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wheelsup · 3 years ago

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the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon.

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger.

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week.

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept.

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling.

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you.

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!”

Your head just about exploded when she said that.

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you.

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.”

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless?

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.”

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim.

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured.

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?”

“That his girlfriend died last year.”

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there.

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit.

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…”

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.”

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from.

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not.

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made.

“There’s nothing I need from you.”

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?”

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea.

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more.

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. ��Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off.

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.”

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch.

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!”

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales.

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets.

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down.

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works.

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so.

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.”

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend.

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?”

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income.

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended.

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill.

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe.

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.”

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped.

“Did you need something?”

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!”

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.”

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line.

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?”

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.”

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care.

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him.

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.”

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency.

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that.

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here.

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?”

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.”

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before.

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath.

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly.

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.”

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer.

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you.

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems.

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that.

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that.

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him.

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.”

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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nikethestatue · 3 years ago

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La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think.

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

Azriel

Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

Elain

“He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

Azriel

Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

Elain

Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.

The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

********************

Azriel

Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed��tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

��Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

#la dolce vita #elriel fanfic #elriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #elain fanfic #my writing #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #sjm books #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #elain

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heyitssmiller · 4 years ago

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Frosted Windowpanes: Part One

The Christmas Fic is here! Featuring Logan the lumberjack, Leo who owns a diner, and Finn who was just trying to have a quiet, uneventful holiday (lol). This was supposed to be a oneshot, but y’all know I’m too long-winded for that, so it looks like we’ll be having at least one more part for this story!

@donttouchmycarrots Thank you so much for proofreading/encouraging/being such a wonderful, wonderful friend. I don’t think I’d still be writing without you and iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

@lumosinlove Again, thank you for such wonderful characters! And for creating such a wonderful, welcoming fandom! I never thought I’d post my writing where people could read it, but then I met y’all and here we are! You guys are amazing! Happy Holidays, everyone! <3

Part Two is now up!

It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say

- The Christmas Waltz

Piercing, bitter cold greeted Logan as he stepped outside for the first time that day. The kind of cold that made the entire body tense up and the breath hitch. It was a quiet early morning, with a stillness that only freshly-fallen snow could bring. Logan took a second to pull his toque further down over his head as he grabbed the chainsaw by the door before heading out to the truck, passing the sign with red, clean lettering that read Tremblay’s Christmas Trees.

“Took you long enough, sleeping beauty.” His sister, Noelle, teased from the driver’s seat of the beat-up truck that barely started most mornings.

“It’s too early for this.” He grumbled back, sliding into the passenger’s seat as the truck reluctantly spluttered to a start.

“The faster we get done out here, the faster we can go deal with customers.”

“That’s not exactly helping.”

Noelle laughed as she drove back into one of the fields, parking the truck at the far end. “Come on, it’s not that bad. They ask to buy a tree, you help them pick one out, take their money, and strap it to their car. Easy.”

They got out of the truck, grabbed the chainsaw from the back, and headed towards their first tagged tree. Logan grabbed the tree around its trunk to stabilize it while Noelle powered up the chainsaw, putting their conversation on hold. She crouched down to start cutting the base of the tree trunk, creating a notch before starting the back cut. Logan waited until the tree felt unstable before giving the tree a gentle push in the right direction and removing his hands. The tree hit the ground with a thud.

Noelle took that as her cue to continue their conversation. “Don’t pretend to be all grumpy and stoic. I know you like some of our regulars.”

“Some being the key word here.” He replied, grabbing the tree trunk again and beginning to drag it to the truck. Noelle just gave him a look that clearly said I see right through you but didn’t comment as she looked for the next tagged tree.

Logan heaved the Christmas tree into the bed of the truck and shoved it into one corner; he could probably fit one more tree alongside it before he started stacking them. He stood up straight, turning his head to watch the sun rise and peek over the tops of the trees, bringing rays of light and warmth with it.

Leo basked in the warmth coming from the oven as he took out a fresh batch of croissants, a welcome reprieve from the weather outside. He quickly put the next tray of pastries into the oven and transferred the baked croissants onto a plate, where he let them cool just a little before drizzling them with honey. He hummed along to the Christmas music playing on the radio as he worked on getting the diner ready to open in a few hours. He started the gumbo, red beans and rice, and jambalaya, letting them simmer on the stove before whipping up his fried chicken batter and breading so that it was ready whenever he needed it. Next was the cornbread, which was made from scratch and poured into muffin tins to create the perfect individual servings. Coffee was brewed, quiches were placed in the display window, waffle batter was whipped up and sitting in a bowl on the counter.

Leo was arranging croissants into a basket when the back door opened, letting all the cold air in and a small flurry of snow with it.

“Good morning!” Nate called as he came around the corner, shedding his coat and hat. Leo honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do without Nate. Running his own diner was hard – it was even harder when he’d moved to a different country, not knowing anyone there, and kept afloat with barely anything but his optimism and his confidence in his cooking. Nate was the first person he’d hired when business actually picked up, and he’d been there ever since. He had a real knack for cooking and managed to make every person that walked through their doors feel welcomed.

“Headed out to the farm?” Nate asked when he saw the basket of croissants and the large thermos Leo was filling with coffee.

“Yeah.” Leo said, grabbing coffee creamer and sugar and shoving them into his coat pocket after he slipped it on. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nah, I can hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

Leo smiled as he grabbed his hat. “Thanks. There’s croissants in the oven, but they’ll be done as soon as that timer goes off! I’ll be right back, ok?”

