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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

would u write about the night of remus’s first goal and sirius just WORSHIPPING remus

Did someone say 3200 words of Coops being comfortable around each other even while ~spicy times~ are happening and the start of a 3-part smut series? No? Oops :)

Credit for Coops/ Sweater Weather goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut, a rampant praise kink, and both people laughing during sex

The Lions were everything to Sirius. They were his brothers, his family, his whole life. With Remus on the team, that feeling had only grown, and celebrating a win with them brought a sense of euphoria that was unmatched by pretty much everything.

And yet he wanted to be anywhere but the locker room right then.

Talker and Remus were laughing on the other side of the room while the cubs chanted “Loops, Loops, Loops!” at the top of their lungs; Remus’ two goals had given them the edge they needed to crush the Badgers 6-2 in the first game of the season; Sirius was bursting with pride, but the wait was killing him.

His leg bounced up and down as he zipped and unzipped his duffel for the millionth time. Remus was flushed with victory and alight with latent adrenaline—Sirius felt a little guilty for wanting to pull him away from the celebration that he rightfully deserved. You’re beautiful, he shouted internally. You’re so beautiful and how am I supposed to wait a decent amount of time before dragging you home?

“The fuck are you scowling at?” James laughed as he leaned over his stall and smacked Sirius on the shoulder with his glove. “Hey, earth to Cap. We won the game, man.”

“I know, I know.”

“We won by a lot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your fiancé scored two perfect goals, I don’t see the prob—oh. Ohhhh.” His eyes widened and he bit his lip mischievously. “I get it now. Hey, Loops!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sirius hissed as Remus looked over at them. His smile softened when he saw Sirius. Pretty, was all his brain supplied.

“Sup, Pots?” he asked, wandering over and running a hand through his hair.

“You two should head home early,” James said faux-casually.

Remus frowned. “I thought we were going to get dinner with the team?”

Sirius died a little inside at that, but it was fine. You’re the captain, he reminded himself. You have to be part of team events.

But I don’t want to, the hyped-up, besotted, and incredibly horny part of him whined.

“Nah, I’ve got to plan for…Lils and I’s anniversary. Also, nobody really made final decisions on where we were going anyway.” It was clearly a lie, but Sirius appreciated his effort.

“Okay,” Remus said suspiciously, drawing out the word. “Is this some sort of prank? Are you trying to get me to leave so you can fuck with my stall or something? If I find anymore shaving cream, I swear—”

“Oh, my god,” James groaned, grabbing Remus by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. Thinnest patience in the world, Sirius thought wryly. “Go home. Celebrate. Please get railed by your fiancé before his grumpy vibes seep into the walls.”

Remus’ eyes went wide and he looked down at Sirius, who was desperately trying to suppress a blush. “Wha—you—oh. Okay. Um, yeah, that’s cool.” His eyes narrowed when he turned back at James. “Bold of you to assume he’s doing the railing. Stereotypes, much?”

“That’s your issue?” Sirius asked incredulously.

James rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please go home and get laid or do whatever it is you do to banish the cranky captain aura. Better?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Remus glanced back to Sirius. “Are you ready to head out?”

“He’s been packed for ten full minutes,” James said, turning him around and pushing him toward his stall. “Go.”

“Was that really necessary?” Sirius sighed as Remus packed his bag in a rush.

“I could have yelled it across the room,” James pointed out. “Also, you should be thanking me.”

“Thank you for not being as much of an asshole as you could have been.” Sirius stood up and knocked their foreheads together. “You played really well tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks, Captain,” James teased, giving him a little push. “Not a bad start to the season, eh?”

“Not bad at all.”

“Baby, you ready?” Remus asked, his voice a little tight as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Heat flashed through Sirius’ body and he gripped the edge of the stall; next to him, James started snickering. “Shut it, Pots.”

“Have fun, you two!” James called as they headed for the door.

“I’m telling Lily you forgot your anniversary!” Remus shouted back over his shoulder while Sirius dragged him along by the hand.

By the time they made it to the parking lot, Sirius could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He crowded Remus against the passenger door and pressed a hard kiss to his lips, gripping his waist and grinding slowly until their breaths came in short gasps.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” Remus panted as he pulled on Sirius’ lower lip. “Any particular reason?”

“You. Just—you.” Sirius moved to his neck and Remus keened as he nibbled along his jawline and throat. “You have no idea how good you look on the ice. That first goal was perfect, and then you got another one—”

Remus laughed, combing his fingers through the curls that fell into Sirius’ eyes. “Now you know how I felt for months. We should definitely get in the car or else I’m getting on my knees right fucking now and that’s going to be embarrassing for us both.”

Ten incredibly tense minutes later, Sirius was fumbling with the house key as Remus kissed his neck and slid his chilly hands under the back of his shirt. As soon as the door swung open, he spun around and dragged him inside, kicking the door closed behind them and all but slamming Remus against the wall.

“Have I told you recently how much I—hnnn—love that you’re a switch?” Remus’ breath caught as Sirius pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor next to their shoes.

“Ditto.” Sirius felt him wobble a little and grinned. “Sweetheart?”

“Mhm?”

“We should go upstairs.”

Remus sighed and let his head fall forward onto Sirius’ shoulder. “Since when are you reasonable?”

“Since we need a bed as soon as possible.”

“We do?”

“We really do.” Remus grabbed Sirius’ hand and they practically ran to the stairs, pausing every few moments to kiss or bump against whatever they left laying around earlier that afternoon. Hattie cocked an ear when they passed her, but she settled back down—it was far past her bedtime. They made it halfway up the staircase before Remus pressed Sirius’ back into the wall, kissed the living hell out of him, and pulled his shirt over his head. “Twenty more feet.”

“Right here.”

“Twenty more feet and I’ll get you off twice.”

Remus’ breath audibly rushed out of his lungs and a full-body shiver ran through him; Sirius took advantage of the pause to take his hands and guide him backwards up the remaining stairs and into their bedroom. “Is this how you always felt after games?”

“Winning ones, yeah,” Sirius managed as he pulled Remus’ belt off with a sharp snap. Remus’ pupils dilated at the sound, and he raised his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“Totally okay, but I’m going to be laying awake having a very interesting inner monologue later,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Whew.”

“You’re going to be too tired to do anything once I’m through with you.”

Remus bit down gently on the side of his neck. “Promise?”

“You’re so fucking kinky, holy shit.” Sirius’ stomach filled with butterflies and he picked Remus up—the bed bounced as he dropped him on it, hovering over his heaving chest. “I love watching you skate, you know.”

“Clearly.”

“You were incredible out there.” Their jeans and socks came off quickly until only boxers were in the way. He carefully lowered himself and Remus’ leg jerked up on reflex as he ground down in a hard roll. “So fast, so graceful. They always underestimate you.”

“I am not going to last if you keep that up.”

“Yes, you will. You know why?”

A spark of interest lit in Remus’ eye. “Why?”

Sirius leaned down next to his ear. “Because you’re good.”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus breathed, canting his hips upward until Sirius shifted so the heels of his palms pressed against those sharp bones and held him down. “My heart is beating so hard right now.”

“I know, I can feel it,” Sirius laughed as he moved to kiss Remus’ throat and collarbone, which caught the moonlight through the bedroom window perfectly and cast shadows on the left side of his chest. “Mon coeur. Do you have the lube?”

Both of them winced as Remus’ hand smacked against the nightstand in his rush and Sirius kissed his knuckles, rubbing away the redness with one hand while uncapping the lube with the other. He scooted down the bed until his shoulders fit between Remus’ thighs—his thighs, holy fuck, Sirius had almost forgotten about those—and ran a light finger down the front of his boxers.

Remus twitched as Sirius leaned in to mouth at the hard line of him and ran one of his hands down the soft skin on his inner thigh, but he couldn’t move much and that only turned him on more. He squeezed tightly once with a desperate, half-gasped plea, then relaxed as Sirius kissed the inside of his knee. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

“I am?”

“You are, I promise.” Sirius slid back up until they were face-to-face and began pulling Remus’ boxers down as he kissed each of his cheeks. “Hey. You scored two goals tonight.”

“I did,” Remus said with a foxlike smile.

“I think that calls for a certain degree of celebration.” Sirius pushed his finger in at last and Remus arched his back, practically begging him to push him down again with a silent challenge. “I promised to get you off twice, right?”

“You did.”

“Except you also won the face-off.” Sirius couldn’t keep a smile down as Remus’ eyes widened. “Think you can do three?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, his eyes glazing over as Sirius added another finger. “I’m going to win every single game we play if this is what ha-happens do that again baby please.”

“Really? You’ll win every game?” Sirius crooked his fingers again and drew a low groan from him.

“Yes. Yes, every time.”

“I believe you’ll win, but I think you’d miss topping. I’d miss it.” Remus’ hands returned to his hair and tugged lightly until he kissed him. “You always feel so good, sweetheart, and I know you like being in control sometimes.”

“Are you calling me bossy?”

“Yeah. I love it. I love you.” The words were sweet on Sirius’ lips as the sharp edges of Remus’ smile smoothed out and he practically purred beneath him. The third finger slid in without an issue; as Sirius internally lost his mind, Remus rolled his shoulders back happily. “Ready?”

“So ready, c’mon.”

The first glide was immaculate, and it only built from there. Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius’ chest as he moved—the frantic fuck-me-now adrenaline rush they had arrived with had begun melting away sometime during the last ten minutes, but Sirius still buzzed with energy and he felt the slight tremble of Remus’ anticipation everywhere their skin touched.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, running his hands down Remus’ ribs. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed rosy red, mussed curls tumbling over his forehead and splayed in a halo against the pillows. “Look at me, mon coeur. You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen, like liquid gold.”

“Hopeless romantic.” Remus shuddered a sigh as their gazes locked and a well-placed thrust rippled through him. “Good?”

“Good.” Sirius ducked his head and laughed quickly. “I’m so fucking glad you have a praise kink, by the way.”

“Oh, really?”

“It’s the best. All I have to say is you’re taking me so well—” he lowered his voice to a satiny rumble and the tendons in Remus’ neck seized. “—and you’re a puddle.”

“I am, I am, just—just a little higher, please.”

“Look at you, using your manners,” Sirius teased. He obliged, though, and he felt Remus’ skin heat up beneath his palms as his knee pressed into Sirius’ waist.

“Oh, fuck off.” Remus shook his head with a smile and drew him back in for a long kiss.

Kissing Remus was something special. His lips were soft and demanding at the same time, growing progressively more urgent as Sirius picked up the pace and small sounds punched from his lungs.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Remus managed, tugging on his shoulder. Sirius stopped immediately, but when he went to pull out Remus placed a hand on his hip. “No. Stay.”

A tingling sensation washed over Sirius when he registered Remus’ change in tone. His voice was lower, smoother, brooking no room for argument. “Are you alright?” he ventured.

The corners of Remus’ lips quirked up and in a smooth motion, he flipped them over so he was straddling Sirius’ hips and kneading his chest with the heels of his hands. “There we go,” he said, tilting his head to the side and jutting his chin at the angle Sirius knew as hold on tight.

And then he just kind of…stayed there.

Sirius relaxed into it, settling his hands on Remus’ hips as he ground down a bit. “You can move if you want,” he said after a moment.

Remus’ jaw ticked. “I’m trying.”

Oh, shit, is it me? Sirius took his hands away, but he hadn’t been gripping hard enough for there to be light marks, let alone stop Remus from moving. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, I can’t actually…” Remus’ nose scrunched up and his thighs clenched, then quaked and gave out. “I’m okay, but I think my legs are tired.”

“From the game? Are you kidding?” Sirius leaned back on the pillows and laughed, long and loud. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Shut up!” Remus swatted his chest, though he was laughing as well. “I can do it, just give me a sec.”

Sirius wheezed as the pressure on his chest increased and batted at his wrists. “Nope, nope, you’re going to break me. We can go back to what we were doing before.”

“I can do this.”

“No, you can’t,” Sirius snickered.

Remus readjusted himself and tried again—he rose less than an inch before the trembling in his thigh muscles took hold and sank him back down. It felt fine and Sirius was glad for the closeness, but he knew it would feel better if Remus let him turn them over.

After a moment of hesitation, Remus stared up at the ceiling and burst out laughing again. “You’re right, I’m so sore right now, this is ridiculous.”

“Come here.” He slid off him with a slight wince and Sirius sat up against the headboard, holding his arms out. He closed his eyes with a contented hum as Remus kissed his forehead and snuggled into him. “I’m sorry you’re sore.”

“It was worth it.”

“Do you want to take a break?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddling with you, but I was promised three orgasms tonight and I’m still so horny.”

“Oh, thank god, me too.” Sirius guided him back to the mattress by his shoulders and grabbed the lube from where it had been abandoned at the foot of the bed. He slicked up his dick again and stroked Remus a few times as well before pushing back in with steady pressure. “Still okay?”

“Hell yeah,” Remus sighed, reaching out to trail his thumb under Sirius’ eye. “It’s always good with you.”

Sirius turned to kiss the inside of his wrist. “You’re always good for me.”

“That was smooth.” Slender fingers traveled up and tucked a stray curl back into place. Sirius hadn’t even realized it was in the way until Remus moved it.

“You’re obsessed with my hair, aren’t you,” he said, sliding his hands down to scratch lightly at the sides of his thighs.

Remus shrugged, though his hold tightened minutely. “It’s soft and it’s pretty.”

Sirius dragged his lips down Remus’ forearm, kissed the crook of his elbow, and then continued along his bicep and shoulder. His summer freckles were tragically faded, but the salty tang of sweat and Remus was more than enough incentive for him to leave small love bites in his wake. “You’re soft and pretty.”

“Hmmm, okay.” He didn’t have to look up to know what Remus’ face would look like—eyes closed, sated smile, light lines of tension through his neck and upper chest. “I love the sound of your voice when you’re turned on.”

Sirius paused. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of like thu—huh.” Remus shifted his position at the same time Sirius leaned up to look at him; whatever he did, it must have been good, because his mouth fell open in surprise. “Thunder. Um. Hmm. Can you…?” Rather than telling Sirius what he wanted, he squirmed for a second, tilting his hips up and making small, frustrated noises.

“Hold on—hold on, Re, what are you trying to do?”

“You did something really good right then and I don’t remember what it was but I’m so fucking close.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Sirius blinked away some of his own sex-induced haziness and registered the slight tremor in his hands, as well as the glassy look in his eyes.

“Oh, okay. Hey, lay back and let me take care of it. Tonight is all about you.” He pulled Remus’ hands up to his back and pulled his leg up around his waist, tracing the muscle divots lightly.

What did I do before? Sirius thrusted in with slow, deep rolls while he thought. He had been leaning to the side a bit, and then Remus lifted up slightly…oh. Smug pride filled his veins as he kept one forearm firmly across Remus’ navel and brushed the other hand over the top of his dick.

“Yeah, that,” Remus said weakly as he stretched his arms over his head.

“This is it?” Sirius added a little extra pressure to his arm and his dick throbbed in response. “Good job, using your words.”

“Mmm.”

“How close are you now?” he asked, running his palm around the head until Remus’ legs jolted around him.

“So close,” he whispered. “C’mon, just a little more, pleasepleaseplease.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” Sirius said, sliding his hands beneath Remus’ lower back and propping him up an extra inch for the best angle. “Come for me.”

His harsh grip on the sheets relaxed as he came, eyelashes fluttering and mumbling under his breath. Remus didn’t fall apart or seize up, just melted into Sirius’ arms with a low moan. Sirius didn’t even realize his own orgasm was approaching until he heard his name on Remus’ kiss-swollen lips and the world vanished for a moment.

When he came back into himself, gentle fingers were running through his hair. “Sweetheart,” he said fondly. He pulled out nice and slow, but remained a boneless weight on top of Remus.

“Hey, handsome.” Remus’ voice was scratchy.

“Congratulations on your first goal.”

“I thought that was just for the face-off?”

186 notes · View notes

carelessannie · 3 years ago

Text

here’s the second part of my winteriron mermay au! enjoy!

while we’re devoting full time to floating chapter two: boy you better do it soon

Rating: M (for now) Word Count: 6.8K Relationships: Tony x Bucky Warnings: Smut adjacent (unintentional sex toys), sexual tension, profanity, kinda drug/alcohol use Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

- - -

His eyes blink open slowly. It’s strange to wake up without a blinding headache. Actually, it’s strange to wake up without any pain. And with the sun shining in his face.

To his left, he sees a small form on the water’s surface. In his mind’s eye he knows the form is familiar, knows that there should be someone inside— but it slips quickly, evading his memory as the dark form fades over the horizon.

Tony shakes his head. He smacks his lips.

Where is he?

First of all, he’s definitely not in the ocean. It seems like he’s resting on some type of rock formation, with just his tail hydrated in the water. Interesting. He seems to be inside a cove, the shelter working wonders to hide him from the mid-afternoon sun.

Secondly, he’s alone. He never travels alone, especially not to the shore. It hurts to try and remember, but reality slams into him like an orca whale. Rhodey and Pepper. The exploration to colonize. The fucking Tiger Sharks, dammit! Tony’s tail slaps the surface of the water in frustration, and he lets his body slip into the shallow pool.

He hopes the sharks didn’t get his friends. The memory of the fight is hazy at best, but he knows he shouldn’t be feeling this good afterwards— he’s pretty sure he got hit at least once. There are no scratches or bruises anywhere on his body, and it’s confusing that he doesn’t even have a headache.

That’s a problem for later, though. Now, Tony needs to find his friends— or, what remains of his friends. He swims out of the cove and down, through the reefs. Fish seem to be tentatively peeking out of their hiding spots, and he follows the empty spaces to trace the path a shark might have taken. He whistles, sharp and quick, to try and map out the figures in the surrounding area, and is satisfied when his call is returned with a low chirp. Thank the sea.

“Rhodey!” he hollers, pushing through the crowded reef, searching wildly for his closest friend, his faithful number two. As Tony breaks into the clearing, he freezes at the sight in front of him.

Rhodey and Pepper are swimming territorial circles around all three Tiger Sharks— and, from the looks of it, all three are dead.

“Tony!” Pepper notices him first and beckons him closer. When he swims up, she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing briefly into his shoulder, before reeling back and lightly slapping his arm, “How dare you worry me like that! I was sure all we’d find were scales— how did you get away?”

“I…” Tony tries to remember, he really does, but the only things coming to mind are brilliant blue eyes, an ethereal glow, and a deep, alluring voice, “I think someone saved me. But, by the time I woke up, they were gone.”

“You didn’t recognize them?” Rhodey swims closer, looking him up and down, inspecting for injuries.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think they’re part of the Kingdom,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to subconsciously play with his signet ring. His memory is usually so sharp, it’s strange that—

“Holy shit, Tony— look!” Pepper interrupts, pointing at his chest. He looks down, but all he can see is a slight illumination around his sternum.

“What—”

“Stay still,” Rhodey snaps, gently lifting the ring off of his skin. Pepper reaches in to trace a delicate circle on his chest, and both of his friends look awestruck. And afraid. He tries to crane his neck and see, but all he notices is that the glow fades the longer the ring is kept from touching his body. Rhodey hums, thoughtfully, “Seems like the ring is enchanted. I haven’t encountered a witch in ages— but I guess one came out of hiding to save you.”

“I guess. Pep, do you have a mirror?” The longer Rhodey holds the ring, the tighter Tony’s chest feels. He plucks it out of Rhodey’s hand as Pepper pulls a mirror out of her satchel, turning it around so Tony can take a look.

His signet ring lays in the center of his chest, a steady weight, and radiates a faint glow. It’s more concerning that, surrounding the ring, there’s a few inches of light emanating from under his skin. Tony reaches up to trace it— the gold ring and blue haze, so similar to the eyes he remembers saving him. Still, nothing hurts, and Tony pushes the mirror away.

He ignores their concerned looks and starts to tie up the sharks, concentrating on getting them back to the Kingdom before any larger predators arrive to investigate. After a moment, both of them swim down to help him, shouldering the bodies and heading back towards the Kingdom’s butcher.

It’s a few more minutes before Tony breaks the silence, giving his friends a break, “So, uh… do you think I’ll be a lanternfish forever?” He throws them a smirk and laughs at Pepper’s exasperated sigh.

Rhodey bumps into his shoulder, “You have trouble blending in as it is— at least now we’ll be able to keep track of you… in night clubs.”

Tony gwuafs, offended, and shoves at Rhodey’s shoulder. With everyone happy and laughing, it’s easy to forget about his mysterious savior and the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with his father later on. They head straight for the butcher when they enter the city, several citizens cheering and praising their kill. Tony knows he’ll get the credit for it, even though it was Rhodey and Pepper who slew the sharks, so he takes off as soon as they drop the bodies, heading to the castle to see the King.

---

Hours later, Tony sits at the far perimeter between two sentinels, staring out into the open ocean. The nocturnal fish have emerged, sending an eerie glow onto the city as the lights dim, throwing the Kingdom into gentle darkness. It does nothing to soothe Tony’s anger.

He takes Pepper’s satchel, full of rocks and shells and other samples from their journey, and dumps it over the side of the wall. Useless. It’s almost as if his dad doesn’t even want to explore anymore, just sending Tony out to keep him distracted. And he knows that’s probably the case, he’s not stupid, but he can tell there’s something deeper his dad isn’t telling him.

Well, fuck ‘im. Tony’s more than capable of figuring it out on his own.

For now, he stares out into the distance, throwing a silent Tony pity party.

There’s movement in the distance. At first, Tony thinks it’s debris. It’s not uncommon for items to fall from the surface— but this object suddenly twists, and he sees… shit, he sees arms. Fuck. It’s a person.

“Stay alert,” he instructs the guard on his right, “I’m gonna check it out.”

Tony takes off into the dark, distantly aware that one of the guards is hot on his tail, and heads straight for the figure still drifting towards the ocean floor. He slows down as he approaches, thankful for the light in his chest that illuminates his surroundings. When he gets to the spot, sand is settling in a cloud around where the figure landed. It takes a moment for everything to clear, and Tony waits patiently, the guard at his side prepared with a weapon.

It’s a man. “Holy shit,” Tony breathes out, swimming closer to the limp body stretched across the sand and rock.

“Be careful, your Highness,” his guard warns, and Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

The man landed facing away from him, giving Tony a good view of strong, muscular shoulders and wavy, shoulder-length hair, half tied back behind his ears in a small knot. His back rises and falls, expanding with slow breaths that reassure the man’s gentle sleep. He leans over and pulls on his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Lips slightly parted and turned down in sleep, his face is utterly serene. His lashes are dark and cast a delicate shadow over sharp cheekbones, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of scruff, not quite enough to hide his full jawline and smooth, tanned skin. Tony can’t help himself— he reaches down and cups the man’s jaw, brushing his thumb over full lips and wishing he could look into this man’s eyes.

With a gasp, the man jerks awake, and Tony gets his wish. Deep, electric gray eyes bore into his own, the handsome face overtaken with shock and confusion as he bolts upright, pushing Tony away and looking around frantically.

