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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years ago

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My Little Physician Empress ~ Yin Zhen x Reader

Just a story in which reader, a regular girl, was allowed since very young to aid her father in being a Royal Physician, and helped the princes through the years without asking for anything in return.

Since ancient times, views on physician women have been distorted times and times again - Sometimes they are shamans, other times they are witches, and oftentimes, they simply don't deserve to live, no matter how many lives they save, or how capable they are.

Even now, in Qing dynasty, there is stigma, and all the physicians in the palace are men.

But that will soon change when, one day, a Physician from outside the palace is able to come up with a proper cure for the plague that was rampaging the people and somehow, found its way inside the palace too, and he was rewarded handsomely - He was awarded a wish granted - Any wish he wanted.

And that was to have his daughter allowed to aid him in his work inside the palace. He explained how his daughter played around with concoctions one day, and somehow gave him the brilliant idea for a revolutionary cure, and with this story, the Emperor indulged the old man and got them both in the palace.

They didn't earn a lot of money, but it was enough for them to dress appropriately with living in the palace. The girl never got any kind of accessory, so she mainly held her hand in a simply braid, occasionally put some flowers in it, and was ready to go on with the day in aiding her father.

But she was always a curious little girl, and very often, she went outside to play and discover every nook and cranny around the palace - Which is when she met the fourth prince - Not that she knew, though.

She held some struggling and splashing in the water one night, and saw a eunuch running away. Upon investigating, she saw a child who wasn't trashing around anymore, and he was about her age. She jumped in the lotus pond, getting him to the surface and, after opening his jacket, she pressed on his chest between his lungs and leaned in to give him the kiss of life.

As expected, the boy then jolted in a sitting position and started coughing, before falling into her arms once again, exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a gentle voice, her hand on his cheek to get his attention. "Fine...I'm better now...Whoever pushed me is going to get killed, I'll make sure of that." the boy was angry, and rightfully so. He tried to get up, but was still wobbly, so the girl helped him go back to his room, letting him lean on her side. "It was an Eunuch. I saw him running away from the pond after you got underneath the water." she told him what she saw. "Now that I think about it...Who are you? I've never seen you around the palace, have I?" he asked suspiciously. "Don't be suspicious of the person who saved your life. I am Y/N, daughter of the Royal Physician who came up with the cure for the plague." she explained in a gentle manner. "Figures. Then, that means you know who I am, don't you?" he scoffed lightly. "Uh...No, not really. Should I?" she tilted her head a little to the side. "You don't? They why did you save me?" he asked, even more confused now. "...Because you were dying?! Did you notice that? Was I supposed to let you die there? Tell me, I can quite literally drag you back to the pond and throw you back if you want? I will ask for you name first and only then rescue you." she scolded him in disbelief at his ungratefulness. "No. No, you're right. Anyway, thanks for saving me. How did you save me? I know I blacked out as some point, right?" he said, and with all the nonchalance in the world, she answered. "I gave you the kiss of life." this answer made the boy stop in his tracks, yelling at her. "YOU DID WHAT?! That’s... That’s improper! I will have you flogged and caned for that! You’re a woman, and I’m a man, and we are both unmarried, it’s... It’s...!" he gaped at her in horror. "You do realise you stopped breathing, don't you? And if I didn't get you breathing again, your heart would have stopped. If your heart stopped pumping, blood wouldn't have gone everywhere in your body, to all your organs, therefor you would have gotten a total system failure in less than 10 to 15 minutes. That means, for idiots like you who don't value life, that you would have died if I didn't do that." she rolled her eyes at him, dragging him inside the pavilion, where lots of eunuchs and maids fussed over him. "Su Peisheng! Reward this maid handsomely, she saved my life." the little boy said - He must be one of the princes, the girl thought, amused. "No thanks. I saved your life, that's all. You yelled enough at me, I don't want anything from you anymore. Next time I try to save your life, remind me to ask you your name first and only then ask consent to save your life." the girl rolled her eyes at him, thinking him hypocritical, and turned around to go home, only to have the boy catch her wrist immediately. "Then, ask for anything, and I'll give it to you." he said, very seriously. "Fine. I'm not a maid, I'm a Female Physician, therefor you must address me properly from now on. Physician Y/N. Got it?" her voice was authoritarian, but she didn't inspire malice or evil, and it quite amused the young prince. "Very well. Until we meet again, Physician Y/N." and thus, making her smile softly, she left the place with a nod of Goodnight. "Su Peisheng." the boy called out his eunuch one again. "What do Physician girls like?" he asked, almost innocently. "Forgive me, Your Highness, this one does not know, for there have not been female physicians in the palace before. However, girls usually like feminine things like clothes and accessories. Miss Y/N wasn't wearing any, as far as I saw." the eunuch provided the young prince with the information. "I see...Very well. Tomorrow, you will send some red agate earrings to her. Make sure you give them to her directly." the boy ordered his slave, who nodded in agreement.

However, the next day, the eunuch returned as he left - With the gift box in his hands and endless apologies. "Miss Y/N wanted me to inform you never to gift her...To quote her...Useless things. Pardon my rudeness, Your Highness, I am merely telling you her words. She said that expensive earrings won't help her save lives. I tried to convince her, but she threatened to throw them in the pigstry." the eunuch kowtowed to the ground in front of the young prince, only for him to raise him up and chuckle in amusement. "Don't worry, it's fine. I'll just bring them to mother and ask her for advice. This is no ordinary girl I'm dealing with."

And this way, his mother advised him to find rare healing-related books, even more so, from the West, and gift them to her. She immediately accepted them, and Yin Zhen often found the mysterious girl reading by the wisteria tree, unbothered by anything and anyone.

The 4th prince often looked at her and got reminded of his annoying 3rd prince brother, but at least she wasn't so obsolete and dissolute like him.

He would find her occasionally swinging in the Apricot garden, where it was mostly quiet and very few people visited, and even so, he would often hear her practicing flute-playing.

The next Prince she met was, to Yin Zhen’s entertainment and slight jealousy, was the 3rd Prince, Yin Zhi, as she was delivering medicine to one of the Imperial Concubines, the foreign melodious tune of an instrument she has never heard of before, and as expected, her curiosity led her directly to this Prince who seemed just a bit older than her, standing under a tree and practicing said instrument.

The girl could only stay there in awe, the wonderful melody taking over her senses and imagination, only for a sudden screech to destroy everything, making her yelp in shock. The jerk of a Prince made the bow unceremoniously scratch the violin’s strings, making a God Forsaken ear-bleeding noise.

“Hope you enjoyed that as well, stalker.” the prince sneered at her, but to his surprise, she merely chuckled. “Wonderful how such an elegant instrument can create hellish sounds in the wrong hands. Only someone hardworking, dedicated and with grace can play this instrument. You are a Prince, aren’t you?” she leaned on the tree, a knowing smirk on her face. “If you figured that out, then why aren’t you bowing to the ground right now?” the aggressiveness displayed in his voice and words seemed to contradict his actions as he sat down at the table, where neatly drawn blueprints and parts to be engineered with. “I can accept the consequences of my mistake and I even won’t protest, should you want to take my head off, should you be so kind as to explain to me the process of building this wonderful instrument. It is a Western one, is it not?” she sat down next to him, analysing the papers carefully. “What would some lowly maid like you know of Western technology? Why should I waste my time on you?” he scoffed, looking down at her. “Do you not find sharing such groundbreaking information with someone genuinely interested to be rather... Enlightening? From my short stay here, in the Palace, I have found out that the 2nd Prince is rather dissolute and promiscuous, but at the same time, a very intelligent and lonely person who cannot interact with others. From the looks of it, you simply have completely different aspirations and interests, while your brothers are solely interested in this Game of Thrones, and you cannot possibly have a proper, intellectual conversation with them. Correct me if I’m wrong, however, and I will leave you alone.” that vixen-like smile on her face made the Prince want to strangle her and wipe that stupid smirk off her face for daring to figure him out so well. At the same time, however, he hasn’t felt so challenged in his life and frankly, this little maid could prove to be more interesting than expected. “I’ll have you thrown to the Office of Punishments should you dare bore me at any time after the cheeky, daring stunt you pulled. Now, you better be paying attention to every word I am about to tell you, I hate repeating myself for dumb airheads, understood?” his voice was serious and mature, especially for someone his age, but that only meant that Y/N had what to learn from him, and for that, she was grateful. “I swear to do my best and keep up with your intellectual explanations, so please, do be patient with me for I am very grateful for the time you are taking out of your schedule to teach me.” she bowed her head to him, and thus, with a soft huff, the Prince began explaining the to the girl about the peculiar instrument in his hands. “This is called a Violin, and this is called a Bow. As you guessed, this instrument was created in the West, from a country called “Italy”, in an unknown date from the 16th century. Although paintings from back then show the Violin had 3 strings, now, as you can see, it has four...” and so, he continued by showing her the component parts of the violin both on the instrument, and on the blueprints, only for him to, in the end, gift her the ink drawing he made of the original blueprint, as a way for her to promise to continue studying on her own too.

There were many other Royal Princes and Princesses, but many weren’t as interesting as the 3rd and 4th Prince who, quite frankly, were a force to be reckoned with. While Yin Zhi would teach her how to build a clock, or show her interesting literature, Yin Zhen would be adamant in taking her horse-riding and, surprisingly, he was rather interested in her healing knowledge, thus why, he would always acquire the rarest books from all over the world and, instead of giving them for the Physicians to learn, he would gift them to this lovely maid whose company he loved so much.

Time passed quickly, they got older, both Y/N and her father rapidly advanced in their ranks thanks to their revolutionary treatments that cured every illness, and the princes all grew into fine men - Which meant that the true Game of Thrones began for everyone in the palace, not just them.

The first to go down was the Crown Prince who, as Y/N discovered, had ricing powder put in his food. “It is quite simple, and unfortunately, incredibly deadly, even in small doses. All you need is the beans from a castor oil plant, you make them into powder and... You’ve got one of the deadliest poisons there are. My only guess is, it would have to have been someone from the Imperial Kitchens who could do such a feat because, if the powder was put on the dishes after being prepared, it would still be mildly visible, whereas if it was put in a big pot, it would get homogenized and thus, leave no visible or taste trace.” Y/N explained in front of the Emperor, standing poised and ignoring all the other many eyes staring at her. “I have heard many times of ricin, but none was ever brave enough to dare bring it into the Palace, especially after I have forbidden any dish to be made with Castor oil! For the poison to act, one administration was enough?” Emperor Kangxi asked, rage and sorrow evident on his face. “No, Your Majesty. I imagine that the culprit played it smart and only added small doses of ricin powder in His Highness’s food, but regularly. I have read the Medical Files from the Bureau of Imperial Physicians and I have noticed that His Highness was complaining of an upset stomach, difficulty in breathing, occasional coughs that turned bloody over time and spiking fevers - Again, all over a rather long period of time. If the culprit were to use a large dose of powder, the Princes wouldn’t have been able to finish all the food from the plate and, therefor, the Ricin would have been tenfold easier to detect. In this situation, however, small doses meant nobody would believe His Highness got sick because of the food, because of his healthy appetite, hence why he was treated symptomatically for unrelated, yet very possible diseases.” the Female Physician went on further with the deduction, which angered the Emperor even further. “These jackals won’t even allow my sons to eat anymore! From now on, every meal will have to be tested before any person from the Royal Family eats it. Find the culprit immediately!” the Emperor thundered, his voice echoing throughout the Hall of Mental Cultivation. “Your Majesty, if I may... Ricin cannot be detected with silver, and if it is put in hot meals, it wouldn’t be traceable anymore. There is no way to detect it. While ingesting the poison is admittedly the least toxic pathway into the human body... Even with a small dose, it starts to cause internal damage in as little as 6 hours after ingesting. In regular doses, death can occur in a maximum of 3 days, which means, to my understanding, that His Highness may have started being poisoned a week ago at most.” the girl spoke confidently, but also with a tint of reticence. “Are you trying to tell me there is no way of detecting the culprit?!” the man rose up from his throne, pointing his finger at her. “On the contrary. With the grace and cooperation of His Highness, the 4th Prince, a small pouch of herbs mixed with ricin powder was found in the pockets of one of the eunuchs helping at the Imperial Kitchens. That is to say... If the truth comes out that this eunuch was the one who put the powder in the food... We need a testimony and evidence that would point towards the mastermind behind this operation of regicide. His Highness was the Crown Prince and a mere eunuch wouldn’t be affected in any way by the future Emperor, however that may be, but someone who could benefit in having another candidate on the throne would get actively involved in working from the shadows...” she didn’t dare move her sight from the furious Eye of Heaven, no matter how much she wanted to avert her eyes and look at the Prince, begging to be taken away from there because the tension was crushing. “Yin Zhen!” calling out his son’s name, he stepped next to Y/N, bowed and knelt next to her. “The two of you did good in solving this crime. From now on, the two of you shall continue unmasking the truth of this mystery and bring justice to my son, the Crown Prince, got it? No matter who it is, I will have them punished!” the Emperor’s last command was abided by the two of them bowing to the ground and calling out their responses - “Yes, Your Majesty!”

And thus, the Hall of Mental Cultivation was cleared and the two people in cause walked away, looking at each other and letting out sighs of relief.

“Let’s not do that again.” the girl managed to mutter, putting the back of her hand to her forehead, exhausted from the trial. “You’re tired just from this? I was expecting a lot worse.” the Prince smirked at her, seeing her roll her eyes. “Yes, well, the Royal Family business isn’t for me. I’m fine just healing people and studying. It’s actually relaxing, you should try that once in a while.” she nudged him softly, only for him to stop in his tracks. “What if I tell you I want you to join the Royal Family.” he crossed his arms, looking at her with a playful expression. “I’d tell you... You’ve lost your mind... And that nobody would agree to something like this. I suppose I should remind you that... I am a commoner and you are, and I hope it doesn’t come as a shock to you, not only the Prince but... A very strong candidate at being the next Crown Prince.” she shook her head in amusement. “Father wants to promote you to Noble Lady Shuyu.” he refuted immediately. “Having ‘Noble’ in a title does not make you of noble birth. Don’t make it difficult for either of us, Yin Zhen. Not to mention, you would be doing me a great disservice by marrying me.” she explained, cautiously looking around for any prying eyes. “How is giving you a life of unlimited luxuries means I’m doing you a disservice?” he stepped closer to her, holding her hands to his chest. “I am jealous, first of all. Even if I am to be your main wife, which, by the way, is impossible, you would still need to have a huge amount of concubines because that is the life of a Duke and/or the Emperor, should you actually get the title. That doesn’t exactly sit amazingly well with me to begin with... And that also means I’m not exactly the most Virtuous, Selfless and King Empress that everyone would want the woman holding this title to be. That and... If I marry into the Royal Family, I won’t be able to continue my Physician work, and I will only have to stay inside a stupid, but nicely furnished palace, with tons of servants to do whatever the hell I want and many more other women who will be jealous of me and will plot to kill me. Ah, yes and the unfortunate case of you getting bored of me for a younger girl, when we get older, but that’s just that.” she got her hands back, and smiled at him sarcastically. “You’re an impossible woman, you know that, right? If you do, you should also know that, for you, I would give up the title of Crown Prince. If I am a duke, then it shouldn’t matter if I marry one woman alone, and whether or not she continues her hobby of healing people in a palace far away from the Forbidden City, where there would be no envious eye that would wish you harm. How does that sound.” his words were soft and gentle, and with every sweet word, he could see the girl’s defenses lowering down, bit by bit. “You would be an idiot to turn down the title you worked so hard for, especially after this perfect opportunity has just knocked on our doors. Don’t be stupid, Yin Zhen. I can still love you even if we are not legally married. Listen, we both know the 2nd Prince is the culprit, right? Him and his lousy mother of his, who wants to become the next Empress. I have a plan to take both of them down, and if we succeed, your place on the throne is automatically... But we have to be very smart about it. Very, very smart. Are you in?” she turned to look at him, as he stepped very close to her, cupping her face and kissing her forehead. “Since when have you become so scheming?” he asked, proud and amused. “Since I have a reason to win.” she winked at him, putting her hand on his face so he could lean down and hear the plot.

Months passed, and Y/N has been as busy as ever taking care of the women of the Harem since Imperial Concubine Yu was pregnant and the Empress, the late 1st Prince’s mother, protectively took her under her wing, while the sole Female Physician was to take care of her.

Thankfully, every plan was set in motion and time flew so fast, it was unexpected that 9 months already passed and the Concubine was ready to give birth already. Unfortunately for her, the Empress, along with the Empress Dowager, were away to pray for Buddha, and thus, the Noble Consort was now the most powerful woman in the Harem, and able to take decisions in place of the Empress.

As Y/N helped the Concubine give birth, to her shock, she realised the baby was very much yellow - But not only the little prince’s body, but his eyes as well. It caused a lot of shock and stir ups... But the unfortunate timing of arrival of the Noble Consort was enough to grab the baby from the midwife’s hands and toss is carelessly to the eunuchs who was digging a hole in the backyard of the Empress’s palace, to bury the infant alive, while the poor Concubine mother was frantically trying to escape the grasp of the eunuch keeping her away so she could rescue her baby.

But it was in vain, and no matter how much the mother begged, the Consort was absolutely ruthless. She was digging into the dirt, trying to rescue her child, but all of the Empress’s maids were uselessly staring, frightened and very much afraid for their lives.

Smartly, Y/N went inside the Empress’s palace and took her seal - As she ran back to the scene of the crime and yelled at the Consort to end this mess.

“The golden seal of the Empress is here! Enough of this mess! Yes, the infant has golden eyes, but the truth is, this might just be a medical problem, and we cannot know for sure if it is not investigated! Under such context, we must wait for Her Highness the Empress to make the decision! Noble Consort, I have begged you again and again to cease your actions, but I have no other way of stopping you. Seeing this golden seal is like seeing Her Highness the Empress herself, whether the 17th Prince is indeed sick, and how Noble Lady Yu should be dealt with, we must all wait for the decree of Her Highness the Empress. Any other person isn’t allowed to take any arbitrary action!” as Y/N glared angrily at the Noble Consort, showing off the Imperial Box that was hiding the Empress’s seal, the well known voice of the Eunuch announcing his Majesty’s arrival resounded through the place. “What happened?” the Emperor asked, followed by the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Princes. “Greeting His Majesty. Your Majesty, the little prince was born with golden pupils. His whole body is yellow. The Empress isn’t in the palace. I’m enforcing the palace law on her behalf. I was just about to punish the mother and child, but who knew that the servants of Changchun Palace would publicly stop me.” the Consort threw a shady look at the Physician. “Your Majesty, I dare not hinder Noble Consort in implementing the law. It’s just that Her Highness the Empress repeatedly instructed that we all must protect Noble Lady Yu. Before the Empress returns, no one is allowed to make punishments without permission. Moreover, whether the little prince is indeed sick or not, as a Physician, I must advise everyone not to make conclusions based solely on what we see. There was no time for me, or any of my colleagues to check the health of the little prince, therefor, this may all just be an unfortunate misunderstanding, not a bad omen. The action of Her Highness the Noble Consort is too hasty.” Y/N confidently explained the problem for the Emperor. “You wench, how dare you speak ill of my mother?!” the new Crown Prince, the 2nd Prince, rushed forward to slap the girl’s face angrily. “Father, there is nothing impossible in this vast world. I, who has been studying various Western practices would know that what we may consider impossible or strange, other would deem normal, and vice versa. It may just be as the Female Physician says - That the 17th Prince’s golden pupils are just because of some strange illness that, if treated, will disappear.” the 3rd Prince stuck up to the girl. “Your Majesty, my child surely has some weird illness! I beg you, Your Majesty, I beg you to immediately have him treated.” the mother’s pleas melted the Emperor’s heart. “Li Yu.” the Emperor called out his head eunuch. “Call the Imperial Medical College for a consult. And find out if Physician Y/N’s father returned from his trip abroad.” and thus, the Emperor called everyone in cause once again to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to hear the testimonies and make a decision.

Two elder doctors came inside the Palace and reported their explanations to the Emperor, while the poor, desperate mother was thrown out of the room so she could calm down and stop shrieking.

“I’ve seen a lot of babies with yellowish faces, but I’ve never seen a case where the pupils are also golden yellow.” one of them explained. “Is there no way to cure him?” Yin Zhen asked the Physicians. “This is not an illness, so there is no way to cure it. There is no such thing as a child with golden pupils in this world.” Physician Zhang answered adamant. “I know Your Majesty is unwilling to do it, but if we don’t resolve it today, if the sun rises tomorrow, the news that a Noble Lady of the Forbidden Palace has given birth to a child with golden pupils will spread to the empire as if it has wings. I fear that people will be in panic and it will be hard to handle the consequences. Hence, I hardened my heart, all for Your Majesty’s sake, for the Qing Empire. Even if everyone will blame me for it, I won’t mind. Your Majesty, why are you still hesitating?” the dead silence that followed was, as if on cue, disturbed by the baby’s cries. With a hurried smile, Y/N hurried to take the baby in her arms and kneel in front of the Emperor. “Your Majesty, look! Although the little prince is yellowish all over, his cry is very strong! Your Majesty, he is a live person and he is connected with Your Majesty by blood! How could you kill him so easily?!” Y/N spoke quickly, hoping to appeal to the Emperor’s soft heart strings. “Isn’t the Empress to kind? Indulging a mere physician to act like this? When your masters are talking, how could you interfere?!” the Noble Consort harshly reprimanded the girl. “I recognize my mistakes, however, as a Physician myself, while it is true that I do not know everything in this world, I can also say that I had my fair share of travelling, albeit, not as much as my father. The yellowing of the body may as well be jaundice, especially if we take into account the severity of the colour. In some texts that I have read, it is said that, on rare occasions, if the jaundice is severe, it may even affect the colour of the eyes. Your Majesty, I have no reason to work against anyone. My work is to heal people, which is why I am fighting so hard to save this child - Not only because he is Your Majesty’s child, but because all lives must be treasured and treated with great importance. If this child is sick and I can cure him, than I have done my purpose in life.” the girl gritted her teeth, trying to control herself. “Father, can’t you see you’ve been indulging this wench for far too long? You give a common wench a helping hand, and now look how unruly and disruptive she is! Speaking back to her superiors! Shameless!” the Crown Prince growled at the girl who was incriminating his mother. “Father, if I may - As Physician Y/N said, all of our Imperial Physicians have been working only inside the palace for so long. If a strange illness occurs, they may have no knowledge of that, perhaps even outside of the usual textbooks. If I understood correctly, Y/N father has returned to the palace just yesterday, perhaps his opinion will be of use, should this simply be a case of misdiagnosis.” the 4th Prince quickly defended her. “Nonesense! Could a distinguished Imperial Physician of the Imperial Medical College have less knowledge and experience than a common maid like you with no proper training or education?” Physician Zhang scoffed at her. “Your Majesty, although I’m well-versed in children’s illnesses, there is nothing truly impossible in this vast world. Maybe there are still a lot of strange illnesses that I’ve never had a chance to be in contact with. Many Physicians tried to get rid of the plague, but only Physician Liyue was able to do it, a common man from outside the Palace with no former education. Just because we haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it can’t exist.” Physician Yang spoke modestly. “Physician Yang, are you old and muddled?! A matter that you yourself isn’t sure of, you dare report it to His Majesty?! If a problem indeed occurs, a natural calamity or a human-made disaster, can you bare the crime? No. Your Majesty, this concerns the fortune of the Qing Empire. You mustn’t be soft-hearted.” the Noble Consort quickly responded as harsh as ever.

However, just as she said that, Y/N’s father clumsily stepped inside the room and knelt next to his daughter, greeting the Emperor who, in haste, told him to check the child.

In doing so, he merely smiled and said the same diagnosis as his daughter did.

Jaundice.

“Can’t be. Not like I haven’t seen jaundice in children before.” Physician Zhang refuted immediately. “That’s because you are lacking in knowledge. Your Majesty, this jaundice, even if it’s not treated, the little prince would recover within 7 days. This illness is pathological and related to the bile of the expectant mother. It is usually connected with the pregnant mother having too much accumulation of bile.” the father explained. “Your daughter gave the same diagnosis.” the Emperor muttered. “Can it be cured?” “Your Majesty, don’t worry. If I prescribe a formula to reduce the jaundice, in less than 2 weeks, the 17th prince’s jaundice will subside.” and thus, the Emperor ordered to have the child be treated with care...And the Consort changed sides as much as her face changed instantly.

And thus, the Emperor forgave the Consort and had this matter be banned from being talked of...Until the 4th Prince spoke up.

