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sl-walker · 3 years ago

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Blindsided, Part 12

Read prior parts here. Sign up to be tagged when this fic (or any of mine!) updates here. Read it on AO3 here.

“We’re being hunted by Jedi, are you sure that was a good idea?” Obi-Wan asked, though he hoped that they’d grabbed good bacta and maybe pain medication while they were knocking over the pharmacy. Still, he carefully freed one arm from around Maul, who had turned his head and was listening, though Obi-Wan still felt no real emotion from him through their bond.

Gissk gave a wordless hiss and took off their buy'ce; even though their face was built nothing like his, Obi-Wan could still sense both the offense they took over his question and the jolt of sympathy they felt for Maul. “I’m not an amateur,” they said, “I wass quiet. No one will know I knocked it over until it’ss time for the pharmacisst to leave the ‘fresher.” They tilted their head over. “Lookss like they did your riduur dirty.”

It was always a little wild hearing Gissk speak Mando’a; they never told Obi-Wan how they had been adopted by a Mandalorian, but it would have had to have been awhile ago now, especially given Mandalore was supposedly now under the control of the Duchess Satine, who Obi-Wan had met -- and flirted with -- some seven years back, while Maul was at Orsis and he himself was still honing his diplomacy skills. He’d heard later that she was assigned a pair of Jedi as body-guards during her early reign.

The rest of the Mandalorians, who didn’t buy into the sudden pacifist philosophies -- and who could blame them? -- had retreated to colony worlds. Given that it seemed non-humans stopped being considered Mandalorian despite a long tradition of adoption regardless of species, there was a lot of resentment.

Gissk, though, was kind. Pragmatic, as all people out this far were, but kind. At least to them.

“The Jedi laid an ambush,” Obi-Wan said, shoving the bag holding the very last of their belongings over, not bothering to keep the disgust out of his voice. Once Gissk had the bag, he shifted to get out from behind Maul, turning his full attention to his lover. “Here, can you gain your feet?” he asked, crouching and feeling his own exhaustion keenly, taking Maul’s hands in his and giving them a squeeze.

The answer was a little slow in coming, but no surprise; Maul gave a spare nod and then clutched at Obi-Wan’s hands, using that grip to struggle to his feet. Between the two of them, he got all the way up, though the spike of nausea and dizziness and pain that cut across their bond had Obi-Wan swallowing down hard. “How far?” he asked Gissk; while he knew Maul could push himself to walk until his body just gave up, he didn’t want that to happen.

“Your lucky day, I boossted a sspeeder, too." When Obi-Wan gave them a wide-eyed look of astonishment and protest, Gissk did the trandoshan version of a snicker. "No, ssilly, it'ss mine. It dockss with the sship when I'm not ussing it."

"Mercy, Gissk," Obi-Wan breathed out back, getting Maul's arm across his shoulders and getting his own around Maul's waist. He could feel that sharp increase in pain from his lover at having his bruised rib cage disturbed, but there wasn't much to be done for it yet.

Not long now, he thought, trying to project that feeling towards Maul. He wasn’t put out by the lack of a response, though; instead, he put his focus on getting them out the door.

It was mid-afternoon. Despite Gissk apologizing for being late, they were actually a few hours early. And their speeder was a nice, discreet, but quick and maneuverable model, too.

Once they were settled -- Gissk driving, and Obi-Wan and Maul in the back seat -- Obi-Wan sent a quick signal to Maz that they were picked up, though not yet in the clear.

"You were lucky I wass in thiss ssector," Gissk was saying, as they pulled away from the maintenance building and darkened the screens of the speeder to protect the occupants from being seen easily. "I have one job to pick up payment for, then I can drop you off at Maz'ss casstle."

"That's fine, thank you," Obi-Wan said back, quietly; when he closed his eyes, it was now with the sensation that they would see nothing when he opened them again. What, for him, was an empathy-based response.

What, for Maul, was likely to be a permanent reality.

He did stuff his own sense of despair down, not wanting to add to Maul's, and just kept an eye out.

Gissk was a good driver; they made it to the hangar without delay, and luckily for them, the speeder docked to their ship on the bottom, quite close to the gangway, because six bays down, Qui-Gon Jinn stood, along with Prin Novo, in front of the ship they'd essentially stolen from Obi-Wan and Maul.

Both Jedi looked the worse for wear. Jinn had some kind of gauze stuffed in his ears, and he didn't appear to hear the lawman trying to speak to him. Novo was pale and trembling, and even at this distance, his gaze seemed to wander sightlessly.

Obi-Wan had wrapped shields tight around him and Maul before they even got there, masking their Force signatures, though it made the headache he'd been fighting for awhile surge up like a wave again, and he doubled down on those now. In the deep shadows under the ship, he slipped out with Maul and up the gangway, keeping the speeder between them and the Jedi, one step closer to something like safety.

He missed Jinn looking in their direction only a moment after they had disappeared into Gissk’s ship, thankfully unaware of how close that was.

@shadowmaat - @doorsclosingslowly - @emphasisonthehomo - @blackat-greneys - @vengeful-nerd - @sammelbegriff - @kenobispunk - @sundavr - @mock-ing-bird

#obi wan kenobi #maul #obimaul #blindsided #taglist under the cut

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mashiraostail · 4 years ago

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Can I get Present Mic, Aizawa, Vlad King and Gang Orca when their S/O wakes up with a bad fever and they're a little loopy but they're shivering so bad because despite the fact they're burning up they feel super cold.

coincidentally i have been sick since yesterday night pretty rad i just slug over to my roommates like ‘leon...i need...water....’ and he’s like ‘no <3′ also I'm getting so soft for gang orca idk why sfslfdsal

Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic: It’s like the fatigue ran over you the second you opened your eyes and rolled over. You had barely been awake for 2 seconds but you felt like you’d just done a week's worth of patrols. “Hey look who decided to join us.” Hizashi is already awake beside you holding his phone above his face, “you’re later than normal. Good morning.” He grins at you, but his grin slips away at the sound of your groan. “Babe you’re shivering.” You hear his phone click off as he shuffles up, “want me to close the window?” He inspects the flush on your cheeks, “you feel alright?” He reaches out and slides his hand over your forehead. You just groan again, flopping back into the pillows. “You’ve definitely got a fever.” He frowns cupping your cheeks, “wait here, I’m gonna get a thermometer, and some medicine.” His hands feel perfect and cooling on your cheeks, all you can do when he starts to pull away is whine. “Zashi no-” You complain and so he goes back to you, letting you grip his wrists in your clammy palms, “your hands feel nice..” if his hands felt this good then...you shrug them away and slump forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck, “you can’t leave me I’ll die.” “Don’t say something like that!” He pats the back of your head, “it’s only a fever, probably a pretty high one. You’re so warm..” He wraps his arms around you and you warble. “No I feel like I’m gonna freeze to death.” “Stop talking about dying!” He complains, but slumps back into the pillows, taking you with him. “Did you feel okay yesterday?” He slides his hands up the back of your shirt as you nod. “It’s probably the flu.” He rubs flat palms in slow circles between your shoulder blades, “poor you.” “poor me.” You agree with a sniffle and he chuckles a little, “well let me take care of you. I’ll be right back, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” He promises as you shuffle higher up his chest until you’re pressing your nose into his jaw. “I’ll be right back. You sure got lucky getting sick on a Sunday like this.” “You’ll stay with me all day?” You press your face further into his neck, trying to find a new cool patch of skin to lean on. “I’ll stay with you all day.”

Shouta Aizawa: Sweat. Cold sweat. That’s all you can think of when the sound of the front door opening wakes you up. You sit up and rub your face then down the whole glass of water on your bedside table. By the time your done Aizawa is cracking the bedroom door open. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He’s already starting to remove his hero costume. You shake your head, technically he did but you had a feeling anything would have woken you up in your current state. “No...just..up.” “Well then what are you doing up so late it’s almost 4 in the-” He squints at you, “you don’t look so good.” He’s quickly tying the drawstring to some sweatpants before sitting before you in bed. “‘m...alright..how was..?” You trail off, “where were you? School?” He snorts, “yeah extra 4 am classes. I was on patrol. Slow night.” He slicks your hair off your sweaty forehead, “you have a crazy fever.” “Mhm..no..just..kinda cold in here.” “That’s the opposite of a fever.” Shouta lets you fall forward onto his chest anyway, “did you feel alright when you went to bed?” “A little achy.” You wrap your arms around his back, his skin was cold against you. His hands were freezing where one cupped the back of your neck, though despite your shivering the sensation was welcome. He presses a long kiss to your hairline, “you need medicine and some more water.” “Just come to bed.” You moan turning your face into his chest, “I just need to sleep.” “I don’t think so.” he disagrees, “come on, take some meds, drink a little water, and then I’ll get in bed with you.” “I don’t wanna.” You grip him tighter as he moves to get up turning your nose into the shallow divot of his sternum between his pecs. “Stop whining.” His other hand pats the back of your head, “come on if you take medicine before you go back to sleep you’ll feel better when you wake up. If you don’t take any and then wake up feeling worse I won’t take care of you.” “Cruel!” You nuzzle into him further and he sighs. “Okay I would but I’d say I told you so, and you’d feel worse. Come on.” He pries you off of him, “I won’t leave you again after I get back I swear.”

Sekijiro Kan/ Vlad King: When you wake up all you can think about is just going back to sleep. Sekijiro is still passed out beside you, it’s probably pretty early. You stick you leg out from underneath the covers, hoping that will rectify the temperature issue you were having. It does not. You were melting and somehow also freezing. Sekijiro looked pretty content, all things considered. You were sure he wouldn’t mind if you just..shuffled over..you press yourself into his back, face buried between his shoulder blades. This was helping worlds more than sticking your leg out did. You coil one arm around the much larger man, you were sure this all looked pretty comical. Your nuzzling and shifting must wake him up. “Huh?” He’s reaching back, patting around your back and shoulders until hie finds your hair, “oh.” He settles back into place once he does, “aren’t you sweet?” He yawns, “could’ve came around my other side, you woulda fit.” You just lean into him more. He turns over to face you, careful not to knock you away. “What’s got you up so early?” He doesn’t let you answer though, one look at you gives it away. “You’re pale. Not feeling well?” Your groan is more than sufficient. “You’re nice and cool though..” You shuffle close to him again, now against his chest. “Jeeze, you’re burning up..” He’s rubbing long strokes over your back, “shoulda got me up sooner..” “‘s okay...” You sling an arm around his ribs, “you’re up now..” “Yeah, I am..” He holds the back of your head with his other hand and lets you wallow for a moment before pulling you up towards him by your jaw, “you should take something for this fever. Once that’s cleared up you’ll feel much better.” He presses a kiss to you and you hum into it. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?” You nod, turning into his lips for another kiss, which he obliges before getting up. “I wonder where this came from all of a sudden.” He hands you two small pills and a glass of water. You take the pills quickly before beaconing him toward you again, he just sighs affectionately. “Yeah okay, okay come on, get up here, right on my chest. That’s it.” He wraps two big arms around you, “I’ll stick around here today alright?”

Kugo Sakamata/ Gang Orca You were already feeling pretty bad when you decided to call it an early night, but you’re hopeful it won’t be so bad when sleep finds you easily, though when you wake up a few hours later you’re feeling significantly less hopeful. You pat around the sheets for Kugo but he’s not there which isn’t exactly surprising, but it is unfortunate. Normally you appreciated the cool of his satin sheets but right now they just made you shiver even more, all you really wanted was Kugo You manage to slide out of the bed and stumble down the hall in search of him, you wonder what time it is as you nudge open his offce door, sort of surprised you’d found it so easy in your weary state. Sure enough he’s there at his desk, tapping a pen against some papers. When the door clicks open against you he turns over his shoulder. “Hm?” He perks up at the sight of you, “I thought you were in bed?” “Kugo..” You warble, rubbing your face, he turns in his chair completely. “Oh, what’s the matter my love?” His voice is laced with affectionate sympathy at your bleary eyes. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, watching you lean dramatically on the doorframe. “Mhmn..” You shake your head, pressing your cheek into the cool material. “You can’t?” He tilts his head at you, “but you look so exhausted my dear.” He holds an arm out to you, “come here. Sit with me for a bit, maybe I can help.” You trudge over to him as soon as he extends an arm and clamber into his lap, though when you’re close enough to touch he’s taking your face in his hands. “Oh dear..” He looks down at you, “feels like you’ve got quite a fever. You should have told me you didn’t feel well..” “Hm...I’m alright..” You lean into him and he sighs as you continue, “what are you up to?” “Just finishing some reports, honestly it’s putting me to sleep, maybe it’ll do the trick for you.” He slides his free hand into the back of your shirt, you’re more than grateful for his cool skin against yours, the sigh you let out at the contact makes it obvious to him. “Oh, does that feel good?” He slides his hand up the small of your back, pulling you in closer with a chuckle, you just nod grip the back of his shirt. “Close your eyes love, I’ll carry you to bed once I’m done here.”