“Hey, hey— it’s alright. You’re okay, please don’t panic,” Tony tries to calm him down, sighing in relief when the man turns his focus back on Tony, still looking desperate and confused, “My name’s Tony, you’re outside Howard’s Northern Kingdom— can you… can you tell me your name? Where you came from?”

The man shakes his head. He’s shaking slightly, and Tony watches as he runs his hands over his chest, his hips, and his silver and crimson tail— as if grounding himself in the present. Tony understands and gives the guy some space.

He hates the devastated look in the man’s stunning eyes, but is grateful when he croaks out, “The… the Northern Kingdom? Under water?”

Tony snickers, motioning around, “For now, yeah— that’s where sea life generally lives.”

The man nods, a little too quickly, “Right, I… of course, right. My name…” he grimaces, as though it’s painful to remember, “I’m James, but… but people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats, liking the sound of this stranger’s voice, somehow familiar, “I’m Tony, and King Howard is my father. Unfortunately, before I can help you out, I’m gonna need to know why you’re here, or where you’re from,” he gestures to the guard behind him, “otherwise this guy’s not gonna let you come home with me.”

Bucky’s smile is a revelation as it breaks over his face. Tony feels something twist in his chest as he ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and watching the other man’s cheeks flush pink in delight. Oh, Tony likes this a lot.

“Well, I’m… I’m from…” the smile falls from Bucky’s face as he concentrates, a painful grimace maring his features again, “The Kingdom of Brooklyn, and my brother is the King. His name is Steve. And I… I don’t know why I’m here,” his brow furrows and a small whimper leaves his throat as he concentrates harder, and Tony has to stop it.

“Hey, Bucky? Please don’t— don't’ hurt yourself, okay?” He grins in approval as Bucky relaxes, “We can work on it, sweetheart, for now, what you’ve given me should be sufficient. I’ve never heard of Brooklyn, but if you’re a Prince and not one of our enemies, our King shouldn’t have a problem with offering you temporary residence.”

“I… okay,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want to impose.”

Tony holds out a hand and pulls Bucky along with him. They swim back through the gate and into the city— most families are already tucked into their homes for the night, so no one sees them on their way back to the castle. Bucky looks absolutely stunned, barely talking during their journey, and it amuses Tony to no end. Obviously whatever Kingdom he’s from is small and underdeveloped in technology and population.

They travel shoulder to shoulder, and Tony can’t help but feel a familiar warmth when their arms brush against each other, the ring around his neck pulsing brighter. It seems like Bucky notices it too, but the expression on his face is difficult to read.

“So this is a weird question,” Tony starts, fiddling with the ring as he studies Bucky’s face. The other man smiles encouragingly, so Tony continues, “have we… met before? Like, specifically earlier today?”

Bucky stops suddenly, looking at Tony as if he’s actively growing another tail. For a moment his face looks surprised, filled with recognition, but it quickly disappears as Bucky hunches over and lets out a pained gasp, clutching desperately at his head. Tony has no idea what to do— and in panic, he pulls Bucky closer, wrapping the larger man in his arms.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, trying to soothe away the pain. Bucky is trembling like a leaf in his arms, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s also aware that they’re drifting in between several dwellings, and Tony needs to get them inside, soon.

Soft, red-rimmed eyes blink up at him, and Tony brings up his hand to push a few wayward strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. Even upset and in pain, this man is flawless. He sniffles and blinks a few times, struggling to turn a reassuring smile up at Tony.

“T-thank you,” he murmurs, face flushing pink again in embarrassment, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything is… familiar. But I can’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

Tony clicks his tongue, following the blush with his fingers and enjoying the close press of their bodies, “It’s okay, Bucky— we’ll figure it out.”

---

They make it back to the castle in one piece, and Tony knows it’s going to be best to present his guest to the King immediately. He knows his presence isn’t welcome due to the argument earlier in the evening, but the consequences will be worse if Tony tries to hide what he’s found.

The two of them wait outside of the King’s rooms as a steward leaves to announce them to his father. Tony tries to fill Bucky in on procedures, but it seems his guest is already familiar with a number of expectations and etiquette.

“Oh, and remember to tuck your tail as well. And if he tells you to be informal, he really means you can call him ‘Your Grace,’ not to call him Howard. He’ll hate that.” Tony rambles, listing off everything he can think of.

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, “tuck my… tail? Why?”

Tony chuckles, backing up slightly to face Bucky. He looks around to make sure no others are watching— it would be improper for the Prince to bow, even in jest— and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, tucks himself into a formal bow.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, and Tony unfolds himself, his smile erased completely by the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. “That’s… that was…”

And then smoothly, gracefully, Bucky mirrors his bow, curling his tail forward, dipping his head, and crossing one arm over his chest respectfully. Tony is speechless. The show of respect— even casually— from this breathtaking man, has him breathing deep to keep his desire at bay.

It seems as though Bucky’s having a similar problem. As he unfolds from his bow, Tony can see his pupils blown wide, the scales around his groin flushed pink in arousal. Tony can bet his own scales look the same, and tries to laugh, tries to calm them down as he backs away slightly. It won’t help either of them to see the King looking like this.

Of course that’s the moment the King’s steward chooses to return, giving both of them a disapproving once over before opening the door wide, “His Majesty will see you in his library.”

Okay, not the worst then. If Tony was in deep shit, Howard would just see them in the drawing room. At least Tony likes the library.

He leads Bucky down the hall and into the library, hiding a smile at the awe clearly written on Bucky’s face. He takes a second look, trying to view his father’s library with fresh eyes, but has trouble when his gaze keeps landing on the handsome man swimming next to him.

Howard is reclining near a window, absently eating a few fermented algae— his usual method of winding down from a difficult day. As the King looks their way, a piece of algae still in his fingers, Bucky dips into a formal bow. Triton, he looks good like that. Tony dips his head, informally, and both of them straighten up a moment later.

“What is it, Anthony?” his dad sighs, putting the piece of algae on his tongue to dissolve. Tony suddenly feels parched, but holds his arm out to present Bucky regardless.

“An hour ago, as I was watching the border of our Kingdom, a figure fell from the surface. I went to investigate with a guard, and we found James, here, unconscious and unarmed. James claims to be a prince from a Kingdom called Brooklyn, with a King named Steve, and is seeking asylum until he can resume his travels. His mind is damaged, and I wish to extend my care and hospitality towards him for the duration of his stay.”

The King looks at both of them, his face refusing to give anything away, but Tony knows from experience that he’s much more perceptive than Tony gives him credit for. He crosses his arms and addresses Bucky, “Prince James, then,” he says, testing out the title, “if not hostile, what are your intentions towards my Kingdom and my son?”

Bucky ducks his head and nods, “My intentions are to know your Kingdom and know your son, if he so desires, Your Majesty. I am healing and recovering my memories, and once I’ve reclaimed my original destination, I shall depart immediately.”

Howard nods, satisfied with this answer. He points to the small pail on his side table, “Anthony, would you bring your… friend a refreshment?”

Tony spares Bucky a shrug and swims over to the chilled container, lifting it slightly to scoop out a small bundle of algae into a glass, trapping them quickly with a lid. He grabs a few for himself and makes his way over to where Bucky floats, his eyes wide and curious as Tony hands over the refreshment.

Bucky looks down at the cup in his hands, obviously and adorably lost. Tony glances over at Howard— his dad looking between them in amusement— and touches Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze and motioning for him to follow Tony’s example.

Reaching into his glass, Tony fishes out a piece of algae, showing Bucky how it sticks slightly to his finger. Bucky copies him, and grabs a smaller piece in between his forefinger and thumb. Tony wishes he could feed the bit to Bucky himself, place it on his tongue and feel his pretty pink lips suck it from his hand.

Instead, he quickly places it on his own tongue, humming happily as the sweet and sour algae dissolves, sending a warm shiver down into his belly, clearing his head and heating him up from the inside out. Damn, his dad always has the best shit.

He turns his attention back to Bucky, watching intently as he follows suit and places the morsel in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, he looks down at the cup in shock— as if the remaining algae could provide some explanation— and then, to Tony’s dismay, Bucky lets out a guttural groan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as his cheeks hollow out, lips curling tight around his fingers while he sucks them clean.

Tony is having something close to a stroke, and his dad is laughing loudly in front of them, obviously finding Tony’s distress amusing. He’s going to commit regicide, and it’s going to be slow and painful and bloody.

He overcompensates by taking the lid off his glass and throwing the rest of the algae back, breathing deep as the sensation hits him all at once. As he sways a bit in place, he catches Bucky staring at him in amusement.

“Anthony,” his father sighs, shaking his head in annoyance, “do whatever you must. He can stay… in your rooms, primarily. Or in the guest lodging— as long as you have security on him at all times. Get Jarvis to set up residence wherever you’d like, Anthony. Just don’t let me hear it, and don’t let me see it.”

Bucky is frozen with another algae halfway to his mouth, flushed red and eyes wide. Tony is convinced that flustered is his natural state. Before his dad can embarrass them further, Tony takes Bucky’s hand and excuses them, swimming quickly back down the hallway.

He doesn’t stop until they reach his rooms and slam the door. They’re already cackling before they hit the nest, and Tony can’t catch his breath. He rolls over and tucks close into Bucky’s side, enjoying how his chest shakes as they laugh together.

“What the fuck did I just eat, Tony,” Bucky wheezes, and Tony loses it again, ducking his face into Bucky’s neck and sobbing into his skin.

“Fer… fermented algae, baby.”

“I— I can’t believe… it tasted like…” and Bucky’s voice cuts off, his body stilling. Tony looks up to see what happened, and Bucky is staring straight forward, unmoving. Frozen.

“Bucky? What did… what did it taste like?”

“It. I can’t…” And again, Bucky’s face contorts, breath stuttering as his hands come up to cradle his face, sighing in pain. Tony immediately pulls his hands away and replaces them with his own, massaging his temples until he’s met with deep, gray pools of sweet relief.

“Don’t push it, honey,” Tony purrs, resting his body gently on top of Bucky’s, rubbing their noses together and blowing a few bubbles, making Bucky giggle and relax. He lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, before realizing how close they are together— and how little they’ve actually gotten to know each other.

“Dammit,” he curses, pushing off of Bucky’s chest and floating away, “we don’t— shit. I don’t even know you. You have no idea who you even are. I am so sorry, I just fed you an unknown substance, oh seas,”

“Tony, it’s okay—”

“I’ll get you your own room, I promise. You don’t have to put up with—”

“Tony! Hey,” Bucky swims off the nest and presses him up against the ceiling, pinning his shoulders and staring into his eyes, “I remember who I am, I just can’t recall where my home is. I know the name of my brother, and my best friends. I have a…” small grimace, “pet named Alpine. I’m a scientist and a Prince, and I’m almost completely convinced that I’m—”

He pauses, a familiar blush traveling down his chest and filling his cheeks. Tony blinks down at him, “That you’re what?”

“That I’m already, irreversibly infatuated with you.”

Tony feels the ring around his neck pulse, bright and hot on his skin, as if agreeing with the sentiment. He wants to respond, really does, but everything is too new, too important. Bucky is too important.

They’re close, though. Tails brushing together, bubbles of air mixing and joining in front of their faces. Tony can hear his own heartbeat, frantic and longing for the man in front of him. Bucky reaches up, acting as if he wants to touch the ring, but he hesitates. His fingers flex, his eyes blink rapidly, and then he’s reaching into Tony’s hair, pulling on strands tenderly and cradling his face in strong, sure hands.

And Tony just melts in his palms, an absolute jellyfish for this mysterious stranger. The tension between them is heavy, thick and magnetic. He drifts into Bucky’s space and tries to watch for a sign, any sign, but his eyes are closed— when did his eyes close? And then their scales rub together, catching and pulling, tearing a desperate moan from Tony’s lips. There’s a hand in his hair and eyelashes on his cheek, and their lips— their breath—

“I can’t,” Tony whispers, forcing his eyes open to watch Bucky frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m crazy about you, but you deserve…” and he can’t remember, right now, everything that Bucky deserves, but he knows it’s a lot.

“Oh, I… Okay. I get it,” Bucky nods, devastating resignation taking over his handsome features, “I’m not… I can’t…”

“Can we just sleep? Talk and spend the day together in the morning?” Tony suggests, like an adult. Bucky nods, suddenly yawning and glancing up at Tony sheepishly.

“Sounds perfect, Anthony,” he smirks, chuckling again as Tony swats at him playfully.

It only takes a few minutes to set up a guest room for Bucky, fit already with a flawlessly woven nesting kit and other amenities. Tony even makes sure to include a pail of chilled algae, ugly laughing when Bucky discovers it by the dressing mirror.

The next day comes soon enough, and Tony has enough sense to cancel his engagements, asking his steward to clear his schedule and plan a tour of the kingdom for the two of them.

Before Bucky wakes— Tony assumes he’s still asleep in the guest suite— he has the royal gardeners collect fragments of coral and deep sea sponges to present to his new… friend. He asks for crimson and gold, colors not only of Tony’s scales, but also of Bucky’s as well.

When the arrangements arrive, he spends a few minutes weaving them together with a few ties from his nest and small strands of his hair, intimate details that he’s sure Bucky will love.

He waits in his living space for Bucky to join him. The windows are thrown open, letting a gentle morning current sweep through, and Tony sits with the coral and sponges draped over his arms. And he waits.

After a few minutes, he’s done waiting. He calls his steward to check on Bucky, and watches as the boy disappears down the hallway. There’s a knock, the faint sound of the door being opened, and then low, urgent voices. The steward swims back to him, looking guilty.

“He sends his apologies. He says that he’s not used to rising without direct light, and missed the wake up call completely. He should be around in a few moments, sir.”

“Oh, yes— that’s fine,” Tony places the arrangement in front of him and dismisses the steward, choosing to pick on the assorted breakfast foods instead.

It’s only a few moments before Bucky joins him, looking absolutely delicious and well rested. He sits next to Tony— very close, actually— and takes a suspicious look at the meal prepared for them.

“It’s… fish? For breakfast?”

Tony’s surprised again by his confusion, “Yes, honey, we generally eat fish for breakfast. If you’d like, I can have the cook crack you open a few clams instead? Oh, he makes the best sweet clam mix— it’s to die for,”

“No, no that’s fine,” Bucky waves his hands, reaching for an assortment of fresh eel instead, “these should be… these should be good.”

Tony watches in glee as Bucky slurps down the eel, grimacing and gagging slightly when it hits his tongue. He hides a smile when Bucky sits up straighter, obviously testing the flavor on his palette, before turning to Tony and putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, but… why was that so good?”

Tony splutters, “You ass! You had me fooled— thinking you didn’t like fish for breakfast, like a fucking lunatic.”

Bucky chuckles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. For a moment, he looks so lost and confused that all Tony can do is urge him to eat more fish, shoving three or four more plates in his face.

After they finish eating, Tony picks up his arrangement, feeling like a guppy as he hands it to Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky— seas bless him— gives him a lopsided smile, holding the coral and sponges like they’re about to bite him. It’s confusing.

“Thank you, Tony. I’m not… I’m not supposed to eat it, right?”

“What?” Tony chokes, throwing his head back in laughter, “no, honey. It’s a gift. To admire. From my gardens.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw close as he concentrates, something from his memory probably slipping away again, so Tony takes the arrangement from him. He sets it on the table, perfect decoration for the room, and grabs Bucky’s hand, leading him out of their rooms.

“Let’s go,” Tony urges, giving Bucky a reassuring wink as they head into the city.

Their day is incredible. Tony had no doubts before that the two of them would get along, would laugh and talk and joke as naturally as breathing. He’s proud of his Kingdom, too. Welcoming Bucky and treating him like a Prince— draping chains of flowering wildlife around his neck and offering them both assortments of salted meats— shark and squid and flounder— and dozens of fine jewels and beads.

If Tony purchases a number of those jewels for Bucky, it’s no one’s business but his.

He’s enraptured by the way Bucky experiences things. He’s always gasping and blushing as if each moment is special, new and unique, instead of normal and mundane. Tony feels drunk on it. He wants to spoil Bucky rotten, hoard all of his reactions to himself and make sure Bucky is always smiling like this— happy and soft and warm.

So Tony might be a little infatuated as well. He’s not supposed to fall in love this quickly, especially not with a stranger, but he feels inexplicably drawn to Bucky, as if by fate.

The days after pass similarly. Even when Tony has to resume his responsibilities, they still spend most of the day together— Bucky helping him delegate and problem solve issues in the Kingdom.

There are some bad days for Bucky— when he tries to remember too much and ends up with headaches that won’t go away. It’s especially bad when Tony leaves with Pepper and Rhodey to explore near the surface. Bucky refuses to go with them and spends those days in his room, clutching his head and sleeping restlessly. Tony thinks he may have repressed trauma that’s related to the surface, to the day Tony found him, but without access to his memories, it’s hard to know for sure.

Even with a few bad days in the mix, most of the time they spend together is indescribable, and, after only two weeks, Tony already has the crown jeweler fashioning traditional courting gifts for Bucky.

He whistles on the way to pick them up, swimming faster than usual, and even doing a few twirls when the excitement is just too much. As he inspects each piece, he knows the smile on his face is ridiculously wide. They’re perfect. He can’t help but imagine Bucky wearing each item, draped and adorned with metal and jewels and his family crest.

Bucky’s lounging in the garden when Tony finally finds him, admiring the array of coral on the south side of the palace. His hair is tied back— half up half down, framing his face beautifully— and he looks up when Tony swims into view.

“Hey, honey,” Tony greets, silently hating himself for being so soft around this man, “do you have a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Tony ducks his head, the warm twist in his chest pulling him towards Bucky, and he watches the other man swim over from under his eyelashes. Once Bucky is in front of him, Tony hands him the box, looking at his face patiently for a reaction.

He turns it over, and looks at Tony, confused. “What’s this?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony touches the lid, trailing his fingers over the crest engraved there, “it’s um… they’re traditional jewels I had crafted… for you.”

Bucky still looks unsure, “Okay,” he says, toying with the clasp on the box, “is there a special occasion, Tony?”

Tony just shakes his head, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “Just open it— you’ll see.”

He gets a small smile in return, and Bucky lifts the lid, revealing the intricate set of jewels— chains and cuffs and clamps, all symbolizing Tony’s intent to court Bucky.

Unfortunately, Bucky looks absolutely horrified. He extends his arms, pushing the box away, and looks up into Tony’s eyes, “I… what the fuck, Tony?”

“... what?”

Bucky puts the gifts back into Tony’s hands and crosses his arms, “I’m sorry if you misunderstood our relationship, but I’m not… interested in this. I don’t want this. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” Tony is shocked still, gripping the box tightly in his arms, “I just… I thought we were…”

But Bucky is shaking his head, “I like you, Tony. I’m probably even falling in love with you. But I’m just not into that. I have a few friends who are, but we’d have to be… I don’t know, married or something, before I’d want to talk about that.”

Tony looks down into the box, suddenly confused, “Bucky, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Those are… aren’t those—” Bucky flushes, all the way down his chest and bites into his lip, “— like… for sex?”

What?

“No?” he is so confused, and a little offended. Why would anyone use these things for sex? Sure, they can be sexy, but—

“Tony, in what other context would I wear these?” Bucky pulls out a strand of jewels connected together with a chain, two fasteners at the ends to hold them in place.

“You’d wear them when we go out.”

“Tony! These are nipple clamps!” Bucky shakes them a little bit, trying to emphasize his point. Tony, for his part, doesn’t see the issue.

“Yes? But they’re traditional, not sexy.”

And then it looks like something dawns on Bucky— his face lights up and he chuckles, dropping the jewels back in the box and reaching forward to touch Tony’s face, tenderly scratching behind his ears.

“Tony— I need you to tell me, as if I’m a child and have no idea what’s going on, exactly what these gifts mean.”

And then Tony gets it. Wherever Bucky’s from, he’s never seen courting gifts like these. Damn, he’s such an idiot.

“They’re family jewels, forged with precious stone and metal, to create the traditional set of courting gifts presented by a royal family member to their potential spouse. Or consort, I guess. But yeah, it’s… I’m basically asking if I can court you, officially. And if you accept them and wear them in public, it’s a symbol of our relationship and eventual engagement.”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, still playing with Tony’s hair, “yeah, yes— I’ll wear them for you. I’d love nothing more than to be yours, Tony. I just… do I need to give you something in return? For you to wear?”

“Actually, half of those pieces are for me,” Tony replies, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “If you’d like, we can try them on?”

“Sure, darling, let’s go try them.”

---

Tony can definitely see now why Bucky would think these jewels were made for sex. They lay each item out on Tony’s dressing table, organizing them neatly, and Tony has Bucky float in front of him, keeping his arms outstretched in front of the mirror so he can adorn Bucky with each jewel.

“So, first is the necklace— set with gold and twenty-five rubies,” he explains, draping the necklace around Bucky’s neck and clasping it underneath his hairline. He can’t resist, and places a delicate kiss on top of the clasp.

“Next is the belt,” he says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist to set the belt just above his scale-line, “usually these are more feminine in design, but I’ve had a larger crest engraved to rest over… well— let’s just say it implies masculinity.”

Tony busies himself with fastening the belt around Bucky’s waist and ignores the laugh he gets. He straightens up and hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—

“Shit, you look beautiful.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile and turns his head to look into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, drowning daily in pools of ocean blue and gray.

Tony clears his throat and pulls back, “Okay, next we have, uh—” Triton, “the chest piece.”

He doesn’t even bother explaining this one, focusing on attaching it and quickly moving on before he can embarrass himself. Tony brings the chain around, holding it in place in front of Bucky’s chest. Unfortunately, his nipples are soft and there’s no visible place for a hold. Tony huffs and uses his left hand to reach out, lining up steadily, before quickly pinching Bucky’s nipple.

“Shit!” Bucky curses, looking down in surprise, but Tony is fast— attaching the first clip before Bucky can react. He keeps up a string of curses, gingerly touching the left clamp, and Tony uses his distraction to attach the second clip to Bucky’s now straining and hard right nipple. He backs up a bit to give Bucky space, waiting for the other man to calm down until he stops cursing and curiously touches the chest piece.

Bucky looks divine. Each chain floats lightly, reflecting light and casting shadow onto his pink skin, darker than usual due to residual embarrassment. Regardless, seeing Bucky in his jewels and colors is doing something to him.

“Only a few more,” he murmurs, picking up the wrist cuffs and motioning for Bucky to extend his arms. Bucky still looks overwhelmed— a mix of anger and confusion and arousal, probably— but Tony slips the cuffs on, fastening them snugly, and hooks a few rings around Bucky’s fingers, attached with delicate chains.

“Tony—” Bucky breathes, twisting his wrists to admire the jewelry. Tony’s determined to finish this, so he ignores his impulse— to touch and touch and touch and touch.

The last items are a set of jewels for his ears and a head piece. “Can you move your hair, Bucky?”

When Bucky obliges, Tony goes to thread the jewels, only to notice that Bucky’s ears are perfectly smooth. He feels around just to be positive, and Bucky giggles a bit at the sensation.

“So, we have a bit of a problem,” Tony backs up, showing Bucky the ear jewelry.