“Father, before we leave, I had urgent news to speak to you about, and they concern the Noble Consort.” the Prince left his father’s side and stepped in front of him, next to Y/N. “Is this about your brother’s death?” the Emperor’s face became grim as soon as he saw the nod of the prince’s head. “Very well, speak.” “Su Peisheng, have the body brought in.” the Prince ordered. “Noble Consort, you are not afraid when you kill a man, so why are you afraid when you see a corpse?” the Prince asked, simply, as he took off the sheet to show off the man’s face. “Do you not recognise him? Or perhaps, your son does?” the Prince interrogated the indignant woman. “What are your implications, Yin Zhen?!” the Crown Prince stomped in front of his brother. “Your Mayesty, this is the Mongolian chef from the Imperial Kitchen. While he is also the one who cooked food for Noble Lady Yu, he is also the one who prepared the daily Mongolian treat that the 1st Prince enjoyed so much.” Yin Zhen spoke up confidently. “That’s right... Your Majesty, I have taken care of Noble Lady Yu since the beginning of her pregnancy, and pretty early on, Noble Lady Yu was gifted Mongolian scones from her hometown. She loved them so much, I imagine she ate quite a lot. She said she had no idea there was a Mongolian chef in the Palace and she was incredibly happy to see that she could eat her home food after so long. She would eat three pieces every day - At least that’s what I saw, if she ate more when I wasn’t supervising her, I cannot know.” the Physician girl explained as she stood up, tall and ready for action. “Your Majesty, I had these scones be brought here as well.” the 4th Prince spoke and a scone was given to Y/N’s father. “Do you know what they are made of?” her father asked as he took a bite. “I believe milk was added to the dough, or ghee to the skin. She also ate assorted confectionary to replace staple food.” Y/N told her father. “Yes, I understand. Your Majesty, the child contracted jaundice mostly because the mother’s body is moist and hot, so the bile gets accumulated. I usually advise pregnant women to watch their food intake and not to eat too much sweet, hot and unpleasant smelling food, to prevent damage to the spleen and stomach.” Physician Liyue explained. “Ah, I understand. I didn’t give it much thought because Mongolian women are used to eating these things, but since she’s been away from home for so long, her body adjusted to our food, so naturally, getting a large intake of food from home again made her body react as ours would.” Y/N nodded in understanding. “Very well, so we have found out the truth behind the Prince’s illness. Now, Yin Zhen, tell me about the body. Who killed him.” the Emperor urged his son to speak. “We just have to look at who wanted the 17th Prince buried alive the most and we will know. And on who benefits the most in having our 1st Prince brother killed.” Yin Zhen explained. “That man is dead, brother. On what bases are you accusing me and my mother?” the Crown Prince sneered at his younger brother. “Your Majesty, the 17th Prince was just born, he is just an innocent child. Why would anyone want him dead? Unless... Someone didn’t want him to be born safely to begin with. Carefully thinking about it, since Noble Lady Yu got pregnant, Her Highness the Noble Consort has repeatedly made things difficult for her. First, using her dog to cause her trauma at the Imperial Gardens, and then repeating the same feat at the Lychee banquet organized by Her Highness the Empress. When Noble Lady Yu gave birth, the first person to charge in Changchun Palace was also Her Highness the Noble Consort. She insisted on having the 17th Prince buried alive. To say that this matter has nothing to do with her, it’s really hard for anyone to believe that.” Y/N accused the Consort, only to be, once again, slapped by her son. “Father, this is a conspiracy, don’t listen to the lies of this servant! It is a plot made to frame me and my Royal Mother!” the Crown Prince desperately tried to defend himself. “Father, if this is a conspiracy, why then everyone else asked for a Physician to be brought and inspect the 17th Prince’s condition, while only the Noble Consort alone was so adamant in killing the child?” Yin Zhen struck again. “Not to mention, even when Noble Lady Yu went up to her to stop her, she didn’t spare her. Instead, she ordered her to be killed along with the child. If she truly had no intention to kill, why was she so hasty and resolute?” Y/N chimed in quickly. “Your Majesty, you cannot sentence myself or the Crown Prince merely just based on a corpse and some speculations! This person is dead, who knew if someone else forced him to kill himself as to frame me and my son?” the Noble Consort shrieked desperately. “Father, when I sent my men to the Imperial Kitchen, they discovered one letter written in blood and 20 taels of gold. It shows that this person had sensed that something bad would happen to him. Father, look for yourself at the evidence left behind.” and thus, the eunuch brought forth a messy letter and the Prince showed it to the Emperor -” 'The person who will silence me will surely be the Crown Prince’ - And with this, father, we found a small pouch of Ricin laying on top of it. It means that the culprits behind these two crimes that we thought unrelated are, in fact, mother and son.” the 4th prince explained, picking up the pouch as well. “Wh-What?! What is this madness? I would ever use such a stupid servant to kill my brother!” the Crown Prince yelled out, but it was in vain. “Not only that, testimonies from the Office of Punishments came out. The men from the Imperial Kitchens that were involved in either of these crimes, all ratted out their mastermind and all point out towards either Noble Consort or the 2nd Prince.” the Prince continued, and the atmosphere in the place was harder and harder to bear. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, it really wasn’t like this! I really didn’t know! I’m being framed! Framed! Me... My son...! We’re being framed!” the Consort tried to beg, plea and weep, but nothing worked. “ENOUGH! I don’t want to hear any more explanations from you. You killed my beloved son out of greed, just for you to become the next Crown Prince. I have overlooked so many of your mistakes and evidence of a possible coup... You were already the Crown Prince, what more did you want?! Shameless, both of you! Men, take them away! Both of them shall be thrown into the Cold Palace until further notice!” the Emperor’s rage seethed fear into everyone, as they bid his order, uncaring of the two’s desperate pleas. “Yin Zhen, you did well. Although a tragic truth, I was expecting this. As the matter of a new Crown Prince has to be instilled, I will make the final Imperial Edict tomorrow... However, you must know that you are the chosen one. I only wish that you do not act as carelessly and shamelessly as your brother did.” the Emperor sighed, feeling older than ever. “Father...I...! Your Majesty, you are magnanimous, I do not know how to thank you.” the Prince kowotowed to the ground, only to hear a weak chuckle from his father. “Rise, no need for that. Physician Y/N, you and your father once again saved us with your vast knowledge and expertise. I shall grant you both the title of Noble Officials of the Third Rank and shall enjoy all the benefits and luxuries that come with it. You have served me well and I am sure you will continue to do so in the future as well. You are all dismissed.” the Emperor said as everyone bowed to greet him off. “That worked better than expected.” the Prince smirked, looking down at the stunned girl. “Am I a genius or what?” she spoke breathlessly before starting to laugh in glee. “Dear, I have no idea what silly thing you plotted while I was away, but... I have to say, you pulled quite the stunt.” her father patted her hair lovingly. “I suppose once in a while I do like to have some dangerous fun, huh? Good thing I have two Royal Helping Hands to take me out of the water should I suddenly forget to swim.” she grinned carelessly, only for her father to shake her head, smiling. “Just be careful. Although... I am sure you will be protected. I will take my leave now.” and with a small bow, the left the three alone. “Was any of that true?” the 3rd Prince eyed the two carefully. “Well... She really did want to kill the baby by burying it alive. The rest was... Induced or fabricated. But nobody has to know, right? It’s all our dirty little secret.” the girl winked at him and, taking the 4th Prince’s hand, pulled him outside. “How does it feel being a Noble Lady?” the Prince chuckled, pulling her close to his chest and smiling warmly. “None the wiser.” she snorted in amusement. “Honestly, Yin Zhen, it’s just a title. It’s not like anyone is going to care in any way. I am still going to be just a common girl with no right to stay anywhere close to you. Besides, you know as well as I do that, in the very small chance that the Emperor does accidentally impregnate a common maid and he wives her, she is still going to be treated poorly and will be bound to the Back Palace alone. You know as well as I do that nobody is allowed to enter the Back Palace so freely. I don’t want any of that.” she spoke, cautiously. “If I am going to be the Emperor, that mean the whole China is going to be mine. It doesn’t matter which woman is my Empress, as long as all the other concubines are there for political reasons. All they care about is wealth, fame and luxuries for their families, but none care for me the way you do. You saved me from drowning when you had no idea who I was, and you rejected any gift I gave you that wasn’t useful for your education. I know you don’t want to be pretentious or have me think that you love me solely for luxuries but that does not mean I should be forbidden from pampering you whenever I feel like it. Just accept it. I do not want any other woman to stay in the Empress’s throne besides me other than you. Don’t deny me that, Y/N.” he cupped her face, making her look up at him, his eyes tender and filled with love. “I can’t do it, Yin Zhen. I can’t. I can’t let you damage your image. You will be the best Emperor China’s ever had, you cannot have a common peasant woman be the Mother of the Nation. You will found a woman to genuinely love you and care for you as much as I do, and she will be worthy of you, and of noble blood... And you will forget about me, and I will no longer inconvenience you. You will be just fine without me, Yin Zhen.” her eyes gleaming, close to tears, as she spoke those painful words, but the prince had none of that. “I will have none of that modesty and selflessness of yours. Keep that to yourself. I am going to be the Emperor. The Eye of Heaven. If I cannot even choose the woman I love to be my Empress, than what’s the point in being diligent in everything else? No matter how hard working you are, at the end of the day, you need to have clarify and peace from your confidante, and for me, that is you. I will hear no more of your excuses, I will solve all of them. In fact, I know just how you can get the ultimate approval from my father, as if everything you’ve done so far over the years hasn’t been enough. In a month, the palace will hold a banquet for the Princess of Western Liang and her Diplomatic Corp. I trust you and you alone to accompany me to this. I know it’s not something you are used to, but I will prepare people to teach you the basic according skills needed. This is all you’re going to need to do, and it will impress Father without a doubt. Please, Y/N. Do it for me. Do it for us. I want to marry you and love you. I want to see you dressed in the most gorgeous Empress dress, to have you by my side at the coronation, to see you smile as I put accessories in your hair. I want to see you happy, and I want to see you by my side every day and every night. Screw the rules, the Emperor can do as he pleases in his private time.” the fire inside Yin Zhen’s heart seemed to reach the girl for she merely smiled and, with an unexpected turn of events, she threw her hands around his neck and pulled him down into a deep kiss. “You better abide your own words, otherwise this Empress is going to drive her new hair pin into your jugular vein and have you assassinated in your sleep.” she muttered with a teasing smirk. “That’s the Y/N I love.” and with that, he pulled her into another, and yet another kiss, with as much fire, love and passion as the previous ones.

For the whole month, the girl, getting used to servants and new luxuries in her home, trained in all the skills Yin Zhen’s servants thought necessary, as to become a proper Noble Lady and, as he would always say, His Empress.

As she was practicing her walking on heels through the palace, her maid, Shi Lian, seemed to be in quite the mood for chatting, telling her that the Western Liang delegation came by just earlier that day and that they are carrying this beautiful, exotic precious unique hairpin. However, unexpectedly, a huge crowd started gathering all around the two and the people started pulling and pushing around aimlessly, creating a huge commotion, making her fall on the street. Thankfully, just as she was about to get crashed by an incoming carriage horse, she felt lifted up.

“Are you injured?” the sweet voice of the man who so heroically rescued her called out, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he protectively held her waist. “Thanks to you, I am. Are you my guardian angel or what? I can’t believe how perfectly you arrived to save me.” she put her hand to her chest, trying to calm down. “I had orders to greet the corp. You silly... It’s great fate that I’m here. I’ll bring you back and send for an Imperial Physician to look after you.” he spoke strictly, only for the curtains of the carriage to be harshly drawn away and a glaring woman to stick her head out of the window. “4th Prince, are you going to leave me and the envoys of Western Liang behind?” she scolded in an evil way. “...Yin Zhen, I am alright, I promise. Shi Lian is with me. You said it yourself, this banquet is important, you cannot leave. Go attend your business. I insist.” the girl looked him deep into his eyes, knowing that they always understood each other from their looks. “Fine. But I will leave a guard behind to escort you home. Take care, Y/N.” and thus, with one last look, he left, as Y/N could only smile at how caring and attentive her hero is.

The silly man, however, as expected, dotted so much on her that he called her own father to care for her.

“Miss, looks like 4th Prince really cares about you! Ah, before I forget, the Matron has a massage for you. This afternoon, the Princess of Western Liang will be visiting the Imperial Palace and you are designated as her retinue.” Shi Lian’s sweet and innocent smile quickly disappeared. “Oh... Great. I have to take care of a bitch. May the Heaven watch over me.” Y/N muttered as she leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. “I heard she is pretty aggressive. She’d bully maidens without excuses. She’s fearsome... Miss, you have to be more careful.” the maid held her master’s hands, looking worried at her. “Don’t worry, I can do it. If this is the last step towards success, not even all the torture Wu Zetian went through can stop me.” Y/N’s voice was low, dark and dangerous. She was like a fearsome lioness ready to strike and maul anyone approaching her cub.

The next afternoon, after dressing is soft and demure looking clothes, Y/N went to show the Princess around the Imperial Palace. The load of exotic jewelry would blow away anyone’s mind, but she wasn’t interested in anything except for the fine craftmanship and the great detail put into everything.

“Ah, it’s you who was saved by 4th Prince yesterday morning outside the palace! To think 4th Prince would ignore me because of a slave girl!” the Princess stared at her condescendingly. “I am but a humble Palace maid. Surely 4th Prince would pay his undivided attention to you, Princess.” the girl bowed respectfully in front of the Princess. “I’d love to see what you’ve got! I heard the Tea ceremony of the Great Qing is extraordinary. Blow away my mind!” the Princess ordered immediately.

Thanking Yin Zhen for having all his servants meticulously teach her every art needed, Y/N proceeded in preparing the Tea Ceremony in such an elegant and graceful manner that the Princess was greatly jealous.

“She’s just a slave girl! In what position is she compared with me? Somebody drive her away, I don’t like her!” however, just as she was throwing her tantrum, Yin Zhen’s eunuch came by to invite Y/N to the banquet.

With a smile on her face, she went back to her home to change in the outfit prepared by the 4th Prince himself, and at dusk, when the glowing sunset brought out Yin Zhen’s most handsome features, she saw him. Tiredness was painted on his face.

“Yin Zhen... You look exhausted. Will you be alright?” she asked softly, cautiously raising her hand to caress his face. “I will be, yes. I am merely worried about you... But seeing you like this lifted all my worries. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” saying so, he caressed her hand, kissing it. “I have to look my best when standing besides the most handsome man in the world, correct?” she winked cheekily at him, and thus, they went together inside the palace where the banquet was taking place.

There were songs, and dances, and just about anything you could expect - And there, on display, the precious hairpin of Western Liang, the jewel inlaid to it glistening mesmerisingly.

Seeing her confused look, he explained that the envoys are willing to part with the hairpin as a tribute only if they pass several tests. As it was a matter o Great Qing’s reputation, His Majesty couldn’t possibly refuse.

“Three tests and the hairpin is ours? How arrogant. No matter, I’m sure we can beat them.” the girl scoffed, standing besides Yin Zhen’s seat.

The first test, as expected, was Music. Western Liang sends out an envoy adept in music. The test is rather prompt to the palace and no one is prepared for that, so no one responds. Truly, perhaps she was a master at playing Pipa, and she was beautiful too, but that was not to say some intimidation wouldn’t work on the arrogant and prideful Western Liang.

“How do you like this song, Your Highness?” the girl asked, a proud smile on her face. “Very well. Your pipa is superbly crafted.” the Emperor spoke, making the girl frown, indignant. “You only complimented the pipa. Does that mean you don’t like the song?” the girl asked, offended. “That is an understatement. Though I am not an expert, I can tell the song you played was ingenious. However, and pardon me for being blunt, your skill is quite ordinary.” the 4th Prince commented, making Y/N bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling. “This is the Number 1 ancient tune from Western Liang. Few people in Qara-Hoja can play it. The way I play it is considered sound from Heaven.” the girl was angrily gripping her pipa. “Sound from Heaven? That’s an overstatement! I might as well tell you, a song like that, any Palace maid in the Qing Empire can play.” and thus, Y/N walked forward, holding the beautiful wine pot, as if to serve the pipa player. “Any? Any maid at all? Fine, can YOU play it?” the girl asked, volcanic-like. “No really... But the song you played... I’ve been practicing it since childhood.” and thus, Y/N sat down in place of the Western Liang pipa player and played her own tune with perfect dexterity. “If a Palace Maid can play it, why am I here?” and thus, the first win was awared to the Qing Empire.

With a modest bow, Y/N went back by Yin Zhen’s side, and to the trained eye, it was obvious the both of them were radiating with pride for one another.

The second test is about Poetry. Western Liang’s envoy is rather accomplished in literature, however, no one can defeat Yin Zhen’s outstanding talent.

“Y/N, you write for me. You have beautiful calligraphy and can write fast enough. I trust you.” and thus, the two of you sit down at a table in the middle of the banquet - Yin Zhen pours out elegant line after line, as Y/N carefully writes down the love poem that, no doubt was dedicated to her. An hour elapses and neither admits defeat. No one dares to even breathe heavily, fearing they might disturb the two poets.

Despite everyone’s concentration, the ink maid’s hand trembles just enough to pour ink all over Y/N’s paper and clothes. “What’s your problem?!” Y/N gasped from shock at being covered by the black liquid. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean it!” the maid nonchalantly says as she bows to the groud. “I saw it perfectly. That maid didn’t mean it... But the maid that writes has got such a temper!” unable to say anything, Y/N looked at the Prince who allowed her to quickly go change into another outfit, just as beautiful and chosen by him, and return. That Princess was going to be roasted pork very soon. “Careless as that maid is, this one is only too stupid. They both should be punished, or that’s unfair for 4th Prince.” the evil Princess sneered. “Western Liang is nowhere near the sea, but I have a feeling the Princess of Western Liang lives by the sea.” Yin Zhen retorted immediately. “What does that mean?” the Princess asked, confused, only for Y/N to smirk at her beloved’s silver, witty tongue. To think that this Bitchy Princess would trouble herself with a sea of trivials, despite her affections for him. “Your Highness, I am willing to make up for my mistake and write down what 4th Prince just composed, not missing a single word.” and so she did, shocking the Princess with her fantastic memory and even more, her elegant calligraphy. And thus, Yin Zhen gets easily the 2nd win.

The two then needed a break and went outside, to look at the beautiful moon and feel the chilly breeze of Spring. Y/N, without a care, leaned on Yin Zhen’s, sighing content.

“I know I’m amazing, but to think some bitchy Princess would get jealous of me... That’s something else.” Y/N muttered, clinging lazily on his sleeve. “I know she has ill-intentions towards you. That maid, my men have been tracing her. She is working for the Princess to frame you.” the Prince spoke, aggravated. “Well, good for her. She couldn’t beat us. We are the true perfect match of Heaven and Earth. Nothing can keep us apart.” Y/N scoffed at the lame princess’s intentions, making the Prince chuckle. “Fearless as always. You are incredible.” he commented, simple, but effective. “Oh, you should see yourself, my darling. Do you know what the 3rd test is about?” she asked, only to see him shake his head. “Not sure yet, no. But whatever it is, I fear the Princess would want to be the one to compete against you. She’s just that petty.” the Prince explained, only for a servant to call the two inside.

Apparently, the Princess decided that the last test would be, lo’ and behold, Dancing. It was perfect. She knew just what to do.

“I am just a maid. Never have I thought I’d have the privilege to compete against Her Highness, the Princess of Western Liang.” Y/N bowed in front of the Princess gracefully, only for the Princess to sneer arrogantly. “You don’t deserve it! However... You played a part in the two previous tests. I’d like to see if you really have what it takes, or you are just borrowing help from the 4th Prince. So? You dare not?!” the Princess raised her voice aggressively. “I do have nothing that’s worth mentioning... However, I do believe that dancing should be one of my strengths. Allow me to change into the appropriate outfit for dancing and I shall show you, Your Highness.” and thus, Y/N quickly left the banquet to change into a beautiful Tang dynasty pink outfit the flowed like water around her, highlighting her featured delicately. Her hair, she had the top part in a bun, with beautiful golden hair pins decorated with agate and pearls, and wore agate earrings as well. On her face, despite the gorgeous make up, she had a half mask, outstandingly embellished with different precious gems that would sparkle brighter than the whole Western Liang.

Y/N watched the Princess dancing first - A rather basic dance, beautiful, yet, but of no fantastic feat. Despite all this, all envoys seem to think very little the little Physician girl, and even His Majesty and his Ministers seem to show little faith in her. Understandable, she thought, considering that all her life she strayed away from luxuries and feminine arts and studies.

“Do you see? Looks like you are just a slave girl to everyone! You don’t deserve the competition against me!” the Princess laughed, taunting the girl, who merely smiled. “Then, Your Highness might want to be careful... Because losing to me... It’s really mortifying.” and thus, hearing the Prince reassuring his father that she will win without a doubt, Y/N proceeded in dancing the most beautiful dance.

Lanling Prince in Battle.

Throughout the month, she has been perfecting this dance in front of Yin Zhen, and it was his favourite. Such a tragic love story, of two lovers, their hearts and souls united in life and in death, no matter what. A love story of a woman loving a man so much that she would even march to war to bring him back. A love story of a man so tormented by his wife’s death that he goes insane and destroys everything in his path.

The half mask, symbolizing the beautiful features of the man, and the beautiful face of the woman, a dance that symbolizes their feelings, their love, themselves, the fate, their life - A single dance, a single person, symbolizing two soulmates.

It was the perfect dance, and it was to no wonder that this was their favourite dance... To dance together. Although it was a dance for one person alone, Yin Zhen could never resist embracing her and dancing with her. He couldn’t resist touching her and holding her up in his graces as if she was a Goddess.

It took every ounce of strength the Prince had not to join her in the dance, but as she finished, everyone was so in awe that they forgot to breathe, only to then burst into cheerful and loud applause.

“I... Lost? No... No way... How...?” the Princess was shocked as if by lightning. Absolutely horrified that a slave girl was infinitely better than her. “Do tell me how the Prince helped me here.” Y/N smirked condescendingly at the Princess who started growling. “Y-You...! How dare you?! A stupid slave girl, speaking back to me?! You deserve to be punished!” the Princess started wagging her finger accusatory at her. “Like you wanted to punish the maid who deliberately threw ink on the poem paper, realizing that Western Liang cannot, in this world, beat the Prince’s genius? Is this what Western Liang has to do to win? Cheat and frame? How ridiculous and disappointing.” Y/N shrugged simply, walking by the 4th Prince’s side. “Your Majesty! She wants me to call white black and even sow discord between the two nations! Justice be served, Your Majesty!” the maid shrieked, pointing at Y/N, as the girl sighed, taking off the mask. “I’m the bad guy now, huh?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I got my people, and you don’t have the right to an opinion here. You are from Western Liang.” the Prince, having made a secret investigation earlier, seemed to have enough evidence to get those two into trouble, but now enough to actually create a war. “As virtue rises one foot, vice rises ten. Prince, you are incredible. The maid was going to make you trip. If you had, no matter how beautiful you danced, there was no way you would have won. Still, you were as beautiful as ever. Congratulations, you are the reason behind Qing’s wins. I told you I know why I have faith in you completely.” he praised as he poured her a cup of wine, making her seat next to him and celebrate their win, as the Princess is taken out of the palace to receive punishment when she returns home.

And thus, Western Liang not only lose all 3 tests, but they are also completely humiliated by their Princess’s cheating, and present the hairpin, shamefully.

“Son, you earned this hairpin, I will confer it upon you!” the Emperor handed the hairpin to his son, who bowed his head as a thanks. “I thank you, Royal Father. However, may I ask for another grace? To give it to someone else?” he asked, as the Emperor laughed. “Now that I’ve given it to you, it’s totally up to you.” and thus, as Yin Zhen opens the delicately embellished box, he takes out the hair pin, walking in front of Y/N. “Come here. I promised I will be the one to put accessories in your hair. You earned this, my love.” he said as he put his hand on her waist, kissing her forehead. “U-Uh... Yin Zhen... Everyone is looking at us.” Y/N muttered bashfully, unable to look at him. “Good. I want them to know that you are my wife, and my future Empress, and that if anyone even dares to think of laying a finger on you, they are going to be brutally disposed of.” he smiled sweetly, lifting her chin up with his finger. “Very bold, doing that in front of even your Father. Very good. What a wonderful husband I have.” she chuckled lightly as she was guided outside, to watch the fireworks show. “I already told him I want to marry you. Wasn’t much he could say after today’s wonderful wins. I have to say, you are really good at making people do what you want.” Yin Zhen chuckled lightly, bringing the girl to his chest. “You know what I think? That you talk too much and that you should kiss your wife more often. How’s that sound, My Darling Emperor?” Y/N smirked like a vixen. “I love the sound of that... My Little Physician Empress.”

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knivesareout · 4 years ago

Text

remain devious

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Smut (18!!!+ ONLY), slight sexism, oral sex (f receiving), mild breath play (under negotiated kink).

A/N: My fic for The SL+ Discord™ Fic Exchange! This goes out to the lovely @soyelfuegoquearde who I was graced with writing a fic for and here’s hoping I delivered. 💖

Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Javier Peña’s mouth was going to get him in trouble one day-- if only he’d put it to good use.

---

There weren’t many people who could go toe-to-toe with Javier Peña. You learned the first day on assignment in Bogotá that you could.

The embassy was a quick walk from the apartment complex they’d set you up in and while they had suggested you drive the standard issue bullet proof Jeep they’d provided, mostly for safety’s sake, it seemed like a waste.

A blonde man, who quickly introduces himself as Steve Murphy, was outside to greet you with a strong handshake and a grin. You almost anticipate him to be rude to you out of the sheer fact you were joining the fight late but he seems grateful, explaining to you the ins and outs of the different sectors in the large building that made up the Embassy: the DEA, the Mil Group, and the CIA-- all housed under one roof with a common goal: taking down Pablo Escobar.

“There’s another one, right? We have another partner?” You ask, turning a corner and almost running into a woman who looked beyond frazzled and you apologize quickly before catching up with Steve.

Steve turns over his shoulder to glance at you, a smirk curled on his lips. “Yeah. Peña’s usually late. You’ll meet him. At some point.”

Peña was two hours late.

You and Steve go through six briefs and four cups of coffee between the two of you in the small office shared among your team before your other partner decides to grace you with his presence. Your desk that was once clean was now a disaster with papers scattered and crumpled across the top and you now had a headache slowly creeping between your eyes.