#aizawa shouta x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #vlad king x reader #gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata x reader #present mic x reader #aizawa x reader #bnha x reader #bnha request

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cablesscutie · 3 years ago

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Oh could you do 3 or 17 for the zutara fluff prompt please?☺️

I love both of these- thank you! I'm going to save #17 for a little later, so here's #3: “You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3

Zuko flips down the visor in his car to fuss with his hair one last time. Mai and Ty Lee had insisted that he pull part of it up to keep him from hiding behind his hair like he was wont to do when he got nervous. In this particular situation, Zuko found that it made him extra nervous to know that he didn’t have that security blanket, scar on full display. This was why he didn’t do blind dates. This poor girl was already suffering through the awkwardness of an ex’s wedding, and now she was going to have to do it while pretending to be vaguely attracted to him.

Her text the previous night had included a reminder of the time and address, as well as an apologetic note that, hey I’m sorry to heap more awkward on this, but apparently this ex is friends with another of my ex’s and it ended Badly...and I might’ve implied that you were a little more significant to me than a blind date? Really I’m so so sorry and I can tell them you have food poisoning or something if this is too awkward, but really all you have to do is not mention that we’re strangers. Sorry!! He’d had absolutely zero clue how to appropriately respond to that message. His first impulse had been to think that of course he didn’t want to pretend to be her boyfriend in front of not one, but two of her ex’s. But Mai probably wouldn’t see this as too much for the favor he owed her. Then his brain had flitted unwillingly to the Instagram account Ty Lee had showed him, and before he could stop himself, his fingers were tapping out That’s fine - see you then.

“Okay,” Zuko sighs, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles go white. He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and on the exhale unclenches his hands and forces himself out of the car. The temple rises up before him in a series of spires and exterior staircases, terraced gardens overflowing with practical plants rising up around all of it. He follows the trickle of people who seem like they know where they’re going, glancing about idly for a familiar face.

She finds him first, which he probably should’ve expected given that his face stands out pretty clearly. She’s also more petite than he’d expected. If she weren’t wearing heels, the top of her head would probably tuck easily under his chin. Zuko shakes his head quickly to erase the thought before it can take hold properly, which unfortunately comes at the same instant that she asks, “Zuko?” and leaves her blinking at him in utter confusion. “Oh. I, uh.”

“I mean yes!” he rushes to correct, reaching out to grab her elbow as she starts to turn away. “Zuko. Me. I mean.” Fuck, he’s such a moron. He clears his throat and holds out his hand to shake. “Hi, Zuko here.” There’s a familiar and terrible heat in his cheeks and spilling down his neck, and he wishes to Agni not for the first time that he could be anyone but Zuko right now.

Katara laughs at him, as she should, but it is a kind laughter, all dimpled cheeks and sparkling eyes. The pictures hadn’t done her justice. “Hi Zuko,” she says, taking his hand and shaking it. “Katara here.” He can’t help but return her smile, goofy as it probably comes across. “Thank you again so much for coming to this shitshow,” she tells him as she drops his hand. “We should probably head inside - it’s starting soon.”

Zuko offers her his arm to be escorted up the stairs of the temple. It’s an old-fashioned gesture that has always gotten mixed reception, but Uncle has drilled manners into him so relentlessly that he always falls back on them reflexively when in a panic. Luckily, she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow with a smile, and his shoulders settle as he guides them both. Along the way, she catches him focusing on the planters, and asks, “do you like gardening?”

“My mother did,” he says reflexively, and he turns to her in time to catch the very moment she registers the past tense. He wants to kick himself for setting up pity or prying questions, but she just gives his arm a slight squeeze and says,

“So did mine. The flowers blooming every summer was her favorite part of the year.”

Usually, he is precious with his memories, but hearing the echo of his own grief in her wistful tone makes him actually want to share his mother with her. “She came from a family of traditional healers, and wanted to keep up the knowledge, so she grew all kinds of herbs and wildflowers that were used in old cures.”

She hums, and they walk along in silence for another moment before she says, “Did she teach you anything?”

“She started to.” It’s bittersweet, his mother’s unfinished legacy. “I have her books though, so maybe someday I’ll finish studying them.” Katara smiles at him, part sympathy, part understanding. Zuko’s heart pounds. When her eyes meet his, he almost wants to hide because it feels like she can see too much.

“Did you learn any cures for nerves?” Katara asks, the sardonic dip of her voice a gift to lighten the mood. Zuko smiles back, starting to laugh off the heavy conversation, but a flash of something catches his attention.

Katara’s eyes go wide as he lets go of her to crouch down and carefully pick a purple blossom. He does it just the way his mother had shown him, finding the right joint in the stem to make sure it will grow back, and with a gentle bend and twist, it breaks between his fingers. The fragrance follows him as he rises and offers the sprig of lavender to Katara. In trying to indicate that she should smell it, he almost shoves it up her nose when she leans towards it, but she giggles and wrinkles her nose adorably. Her fingers fold around his as she slips the stem out of his grasp.

“Thank you.

“Mom used to put a little vase of lavender in me and my sister’s rooms to help us sleep,” Zuko explained.

“I feel better already.” She sniffs the flower again as she slips her arm through his again to properly enter the ceremony space, her eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second that steals his breath away. This is actually going well, he thinks in utter astonishment. I keep tripping over my tongue like a moron, but for some reason she seems to like it. A voice in the back of his head that sounds uncomfortably like his teenage self sneers, Wow, she must be really desperate not to look single. Must be some impressive ex’s. Zuko’s heart stutters and slows back to normal. Right. This is a favor. He needs to focus.

Not least because his distraction causes him to walk right into the man who appears in front of Katara. “Sorry,” he says reflexively, stumbling back. Katara’s grip on his arm has tightened, keeping him from dragging both of them off balance. Despite her small stature, she is rooted firmly, anchoring them both. He realizes why as soon as the guy pretends to dust off his sport coat (which is not particularly neat to begin with) and purrs, “So Kat, this is the new guy?” as though Zuko isn’t even there. So this is the other ex.

“Zuko,” he and Katara say at the same time, in the same steely tone.

The ex looks briefly startled, but recovers enough to shake Zuko’s hand. “The name’s Jet.”

Zuko has never met Jet before, and yet he knows from the curl of his smile that he has made out with several Jets at various parties in college. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Jet squeezes Zuko’s hand a little harder, just to the edge of macho discomfort. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Katara scoffs - almost inaudibly, but it’s there - and Zuko can’t help but look to her and say, “It would be, wouldn’t it?” It’s the kind of snarky remark he and Mai used to share under their breath at their parents’ insufferable dinner parties back in high school. The two women are nothing alike, but there is something similar to the ease he feels with his best friend as he stands beside her. She bites her lip, and her eyes glitter with silent laughter, and Zuko feels a much gentler heat kindling under his skin. Jet manages to look confused and dismissive in one twitch of his ridiculous eyebrows, but returns his attention to Katara undeterred. His eyes linger as they trace obviously over the v of her dress’s neckline and admittedly tempting curves draped in navy satin before he flashes her a pair of puppy dog eyes and asks, “Save me a dance?” When she doesn’t immediately respond, he tilts his head and entreats, “For old times’ sake?”

Zuko is irritated to once again be entirely ignored, and the possessive part of him wants to snap at Jet that all of Katara’s dances are already reserved for him. Hard-earned self control wins out though, and Zuko manages to remind himself that despite his attraction and the ruse he is meant to be perpetuating, he is not actually Katara’s boyfriend. There is no real reason for him to be upset if she chooses to dance with Jet. There are several reasons for the flutter in his chest when her expressive face hardens to stone.

There is no excuse or cutting joke, just one word, a complete sentence: “No.” She gives him nothing to play off of, no buttons to push or entreaties to make, and he backs down quickly.

“Oh. Uh. Okay, I guess I’ll just...see you at the reception?”

“Yeah, you’ll see us there,” Zuko cuts in, mouth stumbling ahead without him. He puts too much significance on the word us, but seems to bother Jet, and Katara leans into his side, so he figures it’s okay. Jet lifts his chin in a parting nod to him. Zuko just meets his eyes evenly as the other man turns away to find his seat. Shaking his head as he watches the guy go, Zuko says, “Pft. If your friend invited that guy, I think you need better friends,” because he has no filter. And then he remembers yet again that he doesn’t know Katara, much less her friends, and he is overstepping all over this situation. His free hand comes up to smack himself in the face. “Shit. Sorry I’m probably screwing this up so bad; I’m the worst blind date in history.”

A small, warm hand closes around his wrist and tugs his hand away. Katara shifts to stand in front of him, blocking the rest of the wedding full of strangers from his view as his attention narrows only to the bounce of her hair and the crescent of her smile.

“You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

Here's the prompt list!

#zutara #zutara fic #my writing #ask game

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incognitajones · 4 years ago

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gift fic

for @fulcrumstardust‘s champagne birthday!

Cheers to you, friend! Here is your wedding meet-cute, as requested; my apologies that it’s a bit late, but better late than never...

———

As a rule, Jyn didn’t much enjoy weddings. She didn’t particularly care about marriage as an institution. And as far as parties went, they were usually boring and staid, at least until everyone got drunk on cheap wine and the reception turned into a seething mass of bad dancers and handsy drunks.

Not that she’d expected Baze and Chirrut’s wedding to be like that, but still. The general principle applied.

She was glad she’d come today, though. It was genuinely moving to see Baze and Chirrut stand up in front of their friends and family and join their lives officially (though they’d been loving partners for years). The venue, and the day itself, were beautiful: an understatedly elegant restaurant on the riverbank with a view across the water, and a crystal clear autumn day with sunlight sifting through the bronze-gilt leaves.

There were maybe more guests at the wedding banquet than Jyn had expected, but again—not a wedding person. And both Baze and Chirrut tended to draw people to them (Chirrut by force if necessary, as Baze always said). Jyn recognized a few people, mostly students from the martial arts studio, though she was content to nod at them from afar and keep grazing her way through the astoundingly delicious buffet. She’d given the grooms her best wishes and a little red envelope of money already, so as soon as she’d finished eating her own body weight, she’d be on her way.

Just as she was starting to think about leaving, Baze came up beside her, took her by the arm, and said, “Come meet Chirrut’s newest stray.” She’d just about reached her quotient of new people for the day but Baze was like a (much older, grumpier) brother. Jyn didn’t want to say no to him on today of all days. So she let him lead her through the crowd sipping wine and gorging on hors d'oeuvres to where Chirrut was standing beside the dessert table.

“I brought Jyn to say hello,” Baze announced. He slid an arm around his husband and rested his cheek on the top of Chirrut’s head.

Jyn was so occupied trying not to giggle at this uncharacteristically sentimental display that she didn’t notice the other person in the group until Chirrut started an introduction.

“Ah, thank you, husband! Jyn, this is Cassian Andor—“

“Oh.” The bitten-off syllable escaped Jyn before she could hold it in.

Cassian said in a similar tone of bewilderment, “It’s you.”

“You know each other already? Really?” Chirrut asked, with an irritating note of glee in his voice. “And here I was just thinking how well you’d get along.”

“Not exactly.” Cassian’s low voice was just as magnetically attractive as Jyn remembered it. And then she wanted to kick herself for remembering. “But we’ve met.”

Baze cleared his throat. “I see Mrs. Jiang over there, Chirrut, we should thank her for the gift.”