“Oh.”

“— if you don’t want to wear them, I won’t ask—”

“No, I…” Bucky feels around his own ears, pinching and tugging the lobes, “is there a way to fashion them with clips, like…” he motions to his chest, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yes! Here, it shouldn’t be a difficult change, either,” Tony swims to his main doors, handing the jewels to his steward with a quick word of instruction for the craftsman. He swims back to see Bucky admiring the headpiece.

Tony takes it from his hands, giving him a reassuring smile, and Bucky dips his head forward. With perfect access, Tony lays the headpiece over Bucky’s dark waves, securing it behind his ears with two pins, and adjusting the chains and jewels to lay perfectly across his forehead.

It’s too much. Tony lets out a shuddering breath, finally finished with the gifts, and leans his head against Bucky’s, closing his eyes and holding on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look gorgeous, Bucky. I can’t believe you’re wearing my colors… that you’d agree to this.”

He feels a light touch on the back of his neck, and holds on tighter. Bucky pulls away— causing Tony to open his eyes, following his movement— and he draws Tony closer, dotting a kiss to his temple. They stay like that for a few more moments, enjoy the closeness and warmth, before Bucky chuckles and drifts away fully, turning back to the box.

“Alright— now how do I put these on you?”

Bucky holds up two cuffs, identical to the ones he put on earlier, and tilts his head. Tony grins and extends his arms, guiding Bucky gently in how to slip on the cuffs, tighten them, and attach the rings. When they’re fastened, Tony is captivated by the sight of both pairs of jewels shimmering in the light, practically shouting their attachment to each other.

The final pieces for Tony to wear are a necklace— similar to Bucky’s, but with a space for the signet ring around his neck— and a matching sash and belt. Bucky helps him put them on, and soon they’re floating and facing the mirror, mouths agape.

“Absolutely perfect,” Bucky murmurs, eyes never leaving Tony’s in their reflection.

Tony inhales slightly, “I know, the jewels are stunning.”

“No, darling,” Bucky turns him and looks down into his eyes, “it’s us. We’re a perfect match.”

He can’t help but smile, his stomach twisting with affection as he loops his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling them close enough that their bodies are touching, tail to shoulder. Bucky gasps, the motion pulling on the chain across his chest, and suddenly all Tony can think about is getting his mouth on this man, wringing every drop of pleasure from him, watching him come apart with Tony’s name on his lips like a prayer—

“Your Highness, my apologies, but the King would see you in his drawing room.”

Tony laughs— unbelievable, “Tell the King I’ll see him within the hour,” he answers, never taking his gaze off Bucky, his dark, deep eyes, shining like the sea—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the King insists on your immediate attention.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, letting Bucky go and turning to follow the steward from the room. He looks back, giving one last promise, “I’ll be back in a moment, I swear,” before disappearing out the door, heading down the hall to meet his father.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #bucky barnes #tony stark #mermay #starkbucks #tony/bucky #mermay 2021 #fluffy awkward cute boys #mermay au #mer!tony #mer!bucky #wip update #i haven’t edited this so i’m sorry if there are errors #i’ll do that later

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maraudersandlily20 · 4 years ago

Text

Hope

Okay, here’s the thing. About 2 years ago, when I was in the THICK of the HPRP community (which is dead now, honestly. RIP.), I found myself drawn to weird characters, SUCH AS: Charlie Weasley, Regulus Black (this one is still very much happening), and Hope and Lyall Lupin. I was doing a bunch of research and investigating on Remus’ parents, and the way those two met and fell in love was ADORABLE. So I started to write that story, and I asked Carolina (aka @the-moon-and-stars-my-love ) to read and edit it for me. I should have known that she would go above and beyond, as is per Carolina. But I was rereading HOPE, the story, a few days ago and decided that the only way I could post it was if I actually PUT Carolina’s commentary into the story. Because it makes me laugh and people need to see it.

I’ve only written 2 parts of this story, because I hit a block after I finished the second part. So I’ll post what I have.

Here’s Hope, part 1. Carolina’s commentary will be labelled, bolded, and italicized for less confusion.

Part 1

If there was one thing that was certain, it was that Hope Howell wasn’t foolish. She wasn’t foolish. She knew better than to be out this late, especially in these woods. There were reports of robberies, rapes, and even murders that happened when people were out too long. But this time, it wasn’t people, it was her.

“You’re really done it now, Hope. Really. You just HAD to go to Carreg today to write. You couldn’t have just stayed home and had tea with mum?” Hope was babbling, of course, which she was hoping would soothe her nerves and help her dismiss the small sounds from the dark crevices of the forest. There were plenty of animals and bugs in this forest, they were probably just making a debut. And if it wasn’t animals, that didn’t necessarily mean it was anything bad.

“It doesn’t matter,” she reasoned. “There’s nothing bad in this forest. People just say there is to keep naughty children away or have them return at a reasonable hour. And I’ve never been reasonable, I’m a rebel. I go home when I want to, dark or not.” She was hoping, somewhere in the back of her mind, that if she could convince herself, even momentarily, and boost her confidence, she wouldn’t feel so completely stripped of all protection.

She should have accepted Miles’ offer to go with her to Carreg, but she had been adamant that she would be perfectly fine. Besides, he would have read too much into it, and she wasn’t going to string him along. She shook off those thoughts and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

“I AM perfectly fine.” she reasoned. “They’re just old wives tales and superstitions. And I, Hope Howell, am not a superstitious person,” she said as if trying to reason with some stubborn part of herself.

A branch broke, making Hope freeze in her tracks. She felt her pulse quicken, but refused to look in the direction of the noise.

Carolina: girl these are your flight or fight instincts kicking in liSTEN TO THEM

She was just jumpy from remembering the stories and legends that were very much NOT true, she told herself. The noise was nothing. Just an animal. Or, maybe a bug. “I’m not superstitious. I’m not. Truly.”

Carolina: sure jan

However, to give herself some form of comfort, she picked up a large branch on the side of the road and wielded it as though it were a weapon. It didn’t mean she was afraid, it just meant she was smart, she thought.

Carolina: hahahahaha I'm just so amused because she is a stubborn woman who refuses to be afraid i love her

Her feet seemed glued to the ground and no matter how many positive thoughts she whispered into the air, she couldn’t will herself to move forward.

Carolina: ooo i see what you did there! with the boggart. uh huh uh huh yes good nice i like it she's already feeling the effects because she's probably looking at it but not realizing she's looking at it so she's already scared. nice little detail!

Suddenly, there was a low groaning noise and Hope’s eyes widened in fear. Slowly, reluctantly, knowing she should have already been running at this point, she turned to look into the darkness.

There was nothing visible to her beyond the shadows of the trees, of course, but the possibilities of what could be lurking just out of view flooded her mind . “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid,” she whispered, over and over, but her mind didn’t seem to believe her.

Frozen in place, Hope swallowed. “H-hello? Is there anyone…. Is there anyone out there?”

Nothing.

Silence.

“I mean it. If you’re out there, this isn’t funny. If you’re looking to kill me or… or rob me or anything, let’s just move on with it.” she was impressed with how clear her voice sounded despite her high adrenaline. “I don’t even have any money on me, so I’m not sure why you would even want to rob me. But, you’re more than welcome to try.” She sounded ridiculous, she knew, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do.

Again, nothing,

Just the silence.

Hope shook her head, loosening her hold on her makeshift weapon with the softest sigh of relief. “Silly girl. Of course there’s nothing out there. You’re not superstitious. People don’t just go around hiding in forests like it’s some fairytale. This is 1958 for Christ’s sake. Who in their right mind would-” She stopped dead as another noise manifested itself from the space right before her.

“Hello?” She said again, trying to keep her anxiety at bay, but failing miserably. “Hello?” It was practically a squeak.

And then, there, from the darkness, emerged a huge cloaked figure, with broad shoulders and gleaming eyes. It loomed over Hope and she felt all the blood rush from her face. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed.

She screamed and screamed and the figure moved closer to her. Finally, her heart couldn’t take it. Hope collapsed onto the ground, her vision fading in and out. Hope was swimming in and out of consciousness. Almost as if it were a dream, she watched a man break through the trees, holding what appeared to be a small stick. He brandished it toward the cloaked figure and shouted a strange word into the air. A bright light filled her vision, and then the figure disappeared into the trees without a backward glance.

As Hope tried to push her eyes fully open, the face of the man appeared above her.

“Are you alright?” were the last words she heard before everything went black.

The air was cold against her skin, and it roused her from her sleep. It must have been a few minutes before she regained consciousness, as the man who had miraculously saved her was now sitting nearby with his back to her, his gaze trained on the forest, as if watching for more perpetrators.

Hope shook her head, trying to dispel the dizziness that fogged her brain. She pushed herself up into a seated position with a groan. A pair of hands reached out to steady her and there were definitely words being spoken to her, though it took a moment for her mind to unscramble them.

“Easy there,” the man said, trying to sound reassuring by keeping his voice low. His hands were calloused and rough, she noted, which was strange compared to the gentleness he was using with her. Her eyes trailed up his arms, taking in the overcoat he wore and the sweater beneath that looked hand-knitted. Her gaze slowly continued upward, and she couldn’t help but feel both fascinated and silly at her interest of his neck and his jawline. She prayed he hadn’t noticed her perusal of him when she finally met his gaze. Hope looked into warm brown eyes of this stranger and was struck dumb. This man had saved her? He was…. Beautiful.

Carolina: listen this is the cutest thing and i am so here for the moment of "shit they're beautiful" and i'm so glad you included it because yes she was aw awestruck of him as he was of her

Also Carolina: can i get uuhhhh mUTUAL PINING???

While they sat looking at each other, it wasn’t lost on her that there was a chance this was another ploy to rob her. But, at the same time, she was so relieved that the much larger and, frankly, more terrifying man hadn’t hurt her. The man in front of her was so handsome and gentle that she really couldn’t find it in her to care if he was going to rob her.

Carolina: hOPE MY GOODNESS IF I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS MA BOY LYALL I'D BE CONCERNED BUt also it's Lyall and he's been so good this whole time and it he wanted to do something he wouldn't have been there when you woke up bUT STILL (not a bad thing just a realization lol)

“I’m alright,” She whispered, holding a hand to her head.

“Are you sure? You took quite the fall, you know. And over a simple boggart too.” He chuckled, not registering the look of confusion on her face and then seeming to remember something. “Oh, here,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket and fumbling for a moment before pulling out a small wrapped candy. He noticed her wary gaze and shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s just chocolate. Eat. You’ll feel better.”

Carolina: cries bc throwback/foreshadowing to remus saying this to harry about boggarts too

He handed it to her and she took it, though she wasn’t sure why.

Carolina: dID YOUR MOTHER NOT TELL YOU NOT TO ACCEPT SWEETS FROM A STRANGER??? Hope i love you but dear goodness woman

When he looked away from her, apparently sorting through the contents of his pocket, she stuffed the chocolate into the pocket of her coat. It wasn’t that she wanted to be rude, but she was wary of accepting any sort of food from a nameless, though very handsome, stranger.

Carolina: !!! yes good on you Hope you gots to be careful! stranger danger

As her pulse settled into a normal rhythm, and as she realized there was no imminent danger, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. They seemed to be in the same piece of wood she had fainted in, but somehow, it looked brighter. Maybe it was just the beautiful man sitting beside her that made her think that. She couldn’t be sure.

Carolina: gOD Hope could you BE any more enamored by this man??? how dare you make this so cute, Jo???

And then she remembered what had made her faint. “You-” She turned back to him suddenly. “You rescued me!”

The man laughed with a sheepish smile. “Really, it was nothing. You must have just lost your wits. You would have been fine without me.”

“Are you out of your mind? That man was HUGE! There’s no way I ever could have gotten rid of him without you.”

The stranger stopped. “Man…?”

“Yes, the big cloaked man that you chased off with your little… little stick?” her nose wrinkled as she remembered. “You were holding a stick, weren’t you? How did you even do that? And what did you say earlier? That he was a … a Boggart?”

They looked at each other and Hope felt as if she was being sized up. Some sort of clarity seemed to hit him. “Oh, uh, it wasn’t a stick, it was a knife. I always keep one in my pocket . An old habit I developed from the war.” He pulled out a small knife, holding it out towards her by the wood handle. She nodded. “As for the… the boggart part. In my hometown, Boggart was a name we called scary looking men who were weak.”

Carolina: hA. Nice save Lyall v slick i like it. also, really clever on you for coming up with that being the explanation Lyall would have given her!

Hope nodded, as if she understood, but thought it was a right silly thing to call anyone.

There was a pause. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

A little laugh left her throat. “Yes, I’m sure. I kept telling myself over and over that I wasn’t afraid and that there was nothing out there to worry about. But at the first sign of danger, I went and fainted.”

“I hardly think your reaction was unreasonable,” Lyall reassured her. “I had the benefit of being rescuer, and not the damsel in distress. It’s always easier to save someone else than to fight things off yourself. I very well might have reacted the same way.”

Carolina: Lyaaalllll what a sweet lad validating her feelings and admitting to probably reacting a similar way if he had been in her shoes. what a man :')

Hope smiled, finding it funny that he was trying, in a way, to save her pride. She had already fainted in front of him, she assumed that all presumptions of pride were long behind them. “Well, it wasn’t an ideal reaction either. You are right thought. Being a damsel in distress is hard work. Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along. ” This made the man snort with laughter, which then made Hope giggle, which was something she never did.

Carolina: pRECIOUS the absolute NERDS

Gratitude shone in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Thank you, by the way. For saving me.”

If Hope had been paying more attention to the handsome man’s face as she smiled at him, she would have noticed the flush that covered his cheeks and the nervous way he bit his lip.

Carolina: cuuuuuute. he's already so into her and it's adorable and sweet and pure

However, Hope wasn’t always the best at picking up romantic signals from men.

Carolina: lmao Hope is me can't pick up signals aT ALL xD seriously love when they're both pretty much oblivious at the signs

He studied her for a moment before clearing his throat. “It was my pleasure, truly.”

They continued smiling at each other, there in the fading light of the evening, neither sure what to say or what to do, but feeling very warm. It was almost like if they moved, they would break the sort of spell that they were wrapped up in, and so both were reluctant to move even an inch.

“I’m Lyall.” he finally said, his voice soft. “Lyall Lupin.”

It was a name that suited him, she thought. “I’m Hope Howell.”

Carolina: dO YOU HEAR MY CRYING??? MY PRECIOUS BABIES

The man, Lyall, her mind supplied with a giddy jump of her heart, got to his feet and extended a hand down to her, which she accepted. Once they were both up and dusted off, Lyall rubbed at his neck.

Carolina: *nervous boi is nervous around cute gal he just met

[h e a r t e y e s]

Hope’s eyes snapped to trace the movement, but she immediately tried to act like she wasn’t blatantly staring. He grinned. Not wanting to embarrass her, he played it off that he hadn’t noticed. He had definitely noticed.

Carolina: seeeee?? she thinks you're handsome and wonderful tooooo you've got a shot boy-o!

“Well, I think, Hope Howell, that it may be time to get you home. Would you mind if I escorted you there?”

Carolina: *insert more happy crying here* WHAT A GENTLEMAN! PUT ON A RING ON IT, HOPE

Her cheeks flushed red as her name rolled off his tongue and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d appreciate it.”

So the two walked together, side by side, along the forest path. Hope couldn’t help but notice that the trees no longer appeared menacing and somehow everything seemed lighter. Even though the stars twinkled down at the both of them and the air was growing chilly, the two new acquaintances didn’t seem to mind. They seemed to be desperate to speak to each other and so they talked. And talked. And talked. Back and forth they asked questions and told stories about things they normally wouldn’t have said to someone they had just met. But they just had a feeling.

Carolina: THE FEELING IS LOVE IT'S OKAY YOU CAN SAY IT

Hope couldn’t remember a time when she had laughed so much. She had been pursued by multiple young men in university, and even Miles was now pushing for them to “see where things went”, as he so eloquently put it. However, none of them, not a single one, had the ability to make her feel as warm as Lyall Lupin did. For some reason, she felt as though he were looking at her and seeing more than anyone else ever had.

Carolina: do you know that this sentence made my heart melt just a bit more???

Hope led them along the path back to her village, where her farmhouse sat on the outskirts, away from the main square. She almost wished it had taken them longer to arrive, but she tried not to seem too disappointed.

“Well, here we are,” she said, standing at the end of the walkway that led to her door. She didn’t want to bring him too close to the windows, in case her nosy mother were peering out. She had made it very clear that mothers had a seventh sense when their daughters brought home boys. Hope had laughed at the time, but currently, she wasn’t anxious to test that seventh sense out.

Carolina: jokes on u Hope - mOMS ALWAYS KNOW IT'S THEIR SUPER POWER! but also if hope not wanting to bring him closer a'int a mood lol

“Oh.” He seemed as reluctant to part as she was. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Hope.”

Carolina: oKAY NOW ASK HER OUT LYALL DO IT

Also Carolina: go on and kiss the girl (on her hand bc that's cute as heck and she is a lady, lyall lupin

“You as well.”

“Don’t go wandering around in the woods in the dark anymore, alright?” he quipped, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Wouldn’t want to attract any more Boggarts, now would I?” she replied, teasingly.

Lyall started a bit at the word and then let out a laugh a second later. “Exactly.”

Carolina: lmao he must have been TERRIFIED for a moment. "oh no i just broke the statute of secrecy" must have been his internal monologue for a moment there

They stood, staring at each other for a moment, that same warmth covering them, and both wished that this didn’t have to be goodbye.

“I should… probably get going.”

Carolina: oh my gosh...that reluctance...my inner hopeless romantic is scREAMING

Hope nodded, sure that her disappointment was clear, though she was attempting to play it off as tiredness. She did not succeed. Lyall turned to leave before stopping. In a second, he was facing her again.

“Would you mind if I came to see you again? Just to check up on you? Would that be alright?” he asked, nearly stumbling over his words and his barely concealed excuse.

A grin covered Hope’s face and she didn’t even care to try and hide it. “I’d really love that.”

He laughed, his grin matching hers. “Good. Then, I’ll see you soon, Hope Howell.”

“I’ll see you soon, Lyall Lupin.”

Carolina: full names?? fULL NAMES?? BECAUSE THEY JUST WANT TO KEEP SAYING EACH OTHER'S NAMES??? HI YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

She bit her lip, trying not to burst into excited giggles, because, really, that was so uncharacteristic of her. After a beat she turned and walked swiftly to the front door. When she reached the handle, she couldn’t help herself and turned to wave at him. He was still standing exactly where she had left him, watching her as she went. He wiggled his fingers in return and she sighed, content.

She pushed into the front room, feeling the warmth from the fireplace cover her in an instant. Everything was where it had been that morning. Her house was still her house, the couches and tables and blankets were all exactly where they had been before she left for Carreg. But she was different.

Lyall Lupin made her feel different.

Carolina: can you hear my squeals of delight over how gosh darn lovely their feelings for each other are???

“Is that you, calon bach?” came her mother’s voice drifting out from the kitchen.

“It’s me mam.”

“How was Carreg? Did you have a nice time?”

Hope bit her lip, shaking her head in disbelief as she remembered the warmth and compassion she had seen in the eyes of Lyall Lupin.

Lyall Lupin.

Lyall Lupin who wanted to see her again, just as much as she wanted to see him.

Carolina: i love that her thoughts keep going back to Lyall it's cute

Her hand drifted into her pocket and pulled out the small wrapped chocolate, the wrapper shining in the light of the living room. She turned it over and over in her hands, grateful for the anchor to reality, the promise the chocolate seemed to portray. It was a promise that Lyall Lupin was real. And he was going to come back to her.

Carolina: imma just go and say it. chocolate is incredibly important to the lupins as a family even before remus became a werewolf and i think that's wonderful because it just carries on into each aspect of their lives. i really like that you brought it back to the chocolate

“Yeah, mam. I had a real nice time,” came her belated reply and she stuffed the chocolate away again, heading toward the kitchen.

Lyall watched as the beautiful woman disappeared from his view and the door closed behind her. He couldn’t help the grin that covered his face. He must have looked nearly manic, going on so.

“The lads will never forgive me if I carry on like this,” he whispered with a laugh. And then, suddenly, the place where Lyall Lupin was standing was empty, the young man appearing to have evaporated into thin air.

Okay, well. That’s part one. Lemme know if part two is of any interest to you. I mean, I’ll probably post it anyway, but whatever. I hope you enjoyed Carolina as much as I always do!

#remus lupin #hope lupin #lyall lupin #the lupins #my writing

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taramikealson · 4 years ago

Text

Just a random Drabble from WattPad. Klaroline edition (When is it not?).

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, shadows of the New Orleans skyscrapers tall buildings blocking the warm rays. Although, on the other side of the Big Easy in a particular house in the Quarter, sunlight cascades into the silent room, a lone antenna wire from a neighboring building leaving a shadow into the room that stretched across the old, yet well kept wooden floor. The shadow made its way up the far corner of the bed, over dark expensive covers and bulges where feet were.

The warm rays of orange heat made one of the bodies in the king sized bed stir. A long inhale and her lungs took in the sweet New Orleans air as her lips twisted into a smile. Shifting, the body under her murmured sleepily before settling back into the silence of sleep.

She moved her head to rest her chin against his solid chest, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright rays of sunlight the streamed in through the French doors of his room. Unable to help herself, her eyes wander the handsome face before her.

The sunlight had managed to barely reach his face, cutting his face diagonally up, one side in the shade of the dark room and the other lit up from the natural rays of the sun. His lips were relaxed in an almost ghost of a smile, forehead wrinkle-less, and eyelids closed, a once in a while motion under his eyelids would indicate of some sort of dream he was currently having. A sharp jawline was only intensified by the exceptional lighting, as well as all of his other overly handsome features; high cheekbones, strong chin, perfect neck, muscled shoulders, creamy skin, and all.

Normally, he'd be the one to wake up first. In some cases, he'd even be already out of bed. Most times it would be for business matters. 'The expectations of ruling over a city,' he would call his responsibilities. But in those other than often instances, he'd sit himself in the chair on the other side of the room and sketch. During those special mornings, she'd wake up to see him clad in the black boxer briefs that he seemed to favor as he peeked up at her every once in a while, most likely sketching her. She'd call him a 'stalker', he'd reply with an explanation along the lines of how it was the perfect lighting. Now, she understood the meaning to his words because, right now, he looked like he was glowing in the bright sunlight. He looked absolutely gorgeous, even though he already did, but she'd never admit that to him. He already had a big enough ego, no need to add onto it.

"What is it?"

His voice slightly startled her but she ended up smiling. She shouldn't have been surprised, he always knew when she was looking at him. Hell, he absolutely knew her. Knew when she was upset, disappointed, mad, sad, happy. She enjoyed his special ability to read her emotions even if it was a pain in the ass when she was mad at him and was choosing to try, and unfortunately fail, at punishing him.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

It was a lie. She could tell that she wasn't telling the truth by the small hesitation before she spoke. And if she could tell he could definitely tell.