“Well this just looks fucking sad,” a deep voice sounds from the doorway and you snap your head up to glare at the offending noise.

Steve lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “What’s fuckin’ sad is you showing up two hours late and not even bringing us lunch, Peña.”

So this was him.

“Shut the hell up, Murphy. Who is this?” Javi points to you and looks at Steve, waiting on an answer.

“I’m your new partner.” You stand up and fix him with an icy glare. “And you can ask me if you have any questions, Agent Peña.”

He doesn’t respond and walks back out of the room, mumbling something about coffee.

---

You realize quickly that you and Javier are more similar than you would personally like. Word around the office was that he was a bit of a slut and that was something you knew all too well. Your reputation back home was something comparable, the whispers more annoying than they were degrading. Who cared if you liked to have sex? You were a grown ass woman and it was nobody’s business but your own.

And if you hadn’t learned just from the regular old office gossip, you were quick to learn from having your apartment right next to his. The walls were thin, the calls of ‘Más duro, Javi,’ in the dead of night interrupting your sleep more times than you could count.

Javier would walk into the office refreshed, hours late, while you were there, on time, and in desperate need of caffeine.

It wasn’t worth mentioning; at least not at first. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that you could hear his sexual escapades and how he was clearly a fantastic lover. There was a bit of jealousy, just on the surface, because it wasn’t you getting laid and you were sure if you asked him to keep quiet, he would be able to tell immediately that you were hard up.

And while yes, he was getting information from his CIs that was helping in the quest to catch Escobar, that didn’t make it any more bearable. In fact, it made him even more insufferable because he felt like he was doing an extension of his job by sleeping with these women.

It all came to a head three months into your stay in Colombia.

Three nights in a row, Javier had brought women, different women, if the tones of their voices were anything to go by, back to his place. You’d gone into work with dark circles under your eyes after the third night and Steve had long since stopped asking what was wrong after you went off on him a month prior.

After you’d snapped at him and took the time to explain why you were in such a foul mood, he had immediately understood and offered to talk to Javier for you. An idea that you quickly dismissed, as it was your problem and yours alone.

Your head was buried under your arms, the bright lights of the office only serving to make your headache worse. There were two empty cups of coffee stacked on your desk that you’d downed immediately after walking in, Steve having left them there as a peace offering of sorts. He could tell after the second day that you needed the extra help and you had shot him a grateful smile when you’d walked in this morning.

“So, I’ve got a lead,” Javier announces walking into the office only 30 minutes late this time.

“Thank fucking god,” you mumble, picking your head off the desk and swiping at your mouth in case there was any drool from dozing off.

Javier’s head whips towards you, his gaze a mixture of anger and curiosity; like he can’t believe you had the nerve to say anything.

The two of you, at best, tolerated each other. Snarky remarks, quick jabs, and blatantly ignoring the other was how the you two communicated and you knew Steve was getting sick of it. It was a surprise that he hadn’t yelled at either of you over the whole thing but you chalked it all up to his angel of a wife, Connie, helping him keep his temper in check.

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Agent?” Not even on a first name basis, it was how the two of you addressed each other.

You shrug, “Just been hearing a lot of information coming from your apartment every night for the last couple of days. It was about time you got something useful.”

Javi goes to speak but Steve cuts him off with a finger and shoots you a pleading stare that says ‘not another word, please’.

You only keep your mouth shut to appease Steve and sigh, tossing your empty cups into the trash and wait for Javier to spill the information he received.

Javier shoots you a nasty glare before going on to explain something about a brothel in Medellín and some of Escobar’s sicarios. There was a meet up of sorts happening tomorrow afternoon, where you were almost guaranteed to catch Velasco and maybe a few others. Javier distinctly chooses not to look at you when he’s explaining, his information relayed directly to Steve. For whatever reason, this is what seems to break the camel’s back and you stand, beyond irritated.

“Agent Peña, if you have an issue with me then I’m going to need you to be very clear about what it is and why. I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve the freeze out you’ve been adamant about since I got here and frankly, it’s insulting,” you start, chest heaving as you try to keep a level head. “I’m on time every day, without fail. I work just as hard, if not harder, than you do in this wild goose chase and to be treated as anything less is sexist. We all went through the same training, the same courses, to be here. I don’t know what it is about me that bothers you so much but I’m going to need you to get the fuck over it and get with the program if we’re going to get anywhere.”

Your outburst seems to catch him off guard, if his open staring at you is anything to go by. Taking your seat again, you nod for him to continue and he does-- this time making sure you’re included.

Things get better after that and while it’s not quite the comradery you have with Steve, it’s better than it was before and you’ll take it.

Javier now treated you with mild respect and that’s all you had wanted to begin with.

---

The week had been long; tiring and full of false leads. You were sleep deprived and overworked. A chase mid-week that had put you all over Bogotá and left you empty handed was still wreaking havoc on your back a couple days later. Case files were taking over your desk and the thought of looking at even one more had you wanting to scream, the low lights of the office once again giving you a headache that no pain medication seemed to help with.

Javier and Steve were starting to pack up to head out while you sat there, eyes starting to blur as you look at your 5th file in the last hour.

“We’re headed to the bar near the apartment. You wanna come?”

Normally you turned down the invitations Steve extended you, knowing Javi’s nicer attitude probably only extended to working hours only, but you were so desperate to have an excuse to leave that you nod quickly, standing up and sliding on your coat.

“Let’s go. Murphy, you’re buying the first round,” you tell him as you pass by out of the office.

You can hear his laugh behind you as you walk through the empty building, hoping you didn’t just make a mistake.

---

They’re not far behind you but you’re already a drink in when they walk through the front door, Steve finding you tucked in a booth in the back corner already with an empty beer bottle on the table while you’re nursing your second.

“I started a tab in your name, Murphy,” you explain with a grin as a waitress comes by and takes their orders.

Steve grimaces but nods, taking it in stride. “Should’ve figured.”

Conversation is light and superficial and you can tell Steve is working to keep things peaceful and on neutral ground. Javi’s mostly one worded answers are almost worse than the snide remarks from before and you have to take measured breaths not to say anything, for your sake and honestly, Steve’s too.

“Can you let me out? I need to piss,” he asks you and you stand up to let him out, sliding back into the booth and taking Steve’s spot so he can just sit down when he comes back.

It’s silent between you and Javier for a moment, the loud noises of the tv and the bar crowd filling the space until he glances over at you with a curious gaze.

“Did you ever wonder?” He asks without context, sipping at his beer.

You’re taken aback by his question, tilting your head as you try to think of what he might possibly be talking about. “Wonder what?”

“All those nights where you could hear me through the walls. Did you ever wonder what I was doing?”

You almost want to laugh at his question. The fact that he’d been holding on to certain parts of your outburst for months has pride blooming in your chest.

“No, not really,” you tell him easily. “It was pretty easy to just make my own assumptions.

“And what did you assume?”

“That either they were faking it for your sake or you’re actually as good as they say around the Embassy.”

Javier smirks behind his beer and nods, licking his lips to chase the beer that dropped.

“Oh, I’m better than they say,” he promises.

“Prove it.”

You swallow thickly, wondering if you’ve just backed yourself into a corner when Steve comes back, launching into some tangent about Noonan and a new policy she’s putting through. His voice goes in one ear and out the other as you try to focus on anything other than the man to your left. You know Javier will make good on his promise when you feel his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze and you breathe slowly, turning towards Steve with a smile.

“Yeah, agreed. She’s such a hard ass.”

---

You and Javi burst through your apartment door hours later and you silently thank whatever deity there is that Steve lives upstairs and is already home, your moans loud and carrying throughout the lobby before Javi can shut the door behind you.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the first day I saw you,” he admits, tugging at your shirt and undoing a few buttons in his haste to get you naked. His hands are everywhere once your top is pulled down your arms and you feel like you’re burning, the rough calluses on his fingertips creating a delicious drag across your skin.

It’s almost surprising to hear him say he’s thought about you in any context, let alone this one, but you mask your expression and cry out as his mouth finds your shoulder and bites down, sucking so hard you know you’ll be bruised come morning.

“And what did you think about?” You shoot back, arching your chest against his.

The yellow button down he’s wearing is your current nemesis as you fumble your way across the buttons and finally just yank it open at the neck, buttons scattering across the hardwood floors.

Javier grunts at the motion, moving his mouth down your chest, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and pinching it open until the material falls slack on your chest.

“Thought about how loud I can get you to scream my name,” he mumbles, leaning down to capture your left nipple between his lips while his fingers find the right and start pinching in tandem with the work of his mouth.

It’s been months since anyone has touched you other than yourself.

You’d made a promise to yourself before moving down to Colombia that your job was going to be your first and only priority. Work hadn’t leant itself well to finding randoms to sleep with anyhow, mostly keeping to yourself and the few friends you’d made around the Embassy that you’d grab lunch or coffee with in the very little spare time you did have-- so having Javier’s full attention on you, your body, was intoxicating.

“Is that a challenge?” You manage to get out, weaving a hand through his dark hair and tugging him away from your chest, angling his head to look up at you.

His eyes are blown wide, practically black and his hair is a mess but he’s never looked so fucking hot and you hate it.

Javi doesn’t answer your question, just moves up to slot his mouth against yours.

The kiss is angry. Teeth clashing, lip biting, angry. Even his hands feel angry as he tears off your clothes, leaving you naked before him.

Your chest is heaving as you try and catch your breath once Javier pulls away and you place a hand on his chest, making him take steps backward. “My room is back there,” you nod, pulling him in for another quick kiss and pushing him away.

Javier grabs you around the waist, pressing your naked chest to his own and noses against your ear as you both walk blindly towards your room. “I bet I can get you to scream my name so loud even Murphy’ll hear,” he tells you, dragging his nose up the side of your neck and latching his lips on the lobe of your ear.

His challenge makes you laugh and you roll your eyes before walking into your room and laying down on the mattress, crooking a finger towards him.

“Then fucking prove it.”

Javier’s on you in an instant, pushing your legs apart to settle between them. His mouth nips around your stomach, your thighs. Little love bites that you know will serve as a reminder of what a shit head he is, like he’s claiming his territory.

If they didn’t feel so good you’d push him away and tell him to get on with it but his mouth is so warm that you don’t care. Suddenly, you really don’t care that Javier Peña is the biggest fucking pain in your ass so long as he puts his mouth to good use.

His head moves lower and you can feel his hot breath on your pussy, his fingers sliding between the lips and exposing your heat to the cool air. Once his mouth makes contact with your clit, his name slips from your mouth quietly, “Javier.”

“Louder,” he tells you from between your legs while he drags a finger through your slick.

“Don’t get cocky, you-,” you start to warn him, going to kick him in his side until he slides two thick, longer fingers inside of you without warning and your leg goes straight, your head pushing back into the plush pillow behind you and you cry out his name at the feeling of being stretched.

Nothing is comparable to this feeling, no matter how hard you’ve tried and at that moment, you’d sing Javier’s name if he asked you to so long as he didn’t stop.

“More, please,” you whimper. Your eyes are screwed tight and you clutch the pillow behind you in a death grip.

“What was that?” Javi’s tone is smug and you take a breath, willing yourself to just submit to him.

“Please, Javi. More,” you tell him louder this time, voice strained.

He seems to like the sound of that, a third finger sliding home inside of you and you clench around his digits as he starts a steady pace, thrusting them slow and powerful.

The sounds that fill the air are pure filth. The wetness seeping out of you is coating the inside of your thighs and you’re sure you’re dripping onto the blankets beneath you. Javi’s tongue laps at your clit, bringing it into his mouth and sucking harshly.

That feeling is what brings you over the edge. Your body ascends and crashes in the same second and you take a shuddering breath as your cunt pulses long and hard around Javier’s fingers as you cum. Your whole body is buzzing like a live wire, your toes numb.

“What the fuck,” you groan, chest heaving.

“Never doubt me, Agent,” his tone smug.

“Shut the fuck up, Peña.” You push at his head and he laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Javier’s lips trail up your thigh, across your hip and up to your chest where he finally lands on your lips. The kiss is the sweetest it’s been all night and you relish in the languidness of it, the way his tongue sweeps across yours and licks into your mouth like he knows what you want. What you crave.

His cock, hard and rigid, bumps against your hip as he moves and seeks friction, so you slide a hand down his chest to grasp the thickness of him. “Fuck me, Javi,” you whisper as he peppers kisses across your throat and groans when you squeeze him tight. “Prove to me that you’re just as good of a lay as everyone says.”

Your words seem to kick him into gear and he shuffles back away from your touch, leaning back on his legs while he sits between your thighs and takes his cock in hand. His other opens the lips of your pussy and he moves forward just enough to tap the head of his dick against your clit.

“Just fuck me Javi for fucks sake,” you whimper, still sensitive from your previous orgasm and you just want him inside. The teasing was unnecessary but wholly Javier and you curse again when he slowly starts to slide the head of his cock down until it notches against your entrance.

Javier moves slow once he’s fully sheathed inside of you and it’s the best and worst thing to happen to you, you’re sure. The feeling of finally being filled is worth the wait but the way he does it is infuriating because he knows just how good it feels. Javier slides a hand to your shoulder and fixes his dark gaze with your own and it’s over from there.

His pace is like nothing you’ve endured before. The push and pull of Javier’s hips hitting into yours is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the wetness between your thighs now coating his own. He’s sweating as he moves, grunts spilling from his lips, “Fuck your pussy feels so good around me.”

Normally you’d snark out a response but words are hard to form with the way he’s working you over. His cock fits you like a glove, hitting all of the right spots and playing your body like a well tuned instrument. It’s just missing something.

Your hand that was clutching the comforter beside you reaches out to grasp his forearm that’s on your shoulder and you slowly move his hand until it’s cupping your throat. Javier’s pace falters at your movement and he just stares you down, a curious look pointed at you.

You’d overheard at work it was something Javi was into, some water cooler chat you’d walked into only a few weeks prior. One of the CIA girls had been retelling her hook-up story with Javi from months ago to a new hire and they were all eating it up. While you had only passed them by, not managing to hear more details, you still decided to file that information away for later-- a bit surprised that you had something else in common with him after all.

“Two taps if it’s too much,” you tell him, tapping on his arm so he understands and he nods.

Javier’s hand slightly grips your neck, his thumb pressing in on the side and the pressure is delicious and you clench hard around his cock at the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groans out, his hips slowly starting to move again until he finds a rhythm.

His hand doesn’t do much more than lightly press against you but it’s enough. It feels safe, warm around your neck and you know Javier would never hurt you, the unexplained trust of having him as your partner translating now to the bedroom.

You both work in tandem, his hips pushing in and you chasing his as he pulls out only to slide back in. It’s probably the best you two have ever worked together and it’s irony at its finest.

Javier tilts your head back, baring the full length of your throat to him, his thumb tracing along your jaw and you cry out once he hits that spot inside of you that makes your limbs go numb in pleasure. He drags your bottom lip down and you suck his thumb between your lips, lightly scraping your teeth around the digit. He abandons your neck then, using his now wet thumb to press against your clit and that feeling coupled with his thrusts sends you over the precipere, your body baring down and clenching tightly around his cock as you cum.

Your whole body is shuddering, your mouth open as you try and find your breath as Javier continues to pound into you in search of his own release. He finds it just a minute after your own, his mouth dropping to your neck as he groans, hips stuttering as he pulses his release inside of you.

Careful not to just collapse on top of you, Javier rolls to the side and lets out a long breath before turning to you, eyes searching.

“If you’re looking for some sort of regret, you’re not gonna find it Peña,” you tell him, reaching over into your nightstand to find your emergency pack of cigarettes. You offer him the pack but he waves you off, swinging his legs off the side of the bed to stand up while you light up.

You watch as Javier moves around your room, slowly dressing himself. Jeans zipped back up and he’s left shirtless, his top somewhere in your living room missing half of its buttons.

“You want a shirt?”

He nods, “Yeah, that’d be good. Forgot you fucking ruined mine.”

Laughing, you stand and move around Javier to reach into your dresser and pull out a plain white shirt that you normally saved for laundry days. You toss it over to him and lean against your dresser, pulling a drag from the cigarette while you watch him tug it on. The shirt is a little too tight around the chest but it looks good on him and you’re almost sad to see him go. Almost.

“So I’ll see you in the office on Monday?” You ask, putting your half smoked cigarette out on the windowsill and leave it there, making your way out into the kitchen. Javier follows and tugs his boots on, shoving his socks into the pockets of his jeans and he nods.

You’re almost glad that Javier is the first person you’ve slept with while you’re here. He’s not expecting anything more than you are and despite the fact that you two work together, you don’t see any issues coming forward about your night together unless he wants to do it again. The prospect is nice and you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping as you watch him turn to leave.

“Yeah, Monday.” He gives you a salute and a wink. “I’ll see ya, Agent.”

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doctorreids · 4 years ago

Text

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FIVE - my tears ricochet

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 1.9k

warnings: talk of addiction/grief/mental health/loss of a parent & a lot of angst

summary: reader and spencer remember the fight that broke them in half.

“even on my worst day, did i deserve babe, all the hell you gave me?”

Y/N

It would be an understatement to say that she was having a bad week. 2 months after her father’s passing, the BAU was faced with a killer targeting fathers and daughters.

She promised them she was fine, and she tried to convince herself that she was fine too but she really wasn’t. She didn’t venture to the M.E’s office or the crime scenes, instead, she waited for families to arrive.

JJ was sitting beside her as mother’s, brother’s, and son’s filtered in and out of the small office in the station. She sat there and wrote down all they had to tell them, her grip on her pen made her hand cramp. Listening to mothers recall how close the fathers were with their daughters, how inseparable and connected they were, broke her.

Splashing cold water on her face in the bathroom, she looked in the mirror to find someone she didn’t recognise. Tear stains graced her skin, mascara lying underneath her eyes. She hadn’t truly processed how not-fine she was.

She told herself that she had mourned, the funeral had come and passed, the headstone had been placed and her childhood home packed up into millions of boxes. Just when she thought she was beginning to move forward with her life, grief came back again. That kind of grief that makes you numb, your senses dulled, and the world a lot more grey than it was that morning. Just when she thought she’d cried enough tears, there’s always more to be shed.

She wasn’t altogether too sure what she was crying for; her own father or for those children, knowing the last thing they saw and heard was their father crying out for them.

She kept looking at the girl she didn’t know. She looked so alone, so small. She’d lost weight, a little bit at least. She looked absolutely exhausted, lack of sleep apparent under her eyes. Her cheeks were hollowed out, she’d lost weight.

Every day she covered the pain she carried with a smile and her head held high. Some days the facade slipped. That was this day.

It was a constant battle, a thin line between sanity and losing it all. The tension between her and Spencer didn’t help.

They’d been arguing over small things. Things that you can’t really remember days later, but matter at the time. Somedays he looked at her like she would shatter into a million different pieces, other days it was completely blank.

The love she used to see had dimmed. Not gone, but the light she once saw was slowly losing its fire. The passion was no longer there too; he didn’t touch her as he used too. No squeezing her hand in the back of the jeep, no wrapping his arms around her while she made breakfast nor did he leave lingering kisses on her neck.

She had conditioned herself into numbness, blocking out any sense of feeling or emotion. The walls she had built around her were supposed to keep out any impending attacks, but there were cracks. Sometimes the walls would tumble down, sometimes they would hold steadfast and strong.

There was only so much she could take.

“we gather stones, never knowing what they’ll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring.”

The stopping of the car woke her from her daydream. It was growing dark outside, a humid, clammy July night. Spencer didn’t speak a word to her as he closed the car door and walked towards his apartment building.

Steps behind him, she could see the tension in his shoulders.

He’d annoyed her. He dismissed her theory about the unsub possibly being a son who felt overlooked by his father (she came to be right) with such animosity the whole team was left stumped by the coldness he’d regarded her with.

She tried to chalk it up to him having a bad day, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but then he treated similarly the next day and the day after that.

He was her home and she felt locked out in a thunderstorm, rain pouring down on her. She didn’t know what to do. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked quietly as he put on a pot of tea.

He sighed in response.

“Spencer?” She moved towards him.

He exploded, “Just stop. Please, just fucking stop.”

“Spencer I-“

“What? Are you going to tell me ‘I told you so’ or tell me how much I messed up, huh? ‘Cause I already got that from Hotch, and I certainly don’t need it from you.”

“Excuse me? Why in the world would I ever do that? Is that what you think of me?”

Silence fell between them.

“Just drop it.” He looked completely dejected.

“You know what? I’m not going to just ‘drop it’. You’ve been acting like a complete stranger and I’m sick and tired of coming home to someone that won’t talk to me. I thought we could tell each other anything, Spence.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

It was quiet, but she heard it.

“What?”

Silence.

“You’re kidding me, Spencer. I cannot believe you.” she scoffed.

“It’s not like you tell me anything nor do I think you care about what I have to tell you.”

She had, for so long, felt as though she was living in a glass house - watching everyone from behind a thin sheet of glass. Caged in and lonely, she had nowhere to go. He threw the stones that broke her defences, shattered them to tiny pieces.

His words sliced through her. She stood there for a moment, silent and dejected.

“I don’t tell you anything? I don’t care about you?” Her voice was quiet.

He didn’t reply.

“I have been trying to tell you for weeks now, how much I love you, how I will always be here for you,” She continued, “I’ve been trying to tell you to talk to me, yet you never seem to want to. I’ve tried to tell you that I needed you.”

“Needed?”

“What?”

“You used the past tense. You don’t anymore.” He said matter-of-factly.

She laughed sourly, “That's all you took from that?”

Once again, she was met with silence.

“Do you really have nothing to say to me? Nothing at all that could possibly explain to me what the hell is going on with you? Because for the life of me, Spencer, I cannot figure it out.”

“you turned into your worst fears and tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years.”

SPENCER

The morning of the case, he’d gotten a call to say that his mother’s health was deteriorating. She wasn’t taking her medication and was refusing help.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Hotch.

If there was anyone he wanted to tell it was Gideon. And Gideon was gone.

He knew that it was strange that for someone who could never stop talking at times, he couldn’t find the words to even begin to describe how he was feeling.

Alone. Scared. Angry. Suffocated. Numb. Overwhelmed.

Everything he knew was crumbling around him; his relationship with Y/N, his mother’s health, and himself. He was constantly feeling as though he hadn’t accomplished any of the things that he and others expected him to do.

He felt like a disappointment and it crushed him. He didn’t understand how he was surrounded by such loving, caring people. He couldn’t even reciprocate their love properly.

He thought about taking Dilaudid again. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.

Addiction followed him like a dark cloud. He’d been to support group meetings whenever he could but that didn’t stop the urge to want to disappear again, feel something for once. He just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He constantly felt like he was falling and falling with no end in sight. Dilaudid gave him the release he couldn’t find in real life.

He’d feel the urge then he’d look up, he’d see her and that feeling disappeared.

So, he took his frustrations out on her.

It was wrong and he knew it but he felt like she didn’t notice him anymore. Like she didn’t see that he was drowning, that he was so far removed from everyone.

What he didn’t take into account was that she was too.

He didn’t have anything to say when she asked him to explain, he truly didn’t. Nothing he could’ve said could have justified or properly explained how he was feeling and how he was acting. Anything he could have said would have made her feel guilty like it was her fault. And it wasn’t. He knew that now as she stood before him, hot tears ran down her cheeks.

He realised he couldn’t blame her for anything. He couldn’t even blame himself.

He swallowed harshly, he could see in her eyes the pain his words caused. But he was engulfed in flames, a fire he couldn’t put out.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“God, I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

‘So much’, he thought, ‘and none of it’s your fault I promise, my love.’

“Spencer, I’m done fighting.”

He was losing her. His worst fear was coming true and he was frozen. Completely immobile. He didn’t know what to do. He’s panicking so he reaches for the only thing he can.

“Can we just talk about this some other time?”

She laughs. It’s bitter.

“Some other time? When will that be Spencer? Cause, frankly, I’m sick and tired of waiting.”

“Just some other time. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Can’t deal with what?”

He loaded his gun and he fired.

“You.”

Now she was silent. The sound of both their hearts breaking filled the room. It killed him to push her away and it killed her to hear it from him.

The room grew cold. Both of them stood in their trenches, no man’s land in between them. He took the first step. She immediately retreated.

“Y/N I-“ He stopped as he met her eyes, emotionless and dead.

“Save it, Spencer,” she mumbled, tears rolled down her cheeks.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and swipe them away, scoop her up in his arms and hold her tightly. He spent every day fearing that he would lose her and here he was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen in his nightmares - no crazed killer. Instead, he was the one that pushed her away. Realisation flooded his body as he saw her pull her arms around her body; she only did that when she was overwhelmed.

“Please, my love, I didn’t mean-“

“You’ve done enough.” The calmness in her voice sent a chill down his spine.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door slam. Then he let his guard down, floored by the sobs that racked his body.

He knew he had messed up but he didn’t know where else to go. He felt caged in, trapped in his own maze.

His vision of their future was destroyed the second his apartment door slammed. His plans to make sure there was a diamond ring on her finger by the end of the year were demolished, the visions of little Y/N’s and Spencer’s faded into nothingness.

He had ruined everything and he didn’t know how to fix it

------

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#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reidxfolklore

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argylemnwrites · 4 years ago

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Fight or Flight - Chapter 12: Forward

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4800

Rating: PG (language only)

Summary: Two weeks since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: I’m back! And I hope to stay back and posting! It’s been a while since the last chapter, so as a quick refresher - Hana has been named Duchess of Valtoria by King-Regent Rashad, Amalas was somehow able to track down the Walkers in Xanthi, Greece (and wants to turn that knowledge into an alliance), and the Walkers are heading onto Athens as their options for survival as fugitives are not looking great.