Nate gave him a look. “No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.” Leo agreed with a laugh. “But I’ll be back before morning rush.” He said as he braced himself and opened the door to be greeted by the frigid Canadian winter.

Even after a year and a half, he had a feeling he’d never get used to this weather.

He made a beeline for his car, quickly getting behind the wheel and cranking the heat as high as it would go. He put the car in drive and slowly pulled out onto the road, keeping a firm grip on the wheel and his eyes on the road. He knew he was probably causing a traffic build-up behind him, which made Leo feel a little guilty. He’d driven through hurricanes countless times, but snow? Black ice? He was absolutely terrified of that. So he took his time, eventually turning off the main road and driving until he reached a sign with red lettering and a Christmas tree lot. There were handmade wreaths and garlands, and white Christmas lights strung up over the rows of trees for sale.

Leo put the car in park and grabbed his stuff, breath hitching as he faced the cold winds again. Marius, the head of the Tremblay family, was at the checkout counter, writing something down on a pad of paper. Once he looked up and saw Leo, he smiled broadly. “Hey, Nut!”

“Good morning.” Leo replied, raising the basket and thermos in his hands. “I come bearing gifts. Coffee and croissants.”

“You know you don’t have to do that.” Marius said as he gave Leo a stern look. “I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

Leo shrugged, opening the basket and offering them to the man. “I like doing this. Y’all work hard and have ridiculously long hours. And you work in this weather. I feel like you could use a little warmth.”

“You and your southern manners.” He grabbed a croissant anyways, taking a big bite. “Your favorite’s still out there bringing some trees in.” He said, motioning to one of the groves to the left. Leo could faintly hear the sound of a chainsaw in the distance.

“I don’t have favorites,” Leo protested as he set the thermos and croissants down on the table, even though it was clearly a bald-faced lie. He thought of evergreen eyes and a gorgeous laugh and a smile that left him breathless. He blamed the redness of his cheeks and ears on the cold. “I like all of you equally.”

“Right.” Marius said, dragging out the vowel. He was smiling, though. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, you know.”

Leo had to force his smile to remain steadfast. Friend. That was all this was ever going to be, no matter how much his heart yearned for something more. He needed to learn to be content with that – it wasn’t fair to Logan otherwise, or to himself for that matter. He could be a good friend and leave it at that. It was still better than not knowing him at all.

“I think I’m the lucky one.” He said, only then remembering the sugar and coffee creamers in his coat pocket. He fished them out and set them on the counter next to the thermos. “I do have to get going, though. I’ve got the breakfast rush to deal with.”

Marius waved him off playfully, grabbing another croissant. “Go on, then. I’ll try to save some for the rest of them.”

Leo laughed at his antics, breath clouding in the air. “I’m holding you to that.”

Marius watched him get in his car and drive off very slowly with a chuckle. Damn southerners. He looked down at the coffee creamers and sugar, knowing Logan was the only one in the family that used them, and started speculating.

He heard the rumbling of the truck as it came in, the back loaded to the brim with trees. Noelle and Logan’s bickering could be heard before the truck’s engine got turned off, which was saying something. Marius grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. He was going to need it.

“I mean, come on. Back to the Future is clearly the superior 80s movie. It’s definitely better than Top Gun.”

Logan closed his door, staring at his sister with a combination of horror and disbelief. “How dare you. Those aren’t even in the same genre!”

Noelle looked over at Marius right as she was about to start her counterargument and spotted the pastries and coffee. She grinned and abandoned Logan at the back of the truck in order to beat him to the food. One croissant was immediately shoved into her mouth as she grabbed another and then reached for a coffee cup one-handed. Marius snorted and grabbed it from her, filling it with steaming coffee.

She groaned. “Lolo, your friend needs to stop by more often. Fuck, this is good. If I wasn’t in a committed relationship already, I’d ask him to marry me.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Logan said gruffly, but his words were betrayed by a smile. He looked down at the pastries, eyes soft and smile dopy.

Marius knew that look. More importantly, he knew his son. And everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

“Maybe Logan should ask, instead.” He teased, although a part of him was completely genuine.

Logan choked on his first bite of croissant.

“Finn!” June shouted as soon as she flung the door open, throwing herself into his arms. Finn laughed and hugged her back. Two seconds into his visit and he knew this was going to be the best way to spend the week before Christmas. He hadn’t seen June since they graduated college and, even though they kept in touch, it wasn’t the same.

“Four years is way too long.” He said as she let go. “Let’s not go that long without seeing each other again, ok?”

“Deal.” She replied, grabbing his bag for him and leading the way inside. The apartment was warm and cozy and lived in – there were books on the coffee table and a large pile of mail on the counter and a few stray dishes in the sink.

Finn loved it.

Heather, June’s fiancée, smiled in greeting and stuck her hand out to shake. “You must be Finn.”

He had originally thought it might be a little bit awkward, meeting his ex-girlfriend’s fiancée, but Heather seemed kind and welcoming and unperturbed about the whole thing. He shook her hand and returned the smile. “Heather. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh god.” She laughed, shooting June a look. June just winked and leaned over to check whatever food was in the oven.

“All good things.” Finn promised, letting Heather lead him to the guest room. It was as happy and welcoming as the rest of the apartment. As soon as they were out of earshot, he continued, “I’m really happy for you guys. She’s happier than I've ever seen her.”