His lips quirked up into a smirk, eyes still closed. She knew that smirk. In fact, he had all different kinds of smirks and she knew most of them. Like his 'I'm-Going-To-Kill-Someone' smirk, 'I'm-Going-To-Seduce-You-And-Then-Rock-Your-World smirk, 'I'm-Going-To-Do-Something-You-Don't-Like smirk, 'You're-Going-To-Die-Slowly-And-Painfully' smirk and his 'l-Know-Exactly-What-You're-Thinking' smirk. Right now, he was wear his 'I-Know-Exactly-What-You're-Thinking' smirk. God, did he look hot with that sly smirk.

"Liar." His accent drawls the word perfectly.

Caroline smiles. "Maybe I'm a little surprised that you're still here." She says. It's true. She was surprised to see him still in bed with her considering him and Marcel were still in the middle of a tug-of-war battle with the human faction and their leaders. In fact, he had been out every morning this whole week and had came back late some nights. Even Elijah saw how long Klaus was out and offered his services even though the two brothers were at odds for the moment.

As much as Caroline enjoyed having him here, in their room, in bed, she was suspicious.

Klaus opens his eyes and turns his head towards her, eyebrow raised. "I do live here, do I not?"

Caroline gives him a knowing look. Apparently, he was playing his favorite game of 'Let's-Be-Deflective'. God knows he's the best deflector in the world but, fortunately, she knows how to get through his mind games.

"You know what I meant."

He smiles and sets his head back on the pillow, hand creeping down her side.

"Can't I enjoy a morning with my beautiful blonde vampire?" His eyes hold a knowing gleam in them as his hand pauses on her upper thigh, thumb caressing her in light circles.

He was up to something, she knew it. She didn't know what it was, but she had to guess it would be at least a little dodgy considering it is him after all. "I'd believe that, except for the part where you're in the middle of a Whole-Owns-New-Orleans' fight with the mayor and the humans, in which is why I've been waking up alone every morning this week."

She satisfied when he sighs and swipes his tongue over his lips. Yup, she cornered him. It took the whole ten years that they've been together to learn how to, but the results make up for it. Of course, she needs to fine tune a few things to get the exact answer she wants out of him.

Giving in, he mutters an, "as you wish."

He begins to turn himself towards the side of the bed but looks back skeptically at her as if he was making sure she wasn't going to move from her place. Then, he reaches over to his wooden nightstand, one in which he always held his sketchbook and a few extra pencils for when he decided to wake early and sketch her, and pulled the drawer open.

Caroline watched as he grabbed something small from it then closed the drawer and settled back into his spot next to her. He pulled himself up a little and she did the same, making sure to hold the covers close to her body -not because she was embarrassed to be naked in front of Klaus (hell, she had come accustomed to his 'I-Like-You-Better-With-Nothing-On' attitude) but because of the slight cool morning breeze that came from the open French door in their room graced by what the Louisiana winter gave.

She thought it vaguely unusual when she saw the black velvet material of the small jewelry box in his hands. It was hardly rare of him to purchase her gifts every now and then or after a fight when he felt bad when his pride wouldn't allow him to properly apologize. Although, the difference between those instances and now is that he'd always leave them somewhere. Her vanity, her pillow, her nightstand. He never made a show to give her a present, so what was so different about this one that garnered the special occasion?

He cupped the top of the box and opened it so she could see what was inside.

Her eyes went wide and a hand went over her mouth in shock.

Sat in the pocket of the jewelry box was a ring. Not any kind of ring, but a vivid pink diamond ring with a an engraved silver band. It was the most beautiful rings she had ever seen in her life.

"Oh my, God."

Her eyes parted with the ring and connected to Klaus' blue orbs. His eyes danced around her face, picking up on how she was reacting, but they stayed on her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and had a tinge of nervousness to it. She had never known him to be nervous.

"I'd planned to do this over a romantic dinner in an even more romantic city with a little more flair, but I felt lamentable and couldn't continue omitting to you." Klaus admits with a slight wavering look in his eye like he was contemplating on doing something.

His Adams-apple bobbed in his throat after a hard, nervous swallow. He pulled himself up a little farther making the expensive sheet slide down his torso and crumpled up at his waist leaving his toned chest on display unintentionally.

"Caroline Elizabeth Forbes," he begins to say. Caroline is just in pure shock with her eyes wide as his lips continued to move. "Marry me."

Her heart skipped a few beats or maybe a dozen. It was a statement. Of course, it was a statement. Klaus always had a finite way of saying things and 'asking' for things. In fact, he hardly ever asked for anything, because that was how he was. He didn't ask for permission, he took it and did with it what he wanted. Although, this time was difficult. Caroline knew it and Klaus knew it. This was a symptom, if you will, of who he was and how he spoke. He wasn't traditional. He was anything but. That's why Caroline loved him.

He sat there for a moment, barely breathing in anticipation as she looked wider eyed at him. Then, she snapped out of her shock and let out a joyful noise that was close to a laugh. "Yes! Oh my, God! Yes!"

Klaus hardly had time to move the small box from his hand and to his lap before Caroline was in him. Lips smashed against his and he gladly and happily reciprocated. He let out a delighted hum as his hand dove into her messy, sex-rumpled, blonde locks.

A wetness on his cheek had him pulling away to see happy tears leaving an even happier Caroline's eyes. Her smile was bright as overjoyed, short, laughs escaped her lips. Klaus' eyes softened and his lips turned into a wide smile as his heart leaped in his chest.

"I love you."

"And I, you."

A joyful half-sob half-laugh tumbles from her lips.

Klaus breaks the strong connection that is their gaze and looks down to the small velvet box in his lap. He picks it up and displays it to her again. "Shall I?" He asks with a smirk and she excitedly nods with a few tears flowing down her cheeks.

The Original plucks the ring from its pocket and discards the empty box to his nightstand a little carelessly. He then pulls Caroline's left hand up and slide the silver band over her ring finger. Klaus allows her to pull her hand away to inspect the beautiful piece of jewelry. Her eyes take in the deliberate and precise cuts of the pink jewel until they land on the small, delicate engraving that was so subtle it would hardly be noticed.

"Your Last." She whispers, finger tracing over the italicized letters. Caroline almost chokes up at the sentiment, remembering the exact words -no, promise, that he had murmured at her graduation.

Klaus' hand settles on her thigh under the covers, fingers tracing delicate, imaginary lines that only seemed to soothe her. "The diamond, Liz Mundi, was about to be swiped off the auction floor in November before I pull a few uncongenial strings." He then nods to the ring and takes her hand in his to feather his thumb over the silver of the ring. "The band, however, I had made. I won't fault you for not recognizing it being that the last time you held the ring it had nearly been half decade ago."

Her eyes widen. It was January and he has had this ring since November. He'd had it for nearly two months. Normally, it wouldn't be that long for a normal man who was going to propose to his girlfriend. Granted, they were no conventional couple. In fact, he refused to be called her 'boyfriend' and call her his 'girlfriend'. Instead, he would refer to her as 'his' and she'd finally caved and called him 'hers'. As well as that, she knew he hated lying to her, he had only done it a couple of times, and he could be extremely inpatient and impulsive. It wasn't quite like him to keep something under wraps for a week from her, no less a couple months. That is how she knew it had been extremely important to him to make sure that he proposed at the right time. Also, he had used his thousand-plus year old daylight ring. He had the lapis lazuli torn out of it and resized just for her. She knew how much the ring meant to him and she could barely understand how he could do that for her.

"You had this in your nightstand for two months?"

"Well...," he begins with a self-satisfied grin. "At first I had kept it on my person but I thought twice of it."

Then, Caroline goes quiet. Her eyes wandering to the material of his pillow behind him, her mind clearly focused on something else. Klaus tilts his head about to ask her if there was something wrong but she opens her mouth hesitantly.

"Why?"

"Well, as of keeping it on me, you do have a tendency of having wandering hands and-," he's cut off when she shakes her head.

Her eyes return to his. "No, what I mean is, why ask me to marry you?"

The Original blinks. "I was under the impression that this is what couples in love do, is it not? Do you question my solicitude for you?"

Again, Caroline shakes her head, putting her hand on top of forearm. "No, I don't have any doubt that you love me. It's just whenever I brought up marriage or regular human relationship stuff, you'd dismiss it and call it 'trivial human traditions'. It makes me wonder if you know the weight of what you are doing. I mean, this is it. Once you do this, you can't exactly go back."

It's true. She had an inkling of a fear that this was one of Klaus' acts of impulsivity and that after a year or so, he'd find out that he no longer felt the same way. He wouldn't really be that trapped by marriage because she doubts that he'd officiate it through the government considering they are immortal. But, there could be a possibility that he'd be hesitant to call things off with her or that he'd be miserable because of the weight of being a married couple.

"Caroline." He calls, bringing her out of her thoughts, a small sighs exiting his lips.

"When I spoke those words, nearly four years ago, I had no vision of what truly being with you meant. It was different going from country to country than residing here, in New Orleans -our home, with you by my side, in our room, our bed, the large amount of time that we have granted together, in which gave ample moments to fight over trivial things like my unscrupulous tendency to leave you in the middle of the night or your habit of over analyzing every bloody thing." She arches her brow at the last part of his small speech and he lets out a short chuckle before raising his arm, pulling a stray curl behind her ear. "You worry that I haven't thought this through quite enough, perhaps your right. But, I am not mistaken when I tell you that I will not bore of you. Never."

He lets a smile creep into the curve of his lips. "We may fight and have a myriad of hinderances, but I intend to stay by your side."

Caroline's eyes search his as he sits up a little and cups her face with one hand and the other rests on top of her delicate hand. "Caroline, love, my decision is anything but rash. I want your voice to be the first I wake to, your moral compass the guidance I go to, your smile when you discover new and intuitive things. I crave you. I want all of you, always." He pauses as his gaze softens. "My love, I want you when you challenge me to be a better man, when we first wake, when we are at the most beautiful of places in the world, when you throw your fierceness and criticism my way, and when you try to impress me by putting on your best lingerie and seduce me even though you're already more bloody seductive than the God of Seduction herself." He chuckles the last part out as Caroline lets out a huff of a laugh, a tear escaping her eye.

The pad of his thumb brushes away the stray tear with a smile. Caroline's heart jumped in her rib cage. It wasn't rare for Klaus to express his affection physically but, it was indeed very rare for him to admit it vocally, as well as actually tell her that he loved her. But, it didn't ever, really, bother her, she understood that he wasn't completely comfortable with saying the words. As good as he was articulating a threat, he was lost when it came to affection, in which she doesn't blame him. So, to say it touched her to hear him say those things is a total understatement.

"Me too."

The smile grows on his lips.

"Well, then. Do you have a specific place in mind for the reception, Mrs. Mikealson?"

Caroline laughs before lightly nudging his chest making him fall back on his pillows in compliance. She hums and straddles his waist, hands gliding up his solid chest. "I was thinking... Paris. Do you have any disagreements, Mr. Mikealson?"

Klaus growls when she pulls her lip in between her teeth. He then takes hold of her waist and flips them over causing her to make an excited and shocked noise fall from her lips. "That sounds so sexy falling from your beautiful lips." His low voice whispers into The collarbone that he chooses to lay delicate kisses on.

As he continues with his journey along her shoulders, her hands roam the expanse of his muscled back, nails lightly scraping the skin on his shoulder blades.

"Does that mean I have authority to call you Niklaus?"

His body lets out a subtle shutter as his hand tightens around her hip.

"Bloody hell, woman."

"Is that a 'yes' to Paris?"

He pauses his assault on her shoulders and instead places his forehead there, most likely trying to think of his available options.

"Niklaus."

She feels his eyes close at his full name coming from her mouth and she giggles. That was the hook and sinker.

"Yes."

She gasps and he looks up. He expects to see her wide-eyes and content expression but instead his eyes close when she presses her lips to his. Her fingers tangle in his shirt curls, turning his head to gain more of him. Klaus groans as their tongues meet, his skillfully battling hers in an endless war that neither will win.

Unfortunately, she pulls away right when he was about to take it a step further. Caroline places her hands on his chest to keep him from kissing her again.

"I have to call my mom."

Klaus furrows his brows. "You can tell her later."

"Yeah, no. I'm calling her now. She'll probably already be pissed because you proposed without her here."

He cocks his head to the side. "I'm not sure she'd be quite fond of seeing her daughter fornicating with her future son-in-law."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever." Caroline then crawls out from underneath him and stands up from the bed. Klaus falls back first onto the bed with a sigh as he watched Caroline pick up his discarded Henley and reach into her jeans for her pants. He can't help the smile from forming on his lips. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't content. For centuries he had thought his life was going to be full of trying to gain power, battling his enemies, continuing his bachelor lifestyle. He is now so bloody thankful that he met Caroline Forbes -correction, Mikealson.

Caroline Mikealson.

He was in love. Happy, content -as he will ever get to be with some enemies still out there, but content nonetheless.

May God have mercy on him. He'll need it, but, by God, he will take the life with Caroline with a smile.

#klaroline #klaus x caroline #klaus michaelson #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #drabble #the originals #caroline forbes #vampire #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction

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interstellarflare · 5 years ago

Text

I Loved You Dangerously - Thomas Shelby

-PART ONE-

Song: Dangerously - Charlie Puth (slowed)

Warnings: Violence, swearing.

Summary: I loved you dangerously, more than the air that I breathe. Knew we would crash at the speed that we were going, didn't care if the explosion ruined me. Baby, I loved you dangerously, Mmmm, mmmm. I loved you dangerously.

An arranged marriage to one of London’s most notorious criminals isn’t something that you planned for. But when you so happen to be kidnapped by the one and only Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders, your story takes a drastic turn full of lies, deception, and a love that you never thought possible.

Author’s Note: This is a series that is all my own. Events happening within will not directly correlate with the actual show. A tag list is open! The people who have been tagged have been previously tagged in my ��Back to You’ Series.

With the morning smog settling over London, the smell of industrial smoke clouding my senses, I stared down at the silver and diamond-encrusted band that sat idly on my ring finger.

A sudden mood of despair descended upon my form, causing a heavy sigh to escape my lips. I will never forget this feeling, the feeling of forced marriage to a man who I barely knew. Granted, I knew his name, Alfie Solomons had a reputation I did not want to be associated with. Especially with his current feud with the Shelby Family in Small Heath, Birmingham. My father, believing he was a good man, arranged the marriage without my knowledge. I knew different, I knew what a man like Alfie Solomons really wanted from a man like my father. Financial support. As one of the richest men in London, all Alfie would need to do was marry into it in order to secure one of the largest fortunes in London. And he had done that, by using me as a barganing chip. To safeguard his fortune so-to-speak. I was beyond furious, and so I found myself here: alone and confused beyond all reason.

“And what is my lovely fiancée doin’ out all by erself?” the voice of the said man questioned, his concerned tone almost sounding genuine as he sat down across from my form on the other side of the table. Rolling my eyes in annoyance, I turned my gaze towards him with a fake smile that had an underlying tone of ‘fuck you’. “I was enjoying my morning-” “Aw, don’t be like that...” Alfie whined, shaking his head in what appeared to be amusement. A loud scoff escaped my lips, leaning forward to lean my elbows against the table as I tried to contain my anger “I know what you’re up to...” I spoke lowly, glaring up at him darkly “...to you, I hold nothing but material value. Men like you want nothing more than power, and my father has that. I am nothing more than a precaution” I growled, holding his dangerous stare with what little courage I could muster.

The sound of his laugh caused my entire being to wince, my chest tightening as his eyes narrowed into a taunting smirk. “You are smarter than I thought Miss L/n...” he drawled out, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes “...however, your looks make up for that”. Slamming my hands onto the table, I stood up with such speed that the chair behind me fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Alfie Solomons, you disgust me” I spat, quickly storming away from my supposed finacé. The rage that coursed through my veins caused an exasperated sigh to escape my lips. How dare he!? That slimy, son of a bitch! If I had stayed with him, I would have killed him. Maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. “Miss L/n, don’t be like that...” Alfie called out, his footsteps fast approaching “...Y/n, come on-” “Fuck off!” I shouted, weaving through the crowds growing on the streets of London.

As a hand suddenly wrapped forcefully around my upper arm, I shrieked in shock as I was suddenly pulled into an abandoned alley, pushed harshly against the wall and pinned between the cold brickwork and Alfie’s body. “Now you listen ere’, I intend to get what I want whether you like it or not...” he growled darkly, staring down at me with eyes that could certainly kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way. My body froze as his hand gently caressed my cheek, coming to rest at my neck as he forced my chin upward “...now, you can grow to love me, or you can just play along with my little charade” he growled darkly, his breath fanning over my face as he grew intimidatingly closer. I felt my eyes sting with tears, my chest fluttering with nerves as his thumb gently caressed my jawline. Averting my gaze to the ground, I fell silent as I bit my bottom lip between my teeth.

With a knowing and approving hum, he released me from his hold and took a few steps back, his predator-like eyes looking me up and down hungrily. My stomach twisted in utter disgust. Goosebumps covered my entire body, causing my body to tremble slightly out of fear at what this man could do. I felt so little, so weak standing before him, and he knew that. He knew that I was scared of him, of what he could be, and he reveled in that fact. With a haunting chuckle, Alfie smirked and winked, “I’ll see you later tonight love...” he trailed off lowly, looking me over once more before disappearing out of the alley and back onto the streets of London.

It was then I released a breath I didn’t know I had been holding, a choked sob escaping my lips as my right hand flew to my chest. A wave of emotion suddenly coursed through my body; anger, sadness, fear...I didn’t know what to do. Lifting my gaze to the smog-covered sky, my eyes focused on a sole beam of light that descended down into the alley. Wrapping my body in a heavenly warmth, I allowed a few tears to fall from my eyes and onto my cheeks. Everything had gone to shit. My father had thrown me into the jaws of a lion, with no knowledge of its potential consequences. I meant nothing, to either of them. I was simply a prize to be won. Drying my eyes free of tears, and wiping them on the navy blue fabric of my dress, I took long and deep breaths in an attempt to keep myself from crying. I couldn’t fall apart, not now. With a heavy heart and tired limbs, I too exited the alley and headed in the opposite direction to Alfie. The weight of the engagement ring on my finger becoming heavier by the second.

Staring down at the silver band, I couldn’t help but long to throw it away. Getting married to someone who didn’t love me just...wasn’t right. And yet there was nothing I could do to stop it. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end, the feeling of being watched suddenly causing my blood to run cold. Something wasn’t right. Cautiously turning my head to look over my shoulder, my heart began to beat nervously in my chest as I spotted two black-clad figures in the corner of my eye. One of them appeared to be young, perhaps five years younger than myself. The man beside him was definitely older, a ginger mustache resting on his top lip which somehow managed to make his appearance more intimidating. With every worst possible situation running through my jumbled and confused mind, I wasn’t bothered to stick around and find out who they were.

Increasing my pace to a brisk walk, my breath hitched in my throat as I watched my two pursuers do the same. Despite my utter hatred for the man, I wished that Alfie hadn’t left. Then these men, whoever they were, would not have begun to follow me in the first place. There was still a possibility that I could catch him, if I was quick. If I hurried around the corner, I could possibly meet him back at the cafe we had been at earlier. But it seemed like my pursuers had other plans, as a sudden force hauled me into another much darker alley. “Miss L/n...” a low, husky voice spoke hauling me even deeper into the darkness where the silhouette of a small car could just be seen in the shadows of the buildings above “...it’s an absolute honour to finally meet you”.

“Let go of me you fucking prick!” I shouted, struggling in the grip of my pursuers who could only chuckle at my feeble attempts. “I’d be quiet if I were you” the younger man snapped, tightening his grip on my arm enough to make me wince. Carelessly throwing me into the car, everything fell into an eerie silence as the younger of the two jumped into the drivers’ seat, the older man sat next to me with a deep sigh, the unmistakable glint of his firearm aiming directly at my side. “How rude of us, we haven’t introduced ourselves...” the man beside me chuckled humorously, seemingly forgetting about the situation he was in “...the name’s Arthur Shelby, and that there is John....pleasure to make your acquaintance” he taunted darkly, smirking evilly down at my smaller form with a knowing and victorious expression. At the mention of his name, my body froze completely. Shelby...as in Arthur and John Shelby of the Peaky Blinders. Of Small Heath, Birmingham...Alfie’s sworn enemy.

As the car’s engine roared to life, and began to crawl its way out of the dark alleyway, I turned to face Arthur Shelby beside me, and blank expression plastered into my face mixed with a hateful glare. He knew I was scared, quite frankly, I was beyond that. But there was no way in hell I would give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing me crumble and fall apart before him. With a kind and sarcastic smile, I sneered in the man’s direction with the most fake, yet sincere tone I could muster.

“Go fuck yourself”.

Tag List: @supermassiveblackhope @spaghettirogers @audioshoes @gabriellepearce96 @twin-skltns @daisyxbuckley @arachnidscosmopoliton @affabletimelady @ljb-novels

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #thomas shelby

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hazstylesaf · 6 years ago

Text

we’ll be gone in the moment

1.9k, smutty *mentions of alcohol and drunkenness*

There was always something between you and Harry. Now was your chance, your moment, to finally make it happen.

She shook her head.“No, I’ve been here. Waiting.” She kissed him again, harder. She wanted him and she needed him to know just how bad she did. She was worried that this would all be over in the morning, she had to take her chance now. What if they woke up and realized that this was a bad idea?

She woke up with a headache. It wasn’t pounding or killing her, but it was there: a reminder of last night and too many flutes of champagne. She shifted slightly and suddenly became aware that she wasn’t alone. “Shit,” she whispered. The person next to her let out a somnolent breath. She looked over at him, a familiar mop of curly hair and the light smell of his cologne. How many times had she held onto a hug just a little longer to remember that signature scent? “Fuck.” She had to get out of here before he woke up. She attempted to untangle herself from his long limbs and sheets, but was struggling. He was too heavy on her. When she moved again, he mumbled something in his sleep and pulled her closer. “Harry,” she said.

“Hmph,” he mumbled, still asleep.

“Harry, I need you to move. I have to leave.” She pushed at his arm again. He shuffled slightly, but not enough for her to escape. “Harry, I’m serious.”

“Okay,” he said and let go of her and flipped over to his other side, pulling the silky sheets with him. She scrambled off the bed, realizing that she was still fully clothed, although they definitely weren’t the clothes she was wearing last night. No, now she was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of his ratty t-shirts. The pants had fallen low on her hips. She looked around for her own clothes, quickly finding her dark blue dress neatly resting on a chair and her shoes on the floor below it. A shuffling on the bed made her quicken her pace. “(Y/N),” his voice hoarse from sleep. She ignored him, grabbing her dress and her shoes and desperately trying to get her hair out of her face. “(Y/N),” he said a little louder. “Stop.” She continued to ignore him and made her way to the door. “Please, just wait.” She paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. She heard him groan as he stood up from the bed. “Where are you going?” He asked, sleep still suspended in his low voice.

“Back to my room.”