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Hana glanced around the palace ballroom, taking in the groups of people milling about the room. In so many ways, tonight was just like any other ball or gala. How many events had she been to in this room over the past three years, with mostly the same guests, the same food, and the same music? But tonight was different. Not only was this ball being thrown in her honor, welcoming her as Cordonia’s newest duchess, but it was the first event she’d attended without Riley by her side. Since that opening masquerade ball of Liam’s social season, they’d always been together for every formal event. But not tonight. Tonight, she was back to doing things on her own.

She stood over towards the front of the room, greeting the last of the nobility and well wishers. Soon, the dancing would start. It was strange how everything felt routine and totally different at the same time. She supposed that when Rashad gave a speech acknowledging her new title, things would really seem different. But for now, it was just a weird mix of emotions she was trying so hard to keep at bay as she shook hand after hand, nodded politely over and over again, and kept a gentle smile locked in place.

“Congratulations!” Penelope squealed, scurrying across the ballroom and throwing her arms around Hana, “This is so exciting! Isn’t it exciting, Zeke?”

Ezekiel nodded briskly and gave Hana a small little smile as he held out his right hand for her to shake, “Yes. Congratulations, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, both of you,” Hana replied, giving a nod that she hoped conveyed the right blend of gratitude and authority. She needed her first appearance as a duchess to go well for many reasons.

She knew intellectually that her appointment as the Duchess of Valtoria was a desperation move from Rashad. His first week and a half as king-regent had been far from smooth and calm. The groups of protesters in front of the palace had grown in number every day, the citizens of Lythikos were organizing, and the unrest in Valtoria was spilling into neighboring lands. Rashad had needed to do something, but as a temporary leader, making changes that were too aggressive would be poorly received and could possibly worsen the protesting. He had to walk a very fine line, and presenting Hana as a new regional leader looked like he was taking action without actually requiring him to stick his neck out and take a stand. For someone who hated courtly politics, his maneuver was pretty brilliant.

But because of the fact that her appointment to duchess was done by an interim leader, Hana knew she would be subjected to increased scrutiny. Not just from Barthelemy’s allies, who would likely object to the title going to someone with known close ties to the Walkers and to Liam, but also from Liam’s supporters, who were likely to object to any use of the powers of the monarch by Rashad, someone they considered an illegitimate king-regent. Part of her worried that she was being set up to fail, albeit unintentionally.

Still, she knew she was ready for this. She had prepared her whole life to hold a title at this level. She had trained and studied and practiced for years. This was the job she had been preparing for since she was a child. Granted, she had been taught that she would rise to this title through marriage, was told that her job would be to be a diplomat behind the scenes, supporting a husband in his role. But the concept was the same, even though this title was hers and hers alone. And maybe it was crazy and naive, but there was a part of Hana that felt proud. Someone had seen her talents and skills and contributions to Valtoria and decided to recognize them. No, to recognize her.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Given the method of her appointment, she was likely going to need to prove herself over and over again. Her mother had seen fit to remind her of that twice already this evening, as if that wasn’t already running through her brain constantly. If she was even a mediocre duchess, so many would get hurt. Rashad would find it difficult to gain any support to make any decisions if his first major one proved to be a poor choice. Liam’s bid to reclaim the throne would be damaged if one of his known close associates was an unpopular and ineffective duchess. And probably most importantly, the people of Valtoria deserved some stability and support in a time of national upheaval.

As much as Hana felt for Riley and Drake and understood why they made the choices they did for their family, she also felt for the citizens of Valtoria acutely. They didn’t ask to have their duchess and duke abandon them, did nothing to deserve this degree of political instability. Of course, that could probably be said for all the citizens of Cordonia. A power struggle amongst the nobility had triggered the loss of the country’s heir to the throne and a power vacuum that was going to leave them without stable national leadership for months. The whole thing made her feel almost ill to think about, but all she could do at this point was do her best to serve Valtoria and it’s citizens with her whole heart and mind.

“How are you doing, Hana Banana?” Maxwell’s hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her moment of introspection. She gave him a smile, accepting the glass of champagne he offered her and tapping it lightly against his.

“Tonight has been… a lot,” she said after taking a sip of her drink.

“Tell me about it. It feels like it was just yesterday that we were here for Riley’s ball, naming her the Duchess of Valtoria.”

Hana hummed lightly at that, and suddenly, Maxwell was rambling.

“Not that you took it from her or don’t deserve the title or anything! Because you absolutely do! Like, you are so wise and smart and crazy talented and -”

“-Maxwell, I know what you meant. I was just thinking about how I could do without a recreation of the end of that night.”

“Oh. Yeah. Me too. To be fair, I don’t think my dad’s hired a bunch of assassins. Of course, I didn’t think he was plotting a coup underneath my nose either, soooo…” Maxwell trailed off with a little shrug.

Hana glanced over, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “I feel like we haven’t had much of a chance to talk. How are you doing with everything?”

He shrugged again and took a sip of his champagne. “Yeah, I haven’t been able to get away from Ramsford really at all this week. Bertrand is losing his mind prepping for Dad’s inevitable attempt to forcibly retake his title. He’s hunkered down in the west wing, while Dad’s taken the east. Bertrand’s already fired about one third of the staff because he’s caught them over on Dad’s side for no good reason, so Dad’s taken to firing staff he’s sure are loyal to Bertrand in retaliation. Soon, it’ll just be the three of us. Actually, the five of us. Savannah and Bartie get back tomorrow.”

“Have you decided whether to give her Drake’s number yet?” Hana asked, making sure she kept her voice low. Ever since Savannah had booked the tickets back for her and Bartie, there had been a bit of a debate over whether or not she should receive a burner phone and be told how to get in touch with her brother. Olivia firmly believed there were already too many people who knew, whereas Maxwell brought up that it was wrong to prevent her from talking to her brother when she was only coming back to Cordonia earlier than planned to help Bertrand fight his father’s bid to reclaim the title of Duke of Ramsford. He insisted that meant she had already proven herself a trusted ally, while Olivia remained unconvinced. Both Hana and Liam had taken a more neutral stance on the matter, but he had expressed to her that he didn’t think it boded well for them that their group was already facing such strong differences of opinion. Quite frankly, it was a significant sticking point that felt like it could implode at any moment.

Maxwell shook his head. “Not right away at least. Bertrand honestly is so engrossed with trying to align support for his claim to our head of house title that I don’t think he’s even realized we’re in contact with Drake and Riley at this point. When I talked to Savannah, she was pretty worried about him, so I don’t think she’d want to risk hurting his chances by talking to known ‘traitors and fugitives’ at this point.”

All of it just made Hana sad. More families torn apart by this scheme, more pain and paranoia in all of their lives. “Well, that will make Olivia happy at least.”

“One can only hope. She’s been in fine form lately.”

He wasn’t wrong. It seemed like Olivia’s small reserve of patience was used up on dealing with Liam and Leo. She hadn’t lashed out at Hana yet, but the only thing Hana had done to annoy her was arrange that meeting with Kiara, and all was quickly forgiven when Hana told her she had fostered a line of communication on that front. Maxwell, on the other hand, seemed to annoy her regularly even at baseline.

“She just has a lot on her plate, Maxwell.”

“I know, I know. But that shouldn’t give her the right to take it out on us.”

“It doesn’t, but right now I think we are all just trying to hang on and hope for the best we can.”

“Yeah, well here’s hoping for better soon.” And with that he clinked his glass against hers yet again. “Speaking of better, do you need me to cause a distraction so you can sneak out and chat with Kiara?”

She shook her head. “No, Hakim is officially representing their family tonight. She texted me that he is on high alert and that it would be too risky for us to meet tonight. She’s coming alone next week.”

“Ahh, for social season kickoff, take two?”

“Yes, so I should be able to speak to her then.”

“What do you think her endgame is? Or Hakim’s?”

Hana tilted her head to the side and let out a small sigh. She’d speculated endlessly for the past week, ever since her meeting with Kiara, but every idea felt just as improbable as the one before it. “I honestly don’t have a clue, Maxwell.”

“That’s alright, even you are allowed to not know the answers every once in a while,” he said, winking at her. “Now, come on. We’ve been moping here for too long. Tonight is your night, Hana! So what do you say? Dancing? More drinks? Grab some food? Or did I hear someone suggest dancing?”

She smiled, grateful that Maxwell understood the power of a morale boost and proud that he was still able to cheer up those around him, even as his family was falling apart before his eyes. “Maxwell, would you do me the honor of the next dance?”

“Why, Your Grace, it would be my honor,” he replied with a flourish, grabbing her champagne flute and placing both their glasses on an empty tray before accompanying her onto the dance floor.

As they settled into the rhythm of the song, Hana gave Maxwell’s hand a friendly squeeze. “Thank you, Maxwell.”

“For what?”

“For still being you.”

He beamed brightly at that. “Same to you, Hana. Definitely same to you.”

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

Liam stood off to the side of the ballroom, nursing a glass of water. It was his first public appearance in about a week and a half, and even though he had never had a problem handling his liquor, the last thing he needed tonight was to have his judgement at all altered or impaired. This whole evening was going to be stressful enough without having to worry about imbibing just a little too heavily.

He knew it was important for him to be here. He needed to be seen again, to show strength and resilience and fortitude to any who might doubt him. Additionally, Hana was one of his dearest friends, and he wanted to be present to support and celebrate her. This night was key for a variety of reasons.

However, that didn't change the fact that tonight was just plain hard. He was surrounded by people he knew he could no longer trust. How many of them were plotting against him at this very moment? Were whispering how pleased they were about recent events over their drinks? Were watching him closely, latching onto any change of his expression as a sign of his suffering?

Other than Olivia, Leo, Hana, Maxwell, and Bertrand, people seemed to be steering clear of Liam tonight. It was clear they had no concept of how to handle interacting with him at this point. His circumstances were fairly unprecedented. Sure Leo had abdicated, but that had been his choice and he hadn't been the reigning monarch when he made that decision. Additionally, he had left the country for months after his abdication. But Liam was still here, in the heart of it all, after being stripped of the crown.

He wasn't used to having so much time to himself, both at formal events such as tonight's ball, and just in general. In the simplest sense of the word, he was unemployed. And while some, such as Leo, seemed to thrive without the pressure and responsibility that came from having professional duties, Liam was finding he didn't much like having… well, nothing. He had no career, no obligations, no partner, no children. He just… was. He existed.

He knew he needed to shake off this attitude. The social season would be officially, finally, starting in one week, and he needed to hit the ground running. He was essentially going to be campaigning for many months. The issue was that he had no desire to campaign. He had been born into his role and raised to serve Cordonia's people since he was a child. He wasn't supposed to have to fight to even have a chance to put that training to use.

Taking another sip of his water, he leaned against the bar, just watching as the rest of the nobility talked and laughed and enjoyed themselves. If he had opted for whiskey instead of water, he would have been doing a good Drake impression. Well, a Drake-of-several-years-ago impression. Ever since Bridget's birth, or maybe even Riley's pregnancy, Drake had been much more engaged at events like this one. Now that he had more time to contemplate that fact, he wondered how much of that came from Drake's own personal growth and opening up and how much of it was forced on him by the nature of Bridget being named heir to the throne.

He scanned the room slowly, his eyes eventually settling on Olivia dancing with his brother. She was wearing a grey dress, not a red one for once. He supposed that was a testament to how much she had come to respect Hana over the years - she had decided to forego her signature color and instead wore a less eye-catching one so that Hana could own the spotlight on her night. Eventually, the song came to an end. Liam watched as she laughed and rolled her eyes at something Leo said before stepping off to the side and making her way over to the bar. She slid up next to him, requesting a glass of Bordeaux before she turned to talk to him.

“So, how are you… uh, doing?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her awkward attempt at emotional comfort. She was trying, had been trying for days, in fact. But Olivia was just not well suited for gentle emotional soothing. Tough love was much more in her wheelhouse. It was nearly disconcerting that she wasn’t using tough love, he realized. He must not be coping as well as he wanted to be if this was the approach she was taking.

“I will admit that it is strange to be back here without my title. Coming to an event here, not hosting an event here is even more unsettling than I thought it would be. Of course that could be in part due to the fact that the exact same menu, music, and decor that was used for Riley’s ball welcoming her to the nobility is on display.”

“Did your assistant not think it might be wise to change it up at all?” she asked as she accepted her glass of wine from the bartender with a nod.

“I’m guessing Rashad didn’t care to make any changes, and Stefan isn’t exactly motivated to enhance the perception of Rashad as a leader. After all, he stayed on to help him at my request.”

“Touché.” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Of course, this Duchess of Valtoria seems far less likely to leave her citizens and her country in a lunch by fleeing and abandoning her post.” Liam regretted the words as soon as he said them. The look Olivia was giving him was an unbearable mixture of pity and frustration. “Sorry, you know I didn’t mean that.”

“Liam…”

“Okay, I might have kind of meant it, but I don’t want to mean it. I am trying not to mean it. At the very least, it wasn’t something I should have said aloud.”

She paused for just a moment, running her bright red nails along the side of her wine glass before responding, “Maybe it would be helpful to frame your frustrations with those two differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, instead of being mad as hell that Riley didn’t take her responsibilities to Cordonia seriously, maybe be more frustrated that someone as impulsive as her took on all those responsibilities knowing she would never be able to stay true to them. It makes the whole thing seem a little more abstract and annoying, less personal and infuriating. At least, it does for me.”

He frowned at that. Her strategy was an interesting one, but he wasn’t sure it was going to help with the storm of emotions he was trying to keep locked away tonight. “I’m not saying you are wrong, but Olivia, the only reason she carried that title was because I offered it to her.”

“She could have turned it down. Don’t put this on yourself.”

Liam didn’t know if that was exactly a fair assessment. Of course Riley could have rejected his offer of the duchy, just like Drake and her could have turned down his request to name their child heir to the throne. But he had been the one who decided that she was a good fit to be Duchess of Valtoria, that they were good options to raise the next King or Queen of Cordonia. With the benefit of hindsight, those decisions looked terrible, so wildly ill-conceived and poorly executed. How had he convinced himself that both those choices had been for the best?

He’d been so focused on being a compassionate, trusting king. He hadn’t wanted to turn into his father, cold and calculating, seeing enemies around every corner. But maybe he had swung the pendulum too far in the opposite direction and become overly trusting and complacent. Would anyone else in his position have made the choices he made? More often than not these, he doubted that many of his decisions as king were sound.

His silence must have made Olivia uncomfortable, because she wrapped a hand around his wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Liam, come on. Forget I said anything. You know I’m not great at the whole pep talk, emotional support thing. It was probably bad advice.”

Liam shook his head, feeling a sad sort of smile tug across his face, almost against his will. “No, I think it was good advice, Liv. It just has given me a lot to think about.”

“Liam…”

“I’m fine. I just am going to take a walk and clear my head.” With that, Liam set down his empty glass of water and turned around, walking out towards the doors and into his mother’s gardens. He knew he needed to be moving forward, not dwelling on the past like he was at the moment. The social season was only a week away, and with it came his bid to reclaim his title. Still, it was hard to be energized and optimistic about that prospect when all his failures and shortcomings seemed more numerous and prominent than they had ever been in the past. Or maybe he was simply more aware of them at this point. Either way, he couldn’t help but question how he was going to convince other nobles that he deserved the crown when he barely felt like he could convince himself.

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

Riley tensed as she heard the door creak open. Even though she was expecting Drake back around this time, she still half expected it to be Greek authorities, Montoressan spies, or Cordonian agents bursting through the door of their hotel room, ready to arrest her and take her baby away.

But it was Drake on the other side of the door. She let out a little sigh of relief when she saw his face. He, on the other hand, frowned. “What are you still doing up?” he asked as he closed and locked the door behind him. He kept his voice quiet, clearly not wanting to wake up Bridget.

Riley just shrugged. The truth was that whenever Drake went out, she was scared. Scared that he would be found and picked up and extradited back to Cordonia. Scared that she would be left alone in a country where she didn’t speak the language with a 10 month old baby. Scared that her family was going to be torn apart. But she couldn’t tell that to Drake, not when he was the only thing keeping them afloat. She knew him. He was already carrying enough stress without having to soothe her panicked and frazzled nerves every time he left to go earn them a little cash.

They had been in Athens about a week now, but Riley and Bridget had not left the hotel since they checked in. Bridget seemed to have resigned herself to the fact that her life now did not extend beyond these four walls and was usually content to play with her blocks or to listen to Riley read her the same three picture books over and over, which was both a blessing and mad depressing. Drake, however, had been venturing out daily, looking for places that would hire him under the table, without checking his ID or anything that might get them caught. She’d had to coach him on how to find these jobs, having looked for cash paying jobs many times when she needed to make rent back in New York. In some respects, it might have been better for her to be the one to go out job hunting since she had more experience, but they’d decided she was way more recognizable than Drake, particularly now that he had grown a beard to make facial recognition harder. Her inability to speak more than eight Greek phrases also clearly made Drake the better option.

He hadn’t had any luck the first four days, but then he found a restaurant owner who was willing to pay him straight cash every night to work as a dishwasher. Sure, the hourly pay was garbage and he didn’t get home until very late, but he also got to bring home leftovers every night, which meant that they had to spend less money on food. At this point, even slowing their bleeding of their minimal money supply was essential, particularly since the social season hadn’t even started yet, which meant that the earliest the Conclave could happen would be almost six months from now. Riley honestly didn’t know how they were going to feed themselves for that long, much less find shelter in the winter.

It’s not like Riley had never known poverty or living paycheck to paycheck before. But doing it now, with her baby girl, just felt so much more draining and awful. Bridget was just a kid, she didn’t ask for any of this, and she definitely didn’t deserve to suffer. But there was little Riley could do to make things better other than try and keep things happy and joyful when they were playing. Drake was doing everything else.

He handed her a bag of food before stripping out of his shirt and going to wash it in the bathroom. She peeked inside, seeing some dolmadakia, some bread, and some sort of chicken. A decent variety tonight. Trying not to rustle the bag too loudly, she pulled out some of the food and started eating, making sure to take less than half. She was sure Drake was lying when he told her he didn’t need much because he ate at the restaurant. She’d worked enough shitty, under the table jobs in her time to know that eating while on the clock was the quickest way to get yourself fired.

“So,” Drake said as he came out of the bathroom, taking off his pants and folding them neatly before climbing into the other side of the bed. “Olivia texted me while I was at work. She has a possible plan to get us our passports and some money, but she wanted to run it by us first.”

Riley knew her eyebrows had practically shot up to her forehead as she took in his statement. She handed him the bag with the rest of the food, turning onto her side to face him fully. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, Leo’s been back in Cordonia since we… uh… left. But he’s planning to take off before the social season kicks off.”

“Okay?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to spend a few days in Athens, taking in nightlife and clubs, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Riley wasn’t sure what to make of that. She always found Leo friendly and easy to talk to, but she’d heard enough stories to know that he was exactly the most responsible man on the planet. “You know Leo better than me, Drake. Is this a good idea?”

Drake let out a long breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he answered, “I don’t know, Walker. Him being here would not raise too many alarm bells, but he sometimes can draw the attention of the paparazzi - the “Party Prince” is usually good for a scandal or two, that sort of shit. And uhh, well… let’s just say I would count on him being an hour late if we went to meet him somewhere.”

“So not exactly your first choice to hold on to our passports then?”

“Not so much, no.”

Riley chewed on her lip for just a moment, her hand gently running over the back of Bridget’s head. She was sound asleep, nestled on the bed between them. Even though this hotel had a crib for them to use, Riley just couldn’t bring herself to fall asleep without her daughter right next to her. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”

Drake shook his head. “We need money, Riley. Badly. I don’t know if Olivia is financing this or what, but I don’t think it matters anymore. We aren’t going to make it until January at this rate. Hell, I don’t think we’ll make it to September.”

She reached over and gave his wrist a little squeeze. He was trying to do so much to keep them surviving on their own. She knew it was killing him that they were having to take this risk, to potentially get themselves caught in some weird clandestine meetup with a former prince in order to get some more cash and their passports so that they could try and get forgeries made. It really was their best chance at being able to hide out through the Conclave.

“Well, then let’s do it. Work out the details with Olivia and get what we need to try and keep going.

Drake stared at her for just a brief moment before giving her a little nod. There wasn’t really much to say. All they could do was keep moving forward, day by day. So, Riley slid down into her pillow, finally ready to get some sleep now that she knew Drake was back and safe. The last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered closed was Drake letting out a heavy sigh before reaching into the bag of food.

Permatag: @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @yaushie @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99 @twinkleallnight

FoF: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trh au #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #trr au fanfic #trh au fanfic #choices fanfiction #king liam #hana lee #olivia nevrakis #maxwell beaumont

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fanficfeeling · 5 years ago

Text

Lovely - Jaskier x Reader

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at a fanfic in quite a few years, because for whatever reason, 2020 has brought with it a whole lot of inspiration, and I’m so excited to write again! I also recently binged The Witcher, and I’m crushing big time on Jaskier, so that felt like a good place to start! I’m very rusty, so I would appreciate feedback, but please be gentle on this returning writer. I’m so proud of how this piece went after not writing for about three years, I may even make a part 2 to this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Y/N is finally beginning to make a good living doing odd jobs in her hometown when she meets Geralt of Rivia. He shows up to deal with some odd beast in the woods nearby, and Y/N is happy to offer her assisting services to the Witcher, who eventually can't ignore her offer anymore when he realizes he needs the assistance of someone who knows the area better than he does. Y/N assists him with little fuss, because it's what she does, and maybe, just maybe, the townspeople will toss her a coin too for helping him when all is done (turns out, they never do). When it seems that he actually doesn't mind her presence or her help, she asks to come with him when he leaves her small corner of the world, because maybe she can make an even better living going where he goes, since it seems all he does is follow trouble. Oddly enough, he agrees to the arrangement.

They quickly became an excellent silent tag team of sorts. He goes to the newest monster, and Y/N follows him to wherever they reign devastation, to offer any help she can to those in need, temporarily. He gets the coin for his end, she gets the coin for hers, and they pool it, making more than enough coin for them both, and somehow helping people along the way.

Y/N's new life is good, at the end of the day, with good money, fulfilling work, and decent company to fill her days, and this peace goes undisturbed for quite a good while. That is, until Jaskier catches up with Geralt.

The pair stopped at an inn after moving on from their last area in need, and, as per usual, they ordered their drinks and sat in a corner in near total silence, enjoying some peace and quiet after witnessing a whole lot of suffering.

"Geralt! So wonderful to see you, I've really been looking for you everywhere, I have a request to make of my dear friend." The brunette bard slides onto the seat next to Geralt, and the Witcher grunts in protest.

"Jaskier."

The bard appears to mock offense, "How lovely to see you too, Geralt! And here I was hoping you'd been missing me-" He trails off as he lays his eyes on the lady sitting across from him, and his mouth drops open in awe quickly. The lady shifts uncomfortably as he stares, and her eyes quickly shift to her travelling companion.

"Geralt, do you... know this man?"

The Witcher grunts once again uncomfortably, "Unfortunately."

Jaskier speaks once again, never able to keep his mouth shut for long, "C'mon, Geralt aren't you going to introduce us? Me, your best friend in the world and this stunning woman who I can only hope is also just your friend and also not insane like your taste in women usually implies?"

Geralt stares at him blankly, hoping on everything holy the bard would move on and not try to "woo" his new partner in crime, but he knew that was highly unlikely, so he settled on giving him this; "Y/N, this is Jaskier, not my friend. Jaskier, Y/N, my travelling companion."

Jaskier decided quickly enough that that mediocre introduction would suffice, and took it from there.

"Hello, fair Y/N, Geralt does me no service. I'm Jaskier, a bard some would say of exceptional talent, I wrote 'Toss a Coin to Your Witcher', ever heard of it? I'm sure you have, it's about him!" He breaks briefly to jam his thumb in Geralt's direction, "And may I just say, you are very lovely and I hope that when he says that you're his 'travelling companion', he doesn't mean you're sleeping with him, because I would love to buy you a drink this evening."

Y/N is caught off guard by Jaskier's quick mouth and forward language, but she has to admit, the man is not unappealing. Despite his initial, uncomfortable staring, his eyes are soft as he looks at her, not menacing, and his words don't seem disingenuous; she could bet money on the fact that he really does think she's lovely. As much as she enjoys Geralt's company, she could of course do with some company that wasn't miserable or silent, and Jaskier brought a smile to her face in a way no one had for a while. Besides everything else, he's attractive, and the first man in a long time, if ever, to show genuine interest in her like this.

Once over her shock, she smiles at him. "Alright, Jaskier, I'm almost at my limit for tonight, but I suppose one more drink really couldn't hurt, if you must insist." Feeling bold with his genuine flirtations, she takes a chance and throws a wink his way, punctuating her sentence with it.

The change in atmosphere is sharp as a grin lights up Jaskier's entire face, one that makes Y/N's heart have palpitations as her stomach flops, and for the first time since Y/N met him, Geralt is stunned, and nearly drops his drink. Jaskier, lighting up the whole room with his smile, doesn't take his opportunity for granted.

"Right! Excellent! So glad you feel that way! I will order you a drink, and in return I want to know more about you, deal?"

Y/N can't help but feel lightheaded at the idea of this man really wanting to get to know her. "Deal."

Without questioning his luck, Jaskier quickly runs off to fulfill his end of the deal, leaving Y/N and Geralt in silence once more.

