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elizaviento · 2 years

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Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 7 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated SFW — 4298 words.

Note: Covid is kicking my ass, y'all. But these two continue to be silly idiots...

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description. Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Kristen struggled with the wheelbarrow, good hand wrapped around one handle while she tried to balance the opposite side with her hip. After it toppled over for the fifth time, she kicked the rusty bucket and groaned, wondering why she'd told Shane there was nothing else to do on the farm for the remainder of the day.

You were too busy freaking him the fuck out, she thought, sinking to the ground in front of the discarded hand truck. Did you really think his reaction would be anything other than what it was?

No. In truth, she'd expected it to go much worse. All the headway she'd made with Shane over the years was hard-won with ample amounts of patience. Approaching him with such a rash proposal out of the absolute fucking blue would never end with his immediate acquiescence. She'd been arrogant and foolish, hoping that a shift had transpired in their relationship. An inkling of such a shift had made itself known when Shane offered to be her personal farmhand without so much as batting an eye, but Kristen overstepped, misinterpreting his kindness for something else. Something more. And now, here she sat — ass in the dirt staring forlornly at a field full of overripe tomatoes, praying they wouldn't rot overnight. Praying even harder that Shane would return in the morning, all memory of her awkward proposal wiped from his brain.

"Hey! Farmer!"

The voice was deep and not immediately familiar to Kristen as she searched for its owner. The sun was beginning to sink low, brilliant splotches of fire and gold obscuring her vision as a form bled through and drew closer.

"Alex?" she asked, finally recognizing the burly physique. He was carrying a large basket with a sack slung over one shoulder. His stereotypically handsome face greeted her with a smile, along with a six-pack carved from marble.

"Yeah." He was close enough now that he offered a hand, and she took it, soon finding herself on her feet and failing not to stare. "Sorry — was in the middle of a workout when Gran asked me to bring this stuff over," he explained with a smug expression, obviously aware that his outfit was a distraction.

"No need to apologize," Kristen said, waving him to follow her as she turned toward the farmhouse. She had the almost uncontrollable urge to compliment his routine but bit her tongue, convinced that accidentally flirting with someone like Alex would end in Haley hunting her down and scratching her eyes out like a cat in heat.

They'd made it to the front porch before Alex spoke again, slinging the bag on the rocking chair and placing the basket near the front door.

"You really are fucked up, huh?" he asked, eyeing the farmer's injured hand as she wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm.

"Oh — yeah. Guess I am."

"Need help with anything while I'm here? I'm pretty strong, you know."

Kristen suppressed a smirk as the gridball jock threaded a hand through his perfectly manicured hair, not-so-subtly flexing as he did so. Only then did she notice just how tan he was and wondered if it was from a bottle.

"Actually," she began, allowing her eyes to rove over his form. The outfit choice made sense, given his earlier excuse, but she was certain he would have had time to change if he really wanted to. "Have you ever harvested tomatoes before?"

Kristen winced as she watched Alex rip each fruit from the stalks. She was confident half her plants wouldn't be viable to produce again, convinced she'd find them snapped in half if she went to investigate, but beggars can't be choosers. Once again, she mentally berated herself for spooking the one man she actually wanted to watch working in her fields as the last drops of golden sunlight melted below the horizon.

"Done," the jock declared, parking the full wheelbarrow at the side of the porch. Sweat glistened on his perfectly sculpted abs and bulging thighs, reminding Kristen of Teen Beat pinups her high school girlfriends would tape to the inside of their lockers.

"Thanks, Alex. I was afraid they would rot before —"

"Well, I'm not doing anything else tonight," he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. He'd obviously not been listening to a word Kristen said, instead calculating his next move. The farmer raised one brow in question, and he continued. "We should watch a movie or something. Gran packed some food, and I brought some beer."

Kristen balked, realization dawning on her like a brick to the face.

"Wha — Alex, how old are you?" she blurted, the question leaping from her throat before she could stop it. She already knew the answer but hoped that his saying it aloud would cement just how ridiculous his thinly veiled attempt actually was.

"I'm 21. Why, that too young for you?"

A barking laugh sprung from her chest, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress another. No matter his intentions, she didn't want to offend someone who had just gone out of their way to help her.

"It's not about that," she clarified. Deep down, she was a bit flattered that someone his age would be interested in her. In fact, that's probably what he was banking on.

"I dunno, we're both single. You're hot. I'm hot. You gotta be bored out here, right?"

She blinked and shook her head, wondering why she wasn't outright offended. She may have been if there was any indication whatsoever that he was trying to play her for a fool. But he seemed utterly genuine.

"I —"

He cut her off again, only this time, his words were so on point that she nearly fell over while processing them.

"You got it for someone else, huh? That Shane guy? Yeah, I dunno why; he's kinda mean to everyone. That's cool, though. Wouldn't wanna step on his toes, you know." He appeared a bit dejected but quickly shook it off, giving her another show-stopping smile. "If you change your mind, lemme know. We could probably have some fun, and I wouldn't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

"Yeah, sure…" she said, still dumbstruck. Alex was known to be a flirt, and this wasn't the first time he'd done so with her, but his rock-solid confidence shook her to the core.

"And don't worry, I won't tell Shane either," he continued with a wink. "Though you should probably just make a move on him or something. He seems kinda dumb. I would've had you in bed already if you followed me around like that."

Kristen’s mouth fell agape, too flabbergasted to respond. But the voices in her head were anything but silent.

If Alex fucking Mullner can tell, everyone can. Everyone in this town knows. Everyone. EVERYONE!

"Anyway. Guess I'll take my change of clothes with me," Alex said, unphased by the farmer's lack of response. "The basket has the food and beer. Keep the beer. I think you probably need it."

Again, she slowly blinked and waved like a moron when he retrieved the sack from her rocking chair and strutted back toward town.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Kristen took her time hauling in the tomatoes from the wheelbarrow, almost one by one, washing them in her sink and placing them in cardboard boxes lined with paper towels. She'd call Pierre in the morning and ask if he'd be willing to come pick them up, knowing he would discount his travel cost from the final bill of sale, but it was better than the alternative of the entire crop going to waste. The process was slow and tedious; night had fully fallen by the time she flopped down on her living room couch to grab her phone.

9:01 PM: 1 missed call from Shane Davis

9:02 PM: 1 missed call from Shane Davis

9:03 PM: 1 missed call from Shane Davis

The farmer furrowed her brow, checking the current time. She'd missed his calls by just a few minutes but was far more concerned with the back-to-back notifications. Shane wasn't the serial calling type.

The second he picked up the call, Kristen recognized the clamber of the Saloon, and she closed her eyes. He might have been just chatting with Emily and Gus. Maybe he'd had a beer or two. But something told her that was wishful thinking. And when he finally spoke, she was proven right.

Initially, she'd been hotly upset. Not because Shane was drunk but due to the accusations he'd so casually tossed at her, implying she'd hopped into bed with someone in the few hours since they'd last seen one another. It was absurd and equally perplexing. It never failed to amaze Kristen just how fast gossip flew through this minuscule town, and she wondered how warped the story had become when it reached Shane's intoxicated ears.

Regardless, the farmer had a game plan for these situations: Coffee, bread, and more coffee. She set a batch of the black gold to brew while pulling a fresh loaf from the basket of goodies that Evelyn had packed. It must have been divine intervention, the old woman including such an essential item for Kristen's current predicament. Then again, maybe Alex inherited his unsettling intuition from his Gran…

Kristen practically stomped her aggression out during the walk to the Saloon, the first half spent in solitude as she followed the footpath leading toward the bus stop. By the time she'd crossed the threshold into town, she'd cooled off considerably and found herself smiling and waving to those few town folks out and about. Annoyance still simmered below the surface but low enough that she could control it in the face of wandering eyes.

"Kristen!" Emily called, frantically gesturing the farmer over as soon as she entered the Saloon. Her eyes quickly scanned the bar, shoulders sagging when she failed to locate her target.

"Hey, Em. How long ago did he leave?" the farmer asked, taking Shane's usual stool at the end of the bar next to the fireplace. An empty mug and a glass of melting ice water sat side by side in front of her.

"Not long after he hung up with you," Emily replied, whisking away Shane's leftovers. "He seemed upset. I told him to call you, hoping it would calm him down. He hasn't had a night like this in a while."

"Yeah…" Kristen confirmed, rubbing her eyes with her good hand's thumb and middle finger. Her injured hand throbbed, reminding her that she hadn't taken any painkillers since that morning. "It's probably my fault."

Emily gave the farmer a sympathetic look before fetching a fresh glass and filling it with her favorite soda.

"You can't hold yourself responsible for a grown man, Kristen. You've helped him turn things around, but it's ultimately up to him to stay on the right path," Emily said. It would have come across as a lecture from any other person, but the farmer knew that Emily held more wisdom in her pinky finger than most people did in their entire bodies. "Whatever haunts him, it's not up to you to chase it away. But —" she took Kristen's hand and held it gently, closing her eyes as if she were channeling something unseen, "— he trusts you. He obviously sees your friendship as something to be cherished. Don't take that lightly."

Kristen sighed, again taken aback by an observation so apt that a verbal response eluded her. Instead, she simply nodded and sipped her drink, gathering her thoughts.

She would have to find Shane; that much was clear, and she knew exactly where to look. What wasn't so clear was how she would address their shared bizarre behavior of the day once she sobered him up. The night was young enough that it was still possible, so she knew she had to try before Alex and Emily's revelations faded into soft obscurity in the back of her mind, tucked away and forgotten. It was easy enough to let Shane's reaction to her earlier proposal sit on her nerves and make her crazy with uncertainty, but it was another matter to honestly examine her own feelings and admit to herself why her immediate solution was to move him into her home.

Kristen attempted to pay for the soda, but Emily, of course, refused. She tucked several bills under the glass anyway and blew the blue-haired woman a playful kiss when she caught her eye exiting the Saloon. Not for the first time, the farmer counted herself lucky to have made such a friend during her time in the Valley. Someone who could speak to her plainly but still provided a perspective she wouldn't have stumbled across otherwise. It was refreshing, even among such a tight-knit community.

"Please, at least be semi-coherent by the time I find you," Kristen mumbled under her breath as she stepped out into the cobblestone walkway. She'd spent more time in the Saloon than she'd realized and groaned when she checked her phone. Shane could do a lot of damage in an hour and a half, and Kristen wagered it would be midnight by the time she found her way to the Cindersap lake dock. At this rate, she'd be lucky if he was even conscious.

He's come a lot farther than that, she chided herself. But the farmer was ultimately a realist. During their short phone call, Shane's tone didn't give her much hope that he was curbing his impulses.

Just as she'd predicted, she found him on the dock. Initially, fear gripped her heart when she saw him lying there motionless, several beer cans littered around him. How many times had she come upon a similar scene? It never got easier.

He drank the coffee and ate the bread as she presented it to him. A cup here. A hunk there. They sat in silence otherwise, the chirp of crickets and the croak of toads providing the only soundtrack. It was peaceful. Comfortable. The world shrank around them until only the pair remained, their breaths seeming to sync as Kristen sank into her thoughts and Shane slowly sobered up.

"Um —" he spoke after what felt like millennia. Kristen jumped slightly, her eyes focusing on his face in the darkness. She'd switched off her flashlight ages ago but could make out the curve of his jaw and the motion of his hand as he scrubbed it down his face. "Sorry."

She wasn't sure how to respond. Apologizing felt hollow somehow. Something massive sat between them. Dense and burdensome. And she knew they wouldn't leave this dock until they addressed it properly.

"Shane. We have to talk."

"I know," he replied with a weary sigh that exasperated her. She felt defeated before they'd even begun. Like no matter what she said, he'd simply take it and shrug it off as if it didn't phase him in the slightest, despite his earlier belligerence.

"What exactly do you know?" she asked, challenging him. Her voice had already risen an octave, indicative of her current state of vex. She hated that her emotions had already slithered from their cage, but attempting to wrangle them back in was no use. Her injured hand throbbed as her heart rate spiked, and she suddenly found herself holding back sobs. Chest wracking, breath hitching sobs of pure frustration.

"I know I'm an asshole. I know I dragged you out here in the middle of the night — again. I know I blew everything out of proportion and then tried to drown it in beer because that's what I do. That's how I cope. I know I'll probably never change, and you're just wasting your time."

"Shut up," she said, ripping a hunk from the bread loaf and shoving it into her mouth. The act of chewing gave her precious seconds to swallow the snarky words she wanted to follow along with a heavy dose of carbs. "You actually don't know shit, Shane. You really, truly don't."

"What?" he asked. It seemed some of the farmer's frustration was leaking into the atmosphere of their tiny bubble, infecting the man who she was effectively holding hostage.

"I need you to sit there and just listen to me for a little bit, okay? Because what I'm about to say is something I've been shoving down and trying to ignore. I'm good at pretending things don't exist, but it always catches up to me, and then I end up here — frustrated and upset because I'm too chicken shit to admit what's really going on."

"Kriss, you don't have to do this."

His tone had shifted, and he suddenly sounded… scared? Apprehensive? She wasn't sure. And for a moment, she hesitated. Did she really want to lay all her baggage at his feet just as he crawled from the swamps of inebriation? She could very well be shoving another case of beer down his throat.

"Shane."

She reached for him in the darkness, fingers slipping through his palm before settling in the groves of his own. His wrist was limp for longer than she hoped, and she considered pulling away. But then he curled his fingers around hers, properly holding her hand for the very first time. She suddenly felt like an inexperienced teenager and was thankful for the darkness, acting as an invisible buffer between her swelling emotions and the unsuspecting man they were directed toward. After another stretch of silence, Shane shifted slightly, positioning their hands more naturally, settling them atop one of his thighs. Nothing he could have said aloud would have been a more precise indication that he was prepared to accept what was next, so Kristen sucked in a deep breath and continued.

"This thing between us… it isn't just friendship. You know that, right?"

She paused, not expecting an actual response but giving herself space to accept what she'd said alongside him. In her peripheral vision, he nodded before tilting his face toward the sky. She did the same, mapping the glittering dots above them with her eyes, connecting one by one like plot points in the story of her life. Each line had led her directly to this moment with this man. Sitting on a lake dock in the middle of the night, fingers intertwined, so many things unspoken.

"I told you about my divorce," she said, still struggling with assigning words to her feelings as they swelled and threatened to consume her.

"Yeah," Shane answered. His fingers flexed in her grip as he shifted again uncomfortably. "But you don't have to talk about that."

"No, I do," she protested, even as words caught in her throat, thick and sticky. "Because it matters. I left everything behind to escape a life I ruined. I came here thinking I could hide away on my grandpa's farm forever. I'd given up. But then I saw you and thought I could… I don't know. I thought maybe I didn't have to be alone."

Kristen paused again, a shaky exhale slipping past her lips. She'd spent far too long denying how she felt and could only imagine how blindsided Shane must have been earlier in the day and now. And how unfair it was for her to assign him to such a position in her life, despite his initial protests. It was like she'd literally forced herself upon him, pushed and pushed until she wore him down, and he had no choice but to accept the new farmer as a reluctant companion. The words 'Stockholm syndrome' floated up to the surface of her mind like a dead fish, and she almost laughed aloud. It actually resembled the pyramid inside a magic 8 ball, displaying the answer to her question of why Shane would continue to put up with her obvious emotional manipulation.

"We didn't just split up," she spoke again, her thoughts finally flowing freely. "He cheated on me. I was so consumed with my career that all I wanted was to get ahead, and I ignored him. For years. By the time I was ready to leave Joja, it was too late. He'd moved on."

Shane shifted again, only now he turned to face her. She still couldn't distinguish his features in the dark, but his aura was cautious as he untangled their fingers. For a dreadful second, she thought he was about to get up and leave, simply walk away and leave her alone with her selfish confessions. But he wrapped his free arm around her waist instead, gingerly settling his palm on her hip. She stiffened momentarily out of pure shock, recalling every instance he refused to hug her back and how he would put distance between them when she got too comfortable in his presence. Something had finally changed between them, and she felt her heart flutter as she placed her hand on his thigh and scooted closer to his side.

"Why are you blaming yourself for that?" he asked. His voice was imploring, displaying interest past the haze of alcohol, and Kristen figured he'd crested the surface of sobriety.

"I don't know. Societal pressures? I was expected to be the perfect wife with the perfect career. When he told me he wanted kids, I kept putting it off because I was so close to clawing my way up the ladder. I told him we'd be set once I became Senior Corporate Counsel. But that all fell apart, and by the time I'd licked my wounds and crawled back to him, he'd gotten someone else pregnant and served me with divorce papers."

"Jesus, Kriss…" Shane breathed, unconsciously tightening his grip on her waist. Kristen followed his lead and scooted closer to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Despite the balmy night air, a chill hugged her bare arms, and she suppressed a shiver. "So you came here after?"

"Yep," she replied with a bitter laugh. "Imagine going to law school only to end up a farmer."

"What happened at Joja?" he asked. Again, his tone was cautious, and she couldn't blame him. She'd dodged this question before, not ready to rehash the shame. After a while, he'd dropped the subject entirely, but it was only natural he'd still be curious.

"Can I promise to tell you about that later? For real this time."

He nodded, and she released a breath, glad she didn't have to spill the whole of her sorted history in one sitting. But, as it was, she needed to finally get to the point before she tied his brain into a pretzel.

"So, what now?" he hedged, reading her thoughts. Kristen froze, realizing it was truly now or never. What did she really have to lose? Besides her best friend…

"I still want you to move in with me, but…" She cleared her throat, stalling for time. Shane remained quiet at her side, giving her that reprieve. She buried her face in his shoulder as she flushed, apprehension manifesting as beads of cold sweat rolling down her spine.

Just do it. Say it. Tell him now.

"I'm sorry I've been so confusing and frustrating to deal with. I'm sorry if it felt like I was stringing you along. I'm sorry I sprang this on you out of the blue. For me, it's not such a rash request."

She paused again, holding her breath to gauge the steady quality of his own, deep and even. She hadn't a clue what he must be thinking as she rambled like a lunatic, but she was beginning to lose her nerve.

"I'm crazy about you, Shane. And I've spent the last 2 years trying to pretend I'm not because I don't want to get hurt again. I've been too scared to make a move like a normal human being because I'm fucked up. So instead, I ask you to upheave your entire life to come live on my farm like it's the logical next step in any normal friendship."

"Kristen. Wait…”

During her tirade, he'd shimmied from their awkward embrace and turned to face her fully, placing both hands on her shoulders. The utterance of her full name took her aback, and she clamped her mouth shut, terrified that this was finally it. He was going to tell her he didn't feel the same. He wanted to stay friends. Or worse — he wanted to go their separate ways.

"What?" she croaked. Tears welled in her eyes. She swiped them away quickly, cursing her urge to blink. Humiliation rolled over her like a truck, and she wanted to flip herself into the lake and sink like a stone until she settled on the bottom for eternity.

"Will you, uh — I mean, let's go to the ranch. Marnie's not coming home tonight, and Jas is at Vincent's."

"Why?" she asked, wiggling from his grasp and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, dulling the throbbing of her injured hand, causing her to tremble.

He's blowing you off. He wants to distract you so you'll stop making a fool of yourself.

"I just — please?"

He rose to his feet, snatching her backpack from the dock and retrieving the flashlight from a side pocket. The LED beam exploded from the tiny device, and Kristen squinted her eyes, shielding them with her bandaged hand while the other pushed herself up to join him.

Crickets and toads filled the silence again with their nightly crooning as the pair walked, twigs snapping under their feet. The occasional scuttle in surrounding bushes reminded them of the life that thrived in the woods, tiny creatures unconcerned with the complicated emotions of humans and the silly way they sabotaged joy for the sake of convenience.

Kristen wished to be like them someday. Happy and free.

#stardew valley #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #sdv shane x farmer #fanfiction #green on the vine strawberry wine

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

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When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)

Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.

It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).

Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.

To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:

“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”

This is what happens following the text:

*****

Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.

A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.

Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.

She mumbled an apology.

“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.

What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?

If so, she had clearly been mistaken.

She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.

He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.

He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.

“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.

He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”

Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.

The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.

“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.

“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.

The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.

“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.

“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.

Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.

“Ash… please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your mind tricks.”

He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.

“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”

“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”

A shadow flickered across his green eyes.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.

Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.

“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”

Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”

“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”

He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.

“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.

Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”

Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.

Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.

A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...

“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.

Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.

“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”

“You’ve seen my art?”

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.

“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”

“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Jace. In your dreams.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”

“You mean Kit.”

Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.

Ash shot her an unfathomable look.

“How is she?” She asked.

“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”

“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Clary’s mouth quirked up.

“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”

“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.

She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.

“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”

“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.

“Sure.”

She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?

“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”

“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.

“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”

“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”

He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.

“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.

He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”

“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”

He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.

“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”

His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”

From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.

“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”

Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”

He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”

“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”

She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”

“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”

Ash’s green eyes widened.

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”

Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”

“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.

“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."

“I already have a family.”

“I know that you care about Janus…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.

“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course, because of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”

“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”

“That’s not what I am-”

“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”

She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.

“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”

“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.

“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”

He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”

He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.

“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”

“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”

He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.

He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.

“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.

“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”

“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”

“What? You were… protecting me?”

“Take care of yourself, Clary.”

He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.

****

Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.

“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”

She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.

“I messed up.”

“What did you mess up?”

She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”

Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have insisted on coming.”

“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”

Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”

“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”

“What drawing?”

“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

Text

❥𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓐𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓭𝓪

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑠! 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜× 𝐴𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑀𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑦 𝐴𝑈

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.8𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑀𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑠𝑒𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠

“𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡.

𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝐼 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑘𝑦…..

𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.”- 𝑈𝑛𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛

༺═──────────────═༻

The young woman lifted her head up slowly, her eyes still not opening. Instead, they scrunched up as the sun's rays pierced through the slight opening of the silk turquoise drapes that covered the large glass window of her balcony. She felt a slight tingling sensation of pins in needles run down her back as she straightened up and stretched out her back, which was very sore from sleeping on her chair and desk, bent over the book she had gotten lost into the night before.

Humming softly, she scooted her chair back and got up, cramping up slightly. She picked up her treasured book and put it back on the shelf, laying it to rest along with its fellow literary companions that never failed to bring her joy as she poured over their contents time and time again, never getting bored of what her mother would often call 'silly and unrealistic romance fables'. Her mother was on the more practical side of things, when she wasn't on the other side of her mirror that is. It was no secret her mother was the most vain and self loving woman the kingdom, constantly boasting about her looks, her arrogance and pride could be heard from miles away.

The young princess hurried to dress herself, a task she had preferred doing with no help from her hand maidens since 2 years ago, knowing they'd only fashion her in the flashy and extravagant style her mother preferred, which was not at all to her liking. She was more comfortable in simple tunics with no ornaments at all, but today her mother specifically requested her to put on her best dress as it was to be a special day for her. So there she was, dressing herself in a luxurious forest green robe with golden flowers threaded onto the sleeves and hem of the dress. The scratchy material irritated her skin, but still she had to admit she looked very pretty. Fastening her hair with a gold colored brooch that was shaped like a leaf, she walked out into the long corridor, the passing servants greeting her as she made her way to the throne room where her father was probably already waiting.

"Morning father."

She came up and kissed his head, giving him a warm and fond smile.

"How are you my little star?" He greeted her with the nickname he's called her since she was a child.

"Ready to help you out in the inventories and with sorting through the official documents and drafts."

Over time, she'd grown to help take over some of the duties her father attended to since there was never a male heir.

Her father waved a hand dismissively.

"Not today I'm afraid. Today.....there's is something else that must be taken care of."

Before she could even ask what that was, the glorious queen herself bursted through the doors.

"Andromeda my darling daughter!"

Her mother smothered her in a crushing embrace that was more painful than endearing. The poor girl was being suffocated by her mother's strength and her overwhelming lavender scent she always sprayed on.

"Mmom- mom, remember we aren't supposed to call me by that name until I was married."

That was how it was in their kingdom: babies were given 2 names, 1 which they were called as they grew up by everyone around them and 1 which they'd be referred to after they got married. Which is why it shocked Y/N that her mother was calling her that now.

"Which will actually happen very soon my dear."

Y/N turned to look at her father, her face asking for an explanation. His smile was meant to be reassuring, but instead it felt forced and almost as if he was feeling pity for her.

"We......have picked out the best match for you."

Y/N knew this day would come sooner or later. As the princess of the kingdom, she'd be married off to the best suitor to come forward and ask for her hand. She was not scared of this prospect ahead of her, in fact, she had often daydreamed of meeting her future husband and falling in love with him like she often read about in her stories. She was often imagining a young and handsome lad coming to ask for her, with strong arms and athletic build. She wanted someone like the hero Heracles, who was known for his superior strength and good looks.

"And he's already here! So straighten up Andromeda, chin up, make yourself look more alive for goodness sakes."

Her mother began her usual fussing again, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her daughter's dress and pulling out strands of her hair to compliment her features even more. She went as far as pinching Y/N's cheeks.

"Ow! What was that for?" Y/N cupped her cheeks, not wanting them to be abused by her mother's bony fingers and long nails.

"To give them a little pink tint." Her mother looked at her as if she was stupid.

"My dear Cassiopeia, I think the child has had enough. She looks beautiful all right?"

The queen pouted her bottom lip.

"But I'm still the most beautiful one right?"

There it was, her mother couldn't even resist having someone tell her how pretty she was or compliment her appearance. Her husband rolled his eyes.

"You're the most beautiful in all of Joppa." He replied, simply just to get her off his case and go back to what was really important here.

The royal family got in their respective places, awaiting the arrival of Y/N's future husband. She tugged on the fabric of her dress, nervous yet excited at meeting who her parents had deemed suitable for her.

The doors opened and Y/N held her breath as a royal announcer came in, hand over his chest as he proclaimed:

"Announcing his royal Majesty, Phineas, King of Cyprus."

Y/N's heart sank when she heard who was just announced.

'No no no....please mighty gods in the heavens..."

She wanted the earth to swallow her as she looked at the man in front of her, not a stranger, but an all too familiar and not welcomed face to her. Out of all the people in the land......

Why did her parents have to choose him? A king who was 20 years her senior, had already been married once and was not only particularly displeasing in figure, but more so in personality?

"My dear friend! So nice to see you again!"

The regal queen greeted the neighboring monarch warmly, delighted at the thought of having him there with them.

"My dear queen Cassiopeia. You haven't changed at all. Still the most beautiful creature that has ever walked on this earth." He complimented her as he kissed her hand.

Her husband just sat there, so used to the flattery bestowed upon his wife by the old fool. Y/N on the other hand wanted to run away from there, crawl into her bed and cry her eyes out. Her mother was having none of that though.

"Andromeda. Come here and say hello to your future husband."

She looked at her father, eyes begging him to intervene, but his eyes just looked at her sadly and at that moment she knew she had no choice. Her future had been decided and there was no going back. Taking a deep breath, she took slow and heavy steps until she stood in front of Phineas. Bowing her head, she greeted him with a very hushed voice, which the king mistakenly misinterpreted as timidness.

"My lovely bride do not be so shy. We shall soon be happily married and I promise to make you the happiest woman alive. And I know you shall make me a very happy man and bear me lots of heirs."

Y/N nearly gagged at the thought.

"Heirs?" Her vision was beginning to get blurry.

When the man in front of her took her hand in his own, she nearly yanked it back.

"Yes. Many children with the God's blessings." He chuckled, but she did not find any of it amusing.

She felt so repulsed and sick she didn't realize what was happening until she heard people calling out her name and her body hit the floor underneath her, vision going completely black as she fainted due to the shock.

༺═──────────────═༻

She awoke hours later, one of her handmaidens, Sophiya, was stirring a cup in her hand.

"Miss, you're awake."

Y/N sat up, her head still spinning somewhat.

"What on earth happened?" She rubbed her temples, trying to recollect her memories.

Sophiya held out the cup and saucer out to her.

"It seems you fainted."

Right. She remembered now. She was betrothed to an old geezer and couldn't handle it so she passed out in front of everybody. She sighed as she stirred the chamomile tea inside her cup, the smell of it already helping clear her head.

"Why him? Why out of all the people in the world, I have to be married to him?" She wondered out loud before sipping some of her tea carefully.