“We need to talk.” He was now right behind her. She shook her head. “(Y/N), please.” She finally turned around and looked at him for the first time this morning. His hair curled and spiked in a million different directions and his eyes still full of sleep. In the mornings, he always looked so much younger, his face free of the worry and thought that often dimmed his features. She wanted to reach up and straighten his hair, but held her dress and shoes tighter.

“Fine, we’ll talk.” She pulled her dress and shoes closer up to her chest, a shield from any emotions that may show between them. “Whatever happened last night, let’s just pretend it never happened and move on with our lives.” She spun around to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest.

“Do you really think I took advantage of your situation last night?” He practically seethed in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He let go and she turned again to look at him. The sleep was now gone from his eyes and was replaced with anger. “You know I would never do that.” There was a desperation mixed with hurt and anger in his voice that she had never heard before. She looked in his sparkling eyes and suddenly last night came back to her.

Tipsy giggles and playful touches, celebrating his success. The small party in his hotel suite died down, each person excusing themselves to their own rooms. And suddenly they were left alone, his arm lazily resting on her shoulders and her head on his chest. “I’m so proud of you,” she said with a sigh.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, kitten.” He mused and kissed the top of her head.

“Tha’s not true,” she slurred, maybe that last glass of champagne was a bad idea. Okay, maybe the last two or three were mistakes too.

“Yeah it is.” He laughed. “All this,” he gestured to the sweeping suite around him, “no way I would have had guts to do it without you pushing me further and bein’ there for me. Y’know?”

She giggled. “You’re full of shit, Styles.”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll believe ya, bug.” She patted his stomach and moved to get up from the couch and Harry’s embrace.

“Love, stay.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“No, I havta go. We’ve got meetings and shit tomorrow.” She escaped from his hold, but he reached up and grabbed her wrist. “Harry,” she laughed. He could be so childish sometimes and it only got worse when he had a little too much to drink.

“Come on,” he pulled on her wrist. She gave him a smile. He pulled again, this time a little harder. She was very tipsy, probably drunk, and unstable on her feet. She stumbled forward from the light tug and ended up on his lap. They both laughed, his head falling back with his loud obnoxious laugh that she loved so much. “M’sorry,” he said.

“S’fine.” They both stopped laughing, but she made no move to climb off his lap. She was so close to him, she felt her body buzz, so completely aware of how close she was to him. God, she wanted to kiss him. How many times in the last few years had she pictured those beautiful lips and wondered how they would taste, how they would feel on hers.“I wanna kiss you.” She said, alcohol taking away all of her inhibitions. He looked up at her, his eyes swimming. He didn’t give either of them a chance to think before closing the distance between them. A kiss full of passion and want, so much better than she had ever dreamed it could be. His hands found her back and pulled her closer to him. Her hand grasped at his jawline, nails digging in slightly. He pulled away from her too soon. “Harry,” she practically whimpered.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “D’ya know how long I’ve wanted to kiss ya?”

She nipped at his neck. “How long?” His head fell back as soon as she found the most sensitive spot just below his jaw.

“Since that first day you came walkin’ into my life. You looked so fucking beautiful and I wanted ya.” She stopped at his admission. So many years had passed, so many missed opportunities. The countless nights that she fell asleep imagining his arms around her. Or the more amorous nights where she woke up from dreams of the ghost of his kiss and her own hands traveled down to where the dream of him just was.

“That long?” She whispered. He nodded. “Why… why didn’t you?” He rubbed patterns on her back.

“Never got the nerve, ya kinda intimated me a bit.”

She laughed. “Me?”

“Yeah, an’ ya had that asshole boyfriend. An’ then I was in relationships and it never was right. I just thought I missed my chance.”

“Fuck, I want ya.” His hands had moved to her hips, the pads of his fingers digging into them. She ground her hips into him and felt him begin to harden below her. He moaned.

“I’m yours. Take me.” His grip on her hips tightened and she swore she would have bruises there tomorrow.

“No, I can’t. We shouldn’t. We’re drunk.” She attacked his lips again. He allowed it for several minutes until she ground her hips into him again. She was so eager, so perfect. He could only infer how eager she would be taking him fully. Writhing below him. Statuesque above him. God, any way she wanted. “Fuck, fuckin’ hell, (Y/N).”

“Please, Harry.” She whispered into his neck. He growled, nipping at her shoulder. Did she know just how unhinged that one word made him? She adjusted, so that she was now straddling his thigh, and pulled up her dress and gathered it at her hip, exposing her dark lace panties. Her head returned to the nook of his neck and began to leave her mark. “Do ya wanna know a secret?” She murmured in between suckling and nipping. He let out a staggered breath.

“Yeah,”

“Whenever I touch myself I think of you.” She felt his already hard dick twitch near her thigh. Her mouth almost watered at the idea of finally having the chance to taste him, choke on his cock.

“Jesus Christ.” He pulled her head away from his neck and forced his lips harshly onto hers. They moaned into each other, passionate heat radiated off of both of them. The flame in her lower belly was unbearable, she needed him. She needed a release. Wasn't it only a few nights ago she was humping her pillow, moaning his name? She repeated the motion on his thigh, the pressure and sensation on her clit felt like heaven.

“Oh god,” fell from her lips. His hands instantly flew to her ass. There were too many layers of fabric between them, he couldn't feel her undoubtedly soaked cunt. It frustrated him. And he pulled her toward him again, grinding her beautiful clit on his thigh. She gripped his shoulders. “I need to cum, please Harry.” She begged, and god he fucking needed to make her cum — over and over again, until she was pulling away from him, completely spent. But he stopped himself. This isn't the way he wanted her, wanted this. He wanted something real with her. He wanted every part of her, not some quick fuck.

“I’ll never forgive myself if we do it this way. I want to do it right.” Drunk Harry absolutely hated the words coming out of his mouth, but he knew it was the right thing to do. She pulled away from him. He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face, trying not to notice the hurt that now shadowed her features. “I'm sorry, kitten. I want ya. I promise. I want ya so fucking bad I can't even explain it to ya.”

“Promise me you’ll want me tomorrow?” Her face lightened slightly.

“I’ll want you tomorrow,” he kissed her cheek. “I’ll want you the day after that.” He kissed her jaw. “I’ll want you next week.” He kissed her neck. “Next year.” He kissed her clavicle. “Next fifty years.”

“I remember.” She said. Her grip loosened on her dress and shoes.

“I still mean what I said.” He took a step forward and placed a cautious hand on her shoulder.

“Do you still want me?” She asked, her voice small, absolutely terrified of his answer. His perfect pink lips slowly formed into a smirk, the deep dimple appeared and her heart fluttered.

“You're all I want. If you'll have me.” Before her mind could run through all the reasons that this was a bad idea and ruin this for her, she dropped her dress and shoes and grasped Harry's cheeks and attached her lips to his. He froze for a second and then deepened the kiss, his hands pulling her closer at the base of her neck. They melted into each other. Languid kisses of discovering one another, their bodies pressed together. They were both breathless when they finally pulled apart. He looked at her earnestly. He bit his bottom lip in a futile attempt to dampen his massive smile. “Do you have any dinner plans tonight?”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #writing #mine

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xthebirdofhermesx · 6 years ago

Text

Hellsing: The Return - Chapter 2

Chapter 2! Oh Section XIII... what you do’n?

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?! ｡ﾟ･*.｡ﾟ☆--c(`-' ∩)

MATURE CONTENT FOLKS. There’s violence, strong language, smut, and gore cause... well Hellsing. No warnings beyond that currently (no sexual violence or anything like that), so have at thee if ya like. All Chapters compiled here, but I’ll be posting inline for anyone who just tumblrz.

Chapter 2 - Divine Intervention

“Chief Makube,” Integra said walking into the foyer of Hellsing Manor by herself, “To what do I owe the pleasure of you staying in the lobby today, unlike yesterday?”

The older man was tall, Italian, and bore a scar over his right eye that stretched from forehead to jawline. He smiled and spread his hands gracefully, as if to indicate he was also alone. “Today I have no children to entertain,” he smiled. “S’cuzzi for not being able to conclude all business yesterday, Sir Hellsing… but I’m afraid the Vatican does not know that today, I am here.”

Seras, having been leaning against the banister with crossed arms and a dower expression, raised an eyebrow and looked to her human master. That… was a fishy statement from the head of Section XIII, Iscariot Division. Integra was no less impressed or concerned, but her expression remained stoic.

“Well, you have my attention,” she said and turned. “Please, follow me. My office will be more comfortable.”

Up the stairs and to the only door visible from below, Integra lead the way to her office as Makube and Seras followed. The Knight repressed a smirk as she was the only one to see Alucard’s smile fade into the shadows before she opened the curtains behind her desk. “I can assure you, Chief Makube,” Integra said and nodded for Seras to close the door. As she did so the room flashed with black and red energy, Pip securing the room at Seras’s will. “This room is secured from eavesdropping,” Integra finished with a small smirk.

As she sat behind the desk, Makube sat in front, crossing his legs and weaving his fingers on one knee. “I apologize for dropping in unannounced, Director. Unfortunately the nature of this visit is… sensitive.”

“Not to be indelicate, Chief Makube,” Integra said, lighting a cigar, “But shall we cut to the chase?”

Makube smiled patiently. “Of course. There is a leak, a potential traitor to The Vatican and specifically Section XIII within our ranks. I would like to enlist the aid of the Hellsing Organization to investigate and hopefully find this mole.”

Well. That… had not at all been what Integra, Seras, or even Alucard would have predicted coming from this conversation. As Alucard’s deep laughter began to echo around them, Makube’s expression fell from pleasant to concerned, and eventually to slightly upset when Alucard manifested from the shadows in the corner.

“Oh this is quite the welcome home present,” the ancient vampire chuckled.

“When did this occur?” Makube frowned at Integra.

“Last night, actually. I fear you came to call before any official statement could be released. I’d barely finished breakfast when I was alerted of your arrival.”

“He has a plane to catch,” Seras stated of Makube, Arms crossed and standing now near to her vampiric master.

The Chief swallowed audibly, but regained his composure rather quickly. “Well then this may be all the more swift a resolution. Though I must request as few casualties as possible?”

“We’re not murderers, Makube,” Interga’s tone was flat and unforgiving. “We’re monster hunters.”

“Of course, I was not implying anything. Allow me to explain.” Spreading his hands, the Leader of Section XIII went into detail about a few investigative missions that had gone deadly unexpectedly approximately six months prior. At first it had not raised any concerns as these thing happened occasionally. However it seemed that the number and frequency of these events had been slowly increasing, and it was not until a single survivor confessed with in intensive care that the attackers who’d killed them all were not of the original investigated threat. He was then assassinated that night in his hospital room in Vatican City.

“This has happened now outside of Roma, as well,” Makube pressed the tips of his fingers together, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “Not only does there seem to be a white clad figure leading an attack against the Vatican, but one of our own is giving them information on where to find our people to take them by surprise and murder them all.”

Integra twisted her cigar between two gloved fingers as she thought. Makube was not his aggressive predecessor Maxwell, nor his embittered subordinate Heinkel Wolfe. Neither was she a fool, and an olive branch from the Vatican could still be a trap. The Vatican as a whole had made no bones about believing the Protestant Knights to be blasphemous, and specifically the Hellsing organization, Integra herself in fact, to be the worst of them. She wasn’t entirely certain if she’d been officially declared a witch in the eyes of Rome or not.

And yet intuition told her Makube was sincere. How frustrating.

“With all due respect, Chief Makube, and I mean that sincerely,” the knight said, tapping ashes from the end of her cigar into the ashtray, “I have a far greater respect and appreciation of your methods and approach than I could ever have for your predecessor. But what guarantees do I have that this is not an elaborate trap for my organization?”

“Outside of my personal word and promise that if it is, I have been kept in the dark and know nothing of such a plot?” he sighed and spread his hands. “None. But if this is a trap for Hellsing, it is not the act of Section XIII or an openly sanctioned operation from the Vatican.”

“How delightfully dangerous,” Alucard chuckled, his grin upsettingly wide.

“I also can guarantee you that even if it is a cu,” Makube added, eyeing the elder vampire, “They might, at best, be prepared for you and Ms. Victoria. No one at the Vatican knows of Alucard’s return, clearly.” Meeting eyes with Integra, the chief smiled. “And I don’t intend to enlighten them at this time.”

That… pushed Integra’s eyebrows up.

“Noted,” she said, keeping all other surprise from her response. “If we agree, what would be expected of us in this endeavor?”

“Discretion. Once we leave this room, I will deny any knowledge of this conversation. I merely came by to apologize for any offensive comments Agent Heinkel Wolfe made yesterday.” Makube sighed and shook his head. “The most recent attack happened this morning in the wee hours. We received the briefest of communications in the form of a video message from one of ours before they were killed and the phone destroyed. The White Cloaked figure was seen for a brief second. Does it not, to you, seem as if a supernatural threat in Scotland, where this occurred, would be reason enough for Hellsing to investigate?”

“Will the Vatican let us onto the site?” Seras inquired.”

“By the time you arrive, they will not have yet. The scene is being held for their investigation, but you can arrive first. I will… waylay them as long as I can. Heinkel and my assistant have not yet been informed, or Agent Wolfe would very much want to go. However, I will handle that.”

“I see. So we are to go as soon as now, then?” Integra grumbled.

“I know we are not… friends, Sir Hellsing,” Makube started, leaning forward in his chair. “I know that the Vatican sees the Protestants of your Council of Twelve and the Hellsing Organization as heretics, and in the past has been an open enemy. However, we want the same thing - safety of the people, and the end to monsters. And this… has potential to threaten us all.”

“I doubt greatly that a single other member of your organization would agree that we have the same goals,” Integra sighed and stood, snuffing her cigar out. “However I agree that if there is someone hunting the Iscariot, it is at least prudent to make certain that they will not turn their aggression toward Hellsing, The Council or The King once they are done.”

Makube gave a partial smile and nodded, standing to take Integra’s hand as Alucard’s chuckling began to grow in volume. “I will accept that, Sir Hellsing.”

“Should we find this mole along the way, how should we be in contact?”

“A phone call to my mobile will suffice. I should think we can communicate in such a way that anyone near would not decipher the information exchanged.”

With a nod, Integra watched as Seras escorted the man out. When the door was closed she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I do not like this.”

“Oh come now, my master,” Alucard purred in open amusement. “This, will be fun. ”

Integra sighed and cut her eyes to Alucard. “Your definition of fun differs greatly from mine.” Standing, she tilted her head to one side and cracked her neck in the attempts to relieve a newly growing tension. “I will get my things together. Yours are in your rooms below,” she explained and turned to him with a look of narrow suspicion. “Have you been down there yet?”

With a wide grin, Alucard stepped back towards the shadowed corner of her office. “Why look at some dusty old stones, when I have such a lovely view of angels from up here?” But any retort Integra might have had she kept to herself. It was no fun to say it to the wall, and Alucard was gone.

***

“I don’t like it, Master,” Seras grumped from the wall of Integra’s bedroom. She leaned, much as she had downstairs, with arms crossed against the wall. It was a good way to tell when Seras was unhappy about something. She hadn’t pouted in years, not in sincerity. But when she was displeased about something, her face tilted down and she crossed her arms. Everyone had tells, if one knew for what to look.

“I don’t either, Seras,” Integra sighed and tucked the neatly folded change of clothes into her small overnight bag. It was never a poor idea to bring a change of clothes to a murder investigation. Better to not need it than need it and be caught without. “But we won’t know if it is a trap until the trap has been sprung, and if it is not, and Makube actually came to us for help, then perhaps that is a bargaining chip we can use in the future.”

“What could we possibly bargain with the zealots and fanatics for?”

“For them to stay the hell away from us.”

Seras wobbled her head back and forward at that in consideration. “Alright, you have a point there. Want I should get my things?”

“No, I want you to stay here. The men trust you, and as much as these words are foul tasting to fall from my lips, Makube is right. They will not be prepared for Alucard.” Integra sneered. “I hope I never have to say that again.”

“Yeah, that statement physically hurts me to hear from you, Master.”

“ I think I threw up a little myself, ” Pip chimed in.

“EW GROSS NO THROWING UP INSIDE ME!”

“ WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? Dégueuler all over Integra’s floor?!”

“Children, please,” Integra sighed, zipping her bag. “Seras, I must go purchase plane tickets for myself and Alucard. Would you please call Sir Gregory? I’ll need to speak with him.”

“Why Sir. Gregory?” Seras and Pip asked in unison.

Integra just smiled. “Because, he will agree to help me.”

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfic #hellsing fanfiction #alutegra #alucard #integra #integra hellsing #alucard x integra #integra x alucard #pip bernadotte #seras victoria

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winterblues · 7 years ago

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the shape smoke takes

andreil + shotgunning + long-haired neil, nuff said.

“Do you want to try it again?” Neil asks.

Andrew tips Neil’s chin up, softly prying Neil's lips open with the hilts of his fingers and placing the cigarette in between them. “Breathe it in. Do it slow and make sure it reaches down into your lungs. You will feel it. Here,” Andrew brings Neil’s loosely curled palm up over the expanse of his own sternum and flattens it there with his hand. Neil detects the faint stir of Andrew's heartbeat. “Hold it for five seconds and kiss me.”

Neil does as he is instructed, his every thought pirouetting around the phrase kiss me kiss me kiss me.

Andrew said it out loud. That makes it real.

read it on ao3 or under the cut

Neil’s eyes are glued to the man sitting at the table nearest to the bar; dressed as always (like he’s prepared for his own funeral.)

The heavy gleam of a stare, ambling spectrally, giving itself away in its attempts to be inconspicuous. Neil’s fingers grow warm and leave lined imprints on the shot glass he’d been polishing. He has a feeling that his gaze is being carefully returned, somewhere past the foggy algorithm of dry-ice and the pool of flooding customers, all drunkenly swishing and swaying against one another like plastic bags caught in a squall. Their movements erratic and possessed, as if the bass dropped a demon in them. He catches a quick glimpse of a pale blond head thrown backwards, and the empty glass sure to follow suit. Neil’s stomach erupts with warmth at the sight; as if touched; by something as trivial as a blink.

Neil knows how dangerous it is. If his mother were here, she would strike him in between the shoulder blades, and tell him to snap out of it. His father’s bloodhounds will kill him if they sniff him out. Whether he plays by the rules or not, someday, his past is bound to return in the form of a haunting. The dead always catch up. He may be escaping the clutches of said death, having changed his name and being forced to lie low; working in the flashy wilderness of Eden’s Twilight to keep himself from raising any suspicion and assuming a whole new identity—but, it still feels like being strangulated.

He was offered a new life, the least he should be able to do with it is live a little.

Neil’s spent the past year under the Witness Protection Program, living with a tight leash around his neck in return for that protection. It’s a borrowed freedom, and Neil isn’t sure how long it’s going to last. The sharp, familiar gaze reaches him; burns a hole straight through him. He feels the leash loosening in silent revolt and a relief in his chest like a retreating snake.

He's still interested in me.

Neil looks up, just as Roland snaps heavily-ringed fingers in his face. “Hey, Romeo. Stop ogling and start attending. I know he’s cute, but will he still be cute after you’re fired for boning a customer?” Roland’s tone is lighthearted as he animatedly twirls a glass of vodka behind his back and expertly tosses it at him. Neil catches it on instinct, before pouring a drink for an eager woman with the foreboding depths of her cleavage propped up against the counter.

Neil offers her a dull, plastic smile as she carelessly waves her credit card in his face. He plucks it smoothly from her fingers before punching the price into the machine and handing it back to her.

Neil finds himself fascinated by this night-time species, this throng of people with dazzling grins, an insatiable thirst for alcohol and fairly inexhaustive wallets. This secret world that exists like a sweet distraction from the frantic city that lies above it. The job is easy enough. He’s worked up a colorful resume over the years, and though the training period was trying, six months in and Neil’s able to tie a cherry stem with his tongue while flinging a bottle up into the air with one hand, and pouring champagne with the other.

Thrust into eye-contact, flighty feet, glass-shard violence and wrists tilted in precision—the bar becomes a stadium in its own right. Neil has gotten so used to people divulging their life stories to him under the influence; without asking for anything in return, that he almost forgets that the truth often comes at a price.

That is, until Andrew.

“Hey,” Roland murmurs. “Tuck that shirt in, we aren’t barbarians. Bar- barians. Get it?”

Neil slides him a bone-dry look. “No.”

There are two facets of the job Neil could live without: Roland and his shitty puns, and bar dress code. The uniform is far too flamboyant for his tastes. Neil can’t help but feel like he stands out, despite his repeated efforts to dilute himself as much as he can. Every staff member is required to, at the bare minimum, wear eyeliner and body glitter. Something about fitting the customer aesthetic and subliminal sales techniques; as if people actually give a damn whether Neil glitters or not before buying a drink. It doesn’t quite help that Neil is stuck in a pair of unforgivingly tight pants. The bartender’s vest he wears on top of a standard black shirt is heavy over the shoulders and clings to his torso like hide skin, the grating magenta making him feel like some kind of a glorified eggplant. Roland of course, often works shirtless, wearing nothing but an unnecessary and painfully bright tie around his neck. The eyeliner is doable, but the glitter splashing his eyelids and cheeks is rather itchy and unfavorable.

Luckily, Neil usually sweats it all off by the end of a routine shift. Unluckily, it gets extremely hot as the crowds drool in, and Neil hasn’t had a haircut in weeks. They’ve taken on a life of their own at this point and grown out just past his chin. He keeps the hair that will cooperate tied back in a bun, but it still manages to fall apart from friction. Neil would have chopped it shorter if it weren’t for the fact that Andrew seems to like getting his fingers tangled up in it. Now that his protection has been more or less secured, Neil has taught himself to let go of the clutch of contact lenses and hair dye. He’s still reminded of his father everytime he looks into a mirror and cold blue eyes stare back, but he’s still learning. He can’t live his entire life hiding. It’s not worth half the effort that goes into it. There’s also the fact that anyone with a keen enough eye would be able to recognize his frail disguises with no trouble. If he has no choice but to hide, maybe he should do it in plain sight.

It isn’t until the cocktail crowd clears up a little that Neil’s eyes gravitate to him again. This time, Roland’s gaze follows. “Can we share him? He could be my type. He’s a little short, but look at that body, and he’s got that whole dead-inside, estranged bad boy vibe going on. A mysterious hunk with definite chances of a damaged past. They’re usually really hot in bed. Kinky, too. That is, once you endure the tragic backstory, but it's worth it. Trust me. ” Neil can practically see the thirst building in Roland's eyes and alarms sound off in his head. “When he returns for a refill, I’ll be the one to serve him.” Neil isn’t sure if his voice sounds unnaturally gruff, or if he’s just imagining things. By his side, Roland pouts. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Sink your dirty claws in someone else,” Neil snaps, without sparing his coworker the attention he so craves.

“Uh oh,” Neil hears the grin in Roland’s voice before he realizes the insinuation it carries. “Threat Level Midnight.” Neil ignores him in favor of frothing at the mouth as Andrew begins to amble over, but now Neil’s caught up in the way the strobe lights limn the sharp length of his jawline, like the edge of a blade. In a millisecond, Neil’s caution furls into a disbelieving and growing fascination. Maybe it’s because he’s spent so much of his life in the shadows—but he’d convinced himself long ago, that he's incapable of conceptualizing notions of butterflies & pounding heartbeats & urges beyond that of the animal.

