say, recognising the lies you tell yourself.

You start to get dressed when you hear a short rap on the door. Fuck, the car had arrived early. You pull a robe on as you answer the door, to let the driver know you’ll be a few more minutes.

Throwing the door wide, you’re greeted by Agent Walker, his face firm, furrowed brows looking you up and down. The collar of his dark woollen coat is pulled up, framing his face drawing your attention to his piercing stare. Frozen for a moment, you can do nothing but return his gaze. You’re a deer in headlights until he sucks his lower lip into his mouth and your body is propelled into action.

You slam the door closed, but he is quicker than you, a huge paw catching it and he forces his way into your apartment. You back away, but he kicks the door closed behind him and advances, with predatorily confident and rapid steps.

He catches your throat and brings you to him. He skin is rough with unshaven hair that is yet to grow soft. His lips are so smooth and warm, that you can’t help but melt into him. You hate him.

When he pulls away, he smiles at you almost sweetly and you can’t help the hand that flies on its own and makes a loud crack as it hits Walkers cheek.

You’re both stunned. Walker tongues his cheek and works his jaw a moment. “I hope you enjoyed that, pet. The first one is free, but the next one will come at a price.” He doesn’t seem angry, in fact his tone suggests amusement, which only fuels your rage.

“Get out,” you say. You try and keep your voice steady, but you know it warbled with fear as you looked into his eyes.

“No,” Walker says. He casually removes his coat folding it neatly and laying it over the back of your dining chair. He removes his scarf, placing it on top of his coat before he unbuttons his dark brown suit jacket and loosens his tie. You watch him, mind fixated on each of his careful movements. As if he were performing burlesque show, each minute act became a piece of seduction.

He sits in another chair and pats his lap, “Come, pet.” He calls to you in his gentle authoritative voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you take a step towards him. But then you notice his smirk, and you shrink away. You can’t speak but you shake your head as you retreat towards your bedroom.

Walker starts to look irritated and his voice gains a hard edge that both terrifies you and thrills you. “Come. Here,” he repeats. “I won’t say it again, pet.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” you spit out, your anger spilling from you, becoming a torrent as you wrestle within yourself.

He peers at you with his contemplating blue eyes. Then he sighs and moves before you can even register his actions. You turn, to run, but he is quicker and stronger. But more than that, his desire to have you is stronger than your desire to run.

His vice like arms trap you as he forces you against the wall, his body pressing into your back. “Why do you fight me, pet?” His voice rumbles into your ear. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Your tears came then, the rejection you felt was no longer able to be contained. That box of memories, buried for months smashes apart and so does your control. “You left me,” you sob. “You used me then left me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ashamed at how quickly you relented and told him anything. You laugh at yourself, why did you believe even for a second you could hide anything from him? The only man who saw into your very soul.

“I know, pet,” Walker drones, his lips caressing your ear as he does. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know,” you reply.

His hand is in your hair, smoothing the strands away from your face. His tender touch was unexpected but welcome. You feel soft kisses on your eye lids and you slowly stop crying. His tongue comes out, licking at your wet cheeks and you hear his breathing shudder as he laps up your pain.

You open your eyes, he growls as your shining eyes meet his. He plants a foot between your legs forcing them apart while he undoes his belt and pants and you hear them crumple to the floor. His hand tilts your hips back for him while the other pulls aside your underwear as he roughly explores your centre, coating his fingers in your arousal.

You hear a muttered, “Fuck,” as his finger enters you, circling your walls, stretching you before a second enters. “Fuck, pet. Have you touched yourself at all since I fucked you?”

Unsure of what he would think, you reply hesitantly, “No. You said I was yours.”

Walkers features soften as he says, “I knew you were a good girl.” Your whole body bursts into flames and your core clenches around his thick, thrashing fingers as you hear his whispered praise.

With precise and sudden movements, his fingers are withdrawn and his broad, leviathan cock bludgeons into you. Biting down on your lips to supress the cry growing in your throat you savour the feeling of being torn apart. Wasting no time, Walker moves with vicious, aggressive speed, wounding you with his thrusts, ripping apart your defences.

Pulling down your robe, he exposes your chest. His wanton hands knead your breasts as he uses them for leverage, his pounding never stops. You hear his breaths primal and raw as he assaults your neck with his mouth and teeth. He moves his depraved mouth to your shoulders sinking his teeth in deep. The pain feels like a caress when you are this close to the edge.

Walker turns you around, lifts your leg to his hip as he enters you again. His eyes are clinical as he studies your reaction. You feel boneless under his scrutiny and close your eyes again looking away. Walker grips your throat in his hand and uses his long fingers to push your cheek back in his direction.

“Open your eyes, pet,” he orders. “I know you’re close. I want to see your eyes when you call my name.”

The pressure builds deep within your gut as you keep your eyes glued to his. His breath, warm and minty with a hint of gin maybe, tickles at your cheek. You want to kiss him, taste him, feel his tongue invade you and devour you. You silently beg him to and as if hearing your thoughts, he slowly moves his mouth to yours. His eyes stay open as he flicks his tongue over your lips before taking your lower lip between his teeth.

Like a taut elastic, your core grows tighter and your knee gives out as the rush of warmth whips through your body. He lets go of your lip in time for you to shout “August!”

Your body pulses and your tightening muscles strain with contractions until you feel all the tension fall away. Like a rag doll you slump against him. But he isn’t finished with you.

Walker lifts your lulling head with a firm thumb under your chin, He continues his frenzied thrusts with a new vigour having succeeded in his task. He fucks your listless body, you’re too spent to move, and he doesn’t care. With a stuttering final thrust he pushes deep into you, clenching his teeth, whiskered lip raised in a snarl as he growls with his final throes.

He raised his hand to your face, his thumb laying a single burning caress down your tear stained cheek. “Go wash up, I’ll pack for you,” he says before pulling away and doing up his pants.

You shower again, consciously cleaning August’s seed spilling slowly from your ruined core. Each time you think you’re clean, you feel more leaking from you and you wash again. The bathroom door opens and August enters making a show of looking at his watch.

You sigh, and turn the shower off. His eyes inspect your body as he hands you a towel. He makes no effort to leave as he watches you towel off and you awkwardly squeeze past him as you make your way to your bedroom. He has laid an outfit on your bed, complete with underwear and shoes. Your gun is on your bed in its holster with spare clips by its side. You don’t say anything to him and dress in the clothes he chose and slipped your holster onto your belt, pocketing the spare clips.

Walker is waiting at the door with your overnight bag in his hand. You give the apartment a quick look over, making sure everything is turned off and sling your handbag over your shoulder. August opens the door for you, and as you slip past him his arm wraps around your waist and he kisses you.

The deep demanding kiss you wanted earlier was nothing compared to this, his lips were bruising and hard, but his tongue explored your mouth with a soft insistence. Your hands were free and for the first time, you touched him, laying a hesitant hand on his chest, and another on his neck. His skin felt hot under yours and testing his limits you slid your fingers into his hair and were rewarded with a barely audible groan.

Then he pulled his head away with a jerk and without looking at you said, “Go to the car. You’re making us late.”

Disappointed but not surprised you went to the car wondering where this assignment would take the two of you.

Part 3

Tag List

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x you #henry cavill #mission impossible fallout #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction

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burytherosemarysprigs · 4 years ago

Text

Oral Sadism and Literary Arguments

A/N : Ok, so, like enemies to lovers???? slow burn??? literature??? fuck me.

/ Masterlist /

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: There’s probably only one thing worse than chauvinist literature, and that’s the sardonic boy who sits two rows behind in Lit class with his torn paperbacks and ineffable aversion.

“Well, I actually disagree with you,”

If you didn’t have that much self-control, you would’ve snapped the pencil you were holding in half, as you heard a deep voice speak up behind you, and before you could retort, Professor Gordon spoke,

“And why’s that Jason?”

“I think Bukowski was trying to present how men will hide their inner thoughts and feelings, really their sensitivity in that aggression as an attempt at protection.” Jason spoke up, his voice boiling your blood as the rest of the class stayed in relative silence, as you turned around to look at him as he stared directly at you,

“I’m sorry, protection? What part about misogyny and blatant objectification of women as only being sexual objects that can be discarded and picked up when he pleases passes as protection? Women that are empty and uncharacterised to the extent the reader begins to agree with Chinaski that yes, women are less. Women are not important. And women don’t require compassion and consent, what part of any of this reminds you about goddamn male – “

“All right, I think that’s enough for today.” Gordon interrupted your heated rant with a sigh, which you share and quickly turn around close your eyes to try and avoid the weight of Jason’s stare as Gordon begins to dismiss the class.

“All right everyone, I hope you took something useful from that discussion, though I’m not sure if you would classify that as a discussion,” He added sarcastically, before continuing, “I expect you all to have brief outlines planned out for next week, and please try to work as collaboratively as you can with your partner to do so.”

The last part was directed at you and Jason – though neither of you payed proper attention – while the rest of the class let out small snickers.

“Right then, class dismissed, and uh, you two, could you both please stay behind for a minute.”

Fucking great. You thought to yourself, even though Gordon didn’t specify both you and Jason, his tired expression tells you otherwise and you start collecting your notes and pens into your bag in a silent fury and made your way to the front of the class, where Gordon was leaning against his oak desk, watching both of you stand in front of him – not casting a single glance towards the other as you waited for him to speak. He sighs,

“I don’t think you both understand how frustrating it is when your top students both have it out for each other and can’t hold a single civil discussion before arguing like little children,” He begins, becoming more wary as he continues, “Which is why I paired you up for this assignment and I fully expect you both to work together, and I hope I can expect that from you?”

He looked at both of you with an expectant look, and Jason only nodded curtly as a response, and you did the same but decided to chirp in,

“That’s great that you think we’ll be able to work together, sir, but on a totally unrelated note, how would my grade be impacted if my partner was suddenly mauled by a car over the weekend and was unable to complete the project with me?” You spoke, voice deadpanning, as your professor barely restrained in a smile while Jason looked at you with an empty expression.

“I would say that would be a fail as you missed the premises of ‘working with a partner’, as well as some serious legal consequences.” He replied, somehow maintaining a serious look as he spoke.