“So am I.” Heather said wistfully as Finn set his bag down. “Bathroom’s through that door if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

When he rejoined the group in the living room, he noticed something: a distinct lack of Christmas decorations. June used to love decorating her college dorm room for the holidays – she went all out with little things she bought at the Dollar Tree and a miniature Christmas tree from Walmart. They used to get the tree together every year. It was strange that she hadn’t continued the tradition.

“No tree?” He asked June, surprised. She shrugged and scooted over on the couch to make room for all three of them.

“Haven’t had the time. I’ve been so busy at work and Heather’s been traveling for conferences. It’s not the same when you have to decorate by yourself.”

Finn hummed understandingly. He knew the feeling. “Why don’t we go get one now? Do you think some places are still open this late?”

Heather and June looked at each other, seeming to have a telepathic conversation. Finn watched on in amusement as they communicated with raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes and shrugs until they apparently made up their minds.

“Tremblay’s is probably still open. They’ve got the best trees, anyways.” June explained, turning to look at Finn. “But I’ve got to stay here and make sure our dinner doesn’t burn.”

“And I’ve got to stay here and supervise June while she uses the oven.” Heather added. Finn laughed, remembering too many times June had burned herself while using the rickety old oven from the 1970s that still lived on in their dorm building.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Finn teased and ruffled June’s hair. She just rolled her eyes and didn’t even bother trying to smooth it out again. Ruffling hair was one of Finn’s main ways of showing affection – she knew it would just get messed up again. Finn fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his navigation app. “I can go get the tree, if you want. You said the place was called Tremblay’s?”

“Finn, you really don’t have to-”

“No, I want to!” He cut in, standing up from the couch to grab his coat. “I didn’t bring presents for you guys because I’m so bad at gift-giving, so this can be my Christmas present.”

Heather hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” She asked, glancing at June again. “We can always go out and get a tree tomorrow.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be back soon, and with a tree!” Finn said as he reached the door, turned to give a cheery salute, and headed out to his car.

After a frankly terrifying drive through narrow back roads and potential ice hazards, Finn followed his app to a little tree farm off of the main road. There weren’t many cars there, thankfully, and it still looked open. The rows of white lights hanging above the trees were all lit and glowing, snow was falling at a slow, sleepy pace. It looked perfect, like something out of a dream.

And that was before Finn saw him.

The man working the front counter.

Finn raked his gaze over the man and swooned. Wavy brown hair, bright eyes, shoulders and arms so broad and built that it seemed like they were about to rip the plaid shirt he was wearing. With a nametag that stated Logan, he seemed like a rugged, Canadian, lumberjack dreamboat. Finn swallowed, making his way to the counter and the absolute vision behind it while he focused on not tripping over his own two feet.

“Hi,” Finn managed, trying not to get lost in evergreen eyes. “I’d like to buy a tree, please.”

“What type of tree would you like?”

Oh, the accent.

Finn was screwed.

“Uh…” Finn trailed off, looking at Logan and struggling to find words. “A Christmas tree?”

“Spruce, pine, or fir?” When Finn’s expression turned more confused, Logan smiled in exasperated, awed delight. Who drove all this way for a tree and had no clue what they were looking for? Most people at least had some idea. But not this one, apparently. Those big, Bambi eyes were lost and absolutely adorable.

“Do you have a size you’re looking for?” Logan asked, receiving a more perplexed look.

This was too funny. “Do you know anything about what kind of tree you want?”

“A pretty one? But not too expensive. Or too tall. Or heavy – I’ve got to get it up a huge flight of stairs.”

Logan couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer. He leaned forwards against the counter and laughed, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders shaking. Finn watched with a smile of his own, taking in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the contagious nature of his laugh. He felt like this – this right here – was the only thing he wanted to do for the next several hours, especially if he was the reason for the laughter. He thought of that song he could never remember the name of but heard a lot on Tiktok that said, “oh no, I think I’m catching feelings” and never related to a song more in his entire life.

“Ok,” Logan said when he’d finally caught his breath. “Ok, I’m going to pick one out for you, how’s that sound…?”

“Finn.” The redhead supplied with a laugh of his own. “And please. I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Clearly.” Logan stepped around the counter and led him towards a group of trees. “These are Douglas Firs. They last a long time, smell great, and they don’t take a lot of trimming or maintenance. They’re also pretty cheap since they’re so common.”

Finn looked from the trees to another group of trees a little ways off. “They all look the same.”

“Who’s the expert here?” Logan teased, shooting him a look over his shoulder as he walked from one tree to the next. Finn trailed after him eagerly, watching calloused, muscular hands trail along the needles of the trees.

“We can go look at the Fraser Firs, if you want, but I really think one of these is your best bet.” Logan continued, stopping in front of a mid-sized tree. “How about this one?”

Finn looked at it, then back at Logan. “What do you think? Since I clearly don’t know anything about trees.” That drew another smile from Logan, which made Finn vow to himself to make the brunet smile like that again.

Logan dragged the tree out from the rest of the group and looked it over. “I think it’s a good one. Good shape, healthy. I sure know how to pick ‘em, eh?”

Eh. How adorably Canadian.

“Sounds good. It’s not even for me, so my input doesn’t really matter a whole lot.”

Logan sent him a confused look. “So you went out at nine o’clock at night to get a Christmas tree, and it’s not for you?”

“I don’t even live in this country.”

“What?”

“I’m visiting friends that live here, and they’ve been traveling or too busy to decorate like they normally do, so I decided I’d get the ball rolling and find them a Christmas tree.” Finn shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Not only was he stunning, he was thoughtful to boot.