Andrew parks himself right in front of Neil and swirls a vague finger at his empty tray. “Hi,” Neil’s voice trembles like a short circuiting wire, his hands reaching for the faucet. As he watches the gold liquid sloshing around in it, he puts every remaining ounce of effort in trying not to think about the places where Andrew’s lips met the rim of the glass.

Andrew slants an intent look his way. “When do you get off?”

Their eyes meet, and Neil’s anxiety ebbs away, transforms to a solid state of certainty. “That’s up to you.”

Roland’s lips curl up into a suggestive smirk. “Get out of here, you two. I’m practically suffocating in the fumes of your oh-so-sexual tension.” Andrew does not acknowledge the comment, but Neil turns his head. “My shift is still—”

“I’ll cover for you tonight, but you owe me one, Foxy.” Roland had taken to calling Neil that, solely because he turned up to work in a graphic t-shirt with a cartoon fox on it one time—and that had only been because Stanley had picked it for him. It isn’t long before Neil finds himself on Andrew’s solemn heel as they head down a dimly lit hallway. The smoking zone allows for just a little more room than an airport bathroom stall. It’s a small, airy balcony that Neil often takes the liberty to close off to the general public. This is not the first time Andrew and Neil have ended up here together, and it won’t be the last, but tonight feels different.

Tonight feels like a confession.

Andrew clambers onto the edge and settles down with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his back against the cold wall. Neil joins him, a leg dangling loosely on either side. There’s rain trapped in the air, and the clouds hang like blemishes yet to burst, a humid breeze that preys on skin. The steady trickle of dull music springs up from the ground beneath their feet, all too easy to compare to a heartbeat. Neil finds himself inexplicably drawn to Andrew, pulse thrumming like rippling water.

Andrew produces a pair of slightly bent cigarettes out of his back pocket and hands one to Neil. At his appraisal, Andrew leans in and bunches a fist in Neil’s collar. “Your shirt reeked of nicotine last week,” he explains, and lets go; even though Neil doesn’t want him to let go.

Andrew lights them, and Neil accepts his without a thought. The pure orange flame glows in the night like a rescue flare. Andrew’s cigarette slips effortlessly in the hollow between his lithe fingers, as he places it, like the barrel of a gun, to his mouth. Something craved and immediately lost in the thoughtless routine of the movement.

(They are caught up in this dance, in this game, in this ritual. Neil spoke his first truth in years, out loud in some back alley under a bleary moon, staring softly into a disenchanted pair of honeyed eyes, his words a relief and an invitation; spilled into Andrew’s open mouth; his chest soaring with quiet sounds of touch and need and want—all words that bloomed like roses along the thorny stems of resolute promises. Neil has never been interested in another person before, not like this. Even as his toes itch with the whim to run, his ribs burn for more, more, more. This is something he wants to hold onto. Does that make him selfish? Does that make him greedy? Does he care?)

“You’re staring,” Andrew says, watching the distant highway lights, the predictable performance of miniature cars snaking past narrow roads in a gentle, vein-like flow. Low sounds of traffic popping and fizzing far away from where they are. “Did you notice me watching you?” Neil knows the answer, but maybe he can trick himself into taking a confirmation as a promise. “I could barely focus on my job, you know. It’s starting to become a real problem.”

“Your problem,” Andrew corrects, and Neil smiles, cigarette flickering in a suicidal haze between his fingertips. “What’s one more problem to add to my multiplying list?”

Andrew falls quiet, and Neil chews on his bottom lip nervously. That’s a new feeling. He's spent a laughably large portion of his life in acute danger, and now he’s on a nightclub rooftop, growing nervous over something like this. Growing nervous over someone . Curious, too. Neil's mother used to say that learning about people will do him no good. Do you bother to learn the name of every road you tread on, to get you where you need to go? Of course not.

He doesn’t care. He’s hungry to know—every conceivable thing, hungrier more, for what’s invisible. The reason for the black cloth that veils Andrew’s forearms, the reason for the technicolor bruises he wears around his knuckles, the reason why he understands Neil, on a seemingly molecular level— without a morsel of question or concern.

“When did you start smoking?” Neil inquires, to which Andrew only blandly says, “You do not get an answer out of turn.” Neil frowns. “How about a bonus round?” When Andrew says nothing, Neil sighs and meets the other man’s eyes. “I do actually want to tell you something, and you can have this for free.” Andrew nods, before tilting his chin and taking a lengthy drag.

"Andrew-"

Neil hesitates, throat closing up at the sight of the muscles working in unison under Andrew’s neck and making a blue vein strain in result. Andrew exhales with the same efficiency, plumes of smoke exiting his lips like fluid ghosts, leaving him in search of the light.

“This… whatever it is we’re doing. It means a lot to me. I’m not used to having desires, or being attracted to other people. I didn’t even think I was capable of anything like it. You make me want to be something other than nothing. You… You don’t have to answer. I just wanted you to know that.”

Cool fingers close around his neck. Neil’s body is slack with notions he’s grown weary of trying to comprehend, notions bigger than the both of them, bright and wide as rivers. Neil’s attention flickers to the rapidly dying cigarette—and why does it feel like it’s burning him down with it?

“Did I ask for a reason?” There’s a stray ringlet of blond hair interrupting Andrew’s eyes. The urge that dawns over Neil is heavy and explorable, but it’s only when Andrew does not back away, that Neil raises his thumb to gently brush it off, tucking it as far as it’s willing go, just above the slender curve of his upper ear. “You asked for the truth.” Neil says, hand falling into his lap in between them; lest his touch mistakenly linger.

“The truth has its limits,” Andrew’s face is close and not close enough. Neil wants him so close that he can longer tell their bodies apart.

“Mm,” he mutters, absently; skin hot from the humidity or maybe from the need to be touched—not just any need. The need to be touched by Andrew is different—but maybe it’s more than different, something too sacred for words. It's not a purely sexual feeling, it's a certain, overwhelming sense of safety (a notion as unfamiliar as the surface of Mars). Safe. Somehow... Andrew makes him feel safe.

“How do you know?”

“Because you seem to have none. Come here,” Andrew’s fingers against the nape of Neil’s neck are shaping; guiding, as he gently pulls Neil towards him and picks the half-exhausted cigarette from his hands, before flicking it away. “How wasteful,” Andrew says, tone tinged with the palest hint of disapproval, while his lips part in earnest. “I need the smell, but I don’t really hold a desire to smoke it.” Neil admits. Andrew shoots him a hard glare, and it feels, for a moment, as though there is nothing in between them—not even air or moonlight. Neil can’t look away from the face of the man he has been kissing in silent corners for six months. He can’t quite keep his lungs from pooling either, like light through a doorway.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asks.

Neil’s answer is an incontrovertible ‘yes’ gasped out like a dying man’s final wish.

There’s a sudden look behind Andrew’s glassy eyes, and maybe Neil is just seeing what he wants to see, or maybe not. Maybe there was a shock of increible feeling that momentarily eclipsed Andrew, before passing as swiftly as it had arrived. Then again, maybe it was just a smoke-induced hallucination.

Andrew draws closer and Neil stares at the way his cracked and peeling lips navigate around his cigarette, how his fingers tremble without volition. Andrew watches him back; closely. Neil is unsure of the steel expression betraying nothing; but the flicker of his eyelids suggest he is furiously muling something over, something clearly substantial. Andrew lets out a preparatory breath, before taking one of Neil’s hands with his free one and placing it over his shirt, just beneath his ribs. The world shivers and Neil’s pulse rings out like a snare-beat. This is the first time Andrew has ever allowed him to touch him like that. To touch him somewhere below the neck. Neil finds himself suddenly overwhelmed with more gratitude than he can convey in the involuntary twitch of his fingers against the worn fabric of Andrew’s shirt. Andrew makes it a point to keep a firm hand wrapped around Neil’s wrist; now pressed into his diaphragm, before he inhales, deeply. Their gazes are rapt on one another. Beneath the scar-ridden skin of Neil’s fingers, Neil can feel the conscious rise of Andrew’s chest, the strong muscles expanding beneath his stomach, the lick of heat as Andrew's lips slide open to meet his own and he pours his breath into Neil’s mouth. Momentarily suffocating; dreamy. Libation-spill.

Neil’s eyes fall closed.

The back of his throat scalds and he has to repress the urge to break into a coughing fit, but then the discomfort passes, to be replaced with an indelible need. Even the smoke escaping between them seems to linger reluctantly against their mouths, and then everything within Neil returns to the eager slide of Andrew’s tongue. A gasp of pleasant surprise and a soft scratch of teeth and delicate devouring. Neil’s hair coming undone, his grip on Andrew’s shirt growing more faithful, their breaths rattling out heavy and indulgent.

Neil’s mind mimics a blank slate, Andrew’s breaths run through him. His free hand slips into Andrew curls. He does not tug or disrupt, just holds on for some sense of an anchor and Andrew’s palm latches harder onto Neil’s neck, a finger twisting a loose strand of hair. Just as Andrew begins to draw away so that they can catch their breaths, Neil tugs at his lower lip and pulls him in once again. The smoke is long lost to the whims of air. Neil can feel the way Andrew’s stomach contracts with the sudden gesture, how his body falls slack as if aching to be reshaped, the pronounced jut of his neck. This time, Andrew rips himself away and takes Neil’s lower lip between his fingers, pinching them together in feigned annoyance. They’re tangled together like a pair of wrinkled clothes on a washing line. Neil’s heart pounds dizzyingly. Andrew’s eyes slant lazily and take on a starry glaze, a consequence of a kiss shared like smoke and digested.

Andrew’s cheeks are red and raw with stray constellations of sticky flecks.

“I'm sorry I got glitter all over you,” Neil hums, unapologetically.

Andrew blinks a sparkling speck out of his lashes. "Liar."

"I've never kissed someone like this before."

"I can tell."

There's a pleasant halo of warmth spreading around them now. Neil pushes his hair back from his face. "You're really good at that."

(A perfunctory pale stare.) “You claim to hate it yet you consume like a junkie.”

(More importantly,) Andrew hasn’t dropped Neil’s wrist yet.

“I think I could get used to smoke as long as it comes from your lungs.” Neil grins. Andrew shoots him an unempathetic look, but it holds no bite. He looks so young all of a sudden, with glitter dust highlighting his features and Neil's hand held to his lungs, standing as a counterweight to the fumes.

"102%."

"What does it signify?"

"The likely chances that I will hurl you off this ledge to your untimely death."

“Before you kill me..."

"Do you want to try it again?” Neil asks. Andrew tips Neil’s chin up, softly prying Neil's lips open with the hilts of his fingers and placing the cigarette in between them. “Breathe it in. Do it slow and make sure it reaches down into your lungs. You will feel it. Here,” Andrew brings Neil’s loosely curled palm up over the expanse of his own sternum and flattens it there with his hand. Neil detects the faint stir of Andrew's heartbeat. “Hold it for five seconds and kiss me.” Neil does as he is instructed, his every thought pirouetting around the phrase kiss me kiss me kiss me . Andrew said it out loud. That makes it real. That makes it a promise. Neil’s hand creeps up Andrew’s chest and locks around his neck. He leans in and Andrew’s mouth falls open invitingly, swallowing the smoke that seemingly travelled light years to reach him.

They’re still kissing long after the smoke has dissipated and their mouths are sore and Andrew’s cigarette has died out in his hands. An airplane grazes the night sky overhead, drowning out the consequences of body heat and the sound of hitched breaths and transparent bodies colliding; like a car crash in the dark.

When they finally break apart, Andrew has glitter sprawled over his nose and Neil’s body is an ocean.

“Fuck,” Neil breathes. “Andrew, you’re amazing.”

Andrew blinks at him, expression steady, chest still heaving from the aftermath. “Don’t say stupid things.”

“I mean it,” Neil insists. “Thank you for…” He fumbles over the words for a moment, unsure of how to put a feeling so massive into a weak network of words. So he reaches out for Andrew's shoulders instead. The delirious feeling of fingers digging into the soft skin of his inner forearms, and tracing back. “Shh,” Andrew moves smoothly, like the start of a flame, and then he has Neil pinned down, the weight of a knee digging into his chest, and an arm, coiled over his side as counterweight to the ledge. Voice tender. “Stay.”

“Will you?” Neil asks, breath thin and collapsable.

The longest silence in the universe.

“I am not going anywhere.” Andrew’s tone is perfectly dry, but it conceals open wounds. Wounds Neil wants to fill with kisses and shared cigarettes and a heady rush of safety. The sort of imagined, persistent safety found beneath blankets after midnight, at the bottom of cardboard boxes, along a line of streetlights.

Neil smiles—big and genuine. “Me neither.”

Neil wants to see Andrew. Again and again. Why? Because of the way roofs cave in to mounds of snow, because of how a hand can be transformed by the simple act of touching another hand, because of a dry spell in the tropics, because of alcohol warming a system, because of the blood spoiling almost every single one of his shirts; the smell of nicotine. And the way that the world feels calmer; less angry, less out to get him. The way their friction reinvents hope and blocks out both sun and shadow. Because he does not want to live like the dead when he's not dead yet. Because Andrew’s breath tastes like a promise. Because he wants to be selfish and brazen and in love with something he can’t understand (not yet). Because Neil is tired and everything hurts and he just wants to feel something good. Because Neil could choose to run, like he always does, but he doesn’t. Not tonight.

Because living like that doesn’t mean a thing.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #shotgun kiss #tfc fic #aftg fic #tfc au #andreil au #shotgunning #andrew x neil #all for the gay #fanfiction #my fanfiction #otp: a pipe dream

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muthary · 6 years ago

Text

Photosyntheticfox’s Questionnaire // PART 1

Did a questionnaire I reblogged sometime back! This is the SFW version of that questionnaire lmao. Divided into three parts and underneath a cut because it’s super long!

1. What is their full name?

Their full name is Diorbhail Yngvildson!

2. Zodiac sign

Diorbhail is an Aries.

3. In detail describe how they look

Diorbhail is about 5′2″ (without their boots), with a fairly stocky but light build. They had a fair amount of muscle before Vesuvia, and they got a little soft since Asra moved in! Out of it’s usual style, Diorbhail’s dark brown hair reaches just above their bottom. They’ve got a sharp jawline and an full lips, the left side of which is marred by a scar. Their eyes are a bright yellow-gold, with large, dark pupils. Their bottom lashes are pretty full and their upper lashes slope outward to the further corners of their eyes. They’ve got fairly bushy, but well-maintained brows that arch a little far from where they’re probably supposed to, and their left brow is interrupted by a another scar that begins close to their hairline, goes straight down, and ends just before their jaw. Another smaller scar is on their left cheekbone. A beauty mark sits next to the scar on their mouth, above their upper lip.

They’ve big hands and long fingers with nails blunted from chewing them on days they don’t glamor them (it’s a nervous tick, along with wringing their hands and rubbing their nose), and their fingers get cold easy, so their fingertips are usually pink-ish. They’ve got a short torso and long legs, pretty wide hips, squishy thighs, and stocky calves.

They’ve got two runes tattooed onto the nape of their neck, too! And a couple more scars-- some on their forearms (small), and one enormous one across their waist around their kidney area, and a super-faded one that wraps around their neck (that’s hidden by their choker).

5. What clothes do they like to wear?

Diorbhail wears plenty of layers, usually linens and wool, and a lot of flowing fabrics. They’re usual outfit is a European-style dress that stops just above the top of their feet, and at home they usually wear a linen shirt and light trousers all held together by pure force of will. Anything tight they wear are their corset, their arm braces, and various other leather bits, being mostly armor (for show more than anything) and just their to keep too much fabric from getting in their way.

11. What do they smell like?

Diorbhail usually smells like the herbs they crush, wood (burned or just fragrant) and the clothes they always smell vaguely like an old wardrobe despite the other smells. Sometimes they dab on rose oil as a perfume since when they make it, it's pretty strong. Other times, they just forget.

12. What are their four trinkets?

Their first trinket is a silver brooch with plenty of dings, scratches, and with engravings nearly too faded to make out. They’ve used it to secure their cloaks and wrappings since they were small, and they’ve just now grown into it so it doesn’t look abnormally large on them. It originally only had a Celtic knot pattern along the bottom, and the top two prongs curled into leaf-like shapes, but they carved additional runes on the back of it-- what it says, not even they can read since they lost their memory. The metal vibrates with protective magic.

Their second trinket is a carving of a horned deity Diorbhail follows. It’s carved from wood take from an oak and took a long time to finish, and now sits in their shop as a way to pay homage to their home and, unsuprisingly, act as another form of protection for the shop. It invites higher spirits to watch over Diorbhail and Asra.

Their third trinket is an old wooden saucer. It’s fairly small with some chips at the edges, and Diorbhail uses it to pour cream into. They’ve kept it on their person since they were young and even now, use it to put a small offering of cream and, beside that, a cut of bread on their windowsill. They would be very distraught if they ever misplaced it.

Their fourth trinket is a old, bursting grimoire with a cover picturing a unicorn kneeling in the center of a rickety old pen, surrounding by wildflowers and greenery. Gold accents the book, and the inside cover is covered with runes and smudges of ink, ash, and what looks suspiciously like blood. Beyond that page, only Diorbhail knows the full contents. Powerful rune magic and protective charms keep wandering eyes from opening it. If an enemy lifts it, their hand is burned if they hold it for too long. Better return it quick if you do find it.

13. GOVERNMENT MANDATED FURSONA

A stag with enormous antlers! The antlers are sort of draped by mosses and velvet. Around their neck is a fluffy mane that acts sort of like a scarf. They probably just wear nondescript woolen robes.

16. Of the four, six or seven magical elements which are they most connected to? Four: fire, air, water, earth. six: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal. Seven: fire, air, water, wood, earth, metal, aether.

Not to be pretentious, but this question was sort of hard because as a practicing witch you don’t really... think about wood, metal, and aether(?) as their own elements. Just extensions of the base elements I guess, if you really wanted to give them their own names. In any case, Diorbhail is most in tune with earth and, ironically, fire. Earth is definitely what they’re most connected to though.

17. What does their gateway look like prior to their memory loss? What does it look like afterwards?

I’ve answered some of this question here. But after their memory loss... their gateway is a lot more desolate. Bigger than before, but without any substance. Long, rolling plains littered by bodies still donning armor bloodied and cracked. Weathered flags waving in the coastal winds. The smell of live fire over the breeze. A cold stake set up in the center of a destroyed plaza. Embers flying through the air without any visible flame. Husks of homes, remnants of life no longer present, and a surrounding forest too dark to journey into. Eyes peer out from the shadows, murders of crows circle the gateway, screaming, shrieking, begging Diorbhail to remember. They don’t visit.

18. Do they have a familiar? If they do. What type of animal is it? What is it’s name? Is it still around after they lost their memory?

Partly answered here. Fenrir and his siblings are definitely still around after Diorbhail lost their memory, back in Daluin, wandering the wilds as they once did alongside their master. They, Fenrir most intensely, felt it when Diorbhail died, heard their cries for help, and felt it when they were brought back by Asra’s hand. It was certainly a very painful time for them, and they might be trying to reach Vesuvia to reunite with their master. For now, through that special connection a witch and their familiars share, Fenrir and his siblings have been trying to reach Diorbhail through their dreams and through their gateway. Unfortunately for them, Diorbhail never looks too long at the burning eyes peering through the shadows.

19. Have they ever cursed someone?

The thing with old magic is that you can do a lot without ever meaning to. Untrained, a simple thought of “I wish you would suffer like me, then you’d understand” can inflict bad luck on whoever the thought was referencing. Diorbhail, without realizing, did this fairly often. After they realized, when they were still young, they did so with no qualms. Now, they aren’t as prepared to attack someone. By physical means with the proper provocation, sure, but they couldn’t fathom using magic over someone like that.

20. How do they handle those headaches/migraines?

They try to power through it, and they hold back tears of pain pretty often. They’ll stop what they’re doing, hold their head, and hiss in pain before biting their lip. Sometimes, they’ll ball up their skirt in their fist, or slam their fist on a nearby surface to distract themself from the pain. It’d be wise to not touch them while they’re like this. If they can manage, they’ll nap to be rid of the pain.

21. What tarot card do they connect the most with?

The Empress!

22. Where were they born?

A little village called Strathyre in the south.

23. What is their favorite color?

Dark green.

24. What is their least favorite color?

Bright, retina-burning magenta.

25. Are they right handed, left handed or ambidextrous?

Right-handed!

26. What were they like as a child?

The adults in the village sometimes called Diorbhail, if that’s any help. Before they lost their father, they were mischievous, full of laughter, and sort of resembled a cute little apple. Blissfully ignorant, but they couldn’t be anything more as a child, then. Around others, they were shy but still responsive to others greeting them. They often tottered away into the forest, pulled by magic only they could feel. After the death of their father, they were more reclusive, careful, and quiet. They became sneaky and cunning, and maintained a streak of mischievousness since the aos sí became their guardians. A lot more skittish in general. Once they’re mother died and they began living in the wild alongside their pack, they became gruff, still very quiet, very kill-or-be-killed. Still skittish, but in a way that meant they were more wolf than person. Playfulness, song, and dance were reserved for when they were in the vast wilderness with no one but their wolves.

27. What were their parents like?

Brennus, their father, was a kind-eyed sort of fellow. He used to be a blacksmith before he married their mother, and became a recluse of a man who would venture out to town only for work. He was very protective of Diorbhail and maybe a little too possessive, at that. Yngvild, their mother, only had Diorbhail as a way to satisfy Brennus and keep him around. Because of this, once she realized how obsessive Brennus became about Diorbhail, Yngvild always despised them. She was very shrewd, caculating, and selfish. The villagers suspected she hypnotized Brennus to steal him away.

28. Do they have any siblings? If the answer is yes how many?

No biological siblings. But they sort of became the elder sister to the four small kids in their foster family: Sigurd, Eydis, Eira, and Asta.

29. Do they have any other relatives they are close with?

They don’t have any more biological relatives, so, no.

30. What are they afraid of?

Fire, and their mother.

#apprentice:diorbhail #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana mc #fan apprentice

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writevswrong · 7 years ago

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Eris Fanfic * When The Last Ember Falls * Chapter Six

When The Last Ember Falls by L.J. LaFleur

Cindra:

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, hours perhaps days? Only that I woke up to Mikayl’s grim face and an empty room of cots and medical supplies. I cried as he told me the news, as he said I was chosen. I didn’t earn it—I didn’t win.

Mikayl roped his arms around me, dragging my battered body into his chest. I tried to contain my emotions, the resounding sobs, but as soon as I laid my head against his shoulder I lost it. He stroked my arm, carefully avoiding my injuries.

Stepmother didn’t say a word when I arrived to pack my things the next evening, not a sound echoed from her or my stepsisters as I left for the guardian’s chamber. Not that I minded, I would rather be dead to them anyways.