“That’s great to know sir.” You spoke, nodding along before he dismisses you both, leading you to quickly walk out of the classroom, breathing out a sigh of relief as you see Barbara leaning against the wall, busy on her phone, waiting for you to come out.

“What took you so long,” She asks as soon as she hears your sigh, pocketing her phone, and linking her arm with yours,

“I swear to God, one day, I might as well skin him – “

“Look, if I had known before that you could be so dramatic, I would’ve told you to choose drama as your major.”

“Ha. So funny. It’s just – fuck him.” You say the last part under your breath as you turned around to see nobody in the empty hallway.

“You two are really something else.” She states, making you roll your eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that you and Jason are really annoying. And petty.”

“Well, he’s the one that needs to contradict and compete against every single fucking thing I say, every single fucking time! It’s really fucking annoying,” Barbara only rolls her eyes in amusement. “And Gordon paired us up together for this project, and, God, I just can’t do anything with him without wanting to punch him in his stupid face.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why Gordon paired you both up, he really likes you both and he wants you both to stop having this weird rivalry between each other.”

“Wait. You knew?”

“Well yeah. I’m his daughter.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because I like seeing you suffer.”

“You know, you’re a terrible friend.”

“Thank you,” She replies, with a small laugh, before she links her arm with yours again and whips out her phone to frantically shoot another text as she lets out a deep sigh. “Where is Steph? She took my car this morning and said she’d pick us up.”

“You let her drive your Bentley?” You ask, surprised she would give Stephanie one of her most prized possessions.

“Yeah, I know,” She spoke, absorbed in her phone, “But, she promised me that she would keep it safe, and we all know that I will kill her if something happens to it.”

“I do.” You reply, a small laugh escaping your lips before a blue Bentley pulled up in front of you both, causing Barbara to quickly pull open the door and shuffle inside, leaving you to chuckle to yourself before making your way to the back seat of the car, the blaring music making you wince as you enter the car but Babs quickly turns it off as both of you settle in.

“See! Your car is perfectly fine, just like I told you it would be!” Steph smugly announced, her blonde curls bouncing wildly as Barbara stared at her unimpressed, before both of them fall into their routine bickering as, this time, Babs begins to criticise her driving and apparent ‘mishandling of the most precious thing to me’, while you only roll your eyes at their antics before pulling out your phone to scroll through the messages you’ve missed throughout the day.

“Hey,” Steph’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts as you meet her eyes through the rear-view mirror, “What’s up with you today?”, her seemingly innocent question provokes a snicker from Babs – to which she receives a smack on the shoulder from you.

“What?” Steph inquires further.

“Nothing, why don’t you ask miss ‘I-fucking-hate-Jason-Todd’ here.”

“Fuck off, Barbara.” You grit out, glaring at her through the rear-view mirror.

“God, both you and Jason actually act like children,” Stephanie chimes in, “You’re both almost the same but you both compete against each other against every little thing – “.

“Are we done talking about Todd?” You retort, ignoring Steph’s comment, “I have better things to do than think about him.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Barbara winks at you and it takes a lot for you not to launch at her right there, in the car but Steph draws your attention away by babbling about some boy she met in her criminology class and the conversation in the car gradually fizzles out, until Steph asks,

“You guys heard about the party this weekend, right,” A matching ‘yes’ from you and Babs prompts her to continue, “Well, you’re going then, right?”

“I don’t know, but why’re you so pressed about it?” Bars questions, with a raised eyebrow.

“No reason, I’m just curious.”

“It’s Tim, isn’t it?” This time, you pipe in, and Steph almost yells,

“No. No, it’s not!”

“Oh my god. Of course it is.” Babs laugh echoes with yours as you eye Steph in the rear-view mirror, to see a blush dusting her cheeks as she quiets down.

“Whatever, are you coming or not.”

“After this conversation, yeah I am.”

“God. I hate you both.”

Standing in the corner of the party, nursing a red solo cup of something that burns your throat when you drink it, you regret not saying anything in the car against attending this party.

You’re currently standing alone, both Steph and Babs have completely disappeared into crowd, as Dick had shown up and quickly whisked her away as soon as you all entered the apartment, whereas Steph has promised to get you a drink about twenty minutes ago but never came back and as you try to block out the reverberating EDM music blasting through the room, you make your way towards the kitchen to re-fill your cup (the one that you went and got yourself), before something catches your attention in the peripheral vision.

It’s a wispy haired girl, her eyes smudged with mascara, backed against the wall of the kitchen – away from the main crowd, you could pick from her body language a sense of uncomfortability as she was drunkenly shaking her head at a man who towered in front of her, making you stop in your tracks to watch the scene unfold right in front of you, before quickly changing your course towards their direction, already knowing the identity of the man in front of the girl, without seeing his face.

“Hey, Cyrus, get the fuck away from her!”

As soon as you reach them, and the words leave your mouth, another raucous voice speaks at the same time as you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Cyrus and the girl in front of him stop at their hushed conversation, to look away from each other and face you both while you also look at Jason – with a shocked expression – standing next to you and before you can say anything, Cyrus lets go of his hold on the girl before turning to glare at you.

“I don’t see how any of this is any of your business?”

You restrain yourself from physically hurling at him and fist your hands at your sides before looking at him with an unimpressed look.

“I don’t see how any of this is your business either, Beck? Thought daddy said that he’ll pull you out of school if he had to deal with your stupid behaviour again, or did you forget about it?”

“I swear to god – “

He tries to step closer to you but Jason steps in front of you before he can do anything else, and mutters,

“How about you fucking walk away before something worse happens?”

Beck shrugs of Jason’s hold on him before walking away and pointing a finger at you.

“You’re such a fucking bitch, you know that?”

“Should’ve said that to your daddy when he said I was best fucking person he’s ever met.”

He looks at you wildly and is about to retort before one of his friends pulls his attention to a game of beer-pong happening in another corner of the party and the whole scene stops for a second. You watch with a held breath as within a fraction of a second, a cocky smile overtakes his face and his shoulders relax as he runs his hands through his dark hair, leaving with his friend and you quickly turn around to see the girl, still standing there, her arms wrapped around her body and a shocked expression on her face.

It takes you a second, but you manage to gently coax her to the hallway outside the apartment and Jason (unbeknownst to you) follows in your footsteps.

“Do you want me to call you a cab, or can I drop you off?”

She shakes her head and is about to say something before Jason interjects,

“I can take her home.”

Both you and the girl turn around and stare at him and you quickly shake your head, diverting your gaze away from him,

“It’s fine Todd, I’ve got this.”

He sighs.

“Will you just let me help her?”

“Well, I’ve already told you that I’ve got this under control, so I don’t see why you’re being so – “

“Oh - uh, you don’t have to worry about me, I can uh – go home myself.”

“No. I – uh mean, let us take you home just to make sure that everything will be okay.”

A meek smile overtakes her face as you squeeze her hand lightly and you offer a half-smile in return.

“Us?” Jason’s voice perks up and you turn around,

“Well, I don’t have a car. If you want, I can come with you and drop her off at her place but – “

“Yeah, sure. Come on.”

His voice is clipped as he moves past you both, turning around the end of the hallway, leading you both to quickly follow him as well.

“Wait. I never asked you for your name.” You gently rest place your hand on her shoulder, making her stop and quietly giving her name,

“It’s Anna.”

...

By the time you’ve left Anna’s apartment complex, the small talk in the car dwindles down as you both sit, unnerved in the dimmed light of the car, the silence suffocatingly awkward. It doesn’t change until he pulls up to the curb, facing the entrance to your apartment building.

“Thanks.”

It’s quiet enough that you didn’t expect that he’d actually hear you. Let alone, grab your wrist before you leave, an incredulous expression on his shadowy face.

“Thanks? That’s it. You’re not going to say anything about what’s just happened?”

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to say.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well neither do I. Look. Thanks for dropping me off and Anna. That’s it. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

He doesn’t say anything and let’s go of his hold on your wrist before you quickly slip out of the car, not realising the force at which you push, slams the door shut, making you internally wince. But in your peripheral vision, you can see he doesn’t look at you, with his face staring forward and grip tight on the wheel.

His car’s gone further and turned the corner before you’ve even made it to the entrance doors, and you breath in the cold October air, letting the wind whip across your bare skin, goosebumps rising while standing in a pathetically insulating satin dress, your thoughts pummeling through your mind without fully understanding them and you sigh again.

“What did you say to him after that?”

“Babs, I’m already – “

You stop midway through your hushed conversation with Barbara to see a disheveled Jason noisily weave his way through the shelves, towards the table at the back of the library you had occupied with Barbara.

“Sorry, I – “

“If you weren’t really going to care about this assignment, you should’ve said something before showing up thirty minutes late.” You deadpan, voice steely and brows furrowed.

“Will you fucking listen to me?” he breathlessly cuts you off from saying anything else as he drops his books on the table.

“I’ll head out now.” Barbara mutters to you, squeezing your arm and slinging her bag over her shoulder before quietly slipping out of sight. You rested your chin in your propped arm, waiting for Jason to continue,

“Well, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t have an excuse. I was caught up in call with my father, it ended up being longer than I expected.”

You stare at him for a moment, his eyebrows also furrowed and hair sticking in all directions as he breathes heavily.

“Whatever, just complete the outline of notes I made for you.” You replied, pushing pieces of sticky notes and highlighted papers, that you had been picking at for the past half hour, towards his direction.

In about fifteen minutes, you’re both working in relative silence apart from the occasional remarks on the thesis and clarification on handwritings. There’s also been the perpetual looks on Jason’s part, and regardless of how much you try to block them, it itches at you to confront him about his irritating tendency.

“What Jason? What do you want now?”

His expression is firstly, taken aback, and then he coughs before asking,

“Did you ever talk to the girl after the party?”

You nod slowly, eyes still trained on the table, curving letters on colour-coded sticky notes before replying,

“Yeah, Stephanie’s their R.A, so I went and checked up on them the day after the party, she’s doing fine.”

You think that’s the end of his curiosity, but the pit of anxiety in your stomach and his next question, makes you internally want to bang your head against the alder wood table.

“And, uh, what about Beck?

Now, you stop writing with your pen and look up at him instead, resting your chin on your propped hand again, with a bored expression splayed on your face to try and detract from the internal anxiety, for both yourself and him.