“Yes!” Chirrut agreed, grinning. “You two enjoy yourselves. Try the chocolatines, they’re excellent.”

Jyn glared at Baze, but he only shrugged and abandoned her. Traitor.

She directed her stare back at Cassian. Why should she run away, after all? She wasn’t embarrassed by running into the Tinder hookup from this spring who’d ghosted her and led her to delete the app out of spite (not because she was that disappointed, no matter what Shara said). And she was not remembering what was underneath those clothes, or the way he’d kissed the hollow beneath her ear with just a faint rasp of stubble… Absolutely not.

She grabbed a pastry and bit into it deliberately, refusing to look away.

“How do you know the grooms?” Cassian asked in a mechanically polite tone, with a death grip on the glass in his hand.

Jyn swallowed a mouthful of flaky puff pastry without tasting it. “Baze is my godfather.”

She snatched up a plate and loaded it with three more chocolatines—maybe enough sugar could make this bearable—before asking an equally inane question. “So you’re taking a class with Chirrut?”

“My physio recommended it to work on my balance,” Cassian said. There was a moment’s awkward hesitation as he waited to see if she would speak, but Jyn had just taken another enormous bite of pastry so he plunged ahead.

“I was in an accident in May,” he said. “Hit by a car. My phone got smashed and I was in the hospital and by the time I managed to get a new one, um…”

“Oh.” Jyn’s eyes widened as she did the math in her head. It had probably happened right after that night. “Oh, shit.”

“I was going to call you. Honestly. I really wanted to see you again. But when I was able to log in again your account had disappeared.” He raised his glass and drained a long, desperate swallow of his drink as though to keep himself from talking.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry. Are you doing okay?” Even to her own ears, Jyn’s attempt at sympathy sounded stilted and clumsy.

He nodded. “Getting better, yeah. The pin in my leg is a pain but hey, at least I can walk.”

He was maybe a little skinnier than a few months ago, but otherwise she couldn't see anything that looked like a healing injury or scar. She shoved back the momentary impulse to check him over, head to foot, very thoroughly, to explore his body with her hands and soothe anywhere that might still be in pain.

Jyn set down her empty plate on the table and shifted from foot to foot. “I wanted to see you again too,” she admitted softly, her chin tilted down.

More people arrived to plunder the dessert table and the two of them were displaced around the corner. In the process, Jyn wound up much closer to Cassian than before. She stayed still, waiting to see if he’d shift away again, but he didn’t.

They shuffled a little farther from the dessert table as yet another group of guests congregated around it. Now they were so close to one of the doors to the terrace that when someone slid it open to come inside, the draft blew a strand of Jyn’s hair over her eyes. She lifted a hand to push it back and watched Cassian track the movement of her fingers.

“I need some air,” she said abruptly. She tipped her head toward the terrace overlooking the water, looking up at him with a question.

Cassian set his glass down and opened the door. The breeze off the river flowed past them, crisp and pure. It had been a gorgeous fall day, but as the sun began to set the temperature would also drop quickly. Jyn was glad she’d worn a long-sleeved dress and tights, but was starting to think a jacket would’ve been a good idea too.

She walked toward the railing overlooking the drop to the river and propped her elbows on it. Strands of her hair were falling out of its knot and the wind teased them across the nape of her neck like a stroking hand. She remembered Cassian’s fingers cupping her there, holding her as he moved inside her, and a long shiver drew up her spine.

“Are you cold?” Cassian shrugged out of his suit jacket.

Jyn opened her mouth to refuse, but he said, “Please?” and the memory jolt of hearing him say the same word on a low groan short-circuited her.

She nodded, mumbling, “Thanks.”

He placed it carefully over her shoulders without touching her, but the sensation of being surrounded by warmth that smelled like him still fogged her mind. She wrapped her arms around herself inside the satin lining to hold in the heat and to keep herself from reaching for him.

“We could go back inside,” he suggested, but Jyn was reluctant to give up the lingering golden light. And the company of Cassian.

She shook her head. “It’s nicer out here,” she said inadequately, hoping that she sounded like she wanted him to stick around.

He leaned on the railing next to her, mimicking the casual drape of her body. “Anyway, I’m sorry that our wires got crossed.”

“Don’t apologize!” Jyn ordered, feeling like a heel. “I’m sorry. I take back all the nasty thoughts I had about you.”

“All of them?” he said, turning his head to look down at her. “I don’t blame you for being angry, given what it looked like.”

“Maybe not every single one.” She licked her lips.

The honeyed light of the setting sun caught in his dark brown hair, and Jyn found herself trapped staring at the way it fell across his face and brought out the amber in his eyes. His mouth had lines around it that looked like they could be from pain, but when he smiled at her they deepened into something like real happiness.

She lifted up on her toes, just a little, and pressed her lips to his: a soft, light kiss as gentle as she could be despite how badly she wanted to consume him. His hands went to her arms and held her up, sustaining the contact as they opened to each other and the kiss sank deeper, hungrier. She leaned into Cassian and he let her weight press him tight between her body and the railing at his back. At the smoky burn of alcohol on his tongue she made a shameless noise, pushing closer still.

He jerked in her grip and she pulled back, terrified that she’d hurt him. “Cassian?”

“Jyn,” he murmured in response. His hands lifted to cradle her face and he kissed her again, lips dragging along her cheek until her skin kindled at his touch. She wasn’t cold anymore, she was a blazing fire.

She whispered, “It’s probably rude to start making out at someone’s wedding.”

“Probably.” His voice was roughly gravelled, and his breath on her cheek made her shiver again. “Should we stop?”

She pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him once more, twice more—and forced herself to stop at three before she lost her head completely.

“Come on,” she said breathlessly, rocking back on her heels and taking his hand. “Come with me. I’m going to give you your jacket back. And then you can give me all the rest of your clothes.”

#jyn x cassian #rebelcaptain #modern au #rated T #prompt fills #my fic #fulcrumstardust

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lemonietrinket · 4 years ago