She wasn't afraid of speaking her mind with Sophiya around. Not only was she a loyal and discreet maid, she was the closest friend she had in the palace, the one often listening to her and offering advice at times.

"Well from a political perspective, it's a very desirable match. Your father's northern territories share a border with Phineas' kingdom. Uniting two states by marriage would be beneficial both politically and commercially." Sophiya stated.

Y/N set her cup on her dresser rather harshly.

"It's not fair though. I don't want someone old enough to be my father as a husband, let alone someone who treats women like they're just objects instead of people."

"No? Then what do you want Y/N?"

Sophiya had a mischievous grin on her face, knowing fully well what her friend's answer would be. Grabbing a pillow, Y/N chucked it at her, causing her to double over in laughter.

"Shut up! Don't start."

Y/N got up and went to her vanity and began arranging her hair which was now poking out from several places. She cringed a little and was about to reach for her comb but Sophiya beat her to it.

"It's been a while since I've done this." Sophiya hummed a little tune like she always did whenever she combed through Y/N's hair.

"I can do it myself you know." Y/N reminded her.

Sophiya snorted. "Yeah and that's why your hair always looks messy and unkempt."

Y/N widened her eyes.

"Does it?"

But her friend's inability to contain her laugh made her realize she was only messing around with her again. At least it took her mind off the current situation that displeased her.......

Until her mother came barging into her room.

"Ahhh Y/N. You're awake at last."

She gestured for Sophiya to move aside so she could take over. Y/N already dreaded having her mother comb her hair, she was always so rough and pulled her hair so tightly she'd end up with a pounding headache before the day was over. Her mother held a strand of her daughter's hair and grimaced slightly.

"Your hair is becoming rather dry." She pointed out.

"Really? I didn't notice." Y/N responded.

Her mother let out an exasperated sigh.

"Y/N don't you know you must take care of every part of your body in order to remain looking beautiful and young?"

Her mother took a glance at the mirror in front of them.

"Just look at me darling. How many women my age do you know to have such luscious, thick, long and healthy hair?"

She then turned her attention to the girl standing next to them.

"Don't you think so Sophiya?"

Knowing fully well how to put honey in the queen's ear, Sophiya admired her.

"Not a single strand of grey hair your Highness."

Her response made the queen extremely happy. Y/N and Sophiya both looked at each other and tried not to laugh right then and there.

"See honey? This is why I'm always advising you on proper beauty care."

She made Y/N turn and stare at her reflection once more.

"I'm so proud to have had such a beautiful daughter like you. And you'll become even more beautiful I just know it."

Y/N at this point just decided to tune out her mothers words, not wanting to listen once more to another vain speech.

"You're the prettiest girl in all of Joppa. No one compares to you."

'As if I've never heard that one before.' Y/N thought.

"If even dare say you're the most beautiful princess in the entire world."

Now Y/N began to feel uneasy, feeling her mother was escalating things too far.

With a proud and arrogant smirk, her mother then finally boasted:

"You're more beautiful than all the daughters of Poseidon. The Nereids can't even come close to owning half of your beauty."

Both Y/N and Sophiya began to panic at her words. If there was one thing the gods hated more than anything it would a mortal's pride. And the panic soon turned into terror when the earth shook, all of the glass dials on Y/N's dresser fell to the floor, all their contents spilling. Some of the painting either tilted or crashed onto ground. The all tried to run out the door, but they all toppled over, Y/N and Sophiya holding onto each other, praying for the earth to stop shaking while the queen was screaming hysterically while trying to crawl to the door.

Suddenly everything stopped and an eerie hush fell upon them. Sophiya inspected Y/N, inquiring about her well being.

"I'm fine....but what was that?" She wondered.

"Is it finally over?" Her mother asked, hands covered protectively over her head.

Loud rumbling outside made them shudder, the sunlight that was shining moments ago now was darkened as clouds covered the sky. Thunder got louder and rain started to heavily pour down, even though the rainy season had ceased 3 months ago. That could only mean one thing.

"Somebody has angered the gods."

༺═──────────────═༻

Y/N tried to keep the smile on her face as her future husband kept going on about his kingdom, its financial contribution in the trade market and, her absolute favorite, all the duties and responsibilities that the queen would have to take up. From knowing how to run dozens of servants, to organizing banquets and festivities, to being a role model for all the women in the empire.

"She must exhibit perfect conduct at all times, must display modesty, integrity, loyalty to her husband and kingdom..."

Y/N could only pretend to listen to his words. Every word uttered felt like someone was pushing a threading needle in her skin.

"Y/N? Are you listening to me?"

Phineas question brought her back to reality.

"Huh? Oh yes! Of course I was."

She hoped he wouldn't notice that she was nervous, but he ended up attributing to her being overwhelmed by the responsibilities she'd have.

"I can understand that for a young girl such as yourself, who has been frivolous for most of her life, being thrusted into such a position which requires great responsibility must be daunting and bewildering. But fear not my lovely bride, I promise you I shall never reproach you for any mistakes you make."

It took every fiber in her being to keep from rolling her eyes at that statement. If anything, she was everything but frivolous, she already knew so much from observing and studying under her father's guidance. For goodness sakes, she already mastered the art of war strategies and this man actually thought her incapable of ruling a country? She wanted to laugh at that.

"And you must not despair. I have a housekeeper already prepared back home who will instruct you in all the arrangements and etiquette of the palace. Wonderful lady who has served me for a great many years. Completely dedicated and exemplary in her work."

Y/N could already picture a strict and dogmatic old woman, whom she no doubt would end up hating if King Phineas admired her so. But that was the least of her worries at the moment. She spotted out of the corner of her eye two servants whispering something to her father, who looked agitated and full of concern. Y/N could guess that they were reporting another dreadful catastrophe that besieged their kingdom. Ever since that day with the earthquake and thunderstorm, more phenomenons started to happen throughout the land. A second earthquake buried and destroyed dozens of homes, the west province was affected by a flash flood that wiped out most of the crops, and a tremendous tidal wave swept away some of the coastal villages in the south province. Thousands of innocent people were affected greatly and it pained Y/N to see it happen, and she had an idea she knew why this was all happening. Not caring if she was rude, she excused herself and left King Phineas' side to approach her father.

"What news did they bring?" She made sure to keep her voice low so as to not alarm anyone.

Her father inhaled deeply.

"Lighting storm struck the east coast now. Hundreds of homes were burned."

Y/N of course expected bad news. Nothing good ever came from the messengers.

"I just don't understand Y/N. Why us? What have we done to offend the gods? We sacrifice to all of them, we are faithful and pious people, so why are they punishing us?"

She truly didn't have the answer. All she could do was rest her head on her father's shoulder and embrace him.

"I don't know. We can only hope things don't get worse."

At that moment, one of the young men who went out daily to the docks to haul in fish for the palace came rushing in, drenched in water, barefoot and face filled with horror.

"A sea monster! A sea monster has been sent to us!"

All of the people in the room fixed their eyes on him, some gasping or covering their mouths, while others thought he was crazy. Y/N and her father approached the lad.

"What do you mean?" Her father demanded.

The boy trembled in fear as he began recounting his experience:

"My lord! We were out at sea, reeling in our catch for the day when we heard a strange bellowing noise from underneath the boat. It was then silent for a while when suddenly, a large sea creature emerged and split our boat in half. It was frightening! It had razor sharp teeth, a serpent's tongue, bloodshot eyes and it was simply enormous! I watched as it devoured some of my fellow comrades-"

The lad fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably as images of the traumatic scene flashed once more across his mind. The king bent down and placed a gentle hand on the boy's back, his head in deep thought as if trying to recollect any wrong doings anyone might have done. He then signaled for someone to take the boy away and give him fresh clothes and food to eat.

Y/N closed her eyes and sighed. It was getting worse and worse every day, and it seemed it wouldn't be stopped. She flinched when she saw her father draw out his sword and knocked down one of the vases that adorned the hall.

"Speak oh mighty gods! What have we done to anger you? Why are you punishing us!?"

No one spoke up, fear was in all of their eyes and no one could blame them.

"I......I'm the guilty one."

All heads turned to the source of the voice and stared in shock as the queen herself stepped up, her visage looking thinner than normal and with dark circles under her eyes, signaling lack of sleep.

"I have offended Poseidon by boasting that Andromeda was more beautiful than his sea nymphs...."

Everyone let out gasps and screeches of horror at her confession. Her father looked absolutely furious and was trying hard to contain himself from losing his temper. Accepting all responsibility, the queen continued:

"If I must pay the price with my own life then so be it."

Her father shook his head.

"The price is for Poseidon to decide. Send in the Oracle. We must find out how to appease the god of the sea."

༺═──────────────═༻

"Why must he be so angry at us over one person's mistake?"

Y/N and her father stared blankly at the horizon. It seemed both of them had been spending more and more time in the royal orchard ever since more and more disastrous news reached their ears. Y/N sat on a stone bench while her father leaned back on one of the several olive trees that surrounded the place. So far he had kept quiet and just listened to her pour her heart out.

"I always asked myself that when I was a little boy and I listened to the stories my father told me. Why the gods always punished mortals who claimed to be better than them."

Y/N observed her father who stood there with a pensive gaze.

"I think......I understand...... the gods want us to respect the natural order every creature has in this universe."

Pulling out a leave from one of the branches, he continued:

"Insects have their place in this world. Animals have theirs. We mortals have our place above these creatures and that's why we dominate them....

And the gods have their place, above us mortals. We are so far below them that none of us should aspire to be greater than the place that was designated for us. Or it could mean our downfall."

Releasing the leave, he let it slowly fall down, sinking into the water of the small pond in front of them. Y/N stared at the leaf, understanding the point her father was trying to get across, but still it bothered her.

"But still. In all of the stories, the guilty one was punished, not innocent people. So why are they paying the price now?"

Her father stiffened at her question, unsure of how to answer.

"The ways of the gods are difficult for us to understand."

Y/N got up from her seat and staged at the fields in front of her. She frowned, unable to accept that answer.

"It's not their fault...."

Her father sighed as he rubbed his temples.

"Y/N please.......I can't comprehend this as much as you can. We'll just have to wait and see what the Oracle says. Hopefully there's still a way to make things right."

They both went back inside the palace, the Oracle had to be done communicating with the other world and must have an answer by then. The ministers were already gathered at the conference hall, awaiting instructions. Y/N and her father took their place in the middle of the crowd, waiting for the elder man to come in. Everyone hushed as soon as he came in. He walked even slower than usual, holding his walking staff with 2 hands, his eyebrows were furrowed as if he was in deep thought and troubled by what he had to reveal. No one dared ask him what was going to happen, afraid of what he'd say.

"Tell us. What does mighty Poseidon ask from us?" Her father inquired.

The old man lifted his head to the sky and closed his eyes before saying:

"This is what the god of the sea has spoken: 'You have summoned my wrath by offending me and my sea nymphs with your pride and vanity. I have a mind to exterminate the entire land to pay for your sins.......

But as an act of mercy, I will stop all the disasters if you offer me a sacrifice. In 2 days time, you must chain the selected person to a rock at the sea's edge for my sea monster, Cetus, to devour and atone for your foolishness. If you don't follow my instructions, I will continue to lay rampage throughout your kingdom until you have all perished."

The nobles all began to murmur amongst themselves, some already agreeing to the demands for the sake of the people.

"We are all ready to do as our lord, Poseidon, asks of us. Tell us Mylos, who are we to offer to him?"

Y/N's mother was already stepping up, all of them expecting her of course to be the one to die, but the old Oracle shook his head as he revealed a shocking fact.

"Poseidon has asked for your daughter, Y/N."

At the mention of her name, Y/N paled and nearly fell over had her father not being next to her to prevent her from falling. Many were shocked and horrified at the choice, some of the ladies already wailing at the thought of losing their beloved princess. Y/N felt Sophiya run up to her and hold her tightly, tears already spilling out her eyes. But the one who was most distressed by it was none other than her mother.

"No! He can't take Y/N! He can't take my only daughter! I won't let him! Please! Let me die in her place instead!"

The queen got on her knees, begging for her daughter's life to be saved as all the people in the room were now divided by how to proceed with this.

"Cepheus you cannot allow this! She's your child!" She was now clutching her husband's robe, desperately trying to persuade him not to allow this insanity to happen.

"Poseidon has spoken! His words must be fulfilled! If he wants the princess, we must give her to him!" One of the nobles protested.

Her father became enraged.

"Has he no pity?! She's my only child! I can't let him have her!"

"You are a king before a father and a king's duty is to his people. Please! We don't want anymore bloodshed to happen!" Someone else counteracted.

Soon it was an intense debate between all of the gentlemen in the hall. All of them screamed one after the other, not bothering to listen. All throughout it, her father refused to budge.

"Phineas, she's betrothed to you. What have you to say?"

All eyes fell on the other monarch, who had kept quiet until now. Meeting his eyes, Y/N for once looked at him with tenderness, silently pleading him to vouch for her. Instead, and unsurprisingly, he looked down.

"If that's what the God of the sea has declared, it must be done."

Her father shook his head, resisting the urge to draw his sword and kill him right then and there.

"And this from the very man who said he'd die for her hand in marriage? Pitiful."

"No matter that! Poseidon must be obeyed!"

Y/N drowned out the chaos that was happening. She truly was frightened by the situation, appalled that the God would choose her to be the sacrifice. But she had no tears to cry, she simply stood there, blank faced as she pondered over all the events that had happened in the past week, all the houses destroyed, all the innocent lives taken, it wasn't fair.........

And she couldn't allow it to continue.

"I will do it."

But no one heard her because they were too busy fighting. So she stepped in the center and firmly declared:

"I will do it! I will sacrifice myself if that's what Poseidon wants!"

༺═──────────────═༻

The people all looked in awe and admiration as the princess walked up the stone pavement through the streets. Dressed in pure white robes, hair curled into ringlets, she looked like an actual angel sent to save them all. But behind that gaze that showed dignity and bravery, there was fear in each of her bones, her hands shaking every now and then at the thought of what was to come. Her father and mother both stayed behind, not allowed to accompany her any further out of fear that they'd try and stop the priests from chaining her to her destiny. Y/N stared at some of the wildflowers that were shattered along the path, somehow they seemed to calm her down. She kept repeating the same words over and over again in her head:

"I'm a princess. I must die with dignity and grace."

But her courage soon failed her when she reached the steps leading down to the edge of the sea. Her body froze, unwilling to take another step. She was about to ran back the way she came, but the priests grabbed her wrists and began trying to get her down the steps, but Y/N began to struggle. She looked back at her parents, their faces blurry from the tears brimming at her eyes.

"Father! Mother! Save me!"

Her mother hid her face in her hands, unable to watch anymore, while her father was being held back by some of his guards, strictly ordered to keep him from interfering. At this point, Y/N heard a familiar voice scream from among the crowds. Turning she saw none other than Sophiya try to run to her, but she was stopped by a couple of guards.

"You can't do this to her! She's innocent! Y/N you don't have to do this! Let me go!"

It took both of the guards to subdue her and lift her up to take her away and keep her from freeing Y/N, but Sophiya kept fighting and shouting protests to be released and to help her friend. When she saw Phineas, she did not hide her disgust and shame.

"Aren't you supposed to protect her?! Be her champion! Slay the monster for her! Do you not care enough for her?!"

But her words fell upon deaf ears, no one would dare step up for Y/N. The priests dragged her down the narrow staircase. Once they reached the bottom, they held her hands behind her back and pressed her firmly against the cold stone pillar. They tied the rope around several times, making sure it was fastened tightly before saying a small and quick prayer for her and to ask forgiveness to the god. Y/N watched them climb back up the stairs and slowly disappear, along with the rest of the people who went to see her off. No one wanted to watch as Poseidon carried out his punishment and have his sea monster eat a poor, helpless young girl.

Hours passed, the sun was now covered by clouds, adding an even more eerie atmosphere to the place. The tide was rising, the water that before was only at Y/N's feet. Now was well above her knees, the cold water freezing her muscles. Y/N wondered if perhaps the gods would have mercy on her and let her drown instead of having Cetus tear into her flesh and eat her while she was still alive. The more she thought about it, the more she began panicking.

"I don't want to die! Please! Can anybody help me?! Somebody, anybody! Help!!"

Her throat was now sore from screaming on top of her lungs, her face red from all the tears pouring out, her arms aching from being bound behind her, her palms no doubt bleeding and scratched from scraping against the stone behind them. Y/N lowered her head, resigning to her fate and only praying that it would be quick and painless.

Far above her head, soaring through the clouds, at that moment, a shining white horse with wings flew across the sky. Sitting on top of the majestic creature, a handsome and strong young man calmly guided his companion through the vast ocean. The horse suddenly stopped in midair, sensing something.

"Whoah whoah whoah, steady there Pegasus. What's wrong?"

He ran his hand across the horse's mane, scratching the back of his ear in an effort to calm him. He looked towards where the horse was staring at and was confused when he saw a girl chained to a stone. Feeling curious, he whispered in Pegasus ear.

"Do you feel like going on another adventure?"

The winged horse let out a high pitched neigh before changing direction and swooping down to land on top of the stairs of the ledge. Dismounting and signaling for him to stay put, the mysterious man walked down the steps, being careful not to slip due to the water that had splashed onto the pavement. He tilted his head, trying to get a better view of the girl in front of him, trying to see if she was alive or not since she had her head down and didn't seem to be moving. She certainly hadn't drowned yet, even though the water was already below her chest, and it seemed it wouldn't stop yet.

He waved a hand in front of her.

"Hello?"

He heard a low moan come from her lips before she slowly lifted her head up, affirming she was still alive. He was taken aback by how pretty she was, even with her hair semi drenched in the salty seawater. It seemed to add a more captivating look to her. Y/N on the other hand, couldn't understand if she was seeing things or was already dead.

"Is this where I get on the boat that'll take me to the Underworld?"

Her question made the man raise an eyebrow.

"No....... you're not dead and this is Joppa I believe?"

"Oh great. Then that means I'm not dead.....yet." Y/N let out an exasperated sigh.

"Why can't you just get it over with? Stop making me wait, send your sea monster to gobble me up already."

She kept babbling on and on, she completely forgot about the stranger in front of her who was listening intently.

"What on earth are you taking about? Who chained you here anyway?"

Y/N looked in the direction of the stairs.

"The priests. I'm supposed to be sacrificed to Poseidon's sea monster."

The man shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because my mother boasted that I was more beautiful than the Nereids and therefore I have to appease the God of the sea with my death." She explained, not caring how ridiculous she sounded right now.

The man bent down, tugging at the ropes binding her to her fate.

"You still shouldn't be here......then again..."

He looked up at her and smiled softly.

"Perhaps we were fated to meet."

For the first time since all of it happened, Y/N genuinely smiled.

"I'm Jongho by a way." He finally introduced himself.

"I'm Y/N." She replied.

Her smile soon faded when she felt the water rise up even more, startling her and making her attempt to break free once again. Sensing how little time they had before her head was submerged completely underwater, Jongho drew out his sword and stepped down further into the water. He stood in front of Y/N.

"Don't worry. I'll get you out of here before-"

A loud bellowing cry interrupted him. The earth once again began to shake and as they both turned their heads to the right, they watched as a monstrous reptile swam straight toward them, its head coming out from the water.

"Stay here! Don't move!" He ordered her as he ran back up the stairs to divert the monster's attention from Y/N and instead to himself, completely ignoring the fact even if she wanted to, Y/N couldn't move at all.

Jongho stood at the top of the cliff. Raising his sword above his head, he waved it around to get the serpent to look at him, which it did. The beast made it's way towards him, bearing its sharp teeth at him. It lunged at him, but Jongho quickly ducked and shifted to the other side. He tried to pierce his sword into the monster's head but his sword only clashed against an armor of scales surrounding it.

"Oh great." Jongho breathed out when it lunged for him again, this time Jongho barely escaped its clutches.

He whistled for Pegasus to come over, which it promptly did. The horse trotted over to his master, who quickly hopped up and got on top of him before directing him to fly above the monster's neck. If Y/N wasn't so concerned about the water's level rising, she would have been more astonished at seeing an actual winged horse in front of her. Jongho scanned the munsters body, if there's anything he knew in his lifetime of slaying beasts it was that they all had a weak spot, that if found, it would be easy to defeat them.

The monster shifted its body around, causing the waters to splashed violently against Y/N's face. She coughed out the water that had gotten in her mouth and wheezed as she tried to regain her breath. Realizing he was running out of time, Jongho knew he had no other alternative and had to make use of his special weapon. Reaching into the copper colored bag on Pegasus' saddle, he looked over at Y/N and called out:

"Close your eyes! Don't open them under no circumstance!"

Y/N immediately shut her eyes, afraid of seeing what was going to happen. Jongho then took out a frightening and horrifying severed head that had now deceased snakes on its scalp. Making sure the monster was looking right at him, he held the head up so it could see the still glowing green eyes. In that moment, the sea serpent began shrieking out in pain as its body began to crystallize and turn into hard stone. Starting at its tail and going up to his neck, Jongho watched as the monster then fully transformed into a monument of stone, no longer moving and completely void of any life now. He tucked the head back in the pouch before looking back down at Y/N.

"Oh almighty Zeus."

He rushed down there with Pegasus when he saw that her head was now submerged underwater. He didn't even bother waiting for Pegasus to land, he jumped right in the water and swam over to her. Taking out a dagger from his pocket, he cut through several of the rope ties and quickly tugged them off of her. Once he felt them loosen up enough, he took her unconsciously body in his arms and swam back up. He gasped once he reached the surface, grabbing onto Pegasus' bridle. Pegasus then used his strength to pull them back up enough for Jongho to lift Y/N into his arms and climb back up the stairs to high land, safe away from the tide.

"Come on Y/N, don't give up on me."

He tilted her chin up before placing his hands against her chest. He pushed down hard, trying to get the water she swallowed out of her lungs.

"Please gods on Olympus. Help"

He pressed down even harder, but still nothing. Having left no choice, he bent down and parted her lips before blowing air into her mouth. He pulled back and inhaled before repeating the same process. Stepping back, he held onto Y/N's back when she began coughing violently, helping her sit up slighty so she could regain her composure.

"Are you all right?" He scanned to make sure she was ok.

Y/N took deep breaths before answering in a raspy voice.

"I think so..."

She looked up and blushed when she noticed their close proximity. Now having him mere inches from her face, Y/N could clearly see how handsome Jongho was, with dazzling brown eyes that seemed to hypnotize her.

"Thank you....for saving my life..." She whispered.

Jongho carefully swept his hand over her face, brushing off some of her wet hair out of it before leaning in closer to her.

"Oh don't thank me. Like I said, maybe we were fated to meet."

Y/N closed her eyes when she felt his face come closer to hers, his lips hovering above hers, she waited for him to kiss her, but unfortunately they were interrupted by a sharp voice:

"Y/N! You're alive!"

Jongho helped Y/N get up on her feet as her parents, Sophiya, Phineas and several others ran over to see what was happening. Sophiya wrapped her arms around Y/N, her voice hoarse from all the screaming she had done before.

"Thank the gods you're alive!"

Her parents also surrounds her, thankful she wasn't dead. Jongho just stood by the sides, smiling fondly at the touching scene. Not forgetting about him, Y/N went over to him and took his hand before looking over at her parents.

"Mom, dad. This is Jongho. He's the one who saved me."

Jongho smiled sheepishly as he waved his hand dismissively.

"Please, I had a little help."

The crowd looked over at the beast's head poking out from the cliff, immobile and never to move again.

"How on earth could a mere mortal turn a fearsome creature into stone?" Her father asked.

"Oh very easy. You see..."

Jongho whistled for Pegasus, who trotted up next to him. Several people began murmuring amongst themselves, wondering who really was this man who flew in such a majestic creature and could perform such miracles. Jongho pointed to the bag on the saddle.

"I'm afraid I can't show you all directly since even after I slayed the Gorgon, her face can still turn to stone anyone who looks at it."

A collective gasp was emitted from all those present, even Y/N was shocked when she realized who it really was that was standing in front of her.

"You're....you're..." She pointed a trembling finger to Jongho who merely chuckled.

"I see you heard the story about how I killed Medusa, although you probably heard the name given to me by the gods....

I am indeed Perseus."

Y/N covered her mouth as did most of the people present.

"The champion son of Zeus, standing right before our eyes."

At her father's words, everyone bowed down in respect to Jongho. Y/N's father dropped to his knees in front of him and held his hand.

"You have done me a great service by saving my beloved and only daughter. I shall forever be in your debt. Please, if there is anything I can offer you, say it and it shall be yours."

Jongho shot a glance back at Y/N, who kept looking at him in admiration. He winked at her before requesting:

"My dear king, if it pleases you..... I ask only for your daughter hand in marriage."

Y/N swore her heart jumped out of her body when he said those words. She looked to her father, who was ready to say yes until Phineas stepped forward to declare:

"Wait! Andromeda is already betrothed to me! You can't have her!"

But that didn't deter Jongho. He simply turned to look at the man in front of him. Crossing his arms, he sneered.

"If she betrothed to you, where were you when she was in danger? Why didn't you step up to die with her or for her instead of hiding away like a coward?"

Phineus stood there quiet, unable to answer that question, which didn't surprise Jongho.

"Exactly. So if it's all right with you, I ask for her father's blessing to allow me to marry her."

Slinging an arm protectively around her waist, Jongho pulled Y/N against him, refusing to budge even for 1 moment. Phineus reached over and drew his sword.

"Over my dead body."

Jongho raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a son of Zeus, I've slayed Medusa and killed Poseidon's beast, not to mention I'm more than half your age and have much vigor in me. Do you really dare to challenge me? Cause if that's the case."

Jongho covered Y/N's eyes and judging from all the panicked shuffling going on, she guessed he was reaching for Medusa's severed head to use against his rival.

Having to admit defeat, Phineas dropped his sword.

"Keep her. Keep Y/N."

Y/N bounced giddily at the thought of getting to marry Jongho, someone who embodied everything she always wanted in a husband: young, beautiful, strong and brave. And more than that, he was highly favored by the gods themselves.

"You could have been a queen Y/N. You'll regret your decision." Phineus declared before storming out of there.

Taking one look at Jongho, Y/N absolutely knew she wouldn't regret it.

༺═──────────────═༻p>

The couple stood in front of each other, lost in each other's eyes as their hands were joined together. Her parents watched in earnest as the priest spoke out the next words:

"Do you, Jongho, son of almighty Zeus and of Danaë, daughter of Acrisius, king of Argos, take Y/N, Princess of Joppa, daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, king and queen of Aethiopia, as your lawfully wedded wife until death do you part?"

Without any hesitation, Jongho swore:

"I do."

The priest now turned to Y/N and repeated the same question to her, to which she responded:

"I do."

Her mother and Sophiya were already crying for joy at seeing Y/N so happy, while her father tried hard to contain his emotions. The priest proceeded to utter a small prayer before announcing:

"From this day forward, you shall both be known as Perseus and Andromeda. You have both sworn that from this day forward, you will spend the rest of your lives together, in front of all of those in attendance and before the very gods. May the Olympians bless this holy marriage."

Before the priest could even gesture for the torchbearers to light the sacrifice, a lighting bolt suddenly fired from the sky and set it ablaze, causing everyone to erupt in cheers and applause.

"Seems even Zeus approves of the marriage." Y/N's father whispered to his wife.

"And why should he not? They're perfect for each other. I can't be happier for our daughter. Although I'm going to miss her terribly." Her mother wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Sophiya handed to her.

The happy couple walked down the aisle, waving goodbye to their guests as they made their way out of the castle and down to one of the southern bays, where Pegasus was already waiting for them by the dock.

"I thought we were going back to your hometown Tiryns." Y/N pointed out.

"We are." Jongho calmly said.

"Well where's the boat?"

Jongho bursted out laughing at that.

"Sweetheart, Sophiya is the only one taking a boat to meet us there later. We.......are flying on dear Pegasus here."

Before she could protest, Jongho swept her off her feet and helped her mount the horse before saddling up behind her.

"Come on love, don't be scared. I promise nothing will happen to you."

Still sensing her apprehension, Jongho tilted her head to look at him.

"Hey look at me. I saved you from Poseidon's beast. Can't you trust me to safely take you to my home to meet my mother?"

Y/N smiled softly before nodding.