“What about him?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and for a moment you think he might snap like he did in the car a few nights ago, but he only closes his eyes in frustration as you cock your head to one side.

“If you’re wondering if he’s going to face consequences for what he does – then no.”

There’s no verbal response except for a quizzical expression and you almost roll your eyes at him.

“I swear to God Jason, do you live under a fucking rock?”

“I just – look if you’re gonna be a bitch about it, then fucking leave it.”

“Maybe if you’d like to stop yelling in the goddamn library, I can fucking say something.” You almost hiss at him, voice seething as you both glare at each other.

“Anyways, you probably know that Beck’s the son of the headmaster, yeah, yeah, anyways, he’s always been a fucking creep around parties, but he’s never like you know, ever gotten that far.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at your hushed whispers.

“Like, he just trails around parties looking to either fight someone or just annoy them the fuck out but usually someone stops him before he can do something worse. But, still doesn’t mean that he isn’t a fucking asshole anyways – and his dad and him have like the worst fucking relationship ever, he’s threatened to pull him out a bunch of times of school because he’s so shit.”

You lower your voice even further at the last past, that you’re not sure if he can even hear you.

“How do you know all this?”

You shake your head and trail your eyes back to the unfinished notes in front of you.

“That’s unimportant. He’s a whiny trust-fund brat and I don’t know why someone hasn’t punched him yet.”

That silences Jason for a moment. And the moment doesn’t last long before your phone’s alarm blares through the silence of the library and you quickly move to silence it and Jason eyes question you but you don’t respond, instead move to disorderly throw all the pens and highlighters into your bag and grab as many papers you could in one go before quickly whispering,

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait – “

“Look. I promised I’d help a friend out with something. I’ll let you know when I’m free again.”

Jason doesn’t have a chance to say anything else before you’ve flitted through the haze of bookshelves out of view.

“What happened to the guy your dad set you up with?”

“Darian?”

Babs doesn’t look up from her place on the vanity table as she touches up her makeup while you’re sat on the table with a plastic fork prodding the edges of one of the Halloween themed chocolate cakes Babs attempted to bake for the party.

“Yeah, the one with the hair, right?”

“The hair?”

She casts a pointed look at you through the mirror, but you only take in another forkful of chocolate icing before answering,

“Yeah, he had like the most voluminous hair I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Really? Well he had the most boring personality that I’ve ever fucking seen.”

She barely contains a smile at your comment while her own snarky comment elicits a snort from you but before you can say anything else, the frantic clicking of Stephanie’s (beloved) d’orsay heels against the linoleum floor followed by her quickly making her way into the dimly lit bedroom causes the room to fall into silence.

“You’re not ready yet?”

Her voice holds an accusatory tone and Babs quickly scoffs,

“I’m trying. But somebody keeps distracting me by asking unimportant questions.”

“Excuse me. I’m trying to be a good friend and keep up with my friend’s life.”

“Please. It sounds more like you want to know more about Darian.”

Before you can retort to her statement, Steph’s voice cuts in,

“Darian? Who’s that?”

“A guy I went on a date with a while ago.” Babs replies with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a scarlet lipstick tube from her make-up bag.

“ – That your dad set you up with.” You finish for her and Stephanie laughs.

“Since when is Professor Gordon a dating guru?”

“Since fucking never,” Babs replies, this time, twisting the cap of her lipstick. “It was just some guy in the forensic unit that he probably felt bad for being single and alone, but he shouldn’t have, ‘cause he didn’t have a fucking personality even if he tried.”

“Well that sucks. Anyways, are you both ready?” She pulls out her phone out of the bag she’d brought and starts typing.

“Or, you know, at least tried to be ready?” This time, she eyes you pointedly and you let out a noise of protest while stuffing another forkful of chocolate cake in your mouth.

“I’m sorry not all of us have devoted our whole fucking lives curating every Halloween costume known to man!”

This was something you’d noticed since you’d come back to Gotham and had been forced to attend Halloween parties – nearly everyone you’d encountered was practically obsessed with the celebration – and one of those people was Barbara. So much so, that every year she held a Halloween party and planned it more profusely than you’ve ever seen her do anything else. Her love also came with a heightened scrutiny for your enthusiasm – or lack thereof – for the holiday.

Which was why you were currently sat, dressed in a black boat neck dress with a flimsy witch hat resting on your head as you decimated one of Babs’ rejected Halloween cakes – yet the worst part was that it was currently early December (midterms being pushed back made it impossible to have it in October) and the last thing you’d wanted was to attend this party but Babs had personally threatened to drag you there to complete her and Steph’s wish of doing a group costume.

“It’s only you, you know.” Steph retorts, head cocking to one side and blonde curls hanging over her shoulder, “Now, let’s go, let’s go!”

About three hours later, you’ve found yourself nursing a cup of cheap bar (the number, you’re pretty sure that you’ve lost count of), eyeing a clique of literature students, who are currently in the midst of an argument while you stand in the corner of the room, trying to avoid them recognizing you out of their peripheral vision.

“What’re you doing?”

“What the – “ You quickly turn around to see a tall figure dressed in black staring down at you quizzically, and then you realize that it’s Jason Todd.

“Todd, what the fuck do you want.” You hiss – not at all in the mindset to have a conversation with him at the moment – while trying to remain quiet enough so that you don’t attract any unwanted attention.

“I should be asking you,” He taunts back. “You’re the one sulking around the party and hiding in places.”

You don’t try to reply to his response but offer another front of argument that throws all sensibility of your previous claim of not wanting to fight Jason out of the window.

“I don’t fucking understand, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to talk to you and you’re blocking everyone’s way.”

“Well, I’m not moving. So, they can find another way.”

“Are you fucking serious,” His voice raises. “You’re actually acting like a – “

“Shut up. Will you.” You hiss, pushing both of you further into the corner, so the bi-fold doors hide you better from the view of the group.

“What are you – “

“Morgan and his stupid friends keep trying to argue with me about some shit literature and won’t leave me alone.”

“Why?” There’s an edge to his voice which you pretend not to hear by avoiding his eyes.

“Beats me.”

He falters at the hostility of the comment – or lack thereof and you don’t say anything else but instead move to carefully peer pass the maple doors to scan for the group you’ve been avoiding amongst the mass of people in the room and as soon as you can’t see them you quickly move past Jason, to the to the cantilever staircase, without registering Jason’s footsteps trailing behind yours until you’ve reached the top and the overwhelming music and yelling from the party subdues a little and you let out a breath of relief before you see Jason also reaching the top of the stairs.

“Are you fucking following me?”

“No. Barbara and Stephanie were looking around for you and I was helping them.”

That lessens your anger a little and then confusion settles.

“Why?”

“I wanted to apologise to you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in and find yourself a little speechless.

“I – I meant why were they were looking for me but go on.”

“Oh,” You think you see his cheeks tint pink a little but with the dim lighting dancing shadows on his face, you’re not sure. “Well, I wanted to say sorry about the last class we had with Gordon.”

He takes a pause to slightly mess with his hair by running a hand through it.

“You were right about Bukowski – I – I don’t know why I said all of that shit.”

Looking back at this moment, you think it’s not your brightest because somehow his rather heartfelt confession falls almost deaf on your ears and somehow the narrative in your mind shifts to something else entirely.

“Is this some sort of joke, Todd?”

“What?”

“Did Morgan put you up to this shit? I know you and I don’t get along but siding with him is real fucking low, you know?”

“I – “

“I can’t fucking believe that you’re listening to all their bullshit and agreeing with them. It’s so – “

“No. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He cuts you off and his voice raises considerably. “I’m trying to fucking apologize to you and all your doing is being a bitch again.”

That silences you, but he continues.

“You know, I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything to understand what I did to fuck up with you, I’ve asked Barbara and Stephanie and – just, fuck, why did I listen to Dick?”

He mutters the last part, but you catch it anyway but still no response forms in your head at all, instead new questions pop-up as Jason runs another frantic hand through his ruined hair before quickly thundering down the stairs, leaving you…

You’re not quite sure what you’re feeling but cold is one of them as you pull the pathetic lace sleeves down your arm to try and warm yourself but nothing happens and maybe you feel your eyes too heavy to keep open as tears brim at the corners.

“Hey – are you okay?”

Babs’ voice causes your head to snap upwards as you watch her quickly scaling the stairs, eyebrows furrowed together, and you offer no response until she reaches the top and extends her arms to pull you into a hug.

“You were right. Halloween really isn’t your holiday.”

“Could you please stay behind for a moment?”

Gordon asks of you as you’re heading out of the hall, and the pit of anxiety resting in your stomach throughout the class, blooms further as you wait on the side until all the hall empties and its just you and Gordon.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, until he finally sighs and looks at you with a hard expression – one you’re all too familiar with from when you were little –

“Concerning Jason,”

You nod. Since your argument two days ago, you haven’t seen him, and the guilt seeped in farther when his spot well behind you remained empty the entire lesson.

“He’s pulled from your partnership.”

“W-what?”

“He came to talk to me, saying that he can’t continue to work with you anymore on any further projects, and the last one I paired you up on should definitively be the last.”

“Sir, I – “

“Look, I don’t like to meddle in the private lives of my students, but this situation is too tiring for me not to say that whatever problem you and Jason have; fix it. I always find both your work fascinating and that goes for the assignment you both submitted before and I simply cannot allow your own vanities to cloud judgment over the fact that you and Jason are paragons at literature and in my books, are too quick-witted to allow this talent to be lost amongst petty arguments.”

“I know, I – “

“So, I hope you’ll resolve this issue before next week’s lesson?”

“I – yes. Yes, I will.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

“Can I come in?”

The situation that you’re currently in rolls over you in waves of guilt and anxiety as you stand in front of Jason, in a beige coloured hallway as he idly stands with the apartment door halfway open, hesitant at your words or more so at how you’re standing in front of his apartment with worn boots and a heaving chest. You’d finally taken heed of the advice offered from Gordon, Steph and Babs and even consulted Dick and mulled it over with your own guilt before trekking all the way to his apartment.

“Sure,” His voice sounds removed – apathetic enough that you have to refrain from wincing, as he opens the door further to let you in. “Are you okay?”