"Not to pry, for fear of damaging our professional relationship, but... really?" Geralt says, breaking the silence once more.

Y/N laughs. "He seems a decent enough man, and it's hard to find someone that earnest nowadays. Unless you have any cautionary tales, about your 'best friend in the world'?"

Geralt rolls his eyes at her comment, but says nothing. For everything annoying he sees in Jaskier, and as much as he pushed him away, it was rare that he found someone who was actually willing to entertain him. Despite how many people Jaskier goes to bed with, Geralt knows just as well that the bard's intentions were pure enough; he just needed someone to get on the same page as him.

"He's not totally incompetent, I'll give him that, and he's not harmful. Do what you will." Geralt mutters, then stands. "I'll get out of your way. I've seen enough of that boy's flirting to not want to watch his attempts at you."

Y/N laughs again. "Well, I thank you for the privacy, and by your standards, that seems a glowing recommendation for him, so I'll give him an honest shot. I value your opinion."

Geralt freezes. So that's what it feels like: mutual respect. He could get used to that. "We head out tomorrow morning." Y/N nods at him as he walks away.

She's not alone for long as Jaskier returns quickly, two drinks in hand, sliding into the spot across from her once more. He doesn't question where Geralt went, but he's relieved by the privacy.

"Now, your turn. Tell me about you. How does a lovely creature such as you end up travelling with Geralt of Rivia?"

She tells him. She recaps her life as it lead up to her career, and tells him of how she met Geralt, and tells him about her travels with the near infamous WItcher. And hanging on the edge of his seat every moment, Jaskier listens.

As Y/N brings him up to date on her best stories, Jaskier sighs almost wistfully, "You're so interesting. Your life would make for amazing songs."

Y/N's laugh graces his ears. "Would it now? I never figured odd jobs would make entertaining musical material."

Jaskier sits up straight from where his head had lain in his hand, staring at Y/N as she spoke. "You do good things, and you're so... interesting. You've come so far in your life, you travel with one of the most interesting men in the world, all to do some good, even when it's hard. You're incredible."

Y/N feels her cheeks begin to glow a bright red at his praise. Her job was often thankless, so to hear someone say she did good, and that her good was fascinating enough to be acknowledged, felt like a warm hug after getting caught in a rainstorm.

"Thank you, Jaskier, I... don't get compliments like that often. I was under the impression that I'm pretty boring."

Jaskier feigned alarm, "You? I can't see anyone ever finding you boring, how could anyone with a goal and a story to tell be boring? And frankly, I quite think you deserve all the compliments, my lady."

When she began to think that she'd found the perfect man after only knowing him for one night, Y/N decides that she may have had just a tad too much to drink, and decides to call it a night. She coughs nervously.

"Well, I, uh- thank you, Jaskier. That's very kind of you. YOU are very kind. I've never had someone call me interesting, or listen to me so intently for so long, and it's a testament to your good character. This has been wonderful, and I thank you for the drink, but I'm quite tired and we ride out early tomorrow, so I'd best be headed to bed. Thank you for the drink, Jaskier." She pauses as she stands. "And your company."

As she walks away, Jaskier feels his heart beating through his chest, and the harsh thumping of it has him reeling. She enjoyed his company. She thought he was nice. She was willing to give him a chance. And she was... lovely. He got so swept up in her that he forgot he even had something to ask Geralt.

The next morning, after Jaskier had barely slept, he made sure to meet the adventuring pair as they head out once more. He fully intended on asking his favor of Geralt and going on his merry way.

Until Y/N stepped out that door, all misty-eyed and looking like a goddess, and when Geralt asked him what the fuck he wanted, all Jaskier could think to ask was, "Will you please take me with you?" She was too beautiful to let slip out of his hands, not when he was in like this, and she made his mind so blank and dizzy, but so ripe with inspiration at the same time. Being near her seemed a drug he would happily indulge in.

She offered him a ride on her horse, Cinnamon, when Geralt very reluctantly agreed to let him tag along. With his arms wrapped around her waist, he panicked that she could feel the intense beating in his chest. So he reverted to his best coping mechanism, and he sang; a song he had written the night before, about a very pretty woman who had traveled so far from home to spread good throughout the world. She grinned the entire time he sang.

#Jaskier #Jaskier x reader #The witcher #geralt of rivia #fluff #cute #can't believe the witcher of all things has me posting fanfiction again lmao #the witcher netflix #reader x jaskier #fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

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casmoments · 4 years ago

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Marriage of Convenience ; part 1

Prompt: “Arranged Marriage” - Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction. In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you. The basic ritual? You have to marry an angel. First part in a series. Reader Gender: female Word Count: 9800 (sorry! other chapters will be shorter) Warnings: virgin!reader, grace/soul stuff, arranged marriage. there is an acknowledged attraction between the reader and Cas but i’ll say dub-con because without the marriage, they probably wouldn’t have hooked up.

special warning: there is no blood or disturbing content, but if you’re squicked out by anything happening to the lower arm/wrist region, then note this chapter has a moment when that area is used to access the grace/soul.

This right here. This was the answer to everything. If enquiring minds ever sought an explanation—how is it that you, Y/N, renowned for an easy heart and easier libido, could possibly live with two hunky hero types and not spend your days conceiving inappropriate scenarios?—then this was the answer. Dirty laundry. Because the boys were often swamped with work, a fair enough justification, you had shouldered a fair deal of the bunker chores. You had consequently seen enough dirty underwear to last a lifetime. Bumbling and awkward as you might have been upon meeting them, after six months as resident prophet in their admittedly kickass bunker, any menial tension had dissolved.

Completely.

You would sooner kiss a gerbil.

Well, you thought frankly, grimacing as you dropped a pair of boxers into the washing machine, there is one lingering possibility…

You supposed there were few mortals who could resist the temptation that was Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord. He was a collection of contradictory attributes bound in one dreamy, mysterious, husky-voiced package. You had barely spoken with him, exchanges limited to polite greetings and vague acknowledgements, but that heated blue stare and handsome form supplied enough fantasies on their own.

Unfortunately, despite a colourful mind, your experience in the sex and romance department was limited to… well, did airport frisks count?

With a resigned sigh, you poured laundry detergent into the appropriate compartment. Maybe if you didn’t aim your prospects so damn high—angel? really?—then you would have better luck with the relationship pursuits. Not that it really mattered now seeing as you couldn’t exactly party hard outside the bunker. As usual, the only thing fucking you over was your shit luck.

You were not only a prophet but apparently the prophet. You were the human source which heaven could utilize to completely eradicate all future prophets. That meant killing you in some backward ritual, effectively killing countless people down the line as well. That was a catastrophe even without the collateral damage that could spring from having no prophets ever, ever again. Heaven was warring, as per usual, but if you fell into the wrong hands then a lot of people would suffer.

You especially.

You weren’t sure why you were so special, though Castiel had explained it that first night. Something about being a prophet but also a strong vessel and being born under a certain cosmic alignment or something. Honestly, your brain had been scattered that night. Not to mention Castiel was kinda hard to listen to when he was simultaneously marching around with an intense stare, heaving chest, blood streaked face, taut muscles, silver blade—

You cleared your throat and closed the laundry machine. It was probably a good thing Castiel’s visits were few and far between. Sparse in your case, at least. He helped the Winchesters on their hunts but you rarely saw him. Castiel clearly held no interest in you. It was probably for the best, however bitter you were.

“Hey, Y/N!” Dean’s echoing voice startled you. The boys had left on a case and though you expected them back today, you hadn’t heard them come in. You placed the laundry basket on the floor and left the room, making for the library. You were still dressed down, sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair unwashed and knotted in a messy bun, but it was just the Winchesters and you didn’t particularly care.

You regretted those innocent musings immediately. Sam and Dean were nattering about something but your attention shattered. The remaining broken pieces fell onto Castiel who, upon your appearance, glanced over. You froze in place, holding that stare with plain horror. Castiel was standing between Sam and Dean though he was not invested in their conversation. But he soon looked away from you as well, an almost angry furrow in his brow as he turned his head.

Rude, you thought, pouting. You weren’t exactly Miss America at the moment but you hardly deserved to be shunned into oblivion.

But you conceded your assumption was ridiculous. Whatever bothered Castiel had nothing to do with you. The shit was hitting the fan up in heaven, spilling across the earth in consequence, and his mind was no doubt occupied with higher deeds. The glance he spared you was fleeting and empty, his dark expression leant to a greater purpose.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean suddenly interjected. You looked at him, staring dumbly. “Doin’ all right there, Cinderella?”

“What?” you asked, then shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. What’s up? How’d the hunt go?”

“We weren’t hunting,” Castiel surprised you with an answer. His brow was still creased, jaw stiff. He glanced at you before turning aside, taking a few steps nowhere.

“Oh,” you said, confused. “I thought—okay. What did you do that took a week and a half? Or is this one of those ‘Y/N, don’t ask because you’re not crawling into my bed when you get nightmares again’ things?” In fairness, you totally only did that once.

“It’s not our beds you should be worrying about,” Dean said, tone jesting but the joke beyond you. You looked at him strangely while Sam heaved a breath, tossing his brother a dry regard.

“Dean,” he said sharply, then looked at you. “What he means is… it concerns you.”

“What concerns me?” you asked, not sure if you were scared or annoyed. You stepped closer to the table which divided you and the boys. Castiel had wandered a few chairs down and seated himself. He propped his elbow on the table and rested his temple against his fist, gaze cast aside. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him for long, something weirdly sexy about the casual arm slung over the back of the chair, so you looked at Sam and Dean. They appeared to be sharing a wordless discussion before Sam gestured to the table.

“You should, ah, probably sit down for this,” he said. With a wary glance, you pulled out a chair and slowly sat.

“Are you kicking me out?” you asked, though you didn’t think that was the case. That would be news worth celebrating because it meant the boys had vanquished the threat looming over your head. You might have received the news poorly, having almost no life to return to after everything and having grown fond of your new friends, but they had no reason to struggle.

“Not exactly,” Dean said, light-heartedness fracturing beneath a frown.

“Yeah, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want,” Sam said, sitting opposite you. He looked at you with those soft eyes usually reserved for special cases. Your tense shoulders slackened and you nodded a bit, following.

“So what’s going on then?” you asked.

“Well,” Dean said, “the good news is, we found a way to get heaven off your ass.” You smiled, legitimately relieved now that they extended an invitation to stay.

“Well, that’s great,” you said, then considered Dean’s phrasing. “What’s the bad news?”

“Bad news,” Dean said, sweeping his hand in gesticulation to Castiel. “You have to hitch a flyboy.”

You paused for a moment, reconciling Dean’s odd idioms with what they entailed. When you realized exactly what he meant, you paused for another moment and almost forgot to breathe.

“What?” you eventually burst, mouth suddenly dry, tongue scraping words like sandpaper. “What… what do you… what…”

“It’s part of some ancient canon,” Sam quickly said, scholastic facts pouring like they could soften the blow. “Basically… while angels were mostly condemned for fraternizing with humans, there was this exception written into the code of heaven that basically said an angel could take a vessel and, so long as the vessel was empty, that angel could marry a prophet. Not just any prophet, though—”

“Let me guess,” you grumbled, bare toes idly stabbing the cold floor, “Prophet. Vessel. Stars and destiny and stuff.”

“Uh, kinda. Yeah,” Sam said. “The rule was clearly designed for something like this. Heaven knew that if the right prophet came along, they could pose a threat, intentional or not, so they created a loophole to save themselves.”

“Hey, look, we don’t like this anymore than you,” Dean said, stepping up to the table and leaning over. “That’s why you gotta know that you can back out if you don’t think you can do this. We can find another way.”

“We’re kinda running low on options here,” Sam said, tentatively. He looked from Dean to you. “But Dean’s right. We won’t force you to do anything.”

“What… what does this marriage even do?” you asked, this torrent of information flooding quickly at your feet.

“It marks you as, you know…” Sam looked for the word. “Holy. No angel, not even anyone working for an angel, can hurt you once you’ve been bound.”

“It’s an everlasting accord,” Castiel said, standing up. He looked at you with a no-nonsense expression. “It will protect you for eternity but… it expects reciprocation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It means once you’re married, you’re married,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly growing uncomfortable with the proposition. “You can’t just get a quickie divorce and hit up Vegas for round two.”

“No adultery either,” Sam said. “There’s not necessarily an expectation that you’ll love your husband or anything, but if you intentionally break the vow itself then the entire marriage is annulled.”

“And you’re back to square one,” Dean finished. You rubbed your temple and then took pause, your stomach knotting indubitably. You supposed the answer was fairly obvious and still, you really had to ask…

“Who will I be marrying?” you asked. Dean went to answer but Castiel, without hesitation, spoke.

“I volunteered,” Castiel said, looking at you more tenderly now that some of the awkward tension had subsided. “Of course.”

“Of course,” you repeated. You could feel the heat in your cheeks but the boys thankfully refrained from commenting, obviously reading your faint distress and respecting it. Any other time, they probably would have teased you for it. They didn’t necessarily know about your crush on the angel but you supposed anyone could infer from your insistent blushes and stammering phrases. At this particular moment, you couldn’t even conjure a stammer. It felt like your stomach had flipped upside down—hell, it felt like the world had flipped upside down. Not five minutes ago you were standing by yourself over a pile of dirty laundry, mourning your sorry excuse for a love life. Now you were some blushing Victorian maiden being bartered off to a baron to secure your family.

You knew the boys would never make you do anything. They were the captains of free will and they never went down without a fight. If this didn’t work, they would probably search for something else. Would it be to any avail though? It had already been six months and this was the first thing that could do any good. And you liked living here but needless to say, you missed the outside world. Sam and Dean took you out on occasion but they were glued to your side the entire time. You missed taking walks by yourself and just enjoying the quiet of your activities.

This marriage seemed like an easy out. Honestly, you weren’t convinced you would otherwise marry anyway. You wouldn’t exactly be leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake.

And it was, in the end, Castiel. You had no delusions about the outcome of events. You knew this was a strictly professional arrangement. All the same, glancing at him now, your heart palpitated with promise. You could marry Castiel. What a strange universe. There was actually a legitimate reason for you to marry him. Anxious and fidgety as you were, it would be ridiculous to refuse this. Perhaps you and Castiel would become better friends and, in the process, you could ensure your own safety, your own freedom, the safety and freedom of generations to come, and, on more superficial terms, you could tell people you were married and your husband was a babe.

The boys watched you puzzle this out. Feeling a little better, though a faint blush still coloured your cheeks, you smiled. You were a bit too scared to glance at Castiel, fearing your blush would worsen and nerves return, but you nodded to the Winchesters.

“I’ll do it,” you said. “This is important and… and yes, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asked. “Because there’s no turning back. Once you’re married, that’s it. You’re stuck with this mook for eternity.” He jabbed a thumb in Castiel’s direction.

“I understand,” you said, a soft pit aching in your stomach. You had no delusions about Castiel, true. You never did. But in the back of your mind, there was always a romantic yearning for something somewhere. If you agreed to marry Castiel then that would never happen. But if you hid in the bunker for the rest of your life anyway, wouldn’t the same fate unfold? Even if they did find another way to save you, which sounded highly unlikely anyway, how many years would go by? How would you feel by the end of it? You had to resign yourself to the simple truth that an epic romance was simply not written in your cards. You had been dealt your hand and there were no substitutions for human life. You had to play the game before you.

“There is one more thing,” Castiel said. You swallowed a lump in your throat and blinked over, found him staring at you. “The marriage must be consummated.”

You actually felt the heat laden in your belly. Consummate was a relatively unsexy word but every last fantasy and daydream suddenly exploded in your head. You didn’t say anything but your breath caught. Castiel continued, maybe a bit flustered beneath a serious countenance.

“The marriage is invalid if it’s not physically consummated,” he said. “It’s between the mortal and divine, so it must be committed in human terms and celestial ones.” You had no idea what a celestial consummation entailed but god, you could feel it in your toes. Your blush had returned full force and your gaze locked on Castiel while he spoke. “Until it’s done, heaven won’t recognize the marriage. You would, effectively, be swearing yourself to nothing.” He paused, reading your apprehension and speaking with what reassurance he could muster. “You don’t need to worry,” he said, “I won’t intrude on your space or bed after that night.” That fell over you like a cold blanket, shocking you out of your existing surprise. You blinked rapidly, looking away from him. “I am sorry, Y/N,” he said, voice low. “If there was another way—”

“No, no,” you said, voice squeaking. You cleared your throat, smiled at thin air. “No, it’s fine, Cas. Really. I just… didn’t expect heaven to get so physical.”

“Heaven is a determined congregation,” he said. You looked his way but did not meet his eye, your gaze falling at chest level. You followed the buttons of his trenchcoat with fake interest. “They won’t rest until they’ve achieved what they sought to do. With a look at your soul, they can decipher whether your marriage has been validated. It’s a means of proving the union.”

“Proof of purchase, basically,” Dean offered. You looked at him, having almost forgotten the Winchesters were there. Sam was looking at you with concern, gentle and kind. Dean crossed his arms. You braved face even if your insides had turned to mush all over again.

“I get it,” you said. “No worries. It’s just…” You pushed your chair out and they all straightened, bracing themselves as if they expected you to swoon or something. God almighty, you inwardly swore, I really am a Victorian maiden. Someone was going to be running off for smelling salts at this rate. “It’s just a lot to take in,” you finished, smiling, backing out of the room. “I… I’ll still do it, of course. I just… I just need to… rest, I think…” You almost tripped, stumbling through the doorway. The boys leaned forward and you waved your hand. “Fine! I’m fine! I got it. I’ll, uh, see you all later.”

With that said, you sprinted down the corridor and made for your room.

The wedding, if it could even be called that, was scheduled for a Saturday. You barely slept the night before, nervous when you thought about being declared someone’s wife and when you considered that this time tomorrow, you wouldn’t be alone in your bed.

The big day arrived without any pomp or ceremony. There were apparently a few rituals to enact but the boys would no doubt take care of it. You figured your biggest worry was “I do”. Not that this was a typical, straightforward wedding. The process was more complicated, long-winded, and there was no literal “I do” or even kiss at the end.

The ceremony apparently had to be conducted by a cherub and Castiel knew a trustworthy cupid. He would be brought to the bunker to bind you in excessively holy matrimony, your sole spectators Sam and Dean. The cherub was delivered to the dungeon, Castiel in charge of wrangling him. They weren’t about to give away the bunker’s location, even if Castiel promised the cupid was trustworthy, but getting married in the open would basically send a beacon to the troops of heaven. Last chance to capture me, fellas! No, it was better this way. Even if it meant your wedding was conducted in a dungeon.

You hoped that wasn’t a poetic reflection of anything.

The boys made some effort to ease the weirdness. Sam gave you a dress, not a wedding dress but a formal lace thing, claiming Dean picked it out and Sam wasn’t supposed to say. The boys wore their FBI suits even though the formality was unnecessary. Somehow, it did make things easier. It allowed you to comfortably address the obvious—this was a marriage, technically—while also keeping spirits light.

Sam escorted you to the not-so-lavish quarters. Dean was standing there in his FBI suit, adjusting Castiel’s tie. Castiel was in his usual ensemble, eyes downturned. Dean looked over when you entered the room. He grinned wolfishly.

“Would you look at that,” Dean said, tugging on Cas’s tie. “Prophet cleans up nice, hey?” Castiel’s glance was somewhat dry. He adjusted his own tie and Dean stepped away.

“Thank you, Dean,” you said, gathering some of the lace in your hands and spreading the skirt. The dress only fell to your knees but had a slight poof nonetheless. “My compliments to whoever picked it out,” you teased. Dean glared at Sam, good-humoured.

“Yeah, I’ll pass that on to the son of a bitch,” Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes and you smiled between them. Castiel, who was spending way too much time adjusting that tie of his, still hadn’t met your gaze. He flipped the fabric a couple more times, shifting the knot. Then he swallowed and turned, nodding to you.

“Y/N,” he said. His gaze only briefly appraised you but it sent your heart fluttering anyway. “You look very nice.”

“Thanks, Cas,” you said. Not much else could be exchanged because another character ambled out of the shadows, holding a book in his hand. The excited cupid wasted little time, launching into commencement—and dramatic embraces.

The ceremony began in the morning and did not end until late afternoon. Though you understood Enochian fluently, an aspect of your prophetic gifts, the language was superfluously embellished and often ancient in its chosen vernacular. You barely followed along but Castiel knew the way, guiding you. At a moment, he held your hand, and you thought it was part of the ritual. Not so. Your nerves had bested you and he must have sensed it, his thumb running soothing patterns over your knuckles. You weren’t sure if it helped or made things worse.

It took eternity and a day, but the ceremony did conclude in the afternoon. With the officiating complete and ceremony ended, you knew very well what came next.

Or, at least, you thought you knew.

Your marriage could be consummated at any time—and you attempted not to shiver when you thought too deeply—but for some reason you assumed it would follow the sacrament. Apparently not.

You were separated from your husband—husband, husband!—as Sam led you to the library, leaving Castiel and Dean to return the cherub from whence he came. Sam tossed his suit jacket over a chair and loosened his tie, distracting you with light-hearted commentary until the other two returned.

And when they returned, they had pizza.

So it was an unusual wedding and an unusual marriage. Anyone could admit that. But as afternoon bled into evening and eventually night, you forgot every oddity and fell into a comfortable peace with your friends. Sam and Dean broke out the liquor, pizza boxes scattered across the library table, a pie prepared at Dean’s behest. You didn’t drink much, honestly a little worried to lose your inhibitions. You weren’t sure if it would help or worsen the situation you would inevitably face. You decided to keep your faculties clear.

The evening progressed. Stories were swapped. It was nearing midnight when things slowed down. You glanced at the clock and the radio fizzed out, and you felt your stomach knot and nerves coil, a blush already painting your cheeks as you ground yourself in the moment.

You chanced to look at Castiel. He was watching Sam and Dean but glanced over. This time you did not look away, heart not so much racing as beating loud in your ears. Castiel returned your stare, a pensive gleam in his eye, then he turned aside to muse privately. You exhaled and looked down, fidgeted with the hem of your dress.

“We’ll go to bed now,” Sam said, barely sober, nudging Dean through the doorway. “You guys, uh…”

“Good night!” a drunken Dean bellowed, stumbling out the library. Sam just smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he said. “Good night.”

And then they were both gone and it was just you and your husband. Your almost husband. There was still one more step to legitimize the union. You tried to quell your nerves and smiled tensely at a quiet Castiel. A table sat between you, one he slowly approached. His hand swiped the polished oak before he lifted his gaze, blue eyes burning into yours.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked. By the natural gravel of his voice, that question could sound dirty without knowing its double meaning. But you did know what he meant. It suddenly wasn’t so easy to hide your nerves. Your chest heaved with a shaky breath but you maintained your smile.

“Yeah,” you finally said, your own voice scraping low tones. You cleared your throat, circling the table. “Sounds good.”

The walk to your room was quiet, Castiel’s footsteps echoing behind you.

“You should wear shoes,” he said, noting your bare feet. You wondered why his gaze had fallen so low on your body that he would notice. “There are strange things in this bunker. You wouldn’t want to contract something by accidental—”

“Look at you,” you interrupted, attempting to joke because it seemed like a safe fall-back. You reached your bedroom door and paused outside. “Barely even married and you’re already trying to tell me what to do.” Castiel could confuse humour on the best of days and your uncertain tone didn’t help matters. He heard your words for what they were and nodded solemnly.

“I apologize,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention. I only meant to suggest—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” you said quickly. Wow, this was not off to a good start. “Um, why don’t we just…” You stopped short, not sure you could finish. Castiel tipped his head. You turned away and cranked the doorknob, rushing into the room. You held the door open and Castiel stepped in, somehow looking so big in the doorway. You swallowed as he swept past, slowly closing the door as he wandered further in. The door closed and locked with a gentle click.

You remained there for a moment, hands on the doorframe, gaze falling nowhere particular, breath levelling.

“Y/N,” Castiel said, and your name was spoken with a sort of sorrow. You looked over your shoulder, saw him standing in the middle of your room. His hands were at his sides, his regard gentle if not wary. “I won’t force myself on you,” he said. “Please, don’t feel obligated…” He stepped to the side, his gaze never leaving you. “You’re safe in the bunker. We can consummate our marriage when you’re comfortable.”

You supposed it was easy for him to conflate your nerves with reservation. You faced him squarely, wrung your hands.

“I am comfortable, Castiel,” you said. “Don’t worry, I… I am definitely okay with this.” He didn’t look entirely convinced, gaze focussed like he analyzed each breath you took. It was then a thought occurred to you, a very reasonable one. After all, your attraction to Castiel was more than apparent, but he never showed any signs of interest in you. If there was anyone grappling the strings of basic consent… “Cas,” you said quickly, absolutely not wanting to hurt him anymore than he did you, “if you don’t feel comfortable then we don’t have to. I know I’m not—and we’re not—and it’s okay. Like you said, the bunker is safe and I can wait—”

“Y/N,” he said, and seemed faintly amused now, “sleeping with you would not be difficult or burdensome.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Well, I… good. Good. That’s good.”

You received a faint smile at that, a barely perceptible nod of his head. Then he sighed a bit, looking around himself.

“Should we… begin?” he asked, looking at you. You were still recovering from the implied compliment. Tumbling out of your own silly mind, you measured the large gap of space between you and Castiel. Your blood thundered hotly with promise of that distance shortening. You nodded wordlessly, head bobbing. You took another breath and placed your hands on your own waist, glancing at Cas just as his fingers prepared a snap.