Logan clearly had a type.

“That’s nice of you.” He removed the tree from its stand and started lugging it to the counter, watching the redhead trail behind him yet again out of the corner of his eye. When he reached his destination, he set the tree down and found Finn staring at him with a look of awe on his face. He bit back a smile. “How long are you staying?”

Finn was silent for a second, as if in a trance, then snapped out of it with a little shake of his head. “Huh?”

That smile he was holding back broke through. “How long are you staying in town?”

“Oh. Just for the week, then I’m off to spend Christmas with my family back home in New York.”

“A New Yorker, huh?” Logan asked as he bagged the tree up, attempting to do the accent and making Finn laugh. “This must be quite the change of pace for you.”

“You have no idea.”

Finn’s stomach growled, making his eyes widen and his cheeks burn in embarrassment. It must’ve been loud enough for Logan to hear because he turned back around to face Finn and quirked an eyebrow. “Hungry?” He asked, then told Finn the price of the tree. Finn handed his card over.

“Yeah. Haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I, uh, I know a place.” Logan said, playing with Finn’s credit card before meeting his eyes and quickly adding, “If you’re interested. I haven’t had dinner either.”

Finn grinned, not even trying to hide his excitement. The only thing he’d wanted when he left June and Heather’s apartment was a tree. Now he had a potential date with this gorgeous, witty guy? Yes please. “Yeah?”

Logan shared his smile, leaning forward against the counter and looking up at him through dark, dark eyelashes. Finn’s heart fluttered. “Yeah. Sounds fun to me.”

“Great.” Finn said, unsure of what else to say and suddenly feeling a little awkward. Was he supposed to wait for him to finish his shift? Were they driving together? Where was this restaurant?

He needed to text June.

Shit. She had been making dinner when he left. But he’d already agreed to dinner with Logan. But it would be so rude to not spend time with his hosts. But he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t go on this date.

He pulled out his phone as Logan ran his card through the system to text June.

To June: Sooooo there might be a change of plans. Some hot guy is my acting tour guide for the night and I won’t be making it home for dinner. But I promise I have a tree and I will be back eventually.

It only took June a few seconds to respond.

From June: Damn. You go, Finn.

He laughed under his breath, then pocketed his phone. When he looked up, Logan was looking at him and holding his card out. Finn grabbed it and shoved it into his wallet, which he pocketed. “Ready to go?” Logan asked, grabbing the trunk of the tree and preparing to drag it again. “I can drive, if you want. We’ll strap the tree to the top of your car and then head out.”

“Works for me. Do you need help with that?” Finn motioned to the tree. Not that he minded the view – quite the contrary – but he felt bad not doing anything.

“Want to grab the netting towards the top? We can carry it instead of dragging it.”

Finn grabbed the netting and followed Logan’s lead as they both lifted the tree and started carrying it out to Finn’s car, Finn giving directions as they went. Getting the tree to the top of the rental car was a struggle, but they managed and strapped it down.

They hurried to Logan’s car and shut out the cold as quickly as they could. Logan started the rickety old pickup truck that smelled strongly of Christmas trees and took off down the road at a much faster pace than Finn would ever dare to drive these roads.

“I have a feeling you’re going to love this place.” Logan said as he turned right onto the main road, accelerating a bit more. “Pretty much everyone does. It’s not very Canadian, but you can’t beat the food.”

“What defines a restaurant as Canadian?” Finn mused, looking over at the driver. “Maple syrup? Poutine?”

“Watch it.” There was no heat in Logan’s voice, so Finn didn’t take it to heart. They slowed down and pulled into a parking lot of a diner simply called Leo’s. The outside looked a little rundown, which made Finn a little apprehensive, but the windows were all fogged up from the temperature difference between inside and outside, which was always promising.

Logan turned the car off and shot Finn an excited grin. “Ready?”

Finn couldn’t tell if he was excited for dinner with him or just the food. Hopefully it was both.

The inside of the diner was… eclectic. The walls were a faint yellow, but there were splashes of deep purple, green, and gold in the decorations on the walls. Mardis Gras, Finn realized as he spotted some masks hanging on the wall. The food smelled amazing – warm and spicy and savory. Behind the baked goods on display counter stood a young kid with a cleaning spray and a rag, wiping down the counters. He looked up at the bell that signaled the door opening and instantly recognized Logan. He sent them a smile before turning his head and shouting towards the direction of the kitchen, “Leo!”

There was a loud clang, followed by a muffled curse. “Be there in a jiffy!”

Finn looked to Logan in confusion. “Was that a southern accent? Like American south?”

“Leo.” Was all Logan said, a happy smile on his face.

“You guys can go ahead and sit down,” The kid at the counter said. “I’ll bring some menus.”

“Thanks, Nate.” Logan led the way towards a booth in the front corner of the dining area and sat down facing the door. Finn sat opposite him, accepting a menu with thanks. The menu consisted of southern U.S. staples – biscuits and gravy, grits, red beans and rice, fried chicken, etouffee, jambalaya, po’boys, fried catfish, cornbread, the list went on.

“So is this guy from Louisiana?”

Logan wasn’t even looking at the menu, he was watching every nuance of Finn’s expressions as he took everything in. “New Orleans, born and raised.”

“How the hell did he end up here?”

“He had an uncle who owned this place and left it to Leo when he died. Originally he was just going to fix it up and sell it before going back home, but two months led to a year and he’s still here. Doesn’t seem to be planning on going anywhere else for a while, either.” Logan suddenly perked up, looking at something over Finn’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”

Finn swiveled in his seat and stopped dead in his tracks.