You don’t hear him as your boots echo against the hardwood floor as you enter the apartment building and the sudden realization that this is the first time you’ve seen his apartment settles in as you eye the dimly lit space, with books scattered on the coffee – most of them are torn, something you’ve always found a little endearing, though you won’t admit it. The room is an oddly home-y mixture of warm beige's and deep browns that you would’ve kept staring at if he hadn’t called out your name again.

“What?”

“I asked, are you okay? You’re red in the face and panting.”

“Oh, oh, yeah, I walked all the way here and the elevator was out of service, so I used the stairs.”

“Why did you walk, nearly twenty blocks?” He furrows his brows and you let out of a puff of annoyance.

“I – listen, I don’t want to argue with you,” You take a step closer and calm yourself before starting. “You – you were right, I was being a complete and total bitch to you without reason at that party and before that. It’s just – “

You stop, and release a chuckle before awkwardly asking, “I’m gonna need a drink to get through this, do you have any?”

Nearly fifteen minutes later, not as drunk as you need to be, but enough that it gives you courage to finally stop beating around the bush and talk to him so you move to see him also standing facing the open windows to the evening sky, the sun setting against the horizon as dusk settles and you motion for him to sit on the floor as you are and he slowly complies.

“Look, I know I’ve been hostile towards you since – “

“Why?” He interrupts, not looking at you and you sputter a little. “Why have you been so hostile to me.”

“Well, you should know, none of it was your fault – well, not directly.” You sigh.

“College was my chance to start over. You don’t need to know all of the other shit, but I just thought that this whole experience would make everything okay and I wouldn’t need to fight for every single thing in my life just to end up being sub-par. And, it was going great.” You slightly chuckle to try not to choke on your words.

“That was, until you came along with your prodigal capabilities in literature and it felt like everything was falling apart again. Because somehow, suddenly, I wasn’t Gordon’s favourite anymore and I wasn’t at the top of the class – and somehow, I wasn’t enough.” Your voice is a little more choked now as you kept looking forward, even though Jason had started watching you now.

“It just was like my entire belief system just got turned upside down.” You release a breath and let the silence settle after your words.

“Fuck, I just unloaded a crap-ton of shit onto you, and you probably don’t understand any of it. I mean, I’m drunk so I don’t understand either.” You laugh and try not to cry, even though you’re pretty sure you will.

“No, I think I understand sort of, too,” He replies, voice softer than you expected and you’re more surprised to see a small smile gracing his lips. “You’re not completely wrong about the whole belief system thing there, you know, Gordon’s classes meant the same thing to me too and I just wanted to enjoy something without having to fight my way for it but boy, did you make that hard.”

A breathy chuckle escapes you as he stops talking and you both sit in the silence until he pipes up again,

“If we’re trying to mend this whole thing then maybe you should want this back too,” His voice is cryptic as you furrow your brows in confusion and stare at him with a lost expression as he stands up to walk away and disappear into the hallway, out of your sight before quickly returning with something clasped in his hand while you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You dropped this in my car when we were heading back from the party with that whole thing with Anna. Dick found it the next morning and had a whole field day about it.”

In his palm, rests a single earring piece shaped like an olive branch which you thought you’d lost in the chaos of the party and you almost laugh.

“You know, I’m gonna pretend this isn’t too creepy and thank you for giving it back.”

“I was trying to give it back to you but you never wanted to have a single conversation with me so,” You roll your eyes before picking up the earring and hooking it back through your ear even though you didn’t have the other one on.

“Right, I get it, I suck.”

That causes him to laugh as he settles back down again next to you and he doesn’t look at you before saying,

“No, you’re not as annoying as I originally thought.”

You echo a ‘hey’ and lightly punch him and the silence envelopes you both – softly, and there’s a moment of peace you think you’ve both settled in and it feels nice.

le fin

(pt.2 will come)

#dc #dc fanfic #Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #batfam #batman imagines #jason todd imagines #red hood imagines #dc fic #dick grayson imagine #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #fanfic #my fanfic #bruce wayne #jason todd x you #red hood x y/n

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sidespart · 4 years ago

Text

The Fall of King Romulus

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

This was originally a fake fic but I decided to turn it into a real fic because it looked like fun, The fake fic can be read as a prologue.

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Chapter 1

Previous (prologue) Next Chapter 2

When Roman had first left home, he had no intention of making friends.

Romulus had never had them, unless you counted Remus in their younger days. Royal life was often one of seclusion and once his… particular problem… had come to light, his parents took the necessary steps to ensure he was as isolated from others as possible.

This was for his own good. Romulus could not protect himself. Romulus was a liability to the himself and the Kingdom. One slip before a supposed playmate could lead to discovery and disaster. His father explained this to him when Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy when the family visited the palace.

“Suppose that boy notices,” his fathers voice was a hiss, his hand gripping Romulus small shoulder hard enough to bruise “suppose he realises you will do anything he asks, and he asks you for family secrets? Suppose he waits until your are older and orders you to favour his family, to give them position in court, to promote them above their deserved station- or to harm their enemies. Do you understand the risk you’re taking Romulus? Swear to me you will keep to yourself. Please.”

Phrasing, Romulus had come to learn, was extraordinarily important when dealing with his curse. The final ‘please’ from his father had turned the order into a request – something Romulus could technically choose to ignore. But the grip on his shoulder suggested it would not remain his choice for long. So he nodded at his father and swore to keep away and was rewarded with a smile and a hand stroking gently though his hair, before he was dismissed to go and study before his afternoon lessons.

He should have been lonely. But he had his parents and his instructors and his servants. And the occasional, highly orchestrated, public appearance wherein he would adopt a practiced air of aloof politeness, wave and make measured conversation with those who would never dare to give him an order. It could have been worse.

Still, he understood that once he left it would be necessary to speak to many more people then he had up to now. He would need food and shelter and work and direction, none of which he had had to procure for himself before.

So he prepared himself to make conversation with strangers, perhaps acquire acquaintances. He expected to find admirers once he was far South enough that he could perform with his lute without fear of recognition from the crowd. He hoped, perhaps, for some romances, some temporary but dashing companions to join him on adventures. He had read about such things during hours spent locked up in the palace library and told to entertain himself.

He had not planned on making friends. Traveling with anyone for too long, getting to know them and allowing them to learn about him – it inevitably increased the chance of them discovering his secret. Of exploiting him as his parents had warned against. It was not worth the risk.

And yet.

And yet somehow, he had acquired three.

Virgil and Patton and Logan.

Brave and kind and wise.

Not a drop of aristocratic blood between them but without doubt the most noble companions a man could wish for. When he thought of them, of how they had accepted him into their little band of misfit adventurers, his heart felt more full, his mind more alive and sharp than it had been in years. His blood buzzed with creativity and songs of friendship, love and loyalty sprang from his lips almost unbidden.

Not right now however.

Right now sort of wanted to kill them. Specifically Virgil.

Roman scowled at the surrounding trees “If there are any depressingly dressed half elves out there who want to APPOLOGISE for being JERKS the floor is open!” he called.

The trees remained silent. They had done that the last three times he tried.

Roman left out a dramatic exhale and flopped back on the ground.

The thing was. He knew, intellectually, that this wasn’t Virgil’s fault. Not Intentionally.

Virgil was prickly. And unpredictable. Last night, Roman had wailed in dismay at the sorry state for a fire the young man was building. Virgil had responded that they would be lucky if there was no fire at all, since that would mean no one would have to be subjected to Romans cooking. Roman had insulted Virgil’s hair. Virgil had made a creative suggestion for where Roman could stick the firewood he was holding. And back and forth the insults went until between them they had built up the fire and set the stew boiling upon it.

It was banter. Virgil had been giggling the whole time, Patton hadn’t interjected once to tell them to be nicer.

And then this evening they’d gone hunting for firewood together. And Roman had made some sly remark, hoping that Virgil’s fire building skills had improved somewhat overnight.

And Virgil had turned round and snarled at him to “shut UP Princy. I don’t need you to help me – just, just get lost.”

Virgil didn’t know about the curse.

Romans mouth had dropped open in surprise. And before he’s had time to close it, his feet had spun round one hundred and eighty degrees and marched him away from his friend, away from the path, deeper into the heart of the forest.

His feat had carried him on a winding route, over one shallow stream and through an extremely dense thicket of brambles that left Roman desperately hacking away at the thorns in front of him before they could shred him to ribbons. He had eventually stopped after an hour of relentless marching and sprawled at the foot of an impressively knotted oak tree.

Unsurprisingly, his surroundings were totally unfamiliar. The trees grew so thick here it was impossible to see more than twelve feet in any direction. He was well and truly lost.

Roman had spent an unsatisfying few minutes ranting to the trees about elves and their unpredictable mood swings and marching and blisters and curses and Virgil’s still subpar fire lighting skills until eventually he had run out of steam and settled himself down for a good sulk.

Phrasing was important. Virgil had told him to get lost but he hadn’t said to stay lost. And now that he was lost, there was nothing to prevent him being found again.

Patton was an excellent tracker. The idea of sitting around waiting to be rescued stung Roman’s pride, but his feat had already been aching from the days travel before his unintended march. His stomach growled, the smattering of cuts from the brambles burned, and evening was already turning to night. The most sensible thing to do was for Roman to stay where he was and wait to be found.

Assuming they wanted to find him.

Roman bit his lip sharply to try and banish that line of thought. They wouldn’t leave him.

Although, he drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees to fend off the evening chill, There was a strong chance they wouldn’t find him tonight. Patton had looked exhausted when Virgil and Roman and left on their hunt for firewood, in fact he’d been falling behind all day and –

Oh.

Patton and Virgil were born in Krutova and Finaley’ed respectively. Two small neighbouring kingdoms, politically insignificant and famous only for their densely forested landscapes and their intense dedication to wiping each other off the face of the Earth. For the past eighteen years bloody war had raged between the two. Roman had never asked directly, but he was fairly certain that this conflict was where Patton had acquired his enormous broadsword, his limp and, quite possibly, Virgil.

Neither of them liked forests. They carried extra tension as soon as they stood under the shadows of the trees. In addition to that, the uneven terrain aggravated Patton’s hip, sometimes leaving him hissing between his teeth with every step.