"I trust you entirely......"

She blushed before confessing:

"I love you."

Jongho leaned in and captured her lips in a gentle and loving kiss.

"I love you too my precious star."

Jongho then patted Pegasus ' side.

"Come on buddy. Take us home."

༺═──────────────═༻

194 notes · View notes

maddiewritesstucky · 4 years

Text

Whenever You’re Ready

I am equal parts excited and terrified to share this story with you all. This one is very special to me, and it has been an Emotional Experience putting these words to page, so far removed from what I usually write. Huge acknowledgement to @doctorenterprise whose honest critiques vastly improved this story, and @buckyandthejets who validated the hell out of me, thank you both so much 😘

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve/Bucky (Modern AU)

Word count: 5189

Tags: Angst, infidelity (not between Steve/Bucky), heavy on the feels, reference to past internalized homophobia, lost love, reunions, emotional sex, happy ending

*CW: Infidelity - In this story, Bucky has sex with Steve even though he is (unhappily) married to someone else. Please avoid this story if you will find this triggering, or feel free to DM me if you need more details. It all ends well!*

***

“Never changes, does it?”

It goes straight to Steve’s bones, that voice, all the way down to his marrow. He doesn’t turn around at the sound of it, nor at the muted clunk of footsteps on the dock behind him; slowly closing the distance to where Steve’s standing, thinking.

Waiting.

He’s been out here long enough to have watched the sun disappear behind the mountainous horizon, taking with it its warmth and making way for the quiet chill of evening to set in. It’s far enough away here, from the music and revelry and reminiscence, that Steve can almost pretend those words are true; that nothing’s changed, that there’s nothing and no one else in existence but the two of them, and the reflection of the moon rising over the lake.

“Some things do.”

It comes out bitter, even though Steve’s spent years telling himself he’s not; that the pit in his stomach and the hole in his chest have a different name, a different face. It’s a pointless grief, after so many years. Decades, now, as the banners and balloons up at the reunion were boasting.

He knew what he was doing, coming here tonight. Like pushing on a bruise to make sure it still hurts. And it did, it does, because Bucky is right - the camp hasn’t changed a bit, and Steve might be pushing forty now but his heart is still nineteen; still standing at the end of this dock at sundown waiting for those footsteps behind him, for that warm hand slipping into his and that familiar voice saying his name like it’s music, like it means something.

“Steve…”

...There’s no hand, and his name is just a name. It aches in the exact place Steve had thought it would.

“She’s pretty, Buck. You look good together.”

He thinks he hears Bucky’s breath hitch, but it could have been the breeze catching in the trees, or the lick of water at the splintered edge of the dock. It would be easier if it were a lie, might sit sweeter on Steve’s tongue if he were sugar coating something false, something to say for the sake of speaking, but he means it.

That aches, too.

“I married her,” Bucky says, and the way it sounds like an apology sinks like a lead weight in Steve’s gut.

“I heard.”

“Steve, will you please look at me?”

Despair frays the edges of each word, and Steve shakes his head, blows out a ragged breath into the cool night air.

He had looked at Bucky, had watched him walk in tonight looking every bit like the man Steve always knew he’d grow into - strong, kind-eyed, beautiful; age starting to show in the soft flecks of grey at his temples, but missing from where Steve thought it’d make itself known first.

“You don’t have smile lines,” he can hear the frown in his own voice as the thought slips past his lips, “always thought you’d have smile lines, way you were always laughing at everything.”

“Steve...”

It’s a sob, this time; unmistakable, and it rips the ground out from beneath Steve.

There’s a hand on his back, slipping down the column of his spine; a shivering body pressing up close behind him and a forehead dropping against his shoulder. Tears soak wet through the back of Steve’s shirt and two arms circle around his waist, a hold long-forgotten and achingly familiar all at once, and Steve can’t remember how to breathe.

“Bucky,” he begins, though he has no idea where it ends.

His hands come up to cover Bucky’s, threading their fingers together and pulling Bucky’s arms tighter around himself, and it feels nothing like it used to because Steve’s heart wasn’t broken back then.

When Bucky’s lips find the crook of his neck, that doesn’t feel anything like it used to either, but Steve tilts his head for it anyway; offers up the expanse of his throat like he’d once offered up the rest of his life to the man holding him.

All of me, he’d said so long ago, every day of every year I have left. All for you.

Bucky’s hands slip to Steve’s hips, his mouth at the hinge of Steve’s jaw, and it’s so wholly selfish, the way Steve wants this. It’s years of longing and anger and loss made harder by all the ways Bucky wasn’t gone, and the tattered vestiges of Steve’s heart are screaming at him to stop before there’s nothing left of himself to salvage.

“You left me.”

There’s no emotion left in the statement, not anymore. It bled out years ago, muffled into Steve’s pillow and screamed into voids and hurled at the walls of his too-quiet, too-empty house.

It’s hollow, now, but Steve feels how heavy it lands in the way Bucky’s entire body curls in on itself behind him.

“I know,” Bucky whispers, his tear-stained cheek tucked against the side of Steve’s face.

The immensity of pain buried in those two words sinks jagged teeth into the meat of Steve’s heart, and he can’t believe he still bleeds for it after all these years. He knows he should walk away from this, pry himself free of the physical hold Bucky has on him and spend the rest of his days praying those soul-ties unknot themselves too.

But the wound is open now, if it were ever really closed, and he can’t stop himself from tugging on the busted stitches to see just how raw and messy he can make it.

“Tell me why,” he turns in the circle of Bucky’s arms, cups the back of Bucky’s neck and makes him meet the full force of his gaze.

Give me salt for this wound, he’s pleading, and Bucky would have every right to deny him because this conversation has no place here; has no place in any universe where there’s a ring on Bucky’s finger.

But Bucky came to him, Bucky broke the silence and put his hands on Steve like he’s just as hungry to hurt for this again, and maybe they both just need to bleed it out together.

“Because we couldn’t,” Bucky twists his fists tight and frantic into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “I couldn’t...Jesus, if my family had found out—”

“I loved you,” Steve spits, “it was real, and I loved you, and you loved me too.”

“Fuck, Steve, of course I loved you!” There’s desperation there now, in Bucky’s hands on him; not just clinging but clawing, no space between them for air or reason or good judgement. “You think it didn’t break me, too?”

“I wouldn’t fucking know what it did to you, Bucky,” Steve runs a fingertip across the plain gold band hugging Bucky’s finger, digging his nail in under the ridge of it, “but it seems like you bounced back just fine.”

Bucky sucks in a breath, and Steve doesn’t hear him let it go again. He’s doing nothing to mask the anguish on his face as he stares up at Steve, lips parted and eyes welling over; his brow knotted into lines that form all too easy, like they’re well worn at this point, and it’s so so wrong.

Steve smoothes his thumb over the groove between Bucky’s eyebrows; pushes at it like it’s something he can rub away.

“Aren’t you happy?” he hears himself ask, hurt and exhausted and terrified of the answer.

It’s not until Bucky shakes his head, tears spilling anew from his red-rimmed eyes, that Steve realizes there was any part of himself left that was yet to break.

“Not a day of my life, Steve. Not without you.”

Steve will never be emptier than this, seeing the truth of it all spelled out across Bucky’s face. It had been all the light Steve had left, that small embittered part of himself that’d believed Bucky was better off for the way things had gone.

What was left, now? It had burned Steve down to ash, losing Bucky, but loving him was inextricable, and thinking he was happy out there was the only reason Steve could sleep at night.

“What do I do with that, Buck?”

There are tears in Steve’s eyes now too, a tremble in his voice and the dead weight of regret hanging off his words.

Bucky takes Steve’s face between his hands, too tight to be tender. When he sweeps his thumbs across the tears tracking down Steve’s cheeks, it only spreads them further.

“Kiss me?”

Bucky leaves it in the space between them like it’s the only answer he has left, and Steve wishes it didn’t make sense.

Another place, another time; a different dock and a different sky, and Steve might see the insanity of it, the notion that putting his lips against Bucky’s could be a salve instead of just another scar.

But they’re here, with those same stars and that same rundown boat shed with it’s broken door, and Steve lets himself close the distance between their mouths, because it’s the only answer he has left, too.

He kisses Bucky with every minute of every day of every wasted year sitting there on the tip of his tongue. He holds Bucky too close and breathes him in too deep, leans all too willing into the pass of Bucky’s hands over his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Bucky sobs brokenly, slipping his hands up under the hem of Steve’s shirt to splay across his bare skin.

Steve shakes his head because he can’t hear that now, with Bucky’s hands on him. Remorse can’t coexist with the warmth of Bucky’s palms and the slick press of his mouth, not when there isn’t even room for moonlight between them.

“Don’t,” Steve whispers, “don’t tell me that.”

Bucky’s hand finds its way up to the center of Steve’s chest, his fingertips curling into a grip on Steve’s flesh like he can reach in and take hold of what lies beneath. Steve’s not sure there’s anything left in there to grab onto, but he lets Bucky try anyway because if there is, it will only ever belong in his hand.

“Can I tell you I still think of you?” Bucky kisses the words against Steve’s cheek, trails them down the line of his jaw. “Never stopped thinking about you, Steve.”

You should have, is what Steve should say, you’re not mine anymore.

“Someone will see us,” is what Steve does say, even as his fingertips dip beneath the waistband of Bucky’s pants.

Someone is probably looking for Bucky right now, but there’s no room for that truth here, either. Especially when Bucky pulls back and looks toward the long abandoned boat shed, and then back at Steve.

There are so many opportunities for Steve to choose differently, to tell Bucky to stop. When Bucky takes him by the hand with a plea in his gaze; when he pulls Steve down the dock, and into that boat shed...it’s been a lifetime and Steve is a grown man, too old to be this foolish. But he’s tired, too worn down from years of unmet longing to be anything other than reckless when presented with everything he’s lived without for so painfully long.

So he doesn’t say a word.

He lets it happen, and he helps it happen. He raises his arms for Bucky to pull off his shirt, tilts his hips when Bucky works his belt loose and tugs down his pants.

He strips Bucky bare with his own two hands and pulls him against his own naked body, sobbing open and unashamed for the way it makes him feel whole for the first time in twenty years.

He maps the planes of Bucky’s body, no longer rounded and softened by youth, but every bit as warm as the memories Steve has clung to, and it shouldn’t feel right because it isn’t; shouldn’t feel so familiar when there’s been decades of distance between them.

“I miss you.”

It trips off Steve’s tongue before he can stop it, small and breathless. Of all the three-word truths he could have let slip it isn’t the worst, but Bucky’s wounded noise says that it cuts just as deep.

He catches Bucky’s lips against his own before Bucky can do anything stupid like say it back; fisting his hands up through Bucky’s hair and pushing his tongue into Bucky’s mouth.

He wants to do this slow, to sink deep enough into it that every touch and every moment cling to him like a brand. But it’s only ever been a headlong tumble, this journey that begins with Bucky’s bare skin against his own, and Steve can feel himself falling the same way he always did.

Open palms turn to pressing fingertips, lips on skin turn to grazing teeth, and a dusty hammock spread across the floorboards. It’s another twist of the knife, the way Bucky’s body still fits beneath his own just as perfect as it ever did, the way Bucky’s spread thighs still make the perfect cradle for his hips.

Bucky still looks up at him from the flat of his back with the same awe he’d turn upon the night sky, like Steve’s still the only heaven he believes in, and there’s too much gravity in that gaze. There always was, but there was no reason not to get dragged into it back then.

It’s not until Bucky’s fingertips brush softly over his eyelids, tracing the sweep of his lashes, that Steve realizes he’s closed his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers.

Steve almost wants to laugh, because if he were thinking at all, he wouldn’t be here.

He’s not laid out naked on top of someone else’s husband because he’s thinking; not about to put his mouth and his fingers and his cock where they don’t belong because he’s in his right mind.

Steve is an exposed nerve, a callous that’s been rubbed raw, and he’ll pretend that’s all he is for as long as it takes to see the man he never stopped loving fall apart beneath him one last time.

He buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and bites down on the softness he finds there, all the answer he intends on giving. There’s no good reason for him to still know the exact spot to sink his teeth into, but he’s not about to waste time pretending he doesn’t remember every last touch point that ever made Bucky lose his mind.

His right earlobe, the notch of his clavicle, the tender space beneath his ribs.

His hip bones, and his wrists, and the soft insides of his thighs, sensitive all the way down to his knees.

Maybe after all this time it’s only nostalgia, only because they both want so badly to be who they once were to each other. But Bucky’s body still sings the exact same tune when Steve plays it, tongue and teeth and fingertips in all the right places.

“Please,” Bucky gasps, giving over to it just as easy as he always did. He’s hiding nothing of himself, not in the sprawl of his body or the longing in his gaze, the breathless sounds dripping off his lips.

He arches into the rub of Steve’s skin against his, splays his thighs wide for Steve’s hips then wider still for Steve’s shoulders, and he looks down the line of his body with all the same rapture when Steve finally takes him into the heat of his mouth.

“Oh...”

It’s so soft, the sound Bucky makes. One tiny word, more breath than anything else, yet it somehow holds all the sentiment of of course, and how have I lived without this, and Steve is ruined for it.

He’s sixteen again, realizing that want begins and ends with Bucky Barnes.

He is seventeen, discovering that the only thing better than getting his hands on Bucky, is getting his mouth on him.

He is eighteen, and nineteen, and twenty; bone-deep certain that for him, there will only ever be Bucky.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighs. He reaches gentle fingertips to brush the hair back off Steve’s forehead; traces the stretch of Steve’s lips around him with all the tender wonder of their youth.

...Steve is thirty-nine, and he will never come back from this.

He holds Bucky’s gaze as he swallows him down, watches the play of pleasure across Bucky’s face like it’s still his to behold.

He sinks all of himself into chasing those awed, quiet sounds that have existed only as echoes for so long, and pretends it’s not the worst kind of cruelty that this act should still feel so sacred; that Bucky should still be that breathless, trembling embodiment of surrender.

Back arched, thighs twitching, face flushed and lips parted…it’s as devastating as Steve remembers, and so much more so for the fact that he has no right to witness it anymore.

“Steve, please...”

Bucky looks down at him imploringly, reaches for him with open hands.

Steve hollows his cheeks as he pulls off him, slow and tight. He crawls back up Bucky’s body until they’re face to face, until he’s covering Bucky’s body with his own.

“I’m here, Buck.”

I’m weak, Buck.

He cups Bucky’s face in his hands, strokes his thumbs across Bucky’s cheekbones and nudges their noses together. He breathes Bucky’s air and kisses his lips, soft and careful until it’s not; until it’s just Steve pouring all his hunger and his longing and his desperation into Bucky’s mouth.

And he is desperate. Every last part of him is breaking for the feel of Bucky’s bare skin, his bare arousal, rubbing up against his own; for the responsibility of holding Bucky’s vulnerability and his nakedness and his pleasure in the palms of his hands.

“God, it’s been so long,” Steve’s voice splinters around the words, around the sobs that want to keep coming, “it’s been so long, Bucky...”

He rolls his hips heavy and deep, slips his hands beneath Bucky’s shoulders to keep them locked tight together. There’s sweat beading between them, spit and precum slicking their skin, and every promise they ever made weighing dense in the air.

Bucky’s fingernails are sunk deep enough into his back that Steve can feel the half-moon imprints forming; Bucky’s legs hitched up around his hips and soft moans passing back and forth between their open mouths.

Steve had always wondered what this must look like from the outside, the way they get lost in one another. The quiet gasps and heavy breaths, the pleasured sounds that catch between their lips. Bodies shaking, hands clinging, eyes open because it’s the closest thing to heaven you’d ever see.

It’s immensity was always buried in the slowness of it all, but it’s as consuming and inevitable as it ever was.

He knows Bucky’s close before Bucky tells him he is; can feel it thrumming through Bucky’s body beneath him. He knows he shouldn’t watch it happen, shouldn’t sharpen that mental picture back into focus when it had taken so long to blur its edges in the first place.

He shouldn’t moan brokenly into Bucky’s mouth and rock harder against him; shouldn’t push up onto his hands and fix his gaze squarely on Bucky’s face.

‘Shouldn’t’ doesn’t mean a goddamn thing anymore.

“Come with me?” Bucky pleads, eyes glassy and body strung taut.

He presses a trembling hand to Steve’s heart and the other to Steve’s neck, holding his racing pulse and his heartbeat in his hands just the same as he had the first time they made love, and Steve comes apart at the seams.

It’s unending, that wash of raw feeling. It’s galaxies inside his rib cage and oceans in his veins, and wildfire curling around the base of his spine. He breathes Bucky’s name, spills all over his stomach, and when Bucky follows him over he ducks down to drink the wonder of it right off Bucky’s lips.

The quiet weighs so much heavier, as they lay pressed together in the aftermath.

Steve looks down at the man beneath him, watches his breathing settle and the flush subside from his cheeks, and the ache of the past suddenly pales in comparison to what lies ahead.

What exists for them beyond this moment, here and now? Bucky’s face is cradled in Steve’s hands and his nakedness is sheltered by Steve’s body, but even this was never Steve’s to offer. It’s time and touch already stolen, and the rhythmic lap of water against the dock outside may as well be the ticking of a clock.

“What happens now, Buck?” he asks, knowing there’s no comfort to be found in the answer.

Bucky shakes his head, touching gentle fingertips to Steve’s cheek and searching Steve’s gaze.

“I don’t know.”

The night air is cold against Steve’s back, all the warmth that had seemed to wrap so close around them dissipating.

He slowly moves off of Bucky and gathers up their clothes, redressing himself with fingers that fumble weak and uncoordinated with the fabric that had been so very easy to take off.

“...If you asked me to leave her, I would.”

Bucky’s voice comes small from behind him, but the words take up every last inch of space in the room.

Steve turns to look at him, and there’s something so painfully close to hope on his face, it makes Steve’s chest ache.

“I can’t do that, Bucky,” he rasps, “it can’t be up to me.”

The regret in it is palpable, the ‘I wish it was’ joining the thousand other things that live, unsaid, on the tip of Steve’s tongue.

I am so much yours that it hurts

I will never stop hoping for you

I will love you for the rest of my life

It’s years too late, for all of it. But those words still throw themselves against the backs of Steve’s teeth, because if not now, then when?

“Bucky, I—”

“James?”

...The soft call comes from outside, carried on the breeze from a little ways off.

There’s nothing in it, no suspicion, no concern. Just someone looking for the person they’ve lost, wondering where they’ve gone to.

Steve’s stomach sinks, and the clock runs out.

Bucky looks at him, eyes wide and lips falling open like he intends to speak. No sound comes out, but Steve understands all the same - Bucky’s gaze always said more than words ever could, anyway.

“You should go back, Buck.”

Steve says it gently, though neither of them deserve that kindness after what they’ve done. He picks up his sweater, and he leaves what’s left of his heart on the floor, because he’s got no use for it without the man he’s about to walk away from.

“If you ever…” Steve starts, and stops himself, shaking his head softly. His gaze sticks to the spot just in front of Bucky’s feet, his body half turned toward the door.

“...You know where I’ll be,” he says instead, and then he gathers up his shoes in his hands and steps back out into the evening, because he’s no more capable of saying ‘goodbye’ to Bucky now than he was back then.

***

It’s a half hour walk home along the edge of the lakeshore, but it takes Steve hours; tears washing a salt-sting down his cheeks and his feet in the too-cold water the entire way.

It doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he deserves, that frigid needling against his skin and the stones underfoot. But the greater punishment will come, he knows.

When he gets home, and has to live the rest of his life knowing not only what he lost, but what he did to try and dull the ache of it.

When he gets home, to that rambling, too-quiet house on the lake edge, where Bucky’s touch is set into the very foundations.

The roof they had helped Steve’s dad patch, the summer Steve turned eighteen; the creaking window ledge that would betray Bucky’s midnight visits to Steve’s bedroom, and that same kitchen table where they’d try not to blush at each other’s gaze.

The porch swing where they’d watch the sun go down; every wall and doorframe they’d kissed up against when Steve’s parents weren’t around to see it; every tree they ever made love or fell asleep beneath...

He may not have seen Bucky in the flesh in almost twenty years, but there hasn’t been a day of Steve’s life since that he hasn’t felt the echo of his presence, and now it will hum under his skin the same way it always has in his house.

The sky is awash with stars he can’t bear to look at by the time he makes it home, feet numb and shivering all over.

He trudges the path from the lakeshore back up to his house, clearing the tree line and stepping into the moonlight spilling full and bright over his yard, over his homestead.

Over the unfamiliar car parked in his dirt-track driveway, and the figure sitting, waiting, on his porch.

“...Bucky?”

His body slows in its tracks, stops halfway across the yard and won’t carry him any further forward.

Bucky makes no move to close the distance between them either, save to stand slowly on unsteady legs and step down onto the silver-lit lawn.

“Hey, Steve.”

His arms are curled around himself, his shoulders rounded and his feet shifting on the grass. Even in the moonlight, Steve can see the swell of too many tears shed around Bucky’s eyes, and he’d look like he was about to run if not for the set of his jaw; the unwavering hold of his gaze on Steve’s.

“Buck, what are you...how long have you—”

“I did it.”

Bucky’s voice cracks - not like a heart breaking, but like a weight falling away, like a world upending, and it hits Steve like a blow to the back of the knees.

“You did what, Bucky?”

He knows what he’s hearing, what Bucky has just laid before him, but he asks anyway because it can’t be that; that terrible, selfish thing that Steve has dreamed of and hoped for and hated himself for wanting all these years.

Bucky can’t be here, standing under the light of the full moon, hours after they made love that was all passion and no integrity, telling Steve that.

Bucky takes a step forward, just one. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Steve to see that he’s shaking.

“I told her, Steve. I told her what I did tonight...told her the truth about me.”

“The truth...”

Steve’s chest is crushing in on itself, the air between them so thin and fragile he’s afraid to breathe it in.

Bucky wraps himself tighter in the circle of his own arms, shaking his head and dropping his gaze to the ground.

“I was scared, Steve,” he whispers, “back then...We were kids, and I was so scared of what it meant, the way I felt about you. And I thought I could...make myself feel that, again. For someone else. Someone who was...”

He blows out a shuddering breath, kicking at the ground in front of him.

“...Someone that everybody else would accept. But I couldn’t, Steve. I tried, I tried so fucking hard, and I thought that if I got married, then maybe...maybe it’d be better, because I’d have no choice but to love her. But I just...I couldn’t feel that again. I couldn’t, because I never fuckin’ stopped feeling it, for you.”

Steve aches, in every part of his being, all the way down in his soul. He stares at the man he’s loved his whole life, and he aches for the both of them; for the half-lives they’ve been living, tied to one another with string that had stretched when it would have been kinder to snap.

“I got it so wrong, Steve,” Bucky sobs, his eyes screwing shut against free-flowing tears. “I chose so wrong. And I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”

Steve’s body moves without thought, reaches and wraps itself around Bucky’s trembling frame; tight like he can save Bucky from this inevitable unraveling.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he shakes his head, heartbreak spilling raw into his voice, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s face is tucked into the crook of his neck and his tears are catching cold against Steve’s skin. But Steve’s own are falling into Bucky’s hair, and his hands are shaking too hard for their strokes up and down Bucky’s back to be any real comfort, and neither of them move to change a thing about it.

“I’ve thought of you every day,” the confession slips quiet from Steve’s lips, and he lets it, “I’ve missed you, every day.”

Bucky gasps a hitching breath into Steve’s shirt, holds tight to the fabric at his back.

“Fuck, I got more to make up for here than I’ve got years left,” he shudders, pulling back to find Steve’s eyes. “I got no right to ask you for anything ever again, and I know I gotta put some things right first, get myself right, but...but would you ever...could we, ever…”

Steve is nodding. Before Bucky’s even gotten the words out, Steve’s nodding.

There are so many questions still to be asked and answered, so many conversations to be had and blows that are yet to land in the aftermath. The road that lies ahead is unpaved and unmapped, and the sunrise will shed light on realities they haven’t even considered.

But none of that changes what Steve knows to be true, here and now.

He knows that the window ledge still creaks; that that tree still bears more fruit than he knows what to do with, and the roof hasn’t once leaked, not during a single storm.

He knows that in any lifetime, any versions of themselves...they could.

“Whenever you’re ready, Bucky,” come home when you’re ready, Bucky, “you know where I’ll be.”

***

It takes time, just like Steve knew it would.

It takes tears, and words that are just as hard to hear as they are to say.

It’s wounds reopened just to be stitched back together better, right this time; stitched to heal instead of just to survive.

Bucky is gone again, for a while, but his absence isn’t the bleak void it once was. It’s time apart for the sake of a life together, for both of them to rebuild what was broken and find a new sense of ‘whole.’

It’s Bucky finding his feet as the person he’s always been, and learning to speak his truth. It’s untangling himself from the life he was never meant to live, and finding forgiveness where it’s needed.

It’s Steve ripping up those floorboards that creak, and it’s letting himself sleep. It’s replacing the wallpaper that was more peel than pattern, and it’s teaching himself to roll with the waves of joy and grief until he can sit just as comfortably with both.

It takes time; eight months and twenty-one days worth of it.

But they heal, and Bucky finds his way home.

And this time, it sticks.

#stucky fanfic #stucky #steve/bucky #stucky au #angst #all the feels #angst with a happy ending

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sooibian · 4 years

Text

Wherever You Are

Pairing: Kai x You as Lys ft. Baekhyun, Minseok, Yixing

Description: When you least expect it, love, quite literally, sweeps you off your feet

Themes: Romani AU, magical realism, romance, angst, drama ™ (i grew up on a healthy dose of Bollywood and it! shows!), secret relationship, heavily influenced by Mmmh Kai

Warnings: Blood, weapons, violence

Word Count: +9.5k (i’m sorry i haven’t had the time to proof-read this at all)

Tagging: @changshapatrol @rosetvler @bbyunz @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @royal-aeris @bbhmystar @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13

Part of the Steampunk Romani AU collab with @leewalberg @vampwrrr @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme

Pre-reading notes:

1. This is a spin-off for Lys from Star-Crossed but it can be read as a standalone oneshot. I’ve tried my best to translate the events of that fic into Lys’ POV but feel free to shoot me a message if something still confuses you.

2. Lys is a mind-reader, Baekhyun has the ability to influence physical objects with his mind, Yixing is a dragon and he’s the leader of the clan (Bulibasha), and Kai - as we all know - can teleport!!

3. Glossary: bulibasha - clan leader, dado - father, dya - mother, gadjo - someone of non-romani descent / origin, dragă - darling, iubirea mea - my love, lautari - a group of romani musicians, zakono - a key institution for enforcing the Romani Code.

“Dado, can I go along with Minseok?”

“Where to, dragă?”

“To the horse fair....the one in the village?”

“That’s no place for a pretty princess such as yourself -”

“But..but.. dado!”

“The camp has everything you’ll ever need, dragă.”

You woke up to the same old chirping of crickets, the same old crimson, black, and gold panels draping your tent, the same old wine stained goblet on your nightstand, the same old aroma of steamed xaimoko and hearty cornbread, and... the same old stinging in your heart.

Lips stretched into a habitual wide grin, you greeted the lass who brought you dinner with a drawn out “Morning”.

“It’s seven in the evening, Lys. You know how your father feels about you sleeping during sunset!” Vera exclaimed and gathered her skirts to sit on the edge of your bed, her gentle fingers combing through to untangle knots in her mistress’ long, dark hair.

Having mastered the art of repressing the emotions that threatened to colour your expression at the mere mention of your father, feigning excitement, you took her hand in yours and coyly quizzed her on the topic she was dying to discuss, “Tell me more about the whitesmith boy, Vera? Did he prove to be,” you cleared your throat and said in a hushed whisper, “worth his mettle?” and drew the question out with a roaring laughter.

“Hush, Lys!” Said Vera bashfully, biting on her lower lip to suppress the smile that was beginning to form on her mellow, innocent face. The whitesmith boy, better known as Kris, was the clan’s most eligible bachelor until yesterday.

Young girls, in pairs or trios, would hide behind the shrubbery by the river to catch a glimpse of him shirtless, bring him bent out of shape wares to fix and polish - even the ones whose weights their delicate hands couldn’t bear - and watch him at his job for hours at an end as sweat would drip down his neck, making his light, cotton shirt cling onto his well defined back.