“Whoa—wait,” you said, guessing his objective. He paused, hand still in the air. “What are you doing?”

“I was… removing our clothes.” His brow furrowed, confusion evident.

“I thought so,” you said with a gasp, waving a hand. “Um, don’t do that. Not like that. I just… let’s go slow, yeah?” Good thing you caught that one. Suddenly standing naked across a naked Castiel might have sent you hurtling to the floor. Hopefully those smelling salts weren’t off the table.

“I apologize,” Castiel said sincerely, lowering his hand. “I assumed you would want to finish this quickly.”

“I, um,” you stammered, tearing your gaze from him. You weren’t sure why it was so hard to admit but you couldn’t force your next words. Castiel watched you, mildly fretful. You sucked in a breath and exhaled it just as quickly. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m just… I’m just kind of nervous. I’ve never…” He tipped his head, attempting to find your roving gaze. You slowly looked at him, his imploring regard. It eased your nerves but barely, your stomach still wound in knots.

“Never,” he repeated, vast celestial mind uncovering multiple truths. He straightened and looked at you dead-on, seeming confident in his supposition. “Sex with an angel,” he said. He stepped closer to you but not with intent, more like a sage mentor delivering a lecture. “I understand it can be daunting. There was a reason heaven outlawed our relations in the first place, though I confess that most of those laws have proven to be archaic and unreasonable. But you don’t need to have any fears. You’re not a normal human… and truth be told I’m hardly a normal angel. And I can prevent pregnancy, if you fear that as well.” He just kept going and you couldn’t find an appropriate moment to interject. “There is only one deviation from human intercourse in our case, consummating our union on the celestial plane, but I will show you what to do. It’s a very simple matter.”

“Cas,” you said, his words reassuring in all ways but one. For some reason, you still couldn’t force the v-word past your lips. Castiel looked at you oddly. You gestured sort of helplessly around yourself. “That, uh, that wasn’t what I meant.”

He looked a bit confused, contemplative, eyes squinting.

Then realization dawned on him all at once. You had never seen his face commit to such open and sudden expression. His gaze dropped over your body and then settled on your face, his voice once more certain.

“You’re a virgin,” he said. You nodded. He stared at you a minute and then frowned, seeming truly distressed with this information. He turned away and creased his brow. “I wish you would have told me,” he said, mind clearly somewhere else. You crossed your arms self-consciously over your chest, a bit surprised at his response. It was tricky for you to vocalize but you were a human and silly insecurities were inherent in your nature. But it wasn’t a big deal, in the end, and you had no idea why Castiel was so badly affected by this.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say. Castiel looked at you again, startled by your words.

“Sorry?” he repeated, stepping towards you once more. “Why should you apologize? I’m the one responsible for this.”

You laughed, a choked sound, at the absurdity of his remark.

“Uh, Cas, I’m pretty sure you’re not responsible for my virginity,” you said, attempting to keep your voice light despite how you felt. “The culprit for that one is just, you know, my general face and personality.”

He looked even more bewildered by this, taking a minute to digest every word. He was flustered, like he didn’t know where to begin. He finally spoke and looked you in the eye.

“I am responsible because I should have given you an opportunity to be with other people,” he said. “I never even thought to ask. Now our spiritual vows have been sealed and you’re bound to this, to me.” He turned away again, growing more irate with himself. You felt a bit better when you realized what bothered him. It wasn’t the fact you were a virgin on its own; he simply thought he wronged you by stealing you from your oh-so long line of suitors.

“Cas, it’s okay,” you said, uncrossing your arms. You stepped closer to him, the distance between you reduced to three feet. You reached over and gently touched his arm, fleetingly. “Trust me, I wasn’t going to be sleeping with anyone else anyway. Face and personality, remember?” It was a joke but he looked at you with utmost seriousness.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked. “You are a beautiful human, Y/N, both in terms of physical appearance and spiritual characteristics.”

He said it so fervently, so sincerely. Your eyes must have watered, though you didn’t really notice, because Castiel’s ire crumbled. He looked crestfallen.

“I’ve upset you,” he said. You blinked, the strain from your eyes gone as quickly as it came.

“What?” you asked. “No, you haven’t. That was a nice thing to say. I just…” You stared at one another for a minute, neither daring to move or speak. He seemed to study your face for a sign of distress or upset or anything. You, on the other hand, actually felt better now. The compliments were nice, as was Castiel’s care for your wellbeing, but this moment was good for its honesty. Until now, you and Castiel tread on eggshells around one another, everything a bit strained, tense, awkward. That border slowly faded, the space between you smaller.

You wet your lips, tongue swiping your bottom lip. His eyes fell to the motion before resettling. Your stomach was still coiled in warm, nervous knots, but you breathed easier and even managed a genuine smile as you stepped that little bit closer.

“Maybe,” you said, grinding lace between your thumb and forefinger, “we should just… stop talking… until it’s… until we… you know…”

“If you would prefer that,” he said gruffly, nodding in acquiescence. “But… we’ll go slowly,” he verified. You nodded, smiling.

“Slowly,” you agreed. “Sounds good.”

There was an awkward moment where no one moved. You just stared at each other, weighing the moment. Your hands lifted and lowered in unison before silently agreeing upon a verdict. You undressed yourselves, Castiel loosening his tie and pulling it over his head. You wore a slip beneath your dress and, despite the fact you would eventually be naked, you pulled your arms into your clothes and removed the slip without taking off the dress. It fell to the ground at your feet and you kicked it aside, pushing your arms back out.

Castiel watched, seemingly charmed with the odd moment. You barely noticed, blushing too hard and distracted with what came next. Castiel pulled off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, stepping away to place them on your desk. While his back was turned, you figured you would quickly remove your dress. It would give you a second to compose yourself before he looked at you.

Easier said than done. The zipper was on your back and you twisted and turned, attempting to grab it. Sam had zipped you up earlier, a casual affair especially with the slip for modesty. This problem should have occurred to you then. Thankfully, Castiel kept his back turned while kicking off his shoes and socks, so you had another minute to figure something out. You attempted to grab the bottom of the skirt, hoisting it up around your waist. No good. You weren’t pulling this thing off without ripping it apart, if you even had that strength.

With an aggravated huff, the skirt fell back into place.

“Cas,” you said, embarrassed and forlorn. He turned around, fingers halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. Trying not to look at the bit of exposed skin, eyes resolutely fixed on his curious face, you smiled weakly. “Um, I need some help.”

“With what?” he said, approaching. He stopped right in front of you.

“Can’t reach the back,” you said, turning around quickly. You curved your hand over your shoulder and pointed down. “If, uh, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he said, speaking cordially. You swallowed, wringing your hands as he stepped closer. You weren’t sure that angels usually breathed but you supposed his vessel would overcome much of his wont right now—his warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck with his proximity. You fought to stay still, offer no distinct reaction. His hand landed on the curve of your shoulder, palm against your bicep, his other hand between your shoulder blades. He dragged the zipper down, a faint chill goosing your exposed skin. You supposed it would be okay to shiver now.

You were about to turn around and thank him when both his hands went to the middle of your back. Before you could think twice, he had unhooked your bra. You supposed that was your fault. You told him you couldn’t reach the back so he probably assumed you meant everything, not just the dress.

“Thank you,” you said, slowly turning around. A flood of heat rushed below, his stare headier than you anticipated.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and his already rough voice sounded huskier. He took a step back, looking down at his shirt to undo the buttons. You were distracted for a moment, watching as he drew the garment off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms. You always knew Castiel was a sight for a sore eyes but you weren’t braced for all that. Everything was tingling below your waist, your eyes roaming the strong, beautiful planes of his chest. He gathered his dress shirt in his hands and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it onto the desk from where he stood. He looked at you briefly, seemed to notice you hadn’t moved, but he did not comment. His hands looked a bit shakier, reaching for his belt.

If your silly self was so easily swayed by a bare chest, you probably shouldn’t have lowered your gaze. He was half-hard already, a very slight tent against the front of his dark trousers. A short breath escaped your nose, eyes watching calloused fingers against the belt. You somehow managed to break your own trance, realizing he struggled. You weren’t sure if he was out of touch with manually undressing or if he was nervous too. It seemed odd, Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord, being nervous to be with you. He fumbled with the belt either way, the prong of the buckle jabbing his fingers.

“Here,” you said, not lifting your eyes, stepping closer. “Let me.”

It was almost a compulsion. You slipped your hands past his, his fingers skimming your knuckles as he pulled back. You unbuckled the belt and parted it, gently pushing the leather through the foremost loops on his pants. You looked up at him then, his eyes already set on you. Your hands lingered by his hips, moving only when his own returned. He pulled the belt off, flattening the leather against his palm.

“Thank you,” he said, then promptly walked away. You blinked yourself back into reality. Castiel returned to the desk to deposit his belt and you turned your back, pulling the dress down until it pooled at your feet. Blushing already, you picked it up and draped it over a chair, removing your bra and laying it nearby. You looked at Castiel over your shoulder, saw him watching you from the corner of his eye. He was folding his pants, standing there in a pair of white boxers. You both looked away from each other when your gazes met. You heard his pants hit the desk and then the ruffle of more material.

Oh god, you thought, hands frozen on your hips. There was a naked Castiel standing somewhere behind you. You weren’t sure you could breathe right.

“Y/N?” Castiel said. By the sound of his voice, he was near the foot of the bed. “Are you all right? Are you having second thoughts?”

“Um, no, fine,” you said, shaking your head. That reminded you about your hair. You wasted a moment, your back still turned, taking apart your updo. Lock after lock tumbled free, the final elastic snapping in your nervous haste. Only one thing left to do. You took the plunge, breathed in deeply, breathed out again. Then you pushed your underwear down your thighs, past your knees, and kicked them off. You turned around and faced him before you could second guess yourself.

You didn’t actually see his initial reaction, your own reaction at the forefront. You looked him over, managing to feel both aroused and annoyed because ugh he was built like a freaking Adonis. You almost felt like covering your body but decided against it, mostly because you didn’t think you could move at the moment. It was Castiel’s voice that summoned you, and you realized you had been staring right at his half-hard cock. If you thought you were blushing before, you definitely were now.

“We should perhaps…” he said, looking at the bed. Breathing unevenly, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you squeaked. “Right. Of course.”

You shuffled over to the bed, debating how to position yourself. Castiel stood waiting, looking between you and the bed like he wasn’t sure which was more appropriate. You eventually sat down, shoulders curving inward, your arms awkwardly crossing your chest now that you could think straight. You laid back, eyes directed to the ceiling, head slowly placed on your pillow. You kept your knees bent, your hands on your chest, your breath laboured. Your heart was positively hammering.

“Human sexuality can be awkward,” Castiel said, your gaze moving to him. He looked at you kindly. “But I‘ve come to understand it is not necessary. Do you trust me?”

Your heart melted, easing the thunderous rhythm. Of course you trusted Castiel—Castiel who saved you from death the very first time you met him, who delivered you safely to a new life, who might have been distant but never unkind, and who sought to be a gentleman when he could have bypassed your nerves and simply settled the affair. You smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, Cas,” you said. “I do.”

“Then turn over.”

All right – so you hadn’t been expecting that. You watched him for a moment, confused. He waited with perfect patience. You eventually complied, supposing there was no reason to refuse, and you rolled onto your stomach, stretching your legs out. His weight sunk onto the mattress beside you, his bare hip against yours. You folded your hands beneath your chin and stared at the headboard, your muscles tensing all over again.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said. That voice really was too much. You nodded your consent, expecting his hands to land anywhere but where they did. Fingers curled over your shoulders, palms pressing your stiff muscles, gently kneading the stress from your body. You bit your lower lip, eyes fluttering closed. His hands were warm, palms a bit rough, grip strong. His thumbs swept down your shoulder blades, pressing in, then he followed the curve of your spine. You fell soft and pliant beneath his ministrations, remaining so even when he moved. The warmth beside you vacated and then hands were on your thighs, parting them. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

You were only capable of a content “nghhh” noise, your head nodding once. Then he was settled between your legs and his hands were on your waist, continuing to massage the restless nerves. You squirmed when his hands moved too low at your sides, tickling you. He paused at your sudden reaction.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “Bit ticklish.”

Cheeky bastard purposefully swiped his fingers there, earning more giggles.

“Cas!” you exclaimed, looking at him over your shoulder. He was smiling.

“Apologies,” he said. “I like your laughter.”

This guy was gonna be the death of you.

“I guess I forgive you,” you teased, facing forward again. You wiggled your hips, settling in again, amazed with how comfortable you felt considering your vulnerable position.

His hands left your sides and went to your lower back, massaging deftly until his thumbs swiped just above your rear. You knew what view you afforded him this entire time, but you suddenly felt a little more naked knowing where his gaze had fallen. But your nerves gave way to anticipation as you waited to see—or feel—what he would do. He did not disappoint, drawing his hands a little lower to hold your hips, thumbs tracing small circles over your skin. He waited for a protestation but met nothing, one hand sliding over the curve of your rear. You shoved your mouth against a pillow, not wanting to make a noise for such a simple action.

“You are very beautiful,” Castiel suddenly said, and all hope of composure went out the window. You swallowed, lifting your head to glance back again. He was on his knees, knelt between your legs, his hands on you and his gaze very low on your body. His hand moved back up, thumb skimming the soft skin before tentatively settling at the crease of your ass. He pressed down gently, drawing his thumb down the cleft. Your hips lifted instinctively, your bare chest rubbing against the bedclothes, heat pooling below at the gradual build of sensation. You swore you saw the moment his pupils dilated, watching your hips roll for him, hearing your breather stutter. “I’m a fortunate husband,” he said, causing your stomach knot deliciously. “Even if only for a night.”

Castiel, the great seducer. Who would have thought.

“Cas,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to your shoulder. You breathed unevenly. “I—I—” You knew all the graphic mechanics of sex, had sought your own pleasure from time to time. You were a virgin, not a saint. All the same, you found it hard to ask for what you wanted, not sure of the words. But he understood your wanting phrases, hand sliding beneath you. Then he was right where you needed. Careful fingers parted your damp folds, middle finger finding your clit fast. You allowed yourself a verbal reaction, a small mewl into the skin of your shoulder. You turned your face down, forehead against a pillow while he rubbed two fingers back and forth.

“This should make it easier,” Castiel said, words barely registering. You rested your cheek against the pillow and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip when he eased a finger inside you. “Is this… all right?” He sounded legitimately unsure, drawing back his finger then inching it forward. Your back had curved, ass lifted a bit obscenely to grant him space. You just nodded, gripping the pillow beneath your head.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “good.”

He added a second finger, the most you had ever pressed into yourself. But his fingers were thicker than yours, textured differently, and there was a faint stretch as he carefully worked them in and out. It felt incredible, eased by how wet you already were. He curled his fingers slightly, causing you to moan and shudder faintly. You ground yourself onto his hand, moaning again as his fingers stretched deeper. He made a sound behind you, his fingers moving a bit faster, then scissoring slightly. His movements were hesitant but growing surer. He obviously understood what he had to do even if the effectiveness was an uncertainty. You most definitely proved he was correct.

“I am privileged to be the one to see you like this,” he said, voice lower, breath running ragged. You moaned again, canting your hips back. He pulled his fingers down and carefully added a third, easing them back in. Your grip on the pillow tightened, your head minutely turned, a breathy sound leaving your mouth before you bit your bottom lip. His free hand reached for your face, suddenly and gently touching your lip. You stopped biting it, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Your gaze could not hold, eyes closing the further his fingers went inside you. He dragged his free hand down your shoulder, over your back, down your spine, settling on your ass and gently rubbing the flesh. “Your body…” he said, sounding a little amazed, hand on your hip while the other worked a bit faster, harder, “feels… right. Good for this.” He paused his action, leaving you panting, keen. “It should be loved. Often.” You groaned, writhing until he pinned your hip down and slowly removed his fingers. “On your back,” he said, wet fingers against your thigh, his other hand drawing your hair out of your face, smoothing it down. “When you’re ready.”

Oh god – oh god – this was it –

Arms shaky, you managed to push yourself up and turn over. Your nipples had hardened, every nerve sensitive but no longer anxious. Castiel stepped off the bed so you could manoeuvre yourself. You flopped onto your back, hands at your sides, chest heaving and your sex aching for attention. Castiel placed himself at your feet, fisting his cock and running lazy strokes back and forth. He was as hard as you were wet, a bead of precum at the tip of his cock which he swiped, expression flittering with pleasure, drawing his hand back down his length. Your legs were already slightly parted but you spread them further, urging him to move closer. He did, hands falling on the outside of your thighs. One gripped tight, lifting your hips, while the other reached up and snagged an unused pillow. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, placing them on your stomach, then at your sides, then tucking one beside your head.

“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asked, securing the pillow beneath your hips. You could hardly mind such matters with his cock brushing the inside of your thigh, your need for him launching you past lingering shyness.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding vehemently, “definitely.”

“Tell me if I…” He frowned, clearly imaging the prospect of hurting you. “My grace should make it easier.” He placed a hand on either thigh, holding you open. You shivered, fisting a hand in your own hair, the other in the bedsheets, while looking at him. He looked down at where he held you, his chest visibly rising and falling with breath now. His body had almost completely overcome him but you could see him fighting to restrain himself. Then his fingers were at your sex again, a hand on his cock, and then the head was nudging at your entrance and your breath caught. He pressed forward, gentle as he could without prolonging the moment to pain. Your held breath collapsed and you started breathing hard, knuckles whitening where they clutched the bedsheet. Castiel looked at you, cupped your jaw and caressed the side of your face. Your eyes closed, leaning into his touch as he moved inside you, inch by solid inch. Your knees bent at his hips, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, breath escaping through your nose. You could feel the faint stretch and burn, but it was not as painful as you thought it might have been. Whether that was your body alone or Castiel’s grace, somehow healing whatever damage caused, you were not sure. All you knew was that by the time your bodies touched, Castiel buried completely inside you, it felt right.

“Ah, Cas—” you wheezed, hands grabbing his shoulders. He curled one hand into your hair, holding tight, his expression heated and blissful at once.

“You feel—” he began, his other hand below your thigh, drawing it against his hip. You moaned, head tipping back, his grip on your hair tightening. He seemed to think better of whatever he meant to say, face falling to the juncture between your shoulder and neck, warm breath swiping your skin. “This constitutes as consummation,” he rasped, clearly fighting very hard to hold still. His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, your nails lightly scratching his shoulders. He might have been able to hold still but you were aching for something, feeling whole and full and needy for more. “We can… stop here. If you prefer,” he finished.

In a bold move you would never regret, you hooked your other leg around him.

“I didn’t take off all my clothes for that,” you teased, feeling him laugh lightly against your skin. He lifted his head, looked down at you, shifting his hips slightly. The marginal movement caused you to hold him tighter, lips parting in a soundless reaction.

“Then it’s my responsibility to make your sacrifices meaningful,” he said, and then his hips drew back slightly before pushing forward again. You groaned, grappling at him like he was an anchor to your boat in a storm. His fingers wrapped in your hair, pressing into your scalp, his face staring down into yours as he moved inside you, a gradual, slow rhythm. Your breathing fell into measure with him, your fingers pressing hard enough into his shoulders to bruise.

“The marriage is a good thing,” you found some words to say, and if Castiel wasn’t currently rocking you into a tempest of heat, you might have been embarrassed at your own confession. “After tonight, I don’t think I could have anyone else inside me.” His moan turned into something of a growl, hips beginning to thrust with a little more verve, mouth dropping to your shoulder. You tightened your legs around him, your next sound louder than necessary, falling into more delirious phrases. “You feel so good there,” you gasped, throwing your head back. “Better than anything or anyone. All… all a wife could ask for…”

He sucked a kiss on your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin and tongue dabbing the spot. It was probably the weirdest and most mild kink to have, but he was clearly enraptured with the marital titles.

“A husband should care for his wife,” he rumbled, shifting so you balanced better on the pillow and he could drive further into you. You gasped, raking your nails down his back. “Especially when she takes him so well.”

“Oh, Cas—”

“I need to see you now,” he said, kissing below your ear and then lifting his face over yours. “Y/N, give me your hand.” One of his hands was wrapped around your hip but he held the other up, near your head. Your hands were still gripping his shoulders, not wanting to let go as he rode you with such unrelenting passion. But you did as he asked, crashing your hand into his. He clutched it, kissing your palm before drawing it close. He slowed inside you, breathing hard, eyes on your wrist. “I must expose the brink of your prophetic elements,” he said, like that meant anything to you. You rolled your hips beneath him, causing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment. He pressed down on top of you, fingers clamping around your wrist. “Please,” he said. “Once this is consummated according to heaven’s second will, I promise,” he kissed your wrist, teeth gentle against the soft skin, “I promise,” he repeated, eyes dark, “I will fuck you into the bed you lay on.”

“Cas,” you breathed, “since when do you say things like that?” It was meant to be a thought more than legitimate question but he just smiled, the sort of smile you only saw in moments of grave consequence and confrontation, intense and steadfast.

“I’ve been on earth some time,” he said. “And inside you long enough to know what you want.”

“Well, fuck,” you smiled gently, “get on with it then.”

He held your wrist in his hand, fingernails gentle against the skin. He drew them a few inches down to the middle of your arm, then held steady. He looked at you with more seriousness.

“This is likely to hurt,” he said. “Are you prepared?”

You nodded, braced. You weren’t sure what to expect when his nails suddenly punctured your lower arm. Bewildered, you watched as the broken skin did not emit blood but light. Golden and warm and simmering hot like burn marks where he scratched. You stared down, mouth agape. Then Castiel was lifting your arm to his face and you swore your heart leapt into your throat, pain momentarily forgotten as he opened his mouth and gently lowered his lips to the bleeding light. It was a soothing sensation, mouth soft and damp against the searing heat of bright gold, lips deftly pressing around the skin. You shuddered, a full tremor shaking your spine when his tongue stroked the skin. Every sweet spot seemed to sing at once, his mouth against some intimate, noncorporeal aspect of your humanity. Then he returned your arm, lacing your fingers with his.

“You must do the same,” he said. You had no idea how, not too sure what he had done. You went to voice this concern but he shook his head, gently rocking his hips into yours. Your worries tumbled from mind. “It will work,” he said. “I trust you as well, Y/N.”

Breathless, you unlaced your fingers and lowered them to his arm, resting against the skin before dragging your nails as he had done. The ritual did something because you thought nothing substantial to enact it. All the same, his light bled in a bluish colour, blaring through the cracked skin of the vessel.

“It must be inside you,” he said, eyes glowing a brighter blue than normal. “It binds your soul to me.”

“Forever,” you whispered, bringing his arm to your mouth.

“Yes,” he said, watching with those inhumanly blue eyes. “Eternity.” As he had done, you closed your mouth over the light. You felt nothing at first, just his skin beneath your lips, so you followed his example and swiped your tongue. A warm sensation immediately flooded you, seeming to run along every vein, muscle, bone, and sinew. Castiel made a low noise, a barely stifled grunt. Then he pulled his arm back and grabbed your hand, pressing your arms together so gold and blue blistered into a hot white together. You cried out, immense amounts of pleasure flooding every last pore and nerve, almost too much to bear. It faded and when you looked into his face, for a moment you thought you saw many faces—beautiful and bright and warm and gazing at you from a hundred vantages. Blinking and breathing, you fell back into the human moment, your arms healed and Castiel panting.

Then he was moving inside you again, making good on his promise to fuck you into the bed. Castiel moved onto his knees and grabbed your hips, lifting you right up against him as he thrust down. The pillow helped somewhat though your back still curved. Honestly, that celestial action had felt similar to an orgasm and it slightly wore at you, even while your body begged for more. You couldn’t believe you had ever worried about this moment. Now you were only worried it would never happen again.

But that thought fell from mind as Castiel’s expression slowly changed, features tight, his hips snapping erratically. You clenched around him, watched that beautiful expression fall apart as he slumped forward, thrusting a few more times as he came inside you.

After it ended, both of you lay there for a moment, Castiel softening inside you, your gaze blurry, breath hard. The celestial interlude had clearly affected you both. You never thought you could feel so fucked out without even technically coming (at least the human way). But you were exhausted, more tired by the second. Castiel regained his strength first, though perhaps only marginally, lifting himself off of you and moving aside. You hummed contently, pressing yourself into your bed as he rearranged the pillows and tossed aside the one beneath you. He sat behind you, leaning against the headboard, and you rolled over and peered up.

“Are you leaving?” you asked. He lay down, his arm circling your shoulders and drawing you against him. You rested your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not if you wish for me to stay,” he said.

“I do,” you replied, yawning thereafter. Sleepily, you nodded again. “I do.”

He smiled against the top of your head, kissing your crown. His hand smoothed down your hair and settled on your shoulder, holding you close.

“I do too,” he said.

part 2

castiel x reader masterpost

#castiel x reader #casreader #castiel imagine #castiel x y/n

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fymagnificentwomcn · 5 years ago

Note

Farya was not only a bad and unnecessary character, but was also sooo annoying, not only for me?

I mean…

outside how her character was out of the place, she wasn’t even likeable? My mum knew nothing of Ottoman history & how her character is so ahistorical and she hated Floprya so much, you cannot imagine.

Her ranting that if Mu/rat does not kill Ayşe, she will do it herself & being all “Damn ilahtar and Kösem, they will try to convince Murad not to kill Ayşe, and otherwise he’s so merciless DANG”.

Her feeling of superiority and being special truly shows you why she had best relations with

Mu/rat and Atike in the palace lmao.