Roman had been walking up front with Logan all day, arguing the merits of modern Raspanzean poetry compared with the old masters. He had thought they had called a halt to the day a little early, but was tired enough himself not to question it. And really, since he and Virgil had been on fire and cooking duty last night it should have fallen to the others today…but Virgil had scampered into the woods as soon as Patton was settled on his bed roll, and Roman had gone chasing after.

Virgil fretted. He fretted after all of them, but Patton most of all. And Roman had chased after him when he was already stressed about his best friend and then started needling him about his fire making skills.

Roman groaned and pressed his face into his knees.

Maybe he was the jerk.

“It sounds like it.”

Roman sighed, hating the whine in his voice as he replied “but he still shouldn’t have taken it out on –“

Romans head snapped up so fast he hit his skull hard against the oak tree behind him. Wincing he twisted his head left and right, but the area remained deserted.

He frowned. Perhaps he was more exhausted than he thought –

“You certainly are over tired little Prince,” Roman made a sound which he refused to think of as a shriek and scrambled to his feet.

Standing not three feet- two feet – five feet- three feet from him, stood – hovered - sat – stood a figure in – black – yellow- black – shadow – gold - black. He- she – it – he? Laughed sweetly and stepped – slunk – prowled – flew – stepped closer

And drew back abruptly as Roman held up his dagger between them.

Roman’s sword was the best he could buy, made of blended steel with a bronze handle. He cleaned and sharpened it religiously and practiced often. It was beautifully made and perfectly balanced, suitable for a solider but ideal for a traveller in who knew how to use it.

Romans dagger was old and brittle. And more than once Logan had tried to surreptitiously throw it out and convince him to replace it with something usable.

But it was made of pure iron and it kept the scowling fae at bay.

Looking directly at the fae made something in Romans stomach twist. But he kept his eyes at a squint and held the dagger firm between them, even as his arms shook from the effort.

“What do you want from me?” he gritted out

“What do I want?” The fae’s face would not quite settle, the edges shifting and billowing, but when he smiled Roman was certain he saw fangs “You’re the one trespassing in my home, little Prince, I should be asking you”

Suddenly the fae was as close as he could come, his face less than an inch from the daggers edge. Up close, Roman could see two eyes clearly, one black and one pulsating with a sickly yellow light. “Come to make a deal with the devil, Princey?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and held himself firm, even as the shaking began to spread over his entire body.

“I am. A. Lost. Traveller.” He gasped out “I. mean. No. disrespect. To you. Or. Your court” for what felt like an eternity the shaking continued, rattling his brain and sending one knee crashing to the floor. And then it stopped.

Hesitantly, Roman cracked one eye open and looked up. The fae had, mercifully, settled its form. It had picked a face identical to Romans own, save for the yellow eye and scales that spread over its left side. A cloak of shadows hid most of its body from view, but when it moved towards Roman now it seemed to slither rather than step.

“You mean no disrespect” it nodded towards the dagger still clutched in Roman’s sweaty hands “but your bring a weapon to my home?”

“it is a shield, my lord, not a sword, despite it’s shape”

The fae harrumphed, a disconcertingly human noise, and circled Roman once. “You’re not from around here.”

“I’m lost, my lord.”

“I know that” The fae stopped in front of Roman again and rolled it’s eyes. “I meant you are not one of the town folk who trespass in my wood so regularly. You know how to speak to me.”

Roman opened his mouth to say ‘in my fathers Kingdom the Fae are welcomed, and representatives of the Saelie court attend each ball and function’ but managed to snap it closed before he made a sound. Rule one for dealing with the Fae, even those considered allies, was not to give them any information that they didn’t already know. “You flatter me my lord” he said instead.

Roman still hadn’t moved from his half kneeling pose and now the fae coiled down so that they were once again face to face. “Most humans in your position” he said, “would have already started begging for a deal to relive them of their…little problems. What’s the matter Princey, curse got your tongue?”

Roman couldn’t help the way his heart rate sped up at the faes words. But he did his best to keep his outward face calm. It was true, the first deliberate order he had received when his curse was discovered was to never talk about it, he couldn’t have brought it up to this fae if he wanted to.

But more than that – the fae who allied themselves with his father’s court had done everything in their power to remove the curses from him and his brother. Nothing had worked. “A gift once given can only be taken back by the gifter” an elder sprite in the guise of a kindly woman had told his mother. “And their gifter is unlikely to return here.”

The gifter was also unlikely to be a snake shaped creature tied to a southern forest. “I want nothing from you my lord, except to be allowed to leave your home” Roman intoned honestly. He had wondered, for a moment, when the creature had called him Princey – but Virgil and the others often called him by that nickname. If this was a lord of the forest he could have heard them when they passed by.

The fae stared at him for a long moment. And smiled. “Liar.”

Roman frowned – “what-“

“Roman!”

Roman jerked his head to the side, the shout had come from close by, he was sure. “Pa-Padre?”

A whisper in his ear: “time to go home Roman.” Roman quickly looked back to the fae, but it was gone. On the ground where it had been, lay a single oak leaf dyed a brilliant, autumnal, yellow.

He didn’t need to look up at the oak trees leaves to know they, like every other tree in the forest, were still a vibrant green.

“Roman! Roman are you here?”

Without much conscious thought, he reached forward and snatched up the yellow leaf, burying it deep in his pocket.

“I’M HERE. Patton? Virgil? I’M OVER HERE”

Within minuets all seven foot of Patton was crashing through the tree line and baring down on him, Virgil not far behind.

“Roman, oh my goodness we were so worried! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Why do you have your dagger – did something happen?”

“Princy! Shit are you – are you okay? I am so, - I’m really- We looked EVERYWHERE“

“I’m fine.” Roman promised ‘Its fine’ he added to Virgil, “I just – I figured you needed some space so I tried looking for wood on the other side of camp. Guess I got a little turned around” He allowed Patton to pull him to his feet, giving them both his best sheepish grin. Embarrassed but ready to laugh at himself. He really had got lost. Silly Roman.

It’s not like he could tell them about the curse.

“We’re not the far from camp” Patton told him, he glanced around frowning slightly “I’m sure we searched through here before.”

“I was trying to make my own way back,” Roman lied easily “I probably ended up walking in a circle and missed you.”

It’s not like there was any point telling them about the fae.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine Pat, what about you? How’s your leg?”

“Oh this old thing?” Patton gave them a wide smile “it’s just fine, Ro, don’t you worry. Now I think I know a short cut back, you two follow close to me alright?” and with that the large man spun round and headed into the trees.

Virgil and Roman shared an exasperated glance. The man was clearly in agony.

“Listen, Princy I-“

“I’m sorry too.” Roman cut him off. Bumped his shoulder against Virgil’s and winked. “Now lets get back to camp before Logan paces a trench in to the ground hm?”

Slowly Virgil nodded, although he was still staring at Roman guiltily. The two of them headed into the trees together, collected Patton from where he was half collapsed against an elm, and the three slowly made their way back to camp.

By the time they were explaining what had happened to Logan, the memory of the fae had faded like mist.

With a days more travel they would be out of the forest and on a path to Steveange. The largest and greatest city of the Central Kingdoms. From there they would have to chose whether to head east, towards the coast line, west to catch the merchant festivals or north, where Roman had always refused to travel.

Stuck between two pages of Romans notebook, a unseasonably yellowed oak leaf shivered.

Time to go home.

#sanders sides fic #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #but not in this chapter #creativitwins #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

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kjack89 · 3 years ago

Text

Conversation Starter

Just a little modern AU E/R fluff for your Saturday evening enjoyment.

It was like every single cliché had come to life: Enjolras’s palms were sweating, his knees were wobbling slightly, and it felt like his stomach had vacated his abdomen and taken refuge somewhere around his ankles. And all because he was walking down the street towards Grantaire so that they could go on their first date.

Honestly, it was hard to gauge whether it was the Grantaire part or the date part that had Enjolras feeling like a middle schooler again, and his mouth went dry as he finally reached Grantaire, who turned and looked expectantly at him with that little smile on his face. “Hey,” Enjolras managed, and Grantaire’s eyebrows rose.

“That’s really what you’re going with?” he said in lieu of a greeting, and Enjolras stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

Grantaire shook his head with something like disapproval. “Just...hey,” he repeated, slightly incredulous.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “If you’re about to make a ‘hey’s for horses’ joke…”

Grantaire barked a laugh and shook his head. “I promise you, I am not.” He squinted slightly at Enjolras as if just seeing him for the first time. Which was patently absurd, since they’d been friends for years and sleeping together for, well, awhile, and besides— “Just trying to figure out why you sound like every a-hole who’s ever slid into my DMs.”

Enjolras gaped at him. “I—what?” he managed, his voice sounding mangled to his own ears.

“I mean, here you are, this great orator, and the best you can muster for the opening line of our first official date is hey.” Grantaire shrugged. “I guess I just expected more, that’s all.”

The nerves that Enjolras had been feeling earlier had long since disappeared, replaced almost entirely by something like pure rage. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said frostily, “how do you like to start a conversation, since you’re clearly such an expert?”

Grantaire grinned, and the sight took Enjolras aback almost as much as the entire conversation to that point had. “Oh, I don’t,” he assured Enjolras, who just stared at him. “I let other people start the conversation so that I can mock them for their opening, thus establishing the tone for the rest of the evening.”

He sounded abominably smug, and Enjolras’s had to work to wrench his mouth open to splutter a response. “And has that ever worked for you?”

“Well, you haven’t left yet, so.” Grantaire had the gall to actually wink at Enjolras. “Ask me again at the end of the evening.” He paused, his smile softening, just slightly. “Besides, you’re not nervous anymore, right?”

Enjolras blinked. “Who told you that I was nervous?” he asked defensively, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he managed a light laugh. “Ok, fine, I was.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

“And what?”

“And are you still nervous?”

Of course he wasn’t. Which had probably been the whole entire point, and Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “You really are an asshole,” he said, with no small amount of affection. “You know that, right?”

Grantaire grinned before leaning in and pressing a swift kiss to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “Maybe,” he said. “But like I noted before, you haven’t left yet. So I must be doing something right.”