As any young man his age would, Kris surely enjoyed the attention but he didn’t thrive on it. His heart belonged solely to his beloved. He settled for the most simple woman, some would say for the want of a better word, but you were convinced that none of them had experienced the sweetness that was love.

You had - but only vicariously. Love, trust, anticipation, joy - all vicariously. The only emotions you truly understood, first-hand, were longing, anger, and sadness.

“Lys?” A finger poking into your side broke you out of your reverie.

“Hmm?”

“I said, yes.”

“What for?” You asked, an innocent eyebrow raised in question.

She only giggled in response and darted out of your tent. Grinning wide, you turned to your meal and just then the aggressive tramp of horses’ hooves and sharp, piercing cries of pain and fear from men, women, and children reached your ears. Before you could make sense of the situation, your shell-shocked eyes followed Vera’s body as it fell inside your tent with a dull thud, an arrow pierced through her chest.

Your dinner tray toppled over as you ran to her aid and struggled with the bitter truth that you could do nothing to breathe life into the one person out of the very few that truly cared for you. With your hand on her teared stained cheek, you listened to her conscience ferociously chant, dya...dya...take care of dya!

“I will, Vera. I promise to take care of your mother.”

Only when she was reassured did Vera allow life to drain out of her eyes while tears started to line yours and grief clawed at your throat. You began to drag her limp body towards the bed and it wasn’t long before a familiar face barged into your tent. Throwing his crossbow to the side, your brother helped you hoist Vera’s body up onto your bed.

“What’s going on -”

“We’ve been attacked by a group of dacoits. Stay inside. Whatever happens, do not leave your tent! You understand me?” Minseok commanded, his dark eyes piercing yours while blood trickled down the side of his face.

“You’re hurt -”

He shook his head and repeated, panic betraying his voice, “Just... stay safe, Lys. Will you?”

Breaking down into sobs you nodded frantically as the ugly realisation of loss washed over you. Minseok pulled you into a tight embrace, praying fervently, “It could’ve been you. It could’ve been you instead of - of Vera! Thank God! Thank God, it wasn’t you!”

His every word felt like a punch in the gut.

He then marched out with his crossbow in hand, vengeance in his eyes and your heart clenched with fear for your brother’s life. Hiding behind the entrance panels, you watched the scene outside.

The settlement was barren except for the dacoits and a handful of men from the clan out on the field; the rest had scurried into the safe confines of their caravans and tents. Men on horseback, dressed in black robes, had their faces covered in black scarves. They spoke a different tongue but you understood that they sought revenge. A life for a life, they repeated over and over in broken Romani. They menacingly circled Baekhyun with arrows and daggers pointed to his heart. Baekhyun’s stance was alert with his jamdhar in his hand as a majestic black and gold dragon hovered over them, a tattered body dangling from his spine chilling, bloody mouth.

It happened within a matter of seconds - the dacoits lay slain - some with arrows pierced through their chests, some eviscerated into smithereens and the rest crumbled to black dust - the doing of Minseok, Baekhyun, and Yixing respectively.

With one flap of his massive wings, Yixing descended, gracefully landing on his human feet as a man-servant trotted to his aid with a black robe to cover his modesty yet, very little was left to imagination.

“They really thought -”

Before Yixing could complete his sentence, an unconscious Baekhyun collapsed - right in the centre of the bloody chaos. That jamdhar is going to be his undoing, you said to yourself. A girl with dark unruly hair rushed to his side - your fiancé’s side - the sight turning your limbs to ice.

Your heart sank to your stomach but the edges of your mouth curled up in a smile as you met her eyes from a distance with sheer contempt in your own.

A man you didn't recognise, supported by two others on either side, was being ushered into Yixing's private chamber.

You felt a hand against the small of your back. Minseok whispered into your ear, "Dado wants to see you."

***

In the centre of the room slouched a man on a wooden chair, his hands roped together at the back, face bruised and bloodied - evidently the doing of your own brother.

“What’s all this?” You asked the three men surrounding him.

“The bandits left their dog behind,” spat Yixing.

“So? What am I supposed to do?” You directed the question to your father.

“We need to know who he is, where he’s from, and...why we were attacked.” Replied your father, eyes forcefully trained on the unconscious man on the chair.

“You should’ve probably left him with some life in his body to answer your questions.” You said to Minseok indignantly.

“Lys!” Your father was prepared to reprimand you at your insolence in front of Bulibasha.

“Dado - ”

“Lys, just hold his hand and tell us what he’s thinking.” Minseok tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with his calm voice.

“I have better things to do than hold a gadjo’s hand and listen to the filth of his mind. I’ll leave you big and strong men to it.” You sauntered over to your father, the corner of your mouth raised in a smirk. Dusting the lint off of his magnificent black and red woollen cloak that was embroidered along the edges with the finest gold thread, you sang, “I’m nothing more than just a pretty princess, anway.”

“Lys, please!” Cried Minseok.

“What would you have me do, Minseok? Stay here with you all while my fiancé is canoodling with the Bladerunner by the pond?” You retorted.

Yixing shot you a puzzled glance while Minseok and your father averted their eyes.

"It’s known to be their usual hideout.” You half-shrugged at Yixing, your casual tone not doing much to ease the frown lines on his handsome face.

While you were busy squabbling with your family, the man on the chair lifted his head up, rope evidently cut loose with a push dagger, and immediately all four pairs of eyes turned to him. Underneath the caked blood and grime on his face, he flaunted golden skin, luscious lips, and sharp, distinct features. His eyes met yours and crinkled into crescents as his lips curved into a disrespectful smirk.

He gave you a casual two-finger salute goodbye and….vanished.

Breaking into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at the three men caught unawares, you turned on your heels and merrily skipped out of Yixing’s private chamber.

The next morning found you by the river, still trying to wrap your head around the events of yesterday. ‘Thank God it wasn’t you!’ Your brother’s gentle voice rang ominously in your ears. ‘But what if it was?’ you reasoned with yourself, ‘Would it have meant being finally free or trapped in a permanent state of oblivion?’ In tune with your mind, your feet wandered, taking you deeper into the viridian forest.

You stumbled upon something stock-still and landed on your back causing that something to stir and wince in pain as it slowly regained consciousness. You crawled as far away from it as you could only to recognize him by the pleated black cummerband around his waist. The gadjo struggled to hold himself up and flattened to the ground again.

His agony brought you some solace as Vera’s ashen face flashed before your eyes. Laughing, you exclaimed, "So this is how far you managed to get! A stone's throw from Bulibasha's tent."

The man winced again but a smile began to form on his lips. "Wa-water," he breathed but you leisurely rested your back against the trunk of a nearby tree and denied his request with a little shake of your head, “A life for a life, gadjo. Repay your debt. Your people killed my friend.”

“Not- not my doing,” he said throatily and began dragging himself towards the river. He was sculpted like the dancers of a lăutari - long and lean, elegantly broader along the shoulders and chest and enviably slim around the waist.

You offered him no help. Instead, waited with a bated breath for his soul to escape him. But his snail’s pace had started to exasperate you. So you begrudgingly volunteered to bring him water as his dying wish.

“Here you go, gadjo. Seeing the way my brother beat you up, a sip or two of water won’t be of much help, anyway.” You sneered, holding the edge of the cupped leaf to his bruised lips.

As he drank, colour slowly returned to his ghost-white, bloodied face. “Kai,” he said in a voice that was husky and deep.

“What?”

“It’s my name. You’d do well to remember it.” His face lit up with a smile and his eyes found your thick golden anklet bejeweled with iridescent beads. He flicked the bead trinkets with his finger and squeezed his eyes shut as if in admiration of a great symphony.

Before you could even make sense of the situation...of him...he vanished again.

Kai, you mouthed, curled up in bed at midnight.

“Kai,” you said the gadjo’s name out loud, the tips of your fingers tracing the movement of your lips and despite yourself, blood began to warm your face. It had been a week since you met him in the forest but the man had capsized your mind. You inwardly admonished yourself for not killing him when you had the chance - it was the least you could’ve done for Vera - but you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him.

You saw truth in his innocent yet compelling eyes.

A whirlpool of emotions rose in your chest as you tossed and turned in bed causing a bead of your anklet to tangle with a loose silk thread from your quilt. Groaning, you sat up to undo it, and heard a sudden, loud crack.

Kai had unexpectedly appeared, standing at the foot of your bed. Arms crossed over his chest and head tilted to the side, he smiled down at you.

Returning his smile, you said, “If I scream, there’ll be at least ten men here, in no time, with sharp objects pointed at your throat.”

Gaze intertwined with yours, Kai knelt before you as his deft fingers found the troublesome bead. Smirking, he slowly pushed the quilt out of the way, and you instinctively pulled your skirts down below your knees. His mouth found the loose thread and he bit on it to free you from the restraint as his warm breath fanned your ankle and his soft lips brushed ever so slightly against your skin. As delicate as the touch was, it felt like being imprinted with a blazing hot cast-iron.

“If you truly wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have saved my life. And I’m here to thank you for that,” he smiled, and took the bold step of sitting next to you, on your bed. He then clicked his tongue, fingers ghosting along the curve of your ankle, and piped cockily, “Besides, you know I’d vanish before your sluggish men even manage to get here.”

“You think you’re very brave, gadjo?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just a fool for walking into the lioness’ den.”

His expression suddenly turned solemn. Studying your face intently, he whispered, “I’m sorry about your friend. I didn’t -”

“You didn’t what?” Your heart thumped wildly in your chest in a rather desperate anticipation of his innocence. So you immediately placed your clammy hand upon his trembling, cold one.

His voice grew thick with anguish as he explained, “I didn’t know those men were going to storm your clan. I’d only met them that morning. They said they were traveling south and I - I really had nowhere to go so I joined them without giving it much thought. I was desperate for company.”

His words were very much in line with his thoughts and memories. Images of the dacoits just as you’d seen them that evening, their boisterous banter, their journey towards the settlement, the food and wine and spoils they shared along the way, all flashed before your eyes.

You knew a liar when you saw one - their features were drawn out a bit differently, you’d believed. Baekhyun was a liar. He’d lied when you had asked him if he loved you. But Kai on the other hand…

“At the time you didn’t realize that they were plunderers?” You asked delicately.

“All I understood was that they weren’t men of strong character. But I didn’t care for their morality. I knew I could protect myself if worse came to worst.”

“Why didn’t you simply run...vanish when they besieged my clan?” As hard as you tried, you failed to keep the edge off of your voice.

The pitch of Kai’s voice rose as he continued to explain, “I grew numb...my hands and legs and...mind...I’ve seen war and suffering and I didn’t expect to cross paths with tragedy again so soon. So I - nobody noticed this at the time because of the chaos - but I fought on your side. I tried to save as many as I could.”

You contemplated on his words for a moment without realizing that his fingers were now laced with yours.

“- when my brother found you, you just -”

“I thought I - ,” his voice dropped and lower lip quivered slightly, “ - deserved the punishment.”

Fighting back your tears, you asked, “Why didn’t you explain this to them?”

“Did you see the look on your brother’s face? And the dragon’s? He was breathing fire even in his human form. They were ready to bring me to justice for the crimes I didn’t commit.”

You gave Kai a quick once-over. His face still bore bruises from the beating but his clothes were impeccable. Rich, even. He was dressed in a blue cashmere smock, red velvet pants, and his fingernails were coated in a deep teal. He wore a beaded bracelet on his right wrist that sparkled in the dim lighting of your tent - as did the platinum ring laced with exquisite tiny diamonds on his right hand index finger.

Had the dacoits looted him, they would’ve comfortably lived on the gains from the ring alone for a good part of the year. What was the need for them to tread such a great distance to loot your clan, you wondered.

Yet again, you grew wary of the man before you.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You asked.

“Because I don’t want you to resent me for the death of your friend.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you asked defensively, “Why do you care what I think, gadjo?”

“Kai,” he corrected you and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, he disappeared again.

The scattered morning light filtered through the thicket and descended in brilliant pearls in the unshackled stream of water amidst the medley of the trinkets on your anklet, the ballads of songbirds, and gushing water hitting rubbled mass as you tiptoed deeper into the forest.

A firm grasp balanced you by your arm as you hopped over rocks to cross the stream.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re tailing me, gadjo.” You teased him.

“Here,” he thrust some peeled almonds in your hand as soon as you got to the other side. Smiling, he said, “eat up. These extraordinary tiny things will help with your poor memory.”

He walked ahead of you, guiding, as you both slipped further into the capricious forest.

“You leave only to come crawling back so soon, Kai?” Although you uttered his name almost derisively, you felt heat rising up your cheeks as it fell from your lips.

“You see? The almonds help.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You merely scoffed in response.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” He asked, retaining a casual tone.

Letting out a deep sigh, you bombarded him with your well thought out mental list of questions in response. The questions that had plagued your mind since your very first encounter with him.

“Where are you from, gadjo? Don’t you have a home? A... girl waiting for you?” You deliberately held on to his arm on the pretext of steadying yourself ...and his mind drew a blank.

I can’t remember anything before you.

You were about to say something more but then stopped short, retreating until your back hit the trunk of a tree. He followed and halted only at a hair breadth’s distance from you, towering over, as sunlight danced on his skin.

He breathed, “You tell me. Do I?”

“Hmm?” Brows quirked, you stared right back into his eyes as his head continued to lower slowly and you, despite yourself, started going up on the tip of your toes, his hand around your waist holding you steady.

“Do I have a girl,” he whispered, his index finger lifting your chin up, his warm breath tickling your face and his lips ghosting over yours, “waiting for me?”

Your eyelids drooped almost instinctively as the back of his fingers gently caressed the side of your face.

“Kai -”

He chuckled, swiftly scooping you up in his arms. You felt your whole body squint and your ears popped rather painfully. It wasn’t long before Kai’s feet found firm ground in a meadow full of beautiful plume thistles while you stayed burying your face in the crook of his neck, eyes firmly squeezed shut.

He gently put you down but your legs gave out. Feeling squeamish, you berated him, “Warn me the next time, yes?”

He pulled you in a tight embrace, panic betraying his voice, he asked, “Are- are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize!”

“How do you survive this at all? It’s- it feels terrible! I feel horribly queasy and my spine is trying to claw its way out of my back!” You argued aimlessly.

“One gets used to it.” He said softly as you lay on your back and he lied down next to you.

“Where are we?”

“We’re very close to Cluj-Napoca. Prince Jongin’s would-have-been kingdom.” His vague and casual tone was starting to vex you a little.

“Prince Jongin?” You enquired rather haughtily.

He answered, “Yours truly,” and bent his neck down in a bow.

“You - you’re a prince?”

He turned to face you and you excitedly followed suit. Tracing your jawline with his finger he whispered, “Not anymore. I mean - forget it, it’s a long story.” He sighed and turned his face to the clear blue skies again.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you urged him to continue, “I have all the time in the world.”

He took a moment to contemplate on your words and then his own before indulging you with a wistful smile on his face, “I turned out to be someone..something nobody expected out of me. More capable than the rightful heir, more popular with the people, more popular within the court, and more popular with the King himself.”

“Hmm...I’ll need a little more than that.”

Kai chuckled, his eyes crinkling into half moons again. “Three months ago, Cluj-Napoca was attacked by the Kingdom of Bucharest. My father - the King - was recovering from an affliction of the nerves at the time. Although I am not much of a fighter myself...well, I wasn’t trained to be one but what I lack in strength, I make up for in agility.. I led the army into battle and we managed to protect our territorial integrity and independence.”

Kai had been continuously fidgeting with the lace on his black tunic while narrating the story of his bravado, leaving you utterly astonished at the duplexity of his personality.

“So what went wrong?” You asked, studying him closely.

“The thing is I am not the King’s legitimate son,” he laughed and continued the story in a slightly higher pitch as if imitating someone, “I was born out of love, says my mother. I’m the son of a concubine.”

“But, if after everything, the King was in your favour then why did you leave?”

“He was toying with the idea of making my half-brother renounce his title. So before matters could get any worse for her son, the Queen asked me to ‘disappear into the night’ as compensation for not driving me to the streets when I was a mere boy.”

Aghast, you enquired, “So you just left?”

He simply shrugged and replied, “I am not built for a life of frivolity and merely keeping up appearances.”

“But what of your mother?”

“She’s not built for a life otherwise than of frivolity and keeping up appearances. Besides, she’s been offered an elevated position within the court by the Queen after my disappearance and she intends on keeping it. And as for my father...well, he thinks I’m a traitor who abandoned his own people. That’s why on the day that your clan was raided...I couldn’t think straight. The war with Bucharest has clearly taken a heavy toll on me...suffering of others is far beyond the level of my tolerance.”

“But what about your subjects? Tell me, how are you so casual about this?”

“You’re the daughter of the richest man in the clan. Why do you want to leave?”

“It’s not the same. Also, how do you know what I want? And- and don’t answer a question with a question. It’s annoying.”

He huddled closer to you and bragged, “It’s all in your eyes.”

“Enough, gadjo, this is not about me.” Your face flamed and your stomach was in knots in anticipation of his answer.

He let out a heavy sigh and replied, “Life is an adventure that is best lived boldly. I can go wherever I want, whenever I like. Why should someone like me bear the stifling burden of a crown when I can be...free.”

True to his character, Kai yet again appeared out of nowhere, took the heavy jute tote out of your hand and asked, “Don’t you have a handmaiden for these things?”

He was dressed entirely in black - dress shirt tucked into fitted trousers - and his face was covered with a sequined veil mask, leaving only his alluring eyes exposed. To say that you were not used to his abrupt appearances would be a gross understatement.

“I’m picking up some specific things for Vera’s mother...also, we’re in the middle of a bazaar, gadjo! You’re growing bolder by the day.”

“Lys, did you forget to take your almonds this morning?”

You scorned, “Do you have a death wish? If my brother sees you here... or the dragon... or..”

“Your precious fiancé?” He teased. “The one who’s..what was it again? Yes, the one who’s busy canoodling with the Bladerunner by the pond?”

Suppressing a grin, you gave him the side-eye and asked, “So you’re different, then? Better than Baekhyun?”

“Vastly! Tremendously! Immensely! Extremely!”

Shaking your head, you shot him an offhanded remark, “I don’t believe you.”

He immediately grabbed you by your wrist and dragged you inside what seemed like a dingy storage room for grains and pulses. Setting the bag down on the floor, he looked you in the eyes and roughly placed your hand on his chest.

”Don’t you think I’m different? Don’t you believe that I’m better? Don’t you understand I can make you happy? Truly happy?” He asked, his heart pulsing against your fingertips.

The overwhelming words you want to say...talk to me comfortably...I’ll listen to you...loosen the boundaries...I’m like you, too.

Eyes glistening, he pleaded, “Fly away with me.”

“No.” You stated plainly while your head and heart hammered wildly at the words he so bravely uttered and the ones he didn’t.

Brows knit together, his face scrunched in comprehension of your answer. “Why not?”

“It makes me squeamish.” You shrugged.

“Stop being funny.”

“You’re being funny. Whatever happened to you wanting to be free?”

“I don’t understand.”

Arms defensively crossed over your chest, you looked away from him and muttered, “You know what I mean -”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I didn’t mean I wanted to be free from you!” Kai’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he continued to argue, “Please don’t tell me you’re in love with the idiot you’re engaged to.”

“Of course not! It was just an arrangement to keep his loyalties with the family.”

“Then what is it?” He asked in his softest voice.

“I can hear the words you don't say, gadjo.” You bellowed, nearly throwing him back.

He shushed you before asking in a whisper, “So?”

“Isn’t it terrifying?” You struggled to keep your voice low at his very tempting yet terrifying proposition.

“On the contrary, in fact. I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. I say the things I don’t mean and freeze when I’m expected to say something. I’m easily misunderstood, Lys.”

“But everyone has secrets that they’d like to keep...secret. And from where I stand, you’re a man of too many secrets, gadjo.”

“And you’re the woman capable of unveiling them all. Look, I have nothing to hide and I don’t even want to keep anything from you. The rest,” he gulped hard before continuing, “is up to you. Think about it, would you rather be trapped in a loveless marriage? You’re the bravest woman I know, Lys. Don’t try to run away from truth.”

Ever since you’d met Kai, he was all you could think of. With him you felt safe and happy - the two emotions that had eluded you for the longest time. You wouldn’t dare to admit this to yourself but as frightening as it was, you also felt loved. All these years caught in an airless vortex, you felt like you could finally breathe - finally someone wanted you for who you were and not what you pretended to be - but something was still holding you back.

***

Kai’s words kept you up all night.

Eloping with him was a solution to all of your problems but it meant bringing shame to your family. You knew for a fact that you’d never be happy at the cost of their happiness. Sleep and answers eluding you, you scraped your hair up in a bun and threw a shawl over your shoulders to go see your father.

The fragrance of sandalwood mixed with liquor pervaded the air as you knelt beside his sleeping form. Age had started to prominently line his skin yet he looked a lot youthful without a scowl painted across his features. You planted a soft kiss on his forehead and the back of his hand, perennially struggling with your feelings towards him. He was your father, after all, and you couldn’t say that he never loved you. You only wished that he tried to understand you better.

“Dado,” you whispered against his hand, “I love you.” and broke down, sobbing quietly.

Suddenly, his disturbing thoughts came unravelled to you, filling you with unbridled rage and fear.

Fear for Kai’s life.

“You ice-veined monster...” You whispered against his hand before storming out of the tent.

“We have to stop seeing each other, gadjo.” Avoiding Kai’s eyes, you broke it to him as coolly as you could, caging a maelstrom of emotions within you.

“Would you stop calling me that? It’s cold and impersonal.” He took your hand in his as you both continued to trod lightly into the forest.

“And you’d like me to be warm...and personal..with a gadjo.. Because?”

Hurt flashed in his eyes at your remark but at this point you wanted nothing more than to save his life. When you grew to be so protective of Kai, you couldn’t tell but you knew you would do anything to save him from your vicious father. And to be able to do that, you needed him gone for good.

“Because I’m not just anyone. I am...” Breathing heavily, he pinned you to a tree.

Yours, roared his conscience. Unambiguously.

A welcome warmth seeped into your veins but you maintained a stoic demeanour. If he could hear your thoughts he’d take you away...far, far away from this stockade you called home. Tears you’d been trying so hard to hold back, spilled from your eyes as he lowered his mouth to meet yours in a deep kiss.

“We can’t be together, Kai.” Breaking the kiss, you pushed him away and sank to the ground, weeping.

Despite your protests, he carried you in his arms. Smiling, he nodded to gain your attention and trust before yelling, “Three…,” You engaged your core at “Two” and at “One” you felt a familiar uncomfortable knot in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s dark here.” You remarked, while still in the protective comfort of his arms.

“It’s night time in this part of the world, dragă.” He explained putting you down on your feet.

“Oh..you just called me -”

“I’ve been learning your tongue, iubirea mea.”

You were grateful for the darkness as it concealed just how smitten you were. Swiftly changing the subject, you asked, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere far, far away,” said Kai and you heard the smile in his voice, “at the edge of a crater of a volcano. But not to worry, it’s an inactive one.”

“How boring!” You teased, as he carefully sat you down.

A blanket of stars glimmered above as you and Kai cuddled closer to each other, enveloped in a cool breeze.

“Lys,” Kai’s eyes shone brighter than the stars as he turned to face you, “whatever it is, you can tell me. We’ll work it out. My father once said that there is no problem so complex, nor crisis so grave that cannot be satisfactorily resolved within twenty minutes. And twenty minutes is all we have. Right?”

“I have to be back in time for -”

“For lunch, yes.”

“Let me tell you a story,” you said, and Kai lay down, resting his head in your lap.

“Go on,” he urged you, the tip of his index finger meeting your nose in a little pat.

With your hand on his forehead, you narrated, “There was once a couple who married for love, much against the wishes of the Elders of their village. Because of this, the newlyweds were driven out. They wandered for weeks without food and water, travelling far and wide, seeking shelter...and acceptance. One day they found,” you swallowed hard and Kai’s expression turned solemn. He gently caressed your face with his fingers, calming you down to help you continue, “they found us. Our clan, I mean and my father was Clan Leader at the time. The woman had grown fragile and sick and was in an urgent need of care but my father denied them shelter. ‘They’ve been expelled for a good reason,’ he maintained. He lacked the basic human decency to even offer them some food for sustenance. They camped outside the settlement, pleading with anyone and everyone who crossed paths with them...until...until the woman could take it no longer. She died in her sleep and the man vowed to annihilate all those who were responsible for her death - our clan included. The leader of the dacoits who brought you to the clan that day is the man in the story, Kai.”

Brows furrowed, Kai opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

“My father - he - he recognized the man the day they stormed our settlement. And after everything, when he found you, it was like he’d struck gold. He was all set to incriminate you because our clan won’t rest until someone’s been punished. But truly - it’s all his fault. Had he not denied them refuge, the man wouldn’t have harboured resentment against us. Now he knows about us. He knows that you come to see me...he’s been keeping a close eye on us to be able to capture you at the right time. It won’t be long before he succeeds, Kai. So you must- I mean, we can’t -,” you huffed, “after all, I’m engaged to be married. Minseok and Yixing are going to pay Baekhyun a visit tomorrow to fix a date for the wedding.”

Biting on his lower lip, Kai contemplated on your words for a while before speaking again. “Seventeen minutes. I have a plan. Do you trust me?” He looked at you with mischief twinking in his deep, dark eyes and a smile teasing the edges of his lips. You replied with a hesitant nod.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” You said.

“Anything,” Kai said with a smile. He closed his eyes and placing your hand on his chest.

“You can be anywhere, everywhere and with anyone, yet-”

“Yet?”

“You know what I mean,” your voice trailed off.

“I can be anywhere and everywhere,” said Kai, cupping your face in his hands, “but I want to be by your side. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Don’t you see why it makes me upset when you say that we can’t see each other anymore? Don’t you see the irony? You can’t tell me that I can ‘port anywhere, except where I actually want to be. I love you, Lys.”

Looking straight into his eyes you said softly, “Love is a strong word.”

Brows quirked, he enquired, “Does it scare you?”

Your eyes glistened with tears as you responded, “As selfish as it may sound, I don’t want to bring dishonour to my family.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

“But what if your plan fails?”

“It won’t. And if at all it does, I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound. As for me, it’d be an honour to die for love.”

He loosened your fist open and placed a small china jar in your palm. You opened to find almonds in it. He grinned wide, and said, “Fresh ones.. in case you’d run out.”

If you loved Baekhyun you would’ve, without a doubt, stabbed the woman with the same knife that she sat polishing.

For the longest time you’d tried to hate her for being the object of your fiancé’s affections, admire her for her bravery, admonish her for her recklessness for if anyone were to ever find out… but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for or against her.

Pivoting your attention to Kai’s best laid plan, chin up and voice firm, you said to her, “Show me your best blade.”

“What do you need it for?” She asked nonchalantly, entirely focused on the task at hand. Sure you’d grown softer since you’d met Kai but for her to not acknowledge a former Clan Leader’s presence fueled your anger.

You walked over to her and rested your hands on her shoulders, squeezing a little too harshly than you’d intended to. You wished she were thinking about anything other than Baekhyun but you weren’t surprised to find that she wasn’t.

“Lys!” She exclaimed, almost falling out of the little worn out wooden stool. She met your eyes, albeit with great difficulty.

Deliberately curling your lips into your best feature - a sinister smile, you whispered in her ear, “One that is good enough for carving a man’s heart out of his chest,” before tossing a piece of silver in her direction and strutting out with a navaja, a fighting knife.

***

“Do you have it?”

Kai appeared in your tent as you sat leisurely, snacking on peeled almonds.

“Solve a mystery for me. How do you always find me because I’ve never seen you wander in through the entrance panels. You just pop up out of nowhere.”

“We have an important task at hand.” He said, sitting down next to you, bearing the mannerism of an army general.

“No, I need to know. Now.”

Kai groaned at your unpredictable temperament and slapped his thighs.

“Alright, if you must know,” he said in a seductively low voice, leering at you as his nimble fingers drew circles along your foot. He slowly drew your skirts up with his other hand and you immediately smacked it down in protest.