Text

Traditions ||| Prince!Yeosang x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, a bit of angst but a happy ending Warning(s): inferences to death (succession) and natural disaster tragedy Word Count: 4005 AN: Happy Birthday Yeosang blessed elfin prince. Just thinking about how princely he appears was the only inspiration for this entirely. you can tell i find yeosang beautiful and i will not apologise for that. feminine-presenting Reader Royalty AU

~~~

Wind whistling outside the murky visage of dark stained glass, you made your way through the long corridors to the dining hall. The cold air that nipped at your cheeks was only rebuffed by the delicately carved firebrands that lined the walls, hooded by rouge.

Even though you wished you had taken Beatrice up on her suggestion that you wear a dress that would match one of your several coats, you couldn’t say you entirely regretted your decision. The way the silver tresses that entwined across your waist was worth the goosebumps beneath long draping sleeves. The amaranthine shine gave you the firm yet free light that reflected in your eyes, gracing all who could see with not only your true colours but also a sight for sore eyes. You’d always suited the soft violet silk, for years having been a private signature that made you feel unique behind closed doors. It did not provide its own form of stability to the people, however, quite like the vermilion did. Knowing that in these times they needed it in every capacity, you garbed yourself in red for the world, while violet remained a treat.

Besides, you knew there was another benefit to the tremors of shiver that ran up your spine and pooled at your exposed shoulders.

Taking the last corner you could finally see the large oak doors that led into the hall in the dim light. They were closed, but a thin sliver of gold broke through their seal, its promise of food inviting you in. However, a few feet away from the corridor’s end, something else stole your attention entirely. A shimmer of auburn in the thick of the night.

Distracted you slowly made your way over to the nearest window, excitement pooling in your chest and fluttering like a bird wishing to be set free.

one pair of small but intricate heels that had been clicking against the rich wood behind you suddenly slowed. Peering back without hesitation, you saw your second lady in waiting’s grin glimmer in the auburn light as she skipped to the nearest window. Forcing yourself to look beyond the hazy reflection of yourself, you chased the lucrative gold that pierced the night. Your eyes began in the wrong place, too high, where the road began to sink into the distance, but they quickly trailed down to the castle-side, where you spotted, far below, a carriage flickering beside firelight. A warm smile you’d come to know well warmed upon your lips.

“He’s early,” you announced to the air, feeling slightly guilty when the guard stood firmly by the door offered you a startled look

“Who is, Your Royal Highness?” he stuttered, a panicked undertone as he assumed that you’d been talking to him.

You chuckled, feeling relieved as he visibly relaxed, “Why, Graves, my husband of course!” It was clear that he tried to hide the surprise in his expression, not realising that he shared with you.

“I know, absurd right?” you said, sweeping over to the door as he returned your grin at last, before imploring to him in a whisper, “I won’t eat you, Graves, I promise. I’m not like my father.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed in acknowledgement.

Praying that the interaction would dispel any residing fears, you passed through into the dining hall, tall and imposing. You hadn’t liked it all that much, it was too tall and grand, with chandeliers the size of sleeping quarters and columns whose cracks were filled with molten silver. It was a bit much, especially just for a place to eat, but you knew how much worse it could be. You’d seen your older sister’s, you’d seen the drapes of handwoven silk cast in bright crimson and the intricacies of the hand-carved floorboards, dictating the legends of the early days. As vulgar it was, it was how your father built castles for his kingdom, and it was no wonder that it would be the one you would inherit.

Ignoring the painted ceiling you ran your eyes along the long mahogany table at the numerous platters dotted across its surface at both ends, lids retaining heat and disguising the beauty inside. You wondered why they always made so much for you when you never ate it anywhere near it all. The firelight from the large hearth that filled the room with a homely scent of warmth and tranquil danced across the varnished floor, painting it with muffled shades of gold and pink. And there, on the other side of the hall was a shadow that disjointed said light.

Tilting your head up confidently, your fingers interlinking at your waist, you found the man who you had waited for every time, waiting for you.

Having shed his onyx coat and draped it across the back of his chair, you were blessed with just how well suited the deep azure of his kingdom. The satin across his back almost glittered in the light, adorning his neck that craned to let him look off to the left. His shirt was tucked neatly into black leather trousers, that you caught yourself staring at for way too long for the ‘checking for stains’ excuse to run even now (you were pretty sure he hadn’t believed the excuse in the first place anyway, but he hadn’t asked you to stop nor ever brought it up again, and you were pretty sure you’d caught him a few times staring at you so, who were you to complain?) that then slipped into comfortable laced boots. He had to have changed, he couldn’t have possibly worn them outside in such poor weather, and the thought just added to how your heart fluttered—he didn’t have to dress up at all, especially since he would have to go out again tomorrow.

His hand lifting from his hip, he removed his sword in its scabbard and leant it against the wall, before finally turning around.

Even at such a distance you were awestruck. Those gorgeous eyes that stared so knowingly at the world now gazed over at you, leaving you feeling a new shade of vulnerable that had taken a while to get used to, but now you weren’t sure you could live without. As with that vulnerability came his gentleness, the curve of his full lips that uttered sweet things despite his stoic nature, and the touch of his hand that rose to meet yours when you addressed the people. He had confused you at first, worried you the next as neither of you spoke. Now you understood his insecurities and threw any misinformed regrets to the side. Now you could see how his hair seemed to effortlessly curl to frame his face but also to carry a crown.

His fringe then was mottled with damp, his hat adorning the chair with his coat having had only so much success protecting him from the rain. But he still looked ethereal as he always did, and sounded it too.

“Your Royal Highness,” he greeted as he was taught, a deep bow with his hand pressed to his heart. Even though the awkwardness had subsided between the two of you, you still greeted each other like this, despite what you’d discerned.

“Your highness,” you returned, unable to hide your wince. Why couldn’t you greet each other like you wished you could? Ignore the rings on your fingers and the arrangements made by family and do it all properly.

He smiled at you and waited for you to take your seat, deep eyes following your every move. You sighed mentally, feeling the small doubts begin to regrow in your mind. Perhaps you’d misjudged entirely and your affections led you to just reach into the dark and cling to the first light that appeared.

Taking your seat, your eyes not leaving his, he at last drew his chair back at the opposite side of the table. You let him get comfortable before removing the closest lid to reveal a huge portion of neatly sliced venison seasoned with a variety of spices and coupled with copious vegetables—half of which you didn’t recognise. It smelt delicious and you took the cutlery into your hands, but with your mind preoccupied with another important matter you didn’t feel like eating at all.

While you ran the sharp edge of your knife across the tender flesh, Yeosang tucked straight in, not that you blamed him. His journey home had been long, sustained mostly on fish that would only remind him of home—that and your cooks being truly something special.

“So, dear husband,” you announced across the long table with a coy smile, timing your words just right so he would have his mouthful when he had to answer you, “how was your trip outside Cresciel’s borders?”

“Hmm...” He noticed the mischief in your lips, opting to take his time mulling your question over as he chewed even slower than before. It was moments like these, where he played along with you and teased in return, that questioned whether doubts should be sown. “It was long, mostly tedious. Earl of Blouze is an utter nightmare.”

“As usual,” you chuckled, the same mix of sympathy and humour bubbling in your chest as when you had found out who he would be travelling with. Yeosang hadn’t found it amusing and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon while the packing began. He looked adorable with a pout on his lips though, and you only cooed at him six times. “And Caillteo?”

He nodded. “Recovering well for how much damage was done. The mines are back up and running again, a good harvest this autumn and they’ll be back on their feet without aid. The people are still on edge but they seem hopeful, and you were right, Caillteoans are tough: they’ve leapt into construction and sharing resources between themselves fairly.”

“That’ll be Xena’s example,” you noted, taking a sip of your drink. Surprised at the sweet kick, you coughed before laughing at yourself, “they’re always leading by example—I’m fine Yeosang, really.”

You spotted the worry in his expression through how it turned blank. He’d explained it to you, bathed in the gold of the afternoon sun that did little to ease his mind. He didn’t want to panic the person in concern anymore than they perhaps already were. That had been the day where you’d run your fingers through his hair, locks smooth as silk and scented of the roses found on the mountainsides. He had softened in your embrace, letting you hold him delicately in the peace of the royal garden, closing his omniscient eyes that were cursed to catch too much. It had proven that just trying to be the stable option for the nation resulted in a chaos of the mind. You wished he would rely on you more. You were used to it, your sister confided with you her plans to disappear, your mother on the will, your cousins when they visited. You didn’t get the choice in some of those circumstances, but you were willing to take on what Yeosang needed.

You felt heat flush to your face. Since when had you become so attached to him? This hadn’t been what you had expected to happen at all.

“Yes, they truly are. I listened to their grievances, they were furious at how little respect they had received from Cruter, and extremely thankful for the aid we sent them. It was vital for them to get the waterways up and running again, otherwise it would have flooded the sewage system further and...” he came to an unexpected halt, as if a weight had rolled onto his tongue and forced it still. You placed your knife upon the plate quietly, inclining to listen to what finally followed.

“Yeosang?” you murmured, though due to the distance you couldn’t be sure he even heard it.

“...Xena was glad to see where my allegiances laid, that seeing me gave them and Caillteoans hope. They wanted me to make it clear to you that their kingdom’s alliances are with you—us—alone.”

“They’ve turned away from your grandfather completely?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that filtered into your voice, but watched him carefully as you spoke in response to it. “He’s turned his most loyal—?”

“It’s what he deserves,” Yeosang interrupted, eyes turned towards his food. He’d paused eating, a cut of meat levied on his fork and he stared it down as if it were Cruter himself, “and I think they know how my father’s reign is going to go.”

He took the bite as if out of spite, digging in thoroughly once again. Meanwhile you were left frowning. “Have they managed to predict Idina too, do you think?” After he didn’t respond, you straightened your posture, worry beginning to sink in. “Yeosang? I don’t rule Cresciel yet, and if the plan falls apart I won’t have much power at all! A-as far as anyone else is aware, my sister is going to inherit the—”

“I don’t know,” he finally replied with the shake of his head, his frown mimicking yours, “that’s all they said.”

With eyes met across the vast mahogany dotted with silver and the firelight, silence seeped into the room, only dispelled momentarily by the crackle of flames.

Your thoughts gathered in your brain, clustering and talking over one another, interjecting and splitting, producing more and more like a disease. If others could work it out then it would only be a matter of time before your father would, and that would put both your sister and you in danger. Even being a beacon of calm for the future to the people and surrounding kingdoms wouldn’t be enough to hold your plans together, and if things went truly wrong, not only would you be at huge risk of losing your husband and all the arrangements your marriage made, but there would also be mayhem for the innocents you had subtly promised would be safe.

Your breath came out ragged and you swallowed it to steady. The situation was sticky, but you would pull through. You’d make it work. The King of Caillteo was on your side, and that strengthened what you had. Cruter could hardly have endeared himself to his subjects through his ignorance towards the tragedy—especially since word carried that the angered storm had affected the outer towns upon his Siyanirean borders too. With that in hand and your plan just in the waiting process, it wouldn’t be long before Yeosang was King in his grandfather and father’s stead and the kingdoms were united, working peacefully instead of warring like they always did.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wondered why your nerves wouldn’t simmer down. You’d gone over the plan hundreds of times, and things were moving in your favour—both should have eased the sudden attack of worry. But they didn’t, and you were left with bruise-purple divots in your palms, and quivering fingers. You wanted them to be held still, you didn’t like the sight of them fragile. You wanted to be held, by Yeosang—no other would do, as no one else understood it all. He was the only one who knew the details of the full plan, knew what the pressure was like. But he was on the other end of the table.

It seemed ridiculous that a table and a (comparatively) short distance was holding you back. There were no physical barricades, the grandiose chairs tucked in neatly, the food too cold to even eat and get you to stay. Yet, even though your feet twitched, your body didn’t move to go to his side and ask for comfort, like you’d given to him that golden afternoon before.

“Did you miss anything,” your mouth spoke out of the blue, “while you were gone?”

Had your husband looked up he would have noticed the disjoint between your calm tone and your stony expression. But he didn’t, not yet.

“Not my ship if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, assuming you were teasing him once again. After finishing another bite you stared as his face softened, “Though I guess I missed some company.” When you didn’t speak up, voice trapped in your throat as your brain ticked over what he meant, he continued, “The nights were cold, so I thought I missed the warmth of here. They were also quiet, and so I thought I missed the sounds of here but... the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this castle is just as quiet as the other ones I stayed in, and when I added blankets it made no difference.

“And then I had to speaks to others and, well... every time I met with the nobles, it felt as if they looked down on me, as if I wasn’t really one of them despite my claim. I knew it shouldn’t surprise me, as my grandfather is, well, my grandfather and no one knows just how poor my father’s health is but... even the people didn’t believe I was the real deal, and they were the nice ones. Others I’m sure couldn’t comprehend I was capable of making a difference at all.”

As he trailed off, with your eyes hazy you countered plainly. “And you wanted me there so they somehow wouldn’t? If I was there they wouldn’t look at you at all.” You would have winced at the harshness of your words, consoled him with an apology and the distraction of food or a change of scenery, but you didn’t. You cursed yourself for being selfish.

Yeosang however didn’t seem to take it to heart, trying to explain clearer. “No I mean... it’s easier to chase the doubts of my own abilities away with you at my side. Because you believe in me.”

After cleaning his plate his pretty eyes flicked up to take you in at last, only to become flecked with worry. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Debating and answer in your head you remained silent, gaze dropping to your lukewarm food without a single chunk missing. Clutching your hands together in your lap in an effort to control the quiver in them, you avoided his stare. “I really mean that much to you?”

Out of your peripheral you caught his nod. “Of course. You’re my closest friend, my rock, I don’t think I could have ever succeeded like this without you.”

You peered up at him at last, to catch the sincerity on his features. The apples of his cheeks had a blushed hue, so did the tips of his ears. But you couldn’t make out the etches upon his lips, or the birthmark adorning the corner of his eye. He was too far away, all because of stupid rules. “Then why are you so far away?” you poised.

There was a heavy silence that seemed to even mottle the crackling in the hearth. Your gaze trailed over to the dancing flames, warm and dynamic like the flushes of first love—like your heart.

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.”

Your head whipped up to him as soon as his words graced the air and the creak of wood scraping across wood resonated through the floor. Yeosang, with footfalls cautious, was making his way across the dining hall towards you. You straightened your back, mouth agape but with no words to fill the space.

Even though it felt like the journey took hours, he was suddenly at your side, brow creased with concern as he placed one hand tentatively on the back of your chair.

“Y/N, I...”

“I missed you too.”

Chin tilted up you took in the sight of the man you had married properly. How his jaw curved, how his chest rose and fell as he breathed, how his hair slowly fell out of place to cover his eyes while he peered down at you. Months of past worry trickled through from your subconscious as you remembered the anxieties you’d had about your marriage. You trusted your mother’s decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t interrogate yourself nightly on whether you could be happy being married to a man you didn’t love romantically, one that you didn’t desire sensually.

You hadn’t slept the night before the castle doors opened to welcome in your chosen suitor. You’d been informed it was a tough and arduous selection process but you had blanked most of it out. With a stone-set face you had been helped into a dress of your sister’s—flowing scarlet with gold lace at the neck—before adorning your neck with an amethyst necklace despite the advice you were offered. Then you took those wide grand stairs down to where your soon-to-be fiance waited, arm interlinked with your sister’s. She had smiled and said something to you, but you hadn’t paid any attention—this time for a good reason.

After days on end of worrying, you were confronted with a meek young boy who could easily have been mistaken to be years younger than you. Garbed in rich navy, he stood prostrate at his father’s side, his posture displaying confidence as he was instructed while his stare flit upon the engraved ground. When you had taken the final step and swept across the varnished pearl beneath your feet your families greeted heartily while you stared at the boy who eventually worked up the courage to stare back. ‘He isn’t real’, had been the first thought to flash in your mind. After all he had full cloudy cheeks and wide set dark eyes that made him look as if he was borne of another realm. You wondered if the pink blemish upon his temple was a sign of that: a deity’s way to prove that he was in fact human and not an angel. Eyeing him up and down you had found a body just out of proportion to be considered finished, but you guessed he would grow, and fit his elfin face one day in the future. Overall, he had washed your worries away and replaced them with a newfound curiosity that you hadn’t mentioned to him before.

Of course, you had been right, he did grow. His shoulders broadened and chest filled out while his cheeks retained the majority of their softness. He grew then to become more open, a smile flourished on his lips and once that happened it was only a matter of time. Regardless, despite all his changes that young boy was still there, still watching carefully, even now.

Yeosang stood at your side quite like he had done all those years ago—back rigid, eyes trailing away from where he wanted to focus them. And it softened your heart, practically turned it to pulp, when he finally spoke in a voice completely different to the boy from your past, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

You watched as he bit his lip disappointedly, as if he’d admitted something wrong.

“Me too,” you breathed, dispelling his worry and turning it into a startled expression as you stood with him. Your fingers came up to his collar, straightening it out absentmindedly as you met his eyes properly this time. “Forget the rules, forget the traditions, Sangie?” you suggested in a whisper.

He nodded, a smile rising to his lips so bright that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands gently, he dipped in to let your lips finally meet, a hum bubbling through your chest in satisfaction. He was finally close to you, and he felt so different from what you’d imagined. His embrace pulling you close he radiated warmth. His lips tasted of the berries that he had drank and his touch was so fluid and soft across the skin of you back. You didn’t mind, you liked how wrong you were.

Because he kissed you just like the tradition didn’t dictate, and though it had been the arrangements of others that brought your love to you, it was time to do it your way.