Enjolras shook his head again, but when he took Grantaire’s hand, his palm wasn’t sweaty anymore. “So it would seem.”

----------

“We need to talk.”

Enjolras had to raise his voice slightly be heard over the general hubbub of the back room of the Musain, which ended up being a mistake, since as soon as he said it, almost all conversation ceased. Or at least, that’s what it felt like, which made his attempt to get Grantaire’s attention so that they could talk seem kind of pathetic.

Or something.

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he stood and jerked his head towards the door, walking out without waiting to see if Enjolras was following him. Enjolras, of course, did, and not just because everyone seemed to be staring at him.

He followed Grantaire outside to the alley and watched as Grantaire stopped and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking at Enjolras with that same unreadable smile. “Well?” he said impatiently, and Enjolras blinked.

“Well, what?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You said we need to talk, so...talk.”

Enjolras eyed him warily, trying to figure out why Grantaire’s tone was suddenly so cold, certain he was stepping on to a landmine. “Now I’m not sure I want to.”

“Why not?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Because you’re looking at me like you’re about to start swinging.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I would never use physical violence against you,” he said dismissively, which Enjolras almost would’ve taken as sweet if it weren’t for the fact that, in that moment, he wasn’t entirely sure he meant it.

But whether Grantaire meant it or not, Enjolras figured he might as well try to use it to lighten the mood. “The scratches on my back would say otherwise.”

For one brief moment, it almost looked like Grantaire was smiling.

Almost.

“I would never use physical violence against you without your repeated and extremely enthusiastic consent,” Grantaire amended, a little impatiently. “But that’s not really the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, the point is, if you’re going to break up with me, I’d really appreciate it if you just got it over with.”

Grantaire said the words flatly, so much so that it took Enjolras a moment to even realize what he’d said. “If I’m going to...what?”

“Break up with me,” Grantaire repeated slowly, as if Enjolras was dumb, or hard of hearing.

Which rankled Enjolras more than a little, seeing as how he was neither, and yet still had absolutely no idea what Grantaire was talking about. “Why in the hell do you think that I’m about to break up with you?”

Now Grantaire was looking at him as if he was dumb. “Because you said we need to talk,” he said, as if that was any kind of an answer.

Enjolras stared blankly at him. “Yeah, because we do,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d mind if we pushed our flights for Thanksgiving until later in the evening.”

Grantaire’s eyes fluttered closed. “Are you serious?” he asked, and Enjolras nodded, even though Grantaire’s eyes were still closed. “And you chose to broach that topic with, we need to talk?”

“I’m genuinely not seeing what I did wrong here,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire opened his eyes. “Is it possible that you were dropped on your head as a child?”

“Grantaire—”

“No I’m serious, it would explain a helluva lot.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Grantaire, there’s no need for ableist jokes.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “But do you honestly think that changing our Thanksgiving flights merit that kind of an introduction?”

“Actually, yeah, I do,” Enjolras said sharply, and Grantaire looked taken aback. “We’re flying to your parents’ house for me to meet them as your boyfriend. It’s kind of a big deal, and I wanted to talk about it because I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to get out of it. “

He said all of this in one breath, and Grantaire looked even more taken aback than before. “Oh,” he managed, his voice small.

“Because, for the record, I’m not,” Enjolras added helpfully. “I just have a meeting that got pushed to that afternoon.”

“Ok.”

Enjolras looked at him and took a deep breath before telling him, “I know that I don’t always go about things the right way. I don’t say the right thing, I don’t act the way I’m supposed to, I’ve never been very good at this. But I’m trying, because I...:” He trailed off, blushing slightly. “Well, because I love you. And I’m in this. And I just thought you should know that.”

Grantaire was staring up at him as if he had never quite seen him before. Then he sighed heavily. “Well God fucking damn it.”

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

“You were right.”

“About…?” Enjolras prompted.

Grantaire smiled at him, all his anger from before seemingly vanished. “We actually did need to talk,” he said, and he took a step forward to lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “And I’m really fucking glad we did, because I love you, too.”

Enjolras grinned. “Good,” he said, bending down to kiss him.

Grantaire kissed him for a moment before pulling back. “But you’ve really got to work on your conversation starters.”

Enjolras just laughed. “I will certainly try.”

----------

“Are you mad at me?” Enjolras asked, the first words either had said in each other in several hours, which probably explained why the words seemed to hang between them as Grantaire studiously avoided looking at him.

“I’m sure I have no idea what would give you that impression,” Grantaire said frostily.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Mostly the fact that you’ve been giving me the silent treatment and keep glaring at me,” he said sourly.

Grantaire gave him one of those selfsame glares. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Well, are you going to tell me why you’re mad at me, or would you prefer that I play twenty questions to guess the answer?” Enjolras asked, as pleasantly as he could manage considering that he was considering throttling his boyfriend, whom he loved, with his bare hands.

“I don’t know, you were doing so well with charades,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras sighed and counted to ten in his head before asking, “Can you be serious for, like, thirty seconds?”

“I am being serious,” Grantaire snapped. “And I’m not the moron who started this conversation with ‘are you mad at me’ when the answer was an obvious fucking yes.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he instantly gave himself a headache. Though that could possibly also be attributed to the banality of this entire conversation. “So now you’re mad at me for how I chose to broach this conversation?”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s one of many reasons, yes.”

“And again, am I going to have to guess the other ones?” Grantaire shrugged again and Enjolras sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, and I’m not just saying that because I want this fight or argument or whatever to be over, because you know as well as I do that I love to fight.” Grantaire nodded in agreement, which Enjolras took as a slightly optimistic sign. “But I also love you, and this doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a fun fight for either of us.”

Almost as if against his own will, Grantaire looked over at him, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “And what does a fun fight look like?”

Enjolras smiled slightly, turning to face Grantaire, reaching out to hook his fingers through the belt loops of Grantaire’s jeans to tug him closer. “Well, it usually ends with one or both of us naked.”

“Ah,” Grantaire said, reaching up to rest his hands lightly against Enjolras’s chest and tilting his head up slightly. “Yeah, I like those fights.”

“I had a hunch,” Enjolras murmured, bending his head so that his lips just brushed against Grantaire’s. Then he took a step back, and Grantaire let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. “But this seems like it’s something serious, so if you’d rather we discuss whatever’s going on…”

“I never said that,” Grantaire said breathlessly. “You were the one who brought it up.”

“Did I?” Enjolras murmured, pulling Grantaire close again. “Well that was stupid of me.”

Grantaire kissed him lightly. “So stupid.” He reached up to brush a blond curl out of Enjolras’s eyes. “I really do like these kinds of fights.”

Enjolras laughed. “So do I,” he said, bending down to kiss Grantaire once more. “In no small part because it’s like we get to fight and make up all at the same time.” Grantaire murmured his agreement and Enjolras added, “I mean, do you even remember why you were mad at me?”

Grantaire’s expression soured and he gave Enjolras a look before kissing him again, a little more forcefully this time. “Maybe not so much with the conversation right now.”

Enjolras’s answering laugh was captured by Grantaire’s mouth. “Fair enough.”

----------

“You know that I love you, right?”

Enjolras said it casually, almost offhandedly, and it took him a moment to realize that Grantaire had stopped walking. “What did you do?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras looked blankly at him.

“What did I do about what?” he asked.

Grantaire gave him a look. “To make you say that,” he said impatiently. “You had to have done something.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grantaire let out a weary sigh before telling Enjolras slowly, “You chose to start the conversation—”

“Oh my God,” Enjolras groaned. “Not this again.”

Grantaire refused to be deterred. “You chose to start the conversation with ‘you know that I love you, right’.”

“Yes, I did,’ Enjolras said, because there was really no use in denying it.

“Which therefore implies that there is some kind of reason I should have for doubting that you love me,” Grantaire told him.

Enjolras stared at him. “That is one helluva leap in logic.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. “If it is, then once again, you and I need to have a conversation about your word choices.”

“Maybe so, but do you think it can wait?”

Grantaire threw his hands up in the air. “Sure, we’ll just table it and let me have a heart attack everytime you start a damn conversation!” he half-shouted, and he stalked a few paces away. “I mean, you really think this is something we should wait on?”

“Actually, yes,” Enjolras said, pulling a small, gray box from his pocket. “Because I kind of have something else that I wanted to talk about.”

Grantaire huffed a sigh. “Like—”

Enjolras got down on one knee just as Grantaire turned around. “Like this.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

“Grantaire, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Enjolras said simply, unable to stop his stupid, lovesick grin. “Will you marry me?”

Grantaire was still staring at him. “Are you...are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, though his grin didn’t once waver. “Is that a no?”

Grantaire spluttered incoherently. “Is that a – you fucking – is that a – get up here and kiss me, you asshole.” He grabbed the front of Enjolras’s shirt and pulled him up to kiss him, cradling Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Yes, of course I will marry you, but for fuck’s sake, that is not how you start a proposal!”

Enjolras laughed breathlessly. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I propose.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Grantaire told him, beaming as Enjolras slid the ring on to his finger. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Enjolras kissed him again. “And you’re stuck with me and my many failures at being a conversationalist, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said happily. “You bet your ass I am.” He kissed Enjolras once more before looping his arms around Enjolras’s neck. “Just promise me something, ok?”

“Anything,” Enjolras said instantly.

“For the love of fucking God, please do not start your vows with ‘you know I love you, right’.”

Enjolras laughed. “I promise.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, before telling him, “and for the record, I do know, and I love you, too.”

Enjolras’s expression softened, and he kissed him once again. “I know.”

----------

“Hey,” Grantaire said tiredly, pausing to lean down and kiss the top of Enjolras’s head before plopping down next to him on the couch.

Enjolras shifted automatically so that Grantaire could lean against his shoulder. “You know, once upon a time, you told me not to start a conversation with ‘hey’.”

Grantaire yawned widely. “And I stand by that statement.”

“But now it’s ok when you do it?”

Enjolras couldn’t see him, but he could feel the movement of Grantaire rolling his eyes at him. “There’s a difference.”

Enjolras set his phone down. “Ok, so then explain the difference to me.”

Grantaire sat upright and turned to face him, his expression suddenly earnest. “The difference is that I’m not starting a conversation.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Well seeing as how we weren’t talking just a few minutes ago, and now we are, I’m not sure how else you would qualify that.”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “You’re forgetting one important thing.”