“Fine,” he chimed. Letting out a sigh, he tugged at your anklet, “The sound of this has been burned into my memory. It’s how I find you everytime.”

“How very romantic. What if I were to take it off?” You asked playfully.

He tilted his head to the side, a hint of annoyance on his face. Firmly, he said, “Please, don’t.”

“Alright, alright!” You exclaimed at the sudden shift in his mood. “So what’s next?” You asked.

He removed an unassuming little vial from the pocket of his buckskin waistcoat and said, “This.”

You recognized the design of the vial - the opaque green glass bottle and its mouth closed with a black cork, “A spell?”

“The dragon’s wife is too trusting!” He exclaimed cockily.

“You went to see Bulibasha’s wife -”

“Assuming a disguise, of course!”

“Are you insane?!”

“Does it come as a surprise?”

“What did you tell her?!”

“I told her that this spell is the only way I can be with the one I love. And I wasn’t lying.”

“You really have a death wish, gadjo!”

“Kai!”

It took you a little while to calculate the risks of his audacity. Gaping at him, you finally spoke again, “Tell me what’s next. I have the blade.”

“Excellent.” He held the bottle up to your eye level and explained, “I’m going to sprinkle this on the Bladerunner when she’s on her way back home in the evening and her worst fears will come alive and start gnawing at her. And what do you think is her worst fear?”

“Losing Baekhyun.” You answered in a haughty disdain.

Kai chuckled. “Perfect. You said your brother and the dragon are going to visit your pretty little fiancé tonight? This spell will get the better of the Bladerunner and against her best judgement, she’s bound to go to see Baekhyun around the same time. The two men already have their suspicions about her and to catch her visiting Baekhyun at an ungodly hour will only reinforce their worst fears and this time they’ll not be able to wriggle out of it. Baekhyun and the Bladerunner will definitely be called into the dragon’s spine-chilling, morbid private chamber after that and a decision will be made.”

“What does that mean for us?” You asked, adrenaline making your blood quicken.

“Leave that to me. All you have to do is be there before they pronounce a decision and request a private audience with the dragon and your brother. And remember to,” he grabbed the navaja from your nightstand, its cutting edge reflecting the glint in Kai’s eyes. The corners of his mouth curled up, he quipped innocently, “use this well.”

The day unfolded exactly the way Kai had predicted.

Baekhyun and the Bladerunner had been called into Yixing’s private chamber at dawn. It was too early for the clan to start it’s day so you waited outside the tent just as Kai had instructed, listening closely for the right time to make an entrance. A loud and intense argument ensued between Minseok, Yixing, and Baekhyun - the three men who might as well be sworn brothers.

If you’d never met Kai, you would’ve thought that Baekhyun was being dramatic - fighting tooth and nail to save himself from heartbreak. It was a little selfish, you thought. Hearts mend, your father said to you when you had begged him not to put down your pet goat when she’d injured herself.

“But not without leaving a deep scar,” you muttered to yourself before barging into Bulibasha’s private chamber.

Seeing your father’s arrogant portrait next to the dragon’s in Yixing’s private chamber bolstered your bitterness towards him. Without another thought, you struck the portrait in its right eye with the navaja. That wasn’t what the knife was intended for but it was akin to killing two birds with one stone. As it went flying towards the portrait, it nicked the Bladerunner’s ear since she heroically pushed her lover out of harm’s way.

“Lys! You’ve ruined Father’s portrait!” Your dutiful big brother lambasted you.

Having dressed for the occasion in a red, black, and gold robes, and lips painted in a delicious scarlet, you walked with a deliberate swing in your hips, your dark, waist length hair emulating the movement. You allowed your fingernails to brush the Bladerunner’s arm as you sauntered over for the navaja under eagle-eyed stares.

With the knife in your hand, you came and stood before the Bladerunner, placed a hand on her cheek and whispered, “You have beautiful skin, Bladerunner. I’d hate to ruin it,” as you ran the edge of the navaja along her neck, pressing it just enough to leave her with a superficial cut. You were sure Baekhyun was bound to overreact, and he did.

He pulled you out of the way, standing like a barrier between the woman he loved and the one he tolerated. His firm grasp around your wrist was starting to hurt you but you maintained an unwavering demeanour. Your eyes landed on Baekhyun’s exposed sternum. It had been a while since you saw him without the basil necklace. The necklace was a testament of the promise you made to love and cherish each other forever but it was obviously no more than an accessory to him.

“Hand it over. It never looked good on you, anyway.” You whispered and extended your hand toward him. Without a word, he slapped the necklace into your palm. Your heart hammered widely against your ribs because things were going exactly the way they were supposed to but in your experience it was never a good sign.

You knew what Baekhyun was going to do next. The look in your eyes taunted and teased him until he finally snapped. Baekhyun grabbed the dagger from your hand amidst loud gasps from everyone present.

He’d done it.

One prevalent belief still held by the clan was that taking a knife straight from someone’s hand meant that the relationship between the giver and the recipient had been severed.

Baekhyun had finally severed his relationship with you. Despite the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, you smiled inwardly at Kai’s genius.

“Baekhyun! What have you done?” Yixing’s voice thundered, echoing loudly in everyone’s ears but the enormity of his action was clearly lost on the Baekhyun. He continued to plead, “If the Bladerunner is to be punished, Bulibasha, I deserve a harsher punishment. I don’t care what the Zakono says. You can’t go on acting like she was alone in this!”

Minseok seemed firmly rooted to his place as he shot daggers at Baekhyun, his cat-like eyes disapproving Baekhyun’s out-of-character rebelliousness.

Now’s the time, you thought to yourself before being the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “He seeks her when he’s upset. And even when he’s not.” You turned to bow before Yixing and appealed, “Bulibasha, I would like to request a private audience.”

***

An exhausted Yixing slumped to the floor with his back against his spectacular dragon portrait. Face buried in hands, he groaned, “You young people really know how to complicate matters.”

“I agree,” Minseok joined in the whining while pouring wine into three goblets.

“Yixing, you have to stop acting like we have decades between us. And Minseok, put that down! It’s too early in the day for wine! Tell me what you’d rather have me do. He’s been in love with the Bladerunner forever.” You tried reasoning with them but Minseok only shook his head indignantly at your words.

“Baekhyun can’t do this to us after everything our family’s done for him. We took him in, fed him, clothed him. This is not how he repays us!” Minseok exclaimed.

You couldn’t help but draw parallels between Kai and Baekhyun’s journey so far. While they didn’t have a lot in common, one thing was for sure. They’d forever been treated like outsiders in their own homes.

“Bulibasha -” You turned to plead with Yixing.

“This is a nice switch from Yixing for when you want to reprimand me to Bulibasha for when you need something from me.” Chastised Yixing, tilting his head to the side, expression blank.

Eyes downcast, you mumbled, “I don’t want to go ahead with the wedding.”

“The Lys I know would want revenge. The Lys I know would’ve asked for his head on a spike. And hers, too!” Yixing exclaimed.

“I’m just not the same Lys anymore. The both of you really need to stop trying to control everything and everyone around you. Minseok, you know we have better fighters now and we don’t really need Baekhyun anymore. And you can’t use me to keep him by your side forever. Besides,” you got up to fetch a goblet of wine for yourself, “forgive me but… i need some liquid courage before I -”

“Please don’t tell me you’re serious about the gadjo.” Minseok muttered nonchalantly, with blatant disregard for the surprise his statement had taken you with.

Steadying yourself by tightly gripping the goblet, you asked, “You know about him?!”

“Of course, I do!” Minseok exclaimed, “I mean, we do, Yixing and I both. You thought you’d disappear randomly and nobody would ever find out? The gadjo even procured a spell from the Clan Leader’s wife! It was foolish, if you ask me.”

You offered no further explanation and said instead, “Kai. It’s his name. You’d do well to remember.”

Fuming, Yixing bellowed, “Have you no shame, Lys? His people stormed our clan. We lost no fewer than eight lives that day! You lost Vera! Have you forgotten already?”

With no care in the world, you started to defend Kai, “I haven’t forgotten and I never will. But the monsters who raided us weren’t his people. He was just as surprised by it as we were. Whatever happened is Dado’s fault.”

It was Minseok’s turn to rebuke you, “Lys, I know you love to blame him for everything but this is a serious matter. You’re taking things too far.”

“No, Minseok, it honestly is!”

Minseok and Yixing listened carefully as you revealed to them the secrets your father had been harbouring and how it was his ruse to pin the blame of the raid on Kai. Neither of them spoke for quite some time, trying to assimilate the information you’d just shared with them.

“Lys,” said Yixing calmly, as Minseok sat with his hand over his head, “even if what you say is true, you know the Zakono does not permit you to marry a gadjo.”

“Bulibasha, say that I was snatched...taken...it’s better than saying that I ran away. I can’t bear to be here any longer.” You walked over to where your brother sat, shaken and furious. You took his hands in yours, looked into his eyes and cried, “Minseok, someone like me is not meant to be confined… I want to be out in the world, moving constantly, exploring, unearthing its marvels and wonders, its deepest ...the most well kept secrets, just- just living. I am begging you to let me live!”

“Lys, that’s enough!” Interrupted a new voice, bringing you a sudden surge of relief.

You turned around to find Kai in light-toned pink fitted trousers and a broad cummerbund around his slim waist that accentuated the elegant lines of his body. A relaxed chiffon and lace tunic in the same pale pink shade with flared sleeves that closed around his wrists was tucked into the cummerbund and his ebony hair fell in silken locks over his forehead.

He took confident strides towards Yixing, and stated with a sense of surety in his eyes, “If we wanted, we could’ve disappeared without a trace.”

“Get out, gadjo,” said Minseok in a dangerously low voice, “nobody needs you here.”

“The woman I love does,” answered Kai coldly, ��so I will stay until she asks me to leave.”

Anger igniting his momentum, Minseok lunged forward and punched Kai in the chest with all the strength he could muster causing Kai to stumble several feet back.

“Look at him!” Spat Minseok as you rushed to Kai’s aid while he struggled to gain his bearings. “What a weakling! I cannot trust him to protect my little sister.”

Regaining your composure, you said to your brother in a threateningly calm voice, “Minseok...don’t make me say it.”

Minseok turned to you, face scarlet and eyes bloodshot. He demanded, “What is left to be said, Lys?”

Brows furrowed you looked him in the eyes as your heart threatened to leap out of your chest. “Father doesn’t have a lot of years left and... you know how bad it’ll be if word got out we were raided because of his misdeeds...the wrong decisions he made as Clan Leader.”

Minseok laughed darkly and shot you a disgusted look. “You’re right, Lys. You’re clearly not a child anymore. But what would you rather have me do, huh? Disrespect the Zakono? Give you away to a man who abandoned his own people? One who doesn’t have a place to call home?”

“Minseok, that’s enough,” commanded Yixing, causing Minseok to stop at once. Hands on hips, he continued, “Everyone has the right to choose their own destiny. And I’m sure you understand this better than I do, you can’t expect our headstrong Lys to change her mind easily especially when it’s set on something. We’ll let you have your way, Lys. But -” Yixing’s scrutinizing gaze met Kai’s kind eyes.

Yixing reached for the leather coffer which sat in an inconspicuous corner of the tent. You’d been to the private chamber multiple times for various reasons before but you’d never noticed the coffer. He crouched over it, rummaging for something specific. It was a few minutes before he rose to his full height again, a talisman in his hand, his face saying nothing in particular.

He split the talisman in two, fastened one half of it to a black thread and quietly tied it around your neck and gave the other piece to Minseok. The talisman was similar to the one he wore around his wrist. It was very much like a jade stone, flickering in various shades of green as if alive and breathing.

“The talisman will tell us where you are - at all times. It’ll turn red to signal us when you’re in mortal danger. If that is to ever happen, no matter where you are, you know I’ll find to you in no time. And when the light goes out - ” before the mood could turn somber, Yixing continued with a voice heavily laced with pride, “Don’t ever think about taking the talisman off. Well, the truth is, you couldn’t even if you tried. This thread has been strengthened by a number of powerful charms and spells..fashioned by my own wife.”

You responded only with an understanding nod, the realization that you were finally going to have it your way had not sunk in yet. Yixing and Kai shared a look before Kai walked over to him with a grave expression on his face. Yixing drew a dagger out the bandoleer strapped around his thigh and Kai placed his hand on the teakwood desk in the room.

“Make it quick, Bulibasha,” said Kai.

“What’s going on?” You whispered into Minseok’s ear.

Minseok sighed before responding in a clipped tone, “Proof that we fought for you when the gadjo was taking you away as revenge for the death of his dacoit friends. But the gadjo just.. vanished with you and all we managed to get was -”

Your conversation was interrupted by Kai’s muffled cry of pain as he collapsed at Yixing’s feet.

“- a little finger.”

In a state of blind panic, you rushed to be by Kai’s side, struggling to form words. You were aware that Yixing wouldn’t let you go without proof of Kai’s commitment towards you but you never imagined it would come to this.

“Take this,” Yixing held the mouth of a vial to Kai’s lips as he grappled with consciousness. Kai hurriedly gulped down the milk of the poppy which knocked him out almost immediately. While he was asleep, Yixing called for his woman to clean and bandage him.

***

You spent that time sitting next to a sulking Minseok.

Setting aside his pride, Minseok finally asked, “Will you atleast come visit?”

You rested your head on your brother’s shoulder and he instinctively huddled closer to pat it affectionately. “Every full moon, I promise,” you replied softly as a silent tear rolled down your cheek.

He pulled out a heavy drawstring pouch from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to you saying, “Keep this.”

You shook the purse in your hand until the coins jingled and then reprimanded Minseok, “Kai’s father is King for god’s sake! He can take care of me.”

“But I still want you to have it. I had so many dreams.. the wedding I’d planned for you..” said Minseok as tears sparkled like diamonds in his eyes, “please...keep it.”

You pulled your brother into a tight hug and sobbed, “Take care of yourself, always.”

“You’re a fine one to talk...eloping with a gadjo. Can’t say that I didn’t see this coming. Unconventional to the end, Lys.” He twisted your ear playfully while crying and laughing simultaneously.

“Let those idiots get married, Minseok, and set the fool who broke my heart free.”

“Lys -”

Pouting, you asked, “Won’t you do it for your darling sister?”

“Fine!” Minseok agreed begrudgingly, “Anything else, your highness?”

“Take care of Vera’s mother.”

“You know I already do,” said Minseok, flicking your forehead. “Promise me you’ll come visit? And you’ll always, always take care of yourself?”

You took Minseok’s hand in yours and pressed your lips to his knuckles, as his heart continued to weep.

***

It was nearly noon when Kai finally awoke.

You stood up as he walked over to you with a marked confidence in his demeanour like his little finger wasn’t carved out of his body just a few hours ago. He wrapped his arms around your waist, while Yixing and Minseok watched uncomfortably, and rested his forehead against yours.

With your hand on his chest you asked Kai, “Are you alright?”

“Never been better. You look like a bride, iubirea mea,” he said, holding you closer, tighter as his hands travelled the length of your back.

“Shall we?” He asked, lowering his head to press his lips against yours. He deepened the kiss and you responded with equal fervour as he lifted you off your feet, twirling you in his arms until you felt a familiar, intense drop in your stomach, one you’d soon have to get used to.

‘Cause I’m too wicked I want to take all of your heart Don’t you worry So soon, you have my world

You make me feel so Mm-mhm..

**********************

hello @diveinthebluewithyou this one’s for you...welcome to Romaniverse!! hope you enjoy <3

79 notes · View notes

asweetprologue · 4 years

Link

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes.

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment.

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands.

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really.

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable.

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade.

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did.

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing.

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw.

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it.

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled.

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact.

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed.

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped.

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve -

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush.

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him.

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him.

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said.

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was.

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did.

#my work #my fics #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fan fiction #fan fic #witcher fanfiction #valdomarx

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analysis-by-a-muffin · 4 years

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YGO Analysis: Protagonists and Rivals, the Pivotal Relationship (Part 1)

There are a variety of relationship archetypes that come with any genre. Their importance, meanings, and depiction come with a strong and wide variety even from within their own genres or franchises. Rivalries are a constant across several media; only coming with different faces depending on the reason for the competition between two characters. Action movies, shows, etc tend to have major rivalries between the protagonist and a character that is both their opposite and their equal (whether or not they’re actually an equal truly depends on the piece of content but shhh). This relationship can be a strong driving point of plot related events, and one of the finest examples of that is the Yu-Gi-Oh franchise with its growing number of rival relationships that are distinctive in their own ways— even while they’re following a very set pattern.

General Overview

Compared to many other rivalries— in shounen works especially— there’s a lot about the way Yu-Gi-Oh goes about theirs that struck a surprising chord with me. Thankfully, each spinoff doesn’t give the viewer an exact clone of the rivalry that started it all, regardless of how popular Seto Kaiba and Pharaoh Atem are. There’s also a notable lack of anything feeling generic or far too in line with tropes, following them safely down to a T. Each one has a flavor that allows for viewers to have their own favorites which can range from cold and intense to warm and soft.

Duel Monsters crafted certain characteristics and behaviors within each dynamic.

Obsession: Each rival has a focus on the protagonist that they don’t really give to any other character. The intensity of it changes with each pair, however, and can sometimes involve stalking the main character, oftentimes thinking about them, or more mildly, simply talking about them a lot in private to someone else. Another staple to their obsessive behavior is going to absurd lengths to get the attention of the protagonist, something which they’ve displayed as a thing the rival can get pretty greedy for.

Plot Importance: If a YGO series isn’t well made or structured, the main rivalry is likely not going to be a very good one. When done spectacularly, their relationship can be what causes major events to unfold and hinge on which is par for the course with this franchise. Basically, rivalry quality and series quality play very important roles.

Friendship: Typically, they start out as enemies or strangers. Whatever it is, they’re not on great terms right away, but through a connection/understanding of each other that no others have, they become unlikely (and even unconventional) friends. Their bond is meant to be seen as one of the strongest in each series and are often each other’s greatest influence. On top of all of that, it’s normally the protagonist who longs to befriend the clearly broken inside rival. Which has a high tendency to end up with them being upset at offers to help and understand them being harshly rejected.

Soulful Connection: Duel Monsters is a card game with in-universe lore heavily pertaining to duelists’ souls, and the concept of them in general. It’s no surprise that the protagonists and rivals can end up with bonds that cause them to feel like soulmates. Yet, there are times when that connection becomes extremely apparent and more overt. First duels between them tend to have the protagonist being able to read the rival, seeing parts of him that don’t line up with what he says and leaving them to wonder why they’re so closed off or who made them act this way. Of course, this comes as a huge shock to the rival along with their ego. This in turn fuels the need to aid the rival; meanwhile, this character zeroes in on the protagonist.

Key Similarities: Regardless of how seemingly dissimilar they can be in beliefs, attitudes, intelligence, and their very dueling styles, these two are meant to have something that draws them to each other unlike anyone else. This showcases a common unbreakable thread that keeps them bound. It can be anything from pride to shared background experiences to having a hidden heart of gold.

Paralleled Features: Red versus blue is an age old trope that makes itself known in YGO. If the two aren’t clearly in line with that, they have several other opposing color differences such as one wearing darker colors while the other wears lighter ones. One of each of them could also be paler than the other either slightly or blatantly.

Sun/Moon, Light/Dark: Another common trope, that comes with some diverseness across the board. The protagonist can be made out to be something bright and life-saving similar to the sun, and this can be openly stated or strong hints to this can be thrown in. In the eyes of the rival, the protagonist can be seen as their light in the darkness. Someone who thrills them, serving as this unique person who can make them feel more alive and can even stop them from sinking too deep into metaphorical darkness.

Respect and Trust: These two are cornerstones of every dynamic. Without them, everything falls apart. The rival has a lot of difficulty navigating the idea of trusting others but commands respect he often doesn’t receive. The protagonist comes in to teach them better and be a guiding force much like with aiding them in friendship.

Separately, the rivals share traits modeled after Kaiba.

A lust for power (usually the result of never having any true power in their own lives)

A physical design that depicts them as being bigger, taller, and overall more masculine (in a few cases they’re even a year or two older)

Dramatics in their gestures, speech, fashion sense, dueling methods, and interests

A cold and aloof personality in which their stoic nature causes problems in whatever relationships they have

Cards are mainly very imposing and dark creatures

Difficulty with honesty and containing aggressive feelings

Being a part of a higher social or economic class (something which weighs on them and can be the source of a huge portion of their grief)

Dueling style will almost exclusively be focused on dominating the opponent through beat down

Experiencing a tragedy that forever changes parts of themselves in ugly ways

Protagonists are similar to Yugi and/or Atem, but unlike their less kind and closed off counterparts, there're plenty of times in which they’ve deviated far from the norm.

A more open heart to kindness and letting people get close, along with the urge to help others

Designs make them smaller and shorter than their rivals with a softer appearance that welcomes instead of rejects

A warmth and hope that can irritate the rival

Are more likely to use cards that feature cute monsters

Tragedy can strike them, but it’s treated like a source of strength or something that greatly influences what they do (can come with less hurtful coping mechanisms)

[There seems to be a common tactic when it comes to hiring the Japanese voice actors for the protagonists. They don’t have the experience of several roles, and voicing a YGO lead character is their first big hit].

These dynamics are easily my favorite part of each series, and one of the things I look towards the most when a new series is announced. Finally taking the time to write out an analysis and composing my thoughts feels nice. The next parts will be dedicated to actually looking at the specific relationships instead of talking about them generally.

#yugioh #prideshipping #gx rivalshipping #kingcrabshipping #sharkbaitshipping #pendulumshipping #datastormshipping #on my previous account I talked occasionally about protags and rivals #but this is where I decided to finally go more in depth with my analysis #while not inherently about them as a romantic pair #I did find it much easier to tag ships even though I kind of want to do a queer reading of their relationships and YGO as a whole #but really I’m not even too sure of what all I could say there #also I’m not really bringing up Sevens here because I don’t know it well enough #the series is still ongoing too #b u t there are things I’ve seen in it that still fit stuff listed here #primarily with their opposite character designs and the protag VA not being a super experienced one

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darkblueboxs · 3 years

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Bond, Break and Breath

Demon Jean/Kevin AU

Read here or on AO3 The Raven Prince, barely older than Jean is but with a confident set to his shoulders that speaks to something far older, looks him up and down with the unhurried confidence of someone who is used to schedules bending to his whims. His lips curl upwards, exposing his teeth, but Jean would not describe the expression as a smile. It’s too hungry by far.

“This one. I’ll take him,” says Riko Moriyama, and Jean’s fate is sealed.

There’s a strained sob from behind Jean that sounds like his mother as hands clamp down on him, pulling him from the line of offered children and towards the inner palace. He tries to wrench his head back for one last look at his mother and father, the sister who will be too young to really remember him, but the hands are all but choking him as his head is forced to bend lest his neck break under the pressure. He can see Riko’s boots as he strides ahead of them, expensive leather striking a rigid rhythm into the flagstones. There’s a matching pair which follows a measured beat behind, but it isn’t until they reach the inner sanctum that Jean can get a proper look at Riko’s adopted brother. He has the build of a fighter but none of the vitality; his eyes sit too deep in his face, darkly ringed as though sunlight is a mere memory to them. His eyes are hungry too, but it’s a curious kind of hunger, more like Jean is a book he wants to pour over, proof of a world beyond the palace walls. Jean doesn’t have time to study him further, not when he’s being dragged to the dais in the centre of the room by hands that clamp around his wrists like cuffs.

The sanctum is walled by ruby tiles that scatter the light from the oil lamps across its inhabitants in crimson pinpricks. Jean doesn’t bother to struggle as they lash him to the glistening block at its centre, but his captors grant him no lenience in return, their hands biting bruises into him as they tie him firmly enough that Jean’s fingertips begin to tingle from lack of circulation.

“Such a shame to ruin a pretty face.” The prince’s face eclipses his vision suddenly, the ruby light haloing his dark hair. “Don’t you think, Kevin?”

A non-committal sound comes from beyond Jean’s field of vision. The doors open and suddenly the chamber is filled with the molten burn of liquid metal. Jean twitches. Riko’s eyes track the movement with bright fascination.

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about the bonding,” Riko addresses him for the first time. Jean tries to nod, but the ties holding his head in place are too tight.

“Would you like to hear a secret?” Riko bends over him, lips at Jean’s ear. “It hurts even worse than they say.”

Any hope that Jean still held for his miserable future flickers and dies as he looks into Riko’s eyes and sees the delight dancing within. Riko keeps his eyes on Jean while the priest stands over him, mumbling in a language Jean doesn’t recognise. He keeps his eyes on Jean when they take out the knives and begin to carve matching sigils into his face and bared chest, and he keeps his eyes on Jean as the ruts in his skin are filled with molten gold that scorches him as it cools.

Then a golden chalice is held to his lips, and Jean doesn’t need to smell the hot stench to know what it holds. With merciless hands pinching his nose shut, Jean has no choice but to open his mouth and accept Riko’s blood as it fills his mouth and coats his insides black.

He’s pulled back from choking on blood and spit by the hand that presses suddenly into his chest. It isn’t the pressure so much as it is the response from his body, something in his ribcage rising to the point of contact. Riko’s hand is ice-cold against his feverish skin, the rings that adorn each finger biting into his chest.

“Jean Moreau. Do you give your body and soul that you may serve your Prince?”

Jean thinks of his family left in the courtyard, who will not be let free until the bonding is complete. “I do,” he says, his voice thickened beyond recognition.

“Riko Moriyama. Do you accept this soul to take as your own?”

“I do.”

The shifting thing in Jean’s ribcage rises like smoke, and oh¸ he had been naïve to believe he knew what pain was before this moment. His soul ripples and shifts as it wrenches itself from Jean’s chest and flows like meltwater to Riko’s waiting hands, and Jean screams and screams and screams, no, no, give it back, I need it, I need it-

And then his voice is abruptly cut out, his body silenced as bones and muscles crack and shift, adjusting and rearranging around the missing pieces. His teeth are suddenly too big for his mouth, his fingernails curling into something longer, sharper, and white-hot pinpricks of pain blossom and burst through his scalp in the shape of-

The last thing Jean sees is the hungry flash of Riko’s teeth.

The demon formerly known as Jean Moreau spends a day recovering in a sparse chamber before his newly-settled body is dragged out into the courtyard to begin training. He can feel Riko waiting for him before he sees him, a sense of the boy carrying his soul pulsing at the base of his skull like a heartbeat. The brother is there too, and he does nothing to hide the shock from his expression when he sees the changes that have come over Jean since the previous night’s ceremony.

Riko laughs. “That’s right! You’ve never seen one up close before, have you?” He summons Jean with a crook of his finger, and Jean’s legs jerk clumsily in his direction before his mind has a chance to catch up with them. Riko catches him by one of the freshly-grown horns protruding from his head and drags him down for Kevin’s inspection. “I did say it would be a shame to ruin that face.”

Jean hisses at Riko’s grip on his horn, still tender and new. There was no mirror in his chamber, and Jean would have lacked the energy to get up and inspect himself even if there had been one. He has seen the rivulets of gold branded into his chest, the sharp points at the ends of his hands where nails turned to claws, can feel the awkward new shape of the elongated canines that catch at his bottom lip. He isn’t sure he needs to see any more.

Kevin stares, transfixed, and for a moment Jean catches sight of his reflection in Kevin’s eyes. His eyes are a solid black, the bonding sigil shining painfully bright on his cheek.

Almost unthinkingly, Kevin reaches out to him. Before Jean can think to flinch away, Riko is yanking him back by the horn.

“Ah, ah. No touching my things, Kevin.” His tone is playful, but Jean can feel the surge of anger beneath. “We’ll get you your own soon enough, won’t we?” He turns to Jean. “Maybe a matching pair. How old was that girl he came here with?”

Jean’s fist is an inch from Riko’s face when the pain hits. He falls to his knees, choking on air as Riko stands over him, smirking like Jean just passed some sort of test, which he probably did. The bonding is like an iron cuff around Jean’s throat, choking him out until the impulse to harm his Prince subsides.