Tall.

They were both greeted by a dimpled smile as Leo approached their table, flour or powdered sugar – Finn wasn’t sure which one – all over his apron and a dusting of it in his fluffy blond hair.

“Hey, Logan. See you’ve brought company!” His accent dragged sweet and slow like molasses, so very out of place this far north. But it was refreshing, like a breath of fresh air or the sun coming out from behind the clouds after a week of rain. As he got closer, Finn realized what he’d thought to be flour in his hair was actually a gray streak. And wow, were his eyes blue.

How was everyone here so attractive?

“Finn, meet Leo. Leo, this is Finn.” Logan said, smile never leaving his face as he looked between the two. “He’s new here.”

Leo arched an eyebrow. “And you brought him here?”

“You do have the best pie in town.”

That got another sunny smile from Leo. “Damn right I do. But dinner first. Can’t go on spoilin’ your dinner with pie.” Those blue eyes turned to Finn, causing his breath to hitch just a little. “What’ll you have, sugar?”

Finn simply wasn’t going to survive this night. Was this a dream? That would explain all the attractive guys – the probabilities of something like this happening in real life were slim to none. He pinched his arm harshly. Not a dream.

What the fuck?

Finn realized he still hadn’t answered and was just staring at the blond. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze to the menu, not really reading anything but grateful for something else to look at besides the two guys in front of him. “Um… what would you recommend?” He finally asked, grateful that he could get his vocal cords to actually work.

Leo hummed, thinking about it. “Personally I really like the muffuletta, if you’re looking for a sandwich. Definitely the gumbo if you’re in the mood for soup. I do make a mean fried catfish, too.”

Finn wasn’t sure what exactly a muffuletta was, but he ordered it. Logan got his usual, whatever that meant. Leo wrote down their orders and gave them one last smile before retreating to the kitchen. They both watched him go, then Finn whipped back around to face Logan.

“Is he real?”

Logan just laughed, leaning back in his seat. Finn panicked for half a second, terrified that what he’d said was the worst possible thought to voice on what was potentially a first date. But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He just looked back at the kitchen with a soft smile Finn hadn’t seen before.

“You know, I ask myself that a lot.” He said quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. And Finn finally understood.

He was in love with Leo.

The sound of a record scratching filled Finn’s head.

Wait.

That didn’t make any sense… because Finn was ninety-five percent sure that Logan had been flirting with him all night.

Hadn’t he?

They made small talk while they waited for their food, and Logan was pleasantly surprised at how… easy it was. He normally didn’t like small talk and didn’t share personal stories with strangers, but here Finn was, pulling stories out of him that he normally wouldn’t share on a first date.

Was this a date? Logan couldn’t decide if he wanted it to be one or not. One hand, this was definitely the most fun he’d had in weeks. On the other hand, Leo. He sent a glance towards the kitchen window before focusing back on Finn’s story about one of the parties he and June went to back in college. There was lots of alcohol, mattresses, and a roof involved. Finn’s storytelling included a myriad of different expressions, all of which Logan found endearing. The wrinkle of his nose when he talked about drunk frat boy antics, the way he got all soft whenever he talked about June, the laughter lines around his eyes when he told a funny anecdote.

How was it possible to be so cute and yet so hot at the same time?

And how had he met two guys who fit into both of those categories?

Nate brought their food out while Logan was in the middle of a story about the time he’d found a squirrel in one of their trees and got attacked when he tried to relocate the thing when Nate came back with the food. Finn had the muffuletta, which was apparently meat and cheese and some sort of olive spread or something – Finn had no idea, but it looked and smelled amazing. Logan had a bowl of red beans and rice in front of him, but he was waiting to see Finn’s reaction to the food before starting his own.

Finn took a bite of the sandwich, then his eyes widened almost comically. “Oh my god.”

“I know.” Logan said, getting a spoonful of red beans and rice.

“Where has this been all my life?”

“Just wait until you try the pie.”

Finn didn’t speak again, he just ate. The food clearly took precedence over any possible conversations. Logan couldn’t help but agree. Finn ate like a man who hadn’t seen food in a week, finishing the sandwich in record time. He leaned back in his seat when he was done, letting out a happy, content sigh. “Holy shit. Is everything on the menu that good?”

“Pretty much.”

“And he hasn’t been on the Food Network yet?”

Logan grinned. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“We should tell them to get up here and try this food.”

“Y’all, I don’t have time for the Food Network.” Finn jumped a little as Leo reappeared with two slices of pie. “I appreciate it, though. You liked it, huh?”

Finn looked up at him. “I kind of want to come back every day I’m here.” And he meant it. He wouldn’t be coming back just for the food, though.

“Well, I definitely won’t stop you.” Leo said with a dimpled smile. Finn barely held in a dreamy sigh.

Dimples.

“Why don’t you join us?” Finn asked, scooting over to make room for the blond. But Leo just shook his head with a rueful smile.

“I wish I could, but I’ve got twelve pies that need to be made.”

“Twelve?” Finn asked in mild horror. “When do you sleep?”

“The chocolate crème pies are in high demand, especially around the holidays. But it’s fine, I don’t mind it. I’m just glad I've got business.” Leo seemed to be ignoring the sleep question, which was never a good sign.

“You look tired.” Logan noted, face muddled with concern.