“And what’s that?” Enjolras asked.

“We’re married.”

As this was not a recent development, Enjolras just stared at him. “Ok...and?”

“And this is it,” Grantaire said simply. “This is the rest of our lives. Just one big conversation that may pause every now and then, but it’s not gonna be over until the end, which means there’s never a need to start it up again.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself as he leaned in to kiss Grantaire, though he pulled back just enough to inform him, “You just don’t want to admit that you were an ass about saying hey to start a conversation.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Maybe.” He kissed Enjolras once more. “But, uh, you know I love you, right?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

“I know,” Grantaire said, his smile soft. “Thank God you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, kissing his forehead. “Thank God for that.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #established relationship #fluff

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hesperantha · 4 years ago

Text

foxglove

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: first date, smut, minor existential angsty feels. idol!au

Words: 4k

Summary: When a first date is likely a last date, you decide to take your chance.

Warnings: some feels and implied angst, enthusiastic consent, safe sex (as safe as it can be on a less than ideal surface, anyway), reader is an unrepentant Dark & Wild enthusiast

AN: Prequel to wallflower. I apologize and take full ownership for all language fuck-ups; I speak neither Finnish nor Korean. All the thanks and love to @papillonsgf and @hauntedlilies for beta reading!

Time is a funny thing. It has objectively always proceeded at the same rate, but your perception of it is wildly erratic, childhood years compressed into nothing more than flashes of memory, excruciatingly embarrassing moments stretching out for an eternity.

And now, time is slipping through your fingers as they twine through his.

You hold on, unsure. Wanting to speak, but hesitant to break the hush of the museum or the spell of his quiet company. He stops in front of a photograph of a clock in Mumbai, Big Ben’s influence clear and heartbreaking.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

“That there’s never enough,” says Namjoon. “That it could be infinite and still not enough.”

Part of you wants to dismiss him as a pretentious fuck, but he has a point. Another part of you doesn’t quite believe he’s willing to spend precious time with you. You’d taken a chance asking him to join you on what was at least 91% certain a date. If it goes sideways you’d cling to the other nine, tell yourself it was just a professional meeting, an extension of the interview you’d conducted with all of them this morning.

He’s backlit as he looks at the clock. The sun streams through the glass wall overlooking the courtyard, scattering on the curved wall in front of you and throwing long shadows across his face as he turns to you.

“Do you want to get an Uber back to mine?” you ask. Is that allowed, is the question you really want to voice. You don’t know how short a leash they keep him on.

“I do want to,” he begins. Slowly. Carefully choosing the words. His English is really good but maybe not quite as good as he thinks it is.You might be a poor judge, but you’ve lived here since high school and your English is fluent, if slightly accented. You wait for the “but.”

“...but first I have to send a message.”

Oh. That’s not the “but” you were expecting. It’s a much better kind.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll go get our coats while you do that. Meet me by the exit?”

At coat check you panic a little, not in a bad way but in a giddy, elated kind of way. You haven’t been on a proper date in over a year, too busy with work, with building a life, with pouring every ounce of yourself into becoming you. It was easy to tell yourself you were just waiting until you were fully formed, not looking for some man to complete you, but waiting for one who would compliment you. It was harder to admit you were lonely, harder still to convince yourself it was acceptable to want, not a sign of some deep personal failing.

It was a whim when you caught up to him after the interview, asking breathlessly if he would like to join you for the afternoon. Knowing he would likely kindly but firmly turn you down took the pressure off. You were unprepared for him to jam his hands in his pockets and shyly agree, pausing to whisper something in the ear of the unnamed man who proceeded to follow the pair of you at a semi-discrete distance while you roamed the halls of the otherwise empty museum.

Not quite empty. The clack of the coat room attendant’s heels on the concrete floor reminds you of the question unasked on the tip of your tongue: can we be alone?

You suppose it’s too much to hope for. A chaste afternoon taking in art is one thing. It would only be moderately scandalous if something somehow leaked. Taking the leap to inviting him back to your apartment is an entirely different level of unknown.

You take the coats, tip the attendant, and head for the door. He’s waiting there for you. It’s amazing how different he looks in person. This morning you were wearing the practiced mask of professionalism, but still nearly gasped when he took your hand and met your eyes, introducing himself before the interview started. It wasn’t just that he was tall, or just attractive in a disarming, almost unconventional kind of way. It was the way you felt electric sparks down to your toes, the way you found yourself leaning in, hanging on his every word in a way that was shockingly out of character. The way you tossed out most of the canned questions, even though you immediately and deeply regretted putting him on the spot to speak for all of them when you asked things like “do you regret that song, because I still think it’s a banger.” The way you found yourself wishing you’d met him earlier, before growing fame and impossible limits built a wall you’re certain can’t be torn down.

But there he is, alone, looking at his shoes as he waits by the door and smiling with genuine, dimpled delight when you approach. And the two of you are alone as you get in the waiting car and drive to your apartment, which you hope won’t be too shockingly filthy.

There’s a weird silence in the car, words unspoken. It isn’t necessarily uncomfortable, though. He takes your hand in his, running it over the back of your knuckles. It’s both comforting and electrifying, both a reassurance and a promise. You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye and see him chewing absently at the inside of his cheek. He catches you and smiles, face suddenly full and bright.

The harsh glare of the setting sun as you turn west reminds you it’s nearly dinner time, and so you ask: “Can we cook? At my place, can we have dinner together?”

“I’d like that. You’ll cook for me?”

“I can make Leipajuusto. Cheese bread. How does that sound?”

“Perfect, actually. It sounds perfect. It’s been so long since I felt like I had time, so — thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” you ask.

“I guess for not rushing? I’m not saying you were the type of girl — fuck, this is coming out all wrong!” He laughs at himself a little, but you think you understand. At least you can imagine. How hard it must be, you think, to live a life so locked down and at the same time be so desired. How easy it must be to look for the quick comfort of a discrete one night stand. How lonely it must be.

You turn your hand over, inviting. Namjoon looks down at it where it rests on the seat between you. His eyes flit to yours as he runs his index finger down the length of your middle finger, landing in your open palm in a tactile exclamation point.

It might be the wrong thing to say, but you answer “I don’t think you’re allowed to do anything but rush. You’re under different rules of time. It’s compressed. I get that. I’m okay with it.”

You lead him to your second-floor apartment, choosing to go up the stairs when he looks nervously at the elevator as if there might be a crush of flashing cameras or maybe a hungry tiger behind its dented metal doors.

It’s clean, thank goodness. Your place isn’t impressive but you’d like to think it might be considered homey with its mismatched collages of family photos and art prints set off with textiles from your travels — a small traditional Afghan rug here, an Armenian woven throw there. You watch him look around, trying to figure out where to place himself in the physical manifestation of your life.

“Make yourself at home,” you say. “The sofa doesn’t bite.”

“Um?”

“Bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Oh good. I just need to wash my hands.”

You giggle a little and then try to bite it back. “Namjoon. Joon? Is that okay? Everyone urinates. If you shit in my toilet there’s room spray under the sink.”

“Well now I’m too embarrassed to go!” he pouts with a laugh.

“Don’t worry — I’ll play some music so I don’t hear you washing your hands or whatever.”

That seems to satisfy him, since he wipes his hands across the front of his thighs and then makes his way down the short hallway.

As you hear the soft click of the door closing you say “Alexa, play ‘War of Hormone’.” Just to fuck with him.

It’s worth it for the muffled “Oh my god.”

“What?” you laugh. “I thought you were stupid-hot in this video!” The music starts. “Alexa, volume up.”

The sound of him spitting “I’ll be your man” drowns out the sound of him sitting on your toilet and staring at your hand towels and contemplating his life choices, or whatever he’s doing in there.

When he comes back out he puts his damp hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I feel like I should maybe be afraid of you,” he says. “But I kind of like it.”

“Why? Does no one usually make fun of you?”

“Oh, all the time. I’m pretty much a punching bag at home. Metaphorically and sometimes literally. But nowhere else, really.” He adds an extra syllable in ‘metaphorically’ and somehow accents that one.

“So you like it because you’re used to it?”

“No, I like it because it feels like home but because also I want to kiss you and I don’t want to kiss any of them, so also not home.”

“I’m relieved you’re not wanting to kiss a coworker. That’s a workplace harassment lawsuit just waiting to happen.”

“You’re not saying anything about me wanting to kiss you.”

“Maybe later,” you say, as if there will certainly be a ‘later’, and turn to the fridge. “I’m pretty sure I promised you dinner.”

“Mhmm. Cheese bread? I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s an excuse to hold you hostage in my apartment while it bakes,” you explain. “You won’t be able to leave once you smell it.”

The jar that should stand in the back of your second shelf is missing.

“Fuck me,” you mutter. “Rennet.”

“Rennet?”

“It’s an ingredient I need.”

“Is there a store downstairs? I can run and get some for you.”

“No,” you explain. “It isn’t a normal American thing. Not a corner store type of thing. I have to order it and —” You blink hard, loath to admit to yourself how badly you wanted this to be perfect, how much it actually meant to get it right. Not because he’s Kim Namjoon, leader of the soon-to-be biggest boyband in the world, but because you felt it — finally — the spark that made you believe for a second that maybe you shouldn’t be alone any more, that maybe it was okay to want someone else to come in to your life.

“Hey,” he says soothingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll just get delivery. I can stay, right? You don’t just lure unsuspecting men back to your place to poison them with rennet, do you?”

“No, I would never! Well, maybe if they deserve it. I’m secretly a witch, you see…” You wiggle your eyebrows menacingly.

“Aha. And you’re going to make me into a frog and put me in a stew?”

“That’s the general idea, yes. So what do you want for your last meal? I should fatten you up. No one wants a skinny frog.”

“Chinese? Halal? Whatever.”

“Halal’s good. Any preference or should I just order what I like?”

“I trust you.”

You pull out your phone to order. “You shouldn’t trust a witch,” you say while you tap. “Done. Twenty minutes.”

He’s leaning against your kitchen counter, clearly not sure where to put his hands.

“While we wait — Are you going to kiss me today?” you ask in a rush.