Training is simple. Riko is a boy with many enemies, and it is Jean’s duty to tear them down before they can lay a finger on him. He may be young and inexperienced in combat, but the changes that have taken over him still give him advantage over the grown men tasked with beating him into shape. His reflexes are faster, his sight and hearing sharper, his already considerable strength almost doubled, his stamina virtually endless. For most of the morning any wounds he takes stitch themselves back together before he has a chance to examine them: it’s only as the day wears on that the cuts and bruises start to linger. He glances to where Riko and Kevin are watching from the shade of the trees, but no reprieve comes. Riko waves his men on with a flick of his wrist, and they continue until Jean’s legs will no longer support him.

When the fighting is over, Riko pokes at Jean’s wounds with interest. Kevin keeps his eyes fixed on the blood-flecked cobblestones, and Jean can hardly blame him.

“He does have limits,” Riko says. “Interesting.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything, but Jean doesn’t miss the way his fingers twitch.

When Jean wakes the next morning, there’s a pot of salve on his bedside table. It smells like the lavender fields of home, the sense memory so strong that Jean’s eyes sting. He tests it out, unsure if he’s about to become the victim of another of Riko’s “tests”, but finds the cream soothes yesterday’s aches as it sinks into his skin like butter.

Down in the courtyard, it’s no longer the pulse of his soulholder that calls to him, but someone else instead.

Ten years do nothing to soften Riko’s edges. As he grows, so do his enemies, and time after time Jean steps in, biting and tearing and cutting until there is nothing left of the foolish assailants. He grows accustomed to being the shadow at Riko’s shoulder, to the terrified looks ordinary people shoot him as he passes, to the hollow in his chest where his soul once lived.

“Why do you hate me?” Kevin murmurs as he sews one of Jean’s unhealed wounds back together. Riko had been experimenting with silver knives lately, fascinated by how Jean’s healing abilities were seemingly defeated by the precious metal. It’s the dead of night, and while Jean’s eyes no longer struggle to penetrate the darkness he has no idea how Kevin is able to sew him up with so little difficulty.

“Did I say I hated you?”

“It’s obvious.” There’s a click as Kevin bites through the thread and begins to tie it off with blood-slick fingers. It’s the kind of wound that would have brought Jean to tears during his early days in the palace walls. Now, his voice barely wavers as Kevin pulls him back together.

“I hate that you’re here when you don’t have to be.”

Kevin’s fingers stall. “Riko is asleep. He never has to know.”

“I don’t mean this,” Jean replies scornfully. He turns and plucks the thread from Kevin’s loose hands. “I mean here with him. You have no bond. You have a working body, a soul of your own, a family beyond the palace walls who would welcome you with open arms. You could be free, but you choose to fester in the shadows with us. You choose him.”

Kevin reaches as if to take the thread back, but his hands halt inches away, hovering in the space between them. “You want me to leave?”

“More than anything,” Jean bites. He thanks a God he never believed in that Kevin can’t see in the dark. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he knows it’s revealing something Jean has been keeping hidden for years alongside the pots of salve and sewing things under his mattress.

Kevin’s response, when it comes, is quiet, strained. “Who would sew you back together?”

Jean has no answer to give.

“Hold him, Jean. Hold him!”

The order courses through Jean’s arms like blood, tightening his grip on Kevin’s thrashing arms. Kevin stares up at him with watery, pleading eyes. As though Jean has any choice in the matter. After all this time there’s still a part of Kevin that doesn’t quite understand.

Jean pins Kevin’s hand in place, and Riko strikes.

“Jean? What the hell are you doing here?!”

Jean had grown used to living with one hole in his chest. Two is unbearable, and he only understands how unbearable it was when Kevin’s voice settles back into place within him.

“Kevin,” Jean says. He doesn’t have the strength for much else, every inch of his body at war with itself. Riko’s orders burn like wildfire through every cell in his body, but some impossible gem of resistance at his core holds out. “Kevin, I’m sorry.”

“Jean-?!” Kevin’s voice is cut off as Jean strikes, a harsh strike to the sternum that has Kevin bending over double. Jean catches his arms before he can react, forcing them behind his back until the choice is between breaking an arm or submitting. He can feel the ridges of Kevin’s scars under his grip as he forces him to the ground, much improved after his months away but still there.

“He ordered me to bring you back,” Jean grits out through his teeth. “I can’t…. I can’t stop.”

He feels Kevin’s body go lax beneath him. Kevin’s voice comes out hollow, and if Jean still had a soul it would be torn in half by the surrender in his words. “I understand.”

Jean turns Kevin over slowly, allowing himself to meet Kevin’s gaze at last. His new life is treating him well, his skin having lost the unnatural ashy tint of the palace, his cheeks filled out and sun-bitten. Jean soaks it in, trying to memorise the image before he tears Kevin away from it forever. Kevin’s eyes flicker to Jean’s sigil, then down to his lips, and he looks like he’s about to say something when he catches sight of something over Jean’s shoulder. His eyes widen.

“Look out!”

Something hits the back of Jean’s head, hard. If he were human, it would have shattered his skull. He rolls to the side before springing back to his feet, placing himself between Kevin and the attacker. His breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of the other assailant: he has never met another demon before. He’s shorter than Jean, but more muscular by far, his all-black eyes contrasting sharply with his blonde hair. The sigil on his cheek is a deep amber and silver knives flash in the palms of his hands.

“You touched something that isn’t yours,” he says lowly.

“Isn’t-” Jean starts, stops, and all the air leaves his body in a sudden, sharp shock. He turns to Kevin, denial giving way to deep, burning anger as he sees Kevin’s panic.

“Jean. It isn’t what it looks like,” Kevin begins frantically.

Jean clenches his teeth, turns, and swings for Kevin’s demon’s face. The punch doesn’t even connect, nor did Jean expect it to. Regardless, his bond urges him on, swinging blow after blow which the demon dodges with ease, his bored expression never cracking. Eventually, he grows tired of Jean’s efforts catching him by the neck and throwing him to the ground.

“Andrew,” says Kevin as the demon steps forwards. “Please, don’t.”

“What did I tell you about that word?”

Kevin’s mouth snaps shut, his lips pressing into a tense line. The demon – Andrew – turns back to Jean, eyes narrowed. “If we let him go, he’ll keep coming back. His bond won’t allow him to give up.”

“Don’t kill him. Andrew, I know him, he’s not like Riko, he doesn’t…”

Andrew sighs. “You are a pain, Kevin Day.”

Jean doesn’t feel the hit: one moment Andrew is standing over him, and the next, everything has gone black.

Jean feels Riko’s death pulse through him like a hot iron poker pressed through his chest. He screams, clawing at his chest as he rolls from his bunk in the cell he has spent the last – days, weeks, months? – trapped in, and by the time he hits the floor Riko is gone.

But Jean, somehow, doesn’t follow. A hundred miles away, he feels his soul flicker, seep into the air and begin curling its way into the beyond- and then something catches it.

Something warm. Something safe.

For the first time in over a decade, Jean can breathe again.

The Kevin that unlocks his door at last has a deep gash where his tattoo used to be. He stands taller than Jean has ever seen him, but it’s on the inside that the real change has taken place. His heartbeat pulses in the back of Jean’s mind as the heat of a fresh bond hums between them.

“It can’t be possible,” Jean says. “Andrew-”

“Andrew is a freed demon. He was never bonded to me,” Kevin says in a rush, like the words have been weighing on him ever since their initial reunion. “I wanted to explain, but he wouldn’t let me come near you in case you tried to take me away again.”

Jean swallows. “He was right. I would have dragged you away kicking and screaming the first chance I had.” He reaches out to Kevin, pressing fingers to his chest to feel the flutter of his own soul resting beneath the skin. “How…?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin says, swallowing. “I saw your soul leave him, and I thought it would just evaporate, but then it kind of…” He gestures wordlessly to his chest. “Settled. What does it mean?”

Jean thinks he knows, but there’s only one way to be sure. He surges forward, and Kevin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, maybe the only person who has never looked at Jean with an inkling of fear, and when their lips meet it’s like two halves of a whole coming together.

Kevin gasps into his mouth as though Jean is a breath of air after years drowning at sea, and gasps again as Jean’s claws rake lightly across his scalp. They’re pressed together so tightly they no longer feel like two different beings, and for a moment Jean wonders if this is part of the bond or if this is just them, because he feels like he’s holding Kevin’s soul in his chest as much as Kevin is holding his.

“Oh,” Kevin says against his lips. “That’s why.”

And then he kisses him again, and again, and again.

They break the bond on a bright day that is full of birdsong and sunlight. The agony of a world-worn soul settling back into his chest is an acute one, but Jean survives it with Kevin’s arms tight around him. Jean’s chest heaves with his first breath as a freed demon, and it’s Kevin’s green eyes that welcome him back to the world. *

#all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #kevjean #check ao3 for content warnings bc there's a Lot #kevin day #jean moreau #my fic

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

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all in the weight (gentle, we fall)

Summary: A stretched night in Wakanda with you, Bucky, and the truth.

A/N: Smut, angst, & soft White Wolf Bucky. 1.8k words.

Written for @the-omni-princess‘s 1k writing challenge! Congratulations again and thank you so much for hosting! My prompt was: “The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes — or just by staring into space.” -Marilyn Monroe

The title is a lyric from Justin Nozuka’s All I Need.

It’s these moments that enchant you the most. When your heart quivers, all pumped full-- one single hair of a stretch away from bursting, blood rushing too hard and fast, chest unwilling to compromise with the swell.

Galvanized by him.

His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse steadying itself in measured breaths. His pretty, pretty, eyes, staring into some unknown expanse.

It's in these moments-- when he’s suspended, weightless and floating with his back against the bed, lost in the sweet drift of a comedown-- that you meet the truth.

Grey-blue casts over his features, allowing you only slivers of piercing eyelashes, cuts of his cheek’s sharp terrain, that blessed dip in his chin, a reprieve. Haloed in a fleeting corona when the light surfaces again and smatters through the curtain, his long shadow falls on you, touched with quiet. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the silver streak of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Yes, lover?”

Lover. What a word.

Bucky smiles, lips still slick with impatient kisses, licked just on this side of red and raw. Hungry again and changing course, curving into the way you reflexively press against him. A roguish, lingering look before he asks,

“What do you want of me?”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, marble carved into man, unmade and made again at long last.

“What will you give me?”

A quick and lambent glance of that tepid ocean as he ponders. Playful tides lap each other in delay, lap your feet and ankles, seafoam mist cool and sweet just like him.

“Everything.”

Tidal waves crash upon his admission. Electricity and salt and moonlight breaking on their crests, moment turning quick and hot. Bucky moves into a better position, rocking the mat beneath as he shifts, one leg hooking over you, forearm skimming down your sternum. The two of you slick in a sheen of sweat, skin gliding over skin.

You laugh, a sharp breath of disbelief sheltering unspoken joy, hand swatting uselessly at his head.

“Can’t help it. Want you to have it all,” hastened breath on your bare shoulder followed by caresses from that noble nose at the incline of your collarbone. Then his strong brow, willow-wisps of hair a little damp at the roots in pursuit for more of you—grazing the gradual slope of your breast, kissing a nipple, then lower to where your very heartbeat springs forward to find him, too.

Protests evaporate like ocean spray.

Your hands are back on him when he gets to your belly. Sultry and kiss-bruised lips on fire as he presses them your waist and hips, and it’s a wonder how he still can.

You quake a little, pre-trembling with anticipation when he maps a roadway down your thigh, following veins and silver lines of a stretched surface. He twists from your hold, pushes your hands away until you’re grasping at the bed.

He loves it like this most. Your whimpers, his attention. Doting. Slow. Stretched.

It’s been midnight all day, feels like. A perpetual polar night, permissive of a time when eternity lies tucked inside the thin cotton sheet currently gathered over his back, dropping low.

Bucky hums between your knees, bristled jaw agonizing sensitive skin and your toes curl tightly at the thought of his tickling fingertips. A shuddering breath takes flight when you whine. So, he relents and rises, blanket falling away completely and the both of you are open in the dim inky blue—chilled, until he brackets you in with his right arm on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you let me,” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul trembles with the hanging promise of his words. “I’ll love you, honey,” a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Love you good,” a kiss to your neck where the pulse jumps along, “Love you best.”

A flick of his tongue to the hollow of your collarbones, knee spreading your thighs open. Bucky smiles when he looks at you, “Love you again and again.”

The vibration of his voice tumbles into your ears and down the length of your spine, spinning the weight in your stomach into a typhoon.

Silent permission in the form of your repositioning, facing him fully now, chest to chest on your side, admiring each other with adjusted night vision eyes, kept safe from the world beyond this carapace of his body over yours.

Fingers make their way between your thighs, above his knee, sinking slow and soft into the swollen flesh well-loved many times this morning—afternoon, evening—by him. You’re tender, shuddering, sore. Toeing the edge of breaking completely into pieces.

Soft moans and damp gasps, he works his way into you, fingers first. One, then two, then three because he’s captivated by the way you unravel for him so quickly. Doesn’t even care about himself most times, even though you plead with me, Bucky, come with me. It’s too sweet to simply watch you.

He moves them cleverly-- ring over middle while his pointer gently strokes. Then, they shuffle like tumblers in a lock, spreading and retreating, and your fists clench against his chest, knuckles rapping on his collar.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “Feel good, honey?”

You do. Oh, you do, and he knows. He knows everything about you. Your eyes ask again for his length—the feeling of him inside of you. The sacred moment when two yield into one and Bucky dissolves you completely.

“This what you want?” He sighs, moving on top now, pushing himself between your legs, his half-knotted hair falling apart and caging your faces together with their soft strands. You lean your cheek against them, bite your lip just a little at him, keep at bay all the words you really want to say.

Strong and velvet, easily slick with wet from how he’s coaxed you open, he slides in. All the way. All the way and you feel it up to your chest. That swell. That hurt. That consummate loving. Water and blood, and the throb of him rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. His voice, quaking just a little bit, simmering low and then broken, shattered with love.

“God. Baby,” he pleads, “Christ. Fuck. Honey,” the ramblings of a man far gone. Hips rolling this way and that, bucking slow but steady, and hard, too, his pelvis flush against yours with each contact. Your fingertips dig gently to anchor yourself inside his sea, raging hot.

You swallow his voice, his rhythm, let the saltwater sear your lungs, still greedy for more because you need him just the same way—open, taken, devastated, crawled inside your ribcage, nesting within your heartbeat, branded onto your soul.

“Take all of me, lover,” Bucky whispers, “Want you to have it all.”

Lover.

And what a lover he is.

As instantaneous as it arrived, there is submergence. Drowning. Unforgiving tides plunging you into the deep—frantic pockets of what’s left of your breath bubbling overhead and encasing his name. He holds fast one final time, kissing your crumbling mouth, quivering, worrying, lips plump and ripe with overwork—red and receptive and ready. All of you and all of him folding in over each other, dashing yourselves onto the rocks of an undoing so complete you burst apart. And then, Bucky plummets, too, shuddering and wrecked and entirely yours just like he wanted.

The long spell of interrupted time strikes some unknown hour. Both of you have purposely lost count of the minutes, yet it still chimes an insolent reminder with every exhale he breathes into the dark. Bucky blinks slowly at the ceiling, tallies the reedy scores of thatch and chews on the skin of his lip.

It’s these moment that hurt the most. When he does nothing but exist unwaveringly on the shoreline edge of your reality and fantasy, blue and unhurried. You, enraptured. Him, endless. There is nothing to do but stare, watching his eyes ebb and flow, adrift in the increasingly tangible tomorrow.

“You said I could have everything,” you lament against his cold left side, against that frigid alien metal, flint grey and threaded with gold. Reinforced and strong like how he feels again with its attachment. You wish you could care for it the way he does, but you know its arrival summons his departure. So there is only righteous spite.

Bucky presses his lips to your shoulder before he tugs the curtain aside, letting the evening dusk pour in with cricket song and briny lake mist. Up now, he sits face turned out toward the field, his bare back lined with the imprint of laid-in sheets, creases tracing cracked webbed patterns of peach flesh.

His silence breaks you anew, heavy chest pulsating with terrors only imagination can conjure about the unknown. Rivers flood wide paths down your cheeks, depositing heavy droplets along your jaw, collecting unsaid sorrows.

“Stay with me,” you cry, “Let me keep you.”

He steers the torrent with that horrible left arm, a poor impostor compared to the phantom space you loved even in absence. Bucky tangles his legs with yours, pulls you halfway into his lap, kisses you until your tears find a new home along the generous line of his mouth. He soothes you with his touch, but his eyes are far away.

And it is here where you suffer the truth.

As you’ve always known about him-- ever since first meeting him in the Golden City where the sunlight turned threads of his burnished chestnut hair amber; ever since touching him, tracing the arteries of his pale right arm up to his shoulder like following a pathway home; ever since loving him, engraving a space for him, recovering him from what he believes of himself—the truth, is this:

You don’t care about what he is made of, what he is made for, or what he will be made to do.

But, you are not Bucky, who wants a place carved on the battlefield because he holds onto the notion of repentance and duty. You are not the King, you are not Steve Rogers. You are not the world that broke him or the world that wants him broken again.

And, you know, as you’ve always known.

You cannot keep him.

“Bucky,” you follow his gaze out into the field beneath a waning moon’s light, “Come back to me.”

Silver beams outline his face as he turns. Lashes so pretty you could trace them one by one. Cheeks holding onto a few final rosy blooms from when he came apart in your arms. Lips parted, chafed by the most desperate love. Eyes in a gentle fall, downwelling with fatigue and the weight of your trembling heart.

He smiles and the entire world could weep.

He knows. He knows everything.

“I will,” Bucky says, calm and endless and blue like the Pacific itself, “I will.”

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the-omni-princess1kwritingchallenge #bucky x reader #angst #fanfiction #reader insert

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herald-divine-hell · 3 years

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A Meeting of Kindness

A/N: So, this fanfic is with @noeldressari‘s Talia Cousland and Amayia as padawans in a Star Wars AU. I’m sorry if Talia isn’t all that accurate to her actual character. I’m really bad at doing that with other people’s ocs asldkada. But I hope you all enjoy!

As night gathered in the skies of Coruscant, light flickered awake in a sea of silver and amber, the underglow of rolling clouds burnt with silvery-gold. Streaking smoky-silver and scarlet lines blurred as taxi-pods and shuttles zipped across the air, a constant buzzing hum as clusters of stars peaked and winked in the dark mantle.

A wind picked up from the north, bringing the scent of a metallic-soaked chilled air to Amayia’s senses, shuffling her thick robes, lightsaber hilt rattling against her thigh. Fingers sprayed across a wide stone surface, one of the few remaining in the metropolis-planet. A white marble that glowed with the orange-gold fires of the sun during the day and the icy silver waters of moonlight by night.

Coruscant still dazzled her, even though it would have been nearly two decades since she had joined the Jedi Order as a padawan. At night, a new world blossomed from the brilliant glow of the day. Though fires sparkled through countless windows and ledges, as transmission towers flared and in and outgoing ships whined through the atmosphere with the glow of shooting stars, a peace settled onto Amayia’s shoulders; a peace she had not known since she was a child waiting at her mother’s knee to hear some fable story. Only at night did the concerns of the war bleed away from her mind, only at night could she hear the Force settle from its conflict. Light and dark dwindled to a single strung hum, then another, until a melody whispered in her mind, flooded her soul. Thundering battle fled away, the screams of dying men, women, and children fading away until there was only her and the Force, an old ally, and an older friend.

“You should be getting some rest.”

Amayia’s eyes turned away from the thicket of towering skyscrapers, gleaming silver-white by strands of starlight, the horizon threaded with their soft flicker. Yellow-white light pooled from beyond in the curved archway, lines of columns marching deeper into the Temple like rows of soldiers. A few golden and bronze statues of ancient Jedi flanked the sides of the entrance of the pathway, staring out into the dark city with serene expressions, some with firm, dignified features, others with kindly smiles and eyes.

Light bathed about Talia’s form as if the Force pulsed off her in waves, lighting a sheen over her long brown hair, shadows scurrying about her features, heightening her sharp cheekbones, softening her shyly smiling lips. Vivid blue eyes glimmered with silver and scarlet and azure, reflections of the city beyond, twirling about like swirling jewels in a sea. In her hands were two porcelain cups with thin plums of white-gray smoke streaming until it faded away into the darkness.

“I like to take walks before every mission,” replied Amayia, turning a little to face the Padawan that was assigned to her. Tomorrow they would be leaving to take up commands as leaders of two squadrons of clone troopers, in hopes of infiltrating a Separatist base and gathering intel before a full on ground assault and occupation could occur. The first time Amayia was allowed a command of her own without her master’s presence. Any trickle of fear never roused in her heart. She would do what she must. Amayia had learned that a long time ago.

And yet...she never was partnered with another Padawan, and never alone. Master Or-Lan had always been careful in choosing where Amayia was sent, and who she went with, if he could not attend. A few with Jedi Knights, often in escort missions for departing senators in dangerous sectors. More often with just her master himself and his legion, the 406th. Amayia knew she was not the greatest communicator, never truly able to grasp the understanding of emotions, especially when it was inflicted hard by others. Master Or-Lan did, though, and tried for years to get her to connect, through the Force or not. But she never can. Whenever she did try to touch another’s emotions, the Force skirted away, like water sloshing up against the side of a dam, never able to pass through. She could still sense it, however; the rage and sadness of a mother or father who lost their child from a bombing run. Yet when she tried to ease them, to bring peace to their trembling, rage-scorched hearts, the barrier sprawled like spun webs, thickening into a wall stronger than steel, with no gaps to break through. Worried did not fill her, the Force a soothing, constant current through her veins, but she knew that any comfort to the locals on the planet they would be heading toward will be lost on her.

Perhaps that is why Master Or-Lan and Master Findrall choose her to be paired with Talia Cousland. She had only heard her in passing from muttering Jedi in classes, frustration mixed with high praise. She was highly skilled in battle, though aggressive, with her sharp and savage cuts, barreling charges, and overwhelming advance. A few whispers from other Padawans muttered how she could hold a whole battalion of battle droids on her own, and from her appearance, Amayia was sure she could. Long, thick, and straight brown hair fell down to the small of her back, a few strands framing her strong jaw, with its chiseled and sharp jawline. High cheekbones reared proudly on a noble face, but there still was a softness to her, at her lips and in her eyes. A faint blush nestled her pale cheeks, puffs of cool air misted past her lips. Northern wind stirred her long locks until it shivered like a banner of brown toward the west, drips of gold glimmering across like waves. Broad shoulders were covered in a thick brown outer cloak, with the loose fitted sandy-brown robes shrouding the sturdy body beneath. High brown boots crawled up to her knees, and a flash of silver glimmered when Talia shifted a little, making her way toward Amayia.

“That’s fair,” replied Talia, as she strode to her side, her gaze flickering toward the city. “We’re leaving tomorrow, though. Will you be walking again?”

Amayia nodded and turned back toward the city, returning both hands onto the wide cool surface. “I’ll be meditating in the gardens before we depart after my walk, if you wish to join me, Padawan Talia.” The words felt clumsy to her, even as her voice carried it still in an even tone. Small talk was never her element.

The blush seemed to grow on her cheeks, the silver and gold wash of star and city bringing it out so brightly it appeared to overwhelm Talia. Her smile grew a bit, one she flashed at Amayia as she rested the two cups on the balcony still, elbows resting as she leaned forward. “I just might. And, please, call me Talia. No need for formalities when we’ll be guarding one another’s backs.”

A touch of warmth tickled Amayia’s cheeks as she dwindled her thumbs together. Despite her clumsy nature with her emotions, a bubble of fire flickered in her heart at the gentle glow in Talia’s eyes, a determined, sweet, and kind sunflare that spun a thousand diamonds with speared light. Her master often joked that Amayia could never smile, but after a sudden realization, she felt her lips curling into one. “Yes,” admitted Amayia, nodding a bit as gaze returned to the light-blurred skies and sparsely clouded skies. “That will be a good endeavor.”

At the corner of her eye, she saw Talia testing the name in silence, her smile never leaving her even then. Though, her shoulders did seem to lessen its tension with Amayia’s agreement. Was she afraid that she would have said no? The possibility was strong. She never was particularly close with any of her fellow Padawans, even less than any of the Masters, except for her own. But Amayia still saw the practicality of using only their names to communicate. It was less of a mouthful to say, such allowing greater ability for success-

No, she thought, a shiver of anger rustling across the river of the Force which rolled through her. She was only asking for you to treat her as an equal, a partner. It had nothing to do with the outcome of success for the mission, she had to tell herself, her Master’s voice whistling through her mind, tilted with disappointment.

“Hot chocolate?” asked Talia suddenly, nudging the cup toward her.

Amayia blinked, torn away from her thoughts, a ripple of discontent skidding across the calming Force. “Hot chocolate?” Her eyes flickered to the silver-glinting cup, the steam still swirling in waning pillars. Grasping the cup in her hands, gloved fingers brushing over Talia’s, she whispered her thanks as she pulled it close to her chest. Raising and tipping the drink, warmth flooded her body, thawing the night’s chill grasp from her bones. Sweetness overwhelmed her, in a way that she had not felt in many years, and she drank it heavily.

“Like it?” Talia sipped hers, a bit more slower than Amayia’s but a touch heavier. Sighing as she pulled the cup from her lips, her smile seemed more calming than shy. “Hot chocolate is one of my favorite drinks.”

“It is mine as well,” admitted Amayia, the smile from before caressing her face, as the embarrassment burned away by the sweetness of the hot chocolate and the soothing sight of Talia’s smile. It was a pretty smile, matching well with her good-humored eyes. Talia would be good to have when it would come to comforting masses, to ensure cooperation instead of resistance against Republic occupation. Even if her emotions swayed her, perhaps that was why their masters pushed them together on this mission. Amayia knew she was cold, knew she was calculating. She was told over and over again she was what a Jedi ought to be. Emotions did not cloud her judgement, and that was the Jedi way.

But the Jedi way was also to bring peace, and Talia’s smile brought a waterfall of calm washing over Amayia. Was that not also what the Jedi stood for? Bringing comfort and peace to otherwise death-torn, darkened worlds that were tainted by the Dark Side, tainted by slaughter and destruction? Questions swirled in her mind, but what stood as bright as the stars from the gloomy sea, was Talia’s eyes. So bright and vivid, bursting with life, with kindness. The warmth of before came rushing stronger to her cheeks.

Talia bowed her head. “I should let you get back to your walk.” She drank her coffee, the pink on her cheeks a bright scarlet now, rushing over her features like a fire-burning cloud. “See you tomorrow, for our walk that is.”

Smiling back at her, Amayia also bowed. “Thank you for the drink, Talia. I will see you tomorrow, for the walk and the mission. It is an honor to be paired with you.”

A little chuckle came from the other Padawan as she scrubbed the back of her neck. “The honor is all mine, Amayia. And the hot chocolate was nothing. Everyone loves hot chocolate, right?” Her laughter grew a bit more, the fire on her face deepening. “But, yeah...It was good to finally meet you!” She stared for a moment, mouth open as if she wanted to say more. “Right, bed. Walking. Um. Well, goodnight!”

The flapping of her cloak filled the air as Talia rushed back toward the entrance way. Amayia’s stare followed the woman’s departing form, the cloak shivering over her broad back, as if straining as the woman walked back a bit hunched over.

It was only until she departed to her quarters did Amayia realize that her smile never did leave her face.

#star wars #star wars au #star wars fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age ocs #my ocs #my friend's ocs #noeldressari #amayia trevelyan #talia cousland #amayia x talia #talia x amayia #amayia/talia #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #fluff #femslash

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enkelimagnus · 4 years

Text

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 6, 3943 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Back to Vex, on her path to hunt a fiend...

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

“It’s fine, thank you anyway.”

Vex slams the red button on her phone, as if clicking on it harder will make her frustration known to the world. She wishes she had an older phone so she could slam down the handset onto the base. It would be like slamming a door at the end of an argument; a physical show of her feelings.

She’s been on the phone all morning, trying desperately to get some answers on what she’s supposed to do with the fiend now that it has killed at least one person. Not anyone, at that, someone trained to take things down and keep parks protected. If Regae was anything like her, he had put up a fight before dying. But the creature had prevailed.

The one thing she was told about was the Grey Hunt. Not only did the Pale Guard officer tell her about it on the crime scene, but pretty much everyone she’s tried calling told her to ask them. Except they don’t exist anymore. They haven’t in years.