~~~

AN: I was going to make yn a duchess bc like princess is overdone and then i got confused and like shite just bc im british doesnt mean i understand the royal family one bit, let alone the hierarchy of titles

so yeah yn is a princess wbk

also this is much longer than the other presents only bc i got carried away i realise i like royal aus and this just wrote itself i promised myself i wouldnt do this with bday presents but oop

any names of the staff at the royal household were randomly generated place names were made using various words put into indifferentlanguages.com + the word combiner on wordunscrambler.net (so any resemblance to rel places is unintentional)

(also none of yeosang’s relations are based on any of his real family of course, theyre just made up. i imagine yeosang loves his family very much and so this is just creative license)

~~~

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dettiot · 4 years ago

Text

Discovery

Discovery: Procedures used to obtain disclosure of evidence before trial.

As he looked at Satine in the soft candlelight, Ben felt like he was perpetually breathless. Any time he looked at her, there was something new to discover. The sparkle in her eyes, the shine of her hair, the warmth of her smile . . .

Satine had been pretty and beguiling when they were in law school. Now, as a woman? She was elegance, grace, beauty . . . and so hot, he was sure he would get burned if he touched her.

Or maybe it was just his nerves. Because he knew tonight he wanted to be honest with her. Honest in a way he had never been with any woman.

It was time to tell her the truth about his past.

“Satine?”

“Yes, Ben?” she said as she looked at him over the rim of her martini glass.

Ben took a deep breath. “I . . . I wanted to talk to you. About me.”

Her eyes blinked, her eyelashes thick and dark. “Oh?” Her voice seemed a touch cooler and Ben tried to push down his flicker of panic.

Reaching across the table, he took her hand gently, feeling her warmth flow into him. “About my family.”

“Your family?” Satine asked, her eyes widening. She tilted her head as she looked at him. “You never talked about them . . .”

“It’s a long story,” Ben said, taking his martini in his free hand and taking a healthy swallow. “And it’s not a very nice one.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben.”

Something about her words, her whole presence, was soothing and relaxing and strengthening.

“My parents gave me up to Child Protective Services when I was three,” Ben said quietly. “I grew up in foster homes . . . not all of them were good. But when I was twelve, I ended up in a good one. My foster father, Quinn . . . he was wonderful. He believed in me, he was so kind and warm, he . . . he changed my life.”

Satine’s lips quirked into a small smile, even as her eyes looked sad. “Tell me about him.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, even though he had gotten through the hardest part. It felt too good to hold her hand.

“Quinn was just so wise. So patient. I wanted to be just like him. He was a lawyer, and . . .” Ben let his voice trail off as he shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Her face lit up. “You became a lawyer because of him. Ben. That . . . that’s just so you.”

His face felt like it was on fire, but strangely, he didn’t mind. He smiled and ducked his head before he nodded.

“Yes. I wanted to help people like Quinn did. So I started studying hard, doing everything I could to get my law degree. But--but it wasn’t easy.”

The catch in his voice made him wince and pick up his martini, taking another swallow. He was reconsidering his idea that the worst was over--because as hard as it was to talk about the early part of his life, what he still had to tell her . . . it didn’t reflect well on him. And it might make her wonder if he was worth the second chance she had given him.

“What happened?” Satine asked, her voice soft and gentle. She rubbed her thumb against his hand.

“Quinn died when I was eighteen, right before I started at UCLA,” Ben said, feeling the same stab in his heart he always felt.

“Oh, Ben,” Satine said, her voice full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. Satine wrapped both her hands around his as she waited.

“I was so overwhelmed,” Ben admitted. “Not just with college, but with all my grief . . . I couldn’t handle it. I thought I had to cut people out of my life. Focus on my career in order to honor Quinn.”

Her eyebrows drew together, but Ben wasn’t sure if it was in confusion or in disdain.

“When I was sixteen, Quinn took in another boy--a nine-year-old named Anakin. I was hurt,” Ben said slowly. “I felt like he was trying to replace me. But Anakin was just so bright and smart and kind. He was more like Quinn than I was. So I resented Anakin, but also--I liked him. It took some time, but eventually, we became brothers. But after Quinn . . . I just left Anakin behind.”

Satine took a deep breath. “Ben--you were hurting. And although I couldn’t imagine leaving my sister behind, like you did to Anakin, I can tell that you seem to regret it.”

Letting out a huff, Ben nodded. “I really regret it. Anakin ended up in another foster home--one that wasn’t good for him. He bonded with his foster sister, Ahsoka, but then she got moved to a new home. Anakin went into the Marines, but . . . he lost his arm due to an IED, and afterwards . . . he became addicted to opiates.”

Her expressive face showed what she was feeling. It was something Ben lo--liked about Satine. How her emotions were so on display, making her so easy to read.

And right now, he might just burn up from all the warmth she was showing him.

Ben swallowed, wishing he could just lean across the table and kiss her. Let her know just how much her good opinion of him mattered.

Let her know how close he was to falling in love with her.

“Is Anakin okay now?” Satine asked quietly, gazing at him.

Unable to speak, he nodded as he drew himself together. “Yes. He got clean while I was in law school--he’s so strong--but he was having a hard time putting his life together. He was living in DC, so . . .”

He watched as Satine grasped what he wasn’t saying. Her eyes went wide and her hands gripped his tightly. “You took the clerkship to be closer to Anakin.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then she let go of his hands and punched him, hard, in his shoulder. “Ben Kenobi! How could you not tell me any of this before?!?”

“Ow!” he huffed, rubbing his shoulder.

“You dumped me and moved to DC to be closer to your brother. Why didn’t you just tell me that? Do you think I wouldn’t have understood? That I would have been mad?”

“I don’t know!” Ben said, feeling his anger spark in response to Satine’s. “I’ve never told anyone about my family--not until now--and I didn’t know how to do it. But I wanted you to know this about me. So you’d know why I left you!”

To his shock, the anger suddenly drained out of Satine’s face, leaving her looking bereft. “Ben,” she said, her voice quavering.

“Satine--no, please don’t cry,” he said, reaching out to grab her hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just-- Tonight, you told me this couldn’t be like before, and I meant what I said. I promise that I’m not going to mess up my second chance with you. And that meant it was time to tell you everything. Everything I’ve ever hidden about myself, all my insecurities and fears and secrets. Because I know you’ll keep me safe, Satine.”

Even in the dim light, it was easy to see the tears in her eyes. But as he spoke, Ben could tell that . . . that it was going to be okay.

Especially when she squeezed his hand.

“I will, Ben,” she said softly. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Ben Kenobi prided himself on being in-control, stable, logical. But right now, he just wanted to shove the table aside and pull Satine into his arms. Kiss her with everything he had, pour all his love into her.

Because he loved her. It seemed so foolish to try to deny it.

He opened his mouth to say it, but at the last second, something made him hold back.

This was only their second date. It was too soon. They should take things slow, not rush things. There was plenty of time.

But as he looked at Satine, the words I love you played in a loop in his brain. And it was only the appearance of their waiter with their meals that kept him from saying it.

End.

#obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #star wars #opposing counsel

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years ago

Text

The Final Bow (Inglourious Basterds Fic)

Requested by @baldwin-iv "Hello, hope you are well. If it isn't too much trouble, I was wondering if you could do Donny meeting an Italian nationalist who works with Hans Landa during operation Kino. Thank you!"

A/N: Changed it up a little, sorry luv, it just felt weird to make it xReader so I made an OC :)

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

_____________________________ Renatta Castelluccio was Hans Landa's escort to the premiere of Nation's Pride. He pulled her away from the crowd, and led her to meet her counterparts. Bridget von Hammersmark's escorts.

Renatta knew exactly who they were. How could she forget the man with the scar across his throat? He dropped into her town in Italy, just before she left for Germany. Her father was a high ranking officer under Mussolini, and used her as a pawn in negotiations. She'd grown up with that regime, and believed every word of every poster and incendiary reel until she left, and saw what fascism really meant, along with the innocent blood it shed. She was contacted by the OSS, and given a chance to be a spy, and help the allies, but she feared facing a firing squad, and quickly declined. She never spoke up, not at home, and not in Germany. Renatta spent every waking moment of her life drowning in guilt, knowing what she once stood for, and what it all had led to. Still, she was smothered in fear of what would happen if she ever said a word. She was a coward, and knew she was just as guilty as the killers. Years of silence, passive smiles, and polite nods led her to this point. She could cry, beg for forgiveness from the basterds themselves, but, for what? Ruin whatever plan they undoubtedly had? "Banwjor-no." She decided once again to stay silent. She knew Hans wanted to use her to humiliate their attempt to pass off as Italians. "Graht-see."

Her eyes welled up. Once again, a pawn in a plan to fuel hate filled speeches and regimes. She tilted her head up, looking at the blood stained banners and stolen art planted there by the nazis. She knew she was no better than them. Renatta Castelluccio, an accessory to crime against her own nation, and a spineless, voiceless pit of shame and regret. Her eyes fell on Donny. He was trying his best, she knew, but his eyes were momentarily fixated on her leg, peeking through a slit in her emerald green dress. She glanced hurriedly at her escort, Hans Landa, who she despised with what was left of her soul. He'd repeatedly proposed to her, and she always politely refused, saying it was not right to marry during war. Secretly, she hoped he would die in the war, or would be charged with war crimes. He didn't notice Donny's wandering gaze, he was too busy being amused at the way they pronounced their fake names. "Margherittiiiiiiiii."

Renatta half smiled, though her heart beat in her throat, as she wished to find a way to help them, and for once do something right. Soon after Landa sent the basterds on their way. As he plotted his way into Operation Kino and a path to Nantucket Island, he sent Renatta to her seat as well. Donny lagged a little behind Omar, as a crowd of drinking nazis and half naked women merged between them. Donny couldn't take a chance and call out to Omar. It was unecessary attention. But, as he waited to make his way in, he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back. Omar turned around, and saw. He raised an eyebrow, and cheekily smirked a little, before disappearing into the theater. He turned and saw Renatta, as she pulled Donny back, into an office away from the crowd. Donny grinned, trying to hide his nerves, "Buongio-" She shook her head, "I know who you are." "Uh... Sì...Antonio Marg-" "You're not Italian, I know..." She smiled softly, stepping closer to him, and touching the side of his cheek, "You're a basterd..." Before he could react, she said everything she had to amidst pleas and kisses. She told him all about Landa, how to go about it, "Whatever your plan is, he is the one you can not underestimate." Donny frowned, his hands around her waist, and pulled his head back a little, "Why are you telling me this?" Renatta looked down, and saw Donny pressing a gun against the bottom of her rib cage. She shook her head, "Because I have seen things that could've been pages from the Inferno." Donny had never read it, but it didn't sound good. "Things that should never be, sergeant..." Donny at that moment, looked into her eyes. If what people said about eyes being the window to the soul was true, then all he could see was a terrified one. "I once had the intention of being an informant for the allies, but I was a coward...Whenever I opened my mouth, no words came out. So all I've done for years is stand by. Stand by and-" Tears streamed down her cheek, and Donny tilted his head to the side, absolutely confused. He didn't feel sympathy. Not for a former fascist. But he wanted to listen, and make sure he could trust her enough about Landa. "I've stood by and said nothing. Sometimes that's worse than actually pulling a trigger...just letting it happen. I never said..." She trailed off, looking away in shame, patting her eyes with the back of her black satin covered hands. "Never said what?" "I never said no." He stared at her blankly, not knowing what to make of it at all, "No. Such a powerful word," She laughed softly, pathetically, as she wiped away a silent tear. "It gets you killed here, there, these day. 'No'...that could have saved at least one life. Just one..." "Why are you telling me this?" "You're a basterd, everyone that's someone to the nazis is here. You have a plan, and I want to make sure Hans doesn't stop you." "I got it.” He nodded, and reluctantly sighed, “Go, now." "Wh...what are you talking about?" Never in her life had anyone given Renatta a second chance. "If what you say is true, this guy Landa's gonna be more worried about me and the boys than where you are. You have enough time to get out, and get far away without anyone here noticing." He fully stepped away from her, let go of her waist, and lowered his gun. He had all the information he needed. Kisses and bullets wouldn't be necessary. She shook her head. No one on either side of the war would show her any kind of mercy close to that. "I'll be shot for this, no matter how this turns out." Donny sighed, knowing the clock was ticking, and that she was right. She may have just betrayed Hans Landa, but it was not enough of a saving grace outside of Le Gamaar. He took one look at her, and saw a short, unlived life. Short enough to only have known regimes and gunfire. She looked directly into his eyes, "No matter how this turns out, what I do, I will die. Let me stay." "Stay?" "Let me watch these regimes burn," She pleaded softly, and whispered, "Senza gloria..." He shook his head, "No. Go. Get to somewhere safe..." He couldn't believe he'd just said that, but he couldn't take it back now. He looked at her, that cowardly mess, and thought if she saw Hans, she'd backtrack and fess up again. To stop that from happening, he needed her out of the theater. "Don't go looking for Landa. Get it?" She smiled, for the first time in years, without her lips being pulled by strings of manipulation, "Grazie..." They went their ways, and Donny sat with Omar in the theater. Omar chuckled, and whispered, "Signorina?" Donny shook his head, trying to sound Italian as possible, "Gone-o." Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Aldo and Bridget hadn't shown up, and it was almost show time. He eased his way back out, and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down over the balcony, searching for a sign of Aldo or Bridget. Instead, he saw Renatta again. She was in the lobby, speaking to Hans. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he understood that she didn't listen to Donny. What's more, Donny couldn't trust her anymore.