Leo laughed softly, but didn’t seem to take offense. “Thanks a lot, darlin’.”

Logan broke eye contact and pushed the residual whipped cream around on his plate. Finn hadn’t even realized he’d started eating, but he quickly followed suit and fuck, was that good.

“I just meant you need to take care of yourself, that’s all.” Logan mumbled into his plate without looking up, almost as if he was afraid to see the cook’s response.

“Says the guy who works even longer hours than I do.” Leo teased, causing Logan to roll his eyes.

“That’s because it’s almost Christmas and I work at a Christmas tree farm. It’s only temporary. We’ll be back to normal by the end of the week.”

“Well, good. You deserve to sleep in for once.” Leo said, taking a step back towards the kitchen. “But I really do have to go. Those pies won’t make themselves.”

“Do you want help?” Finn asked hopefully, He honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night than baking with these two. Being given instructions in a thick southern drawl, helping Logan make pie filling, trading stories (and maybe kisses) while they waited for the pies to be done.

But Leo quickly dashed his dreams. “That’s sweet, honey, but I think I’ll be faster on my own. I’ve got a system that makes it pretty efficient. And I don’t give out my recipes to just anyone, you know.”

Oh, but I’d love to be someone to you.

Logan also looked disappointed. “We should get going, then. Don’t want to keep distracting you.”

“At least you’re a welcome distraction.” Leo said with a wink before he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He let the door close behind him before backing up to lean against it, tilting his head back to rest against the wood and closing his eyes. The happy façade dropped in an instant.

Because Logan was out there, on a date with a guy. A handsome, kind, funny guy who would have absolutely no trouble sweeping Logan off his feet.

And that guy wasn’t Leo.

Finn flopped dramatically onto the couch back at June’s apartment, muffling a scream into a poor, unsuspecting pillow. June looked up from her book with a laugh. “Well hello to you, too.”

“I’m in love.”

“Oh?” Heather asked from her spot cuddled up next to June.

Finn turned his head sideways to open one eye and look at the two of them. “With a lumberjack and a cook.”

“Ah,” June said knowingly as she dog-eared the page she was on and closed the book. “Beware the lumberjacks. They’re known to be irresistible. Alright then, which Tremblay was it?”

Finn cocked his head. “What?”

Heather smiled as June tilted her head back and let her run her fingers through dark brown curls. They were so cute it was almost sickening. “There’s four of them: three sisters and a brother. Which one did you fall for?”

Finn couldn’t have held back the smile that crossed his face even if he tried. “Logan.”

June groaned. “I get it. Holy shit, those eyes.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know he cooked, though.”

“No, the cook was another guy.” Finn sighed as he twisted to lay on his back and stare wistfully up at the ceiling. “Leo.”

“The southern one with the diner?”

“That’s the one.”

“Damn, O’Hara. You do know-”

“They’re head-over-heels in love with each other? Yeah, I got that.” Finn stretched his legs out to rest on June’s lap. “But I’m also pretty sure that was a date. And that Logan was flirting with me.” He sighed again, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m doomed.”

“Always so dramatic.” June teased. “Just date both of them.”

Finn froze, his mind going completely blank. “What?”

“Date both of them.” She repeated, unfazed. “Polyamorous relationships are a thing, you know. Who says you can’t date both of them?”

Finn moved his arm away from his face to stare at her. “Huh.” He finally said, mind kicking back into gear. That sounded… perfect, actually. Only a few hitches. Did Leo even like him? They’d barely talked to each other. Finn could see Logan being ok with the whole dating two people thing, seeing that he was flirting with both of them, but what would Leo think? And the other hitch. “I’m only for a week, though.”

“Then you’d better act fast, lover boy.”

“I’ve got a question.” Heather piped up.

Finn looked at her and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to ask her question.

“Where’s the tree?”

He could probably see it from their front window if he bothered to stand up, still strapped to his rental car. “Shit.”

#lumosinlove #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #christmas au #frosted windowpanes

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poptod · 3 years ago

Text

The Breeding Kings, pt. 8, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Search and creation. In a desperate bid to protect his identity, he convinces you you're not safe in the cities of Egypt, thus assuring you further that your place in life is far away from Egypt––where he was trying to keep you in the first place.

Notes: okay i try to stay as true as i can when it comes to the egyptian language and how hieroglyphs are pronounced but theres so little information on the indus valley. we still dont know how to decode their language but we know the closest language is a form of a modern indian dialect so thats what ive been using hope thats alright WC: 6k

Pounding like a hammer on his cranium brought him back to the land of the living in a dizzy, sickeningly fast whirl. He returned to his body and at once felt the aching of his joints, his throat bereft of water, and the headache reaching from his temple to the base of his spine.

As he blearily opened his eyes, the dryness of them making it rather hard, the pounding of warhammers on his ears continued in clearer and clearer beats. It was then, his hand already covering his eyes from the sun, that he recognized the inside of a bell swinging above him, the massive metal gong sending vibrations throughout his whole body.

"Oh dear Gods," he moaned, the awful sound thrumming everywhere he could feel.

Hazy memories of the night before returned slowly to him, injured only by the continued swaying of the bell above him. After finally filling your stomachs, you drowned yourselves in beer, going from storeroom to storeroom to take whatever they would be willing to give.

"Yogi?" He said in a rough voice.

You let out a long, low whine.

"No talking," you mumbled.

"Oh, you can't stand my talking but you're fine with the bell?"

"Aganu, I can not stand anything right now," you said in the most helpless, exasperated voice that Ahk couldn't help but laugh, even with his head hanging off the edge of the belltower.