There are no records of previous members either. Vex wants to scream in frustration. For the first time since she’s arrived, she realizes how alone she is. She wasn’t so alone before. In Shademurk, she could ask Saundor and if he was in a good mood and if she played her cards right, he would use his amazing influence to help her. Here she has no one. She almost misses him.

What? No. She doesn’t miss him. She can’t miss him, she won’t. The fact that he was supposed to love her and that she had to bargain with him, the very sovereign of Shademurk Bog, to get him to do anything for her, from dishes to actually working with her to make Shademurk better.

She doesn’t miss him. At all. Her new home is completely clear of him, empty of memories of him. She’s not going to choke on his presence every time she looks somewhere. It’s better here. She’s better now than she ever was before.

If Saundor was here, he would take credit for her strength, for her work. He would say he made her, shaped her into the ranger he is today. He always used to say that. She used to believe him.

Vex stands from her chair and paces a little into the cabin. No Grey Hunt. No Pale Guard. As far as she knows, Pike Trickfoot and Grog Strongjaw are still willing to go hunt a fiend with her. That’s all she has. Her own limited abilities, a cleric and a goliath. And no Vax.

She told him to stay in Westrunn a little. She was hoping to have the fiend problem sorted before he arrived, to be honest, so she wouldn’t have to ask for his help. He’s helped her way too much already.

Besides, she’d rather know he’s with Gilmore, enjoying himself and his boyfriend. They don’t see each other enough. She can manage without him. She should be able to. She’s a strong, capable person.

In the bathroom, she splashes cold water onto her face, forcefully clearing her thoughts. When she looks up from the sink to look into the mirror, she swallows, hard. She looks tired. There are dark circles in the brown skin below her eyes. Her lips are cracked, from the cold. She’s forgotten to put on lip balm. Her hair is dirty, greasy.

It’s been three days. Three days since she’s received that call on the forgotten radio. Three days and she’s already forgotten to take care of herself. She’s really holding on by a thread, isn’t she?

Her nails dig painfully into her palm and only then does she stop staring at her own tired face.

She walks away and slams the door behind herself. The force makes the wall shudder and it feels right. Vex smiles a little. That was the first hint of satisfaction she’s felt since her arrow shot through Donovan Clarence’s hand.

The cub at her feet whines a little, turning over from where he’d been napping.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly and crouches to pet the dark brown fur. “Slamming the door woke you up, huh?” She asks softly.

The cub leans into her hand like he’s starving for touch. He’s always going to forgive her for these things, isn’t he? Her smile widens slightly, growing more relaxed and genuine.

Her phone buzzes and she reaches for it, before sitting on the floor next to the cub. It’s a text from Vax, with an image attached. She opens the image first.

It’s a photo of the inside of a shop, large and filled with glass-covered shelves. She can see the shine of gold and silver and precious gems behind the glass. Her eyebrow raises. The fact they’re still behind glass and not in Vax’s sneaky hand is surprising. She looks over at the caption of the image.

Exercise in restraint: Gilmore’s shop. Many trinkets, none for me.

About five different dirty remarks come to Vex’s mind but she pushes them back. Vax is a bit uncomfortable with discussions of his sex life, joking unfactual remarks or not. She’s not going to make him uncomfortable now.

She takes a picture of the cub snuggled in the space between her crossed legs.

I saw this one and couldn’t help myself… Trinket addiction running in the family?

She sends the picture but looks down at the cub with a thought. Trinket is a good name. She likes it. Loves it, actually.

“May I call you Trinket, darling?” She asks. Giving him a name means keeping him, but she’s far past that point now. She’s known it, deep down for a while.

The cub doesn’t seem to mind it. Vex presses a kiss to the furry head with a smile, the biggest in a long time.

They say rangers often find companions. Vex has just found hers.

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

They meet at the mouth of the trail, the way they’d originally planned. It’s a few days later than expected, yes, but Vex has been busy desperately trying to get some sort of official help. She was hoping not to have to ask Pike and Grog.

She sees the goliath before the gnome, the giant axe hanging heavy over the man’s shoulder. By his side, the cleric looks way less aggressive. Vex doesn’t know which one will be more useful. Divine healing or brute force. Either way, she’s incredibly glad to have someone by her side right now.

“So,” she smiles nervously. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for pushing back the date of meeting. I was hoping to get some sort of professional help, but it seems like Whitestone doesn’t have the infrastructure.”

The cleric, Pike, nods. “The city has seen a lot of things.”

Vex doesn’t know what that means, really. She doesn’t ask. Not right now. She’ll ask later, once they have a dead fiend and a victory under their belt. People were much more likely to spill secrets if adrenaline and serotonin were flowing through their veins.

Sometimes, she’s almost ashamed of the many tricks she’s learned throughout the years. And then she remembers it was people like the Syngornian Elves and Saundor who made her learn these things,and she stops feeling like she should have somehow stayed innocent through all the shit they put her through.

They start on their way, not to where she initially sensed the fiend, but to where the body was found. It’s more likely that they’ll find usable traces there.

The winter cold bites at her cheeks, but the goliath is shirtless. She raises an eyebrow, both respectful and thinking him mad to be out there like this. They start climbing up the trail in relative silence, with the crunching of their boots and the jingling of the cleric’s chainmail.

Vex doesn’t know what kind of small talk to do now. This is not a light-hearted situation, and she just wants the creature out of her woods.

“Have you killed fiends before?” The goliath asks after a moment.

Vex looks over at him over her shoulder. “Not a fiend, no. I’ve killed other things. Fey, mostly.”

Pike raises an eyebrow. “Fey? Were you around the doors to the Feywild before you came to the Alabaster Sierras?”

Vex hesitates for a moment. It’s a lot of information to give to complete strangers. She shrugged the paranoia off however. “I was. I was tasked with keeping an eye on a part of the Verdant Expanse, that, just like Syngorn, can switch between the Feywild and our plane. I lived in the Feywild for a part of my time there.”

“That’s so cool!” Pike grins and Vex can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

It is pretty cool.

The Feywild is somewhere most people have barely heard of, let alone visited. And Vex, though in pretty horrible circumstances, has been able to call it home for a moment of her life. On the way up the trail, her two companions manage to coax her into recounting the Feywild.

She tells them of the permanent dusk, of the sun that’s always at its most beautiful, its most reddening and purpling state duskward of Shademurk. She tells them of the dark of the night on the other side, of looking at the sky and never knowing exactly the time. She tells them of age-old trees that hold secrets they only tell the worthy.

She tells them of dryads and naiads and the howling of lycans. She doesn’t tell them of Saundor but she tells them of Fenthras.

One day, she’ll reach under her bed, take it out and shoot. It’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, the wood alive and the power tangible. She still dreams of wielding it, as she runs free through ever shifting woods, laughter on her lips.

When they make it to the campsite where the body was found, she feels lighter than she has in a long time. Both the cleric and the goliath are smiling lightly. They exchange a look, and then get to work.

Vex sits on a stone and starts expanding her consciousness as Pike runs identifying and tracking spells on whatever magic trace they can find. It’s hard to tune out her kind babbling or Grog’s regular deep-toned comments, but Vex finally manages and exhales.

With her breath goes her mind and soon she finds herself floating, drifting, one with the wind and with nature. She barely has to wait to find the fiendish presence. It pings on her mental radar loud and clear and close.

Way too close. They’re close to its lair.

Vex’s eyes open wide and she comes back crashing into herself. She barely gives herself time to come back into her body before she shoots to her feet and shares her findings. Grog takes his giant axe out. Pike unclasps a mace the size of her body from Grog’s back.

Vex takes her bow in hand and notches an arrow, ready to draw and shoot. They start walking in the direction where she can still feel the echoing presence of the creature. It rests heavy on her back of her neck, a pressure she can’t shake.

They walk into higher grass off of beaten paths. Vex slips into the underbrush with ease, but it’s far from the case for the two accompanying her. Pike in particular makes great noise and gets caught in almost every weed she can possibly get caught on. Vex huffs. Here goes the effect of surprise.

They find the lair empty, and her heart tightens in her chest. Fuck. It knows they are there.

A shape moves from the shadows overhead and Vex immediately reacts. Her body moves without her thinking anything through. Her arrow shoots through the air and hits right in the middle of the creature’s chest. It screams in pain. Vex smirks. She’s good at this.

The creature has stopped long enough for all of them to see what it is. It’s tall, Vex’s size. Its skin is spiky, barbed, horns sprouting from its skull. Its scream makes the air around it shiver with heat.

The scream is immediately answered by one from Grog. The goliath steps forward with bloodshot eyes and angry determination. He swings his axe forward and pounces on the creature. Maybe his rage has distracted him, because his axe swings wide, the creature too fast to be hit by the massive weapon.

The cleric immediately jumps into action, hands shining with divine light as she reaches up with her holy symbol. Vex can see the wings of Sarenrae carved onto the metal before they disappear behind the burning white light. It shoots out of the symbol and hits the creature.

It screams again as the radiant light engulfs it, lighting it up and burning it with divine power. If they were in darkness, it would be obvious to all of them now. There’s no way any of them are going to miss their next hit against it.

Grog has gotten too close to the creature however, and though it’s still burning with light, it takes no time to attack the giant target the goliath makes. It swipes at the grey-skinned man, one hand missing before the second catches the goliath in the chest, dragging into the skin. Vex winces, but the goliath seems more okay than expected.

The creature tries to hit him with his tail but Grog dodges it with a shiver-inducing grin. “Come on, devil devil!” He taunts. “Is that all you can do?”

Vex’s eyes cross with the creature’s and she takes the opportunity to Hunter’s Mark it. She reaches for another arrow, but her fingers rip against her quiver, shaking lightly now that she’s realized what they were facing. She curses. Pike sends her a slightly worried look.

Grog retaliates against the clawing he’s just received. The axe cleaves a giant gash into the shoulder of the fiend. The goliath immediately reiterates, hacking at the shoulder. The arm of the fiend is now hanging by tendons. It seems to be in incredible pain.

Reaching up with its good arm, the creature screams, warmth radiating from it. Flames erupt from the hand of the creature. Both tries miss the massive target of Grog. The creature seems confused. That’s what pain like the one being inflicted to it does.

Vex notches in another arrow. It grazes the creature but is deflected by its spikes. She groans in annoyance. None of this is working. Why is she so useless right now?

Grog’s axe finally cuts off the creature’s arm, but it doesn’t seem to slow it down that much. Another ray of blinding light hits the devil, however. Pike is breathing hard, but her spells are finding purchase and Vex is incredibly thankful for that, even if they do not do a lot of damage.

The goliath keeps taking a great amount of injury from the furious and in pain devil. Fire burns onto the grey skin, scorching it and a sickening smell permeates the air around them. Vex wants this to end, but she knows it won’t be that easy.

Vex’s next arrow finds purchase right as the great axe slashes through the devil’s chest. A handaxe flies by Vex and hits it square in the thigh. The wounded creature turns around, tail whipping at Grog, before pouncing in with one undamaged arm, missing the goliath entirely with the last two.

They keep hammering at the creature, arrows and great axe wounds and additional mace wounds from a determined Pike hacking at its defenses and crushing its bones. Vex is sweating, she’s a little unfocused, and the screams of the goliath’s rage resounds in her head.

When it finally falls down, it’s one of Vex’s arrows that lodges itself in its eyeball, deeply. It gurgles as it falls, twitching for a few seconds until it stops moving entirely. Vex exhales. She feels like the combat has lasted hours when it’s probably only been minutes.

Pike rushes to her friend and heals him immediately, the burn and other wounds healing and disappearing from the grey flesh as Vex watches. A little unsteady, she finds somewhere to sit and to search.

She waits for a while, searches for something she could have missed, but all fiendish presence is gone from the perimeter of her searching abilities. Relief floods through her system and she finally smiles. It was hard, but they did it. They killed the fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are safer now than they were before.

Vex’s entire body unravels suddenly, her shoulder slumping. They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re all alive and safe and the fiend is gone and she didn’t die killing it. She looks at Pike and Grog. They both look messy and fight-tousled. Vex imagines she looks like that too.

“Thank you,” she says. She means it.

Grog smiles at her, a warm smile. He’s nice. Big and scary, but nice. “It was really fun.” He probably means it too.

Pike nods. “It was!”

Vex is a little more surprised at that, but she can’t help the grin that stretches over her mouth. They start walking again. Vex invites them for tea or coffee. They both ask for alcohol and she chuckles.

They settle around Vex’s table. The cabin feels a little cramped with the two of them. Vex manages to find three containers for the strong old whiskey that Regae left behind. They cheer and drink.

“I’m from Westrunn. The Everlight brought me here,” Pike says when Vex asks if she’s from Whitestone.

“I’m from Westrunn too,” Grog smiles. “And I follow her.” There is unbridled affection in the way he looks over at Pike.

“My brother’s currently in Westrunn,” she points out. “Spending some time with his boyfriend.”

Pike nods. “That’s sweet! I hope he enjoys the city. It’s a little quiet, but it’s a nice place.”

Vex doesn’t say that she doesn’t expect Vax to do a lot of sight-seeing while with Gilmore. The three of them share some food, the rations they’d taken for a possible camping in the mountains, had the fiend evaded them for much longer.

The camaraderie wraps around her like a warm blanket and she finds herself laughing more than she has in years. When she herself starts to feel a light buzz from the alcohol she’s been very careful not to drink too much of, she shifts and prepares herself to start asking questions.

“Have you spent a lot of time here in Whitestone?” She asks after a moment.

“It’s our first time here, actually,” Pike smiles. “We usually stay in Westrunn, or travel south, not north. There is not much for us here.”

Vex raises an eyebrow. “What changed?”

Pike shrugs. “As I said, the Everlight. I’m a cleric, and when my deity calls, I always answer.”

Vex tries to figure out if that’s true, if Pike always answers to Sarenrae but the gnome is hard to read, her blue eyes staring right back into Vex’s as she speaks. There is a steadiness about her though. Something Vex usually senses in the druids and clerics and acolytes of this world, and also in some arcanists, who have faith in their studies the way others have faith in their gods.

Vex wonders how she feels to people. Is she steady with faith? Or is she chaotic and unstable? She wishes, in this moment, that she could see herself through someone else’s eyes. She wants to know what she is to others, so badly.

“What did the Everlight tell you to do here?” She continues.

Pike’s eyes grow a little sharper for a moment, before she smiles again. “There is something for me to heal here. A soul yearning desperately for redemption. My goddess is the patron of healing and redemption, of second chances. This is what I am here for.”

Vex swallows. “Would that be related to the De Rolo Massacre?”

“Maybe,” the gnome shrugs. “Or maybe not. If we had all the details of what exactly our deities want us to do, all these divine quests wouldn’t be quite the challenges they are supposed to be.”

That’s true, she guesses. Vex is definitely not faithful enough for this. She smiles anyway, leaning back against her chair.

The gnome keeps talking. “Maybe the fiend we killed was that soul. Maybe someone we’ve crossed paths with in the street. Maybe it’s you.”

Vex freezes.

“Many people would ask questions about someone like you deciding to live alone this way, in a cabin in the forest,” Pike shrugs. “It’s none of my business, of course. And I will never fault anyone for unconventional life choices.” She hums. “But you ask many questions.”

Kind, warm, but very perceptive. Vex holds up her hands. “You got me,” she huffs. “Just trying to get answers about what’s going on in this city. No one will answer my questions.” She’s tired of it now. So fucking tired. “It was incredibly difficult to find people to help me with this fiend business because no one will talk to me about anything.”

Pike reaches for her hand. “You are a stranger to these people, Vex’ahlia. Give them time to get to know you. For all they know, you have bad intentions. I come with the symbol of my goddess, and that opens some doors to me, and to Grog.” The goliath nods at the mention of his name. “You don’t have that. Unless you’re some deity’s chosen or champion… But you don’t seem like it.”

Vex almost gets offended by that. But the gnome is right. Vex came into town with suspicious eyes. That’s not something people can trust.

“I’m sorry,” Vex sighs. “For the questions I’ve asked. You didn’t have to answer them.”

Pike shrugs. “I didn’t really mind. I’m here because I need to be. And Grog’s with me because he always is, and always will be.” She smiles at that. “You’re here for a reason too.”

Vex huffs. “Right,” she shakes her head. “Did Sarenrae tell you that?” She asks sarcastically.

“You’re not a believer,” Pike chuckles. “It kinda comes off of you like waves. That you don’t believe in anything.”

Vex lost her reason to believe when a dragon burnt her home village to the ground, taking her mother with it. Every snide remark from Syngornian elves, every time she had to fight for Saundor to do anything for her, those were all nails in the coffin of her faith, in gods or in people.

“I think… I think you should start the way back to Whitestone. The road is long, and I don’t want you to get caught by the night. There are creatures.”

Grog huffs. “We can take them on. You fought by our side, you have seen our power.”

Vex doesn’t reply. Pike gets the memo. She gently pushes Grog into getting up. Vex walks them to the door and to the trail and bids them goodbye.

She sits back down at the table. The cabin is small but it feels huge now that she’s alone. Sounds seem to reverberate now that it’s only her breathing, only her body. She wants to run off and tells those two kind people to come back, to stay, to not leave her alone like this. She doesn’t though. She exhales and she starts preparing for more work, and for a good night of sleep.

Did she get any answer? No she didn’t. But at least she’s killed a fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are a bit safer than they were when she arrived.

#perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #mine #fic #critical role #pike trickfoot #grog strongjaw #vox machina

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elle-smells · 4 years

Text

One single thread of gold

Sobbe Royal!au

Preview:

Robbe is 19yo, and if you ask him, his life has been shit ever since his second to last year of highschool. His parents had gotten a divorce a couple of years prior so it was just him and his mama for a while. Don’t get him wrong, Robbe loves his mother with every bit of his being, but the state of her mental illness at the time certainly didn’t make things easy. All of it gave him extreme anxiety if he was being honest; taking care of his mama, the house, his school work. So much for a teenage boy to deal with all alone. When Jens started to notice,he made sure to help Robbe relax whenever possible.

“Hey Robbe, there’s this awesome party we could…”

“Dude I learned this killer move on my skateboard-…”

“The boys are asking to pre party-…”

“Wanna go for a walk? We can smoke a joint-…”

Robbe knows his best friend thinks he doesn’t notice his efforts, it’s sweet actually, having friends that care so much about him. But there was only so much Jens and the boys could do to keep his mind at ease.

Eventually, his mama had to be admitted into an institution. It broke Robbe’s heart and he blamed himself for not being able to give her what she needed. That night he went out to a party with the Broerrs and planned to drink his worries away, that’s when he met Noor. It started as a flirty interaction and they even managed to sneak in a kiss in between hushed conversations, but Robbe knew it wasn’t right. He couldn’t lead her on, he couldn’t bring someone else into his never ending pile of broken things. So when she asked if he was okay when he suddenly stopped engaging with her, he broke down and told her everything that had been keeping him up at night. Apart from hearing all about his sorrows, Noor also became the first person Robbe ever came out to. To be completely honest, he barely remembers blurting it out but she understood and took him on an all nighter adventure involving spray painting garbage trucks with her friends in the moonlight.

As embarrassed as Robbe felt after their first encounter, after that night, the broerrs took Noor in as an honorary member of their group and somehow, things seemed to be looking up. That is until he began to notice his friends watching over him like hawks. He ignored it at first, thought it was just irrational paranoia. He was doing great when it came to other things, Jana helped him get a place in the flatshare with Zoë and Milan (and eventually Senne) so he didn’t have to move away to live with his dad. His mama moved in with his aunt and had actually started to get better. But still, his friends wouldn’t stop asking if he was okay, dancing around him on their tiptoes as if he were a porcelain doll about to break.

Robbe started to get sick of it, he just wanted things to go back to normal and now he was the fragile one of the group? no, Robbe could have none of it. That’s when he began to lie. Even if he felt like he couldn’t breathe sometimes, as far as Jens and the others were concerned when they asked, Robbe was doing better than ever. It’s scary how good of an act he could put on in front of people; comes with experience he guesses. It did lead to him feeling isolated most of the time, like he was there but not really there. It’s lonely, but loneliness is better than being the breakable person no one could touch. He needs to be strong, so he doesn’t tell. Not even now that his mama seems to be getting bad again…..if only he could just fix things on his own….after all, he’s all grown up now, he shouldn’t need help…right? Feeling like you are drowning half the time is normal for any kid his age, right?

⧫

Sander is 21yo, the second in line to the belgian throne and infamously known rebel child of the royal family. While he constantly put up a front in when cameras are watching, inside the palace walls there is a much different story. There is one thing the public doesn’t know about yet, Sander is Bipolar. The royal family has been trying to keep it on the downlow to not cause a frenzy of press and more than usual barging in on their private lives. It is because of this, that their royal majesties the King and Queen have become quite over protective of their youngest son.

While Sander’s siblings, prince Louis and princess Marie, didn’t exactly have the liberties most people their age have, Sander was treated with even more extra care, and he hated it. Sander doesn’t want to get involved in politics, he doesn’t really feel like he has to anyway as it’s his brother who will eventually become king. Even as his mother constantly reminds him of the hundreds of royal duties he will have even if he’s not leading a country, the prince spends his time searching for things to make him feel whole.

Art is the one hobby he keeps coming back to, it made him feel free from a life filled with restraints. Sneaking out is an Art too you know, and no one is better at it than Sander. You gotta do what you gotta do and its even better if you have a clear purpose. For him, its always been the art buddies he secretly met online. Of course, none of them know it is Prince Sander Driesen as they always wear masks and hoodies when making their spray painted masterpieces and he always finds an excuse to go home before they even think about asking him to join them for drinks. The only person that knows is Noor. She just happens to be extra smart and put two and two together when various news outlets reported that the Prince was caught sneaking out of the palace at the late hours of the night, always at the same time her mysterious artist buddy showed up to spray paint. She promised to keep the secret and the two became good friends…pretty much the only friend Sander has ever had.

Ah yes, the press…oops? Okay, its not like he was planning to get caught a few times…5 times. His parents were less than pleased of course, they could cover up one, two maybe three times, but FIVE? “Sander that is unnaceptable!” Noor finds the entire thing hilarious, good for her, at least Sander’s punishment brought someone else joy. Since then, he has learned to be be more cautious about his every move. Like he said, its an art and practice makes (almost) perfect.

Sander loves his family, sure he does…most of the time, but the life he was born into? while he recognises the extreme privilege it’s gotten him, it’s not something he would have ever chosen for himself. Sander’s whole life has been about being the mystical bird in a cage at the zoo; everyone takes pictures, everyone stops to take a look, but no one cares about how the bird can see how close he is to the sky without being able to reach it. All Sander wants is to feel free. He wants that beautiful feeling of coming up for air after diving right in the deep end.

#so this is more of an introduction to the character's lives befoe the first chapter #again idk if this is any good bcs its my first time writing an au so umm yeah here it is #wtfock #sobbe fic #sobbe au #robbe x sander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #posting this again so it shows up in the tag #sorry if youve seen it

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seijohsfairy · 3 years

Text

𝙳𝙰𝚆𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶

there’s loss and victory to be found in people’s arms. in your arms too, but definitely in his. for all that you gain, is it right to lose so much by his hands? this was a commission by an amazing, wonderful anon ♡ thank you so so much for this and i hope you like it my love!!

tw stepcest, forced breeding, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, semi-public sex, choking, spanking, daddy kink, hairpulling, toxic relationship, seijoh big four is almost forty in this and makki is a treasure ♡ another win for the dilf fuckers .wordc. 7k+

You think that most will only get the chance to look at fragments of Oikawa Tooru. Gaze at them gently, carefully, cherish them in their palms and kiss at the soft smiles and gentle motions, eat up the smooth words. But they won’t see, not everything of him. And if they did, it wouldn’t be gazing. There would be grimaces and furrowed brows and whispers all around, because once you get past the looking to the knowing part, the entirety of him is not pretty. Not to you, not to anyone.

You used to think he thought of himself as pretty, sure acted like it too, but not anymore. Tooru knows how awful he can be. When his friends tell him how terrible he is, mumbling it under their breaths with rolled eyes and a hint of a smile, he never disagrees. Because he doesn’t care, and you didn’t know better.

Your eyes open suddenly, filtering out the darkness, and you swallow. You feel the harsh burning in your throat, a hoarse huff blowing past your lips. Heartbeat pounding between your ears, cold sweat making your skin an awful kind of sticky. You recognize this room, you recognize the sound of rain tapping on the roof and the sound of cars passing by on the street below, yet still you don’t feel right.

You notice your breathing then, sharp and strained, too heavy for being just awoken from a peaceful rest. Small drops of sweat line your brow. There’s a few moments of dragged out silence, where you steady yourself in bed, fingers digging into the comforter so harshly that your bones peek through your knuckles, before another recognizable sound comes.

His groan, and then a heavy arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back to him. “It’s okay, princess.” It sounds smooth but sleepy, the same voice that always greets you when you wake from a nightmare. The bed creaks a little when you shift back into him, letting him nose at your throat without hesitation. You don’t care much that you’re only in a thin camisole or that you probably cried and screamed him awake, those kinds of boundaries have long seeped out of your interactions.

You turn onto your other side to face him when your heart calms a little. His soft, brown hair a mess and big, round eyes that scan over you while he looks you over in the dark. The gentle coaching of his hands finally allows you to untangle your fingers from the fabric, instead reaching out to him, in need of comfort.

He looks down with familiar eyes of worry. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed, both gratitude and a second wave of stress at the tainted sight of the figure. But he keeps a tight hold on you, and as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again, your arms are wrapped around him and your face is pushed into his shoulder, a small sob breaking out. Tooru’s much warmer than you, something you ache for right now as the chill of the room touches your exposed skin.

“Shhh, shhh,” Tooru mumbles softly, lacing his long, strong arms around the small of your back to swallow you up in his hug, pressing his lips to your temple. It’s overly tender for someone just having been rudely awoken, and you’re ever grateful. “I’ve got you, daddy’s got you.” For a few moments you can only sob into his shirt, letting your tears soak into it, gentle patting of your head slowing to a stop after a few minutes. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a strange care woven in his words these days. Not unexpected, just more— intense. You notice it again when you look up and his eyes flick over your expression, lingering on your lips. Like he’s got more to say, or something left to do. You swallow, and pull away from him to widen the gap between your faces. “I’m okay.” You rub your hands over your face, palms a little sticky against your cheeks, but blow out a breath. His hand rubs over your thigh through the comforter, before he hums.

“Look at me, baby?” Phrased so softly it could be ignored, but you listen anyway. And it should terrify you. It should be grossing you out to be this close to someone meant to parent you, but your tongue swipes out to wet your bottom lip anyway.

His mouth drops open ever so slightly as his eyes follow the motion of your little tongue, and then he lets out a sigh. But those hazel irises meet yours again with purpose, not letting you look away as his hand slides down your side and smooths over your exposed thigh.

“We should probably go back to sleep” Oikawa says softly, finally letting you out of the locked eyes to urge you back onto your back in the bed. “Or I’ll do something you’ll hate me for.”

Maybe it’s because you’re lonely, or lost, or a tad sleep-deprived, but you don’t remember the next few moments. Only that one second you’re trying to convince yourself that sleep is a good idea, and the next his lips are on yours. Daddy’s mouth on yours, kissing and moaning and climbing over you and you lose every sense of right and wrong for the few minutes his tongue dips in your mouth and tastes yours. When he pulls back your breathing is heavy, and he says your name.

And you breathe back a faint ‘daddy’, clinging to his neck like you’ll vanish if you let go. So he lets his hands roam down your arms, then stomach and chest and though all of this is wrong, it feels so good. It feels like a dream, he feels like a dream. “Please,” you beg, sucking a mark under his jaw as he takes your leggings off and strips you of your underwear. It’s as sweet as any new experience can be, you suppose. But you were breaking apart back then, and Tooru was a solid handhold.

He should’ve known much better than to indulge you. Should’ve told you off. Instead he fucked you until you saw stars, and that had been that, months ago now.