By default, he had to believe she broke down and told Hans about their conversation. The clock was ticking.

Donny and Omar didn't have time for this. He turned his back, and made his way back to get Omar so they could go on with Operation Kino. With or without Aldo and Bridget, this had to be done. What Donny didn't see was Renatta taking a stand for the first time in her life. She slipped Hans' gun out of his pocket. He looked down at her, eyes wide in betrayal, but his lips twisted, "You wouldn't dare, my love. You've always been so pathetic." As tears streamed down her face, he smirked, his hand reaching over the barel of the gun, "You wouldn't, you cowar-" One single gunshot, drowned out by the crowd and the reel of propaganda. One single bullet, tearing through Landa's hand, and straight through his skull. He dropped to his knees, and looked up at her, blood pouring through his nose and mouth in a betrayed, final gargled breath. She looked down for a few moments, watching as blood pooled out slowly, and collected beneath her heels, staining the bottom of her trailing dress. This was the first and only blood she did not feel sorry for. Renatta walked back up the stairs, and made her way to the opera box, without her escort, and without an ounce of regret. In a moment, smoke appeared, along with a face on the screen, with a message and a plot for revenge.

Renatta didn't understand what was happening. But she didn't mind. She leaned back, and smiled softly with a sigh, "Che spettacolo...." 'What a show...' She watched as regimes fell before her very eyes in a blaze, as she waited to meet her end. It came unexpectedly, in a suit, and a fit of rage.

Donny Donowitz stood before her, cornering her in the opera box, "I gave you a chance." She didn't know why he suddenly seemed to retract his mercy, but she didn't question it. Whatever anger Donny felt was justified in her eyes. So, when he shot her, she said nothing.

She looked up at him, no blame or reproach in her eyes as her blood pooled through her dress and trickled down. She took a breath, and turned away from him, and for a moment, watched the war end before her eyes. In a few moments, the entire high command was gone. Donny joined Omar back on the stairs, and were on their way out of the theater, when Donny saw a body face down in the middle of the lobby. Omar panicked, "ALDO?!" Donny shook his head, "It's not a white suit..." He ran up, and turned the body over, revealing Hans Landa's cold, dead eyes, and twisted grin. Omar looked to Donny again, "Maybe Aldo did this." Aldo would have scalped or marked him. Donny knew that. "It wasn't him..." His eyes widened with realization. The last person he saw with Hans was Renatta. It had to be her. "Go. I'll meet you outside." "What?!" Donny pushed Omar toward the exit, "I forgot something. Go, now! That's a fucking order." Omar had no choice. He walked through the smoke and disappeared. Donny ran back to the opera box, the flames nearly reaching it. "Renatta." Her eyes were beginning to close, her breathing beginning to slow, and blood pooled beneath her. Donny was about to step into the box, but she shot up with what was left of her breath, "No!" "You killed Hans. You...you didn’t lie to me, you-" He stepped onto the box, and heard a low, loud rumble as Renatta pleaded, "Stay back!" He stopped in his tracks. If he stepped over to get her, the opera box would collapse and fall into the fire below. He crouched down, "Ok, crawl to me, we still have time. We have four minutes." She shook her head, struggling to breathe. She could hardly move. There was no more time for her. "It's too late for me, s-sergeant. Don't w-wait for me." "You don't...you don't know that!" She lifted her eyes to look at him, and saw a shade of remorse. She shook her head slowly, trying to convince him, "I'll slow you down. You have time, I don't." "I'm...I'm sorry..." She shook her head again, smiling kindly at him. He could barely hear her voice over the roar of the fire, and the last few screams below, "Don't ever be sorry for what you've done here, soldier..." She gasped for a breath, "You're a g-good man." His head tilted to the side, as he spoke softly, "Renatta..." She pulled herself up, the balcony beginning to rumble lowly again. Renatta held on to the banister of the opera box, and looked over at the hellfire, watching the final few below writhe and scream, "Leave me here. There is no other place for a coward like me on this earth." "Don't..." She turned her head a little, not enough to meet him face to face again, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Don't you understand? No matter what happened tonight, I was not going to survive the end of the war." She looked back out at the fire devouring the cinema and the high command, "Let me go," She shut her eyes and whispered, "Senza gloria... I deserve nothing more than this..."

"Renatta." "You have a minute left. Don't waste a lifetime for an inglourious moment with me." He nodded slowly and backed away from the creaking opera box. He reached the closest staircase, and looked back. All he could hear was the rumbling of the opera box, the roar of the fire, and Renatta whispering once again, “Senza gloria...” In her last moments, Renatta held her head up high, watching her impending inglourious fate approach her in silence. blood dripping down her dress, with one final smile, she watched the curtains close: The nazis' banners falling into the fire below. He left her, and made his way back outisde. He stood across the street with Omar, waiting for the grand finale. Omar broke the eerie silence as smoke began to rise above the street, "You let the Italian girl go, didn't you?" He didn’t see Donny shoot her. Donny nodded, "Yeah." Donny watched as the smoke rose, and knew that Renatta was right. No matter what he did, or she did, she was not going to live past the end of the war. No matter what happened, whether or not Operation Kino fell through, she would have been executed by the winner of the war. If the basterds failed, she would be killed as a traitor, and if they succeeded and she ran away, she’d be killed as a collaborator. She got out of it, and it was what she wanted most, to finally speak up. They watched as the cinema took its final bow, in a blaze of vengeance and ashes of atonement.

Donny nodded with a sigh, and a soft smile, hearing her voice one last time, as though it came with the wind that fueled the flames, "Senza gloria..."

#Inglourious Basterds

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intergalactic-nebula · 5 years ago

Text

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Sixteen

(Warning: NSFW themes)

𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘙𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘧, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘺, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯.

Rey bolted up gasping loudly in the guest bed at Satine's apartment, Luke having convinced Vader to give her one more day. One more day of freedom, that's all she had, and she started it off by having a crazed dream about falling of all things.

She had never been afraid of heights, in fact, she had once stood on top of a skyscraper and looked down at the city below as if she was a God looking down upon ants, and, in a sense, she was. She hadn't of been afraid of falling off of it, so was this a nightmare she just had? It didn't feel like a nightmare until the end, and who was that man?

"Rey, darling, I made you breakfast," Satine stood in the doorway with sunglasses on and a messy head of platinum blonde hair with a wine glass full of--mmn, Rey still wasn't used to seeing blood being consumed as if it were an expired caprisun. She had found a wrapper of one, once, and she found it peculiar how you had to stab a straw through it. "There are candles lit out there, don't worry. I have these on," She tapped on her sunglasses with a perfectly manicured nail. "Because I had to turn on the kitchen light to make food, and my kind's eyes are sensitive to all light during the day. Doesn't matter if it's artificial."

"I-I could've made soup, it's--"

"No, you need real food, child. You're as skinny as a bone and you need meat in your system. I made you steak and eggs, I had an errand guard run out and grab food for you two hours ago." Satine smiled softly and Rey nodded silently.

"Why do you know how to--"

"Cook?" Satine laughed and Rey felt her cheeks grow hot as she looked down. "Sometimes I cook for the personal feeding partners of other nightstalkers in this building unit. There's a very sweet girl named Kaydel who lives a floor down who is the feeding partner to a very kind woman named Amilyn. Kaydel taught me everything I knew, especially baking, and I constantly surprise her with baked goods from time to time. She'd love you, they both would." Satine sighed fondly with a smile on her face and Rey slowly hugged her knees to her chest. Satine frowned and walked over to the bed, the blonde sitting down and gently began to stroke Rey's hair. "Rey, my darling, I'll come visit you every single day. I'll bring you whatever food you--"

"I want to stay here with you," Rey whispered and Satine slowly took off her shades to reveal eyes filled with great sadness. "I want to stay here with you, Satine. I don't want to go back, even if Ben is there. I don't want to be with Vader, I like you. You're...kind, and...no one has ever brushed my hair before except my mother." Rey teared up and Satine let out a small noise of sympathy as she pulled Rey towards her and Rey rested her head against her shoulder.

"If it was up to me, my most dearest one, you would stay here. We could go travelling together, anywhere you wanted--"

"Germany...?" Rey asked and Satine laughed breathlessly.

"Of course we would go to Germany, it's so beautiful there, Rey. I would take you to England, to Egypt, to the damned Carpathian mountains if I could, but...but he's Emperor, not me, and I can't change it. You have no idea how badly I wish to change it, Rey, how I could...change everything that's happened in the last five hundred years." Satine got a far off look in her eyes and, when Rey looked up at her, she could see the war in them. Pain, suffering, hatred, loss, all of it. All of it.

"...If someone killed him, would they become Emperor or Empress?"

"Well, yes, but...no. Padmé would take over, she would have to die as well--"

"So, if someone killed both Vader and Padmé--"

"Rey, I do not like this train of thought of yours." Satine's tone lowered and Rey bit her lower lip as she looked at her with searching eyes.

"But--"

"No," Satine gently caressed her cheek as a mother would to her child, and Rey suddenly wanted to cry out in joy. "Push those thoughts aside, Rey. For me. For Obi-Wan." Satine spoke softly and Rey could only nod in response.

Rey had found that she really loved showers. She had only taken baths at the mansion, and she had also found that she had a great love for just water in general. She smoothed her hair back out of her face as she closed her eyes and let the hot water stream down on her face, steam swirling around her like thick ribbons of white blindness. She opened her mouth ever so slightly to let water fill her mouth only to let it drip from her lips slowly as she moaned softly. This was beautiful, this was perfection, and she wished she never had to leave the water's heated embrace. Droplets of water danced across her tanned skin, Rey arching her back ever so slightly as she felt the heat increase.

The euphoria stopped as visions of the dream came crashing into her head, the brunette slowly opening her eyes as water dripped off her thick eyelashes. She wanted to fall again, and it didn't frighten her that she wanted to do so. It was the most calm she had ever been in her life, and she craved it. She rocked back and forth slightly on her heels, Rey humming quietly as she thought about if she could recreate the feeling. She shook her head after a moment and rinsed the rest of the conditioner out of her hair before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the glass shower. She grabbed a towel and dried off, but suddenly stopped as she caught her reflection on the wall to the left to the shower that was a gigantic mirror. She let the towel fall from her body and ran her hands down her sides, her eyes never leaving hers as her hands moved upwards and tangled themselves in her hair. Her lips parted as she tilted her head back as she posed, the brunette too caught up in the moment to realize that she was admiring herself and saw that she liked what she saw. She didn't look sick or dirty, she looked clean and youthful. She looked 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺.

Sure, it had only been a few days or more since she had been taken from her home and fed, but she looked better than she ever did in her entire life thanks to those days. She closed her eyes and let her hands move down to her hips, only to feel a pair of hands lifting her arms up. She felt his--Ben's, she knew her scent like no other now--arms encircle around her waist, Rey moving her head to the side as she felt his lips press against her throat.

She didn't dare open her eyes in fear that he wasn't really there, that this was just some kind of strange hallucination of feelings, and she gently tangled her hands in his hair. His lips moved down her throat to the crook of her neck, his breath icy on her burning skin.

"Ben," She whispered, but as she opened her eyes, no one was there. "...Ben?" She looked around the room for a moment, the young woman suddenly covering her body with her hands as she did so.