She’s also repeatedly completely ignorant of Ottoman system & yet thinks she can be Valide (ater)?

Kösem, Gevherhan, and Ayşe told her multiple times how it works and what might ultimately befall her. Of course Ayşe wanted to just piss her off, but she actually told her truth – Murad was keeping her as his mistress closed in golden cage and just waiting when he decides to grace her with his presence, mostly at night to have some fun ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) . Living outside harem meant that (surprise!) She had a worse situation than slave Ayşe, who had an acknowledged & legitimate position as haseki and mother of princes. Being a foreign princess meant nothing there – she was kept in hiding, had no clear position in Murad’s life, and was actually living in sin with Mu/rat (yes, Murad was so mad about Kasim breaking the rules, but he was doing something far more scandalising himself when it came to sexual propriety & he was the ruling padişah). Her being so happy about not being placed in harem initially & thinking how she was so special she was given a separate palace.. shows precisely how ignorant she was of the system she CHOSE to live in.

Kösem and Gevherhan warned her how not having a kids meant she would later fade into obscurity & even legal marriage could not change it – she completely dismissed it because of “their great luv” & stuff.

Kösem knew Murad much better than Floprya did LBR and when she said his “great luv” would pass, she knew what she was talking about – she was even shocked when Mu/rat gifted Farya with necklace because it wasn’t in his nature to do romantic gestures and caring about giving his women gifts. And even if you don’t trust these women because they don’t like you much, look at how this man is truly behaving towards you (if you ignore his behaviour towards Ayşe because yes we know you are a special snowflake).

Ignoring stuff such as period-appropriate behaviour (Murad laughing at Farya wanting to command an Ottoman army, I guess even less misogynistic men would laugh her off), he calls her his prisoner even before the pig incident, and afterwards…. 1) he hits her without even asking her why she put a freakin’ pig in; 2) keeps her wounded and bleeding in cell while making his decision, at the same time being all emo about how poor HE is because he loves this woman and she hurt HIM so; 3) when he (graciously, please everyone clap) decides to spare her, he doesn’t just let her go, he makes a show in which he scares her and “shows her her rightful place” aka on her knees before him; 3) continues to be offended and passive aggressive towards her afterwards; 4) gives her throne away behind her back without even asking her if she wants to stay with him; 5) rides after her, tells her “you slept with me, so you are my woman & you belong in my harem” & takes her on his horse forcefully (it doesn’t matter if she secretly wanted it inside); 6) didn’t explain why he gave her family’s throne to someone else even after he took her back to the palace, Atike had to do it; 7) yes, kept her without any status and intention to change it hidden in another palace, without any participation in his daily life and only visiting her when it suited him, not even sticking to any promises to come if he decided so, only the terrible incident with Farya’s miscarriage made him marry her and seeing how his “great luv” began to die after it, one does question whether it was out of love or him simply wanting to show everyone (both his mother and subjects) that he could do as he pleased, even against any rules; 6) he actually never promised her he would marry her and not have other women, it was only Farya always saying this – conversely, in MY Suleiman DID actually promise this to Hürrem and then did not keep it [doesn’t make Murad less of a dick, but shows how delusional Farya might be because he never actually said so himself or agreed to it].

And I said in one of my previous posts how Hürrem (and any harem women) weren’t homewreckers because it was indeed their only chance to have a family & love, but damn Floprya is a homewrecker because she truly didn’t have to stay with Mu/rat – she had her family, her throne, friends to come back to… please you knew what mess you created by coming there, and you had all the signs how violent this guy was and about his attitude to women… you could truly do a lot better, honey.

Murad never saw her as a consort of importance either. He never asked for her opinion on anything (he’d sooner even ask his mother) and when she got an accidental chance to say something (pleading with him not to execute a poor guy who forgot his lamp to bring his dad dinner, nota bene an incident described by Ottoman historian Mustafa Naima, just without Farya in the picture obviously), he completely ignored her and looked pissed she even dared to do so. It was frankly the only instance Floprya tried to talk Mu/rat out of something bad – even when he executed people who simply had been on the market during the attack on her (and even completely unrelated ones as later turned out), even though Kosem had already punished the actual attackers, our “kind-hearted” Floprya did nothing…. I’m not surprised he didn’t consult her before because he never does & well… talking sense to him never works because Kösem tried to reason with him it’s wrong, even for him because it provides people who want to go between him and ordinary people with great opportunity… and he didn’t give a fuck as always, but Farya never said anything, even following this? It was a matter closely connected with her and we never even see them talking about this or Floprya’s reaction to it? I can’t believe she didn’t hear about this… she likely just didn’t care.

Kösem also told her that marrying a sultan is not enough, and (since we know she couldn’t have kids) she should at least drag her ass and do something useful, like take care of people? Well, it was the only time we saw Floprya doing charity.

Following the wedding, Mu/rat began to gradually lose interest in Farya, including going after Sanavber after he saw her with dagger pointed at him because it seems he has a dagger-fetish & now Floprya even stopped wielding his favourite toy to have his attention… And again never forget Atike’s “Murad finally met a woman worthy of him, she can wield a sword like A MAN!” (STFU ALREADY ATIKE).

Speaking of Atike… Floprya encouraging Atike to pursue Silahtar even if it’s clear from Atike’s words he isn’t responsive to her, bah, even after it’s known he loves someone else… how stupid you can be to encourage Atike to get the guy who loves someone else and keep telling her again how special & daring she is, so go on and take what you want? Or Floprya threatening Silahtar to expose it was Gevherhan because he called her out on threatening Ayse at night with knife (yes, Ayşe was guilty, but there was no evidence at that point & it was not for her to go and punish somebody without evidence like that). He was just doing his job.

Farya later begins to openly mention her frustrations and how she’s now sidelined because she cannot have children… which of course makes her more the bitter and angry at Ayşe & striving towards revenge so bad – she isn’t satisfied that Ayşe got exposed and would be punished, she wants her DEAD & would not accept any other option (never mind that poor, innocent children would be orphaned in such a case).

Even after the matter is revealed and she does regret what she did, she’s as defensive as ever and tries to put all blame on depressed, abused woman aka Ayşe… she sees no fault of Mura/t’s there.

Still, she didn’t deserve execution for that, especially from hands of person who was chiefly responsible for the tragedy aka her husband… and her being pregnant saving her was meaningful.

Yet she continues to be ignorant about Ottoman system – now that Mura/t continues to pay her little attention even though she gave birth to two sons and instead spends time on drinking parties with Yusuf & other male buddies, she wants to be Valide and supports changing succession law back to the one involving fratricide… Okay, she doesn’t care about Murad’s brothers, but her own sons? Mu/rat being all “I don’t give a fuck” to Kösem pointing out one of his sons will kill the other is… well, him being himself, but Floprya should get worried about implications for her sons, right?

The scene with Sinan is SO indicative of Farya later on – she sits on balcony frustrated because she sits at palace all alone with her sons, while her hubby spends time on one of his parties & watching some (sexy!) dancer after promising her he would be now focused on his family (and even in that scene she still looked so scared of him), Sinan comes, calls her future "Valide Sultan”, she smirks, brightens up & already feels relevant and in better mood, so immediately does what he wants her to do and sends message to Mura/t about Kösem holding meeting with statesmen and ulema about changes in succession law.

Yet another win for Sinan!😂

Farya and Mu*rya stans claiming she was sooo "good-hearted” and they were equals.. were we watching the same show, eh? He didn’t treat her as her “equal” or whatever, even in “their best days”. The relationship was a disaster WAY before he tried to kill her.

I really never hated MY/K ship as much as I hated Mu*ya, a total disaster that really had nothing appealing to me – it was straight-up abusive plus it wasn’t even interesting. I swear even Mihrimah and Rüstem, while thouroughly dysfunctional, were more interesting to watch as a totally fucked up, toxic couple ugh.

- Joanna

Tagging @onlythelonelysurvive because it might be of interest to you and maybe take your mind off your worries :)

#magnificent century kosem #Muhteşem Yüzyıl: Kösem #muhtesem yuzyil kosem #farya bethlen #answered #anti farya bethlen #anti murya #sorry not sorry have no chill here #kinda appropriate for the day #considering Mu/rat is the biggest misogynist in MY/K next to Lutfi the Incel #mods opinions

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headoverjojo · 5 years ago

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Hey dude! If you’re still doing these, I was wondering if you can do some hcs of la Squadra members finding out that their short fem S/o is actually a highly competitive ballerina? Thank you so much! 💞

Hello! Oh, sure sure :3 Thank you for your request!! Here we go, hope you’ll like it :3

La Squadra di Esecuzione members find out that their short s/o is actually a highly competitive ballerina

(Under the cut for length!)

Risotto Nero

If there’s a thing that Risotto has learned in many years as hitman, is to never underestimate someone. He’s observant, he analyzes everyone’s movements -usually to always be ready to react in a fraction of second, but with his s/o he does so just for the pure pleasure to see her gracefully move around- and he immediately picked up something, about his s/o’s ones, a sort of fluid grace, a hidden power hidden in her movements… this is what, actually, caught his attention the very first time he saw her.

He continued to watch her closely, enchanted by her movements. Sometimes she seems to… dance, more than walk. And this makes him think. Maybe it’s so? He’s sincerely curious, by now. And, so, while he’s massaging her sore back -and his hands are perfect to loosen her tired muscles- he asks her if, by any chance, she dances, seeing her grace. He’s rewarded with a positive answer that makes him smile in satisfaction -he likes to be right- and that makes him feel even more curious.

Next time she goes to rehearsal, he follows her, hidden behind Metallica’s cover. He stays quietly hidden, admiring his s/o while she exercises, stretches and dances. He’s completely enchanted by her grace, by her powerful movements, by her fierceness… he didn’t think he could love her more than how he did, but, well, it happened. He’s proud of her, of her hard work… and he thinks she’s the best of her group. Since now he knows, he’s always ready to encourage her and he’d absolutely be present at every performance, hidden by Metallica, but it doesn’t matter: his s/o knows he’s here, watching her in pure awe and marvel, and this gives her strength and joy to dance even better than usual!

Prosciutto

The first thing Prosciutto notices about a person is how they move. It tells a lot about their behaviour, if they’re confident or shy, if they’re lazy or hyperactive and, especially, if there’s some physical flaw he can use at his advantage, the most important point for his job. So, his s/o’s way of moving around immediately caught his attention, in that apparently innate grace Prosciutto saw beauty and perfection.

Still, she’s not just grace, she’s also power. He can see it perfectly in how easily she does some movements that, he knows, require a good amount of strength. He’s at the same time baffled and curious by this: does she train? She has to train, to be so. Grace can be innate, but strength must me cultivate. And so he follows her, one day, just purely curious to see where she trains and what kind of exercises she does. He’s so astonished to see her entering a dance school! He waits for her outside the school and, when she’s out, he immediately asks her why she never told him she was a ballerina; she answered saying he never asked it.

From that moment, Prosciutto tries his best to be more present in her agonistic life, going to every performance, smiling proudly, feeling his heart swelling in admiration and love for her. She’s magnificent while she dances on the stage, graceful, strong, determined… she’s a vision. He never misses to bring her a bouquet of her favourite flowers, murmuring praises and giving her kisses on her cheeks, utterly proud of her.

Pesci

Pesci always found himself a bit awkward, being so tall and buffed, while walking around. He always tried to shrink himself as much as possible, wanting to pass unnoticed; a hard mission, being him, as said, so tall and buffed and with so particular green hair. His s/o, instead… she’s graceful, she’s fluid as water. Her steps have a certain rhythm and just by being near her he feels more confident and serene even in public. The fact that she always encourages him is an important bonus!

He knows that some people can be graceful by nature -as Melone is- but, even if he’s still a rookie, he can recognize when there’s a training behind some movements and there’s definitely a lot of training behind his s/o’s ones. She’s not just graceful, but strong and disciplined too! Every single movement of her is well calibrated and pondered, a perfect mixture of grace and effectiveness. He wishes to be like her! And, when he asks her what exercises she does, she says him she’s a ballerina.

Pesci tries to join her in some exercise routine at home. He always was too shy to hit a public gym, preferring to train at the HQ using Risotto’s weights, but he finds… nice to train with his s/o. She always encourages him, he actually has fun, with her… he feels at ease. And as much as she’s encouraging with him, he’s so with her! He always goes to her performances, applauding enthusiastically and bringing her flowers, with a proud, shining smile. She’s the best!!

Formaggio

Even if he seems so laid back and lazy, Formaggio is an observant man -and he has to be so, seen his job-, so he doesn’t miss how his s/o gracefully swirls and “dance” around, more than walking. He knows it’s not an act, that she’s so naturally; he’s pretty good at guess a fake act from a natural one. Sometimes he jokes about it, asking her to dance one second to him, to give her a good big kiss, but he sincerely admires her loveliness and fluidity!

As much as it can be natural, something like this requires also to be cultivated and exercised constantly, so he guesses that his s/o trains regularly. He’s not even pissed or annoyed by the fact that she never hinted at hit: all in all, he never asked about! And, when he does so, he’s not surprised to hear that yes, she trains regularly, but he is surprised when she says she’s a highly competitive ballerina! He never was a great fan of ballet, but for his s/o, well, maybe… he can change his mind!

He tries to go to see one of her performances and he’s baffled to see that he actually enjoyed it! More because his s/o was the étoile than anything else, but still! He falls again and again for her at every movement, at every step… she’s beauty, she’s grace and strength, she’s fierceness and gentleness all in a single body. He’s not so good at express such feelings in poetic words -this is more a Prosciutto-ish thing- but surely he knows how to express it with gestures and gazes. His eyes tell her everything he feels, all the admiration he feels for her and it’s the best reward after a difficult performance.

Melone

Melone is one graced with a natural fluidity and gracefulness. He seems to dance, more than walking; every step has a certain rhythm of its own. He knows it and he’s pretty proud of it; he noticed that his characteristic was present also in her s/o’s steps since day one. It would have been impossible not to notice how perfect and graceful her movements were! There’s a lightness, a prettiness in her movements impossible to miss. Melone loves to see it, it’s one of his favourite things in the world!

Being he graceful by nature, he never suspected she could be so thanks to training until the day he saw exercising with her ballet shoes. He just stood at the door of her living room, his eyes widened, as he was trying to catch as much of her as possible. Her movements, how she shifted her legs and arms, the perfection of every step… now Melone can see the immense exercise that hides behind her gracefulness and he’s frankly baffled, before a deep admiration bubbles in his heart at the sight of his s/o training so hardly.

From that moment on, Melone is his s/o’s number one fan. He even trains with her -not at her levels, but he keeps her company-! He’s always present at her performances or if there’s some rehearsal open to public. He loves to watch his s/o in her habitat, to see her on the stage, to see her applauded as she deserves… and, if she feels too tired or down, he’s always here to remind her how good she is, how much she has improved, that everyone loves how she dances… he’s so supportive with her!

Illuso

Illuso knew that she trained, in a way or another, since he observed her closely both from the mirror world and the real world, but, to respect her privacy, he never actually spied on her thoroughly; he wouldn’t have had so much reserve with someone else, but his s/o is another story. She’s his precious treasure and he shows his love and respect also by respecting her boundaries and privacy. She’s not one of his common targets, all in all.

Still, he’s curious by nature, so he’d try to find out, as a normal man, his s/o’s “secret” in the simplest way: asking her about it. He’s surprised to hear she’s a highly competitive ballerina, but, all in all, now many things find, finally, an answer, such as her gracefulness, her uncommon strength, her incredible coordination… he should have suspect it!

Now that he knows, he’s always ready to support her. Since she exercises in a dance room with many mirrors, sometimes Illuso passes by, smiling at her from behind the reflective surface, visible just to her. Knowing that her lover passed by to see and encourage her gives her more determination and strength to complete flawlessly her rehearsal! And so, during performances, she can always give her best and more, while Illuso watches her and cheers for her, full of admiration for her.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio has a grace all on its own. It’s not the grace of a dancer, but one of a predator, of a very fast predator; training all his life as skater, he developed it since long time and, even when his White Album is not enveloping him, he shows it in an instinctive way in all his movements. He knows what agonistic training is and his eye is trained to recognize it in someone else; he doesn’t take a lot of time to see that also his s/o is an agonistic athlete.

Sport is one of the few things to completely interest him, so he’s immediately on her asking what is her sport. He’s surprised to know that she’s a ballerina! But also intrigued. He knows that dancers have a really rigorous and hard routine of exercises to follow, so he wants to see it and even try it with her, if he can. It’s not uncommon, so, to see the two of them training together in an amiable and comfortable silence, sometimes putting some music on. Their training helps them to be closer and closer, to be in synchrony, even to vent if they have discussed on something… it’s a great help for their love life!

He’s her number one fan and he’s really loud about it. When she feels down, he talks to her, serious and frowning, remembering her, in his harsh tone, all the victories and improvements she accomplished; if she doesn’t feel sure about a step or a part of her performance, he analyzes it and helps her to exercise more and more until she has mastered it flawlessly. He’s always at her performances, nodding with approval and pride and even smiling at her, just a little, when she looks at him.

#jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #melone #illuso #ghiaccio #fem s/o #ballerina s/o #reactions hcs #headcanons #sfw #anon ask

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mintjamsblog · 5 years ago

Text

Gold (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

This is a “missing chapter” from earlier in my AU. The “first time” Tommy spends the night with Alfie. NSFW. If you’re new to my AU you may want to read Sideways first, but you don’t have to.

Summary:

“Fuck off,” Tommy snarls with venom in his voice.

“S’my fuckin’ house, mate, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna fuck off then you fuck off. Put your precious little suit back on and trot straight out that door.” Alfie nods towards the bedroom doorway. "Cause what is it, hmm? You scared of getting fucked or scared of liking it?"

Gold

The gymnasium was Alfie’s idea, and it was a good one, if he does say so himself. It’s neutral ground, metaphorically speaking (physically it’s on the edge of Camden town, but that was always going to be unavoidable given they’re here to watch one of Alfie’s fighters). The man currently sparring in the ring right in front of them is putting on a good show and Tommy does seem more relaxed than usual ... if by relaxed you mean shoulders just slightly less square and hands in the pockets of his long black coat. It's a start. The point of being here, because Alfie does always have a point, is that it’s unrelated to any of their current business dealings, which makes it a neutral topic of conversation, and as close to leisure as men like them ever get. Besides, Alfie thinks that Tommy would genuinely enjoy running a fighter so it's a pleasant diversion. (True, he can think of even more pleasant diversions, but he’s working up to that.)

It’s the first time Tommy’s been to London in several weeks and Alfie can’t deny that a certain element of anticipation has been, well, bothering him. Not vexing him, not weighing him down, just there, at the back of his mind. The few meetings they’ve had since that day at Arrow House have been awkward … laden with tension and, more often than not, unnecessary bystanders. Tommy had brought Arthur along to the first meeting for fuck’s sake; like he needed a bloody bodyguard! It would've made Alfie laugh if he hadn't spent every second of the meeting thinking about the noises Tommy makes when you tell him he's not allowed to come yet. After the second meeting Alfie’d managed to get him up against a wall, albeit briefly, but the way Tommy had desperately returned the kiss (at least until John had barged in) gave Alfie reason enough to anticipate there would be a third time. Which there had been. And a fourth. So yeah, he thinks it's safe to assume a certain element of interest on both sides now.

It’s not like Alfie’s some smitten schoolgirl. Far from it, he’s spent the last twenty years of his life taking his fucks where he can get them and rarely in the same place twice. It's unavoidable when you're a man of his particular tastes, but quite frankly he's never been interested in anything more, too busy and selfish to care. But Thomas Shelby is different, there's no denying that, in another league entirely. Alfie can't help it if he just fucking wants him. For starters, it should be illegal to look that bloody good all the time. But it's more than that, so much more. He's one of very few men that Alfie would consider his equal. In fact, if pressed, he couldn't name a single other one, and that is something, right? Tommy is wiley and ruthless and recklessly ambitious, and yet it's all undercut by this well-hidden streak of vulnerability – like a seam of gold in a wall of rock just waiting to be mined. And it's that seam, that precious vein that Alfie covets; he wants to take a pickaxe to that hard exterior and lay Tommy Shelby open.

He’s staring at the man now, standing out like a sore thumb in the seedy gym, looking immaculate and graceful and right on the fucking edge. It's not surprising given the shit he's involved in, Russians and government agencies crawling all over him, but the fact that Alfie can see it, well that's fucking dangerous. That is what gets people killed. And he very nearly was killed, wasn't he? That priest came far too fucking close and Tommy might be pretending he's fine, but it quite clearly isn't true. Alfie could see it that day at Arrow House and he can see it now - a weariness, a fragility barely hidden by Tommy's hard stares and fixed expressions. The rest of the world might not care to notice, but Alfie's more perceptive than most.

“How many hours have you slept in the last week?” he asks. It’s a strange thing to bring up in the middle of a discussion about match-fixing, probably, but Tommy is familiar enough with Alfie’s non sequiturs not to be thrown off balance. It's a sign of how well they know each other, even if it is quite annoying actually.

“More than any man in my line of work deserves to,” Tommy replies smoothly.

“Three, four hours a night?” Alfie continues, genuinely intrigued.

Tommy snorts gently and a strange smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he reaches into his pocket for cigarettes, a small tell that shows he's playing for time. Fuck, less then that Alfie surmises. “It’s the price we pay for the lives we lead, eh?” Tommy says, once his cigarette is lit and he’s blowing smoke into the air above him.

“May very well be,” Alfie says, because he’s no stranger to the nightmares, but he’d bet good money that he manages better than Tommy. “You wanna sleep tonight?” he asks, voice low and deliberate, because fuck it, there's no point beating around the bush. He knows Tommy has business in town tomorrow, and Tommy knows he knows. He is achingly aware that this is a very careful dance, that he may be the one leading with his feet but it’s up to Tommy whether he follows. He can see the way Tommy is looking at him intently, trying to read the true meaning behind his words, like it wasn't bloody obvious enough. His back has straightened and he hasn't answered, but then again, he hasn’t looked away either.

“I bet you ten pounds I can make you sleep better than you have in months, mate,” Alfie pushes.

“Is that right?” Tommy asks, staring straight ahead as if focused entirely on the fight. When the bell rings to signal the end of the round he exhales a slow cloud of smoke. "You're lucky I'm a gambling man," he says, before dropping his cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out slowly with the ball of his foot. Alfie looks down at the gleaming black boot; he hasn't even smoked half of it he notes, before following Tommy towards the exit. He can't quite believe it was that easy.

____

An hour later they are standing in Alfie’s bedroom, fully dressed, kissing heatedly, when Tommy breaks away. “You have indoor plumbing?" he asks.

"It's Camden, not bloody Cairo. Of course I've got indoor fuckin' plumbing.”

"Good. I need a shower.”

“Sure, right,” Alfie says, slightly thrown but trying not to show it. Tommy's already stripping off his tie and his jacket. “Go ahead, first door on the left. Towels on the shelf.” Indoor plumbing...patronising git. It might not be a mansion, but it's a nice enough townhouse whatever Lord fucking Shelby might think. It’s got everything Alfie wants and that’s all that matters, innit, because no one other than himself and his maid ever sets foot in the place. Sure he might attend the odd dinner or religious celebration, because he's well known in the Jewish community and he has a certain profile to maintain, but he never hosts. Never lets people in. Until today that is. So this is strange, yeah, uncomfortable if he really analyses it. Makes him wonder why he didn't just drive to a hotel actually … but then he does a lot of questionable things where Tommy’ Shelby’s involved.

He can hear the water running on the other side of the wall as he bends down to take off his shoes and socks. He really shouldn't be surprised that Tommy would want to be as immaculate when naked as he is when dressed, it's just a shame that it's interrupted the flow of things just when they where warming up so nicely. Alfie strips down to his trousers and sits atop the bedclothes to wait, picking up the book on his bedside table to keep his mind occupied. He must actually succeed in concentrating on it briefly, because when the door handle turns a few minutes later he is momentarily startled. Then he’s momentarily stunned, because the sight of Tommy walking towards him, water dripping from his hair, white towel tucked around his slim waist … well it’s too perfect to be real. He looks like some sort of classical painting … or a marble sculpture ... all sharp angles and smooth planes. The things he wants to do to Tommy will send him straight to fucking hell without a doubt – which is a price he is absolutely willing to pay – ten times over if needs be.

Tommy strolls cautiously towards the side of the bed, eyes clearly scanning Alfie's torso. It's unnerving having someone look at him like this, having someone dare look at him at all. But that’s just one of the things that makes Tommy special isn’t it? The way he’s too brave for his own fuckin’ good; never afraid to look, to stare, to glare right into your black soul. Alfie grabs him, has to, yanks him by the wrist and straight onto the bed in a move so fast and forceful that Tommy gasps. Then Alfie rolls him straight onto his back and lies on top, forearms boxing his head in on either side.

"Fuuuuck," he breathes, when he’s settled, eyes roaming shamelessly over Tommy’s face, his neck, his chest. Tommy’ features have shifted from shocked to mildly amused, no doubt by the flagrant desire in Alfie's eyes. Smug bastard, Alfie thinks, although he can hardly blame the man. When you look like Tommy Shelby you're bound to become accustomed to a certain level of appreciation, to a degree of attention. Well, he's got Alfie's attention alright, and he's gonna have it all fucking night.