There’s the soft tap each time a droplet falls from the tap or shower on the tiled floor below, you can almost envision each of them again as they were running down your body earlier. As you brush your teeth and inspect the last details of yourself, you keep your eyes solely on your own reflection, but it becomes all but impossible to ignore the prying eyes as he once again scoots closer, slapping his hands on his knees. You sigh, and turn your eyes over to him in the mirror. “You do know that it’s pretty strange of you to just stare at me every time I’m in here, right?”

A small smile slips on his lips, and he hums, before following you with his eyes again as you move to grab a towel for your hands. “I’m trying to get ready,” you mumble at his lack of real answer, glancing back at the floor. “You should too.”

“You’re cute when you get shy,” he grins then, swinging his legs from the cabinet he’d been seated on to stand up. He looks massive in the small hotel bathroom, almost too tall to fit through the door and towering over you, always big enough to swallow you up in his shadow. It isn’t a surprise, not really, because even without his big stature he’d always had a personality far too big to leave any person unaware of his presence. But when he walks over to you, languid steps that stop right before your feet, it’s hard not to notice it.

The way you stop at his chest, the perfect height to be held and cherished. Almost like you were made to fit there, though that’s probably a thought too wrong for you to touch with confidence. You’d sooner be caught dead than admit it to him too, because Oikawa doesn’t take these things like you wish he would. He takes the words you offer and twists them into a fine thread to wind around your neck, tightening with each breath. Despite the danger it’s loud and clear when you have to angle your head to look into his eyes. You feel loved. Sucking the breath out of your lungs and obnoxious, but it’s love nevertheless.

He leans down a little, and your hands come up to hold onto the edge of your towel instinctively as he crowds your space. You take a breath, Tooru glances down. Then, like he’s putting on his own little show, his eyes go wide and innocent. “What awful things are you thinking of me in that pretty, little head of yours, love? What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Your heart beats rapidly along with your breathing, but you can’t tear your eyes away. His sharp features, soft curve of his lips, the arch of his nose and cheekbones and the dip between his collarbones.

So familiar, so— untouchable. You’ve had years to learn and relearn them again and again, but when you’re standing so close, all of that fades away. You crack open your lips, struggling for an answer, tongue cemented to the bottom of your mouth. “I— Da—”

“Oikawa,” two loud knocks are at the door, and both your heads turn at the wall as if you can see the door from here. “Hurry up, we’re all taking taxis together.” It’s a wake-up call unlike any other, because you recognize the voice of the man behind that door, a man about Tooru’s age who definitely wouldn’t look kindly on any of this. Iwaizumi is reliable like that. Pulling you back from the edge when it seems tempting to jump over it.

You clear your throat, then avert your eyes to force yourself a few steps back. Your hands cling tighter to the fluffy towel, before Iwa knocks again when he doesn’t get an answer. He calls his name a second time, and you hum. “Please ask uncle Iwa to wait five more minutes. I just have to put on my clothes and some perfume.” And when he doesn’t respond again, you swallow, hoping the tightness in your throat will leave with it. “Daddy?”

The word seems to play in his pupils like molten gold, catching even the lowest of light to make them shine with joy. So unfair, but he’s never been one for concealing the love he has anyway. You’ve always been— like that, whatever that is. Close, you suppose. But lately it seems like everything you do has been different, like some line has suddenly shifted. You could handle the physical, convinced yourself it wasn’t as big a deal as you were making it. Still, it’s wrong. You know it is, because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be so careful to hide it from uncle Iwa and uncle Mattsun.

He takes a second to dip down to press a kiss to your forehead, before he nods. “Of course, my doll.” He breathes in deep, gives you another glance, then pivots on his heel. You don’t look up from the beige tiles until his steps retreat from the bathroom and you’re left alone in the warm air. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the feelings swirling in your belly any time he gets close now are wrong.

But the lipgloss you’re putting on is his favorite anyway.

The taxi ride is quiet on your end, but it’s a far cry from uneventful. As soon as you sit down, your hand is tugged into his lap, fingers lacing with yours too comfortably. No one bristles though, they’ve long grown used to the lingering touches, the spared glances your way. Your daddy is caring like that, and Oikawa has always been pretty touchy from the start. You two rely on each other. It’s almost soothing to have his touch so openly when his hands are so warm, thumb stroking gently along the skin and lulling your touch into him, pulling your interlaced limbs up to kiss. Always the fourth finger, as a reminder of his claim.

Squished between Tooru and Mattsun on the back seats, the ride seems longer than it is. Makki is sprawled out over the passenger seat a bit too easily, as he sends you glances through the rearview mirror. Whenever you catch his eyes, he pulls a face towards Oikawa, something that never fails to make you smile even deep in thought. Hiro’s always been the one to treat you most like you were just a friend, instead of the teen daughter Oikawa suddenly gained when he married your divorced, rich mother.

If he found out, maybe he wouldn’t even be disgusted, but you’re not sure if that’s a risk you’re willing to take. Because as much as you trust him as your friend, he too is nearing forty and has experiences you don’t. You met them all a few days before the wedding, tripping over your words as you pretended this wasn’t the least bit weird. Mattsun and Iwa had smiled politely, but you could see it in their eyes. The knowledge that Tooru was working on his retirement fund didn’t sit right with them. Makki wasn’t as forward thinking, and so it was easier to fall into a rhythm with him.

They’ve warmed up to you now you’re older, the news has settled in. Maybe they just don’t care as much anymore. Or maybe they’re more forgiving now that— it’s just you and him. Your black dress rides up a little when you sink deeper into the couch, leaning into Tooru bit by bit. He glances down, letting his lips shoot up a little too quickly. “Careful,” he mumbles against your cheek, using his free hand to tug at the edge of your clothing, “wouldn’t wanna give the old taxi driver a show.” His hand lingers between your legs, dragging his fingertips over the stretch of skin ever so quickly.

Quick enough not to raise suspicion, but enough to have your hairs standing on end, because you know exactly what those hands are capable of, and it was the exact reason you didn’t want to come tonight. Bless Makki and his tender soul for sounding so defeated when you called him, saying you didn’t really belong at a highschool reunion anyway. But he’d been adamant, and you had already used the ‘babysitting Iwa’s toddler’ one too many times that month. When you give him a warning look, he only smiles wider, letting it sit on his face with pride.

But the look churns in your stomach when Mattsun catches your eyes through the mirror, and raises an eyebrow. Glancing at you, then him, then you. And you bite your tongue for the both of you, because you genuinely can’t figure out if Tooru would care if you were found out on the spot.

Somewhere towards the end of the night, or early into the morning, you feel your head getting heavy. A pounding of the expensive drinks mixed with the music and the dancing you’d been doing now leaving you at the bar, protected only by the glass of watered down bubbles still in your palm. Finally escaping the demanding grip on your wrist, clinging tight to your hip and kissing you every time you’d merged into the mass of swaying strangers enough to become anonymous for a few minutes. As scary as it was, is, you can’t deny the rush of adrenaline pounding in your veins.

Every ‘daddy’ being swallowed up by his plush lips, by the hands roaming into your panties and making you dizzy. You snap out of your scrutiny of the sugar on the edge of your glass when a familiar voice comes. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Iwaizumi sighs, a grin appearing when you turn. He’s a bit softer in his expression than before, easier to talk to. You suppose he’s trying, since it’s clear you’re not leaving Tooru’s life any time soon. “Oikawa said he wasn’t going to come if you didn’t, but it wouldn’t be much of a reunion without our old Captain.”

“I would’ve made him come even if he didn’t want to,” you respond, swinging your legs around the barstool to face him. He casts a reminiscent glance into the crowd, and you follow his eyes to watch your step dad take a shot with Mattsun, his genuine joy lighting up the room. You always love seeing him like this, bright and enthusiastic. “He makes me cling to him like I’m still a little kid though.”

Hajime only waits for a few seconds, nodding. “I used to fault him for being so protective of you, honestly. I thought it was a bit creepy, and Oikawa has always had a tendency to overdo things, even when we were kids.” Though the comment isn’t an accusation, Iwa would make it known if it was, your skin goes cold at the faint knowledge. When the brunet across the room turns over his shoulder, gaze flicking through the people for you, there’s part of you that knows this isn’t healthy. You’re lying to everybody, right to their face, and Iwa isn’t a bad guy. But how the hell do you even begin to explain any of it, and hope that everything doesn’t end up in flames?

Your mouth stays shut. “But I can’t say I wouldn’t react the same now. After your mom—” he hesitates then, placing the bottle to his lips with a frown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, bad things happen to everybody,” you swallow, looking away from Tooru when his expression shifts from you back to Iwa, then to Makki gripping his shoulder. Unreadable from so far away. “I’m glad to have him, he cares about me. That’s all I can ask for.” Iwa stays quiet again, and this time you can’t blame him. The spiky haired brunet isn’t the best with words. His hand comes to your exposed shoulder and squeezes it softly.

“We’re glad he has you too,” he settles on saying, giving you another smile. Then he helps you up from the stool and places the drink out of your reach. “C’mon, I can feel him getting antsy all the way from over here. I don’t want to have him nagging me for the rest of the night.” His hand is placed a respectful way down your back, leading you through the people with easy steps. But you still have to narrow your eyes at the side of his face.

“Were you just sent to escort me back to him?” you ask, voice still playful. But when you don’t get a response, the teasing tone slowly disappears out of your voice. And Hajime grins, because he absolutely was, but he doesn’t know that he’s voluntarily leading you into the lion’s den again. A lion you’ve long grown tired of fighting off.

Before you make it halfway to the hotel, Tooru drags you into a seedy bar at 3 in the morning and straight to the bathrooms, haphazardly locking it behind him as his lips greedily kiss down your jaw, neck and down the expanse of your cleavage. He doesn’t care about the fabric that rips when he yanks the dress down your tits and quickly unclasps your bra to drop his face to your breasts, squeezing them together and moaning as he licks up the swell of them. “Getting daddy so hard while the team is right there, filthy girl. You’ve got some guts.”

You don’t try to talk back when he harshly backs you into the wall and hauls up your leg, rutting his clothed hard-on against your panties. His hand finding your hair, pulling your head back for him. His eyes are dark and blown out, irises almost entirely black as he ravages your mouth, tongue leading yours and messily humping your pussy. Your breathing is so quick you can barely make out anything other than his touch, his wet mouth and the way he tastes like something sweet, but distinctly alcoholic.

“Take off my pants, now, hurry,” he mumbles into your mouth, wrapping your leg around his thigh and dropping his hand between your bodies to rub sloppy circles over your clit, shoving aside the damp fabric. Your hands are a bit shaky as you unbuckle him and are pushed to your knees, looking up at him. “They all look at you like you’re a poor, little thing,” his face goes blank for a few seconds as he takes in the sight of you on your knees below him, before taking out his cock and pressing it to your lips. “If only they knew what a slutty, little minx you were, hm? So ready to take daddy’s cock between your lips.”

You open your mouth at his urging, letting him fuck into it while tears bead at your lashes. He’s not gentle, but it doesn’t matter when he grabs your face in his big hand and groans. Head thrown back and neck exposed, he is the prettiest. And when he mumbles under a soft ‘I love you’ under his breath, you have to take an early breath just to say it back, with drool and precum leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You don’t get caught then, but only because the bartender put a sign on the door, and sends you two a deathly glare as you stumble back out with hot cheeks and your clothes all messed up. Makki and Kunimi swing by the hotel room for another hour or so, before daddy manages to shoo them out more quickly than usual. And he fucks you again until your legs shake and you almost fall off the bed from the force. But when you’re curled up to his side and ready to fall asleep, he stares at you for a little while.

You can only give him a tired smile, wrapping your arms a bit tighter to his naked torso, before he coos at you and urges you up onto him to hold better, closer, he always wants you skin to skin. Right before you drift off into sleep, you think you figure out what that look on his face is. Something’s not enough, Tooru wants more. You’re not sure what shape this need will come in, but you’re too tired to ask. And with daddy, it’s only a matter of time before you find out anyway.

“Don’t you ever think we’re a perfect little family,” he asks one morning, pulling you a little closer in the bed he had you for the first time, kissed you until you became a mess for him alone. Quivering around his fingers and crying out for him. It’s been a while since then already. The question catches you off guard a little so early in the day, eyes still laced with sleep. Of course Tooru didn’t have that problem, wide and awake after his run and only sneaking back into bed to cuddle. You groan at the sliver of sun peeking out between the blinds, then turn to face him.

“I think we’re about as far from a perfect family as you can get,” you admit, snuggling a bit closer into him despite the words. Because while they are true, and there’s no doubting it, you’ve never shied away from his touch. Large hands running up and down your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. You let him pull you on top of him, feeling his warm chest against yours.

“But we could be, right?” he urges softly, pressing a few kisses to your ear. And you’re not the suspecting type, but when you look up to catch his eyes there’s something— more there. Something demanding. You stare at the smile for a few seconds, before you’re lifting yourself from his chest to give yourself a little bit of space. Tooru sits up too, watching you as you play with the edge of your thin top. “You get along so well with Iwa’s little ones, and I know how cute you think they are. And I was thinking,” he grabs your hand over the blankets, rubbing your knuckles.

“How perfect it would be if I gave you a baby.”

You pull out of his touch, eyes widening the longer you look at him. But he looks so sure of himself, so solid in his words, that for a moment you falter. “What— I- no,” you squeak out, frowning. “What are you saying, daddy? I’m still getting my bachelors, and besides, I love Iwa’s kids a ton but I don’t know if I want a baby right now. Or in the future.” That’s not even mentioning if people ask who the father is. His hand wraps around your hand as a mimic of comfort, tight enough to have the pressure aching a little.

“Not yet, but that’ll change if you have one of your own,” he says, gently pulling you back to him. You collapse back onto his chest, listening to the calm beat of his heart, but this time it doesn’t settle yours as it would usually. His roaming hands are the only sound for a minute, before he finally speaks again. Voice so small it gives you goosebumps. “Don’t you love me?” Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and to your horror, there’s wetness collecting at his lashes.

“Oh- d-don’t cry!” you instantly shuffle closer and nose at his cheek. “Of course I love you. I love you so much, I just-”

“I just think that if you loved me, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to you,” he whispers back then, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve given up everything to be with you, stay with you and now you’re telling me ‘no’?” His voice getting sharper with each sentence, he wraps his arms tighter around your body. “I’m not asking you to leave your life behind, just this one thing.” You freeze in his hold, lips cracking open desperately.

There’s been moments before where Tooru gets painfully unreasonable. Stubborn as ever, angry lines of his brows throwing you off. It’s always been easy to back down then, offering your apologies and hoping he’ll hold you in his arms for a little longer. But how can you be lenient on this, when it would change everything you know? “But then I’d be stuck at home, daddy,” you settle on mouthing, sparing his feelings a little from the harshness of your thoughts.

“Instead of going where?!” The harshness in his voice shocks you, but he doesn’t let go of you still. You shuffle to loosen his grasp, but it doesn’t budge. He’s big enough to hold you on top of him, legs tangling with yours. It makes your throat feel so tight, instead of the usual effect of his soothing, now it just feels suffocating. “You belong here, with me. Not somewhere where I can’t keep an eye on you, stupid girl, what if you got yourself in trouble?”

His eyes narrow when you stay completely silent, but eventually he clicks his tongue. “Your mom wanted to send you abroad too, what a horrible fucking idea. I was so mad at her for trying to take you from me, but she always had these stupid ideas.” Coldness spreads down your veins at the mention of your mom.

You don’t want her to be dragged into an argument like this, not about you, not with him. Her late husband, your stepdad. Fuck. Realization of your crimes slaps you in the face again, and Tooru’s still glaring at you, and you just want it to—

“Stop.” You hate how small your voice sounds, how heartbroken. Tears welling up and spilling over so suddenly it surprises you, breathing halting. “Just stop, please. I don’t want to fight with you, and—” Sobs break through when you bury your head into his shoulder, longing for some safety. “Just p- please, I can’t t-think about that.”

Luckily, a heavy hand comes to rest on your head, before he rolls you over so you’re under his body. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. No more fighting,” he coos, dipping down to kiss you. You’re still trying to get rid of your tears as he presses his lips to yours, softly at first, then harder. Tongue pressing at the seam of your lips and pushing in. You whine at it, but he doesn’t care much. Just reaching up to grab your face and thumb the tears away, kissing you even deeper.

He doesn’t give you a moment of reprieve until you’re urging him back for breath, fingers tangling into his hair. “I’m sorry, my pretty baby. I won’t fight with you anymore, hm?” he whispers, and then his lips are back on yours. Opening your lips and licking into your mouth like he’s been starved for years, he grunts and moans softly against you, heaving himself up over you a bit more. Then pulling back to suck at the soft skin under your ear, breath gliding over the sensitive skin.

“Daddy, I don’t-”

“Just let me take care of you.” Leaning onto one forearm as the free hand grips your hips, he drags his lips down your neck, collarbones, and back up to your mouth when you try again. He shuts you up with his tongue until you’re dazed from the lack of breath, before he hovers his mouth over yours again. “You’re such a dream, cutie. And all mine. I’m going to make sure you’ll be all mine, promise.”

He gently urges your legs apart as he mouths along your neck, placing rows of kisses and sucking hard until you make a noise. His body is easily able to cover you, he slowly rolls his hips into yours as you shift under him.

Though you’re more than used to his tendency to fuck you to the brink of insanity by now, again and again until your brain feels so heavy it gets hard to even make a coherent sentence, right now isn’t the time, is it? “Daddy,” you mumble into his mouth, but he grabs your cheeks and pushes his tongue in to roam your mouth and force you to taste him.

It’s not pleasant, but when he rubs his half-hard cock between your legs again and grips your waist so tight the feeling lingers, it’s easier to give in. You slump under him, kissing back and grabbing at the soft hairs at the base of his skull, and that’s when he finally picks up the pace. Really aiming his rutting against your sensitive pussy, thick thighs meeting the bottom of yours. He takes a deep breath when pulling back and looks at you, not hesitating for a moment. “Don’t fucking dare tell me to stop.”

His voice, though soft, is pointed and accusatory. His hand slides from your cheeks to your throat now, grabbing it and squeezing hard. You instinctively reach for his wrist, but his grip is stronger than yours is. “Not when I’ve given up everything for you. You wouldn’t tell daddy to stop, right?”

He leans back down to kiss you as you squeeze your eyes shut, choking a little on his lips and tongue now that he fucks his clothed cock against your slicked-up panties and his hand presses harder. Your mind filters through his words slowly, but they don’t really come in.

Don’t process. The hand gripping your waist moves to toy in between your legs, rubbing over your slit and loose circles over your clit, as he breathes. “You want this, you little whore, admit it.” He kisses along your ear, licking down your jaw and rubbing your pussy through the useless fabric, now hard cock standing to attention under his boxers. You’re distracted only a moment, but it’s too long for him, because he bites down hard at the crook of your neck. “I said ‘admit it.’”

“Wh- aw,” you stare at him for a second when he raises an eyebrow, tears welling up at the spreading sting of his teeth. You don’t mean to, you just— why is he being this way? The grip on your neck makes your head pound and it’s hard to think of what just happened or why he’s mad, but you take a hitched breath and try to focus on his fingertips lewdly spreading open your pussy through your panties. “Want it,” you mumble. His eyes search yours, before his mouth corners drop a sliver.

“Not good enough.” He sits up and pulls you along, taking a grip of your hair and hand vice-like around your arm as he hauls you off the bed and stumbling over to the window, now with a tiny smile on his lips. “Hands up, princess,” he says, and you barely have the time to oblige before he pushes you up to the window and nudges your legs apart with his knee.

“I’ll make you feel so good you won’t want to stop, okay?” The words are pressed to your neck, still a bit sensitive from his earlier squeezing, as your heart pounds loud between your ears.

You’ve been treated rough, but it was never this— mean. But then he softens enough to soothe you, kissing along the indents of his fingers and holding you in place by your hair, humming softly when you sniffle. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he presses a soft kiss between your shoulder blades before slipping the straps of your camisole off your shoulders. You freeze. Pressed palms against the window, tits now out to the world and legs being spread further as he grinds against you. “Wait, w-wait, I don’t wanna—”

“You don’t want everyone to see how daddy fucks you?” Tooru finishes for you, and you don’t need to see his face to recognize the smile on it. “But you look so pretty spread on my cock, baby.” He squeezes your ass a few times, kneading it between strong fingers, before the touch leaves.

Then his palm connects with your soft skin and sends you forward, upper body leaning against the window and heart pattering against your ribcage. You cry out for him, only to have it again and again until the sting spreads with warmth and he rubs it again.

“Sorry, that was for earlier,” he mumbles, then letting out a long breath. “Now I’ll be nice, hm? Wanna make my pretty girl beg for it.” His hands curve around your body to grab your tits then, as you reach behind you to grab at his forearm for support.

Even though you’re probably gushing down your thighs, there’s a distinct fear as you look out over the street, knowing that anyone could look up and watch you get fucked by your stepdad. By the man that was married to your mom, the one you’ve now hooked your nails into.

What a horrible fate. You lean your head back to eye the ceiling instead, feeling the tears welling up and your breathing stutter even as his fingers pinch your nipples and he ruts his thick cock against your ass. Rubbing and squeezing your tits together again and again, as your breathing creates fog on the window. “Tooru,” you whine, and he grunts.

“Not my name, doll.” He pulls back for a second to watch you, and you’re too cowardly to say anything but hick and cry as your mind keeps ringing with the thought to stop. So why can’t you say it?

Long, slim fingers slip between your legs and pick the ruined panties from your slick pussy, sliding under them and pulling them down your legs ever so slowly, down, down, down along with the top until you’re completely bare, and he hums in appreciation. “So fucking pretty. You know daddy loves you the most, right?” You slowly nod, and he taps your shoulder. “Turn around, baby.”

You let him push your back against the window again, now getting even closer to your body and stepping between your thighs. The cold of the window and the hot of his body so distracting, so — hypnotizing. “Look at me,” he mumbles against your forehead, so you dare to open your tear-filled eyes and cast them his way. And Tooru looks positively feral. Pupils swallowing up almost all of the color of the warm brown that you’ve gotten so used to, cheeks a little flushed and lips rosy and swollen.

He looks ethereal. Hair wild and fluffy, smile so soft it makes your head spin. “I love you,” he says, and you believe it. Instantly, because everything Oikawa Tooru is makes you feel it. However unfair, and however stupid. ‘I love you too,’ you mouth back instantly, hands dropping to his pecs, to feel the pounding of his heart. It almost makes you forget about where you are when he crowds you, laying more languid, gentle kisses on your lips than before. Hungry no doubt, but sweet. Your tears dry on your cheeks the longer he melts his tongue to yours, swallowing your worry.

He shoves down his boxers before looping your leg around his glutes, and urges your face to his again, now blank faced and his eyes searching. “You trust me, don’t you?” It’s not a question, he continues right after. “I need you to let me do this.” Whatever this is.

You can’t really focus when your wet pussy is needy and untouched, and his fat, drooling cock is right there, brushing against your thigh. You moan, throwing your head back against the cool window as he nuzzles against your jaw, and you let your begging spill over your lips without thinking.

“Please, daddy. Please fill me up, make me feel good,” you moan when he bends down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it and rolling it between his tongue and teeth, doing the same with the other. You reach a hand between you two to grab his hot, thick cock and line it up, before allowing yourself to sink down on it an inch. Your walls clench automatically when he gently ruts the thick length in place a few times, then shoves it in inch by inch and stretches you out.

“F-fuck, holy fuck, daddy.”

“Gonna make you so pretty, baby,” he moans, standing back up to his full height and pushing your tits together again. “Make you so nice and round, hm? My beautiful girl, I know what you need.” Your eyes roll back into your skull by the time he bottoms out, playing your nipples so perfectly, the pressure of his hipbone against yours sending hot flares through your belly.

You let him pick you up under your thighs and loop your arms around his neck, mewling each time he fucks into you and slick runs down his cock and balls. Walking you back to the bed and toppling you both over, he grunts.

“Beg,” is all you hear, mouth at your neck and teeth at your sensitive skin, as he shoves you further onto the bed and crawls back over you. Cock sliding back into the mess between your legs, filling you up faster now. He wraps his hand right under your jaw for leverage, as your mouth drops open and you cling to his strong shoulders.

“Please, daddy, please! F-faster, mhm- need your cock, need you, please.” He folds both your legs to your chest to lay on top of you and drown you in heat, his cock impossibly deep every time he bottoms out. You can’t even keep your eyes open if you tried, hiding your face into the pillow and letting him set a rhythm that has your tits bouncing.

“Feels so fucking good,” you moan. Tooru’s hips smack against the soft skin of your thighs each time he bottoms out, throat aching and brain so fuzzy with the lack of air that you barely hear him. You just keep whining for him again and again like a bitch in heat, as he fucks into you with a brutal pace.

“Gonna fuck my cum deep in you, princess. Fill you up and make you take it all. Tell me you want it.”

“Wan’it,” you parrot mindlessly, and he groans before kissing you hard and needy. “Want you, want you, daddy, love your cock.” Heavy balls slapping against your ass each pump he pushes into your gushing cunt, stretching you to the limit. Everything about him is so big, so perfect, it makes your entire core glow with heat. His grip on your throat doesn’t falter as he manages to snake his other hand between your legs, rubbing at your puffy clit with a sudden mission.

“Cum around me and I’ll make you a mommy,” he hisses into your hair, sweat dripping down his chest. “Split open your tight, little pussy and fill you up, hm?” The rapid pounding makes the headboard slam against the wall, matching the pounding of your blood between your ears. And your hands claw uselessly at his back and shoulders, mewling and whining incoherent sounds into his neck. “Gonna fuck a baby into your pretty cunt, pump it full of my cum deep in that belly.”

“Daddy, daddy, mhm- ahh, daddy, god- fuck, I’m close.” The continued rubbing of your sensitive nub and the lack of oxygen in your brain is enough to shut out anything else, your mouth cracked open and lips swollen, glistening with drool. His cock hits the right spot each time, so deep you’d see double if you could open your eyes. “Close, agh-close.”

“That’s it, cutie. Cream all over daddy’s cock like a good, little cumdump.” His voice growing more growled than said, his fat cock twitching inside your clenching walls and balls tight. His voice drops into a whisper as he grabs your face and kisses you stupid, your blood rushing back to your brain almost painfully quick and urging you over the edge. “You’re gonna be mine forever, whether you like it or not.” Your toes curl and legs shake, walls tightening around the thick, swollen cock and tongue being taken into his mouth.

“Mhm-mhddy,” you mewl into him, a few more flicks of your clit before the white and black flashes before your eyes and your back curls off the bed, tits rubbing against his chest and legs locking around his thighs as Tooru doesn’t stop. He muffles your noises into a kiss long and hard, teeth clashing as he fucks you through your orgasm and sends tingles all through your body, before you collapse.

He grabs at your tits again to heave himself up and pushes back your knees as far as they can go, while you hang onto his forearms with tears and sweat and drool ruining your face. “Pull out,” you can barely voice, Tooru’s grunts and moans and the loud slapping of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” he swears under his breath, "gonna fill you up.”

“Pull out, daddy,” you say again, pushing at his hip and cracking an eye open. His bottom lip between his teeth, hair matted to his forehead and eyes on the place where his cock keeps sliding in and out of you, squelching ringing loud though your shared bedroom. When you moan from overstimulation, he shifts his grip to your hips and pulls you back onto him again and again until his pace falters and the hardest thrusts smack into your ass. “Tooru!”

By now you’re shaking your head and trying to push him off but it’s no use, his much larger body keeping you right in place and forcing his cock so deep it aches in your belly, grunting your name through his teeth.

He comes with a choked grunt, spurting hot ropes of cum deep inside you. A soft few moans follow, before it becomes deathly silent and your breathing rises and drops wildly. “I told you to pull out!” you hiss, staring at him with tears in your eyes and the afterglow dropping too quickly for your liking.

“Shhh, stop worrying so much, angel,” he mumbles, leaning in to press a few kisses to your hairline. “It’s definitely going to take.” It’s mumbled more to himself than to you, but you can’t help the incredulous look you give him.

He doesn’t move from your body though, keeping his softening cock inside you and your legs next to your head. You don’t have the strength to fight him on it either. When he meets your eyes again, he smiles, angelic as ever. “Now you don’t have any reason to leave me anymore. Besides, I promised the guys I’d take care of you. Aren’t you happy?”

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