This couldn't have been Vader again, Padmé had made it specifically clear that he did not want her for sexual use. He had Padmé for that, who was both his wife and mate. Rey was just to be personal livestock, so he wouldn't do that.

She then felt it.

A sharp pain erupted in her stomach, Rey gasping loudly in shock as she fell to her knees. She keeled over, her hands hugging her sides as tightly as possible, and she let out loud pants of needed breath with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. This 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, what was this?!

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, the carnal voice within her hissed loudly and her eyes snapped open. Without thinking she moved her hair to one side of her neck as she sat up, her behind resting on the balls of her feet, and she slowly leaned her head back and to the side as she stared up at the ceiling.

This was an offering.

This was a free willed offering.

"It's okay," Rey whispered as she waited for his hands to ghost against her once more. "I know what it's like to starve, and you shouldn't have to go through it alone. I'm right here, you're not alone--"

"And neither are you," She heard him breathe against her neck and she closed her eyes as she smiled as she pressed back against him. "You never will be again." He hissed before sinking his fangs deeply into her neck, Rey's eyes flying open as she choked loudly while her body arched up. He held her down, his arms encircled tightly around her, and her eyes flickered to the mirror.

There he was, behind her, with his glowing eyes burning into hers as twin silent streams of blood trickled down into her chest. He growled loudly against her throat as his pupils became slits, Rey breathing heavily as she pressed back even further into him. He pulled away from her neck after a moment and harshly turned her head to face him, his lips smashing against hers as he began to roll his hips against her. This was 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭. They weren't two humanoid beings at this moment, they were two animals.

She tasted the copper on his tongue, felt his hands roaming frantically, and she could feel both of their bodies burning in polar opposite temperatures. She pulled away from the kiss to breathe and he snarled quietly as he gently nipped her lower lip, which, in turn, made Rey whine not so quietly.

"You have no 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 idea how badly I want to take you right now, Rey. To bend you over and watch yourself in the mirror get ruined by me," He growled huskily in her ear and she let out a whimper in response. "But I only took a small amount from you, it would exhaust me too much to press you down against this floor and have you. I would need to feed off of numerous humans to recover," He pressed an open mouthed fanged kiss against her shoulder, Rey whimpering once more as hot tears of need pricked her eyes. "And I only want to feed off of you for the rest of my existence." Ben breathed against her skin and she felt a couple tears slide down her cheeks. Their eyes locked in the mirror once more, but Rey froze as she saw hers.

Gold. Blazing, liquid gold.

Gold like the sun.

"Ben--"

"Wonderful," He muttered and she blinked in shock. "You're wonderful." He slowly smiled and Rey felt herself smile back. He froze for a moment before smiling wider and hugging her tighter against him, Rey letting out a small squeal of delight as her legs wobbled slightly. Was this...happiness?

"Rey? Rey, are you alright?" Satine knocked on the door and Rey's head whipped towards it. She quickly looked back at the mirror as soon as she felt his touch leave her only to see herself alone again...and no marks whatsoever on her neck. The blood was still there, however.

"I smell blood--"

"I knicked myself shaving, I'm sorry!" Rey hurried stood up, rushing over to the sink and turning the faucet on.

"Rey, are you--"

"I-I'm fine, Satine!" She wetted her hands and viciously rubbed the blood off her chest as screamed profanities at herself in her head. "I cut my leg with the razor, but I'm okay! It's minor, it's barely even there!" Rey called out before pausing and realizing she would need a wound to prove her story. She eyed the razor on the edge of the counter and grabbed it.

"Rey, sweetheart, let me patch it up, okay? I don't want it to get infected," Satine sighed through the door as Rey placed the razor against her calf.

"Yeah, yeah, okay! That's fine!" Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath...𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦.

It took everything for Rey not to scream as the razor blade sliced open her skin, a steady trickle of blood beginning to stream down her leg.

The door slammed open and Rey did scream at that.

"Rey, that's not a knick, that's a bloody 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥!" Satine screeched before rushing over and throwing open a cabinet that was stocked with bandages. "Gauze, gauze, gauze--Rey, put it under the water!" Satine snapped and Rey jumped as she obeyed and instantly sat on the counter and put her leg in the sink. Satine grabbed an alcohol wipe and a roll of gauze, the blonde woman hurrying over and turning the faucet off. She grabbed a folded hand towel off the counter and pressed it firmly against Rey's calf with a furious expression.

"What were you, dry shaving?!"

"Y-yes, I thought--" She played it off as being dumb to civilized, modern ways.

"No, Rey, no! No, no, no, you use shaving cream, or soap, or even conditioner! You never--you never dry shave, Rey..." Satine's voice grew more worried than angry towards the end and Rey bit her lower lip.

She thanked God that Satine was too tired to properly process the situation, as it was only about three in the afternoon.

"Oh, Satine, your sunglasses--"

"I can deal with it, this is more important." Satine sighed loudly as she took away the hand towel, putting it down back on the counter before picking up the alcohol wipe packet. "This might sting a little, alright? Just breathe, okay?" Satine smiled tiredly at her and Rey quickly nodded. Satine tore open the wrapper and gently swiped the wipe across the wound, Rey hissing quietly as it stung. A few minutes later, and her feet were back on the floor with gauze wrapped around her calf.

"I'm sorry I intruded on you, Rey, and that you had no time to cover yourself up--"

"Oh, no, it's okay, I really don't care about people seeing me naked." Rey shrugged and Satine paused to look at her strangely before shaking her head and shielding her eyes from the light.

"I'm going back to bed, alright? Go to the park before it gets dark, the garden is wonderful."

"Mhm, I'm about to go." Rey nodded and Satine nodded before quickly leaving. She looked in the mirror above the counter after a moment, gently running her fingers down where he had bitten her through their bond.

She wanted there to be marks.

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 6 years ago

Text

A Saint with the Lips of a Sinner (Steve Rogers X WOC! Reader)

Summary: Y/N is forced to attend the biggest mob in New York party, dealers from across the country coming in to discuss business, with Steve and Bucky’s whereabouts in the center of all of it. Y/N must entertain the guests and keep everyone happy, but a surprise guest shows up in need of a drink, unbeknownst to the danger that lies ahead for him. And the secret he uncovers.

Author’s Note: So.... I hope you guy’s liked the last part, it was very short and eh but this one I’m proud of and it’s the start of something very AWESOME, mob au’s are so interesting to me and I love Tony Stark but I needed a villain. I’m excited for this and please leave feedback! I love it :) and head’s up, Steve isn’t so gentlemanly in this chapter ;) IT’S SO SHORT I’M SORRY

Warnings: Some fluff, my dudes, a little angst, mild language, and SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION *awkward winks*

Word Count: 2058

FC: Tristin Mays

The bar bustles with life, patrons of the service and people dancing all unaware of the inner workings going on right under their noses, secret dealings and trades with the people that run the town. Tony Stark buttering up some of his colleagues in one corner, and a deal being made in the next. A speakeasy vibe hangs in the air along with the stale cigarettes and booze, paired with the scent of deceit and mischief.

Y/N steps lightly in her stiletto heels, red, satin, slip dress clinging to curves and fitting her frame nicely. So used to wearing baggier or casual clothing that she rarely notices the lingering stares on her body when she passes tables, staying out of the limelight as much as she can. She’s not used to being so dressed up.

Her involvement in Stark’s business starting to cost her more than just her time, now proving fatal for both her and a certain new friend of hers. But she holds her head up, anyway, keeping her shoulders back when she walks, because mobsters, do smell fear. If you’re not completely confident or sure of yourself, you’ll be the first to go, and even if she wasn’t an official member, the same rules apply.

Then, while passing the entrance to speak to Tony, she hears a familiar voice speaking to the security guard, old friends by the tone of conversation. She pays no mind to the idle muttering, casting it off as a figment of her imagination or side effect from lack of sleep, until her eyes move past a head of blonde hair and eyes that resemble emerald, flecks of sapphire and gold in its rims.

Her eyes go wide when she finally realizes and she turns to him, both of them locking eyes and his mouth opening to say something, ask why she’s here. But she’s quick, taking his hand in her own and dragging him into a forgotten hallway no one goes into, holding him against the wall until they’re out of sight.

She places a hand over his mouth and speaks furtively, “Why the hell are you here?”

His eyes crinkle with amusement, slowly pulling her hand out of the way with a hesitant smile in its place, “To get a drink?” he says, as more of a question than an answer. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?” he looks her over once before smiling, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Her skin burns from his flattery but she shakes herself out of it before he can take notice of it, so she drops her hand completely, “Do you have any idea who runs this place?”

“The Columbos, why?” he furrows his brow.

“Do you know what else they run?”

It takes him a minute to realize his grave mistake before he sighs aloud, throwing his head back in frustration, “I’m an idiot,” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You know, for a wanted man you sure have a way of making yourself known in exactly the places you shouldn’t,” she takes a step away from him.

He looks her over quickly, meeting her eyes again, indignantly, frowning slightly, “You work for them... don’t you?”

Her heart leaps into her throat and she evades the question, looking to the floor instead of answering, and he doesn’t meet her eyes either.

“You set me up,” he concludes with a sullen expression and guilt etches itself into her features.

“I didn’t,” she says quietly, stepping closer to him when she hears footsteps nearby, threatening to find their location. “My brother’s Sam Wilson...”

“What does that have to do with anything? You know I trusted you-”

“I’m sorry!” she says, a little too loudly than intended before dulling her voice down to a stealthy whisper. “Will you let me finish, Rogers? I promise it’ll make since when I’m done,” she pleads. “Okay?” her voice breaking towards the end.

He nods after a moment and the lump in her throat finally leaves way for her to breathe again, heart still hammering in her chest, but not just from the secrets.

“I have no choice to be here, Hercules, my brother betrayed Stark and took me as collateral, if I mess up or step out of line, Sam’s dead, along with the rest of my family. The worst part is I’ll be the one forced to do it with a gun to my head, but knowing this business, I’ll get a bullet through the skull too even if I do comply.”

The words are thick in the air like a fog none of them can see through, until he finally breaks it, “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

“You don’t need to be,” they lock eyes and neither one dares to lets go.

“So the other day... talking in the coffee shop, that was all fake?” he stares her down, but rather than intimidation, she’s met with vulnerability and confusion.

She rolls her eyes, both conflict warring and indifference in her expression, attempting to keep a calm exterior, holding her scarlet lips closed until letting the words slip, “No, Rogers... that wasn’t fake. But is that what you’re really wondering in this moment? You need to get your priorities straight if you ever want to get out of here.”

“No need, I’m pretty comfortable here,” he looks you over, now pressed against him with his back to the wall, room filled with heated whispers and hot as hell despite the cool air condition pouring in from the ceiling. His voice is inflicted with challenge and trickery, playing the game you intended to start yourself.

“Not so shy when we’re in the face of danger, huh? How classy of you, Rogers,” she rolls her eyes for what seems like the fifth time tonight, but there’s a coy smile playing at her lips,

She steps away from him, but finds herself unable to move when his arm snakes its way around her waist, quietly spinning them around so her back is against the wall, his hand over her mouth.

He places a single finger to his lips and she nods in compliance, heat pooling in her abdomen at the intensity of his gaze, green meeting brown, footsteps dangerously close by with a knock on a door and Tony’s voice on the other side of the wall.

“Where the hell is that girl?” Stark’s muffled voice sounds through the drywall.

“Maybe you should keep her on a leash, Tony, the girl’s proving to be nothing but trouble for you.”

“You’ve seen the bruises on her, she knows her place. Talk about her again like she’s a pet, and you’ll soon learn yours as well.”

The voices soon die out until silence thickens the atmosphere once again. They’re both frozen in place until he raises a single eyebrow in inquiry and she nods quickly, allowing him to take his hand away from her face, her ample chest heaving with each strenuous breath.

“You have bruises...” he states and she looks him in the eye, shaking her head not to question it further, before he lightly moves her hair out of the way of her neck, her head turning to the side with her eyes clenched shut as he examines the fingerprint marks indented in her skin, purple blossoming on her deep skin. His fingers brush over the mark and she winces slightly, an action he catches with a frown before sweeping her hair back in place, hand still lingering on her skin.