Namjoon takes a quick breath, settling his thoughts. “I want to,” he begins. “Really. It’s just — I’m afraid if I do, we won’t want to stop and the poor delivery guy will be stuck in your hallway all night.”

“I’m pretty sure twenty minutes is enough time for a kiss. Even a really good one. And then we stop kissing and eat our dinners.”

“It makes a lot of sense when you put it that way.”

He reaches out for you, then. Takes your hand and pulls you in and presses his lips to your temple.

It surprises you, somehow more intimate than a first kiss had any right to be. But it also feels right. Comfortable. You close your eyes and let yourself enjoy it when he plants another kiss along your hairline, and then another one close to your ear.

One behind your ear. And then he whispers, low, “But what if we never want to stop?”

His breath warm over the shell of your ear combined with his words sends a shiver down your spine. You want to tell him, somehow, that he’s welcome here, in your space, with you. That it’s okay. He seems sure, though, and you realize you’re telling yourself.

The parts of him you can easily reach are all really good parts. It’s comfortable to rest your hand at his waist. You can easily kiss his collarbone, visible through the wide collar of his tee-shirt. His neck is reachable too, so you kiss him there, soft and sweet and encouraging until he bends down just enough, meets you, and then you can reach his lips too.

It’s just a brush at first, too light to really be called a kiss, but enough that you definitely want more. You dart your tongue out to catch his lower lip as he pulls away and then it’s an urgent crush and he chases you and reclaims your mouth in a kiss that’s entirely too needy. It’s too fast and you don’t know why you waited so long. He turns you around and lifts you up to sit on the counter, arms braced on either side of you, and then one of his hands is tangled in your hair and you aren’t sure if it’s still the same kiss or an endless string of kisses. There’s nothing tentative about it and you’re more than happy to meet his pace, your hands that you found trapped between you fisted in his shirt to pull him against you.

He pulls back eventually, breathing hard. “I’ve wanted to do that since I shook your hand, manyo,” he admits. You can only nod in agreement, pull him back in, and realize he’s between your legs where you sit on the counter and you don’t feel like it’s too soon at all.

“I don’t want to rush you,” you say, “but is it okay?”

“What did you have in mind?”

You’re better with your body than you are with your words. While he stands in front of you with a few inches of thick air separating the two of you, you run a hand under his shirt just above the waistband of his pants, the kind of touch that could be either a tickle or a caresse. His skin is warm under your fingertips and almost impossibly soft. You feel higher, letting your hands run up his back to trace the ridges of his spine and the planes of his shoulder blades. He kisses your earlobe, flicking at it with his tongue. When he kisses your neck, something shifts into focus and you wrap your legs around him as you slide forward to the very edge of the counter.

The two of you line up well, complementing each other’s bodies. You could fuck like this, you realize, him standing and you perched on the edge with his strong hands holding you steady. He realizes it too, grinding into you even though you’re both fully dressed while his hand moves to your breast, sending another shiver through you when he skims over your nipple.

“You’re sensitive, aren’t you?” he asks.

“A little. But I like it. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

He does it again, just barely brushing through the fabric of your blouse. You shudder again, not used to being teased like this.

“We should probably — the food will be here soon so maybe we should hurry up. Or wait until after.”

He responds with a low chuckle. “Look at you, all business.”

“I am not!” you argue. “But we’re both adults and I think we can be honest that we know where this is going. And given the circumstances we should hurry up and get there.”

“There’s no rush.” He’s still softly stroking your breast. Your nipple is so hard now it’s visible through your bra and the silky fabric of your blouse, and he catches it between his fingers and squeezes a little, searching your face for your reaction.

You can’t help the soft gasp that falls from your lips, or the way you know the blood is rushing to your cheeks, embarrassed to be so turned on and needy after just getting felt up a little. Between his big, gentle hands and his soft voice in your ear, you’re ready to melt.

“Rush or not, if you don’t do that again I —”

Your threat is cut short when he does it again. “You’ll what?”

“Oh fuck, that.”

He kisses your neck again, and slowly inches to the hem of your blouse, starting to tug it up. You’re impatient, ready for him to stop holding back. You want him to take you hard and fast right there in the kitchen.

“Joon,” you whine, “please touch me. I just wanna feel you.”

He does. He puts his hands at your waist, under your shirt, calloused palms flat and warm against your skin. He rubs circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“Mmm, like that?” he hums.

“It’s a good start.” You pull him toward you by the belt and start unbuckling it.

“You gonna have your way with me, manyo?”

“Something tells me you’d like that.”

He looks surprised but certainly not annoyed by your boldness when you unbutton his pants and shove them down. His underwear doesn’t look like anything he was expecting anyone else to see, patterned in tiny crabs, a bit faded and threadbare.

If you’re a little disappointed by his briefs, his cock more than makes up for it. It isn’t hard yet, but starts to fill out when you take it in hand, carefully mapping the bumps and ridges of its veins as they become more pronounced until you’re stroking the full, substantial length of it.

He drops his head down and rests against you as you set a steady rhythm and you really think he deserves better than a shitty, dry handjob. You want to see him absolutely fucked out, sweaty and spent, and this isn’t going to be what does it.

“Condom,” you say.

“Fuck —I ” he stutters out. “I don’t have any.”

“I do. Under the bathroom sink. Check the expiration.” You’d go get them yourself but you don’t want to get off the counter any give him any ideas about making love to you on your bed instead of fucking you in your kitchen.

“Got it.” Namjoon traverses the path back to your bathroom holding his open pants up with one hand and you hope he doesn’t trip over them. In the time it takes him to locate the box under your sink, you take the liberty of slipping your panties off. You keep your skirt on, though; you think it’s going to look hot all wrinkled up around your waist.

When he comes back, confirming that the condoms are still good, you’re sitting on the counter with one foot propped up on the edge of the sink running two fingers in a slow circle around your clit.

“Oh my god,” Namjoon gasps, eyes going wide.

“Tick tock, dinner’s gonna be here soon,” you remind him. “Don’t wanna get interrupted, do you?”

“Are you always like this? Is this an American thing?” He’s talking to you but his eyes are locked on your cunt.

“I’m not.” It answers both questions at once. “Shit. Is it too much?”

He’s careful with his words again, piecing together his thoughts before he answers. “I feel like I should think it’s too much, but I’m really fucking into it. You’re insane.”

“Not insane,” you counter. “Sensible. Realistic.” Your breathing is getting faster and a bit erratic. “Responsible. I’m responsibly getting myself halfway there so you can fuck me fast and we can clean up and eat dinner and then you can forget all about the crazy witch-girl who ran out of rennet.”

He blinks hard. “I don’t think I could forget you.”

“Come here.”

“Shit, you’re bossy.”

“Mmhmm.”

You pull him in for a kiss, hard and heated, and you take what you need. If you keep your eyes closed you can’t see the microwave clock, can’t be reminded of how fleeting this is going to be. He’s gripping your hips now, holding tight as he pulls you toward him until your ass is almost off the edge of the counter and your foot slips into the sink. The back of your hand bumps into him, knuckles grazing and then grinding as he tugs you closer. You wish he’d put the condom on already because you don’t want him to pull back again, but he does, stops to tear it open and roll it on, all the while watching you as you continue to rub and tease at your swollen bud.

“I like you so fucking much,” he says. It’s kind of a stupid thing to say, but you aren’t going to make fun of him for it. “You’re sure you want this?”

“Please tell me if I could possibly be any clearer. Fuck me. Now.” You had hoped you’d sound bold and determined, but it comes out a little desperate. “Please, Joon.”

He keeps one hand on your hip, steadying you as he uses the other to line himself up with you. You’re afraid he’s going to take his time even now, but he slides in fast and hard, punching a moan out of you. The counter is slippery under your skirt and you need to hold on so you start to move your hand away.

“No, keep doing that — want you to come for me.”

“It’s gonna be quick,” you warn.

He smiles then, incongruous, cheeks so wide his eyes disappear. “Okay, maybe hold off just a little. Just until I — ”

He changes the angle, both hands on your ass holding you up, and it’s clearly a lot for him. You can tell from the way his eyes drift closed and sweat starts beading along his hairline. At first you think it’s exertion, but the sounds he makes are pure pleasure.

“Joon,” you say. “Want you to look at me.”

It looks like a struggle for him to open his eyes, and when he does they’re a little unfocused. He watches your face as you give in to the overwhelming ecstasy, relieved and thrilled that he finally stopped holding back. Anything hesitant is long gone, and he’s pounding into you, filling you, holding you steady and safe and complete. And it’s been such a long time that you don’t remember it being like this, ever. You’ve never before wanted to watch someone this closely as they use you and take their pleasure from your body. His shirt is starting to stick to his chest and you wish he’d taken it off, hope that next time he does, hope that next time —

Time’s up and you’re coming hard, doubled over in his arms, that one damn foot in the damn sink slipping again and crashing into the plate from breakfast that you didn’t have time to wash before rushing off to work.

He catches up fast, no more than a few strokes until he’s spilling into the condom and pulling out, tying it off and looking for your trashcan. And you’re sliding carefully off the counter and tugging down your rumpled skirt (you were right; it did look hot) and answering the ringing doorbell.

He leans awkwardly in your doorway to put on his shoes.

“Do you want to stay in touch?” you ask. As if hearing ‘no’ wouldn’t crush you a little. As if hearing ‘yes’ wouldn’t make your heart leap with joy.

“What’s your number?”

You give it to him and he saves it in his phone as ‘예쁜 마녀’.

“Is that my name?” you ask. You want to write it down almost as much as you want to hear it on his tongue again and again.

“No,” he says with a playful smile. “But I won’t forget who you are.”

His text comes through as soon as he’s out the door: “Hi. Don’t forget me.”

You save his number under ‘kultaseni’. It might be too soon for that, but you have a good feeling about this.

Two months, one-thousand and ninety-two texts, and half a dozen video chats later, your network asks if anyone would be willing to spend three weeks in Seoul on an assignment. You volunteer so quickly you nearly throw yourself out of your chair, use the company credit card to pay for a Duolingo Plus membership, and send him the address of your hotel accompanied by no fewer than eight winking smiley faces.

He sends you back a frog emoji.

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