Mikayl stood waiting outside the castle gates, a beaming smile at the ready as moonlight glimmered off the strands of his hair. “You’ll do amazing, Cin.” He took the heavy pack from me, releasing it to the charred wheat field.

I could hardly look at him, not without tears resurfacing. “Save the bullshit. You and I both know I don’t deserve this,” I shook my head. Disgusted, disappointed, despicable…all the d’s you can think of. That’s me.

“You do,” he lifted my pointed chin with his bandaged knuckle, searching for the confident woman he knew was buried within. “Prove yourself if you have to, but despite what you’re hearing or seeing around the court—you’ve earned this.”

I needed to switch subjects or he would never drop the inspirational speech. “Will you wait for me?” I fluttered my lashes at him.

“Probably not,” he teased, jabbing me in the ribs.

Trying my hardest to not wince, I quipped, “you really think you’re something else, don’t you?”

Mikayl’s voice softened, his loose knuckle brushed against my jawline, “I’ll miss you.”

“I won’t,” I lied, a smile already breaching my lips as his neared mine.

“That was painful,” he whispered, his warmth touched the corner of my mouth.

I exhaled heavily, he knew my weak spots. “Or was it well deserved?” I faltered, swallowing hard.

I didn’t care who was watching, if he didn’t stop soon…

“Definitely,” he mumbled against my lips. “I’ll see you soon, Cin. Promise.” He pulled away, smile faded and a line of sunlight building in the corner of his eyes.

I didn’t want to say anything more in fear of ruining this—us. The last thing I needed was Mikayl to ignore me too. I kissed him one last time, letting my love pour into him. I pressed myself against his torso, wrapping my arms around his neck as I hoisted myself up.

Mikayl’s firm hands gripped the bottom of my thighs, a soft moan exchanged between us. “Is this how best friends say goodbye?” he asked, gently nipping my lip before pulling away.

I couldn’t resist, not when the set-up was too beautiful. “Yeah,” I breathed, hopping down from his hard body. “Make sure you give Wilamis a sloppy one when you leave him for duty,” I taunted, bending down to retrieve my things before walking through the metal gates.

I knew he was watching me walk away, I knew because just before entering my new home, I looked back too. A friend, a best friend, a more than friend…whatever we are, I missed him already.

The castle was different than I imagined. I always thought it would be made of gold and marble, that’s what I get for believing a drunkard’s tale. Every window was stained with history, every tapestry masterly crafted. I hadn’t realized I fell behind until the servant cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, picking up my pace till I was in range of him again. The boy of about fifteen or sixteen looked too thin—sickly, even. Maybe they focused their resources on the soldiers? Either way, it didn’t mean someone should go unfed, especially children.

I knew very little about my High Lord, the eldest Vanserra. One, he is the most ruthless Vanserra to date—the man killed his own brothers for cauldron-sake. Two, he was an enemy of this court until his father was butchered by the prisoner he tried to escape with. And three, he saved my life.

I stood at the High Lord’s door, adjusting my armor before going inside. I could hear him through the plank of carved wood, cursing his way across the room.

Why am I even surprised? Not only am I protecting a High Lord who had to save me, but an insane one at that.

“Come in!” he yelled before I could knock.

I dropped my hand, letting the metal clank together. Opening the door, I held my breath, awaiting my fate. “My lord,” I dropped a knee, bowing my head to him.

“What’s your name?” the High Lord demanded as he studied the mess of parchments on his desk.

I stood quickly, closing the door behind me and stepped forward. I couldn’t remember any of the trials regarding High Lord etiquette. “I go by Cindra,” I replied, feeling the sweat drip down my wounds. I grinded my teeth as the stinging persisted.

“Ah…” he finally perked up, probably finding whatever map he was looking for. Amber waves flowed to his shoulders, the tips of his ears poked out as he bent back down to review an older map of the Autumn Court. “You have something to say, so ask it,” he mumbled, eyes blazing as he found his target.

I felt my shoulders relax as my burning question sputtered out, “wh, why did you choose me?”

The High Lord glanced up, his brows knitting together, “those markings look fresh, have you been attacked outside of the tournament?” He returned back to the parchment, dunking a feathered pen in a canister of crimson ink.

“I don’t deserve this position,” I ignored his query, feeling a blush coming on. It would be a little awkward to explain that I was about to take down my lover in front of his castle. “I fought like a coward. How could you make me into your guard?”

This snapped him out of his task, “hostility is no way of thanking your hero.”

“I should have died,” I argued, feeling another bead of sweat sting an open cut on my shoulder blade. Laryd used mini daggers to weaken me before attempting to puncture an organ. “It would have been better than becoming an outcast.” How no one saw these daggers, small or not, baffled me.

He set the map aside, scratching the sides of his auburn beard, “why do you want to die?”

“I never said that.”

“You just did.”

I clutched my fists in an attempt to channel all my anger into my palms. My jaw tightened with every passing word, “you’re infuriating.”

“I’m your High Lord, guardian,” he snapped, standing to his full height. “I chose you because of your morals and your ability to take a punch.” The High Lord leaned over his desk, pressing his palms into the mess of maps, “this court has fallen, I will not let a corrupt guardian stand beside me.”

“But—”

“—do not prove me wrong. Now, if you don’t mind,” he flicked his hand towards the chamber door, motioning me to leave.

I bowed, studying every crack in the floor. What have I gotten myself into?

Eris:

After my ungrateful guardian left, I stared out the window, hoping I was looking down the same crack Nesta had once followed to the sea. I had none of her belongings, nothing to hold of hers. Only memories, whether they were moments of happiness or pain, I wanted to remember everything.

Our goodbye took place days ago and no matter how many hours I spent focused on other things, my thoughts always came back to her. Advisory meetings, council meetings—nothing truly held my attention for very long. Nothing except for her.

Gods-damn it, what has happened to me?

You need to rest, Eris. The voices sung to me, clawing at the insides of my brain.

I didn’t bother searching for the monster, he was surely hiding in the shadows somewhere in this room. “You must be lonely if you’re visiting me so soon, Ronan.” My eyes flashed to the edge of the woods, thinking I saw a familiar face.

How will you protect Nesta if you can’t even take care of yourself?

A grumble built in my chest, a sneer at the ready, “I’ve already told you. So, let me tell you again. She is safest with Cassian,” my voice dropped, the pressure of emotions too great for me to bear, “with her family.”

The figure I saw, the familiar face, turned out to be nothing but a haunting from the past. The girl I had once loved when I was too young to know the feeling. It was the only relationship I had to compare anything to.

I diverted my eyes back to the sea, not feeling a pang of guilt as Nesta’s memories suffocated me. Maybe in time, Nesta would only be a distant memory but even as I thought of it, I knew that was a lie.

A steel feather. A fault of a son. All come crashing into one.

I rubbed my beard, a growing habit. “By the mother above…” I groaned into my calloused hands.

A last breath. A life lost. All will happen at a cost.

A light in the dark. A darkness in the light. All will be clear in a fortnight.

I stood to my feet, turning from one corner of the room to another and another and another. “As I have said, as I will continue saying, she is in the safest court in Prythian.” My eyes turned white, unleashing rays brighter than the sun.

He wasn’t here. Not in the shadows, not in the light.

Don’t be so easily fooled Eris, it’s unbecoming.

I rolled my eyes, feeling the light drain from them as I headed to the canopy bed. I needed to sleep, maybe then Ronan would leave me be. What a ridiculous thing to hope for.

Goodnight fool.

I stared at the copper and crimson tassels on the corner of my pillow for what felt like hours before my eyes grew too heavy to keep open. I was half afraid that Ronan might reappear, half afraid of what nightmares awaited me. Either way, I would find out soon enough.

Standing in the hall of my parent’s chambers, I listened. I knew all too well what might happen now that they were behind closed doors and lacking an audience.

“You have tested me one too many times, Natara. In front of our guest no less.”

My mother’s voice sounded frail, hopeless, “my love, if you harm her in any way, Rhysand will attack. They will destroy our home.”

I nearly swore under my breath; a dreadful feeling penetrated my focus. I couldn’t breathe as the hand of pain gripped my heart, squeezing and releasing. I shook off the sickening stir of agony, caught in between saving my mother and whatever was attacking me.

My father’s disapproving tone continued, “are you saying he’s more powerful than your husband? Than your High Lord?”

“No, my love. I only wish to—”

The sound of his hand meeting her cheek reverberated against the walls. She knew better than to scream for help, it only made things worse.

I ignited; hand on the copper knob.

Then I heard it, the guttural scream. It echoed in my ears, down to my heart. My blood vibrated with rage as I winnowed away. I left my mother to fend for herself, to survive hit after hit. How could I forgive myself? Now that I was stronger, faster than my father—but I needed this court to not turn on me either. I needed him to die without his blood on my hands.

The scent of magnolias pulled me from my inner thoughts. Foul odors of the dungeon were so strong they normally invaded the black mist by now and yet I smelled none of them. Not the blood, not the vomit or shit. None of it.

My senses heightened as I saw Aedin choking Nesta against the wall. If I didn’t play this right, I would only endanger her more. Overreacting showed I cared, it unveiled too much—a weakness. Those with a weakness are not meant to be High Lord, my father’s favorite lecture came to mind.

“Is that anyway to treat our guest?” I asked without emotion.

Aedin peered over his shoulder, baring his teeth, “Eris…”

“Release her,” I replied, crossing my arms to hide the growing tendrils. Control yourself to control your flames.

Aedin turned away, facing Nesta once again, “the next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

I dug my nails into my palms, feeling the warmth spread. Inhaling sharply, I reminded my brother of my power, “she’s claimed, Aedin.”

“I didn’t see your brand,” he snapped, pulling his hair back into a low bun.

I knew Nesta had ripped at his hair, scratched him wherever she could. It was nothing compared to the damage I would inflict on him later.

Glancing to her bare shoulder, I glamoured her skin with my marking. “Why don’t you check again?” I followed the path from her shoulder up to her gray-blue eyes, watching as firelight threatened to cascade down her cheeks.

Don’t cry, don’t falter, I pushed my thoughts toward her. I didn’t know if she could hear me, if she was like her sister or not. I only hoped she had enough sense to remember what I told her in the throne room.

Nesta’s eyes caught mine before turning to face the wall. Her back trembled as she held in her sobs; I dimmed the flame low enough that he wouldn’t notice her shaking.

Aedin’s eyes narrowed at me, not trusting a single word. As he squinted to observe my burn mark, I wanted to snap his neck. To hear the noise, the satisfying sound it would make.

“You know what happens to those who touch what is mine,” I shrugged, feeling the fire sink back into my skin. I pushed open the prison door, “or should I remind you…?”

After Lys was brutally murdered, I went to Aedin—pummeled him close enough to death that he didn’t mess with me ever again, that was until now. I studied every step he made back to the exit, listening to each footfall until he was back on the main floor.

As I turned to face Nesta, I could feel my stomach drop. This was my fault, finding her in the woods. It was me, the monster of flame and ash, who doomed her.

“Are you alright?” I asked, feeling the dungeon’s chill sink into the marrow of my bones. I studied her neck, at the bruises that were beginning to develop. If she were still human, she would have been dead.

Nesta didn’t say a word, how could she? Why would she when this was my mistake? They would have killed her in those woods if I didn’t take her prisoner. But is this any better than death?

I examined her spine, her skin stretched over each bone as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. She must be freezing, hungry…broken.

“I’ll be back,” I promised, moving away from the wall to winnow. She remained quiet, her hunched shoulders still shaking. I needed to be quick, in case Egan decided to make his move next.

I submerged into the shadows, winnowing to my chambers. Coils of fire were back, I could feel the leashed anger wanting to break free. Despite wanting to shove my brother off the tallest balcony, I knew she needed warmth, comfort—not a savage.

A small pile of clothing and her fancy Illyrian boots waited on my bed. I had planned to give them to her later, after checking on mother but obviously that was a mistake. I focused my energy on the rising flames, I had never felt so out of control of my abilities until now.

Winnowing back to the cell, I extinguished the fire as much as I could. My mind wandering down a blackhole of regret.

I knew it was wrong, I shouldn’t have taken her. I could have led my brothers on a different path somehow, convinced them we needed to go deeper into the Night Court forest. Yet there I was, lost in her scent. Not the cinnamon, vanilla or whatever the cauldron she used as perfume. Magnolias, the same scent that drowned out the filth in her cage.

I set the items halfway between us, not daring to go closer. Nesta turned uneasily on her heel, her face a strange shade of green.

Here it comes…

Fire curled between my fingers, the agony that clawed in my chest nearly had me on my knees again. I hadn’t realized I was shaking, that guilt and rage and heartbreak could all be felt at once.

Nesta’s dirty hands grabbed her stomach, her face paling. She almost slipped as she raced to the nearest corner, throwing up whatever had remained in her system. Her palms formed into fists, digging them into the stone wall until they bled.

I diverted my eyes to the sconce, commanding it to dim once again. I waited, watching and listening as she fought an internal battle I would never know or come to understand.

The woman of steel had finally found a gap, a breaking point in her foundation. The look she made over her shoulder was not of anger but of hopelessness. Until she caught the sight of my glamour. She glared at the circle of tendrils, hating every curve.

I slid down the wall, taking a seat next to the door so no one could enter without seeing me first. Whoever was coming next, I was ready. I listened to the footfalls and miniscule conversations the guards made. I stared at the darkest corners of the cell, waiting for someone to winnow through the shadows. If they came after her, if they touched her…

“I belong to no one,” her hollow voice tore into me.

Swallowing any lingering emotions, I replied, “I know.” I sunk back into my head, into thoughts that only destroyed me further.

Mother. The sound of my father slapping her only made things worse. I couldn’t protect her and Nesta at the same time. Just as I couldn’t protect my brother and Lys from this family. Defying my father, not torturing Lucien’s lover…

I sparred with the memories of Lys being shredded by my father’s wolves. Her unearthly screams until nothing but the gurgling noises of full bellies and Aedin’s laughter.

Nesta’s raspy voice reached me, drawing me once again to the present, “then why…?”

Leaning my head back to stare at the dripping ceiling, I responded, “it’s the only way…”

A hissing noise woke me from my slumber. Flames reacting to the sweat that now covered my entire body. Scrutinizing the decadent velvets hanging over my bed, I felt the same tension gripping my heart. Pain increasing at whatever was squeezing and releasing my organ.

“I’m going mad,” I mumbled, “absolutely mad.” I shoved the blankets off of me, stumbling to the bathroom as I attempted to restrain the mess of orange and yellow coils. I was in control once, I could and would be like that again. I glowered at myself in the mirror, silently cursing the emotions away.

I splashed the cool water against my face, instantly drying from my natural warmth. “She’s safe, now that she isn’t with you,” I said aloud, reminding myself that Nesta is better off—she’s at peace. My jaw tightened as I braced my arms against the quartz counter, “she will live a long and happy life. Without you, she will always be free of pain.”

“Who might that be?” Cindra stood behind me, towel in hand.

I opened my palms, signaling for her to throw it. She winced on the release, shaking her head in self-loathing. “No one to concern yourself with, guardian,” I replied coldly, wiping my face and hands out of habit.

“That’s fair. What’s on the agenda today, my lord?”

“A royal visit.”

“To another court?” She excitedly asked, attempting not to smile.

I turned away, studying the lonely copper tub. Another everlasting memory invaded my vision. The corner of my lips twitched as I saw Nesta, the girl afraid of still water, standing mesmerized by the patterns of fire she could blend together.

“No,” I finally replied, a smile spreading as I remembered our kiss, “a farmer and his son.”

Masterlist is a comin! But in the meantime...

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travisstollmyheart-blog · 7 years ago

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the great annoyance of [first name] [last name], or how to annoy a girl into dating you

Chapter One

“Well, well, if it is my favorite daughter of Hebe,” purrs a familiar voice in your ear. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up in response to the haunting message. Your mind begins racing at a million thoughts a nanosecond, and your palms grow sweaty. You could feel your very bones aching at you to flee, to scream and race away.

You were positive something worse than any monster you could imagine was behind you. No, behind you was the form of a tall figure, with a sickening smirk and a voice that made you fearful for what was to come. Behind you was Ultimate Public Enemy #1:

Travis Stoll himself.

You grit your teeth, and prepare yourself to deal with the boy who would surely not leave you alone until he got a reaction that satisfied him. Your grip on your dinner tray grew tighter, your knuckles turning white under the stress forced on them. You don’t turn around and pray that he’ll leave you alone while you finish getting your dinner with your cabin.

“Hey, shortstack, I’m talking to you,” taunts Travis, his deep voice vibrating and causing your hair to blow with it, as he was too close for comfort.

You breathe deeply, close your eyes and pray. Dear gods above, if you are watching me, please give me the strength to not slap this hoe. Only after you feel an insistent tapping on your shoulder, digging deeper and deeper until it could not be ignored, you turn around.

Your eyes start down at his feet, travel up his long legs, and his swim trunks, along with his camp t-shirt, and finally reach his face. Travis towers over you rather easily, as you were only 5’2” and he was, annoyingly, 6’5”. You honest to the fucking gods didn’t know how it didn’t make it easier to catch the little bitch when he was stealing, but that could just be you.

“Travis Stoll,” you say in the same tone someone saying the f-word. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“Aww, look. The teen mom finally answers Camp Half Blood’s knight in shining armor,” coos Travis. He bends down so that you’re the same height and gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like the gleam in his eyes -- you never did.

“I’m not a fucking teen mom, asshole,” you snap.

“Woah, woah! Watch your language, shortstack. There are kids around. But ‘salright. Mary didn’t know she was a teen mom either and then boom! Next thing you know, there was baby Jesus in the manger.”

Your fists were physically aching to not attack his face.

You always thought it was such a shame that Travis Stoll acted the way he did -- you had an appreciation for beautiful men as much as the next girl, and you will admit he fit the category of heart-breaking, flustered-when-you-speak-to-them men. He looked almost like Michelangelo’s David, like a grown up Peter Pan. He was absolutely beautiful, from his supermodel physique (you grudgingly admit he’s the perfect toned mixture -- not too muscular, but definitely not lacking) to his curly brown hair and big eyes. His masculine jawline and cheekbones so sharp they were carved by Adonis himself.

And then he opened his mouth, or breathed.

And every girl’s pussy within a 10 mile radius went strangely dry without knowing why, unless they could hear the shit that comes out of his mouth personally.

“Is there a reason to this torment, or are you just talking out of your ass to annoy me and everyone around you?”

“M’yep,” he says, grinning at you but not indicating which part he was responding to. You snort and turn around, grabbing your tray which you sat down on the railing and made your way to catch up with your siblings.

Strangely enough, you heard a pair of feet follow you, and a unusually large shadow blanketing yours in the sunset’s light. You do your best to ignore it and scrape the best parts of your food into the fire. “For the gods,” you say absently, out of routine.

Even the first day back at camp always felt as if you had never left. The muscle memory that came from doing the actions for 3 ½ months a year was astounding to you still, despite being a camper for 7 years. You were now 17, and were about to enter your last year of high school. Travis was one year older than you, and had just finished his last year of high school -- meaning it might be his last summer at Camp Half Blood (at least you desperately hope).

It’d be better if it was his last year of breathing --

“Hey, [First Name]!” You snap out of your thoughts and turn around to see Travis looming over you. “Jeez, Mary, I’ve called your name like 10 times. What, did you get carried away in thoughts about me?”

“Shut up,” you exclaim, but you couldn’t hide the way your face got red. You begin walking away as quickly as your little legs could carry you.

Unfortunately, Travis easily matches your stride.

“Oh! So you were thinking about me! What was it, huh? Me rescuing you? Or was it dirty thoughts? My, my, I never knew you were so shameless! Mary, I might need to rethink your nickname.”

“Shut up, Travis,” you emphasize your point by slamming your tray down on your cabin’s table. Your drink sloshes over the side and Coca Cola drips onto your pointer finger that was holding the cup on one side. “Go annoy someone else.”

“But,” he purrs. You look up at him and he grabs your hand. You could feel his warm skin against your sticky fingers. He cups your hand in his much, much bigger one and brings it up close to his mouth. You could feel his breath against your fingers, and goosebumps pop up all along your arm. You gasp and look up at his face.

There was something so sultry about the son of Hermes’ face. His plump lips lined in a haunting smile that you despise, his eyes hooded, his unfairly long eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he blinks down at you. And slowly, you’re captive as you watch his bring one of your fingers -- the pointer finger, the one doused in Coke -- to his lips and slowly sucks it inside his mouth. It was so erotic, watching the tip of his tongue trace the underside of your finger, not leaving a single centimeter untouched.

When it pops out of his mouth, glistening with his saliva, only then do you make a choked noise. “But,” he repeats, “I like annoying you best, Mary.”

Yeah, Travis definitely wins this round.

Since when the hell did he get so good at this kind of approach? Where the fuck are the jokes about putting landmines on the wrong hill? You desperately search for an answer, a witty response to give him, but couldn’t find anything. It was then you realized how quiet the dining hall had gotten. You look around and see everyone staring at Travis and you in shock.

They all just watched that happen! You scream internally, and think up of 20 ways to kill yourself on the spot. Oh, mother, if you just watched that I promise I am so, so innocent and I will douse myself in holy water tonight.

“Hey, move along people!” comes Travis’s indignant voice, sounding like someone who just got accused of a crime they didn’t commit. Or someone who was good at acting like they didn’t commit a crime they did. “Since when can’t a man flirt without everyone watching?”

“Flirt?” you gasp. Your face was surely the color of Silena Beauregard’s infamous red swimsuit she once wore. Bright, bright scarlet. You weren’t sure if you were embarrassed, turned on, embarrassed about being turned on, or if you wanted to kill him. Or a mixture of all the options.

“Gotta blast,” says Travis and calmly walks away. You gape after him before your sibling, Paula, laughs and causes you to regain composure. (Or what you had left of it).

Later on that night, in the Hermes cabin, two boys, both alike in curly hair and sparkling eyes and quick fingers, lay in top bunks on different beds close to each other.

Connor, on the left, is staring at Travis as he absently throws a hacky sack up and down in the air.

“Dude,” Connor says. “You aren’t gonna say anything?”

“About what?” asks Travis, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“About what happened with [First Name] in the dining hall, dude.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“What do you mean ‘what about it?’ You completely lost it.”

“I did not. I made quite a smooth transition from everybody’s staring.”

“I’m not talking about that, Travis. I’m talking about how you’re in love with [First Name]. Like, you might as well fucking scream it to the whole world at this point.”

“Really?” Travis said excitedly, sitting up. “Should I?”

A chorus of “Please, no,” and “Fuck no,” come around the two brothers from the entire cabin. Connor winces.

“Does that mean we’re pranking the Hebe cabin for sure this year?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Something about Travis’s grin, if you asked Connor, was lovestruck.

(Travis would totally deny this, later.)