“You know what they do to people who don’t follow orders. I happen to be one of them. It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Hercules, I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just telling you you’re not alone in this anymore.”

She looks at him, grateful, afraid tears might surface at the compassion he’s showing her, sympathy she doesn’t feel she deserves.

“You’re lucky we’re so cramped here, I would hug you right now,” her ruby lips curl upward, softened eyes not straying away from his.

“Raincheck,” he smiles weakly, letting his hand drop back to his side and she smiles.

“Who says that anymore?” she rolls her eyes with a quiet laugh, the conversation back to a lighter tone.

He chuckles gruffly, “Do you think if I kissed you right now that you’d finally be quiet?“

She smiles, pleasantly surprised by his question, “Depends on where you kiss me,” she replies coolly.

Her steely resolve crumbles slowly when he continues to undress her with his eyes, the gentlemanly act he put up when they first met gone along with it.

Steve half smiles, cheeks a shade of rosy pink, eyes glittering, he lifts an expert eyebrow, “Not so ladylike now, huh?”

She smiles, finally, the light switching on in his chest when she brings that familiar sunshine into the room, “You’re certainly not so gentleman now yourself, Rogers. Don’t act so high and mighty.”

“I would never.”

She looks at him for a moment, growing serious, “You and I both know that if I fall for or start liking you, Steve, it will become a weapon, used against the both of us. So I suggest you stop looking at me like that,”

He tilts his head curiously, smiling smugly, “Like what, doll?”

There goes that doll again. “Like you can see under my dress.”

He pinches his brow, adorably so, “Why, are you wearing scandalous lingerie I shouldn’t know about?”

“Usually I would say yes.”

“Why do you say usually?”

“Because now... I’m not wearing any,” she flashes a feigned demure smile, leaning her head back against the solid wall.

He gulps audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously but he soon regains control, despite the fifty shades of scarlet that adorn his handsome face, clearing his throat with a shy smile, “And... w-why is that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Rogers, it wasn’t for you, I was in a rush to leave.”

“You never told me the rules of if the roles were reversed and I ended up falling for you first. What happens then, doll?”

“You prove you truly are the idiot I took you for,” her lips twitch in a smile, looking at the floor at the thought of him liking her. Her stomach’s flipping and she finds herself questioning this intoxicating feeling fluttering in her chest.

“You can’t just do things like this and expect me to get rid of this crush that I have on you, Y/N.”

“Seriously? I’ve not done anything,” she laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being me, Steve.

He laughs, “That’s exactly the problem... well, n-not a problem, more like... a-”

She steps up on the tips of her toes to reach his full height and cup his cheek in her hand, placing a tender kiss on the corner of his pink mouth, catching the tail end of a lovestruck smile from Hercules himself.

“You’re rambling, Rogers,” she mutters with a small smile.

He rubs his thumb over where her lips left and flicks his eyes back up to meet hers, “What was that for?”

“I was indulging myself,” she whispers, flitting her gaze to his. “Because nothing can happen between us, Rogers, not when I’m the one supposed to be turning you in.”

He studies her features for a moment, like it’s the last time he’ll be seeing them, “I know.”

She contemplates something over in her head for a moment before saying, “Meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow night, alright?” she raises her eyebrows and he nods quickly without stopping to think for an answer. “We need to talk.”

She slips out from beneath him and walks to the edge of the hall before hearing his voice after her.

“That’s great and all, but now how am I supposed to get out of here?” he whisper-yells.

“There’s a door right behind you,” she smirks, pointing to the doorknob to his right.

He looks to the door and back to her, then over again before furrowing his brows together, “You knew that was there the whole time and you didn’t say anything?”

“What can I say?” she shrugs with a demure smile. “I was pretty comfortable...” she slips from the hall with one last wave, dreading to see what happens on the other side of that wall.

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divine-ruin · 7 years ago

Note

🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love

Abel and Iria had been sitting out upon the pier beside her house, her brother with them as he was tossing stones into the water. “It’s fucking bullshit, Abel. I don’t understand. We want to move Mom to Ishgard so the doctors there can treat her. This doctor here keeps saying that she’s too unstable to be moved, but I know she’d be better off being there,” her brother grumbled. Iria had been staring out over the water, she almost near to tears as she knew that her mother’s condition was turning for the worst. She just couldn’t find a way to prepare herself to make that one last final goodbye. Ian’s words just pierced her heart as their father had made the recommendation after Honoria’s condition seemed to worsen.

As Abel watched her, his expression turned to one of gentle sympathy as he crossed the pier from his “brother” to settle down next to her. He took her hand in his as he tilted her chin upwards to meet his eyes. “Listen, when we’re married, that’s something you’ll never need to worry over. You will be cared for by the best physicians and you will never want for anything. I’ll talk to my father to see if there’s anything he can do to help intervene. She at least said ‘hello’ to me today! That’s a small victory in and of itself, right? I mean, I’m not here and present as you all are but she somehow remembered me. That made me feel so much hope, Iria. Please don’t give up, we��ll get her well.”

A gloved thumb ran across her cheek as she smiled through her tears, nodding. He continued: “She did tell me something when she asked me to come in to visit. She made me promise to take care of you and to allow you the freedom to chase any intellectual pursuit that crossed your path. Who am I to deny you your dreams? I want to help you build them. I mean, after all, we are sort of breaking through a glass ceiling already, are we not? Hopefully our union will inspire others to not be so fearful of racial differences when it comes to marriage. The old goats in the Holy See will finally see that there is no shame in it. I certainly see no shame in it. I will be thanking Halone every night for giving me such a beautiful wife.”

She remained speechless. Abel was never one to hide his emotions, especially the contempt he felt for the upper echelon and the code of living they seemed to impose on everyone. Even being where he was, he remained steadfast in his convictions. He was still quite young, but working his way up the ranks within the Ishgardian military and was completely without equal. She felt so confident in this and had seen with her own eyes. They had spent the rest of the week of his visit making up for lost time as he made his intentions to her perfectly clear. They had shared their first kiss in that visit, and she couldn’t wait for him to return.

Several weeks earlier, the Nicholaides family was invited to Ishgard to stay with the Theriots and enjoy one of the many Tournaments that had been held for the different milestones that Abel and his fellow knights had surpassed. He had been lined up to participate in just about every event his battalion could’ve entered as he had excelled so far with his tactical abilities and battle prowess. With some coaxing, Iria’s brother was able to participate as well being one of the blademaster’s former students. As Abel had been the last left in the training room to ready himself for the tournament, finishing up suiting up in his armor, Iria had walked into the room with a smile lighting up her features. Newly 19, she was an adult by now and looking forward to that next step with him.

He looked up, only as soon as he had fastened his cloak around himself, almost donning his helm when those pewter eyes fell upon her aquamarine orbs. He smiled softly as he approached. She bore a dress of a deep sapphire that was trimmed in silver and gold satin with emerald gems dotting the neckline, all within the fashion of his House colors. Removing the ribbon that kept her hair bound, it fell in a curtain of flamed mane around her tiny frame. Aqua. Her favorite color.

He knelt down before her, he meeting her height as he took her chin into his fingers as he always did to show affection, his helm tucked underneath the opposite arm. She was practically beaming at him. “I know you’ll do well, that much is plain to see, but…is it not customary for a knight to bear his lady’s colors when entering combat?” Her voice was gentle, and he chose that moment to share another private, lengthy kiss with her. Pulling away gently, his plated fingers tucked a lock of her unbound hair behind her ear. “I would be remiss to pass up such a golden opportunity, my love. Thank you, I’ll wear it proudly and wave to you in the stands as soon as I’m called. How’s Ian faring?” he grinned, already having an idea of what she was about to say. She tied the ribbon to the wrist of his gauntlet.

“Oh, he’s very adamant that you both are going to completely decimate all of the opposition. I’ve no doubt you will, Abel. Your strength and knowledge has increased so much in the past few years, and I’m so very impressed with everything you’ve managed to accomplish. How could I not? You’ve worked so hard and now here you are,” her voice was barely above a whisper. He grinned in a bit of pride. “You know why that is, correct?” She canted her head at him in curiosity. “Because you wish to accomplish your military goals?” she questioned, thinking that should’ve been the most obvious answer.

“No, Iria,” he said, bringing her head close to his so he could place a kiss to her forehead. He looked back into her eyes once more. “When you come to live here in Ishgard with me, I want to make certain I have every necessary tool in my arsenal to protect you, it’s been very important to me for you to see that I’m capable, and having this chance with you present today is just but a taste of that,” he quietly confessed, stealing one last kiss from her before they were interrupted by Ian bursting into the room. “Abel, they’re ready, bro.”

Ian was outfitted in his own armor with a sword and shield, their duo combatant competition marking the beginning of a long competition for them both. He grinned a bit goofily as he looked to his best friend and little sister. “Alright, Princess. The knight has to tend to his duties now,” Ian said teasingly. “Love you baby girl, Dad and Momma are sitting in the stands waiting on you.” Iria nodded as her brother approached and gave her a small hug and a kiss to her head, making sure not to crush her tiny frame in his large armored embrace. “You look so pretty! Go get yourself settled, we’ll wave at you from the stands.”

“Wait, one second, Ian,” Abel interrupted as he grabbed Iria’s wrist gently while she was turning to leave. He turned her back towards him. “At the ball tonight, you’ll save a dance for me, right?” he winked at her as she nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I will, I doubt anyone else would want to whisk me across a dance floor.” He frowned. “None of that, you’re beautiful.” He collected her fingers into his and pressed a kiss upon her bare knuckles. With that his helm was on his head. Ian had started to walk out as Abel had pulled his greatsword from the rack on the wall. “Abel, wait!” He stopped in his tracks, only to turn around and kneel once more for her. She kissed the metal of his helm where his lips would’ve been. “I’ll see you soon, love,” his muffled voice breathed out as she made haste to join her parents.

Declan and Honoria had been sitting and waiting for their son and future son-in-law to take the field, Declan with a large cigar sticking out of his teeth as Honoria sat with both arms around his massive bicep. Lord Aristen and Lady Inissa had been visiting with the elder Nicholaides only to smile over as their future daughter-in-law had joined them. “Iria! You look so beautiful! Did Miranah make that gown for her, Ria?” Lady Inissa had inquired, reaching over to take Iria’s hand in affectionate greeting. “Mhm! She most certainly did. Iria, Lady Ina invited us for tea next week and to stay for a few days. Hopefully you should be excited for that as we get wedding plans squared away,” her mother smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be excited, it’s another chance for you to see Abel.” Iria blused at that, Lord Aristen letting loose a guffaw as Declan chuckled himself. Declan playfully socked Aristen in the arm. “Can you believe it? Our kids, man! I’m a proud papa right now, you should be too. Gotta a whole lotta stuff ta look forward ta,” he grinned as he took another deep inhalation of his cigar.

Honoria gave him that look to tell him to settle down. Declan immediately regained composure. He turned back to Aristen who lofted a brow with a playful grin of his own. “We’ve some business to talk later over a glass of bourbon, Dec. There seems to be a few things we need to iron out in haste before we allow them to say their vows.” Declan nodded, “Anythin’ ya need, buddy.” Abel and Ian took the field as soon their names were called, both taking a quick moment to wave to their families in the stands, Abel blowing a kiss to Iria in the stands and she “catching” it.

The assaults from their opponents seemed relentless, but for everyone that approached, Ian was able to suppress the blows with his shield, making effective timing with his own sword thrusts while Abel held nothing back. His own timing seemed a bit erratic and restless but far too overbearing for their opponents to handle. It was only after several rounds and several hours that they were able to be reunited with their families, Iria beaming as Abel received his commendations and awards. Once everyone was released from the stands, she rushed over to Abel in a full sprint, her skirts flowing behind her with every sprinted step she made forward. He was just as eager as he took her up into his arms and held him close, throwing his helmet off into the grass and spinning her around a few times. He stole a kiss from her. “Oh my stars, that was magnificent! You were absolutely brilliant, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I am so proud of you both!” she declared in all of her excitement. He winked at her. “See? You’ll never have anything to worry about. Now, let’s go get ready for that after party. I’ve a dance saved for the woman I’ll be spending the rest of my days with.”

@captain-rez

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