His laugh faded away the longer blood was allowed to rush to his head, till he had enough of the pressure and turned onto his stomach. In the very least the bell was not rocking as much as it previously was, swaying instead of swinging back and forth. Below, however, the people had gathered at the foot of white limestone steps that gleamed in the morning sun, their eyes directed to a speaker standing upon those stairs.

Ahkmen squinted, attempting to make out the person's identity.

"-and the decree of the Pharaoh is thusly," they said, their voice faded from the height Ahk sat at.

The moment the words were spoken, Ahk's eyes bulged, his expression dropping from casual humor to dead horror.

"My soldiers have seen my son leave me," they said as they read from the papyrus in their hands.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, but he relaxed when he saw you, if only for a moment before he was once more petrified by the fear of you discovering him.

"He has gone towards the mouth of Hapi. See my son––the Prince Ahkmen––is not with you. See my son, if he is with you, to me."

"Ahkmen?" You said with a small frown. "Who is Ahkmen?"

"Just some stuck-up Prince," Ahk said quickly.

"Ah, so like you," you said, grinning as you nudged him with your elbow.

"That is... so rude," he said as he only half paid attention, his eyes focused on the crowd below. In a straight voice he continued his teasing with, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to abandon you now."

"You will not make that, you are too full of old beer. You need my potion," you said.

"Maybe so," he grumbled, all too aware of his headache. He looked down, attempting to gauge the tower for an escape. "How.. the hell did we get up here? We must be fifty spans in the air."

"Have you rope?"

"No, I –"

You raise your hand, revealing the rope in it.

"It is on the side, where you forgot it," you chuckled, handing him the long rope. He glared playfully as he took it.

The descent down the perfectly polished walls was, needless to say, interesting, and made less difficult by the removal of your sandals. Ahkmen went first, followed by you, and he immediately took off the moment you landed on the ground. He looked over his shoulder as he turned the corner, spotting one last flash of the scribe calling the name of the missing Prince.

Murmurs of conversations that surrounded him spoke of the same thing––a lost prince, oh how strange!––behind the veils of widows and children who heard the words of the Pharaoh. The ache in his neck worsened as he turned rapidly back and forth, constantly scanning his environment for any surprised faces. Your own, shorter legs barely kept up with his pace, sometimes barely landing back on the ground before you were pulled continuously by Ahk's grasp on your hand.

The edge of the city must've been 5 iteru away––longer than either of them could run in their state. Realizing this, Ahkmen pulled off into alleyways as he had the day before, and hid within the tall, vacant walls.

He panted heavily as the two of you slowed, skidding on the sandy ground before you both fell down in exhaustion. Your chest heaved like his, eyes concentrated on a purely blue sky, as his remained centered on the single exit from the dead end; the only direction you could be approached from.

"Who do we run from?" You finally asked, irritation lacing the knot in your brow.

"Soldiers," he answered instinctively. You had a fear of them––it might subdue your curiosity. "And the town officials. We're a little young to be on our own and I don't want them to falsely accuse us of anything, or put us in any situation where we have to talk to them."

"Uh..." you scanned his composure thoroughly, "okay. I see your fear, but we must think, not run."

"You're right," he said, just barely rising to his feet enough to stumble over to you, kneeling at your side. "You're right. We need to get out of here, but not like this."

"I have one – one potion, of all my potions, in my bag," you said as you looked around, trying to find the packs you'd entered the city with. "The one for the, the – the getting drunk sick, thing in the morning."

"Hangover," he said.

"Etuvaka. Where is my bag?"

"Your what––oh, shit," he went quiet with his last words, grimacing as the blistered memories of last night returned to him in one-scene flashes.

"What?" You whipped round to look at him, a dead panic in your eyes. When he didn't answer, you scooted closer and cried, "what??!"

"We found a loose brick in the street," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back with deep regret in the breath he drew, "and to hide our stuff while we went drinking... we put our bags underneath it."

"Oh shit."

"Verily," he breathed out with a nod.

Several minutes of astonished silence passed before he croaked out, "I had most of our wares in there."

"And my potions," you said, similarly collapsed as he was. "Do you know any else?"

"No, I'm surprised I can remember that we hid our bags at all," he said, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"And my cat!" You cried.

"Your cat came with us?"

"Yes!! All from Memphis!"

"No, I mean, she came into the city? When did she leave? Or do you even remember?" He said, assaulting you with an onslaught of questions.

"Young, by the wall for the city," you said in almost a whine, leaning against the alley wall.

"Maybe she can help us," Ahk suggested, shifting to sit up straighter with the idea in his head.

"She can not speak Egyptian, dumb head!" You scolded.

"But she doesn't have any eyes," Ahk said, and you opened your mouth to explain that isn't exactly pertinent when he continued with, "so her nose might be much stronger. I hear that when you lose one of your senses, the others grow stronger."

You seemed, at best, dubious of his claims, but spoke after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Okay. But we must to find her, then the bags," you said slowly.

"Absolutely, of course," he said with a nod. "Does she answer to her name?"

You looked to him with a flat expression.

"Does any cat?" You asked.

"Fair point."

"We must have a - a.. a pot, and I will make her food. I need.. fish," you began to count the ingredients on your fingers, "fish head, oil, skin of the goose, and milk."

"That sounds disgusting," Ahk admitted honestly.

"It is. And it is good we will not eaten it."