#travis stoll #connor stoll #mine #reader insert series #reader insert #pjo #camp half blood #pjo x reader #pjo reader insert #the great annoyance

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baelllamyblake · 7 years ago

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The First Female Reaper ( Bellamy Blake x reader AU )

Summary : You’re a female grounder who’s been kidnapped by the reapers of the mountain men. Dr. Tsing has cleared you for the Cerberus Project and Bellamy has been going to the ends of Earth to get you back from the evil intentions of Mount Weather.

Pairing : Bellamy Blake x fem reader

Warnings : Lil’ bit of gore, couple curse words, not too bad.

Word count : 1,716 words. wowee i have a problem i don’t think i know how long one shots are supposed to be

A/N : yep, another long one. my inso for this one shot is just i never really saw a female reaper so i was like hey never been done before lets do this shit and i just took out Lincoln and replaced him with Y/N. i think it’s long but i think it’s still pretty good ( i hope )

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED SO PLS FUCK ME UP WID IT <3

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion and the light was blinding. The noise of heavy boots and crunchy leaves echoed throughout your muddied brain, lighting off pain receptors like a million flares all at once. Your vision was blurry and your right eyelid left sticky from the drying blood on your face. You moaned in pain while trying to stretch your limbs. Strong arms and hands held your torso and legs in place. Your hands were bound tightly together. Someone was hauling you away on their shoulder but you couldn’t figure out who. It definitely wasn’t your boyfriend, Bellamy. He would’ve been kissing your face all over, begging you to stay awake for a few more moments. It didn’t matter anyway, you passed out after fading in and out of consciousness for so long.

Bellamy was worried, what if you were dead? He couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in the bunker while Finn was busy interrogating the one-eyed grounder about a damn watch. He was desperate to find you as Finn was desperate to find Clarke. He frantically wished you were by his side, holding his hand and keeping him grounded. Bellamy missed your beautiful smile and the way you talked when teaching him about Earth. He yearned to find you and bring you back home.

A bag was snatched off your head and revealed your surroundings. It was a dimly lit tunnel in Mount Weather. The memories came flooding back painfully as you kept glancing around at your surroundings. Octavia successfully bargained for you but Reapers attacked and kidnapped you. You wondered if Octavia and Bellamy were out there looking for you. Your daze was broken when the door at the end of the tunnel opened and a bunch of people in rubber suits walked into the low light.

“ Harvest, harvest, harvest… ” A woman with a clipboard looked to the fellow grounders before marking them down. Another man in a rubber suit began to inject the reapers with a crimson elixir. You narrowed your eyebrows in confusion after watching the reapers groan in relief and lay still in ecstasy. You brought your attention to the woman who kept marking grounders off. She stood before you and the helmet lights illuminated her features. You grimaced at the tan woman in anger. You didn’t deserve to be here.

“ Mark this one for the Cerberus program. ” The woman said, ticking another mark on her clipboard before observing you one last time. The mountain men grasped you by the biceps and you were too weak to rebel against their grip. The men dragged you to a dark, humid room before shoving you roughly into the centre. You turned around and was met with a torrent of boiling, hot water.

You woke up, fighting for air but was hitched to a chair by a numerous amount of straps. You wailed into your gag, jerking at the ropes, trying desperately to rip them off. The door opened and you lifted your head as much as you could to see who came in.

“ Hello, I’m Cage Wallace. ” the slimeball of a man said, running a finger along your jawline. His cologne burned your nose. All you could do was whimper in fear. He motioned over a guard with the same gun you saw the rubber suit man inject the reapers with. Your eyes grew glossy with tears.

“ The first dose is always the worst, honey. ” Wallace said smiling, not a single shred of sympathy could be found in it. The needle pierced your skin and you felt the drug be absorbed into your bloodstream instantly. You felt a high so unrelenting, you bit the gag in agonizing ecstasy. The convulsions were intense and your body went limp yet you were still clinging to life.

“ We’ve got a pureblood on our hands, boys. ” Wallace happily said, clapping his hands together while you inhaled and exhaled heavily, tears streaming down your eyes. Days and weeks passed but you didn’t know that, you just knew when the Mountain men were coming to torture you and give you your next vial. The torture grew in intensity: longer and more frequent shock treatments and higher dosages. They were conditioning you to become absolutely terrified of the high-pitched shriek a tiny machine emitted. The withdrawals were debilitating your ability to think of anything else but the red drug you craved so badly for.

Cage even had you kill a man for it. You were transformed to a hollow shell of yourself: enraged, hungry, and addicted. Wallace finally let you loose and you killed whatever you could before having to retreat to Mount Weather for that lovely red liquid.

Bellamy and Octavia were teaming together to find you and a way into Mount Weather without getting killed. Unfortunately, they were cornered into a dark and musty car garage by the enshrouding acid fog. Two guards accompanied them before splitting off. You killed the both of them in an rabid frenzy to satisfy the unyielding hunger for blood. Bellamy and Octavia stopped cold in their tracks at the sight they encountered. It was you with white paint splayed across your face, contrasting against the blood running down your chin and neck. You were hunched over Sgt. Scott’s dead body, devouring the meat and skin off his bones like a wolf.

“ Oh my god, Y/N.. What the fuck have they done to you? ” Bellamy’s voice broke as tears pricked at his eyes. You rose at the sound of his voice and immediately stormed the siblings in another blind fury. You tackled Octavia onto the ground and started strangling her. She latched onto your hands, trying to pry them off. Bellamy raised his gun and forced himself to pull the trigger. The bullet hit its mark, piercing your shoulder. You jerked off Octavia in pain, fleeing away from the two into the shadows of the garage. Octavia jerked up, almost hacking up a lung. The siblings quickly hid in a nearby car, hoping that you wouldn’t find them.

“ What are we going to do, Bellamy? Y/N’s a fucking reaper. ” Octavia choked out, her throat felt like it was on fire. You lurked around the car garage, on the prowl for the Blakes. The two hatched up a plan to get you out of Mount Weather and somewhere safe. Bellamy called out, grabbing your attention. You charged at your boyfriend, Octavia coming from the side to shock you in the ribs, knocking you out cold.

You slowly woke up, unfamiliar of where you were. You started screaming, foaming at the mouth and thrashing around in your chains. Bellamy kept watch over you from a distance, he felt guilty having to tie you down like a wild animal. Clarke and Octavia observed you from a close yet safe distance. You tried to strike one of the girls, the effort rendered futile.

“ I knew Mount Weather controlled the Reapers. I had no idea they were creating them. ” Clarke said astonishedly after noticing the purple needle marks in your neck. Bellamy scanned your angry face, nothing of you was there. It was completely replaced by severe addiction and violence. “ If they can do that to Y/N, what are they doing to our friends? ” Bellamy asked Clarke while examining your furious features, longing to embrace you in his arms.

Bellamy just stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. You pulled against the ropes as hard as you could. Your wrists started bleeding from the friction of the chains . You continued to thrash around before the chain attached to your wrist severed from the wall and you socked Bellamy square in the face. He staggered backwards, tripping over boxes while holding his cheek in pain. You yanked an ankle restraint out of the floor while Bellamy was disarmed. Clarke immediately scrambled over to constrain you. Your leg jolted out into her stomach, sending her flying onto the ground, dry-heaving. A steel pipe, wielded by Octavia, collided with your skull, sending you to the floor with a dull thud.

Clarke began operating on your shoulder, successfully getting the bullet out. Bellamy sat by your side, regardless of how dangerous it was. You finally looked peaceful despite having to be knocked out. Bellamy moved the hair out of your face and stroked your forehead gently. He needed you more than ever before.

The shit really hit the fan when Octavia barged in with Nyko, screaming that the commander is drawing near with a grounder army to massacre Skaikru. You seized multiple times, Clarke was able to revive you with chest compression but she didn’t know how long the compressions would work. Bellamy wasn’t going to give up on you though, he stuck by your side through every seizure and every coughing fit. He loved you far too much to lose you to addiction.

You seized once again, Abby darting to your side and commencing the chest compression. Bellamy squeezed your hand tightly, eyes growing wide when Abby slowed down then stopped completely.

“ It’s not working, it’s too late. “ Abby sighed out, looking to Bellamy. In a split second, he initiated the chest compressions. Abby was taken aback by Bellamy’s desire to keep you alive, she wasn’t aware of the relationship you shared. Abby scurried for a shock baton and in a last ditch effort, she shocked you in the chest in substitution of a defibrillator. You weren’t breathing so Abby shocked you once more. Your eyes shot open as you jerked to the side and started hacking. Bellamy sighed out in relief, he squeezed your arm as you coughed harshly.

You looked to Bellamy with tears in your eyes and embraced him tightly. It felt so good to feel something other than craving and emptiness. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you as close as he could. “ I love you so much, Y/N. I’m sorry you had go through this. Thank you so much for staying alive. “ Bellamy choked out, crying into the crook of your neck. Your heart swelled and you broke down.

“ I owe you my life, I love you so much. “ you strained out, your throat crying in misery. Bellamy just pulled you closer and didn’t let go.

He couldn’t afford to lose the love of his life again.

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

Text

Until the Flavor’s Gone (2/?) (Biadore) - Kitschy Pixel

A/N – Hello again! I hope you guys liked the first chapter enough for me to keep going. If not, that’s cool. I’ll probably keep going anyway. In this chapter, Bianca gives make-up advice. I know next to nothing about make-up so hopefully I made it sound convincing anyway.

Chapter 2

Jay was hanging off the side of the bed upside down as Danny pulled out just about everything he’d brought to wear on this trip, trying to piece together an appropriate outfit.

“So you are actually going to do this?”

It was a valid question – Danny had changed his mind four times on Saturday alone and then an additional seven times yesterday before talking himself out of it this morning. And then back into it as of an hour ago. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah. I am. I figure if the opportunity is offered, I should just go ahead and take it, right? It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just like any other performance and I should… you know… start somewhere, right? So I’ll just dive in head first…”

“Before you freak out again? You’re going to be awesome. You know that song like the back of your hand and it’s going to be fine, honey. Wear the red.”

“I wish I brought a wig with me…”

“No big deal. We’ll beat your face and fix the hair you have on your head. It’ll be fine. Danny!” Jay snapped his fingers. “It’ll be cool!”

“Since when are you the collected one?”

“Since I have to be. When have I ever let you down?” Jay rolled his eyes at Danny’s quipped ‘all the time?’ before he rolled off the bed and to his feet. “Shut up. We’ve got two more hours before we have to be there. We’re gonna get you dressed, we’re gonna make you look gawd damn gor-gee-ous, and that crowd is going to fucking love you. We got this!”

––––––––––––––––

“I don’t feel like I’ve got this,” Danny muttered as he looked across the crowd. It wasn’t as crowded as it was on Friday, but it was still one of the biggest audiences Danny had seen thus far. But considering that he usually performed in talent shows held on college campuses to a small group of bored students and parents that only cared about their own kids up until tonight? He supposed that was to be expected. A knot of nerves knocked loose from his throat, sunk to the pit of his stomach and nestled itself there uncomfortably, making him feel like he needed to pee.

“Shut up. You totally got this. Don’t you dare open your mouth and start asking me all the things that can go wrong because you know that’s not going to help.”

Danny nodded and swallowed again, trying to still that jittery feeling that he was about to vibrate out of his skin. “Got it. Okay. This won’t be awful. I’m like what? Fifth on the list?”

“Yeah. Which isn’t bad. You can scope out the talent, you don’t have to open the show, and it’s early enough in the night that not everyone will be gone by the time you get on. It’s… actually pretty great. Man. You’d think this Bianca thought about this shit.”

Danny could only shrug, taking a sip of the water in his hands, eyes trained on the stage as he waited. Apparently tonight was one of the few events Bianca didn’t host, so she wasn’t even here for him to thank her. He’d already asked.

“Hey,” Jay settled a hand on Danny’s shoulder and squeezed. “Take a breath, honey. I’ve never seen you scared of a performance ever in your life – don’t start now. This isn’t a big deal. Just another crowd. You’ve sung in the middle of food courts busier than this. You’ve got me. I’m going to record this for your mom or else she will slaughter me,” he got a laugh and an affirmative ‘she so would’ before continuing on, “You’re as good as you always are, no matter where you are.”

“Your words of wisdom sounds an awful lot like that fortune cookie I got last night.”

“Fuck you. See if I’m ever supportive of you ever again.”

“You’re a star, Jay.”

“No shit.”

They chatted lightly in between performances. Jay made sure to keep Danny laughing the closer his slot approached. The talent ranged from genuine to a very loose definition of the word, and Danny winced at a couple of the sour notes the guy before him hit. He looked around to see the rest of the crowd do the same. Great, he’d have to try to save the atmosphere of the room. As the song came to screeching end, Danny sucked in a breath.

The DJ awkwardly asked the crowd for some noise for the poor tone deaf soul, only to receive a smattering applause and a few boos.

“Oh please,” someone huffed off to Danny’s left, “Don’t encourage him.”

That voice sounded rather familiar but Danny didn’t have a chance to register why before he heard his name. He made his way to the stage and navigated the rickety steps a little bit better than he had his first night. He grabbed the mic and looked to the DJ before timidly requesting which track on the CD he brought. That nervous knot throbbed in panicked reminder when the DJ held up his finger to stall. Great. He felt the heat begin to crawl on his neck and he cleared his throat, deciding to do what he could do best – ramble.

“So… um… hi? I’m Danny… but you knew that… because I was called to the fucking stage. Pretty sure you could make the connection. You’re not that drunk yet, right?” he laughed a little nervously and cleared his throat again. “Um… well. I’m from out of town and… I really hope you like this fucking song… that I’m about to sing… to you… if my CD will fucking play… I haven’t been on a stage like this ever so… this is my first time. Please be gentle… okay? You got it?” The DJ nodded “Okay good…”

He took one last actual breath before the music started. He almost missed his cue with his fidgeting, but recovered with just a small stutter. The first verse was a little rough but once he stumbled through it, he’d regained his feet, his confidence strangling the last bit of nerves just in time for him to belt out the chorus. Everything seemed to melt around him – the hazy club lights, the shadows they cast, the crowd – it all blended together into useless noise as he lost himself in the music, his voice, and how his feet felt on that stage as he began to sway and strut, unable to stay still for much longer.

He’d lost his shirt at some point during the bridge, leaving him in nothing but the white crop top and tattered black jeans. He collected it to the sound of applause after he put the mic back on the stand and bit his lip. “Thank you,” he’d managed to croak out before he bounded off the stage. He nearly tripped on the last step as he flew back to Jay, barrelling into him and laughing with a raucous ‘oh my god!’

“Gurl! You killed it!” Jay squealed and wrapped his arms around his friend in a tight hug. Danny could just grin as he shrugged his shirt back on and huffed a huge sigh of relief.

–––––––––––––––––––––

An intermission had been called after Danny’s performance. He’d been complimented by a couple of the singers before him and flirted with by some of the audience as smokers and light weights filed out to take advantage of the down time. He felt like he was floating, soaking it all in with a smile plastered on his face until that familiar voice crept back to his ear.

“Not too bad, California. Congrats on your New York debut.”

“Thanks! I almost backed out… but I’m so glad I didn’t!” Danny blurted out as he spun to face the stranger.

“Glad you didn’t. Would have hated to see my efforts go to waste.”

The face with the voice helped everything click. The eyelashes, the heavy liner, the painted lips – all of that was absent – but Danny remembered that voice now. And those dimples. Oh shit…

“Bianca?”

The older man, dressed simply in black with a drink in his hand, nodded with sincerity. “One and the same. Though out of drag, you can call me Roy if you’d prefer.” He held out his hand and Danny took it in a timid handshake, causing the seasoned queen to quirk an eyebrow. “That was really pathetic, but okay…” He nodded to the stage, “Enjoy yourself up there?”

“Oh God, yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You really didn’t…”

“Calm down,” Roy held up his hand to cut Danny off, “I just got your name on a list. It’s not brain surgery. It’s fine…” He trailed a bit before he gestured to Danny’s make-up vaguely, “You do that yourself?”

“Um…” Danny felt that blush creeping up again, not quite sure how to answer. Every time he tried his voice hit the brakes at the back of his throat.

“It’s a simple question.”

Jay elbowed Danny lightly in the side before rolling his eyes and answering for him, “I did some of it,” he admitted.

“So which one of you is a bit heavy handed with the contour through here?” Roy gestured to his own cheeks, striking both of the younger queens silent as they both stammered for an answer. “Again, just a simple question.”

Jay swivelled around to take a good look at Adore, chewing on his lip. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it did look really dark. And streaky. “Shit…”

Roy’s voice floated above them and settled flat against the sizzling embarrassment between them both. “It’s not the end of the world. Just work at it. May I?” he stepped forward, setting aside his drink, and took Danny by the chin when the other nodded. His hold was gentle and a bit warm and Danny blinked a few times so he could focus on what the older man was saying while Jay looked on with astute attention, “– cheekbones look like they’re sinking towards his chin, and it should be lighter here and along here,” he jumped a bit as the back of Roy’s fingers brushed across his jawline, “Right now he looks like he’s got a beard which I don’t think you were going for.” He released Danny’s chin and took a step back, reaching back for his drink. “Take what you want from that, but it mostly just comes from practice.”

“Thank you…” they both murmured and Roy turned to Jay in an obvious attempt to soothe the awkwardness his impromptu advice had rustled up.

“I actually don’t think I caught your name the other day…”

“Oh! I’m Jay… and seriously, thank you. I’m just… feeling kind of stupid,” Roy cut him off with a soft ‘don’t’ and a stern look, causing Jay to shift gears to a more positive route, “It’s been… great to meet and talk to you, actually. Alyssa said you were worth the patience… though I don’t know exactly what that means…”

“I’m worth the patience?” Roy wrinkled his nose with a smirk, “That rotted bitch.”

“How do you know Justin anyway?”

“Oh, that,” Roy rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “That is a story that I don’t have enough time to tell. Nor do I plan on drinking that much tonight, so you’ll just have to ponder that mystery. But…” he checked his phone and hissed through his teeth, “I’ve got to get going. You two enjoy the rest of your stay, okay? If you’ve got time, stop back in. I’m here the rest of the week.”

Roy leaned over the counter and said something inaudible to the bar tender before handing over his glass and then in an instant he was gone, darting out the door with his coat draped over his arm.

Jay and Danny stood still for a moment, loitering a bit before they shrugged, “Should we get going then?” Jay suggested and Danny nodded in agreement. They’d ordered nothing but water, so they simply collected their coats and left to flag down a cab.

–––––––––––––––––––––

“Man…” Danny was the first to break the silence of their cab ride. There was a long pause as he tried to follow it up with something inspirational. “He really knows his stuff, doesn’t he?” He settled for less inspirational and more of a blatant and slightly lame observation, but at least it was something.

“Yeah,” Jay didn’t linger too much on that subject, only nodding absently. He wrinkled his nose a bit before his eyes widened in a sudden realization before he turned almost full body to face Danny, “You know who he looks like? You know, when he’s out of drag?”

“Who?”

“What’s-his-name that you have a picture of. Only older, obviously, and with dimples. But he looks kind of like him,” Jay elaborated as Danny continued to stare at him with a blank expression, “That guy you liked in high school?”

It hadn’t fully hit Danny until Jay actually said it out loud. “Shit,” he whispered and leaned back in his seat. “He fucking did look like him, didn’t he?”

“Certainly explains the googly eyes you were giving him.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” They exchanged looks – Jay rolled his eyes and waved his hands around his face as if that explained everything before Danny just started giggling. “If you think I was crushing on him, then you’ve lost your ever living god damn mind.”

“You were crushing on him. Hard core,” Jay held up a finger, “Do not give me that look that I know you’re going to give me. When he was talking, you were lucky that blush was so heavy so he couldn’t clock the real one you were sporting. Or that dreamy blinky eye flirting you always do.”

“I do not have a dreamy blinky eye thing.”

“Don’t you though? It’s like…” Jay dropped his jaw and widened his eyes so he could properly exaggerate Danny’s expression, “I swear to God you would have jumped him if you weren’t such a chicken shit.”

“Me? Since you’ve known me, when have I ever been shy? Please,” Danny crossed his arms and looked out the window to see the city lights pass. “If I wanted him, I would have tried to cop a feel. And I didn’t. So case closed.”

The conversation was certainly not closed, but was delayed as they paid for their cab ride and headed to their room. It didn’t pick back up again until the elevator door closed and Jay turned back to him.

“You know that’s bullshit. You know that’s total bullshit. You cop feels when you can tell the guy is easy and you can get him right away. When it’s a guy you think you can’t have – that’s when you get nervous and shy like some precious virgin damsel.”

“Totally not true!”

“Abso-fucking-positively true and you know it! Because it’s more than just thinking he’s cute or that he resembles some guy you use to make heart eyes at – you soaked up every word he’s said ever since he called you up on stage. You like him!”

“I don’t even know him!”

“Yeah, but you want to. And what’s more? –” Jay’s voice lowered when the elevator dinged and the doors opened, hunching down slightly as he tried whispered, “You want him to notice you,” he wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulders and squeezed playfully. “You want him to remember who you are and know your name. I bet you were pretty fucking pleased with yourself when he showed up tonight to see you sing.”

Danny’s jaw dropped and his bottom lip curled over the top of his teeth as he tried his best to tame the smile that might ruin his offended expression. He unlocked the hotel room and stormed in, unable to keep his giggles under control as he went into his rampage, “Out of line, man. Out of fucking line! Like… how fucking dare you!” he laughed and tossed a pillow in Jay’s direction. “There is absolutely no way any of what you just said is true! No way!”

Jay deflected the pillow with his palms and snickered behind his knuckles, “Oh really?” he put his hand on his hip as he popped it out before he fell to the bed and spread across it. “So you didn’t think about kissing him at all the entire time he was holding your face and touching your cheeks?”

“No way!”

Jay snorted, “Ye-huh. Okay. Because you were thinking about fucking him, weren’t you?”

“Oh shut up,” Danny hit him with the pillow again.

“Translation? You were,” Jay remarked from behind the pillow before he pushed it aside and turned onto his stomach to look at Danny as he sat on the edge of the bed across from him. “So you gonna try to see him again before we leave?”

Danny shrugged as he absent mindedly started to tug at his right upper eyelash. “I dunno. Would there be any point?”

“You could always try to thank him properly,” Jay pushed his tongue into his cheek in a crude gesture for Danny to scoff at. “Seriously! Why not? He could be into it.”

Danny didn’t fully answer. Instead, he headed towards the bathroom, murmuring about getting ready for some sleep. He flicked on the shamelessly shoddy light to the bathroom before shutting the door. He caught his own reflection in the small mirror and just stared at himself for a moment. He replayed the experienced queen’s tutorial on how to improve his make-up, determined to file it away into his memory properly, and tried desperately to ignore the phantom of warm fingers lightly pressed up on his chin that still lingered.

If you got time, stop back in. I’m here the rest of the week.

It certainly sounded simple enough. The invitation was out there. And it would be rude, Danny reasoned, not to at least try to comply. This didn’t have to be complicated. It was just making time to stop in for a drink one more time before he headed back home.

Easy.

#bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #au #alternate meeting #slow burn #tw crude language #submission #kitschy pixel #utfg #flavor #queen au #rpdr fanfiction

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