The moment weighs heavily on Alfie, because having Tommy here in his house, in his room, in his bed … is signifcant. No getting away from it. But whether Tommy thinks it’s significant … well, that is an entirely different matter. The impassive mask he wears gives Alfie precious little clue as to whether he sees this a big deal or a quick fuck or a frivolous mistake. What he does see, because his well-honed powers of observation have not deserted him entirely, is impatience. Tommy is impatient to get on with …. whatever it is he thinks they have come here to get on with. And thatwon’t do. Alfie is not going to have this moment wrecked by haste. And so he traces his fingers lightly through Tommy’s dark, wet hair, hovering hesitantly over his lips. “Slowly…” he warns, looking him straight in the eyes. “Fucking slowly.” Then he presses his lips over Tommy’s, opening his mouth until their tongues meet tentatively, teasing and licking with unusual and gratifying softness. He can’t help but groan at the heat and the intimacy, a low rumble in his chest that echos in the quiet of his room and is matched with a sigh from Tommy. No one is watching, no one is waiting and the rest of the night is theirs.

This level of intimacy is something Alfie hasn’t felt often in his life, the closeness of skin against skin, the warmth, the feel of Tommy's hands resting lightly on his bare shoulders. It’s just not allowed to men of his persuasion – more used to taking pleasure in hurried snatches, in alleys or theatres or certain clubs – almost always with their clothes on. Alfie drinks it in, wants to lick and suck every inch of pale, freckled flesh, to feel those muscles flex and roll beneath the skin, to take his time and draw more sounds from Tommy's swollen lips. To make him fucking dissolve.

It's dangerous how much he’s letting his guard down, how much he wants this. His body starts rocking on pure instinct, slowly but definitely, in a casual imitation of fucking. Maybe it’s that movement that does it, or the promise behind it, but he feels Tommy tense beneath him, put his chin to his chest and break the kiss to look down at the hips grinding against him.

“What?” Alfie says, lifting his head, as if it weren't fucking obvious that Tommy is overthinking this. Not entirely comfortable with the idea of it, he guesses, although his body is responding just fine. Alfie presses his forehead hard against Tommy's, forcing his head back onto the pillow. "It's all fine," he whispers, staring at him.

“Thought I was here to sleep,” Tommy says, voice like factory smoke.

“Oh don’t worry, you will,” Alfie says, grinding his hips harder. “I’ll make sure of that.” He feels Tommy push against him, hands braced against his chest as if to force him up or off. It's futile, Alfie is stronger, heavier and has all the leverage in his current position, but if Tommy wants to feel like he's resisting then fine, he can go with that. He lets his full weight fall onto the smaller man laid out beneath him and leans down to kiss his neck, biting into his shoulder in a greedy gesture that’s none-too-gentle. Tommy grunts at the weight and the sharp pain and Alfie just licks over the teeth marks and chuckles; it's not a malicious laugh, he’s just delighted to be here, but it infuriates Tommy nonetheless. The next thing Alfie knows there's a knee jabbed between his legs. It doesn't quite hit its target full force, restricted by the towel still wrapped around Tommy’s hips, but fucking hell, that is a step too far, innit? His hand flies up on pure impulse to grip the slender throat, no thought as to the context. "That's how you want to play it, hmm?" he says, glaring furiously as Tommy's face flushes in his grasp. Alfie's angry, genuinely angry, because a bit of resistance is charming enough but a knee in the crown jewels is not. He wedges his own knee between Tommy's thighs, where it most definitely will not miss its target, and presses up hard enough to be threatening.

"Here's how this is gonna work," he starts, voice low and slow. "You are going to listen to me, and you are going to get what you came here for. Hmm. You can even pretend you don't want it if that satisfies some deep-seated prejudices ... some latent Catholic guilt. But you knee me in the fucking balls again and I will not be responsible for my actions. Got it?" Tommy’s eyes are wide and defiant but his body is achingly still; because even he is not stupid enough to argue when he’s trapped between a hand on his throat and a knee on his groin. They glare at each other for several long seconds, each trying to read the other one's mind, but Alfie doesn't miss the way Tommy's pupils widen. Yeah, he wants this.

“You need to relinquish some of that control. Let me take care of you. I'll make you sleep like a baby Thomas,” he says, with absolute certainty, slowly releasing the pressure from his grip, feeling Tommy's chest rise as he inhales deeply but remains otherwise rigidly still. The air in the room feels static, as though even the walls are listening. “But first," he snarls, "first I am gonna pick you apart, mate. From the inside out. Piece by fucking piece…”

He leans down to kiss Tommy’s collarbone, nipping along the thin skin. “And you are gonna hate me for it,” he growls darkly, directly into Tommy’s ear, “and you are gonna beg me for more.”

He licks a line up Tommy's neck, feeling his adam's apple move as he swallows slowly. "I don't beg," he says.

“That's what you think, sweetheart.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy snarls, and the venom in his voice is momentarily startling. Alfie pauses and pulls back.

“S’my fuckin’ house, mate, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna fuck off then you fuck off. Put your precious little suit back on and trot straight out that door.” Alfie nods towards the hallway. "What is it eh? You scared of getting fucked? Or scared of liking it?"

Tommy's eyes blaze, he tries to sit up, to shunt against the weight above him, but Alfie just grabs both of his wrists and forces them down above his head. He clamps his knees either side of Tommy’s hips and chuckles at the ease with which he has him pinned.“Or maybe both, hmm?” he says, glaring through dark eyes. “I don't think you really want to go anywhere, do you Tommy? I think you wanna switch that clever head off and let me show you things. Let me wreck you."

He doesn’t even wait for a reaction, just reaches for the tie that's strewn on the other side of the bed and starts fastening it to the headboard – because if Tommy needs help to surrender to this then Alfie is more than happy to oblige. “Hands up,” he says gruffly, preparing for a fight. To his surprise Tommy obeys with nothing more than a slow blink and a deep sigh, as if he’s just made some slightly irksome concession for the sake of a business deal, not offered himself prostrate to a gangster with a reputation for insanity. Alfie’s surprised he doesn’t throw in an eye-roll to boot. And if he can't quite believe what he is being gifted, then he keeps that thought to himself. “I am gonna make you feel so good, Tommy,” he says, meaning every damn word, as he trails kisses down his chest. "You won’t regret this.”

“I already am," Tommy replies, “you arrogant fuck.”

"Hmmm. Arrogance is in fact one if my better qualities," Alfie mumbles distractedly, because he’s now busy letting his mouth explore the skin that’s stretched out beneath him: the tattoos, the freckles, the scattered scars. He pinches gently at the hardening nipples and smiles when Tommy gasps. He must have done something good or right in his life to deserve the way those blue, blue eyes are looking at him now, wide and wary and filled with need.

He lets his tongue trail down Tommy's abdomen, opening the white towel still tucked around his middle and groans aloud at the sight that greets him – hard and heavy and right fucking there – begging to be touched. He wraps both hands around that slender waist, letting them slide down to rest on his pelvis, stroking the delicate bones with his thumbs before lifting his hips from the bed and wrapping his mouth around that glorious cock. He laps and sucks like a starving man until Tommy moans obscenely.

"Oh fucking hell, the things I'm gonna do to you…" Alfie breathes as he lets Tommy’s body fall back onto the mattress.

"Show me," Tommy says huskily, panting through wetted lips.

“Bend your knees,” is all Alfie says, and Tommy responds immediately.

“If I knew your obedience was that easy to buy I’d have sucked your cock long ago,” Alfie hums, placing one hand on the back of Tommy’s thigh and pushing his leg up and out of the way.

"If I'd known it'd feel like that, I might have let you."

Alfie uses the newfound space to cup Tommy’s balls, stroking them gently before wetting one thumb with spit and rubbing it along the smooth skin of his perineum. He lets it slide up and down for or moment or two before pressing firmly enough to make Tommy inhale sharply and thrust his hips. Yeah, ok, he likes that. So Alfie keeps doing it, teasing and rubbing until Tommy’s breaths are deep and shaky, again on the cusp of a moan. Things work out absolutely fine for the next few minutes, Alfie makes himself comfortable, seated between Tommy’s thighs, uses his tongue and his fingers to draw small sounds from the man in his mouth who’s definitely starting to relax. But then he presses his thumb a bit lower – rubs over that tight little hole – and everything fucking stops. Tommy's hips stop, his moans stop, his fucking breathing stops. And so Alfie stops, let's the cock drop out of his mouth and just looks up at Tommy who has closed his eyes and tightened up all over.

"S'all good," he says tenderly, "just trust me."

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Tommy gasps, “of course I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Bit late to realise that now, mate. Is that why you've clammed up tighter than a miser's moneybox?”

"S'fine... I'm fine,” Tommy says, voice settling, composure returning.

"That ain't exactly the message I’m getting…"

"M'fine, " Tommy repeats with more gravity. "S'just ..."

Alfie takes a deep breath and decides there’s no point in leaving this elephant in the room. “You've never slept with a man. I know. I’m not a total fuckin’ idiot.”

Tommy looks up at him deadpan, pouting with his bottom lip. “Wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No?” Alfie says, wondering if somehow he’s got this incredibly wrong.

“Was gonna say I’ve never slept with an insane, bearded Jew.”

The tension cracks for a moment as they both snigger nervously, a genuine smile crossing Tommy’s face, but when Alfie presses teasingly at the tight hole he tenses once again. It’s less than before, but even so...

“Seriously, are you tellin' me no woman's ever done this …" Alfie says, pressing gently, before Tommy cuts him off.

“…Jesus fucking Christ, Alfie. Do we have to talk about it?"

“No, no, but I do have to tell you that you have been visiting the wrong whores, mate," Alfie says, unable to keep another smile from his lips. So he gets to be the first to cross this particular threshold? Tonight just keeps getting better. He reaches into his bedside drawer for oil, conscious that his every move is being watched as he sits back to slick his fingers. “Lucky for you that I am the right type of whore,” he says as he holds one finger poised over Tommy’s entrance, circling gently with just the tip, not pushing, not probing, just savouring the weight of anticipation.

"Eyes on me," he says calmly, when the air has settled again. But Tommy is looking steadfastly up at the headboard, his breaths so shallow they're silent. Yeah, there it is alright, that vulnerability, that seam of glorious gold. It makes Alfie want to turn him inside out, to decimate the hard layers and expose that valuable ore. He pulls one pale leg up and over his own – pushing the other down into the mattress, then pauses to take in this picture of surrender: Tommy’s arms tied together above his head, thighs splayed out wide. If Alfie dies tomorrow he'll be a happy man just to have seen this he thinks. When Tommy looks back at him through those long, dark lashes his eyes say it all; he’s exposed, defenceless and nervous as hell; like a fox in a trap just waiting to be found.

"Look at me. Relax,” Alfie says placing his left hand flat across Tommy’s stomach, holding him still, grounding him with his warm, firm touch. Tommy boldy holds his gaze, head tilted up as Alfie finally pushes one finger into him in a slow, smooth movement. Tommy flinches and clenches and slowly exhales, but can’t stop his eyes rolling back in his head as his barriers are forcefully breached. Alfie is utterly mesmerised, his lust-fucked brain can hardly process that Tommy has allowed him this. When he starts to move he does so gently, reverently…just slides his finger out and back in again…lets Tommy ease into the feeling. Fuck, Alfie thinks, he hardly recognises himself. “Shhh, s’all good. Just relax,” he whispers, unable to take his eyes off that one finger fucking into Tommy, so hot and slick and amazingly tight. The mere idea of what it'll feel like to actually fuck him makes him swallow and groan out loud.

Tommy just closes his eyes and accepts the gentle movements, muscles fluttering endearingly as he tries to follow that one simple instruction. To relax. After a few minutes Alfie dares to push further, to explore and curl and tentatively seek out that sensitive bundle of nerves. When he finds it he rubs at it steadily until he's rewarded with a throaty groan.

"Good?" he asks, unnecessarily, because the way Tommy’s starting to move says it all.

“Yes," Tommy says, “it’s good…" but his words are swallowed in a loud groan as Alfie presses down on his stomach and pushes in with a second finger.

“Jesus…fuck…” Tommy moans, and the note of panic in his voice makes Alfie groan sinfully. Soon he's curling both fingers, searching again for the specific spot that he knows will unravel Tommy from the inside. He strokes slowly, firmly, using the pads of his fingers in an even, regular motion. It's tighter and harder to manoeuvre than one finger, but he wants it to feel more intense. Tommy is looking at the ceiling, trying to keep the frown from his face.

"Just relax, it'll ease, it'll be worth it,” Alfie says, trying to soothe him or reassure him. “Listen to me, switch off that brain.”

Tommy hums quietly in response, his face already softening as he adjusts to the feelings, the fullness, the motion inside. Alfie’s not so much fucking into him now, focused more on those little strokes and pretty soon Tommy’s hips roll gently, pushing back against the fingers. Alfie knows when he’s found just the right rhythm because his mouth drops open wide.

“Oh,” he gasps, “oh… oh fuck…oh fuck.” And that’s it, they settle into a pattern, punctuated by Tommy’s increasingly guttural sounds.

There’s no doubt his body is responding to the unfamiliar pleasure, the liquid trickling down the side of his cock is impossible to miss. And oh how slowly Alfie is going to coax it out of him, until he's a delicious, desperate mess. He presses firmly onto the now engorged gland, eliciting a loud, shaky, “ahhh,” before Tommy starts panting heavily and Alfie decides to relent. He does it again, harder this time, until Tommy's knees lift up and he lets out a pained cry. He looks at Alfie wide-eyed, horrified and yet, somehow, strangely trusting. It sends a wave of blood straight to Alfie's groin.

“Touch me,” Tommy whispers after several minutes of the same.

“Your cock?” Alfie asks

“Yes," he says urgently, “God, yes…” words dissolving into a moan.

“I don’t think I need to, mate, because this,” Alfie says, stroking his prostate firmly, “this is working just fine. It must be, look how hard you are. Looks almost painful. Look how much you’re leaking.” Tommy lets out a long, strangled groan and looks longingly towards his engorged cock. He pulls at the ties round his wrists and whines in frustration.

”Yeah, and those pretty noises you're making ... there's gonna be a lot more of those before we're done." Alfie can see the intensity building, how he’s slowly succumbing, giving in to the ungraspable pleasure. But he wants more…he wants Tommy squirming with it…desperate…unable to control his cries.

Tommy grits his teeth and hisses, thrusting his cock into the air in a futile search for the friction that Alfie is refusing to provide.

"You may as well save your energy. There’s nothing to rub against."

“Alfie, just fucking…”

“Just, what?” Alfie interrupts

“Just touch me,” he says as his head flops back down heavily onto the bed.

“The only place I'm touching you darling, is right here," Alfie says, emphasising the last two words with two hard, deliberate strokes inside. Tommy bucks in response and lets out a shaky breath.

“My cock…just touch my cock,” he pleads.

“But it’s gonna be so much better like this, having it stroked out of you, slowly. So much more shameful," Alfie continues, unsure whether it's the filthy words or the fingers in his arse that are getting to Tommy most. He doesn't know and doesn't care. The result is the same: Tommy's composure is starting to crumble, his tongue is loosening, his movements are increasingly erratic. He looks glorious. Alfie strokes his free hand down one milk-white hip and coos softly to tell him just that. Tommy shudders hard under the touch, whimpering and moaning with increasing abandon.

Alfie knows this is sweet agony; a feeling like nothing else, all consuming and yet almost impossible to capture or pin down. He has no impulse to be cruel about it, possessive maybe, but not cruel. He can’t deny a certain desire to ruin Tommy for anyone else… to lead him down this slow, agonising route to a level of pleasure he’s never known. To fucking own him.

A continuous line of glassy fluid is now connecting Tommy’s cock to his stomach and running off his hip onto the towel. Alfie's fingers never stop. He watches Tommy’s fists clenching and releasing, his hips moving erratically and places a hand on his pelvis to hold him, "still," he says softly, "stay still. Just feel it." Tommy stops thrusting his hips, lets out another high-pitched moan. "That's it, that's better," Alfie says, utterly enthralled. Tommy's eyes have glazed over, like he's going someplace else.

“You're gonna come for me. Like this, Tommy,” he says, “I'm gonna press it out of you drip by beautiful drip."

“No,” Tommy pants.

“You want me to stop?

“Yes! No... Jesus…fucking…Christ…” he whines, his voice so high it's unrecognisable.

And fuck, Alfie is struggling to maintain his own composure because Tommy is increasingly desperate - flushed and sweating, hips writhing, cock leaking … he looks like a fucking wet dream. Alfie wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at Tommy in a suit again or whether he’ll always just picture him like this – a filthy, wanton mess.

It doesn’t even matter that he's not getting anything out of this himself. Because he knows he could push into that hot, tight arse right now and damn well take his pleasure – it’s not like that thought hasn’t crossed his mind. It’s just that he wouldn't stop what he's doing now if you paid him ten thousand pounds, not when he has Tommy laid open beneath him, stripped back, abandoned, revealed.

“Please,” Tommy pants, drawing Alfie out of his thoughts, "fucking please…”

Alfie just smiles, unable to resist gloating. “And you said you wouldn’t beg…”

"I can't fucking come like this..."

Another few minutes of relentless attention and Tommy is trembling all over; his legs are quivering, his voice is shaking, he seems barely in control. Alfie's fingers ache and his back is sore and when the grandfather clock chimes in the hallway he realises how long they’ve been here. But he's not going to stop, not going to slow down until Tommy has fallen apart. He is nothing if not relentless, not when Tommy's the prize.

He is paying wrapt attention, as if studying an exotic specimen, trying to catalogue every sound and expression and reaction that Tommy allows to escape. He is arching and mewling and gasping ... mouth hanging open, body leaking instinctively, no trace of the usual veneer.

Tommy's sounds become even less controlled, a series of high-pitched, continuous cries. His voice, when he dares to use it, is barely a whimper, gasping the same few words, "I can't, Alfie ... I can't."

"Shhhh," Alfie murmurs sympathetically, "and yes. You can."

“Please, fuck! You bastard,” he whines when Alfie speeds things up. His face is bright red, arms straining, eyelids fluttering.

“S’not my fault you’re so fucking responsive, now, is it mate?”

“I can’t, Alfie, I fucking can’t…” he says, “fucking, fuck…please...”

"Such a desperate little thing," Alfie says, voice low and undeniably smug. Tommy looks shocked and strained and furious, like he'd do anything to get his release. He's forgotten himself entirely as the liquid still seeps from his cock. Who’d have thought it wouldn’t take a pickaxe to break him apart, just two carefully aimed fingers.

"Please, I can't," Tommy repeats, and he sounds like he could cry. Fucking hell...

"Please," he gasps, as Alfie continues to work his fingers, "please just fucking touch me. Or untie me. Or touch me."

"Your poor little cock needs to learn that it does not need to be in a mouth or a hand or a cunt," Alfie chides as he curls and strokes mercilessly.

“You’re the cunt,” Tommy snarls, which only makes the fingers on his prostate work faster and harder and firmer, until he is gasping, shouting, “don’t, it hurts, fucking don’t...” so of course Alfie most assuredly does, until Tommy is whining shamelessly, hips rolling against nothing, a high pitched wail in his throat and fucking hell…he is coming ... loudly, unashamedly, curling onto his side as if he's trying to escape it. One leg kicks weakly at Alfie whilst the same relentless stream of pearlescent liquid trickles out of him. There's no ejaculation, no sudden rush and his cock stays achingly hard. Alfie can feel Tommy's muscles spasming around his fingers in long waves that make him thrash and groan. It seems to go on and fucking on until he almost feels sorry for him.

"Stop, just fucking stop for Christ's sake..." Tommy gasps, he's curled into the foetal position, or as close to it as he can get with his hands above his head. The thing is, Alfie has moved with him, is kneeling above him, fingers still very much in position and working that same spot. Because when he said he wanted to pick Tommy apart he fucking meant it. He smooths Tommy's hair, shushes him gently, waits for the panting to subside – although his fingers never relent. "Again, Tommy," he whispers, voice calm but stern, and within twenty seconds Tommy jolts and cries out as he writhes through a second, drawn-out orgasm, cursing beneath his breath. He looks breathtaking, enduring every drop of exquisite suffering that Alfie doles out.

"Stop...stop," Tommy says when he realises Alfie is still going, still working at him, giving him no time to recover, just pressing and circling relentlessly until he is once again a trembling wreck, pleading with him incessantly, "enough...please...you can't...I can't..." barely breathing between the words. Alfie growls wickedly as he strokes a third sluggish orgasm from Tommy’s exhausted body, watching him shudder and spasm and curl up as the room is filled with a continuous, high-pitched whine. The noise only stops when finally, Alfie pulls his aching hand away. Tommy almost cries with relief. He lies there wide-eyed and shaking, totally overwraught, gasping and twitching as he tries to catch his breath. Alfie kicks off his trousers and crawls over to place a kiss to his head. "My hands..." Tommy whispers so quietly Alfie barely hears him.

"Yeah, yeah, hands," Alfie says, straddling his hips as he leans up to the headboard to untie him. Tommy's head lolls languidly to the side. He looks shattered, mottled and blotchy and drenched in sweat. His gaze is strangely vacant and he won't look Alfie in the eye. Fuck. He's just had three intense orgasms but he looks fucking upset, chest heaving, breaths stuttering in a way that sounds dangerously close to tears. Apprehension pools in Alfie's stomach, fear that he's fucked this up, gone too far. He rubs the wrists he’s just untied and leans down to kiss the dark, damp hair. Tommy jerks away from his lips.

"Look at me," Alfie says, quietly. Tommy rolls his head round slowly to stare up with worryingly blank eyes. It's as though he's withdrawn, disengaged himself entirely. The way he's sprawled out on his back he looks lifeless, spent.

"Tommy, you with me? S'alright," he mutters, as if saying it out loud will make it true. Alfie's heart sinks, realisation slowly dawning that it might be far easier to pick Tommy apart than it is to put him back together. That he might not appreciate having been laid so bare. "You were fucking perfectTommy," he says, stroking at his hair, moving it out of his face. He's aware that Tommy's cock is still a hard line, unbelievably, jabbing Alfie's conscience as much as his hip. He leans down to grasp it, hand slipping in the abundance of precum, as he strokes it gently once, twice. Tommy doesn't even react to the touch, just whispers, "enough."

"You want me to stop?" Alfie asks.

"What do you fucking think?" he spits. Shit. He's pissed. Upset and pissed. Alfie flounders for a moment, unsure how to fix this, how to redress the balance, because yes, he wanted to push Tommy, but not to push him away. The risk of him fucking off permanently is suddenly very real and absolutely not bloody happening. He cannot fathom losing this … whatever it is … cannot let this beautiful, brave, vulnerable man go. He’ll do anything to make this right, anything.

His response is completely instinctual ... his body doesn't even engage with his head ... before he can think himself out of it he lifts his hips, hovers over Tommy and pushes back firmly onto his hot, wet hardness. He screw his eyes shut, fucking has to, he hasn't done this in years and it’s, well, it's a lot...fuckin' hurts if the truth be told. He grunts and grits his teeth, holding very, very still until he can bring himself to sink down lower, to take in the full length. He hears Tommy exhale deeply beneath him, but he can't look, can't move, can't think – oblivious to anything other than the burning fullness in his arse and how much he needs to relax, breathe through it, suck it up. Fuck. If this is what he does around Tommy, he's doomed isn't he? Totally fucking doomed. His eyes are still closed when he feels hands move to his hips, gripping him gently, just resting there, warm and soft, not even willing him to move. A gravelly voice rasps, "Alfie."

"Yeah, alright move, fuckin move," he snarls after a minute or so, unable to believe what he’s doing. Tommy holds him down as he rocks up gently and finally Alfie opens his eyes to look. Thank fuck. Tommy looks present. "Yeah, you're back now, aintcha?" Alfie says without malice, because it's impossible to feel anything other than supremely fucking blessed right now. Tommy looks bloody obscene - dark-eyed and hungry and, frankly, amazed.

"Thought I didn't need my cock in anything, eh?" he rasps.

"Yeah, well change of plan. Don't get used to it," Alfie says. "This ain't happening again, alright? Not like this. Next time it is very definitely gonna be my cock in your arse, mate. Just so we’re clear." God, he needs to stop thinking about that, he's going to last about 30 seconds at this rate. With that thought he braces his arms against Tommy's chest and starts moving, fucking himself down carefully to start with, but then with more serious intent. He watches every reaction on Tommy's face as he hovers right on the edge of losing it – for the fourth time that night. And fucking hell does Tommy lose it, gripping Alfie's hips hard as he thrusts up selfishly into him, grunting shamelessly with the effort. The look of dark desire on his beautiful face as he abandons himself again is, well, biblical. Alfie feels the hot spurts fill him and grabs his own cock to follow immediately over the edge.

Afterwards, he lies where he falls, slumped heavily over Tommy’s trembling body, breathing into his neck. He can't move himself, can't quite process what the hell just happened, how he's ended up letting Tommy fuck him...to make Tommy feel good. Not that he doesn't feel good himself. Fuck, he feels amazing - loose and sated and strangely fucked open in a way he'll remember for days. Tommy's hands are holding his upper arms, smoothing gently over his skin a handful of times before slowly falling still. It feels warm, quiet. Nice. By the time he eventually rolls off, grabbing the towel to clean himself, Tommy is a boneless sprawl in the bed. Alfie half shoves, half rolls him over to one side, pulling a blanket over his shoulders, but would swear he's already asleep. He lies behind him, wondering how close is too close, daring a hand on his bicep, a kiss to his shoulder before he closes his eyes and lets sleep swallow him too. He's fucked, he thinks as he drifts into darkness. Metaphorically and literally fucked.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #tommy x alfie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons

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