The most difficult part of your plan ended up being the very first step––finding a place in which to mix all these horrid smelling ingredients. Neither of you owned anything in the city, and staying out of the public eye led Ahk to sacrifice several different ideas, landing you with a final resort.

It was already midday by the time you stood outside one of the city's temple's baking kitchens, the heat of the sun blocked by tarps of orange and yellow swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Already the scent of searing meat and baking pastries filled the air, wandering through little chains of markets all throughout the city, and leading you to one of the biggest kitchens you'd seen. They would not remark upon the absence of one pot, would they?

"There's a way in, back there," Ahk whispered to you, the both of you peering over empty crates. "It's just a tent so we can flip it and get inside."

"And who will we get?"

"Whichever one is closest, I presume," he said, offering no more advice before he ducked out of the hiding spot, heading discreetly across the street.

You followed in a stumble, taken surprise by his sudden movements. When you caught up with him, you knelt to hide behind the same abandoned cart, once more checking the positions of cooks and cleaners occupying the bakery. Most people were sitting at the side of a tall fountain, enjoying the midday break for food.

He left, this time signalling for you to follow him. Without pause you did, crouching down to sneak beneath the tent flaps and into the kitchen, where you were faced with a cauldron half your height. Before either of you could exchange words, you were both grasping the handles, hauling it off the small fire and out towards the space behind the tent. Another makeshift alleyway.

"Do we have to heat it?" Ahk asked, peering into the heavy bowl.

"No, it is not a good for the nose. Borrow the fish, in there." You pointed to the tent. "I will get milk."

The wretched scent stewing below you bathed your face in its' fumes, but remained nothing more than a hint of your actions to anyone further from the pot. Ahkmen had been holding his nose manually the entire time, his voice nasally, which didn't help when you laughed and drew in breaths that tasted of fish milk.

"We're going to have to pour this in the street, aren't we," Ahk said, one hand pinching his nose and the other on his hip.

"Yes, and we can not... soldiers, can not see us," you said, glancing between him and the pot.

"Right. Drop and dip."

"... okay."

Oil was eventually hard enough to find that you forwent the ingredient, leaving you with milk, goose skin, and fish head mixed up till it all softened. The look of it alone made Ahk queasy, and if he ever attempted to breathe too deeply, he lurched with sickness, clutching his stomach. You just laughed.

"Not good, is it?" You said with a toothy grin.

"How many times have you made this shit?" He asked, his face pale as he leaned against the nearest solid wall.

"I make it... not much, and it is smaller many times, so... I am.. dear God, this smells," you grumbled.

"Just get this over with."

The two of you lugged the heavy cauldron out of the alley, shuffling past the temple to dump the product of your work. Your head pounded as you strained, dry and hungry, till you managed to toss the pot out into the crowded streets.

The reaction was instant. Questions and groans rippled through the people who split as the white mixture flooded down the road. More shouts and exclamations followed when the scent truly set in, wafting from the milk already baking in the hot sun. Ahk turned to you to find you laughing, stumbling back as you hid your grinning mouth.

"What's so funny?" He asked, but he was already chuckling with you.

"You rich people," you said as you pointed to a couple fleeing hand in hand, their silken white robes lined with rotten milk. "It is funny to see you run, and scream."

"Alright, you've gotten your kicks. Where's your cat?"

"Quiet. She comes soon."

From the many different streets coalescing into the center outside the temple, cats came, some hairless like yours and others furry and large. They gathered at the spill, sniffing curiously at the strange mixture before ultimately licking away at it.

"You know, I didn't actually expect them to like it," Ahk said above you, both of you peering out from behind the kitchen tent.

"You do not trust me?"

"It's not that," he said with a frown that disappeared at your chuckling. "I just.. it's astounding anything can stand that close to it."

"We did."

"Shut up, Yogi."

It took a little while, but by the time soldiers discovered the debacle, you and Ahk were chasing Sephys down another, smaller street. Her missing eyes were of no consequence as she darted between boxes and legs, jumping over a small mouse who cowered near the wall. Ahkmen's heart was already racing from the proximity to royal guards, doubled by his chasing feet, following after you following a blind cat.

Sephys' luck ended as she ran into a man's legs, bonking her head and fluttering back with an unsteady tail. You knelt, swooping her up to coo and pet her head, cradling her like a baby in your arms.

"Uh, sorry," Ahk apologized quickly to the man Sephys had run into. He glared but said nothing, continuing to lug crates of vegetables out of a nearby doorway.

Ahkmen jogged back over to you, looking over your shoulder at the cat.

"Do you think she'll be able to find it?" He asked.

"What?" You looked up at him, flinching away when you found how close he was to you.

"Our bags."

"Oh! Yes, yes. Sephys," you held her at eye level, her gangly limbs stuck straight down, "we must to find my potions. My bag."

She looked blankly to the side of your face. Her nose twitched.

"Good," you said before dropping her.

She trotted off with hunched shoulders, her thin body jumbling her steps. You ran after her, motioning Ahk along when he didn't immediately follow you. He sighed but obeyed, winding back through the streets to the spill, where Ahk attempted his best at hiding his face as he ran by. Fortunately you were only there for a split second before you running off down another street, following the light-footed Sephys.

When she stopped, she pawed at the ground, sniffing the dust that had blown over. You slowed to a halt, kneeling down beside her.

"Atu inke irukirata, Sephys?" You asked as you caught your breath.

"Did we find it?"

"I think, yes," you said, gently pushing Sephys aside and digging your short nails into the loose brick of the street. Ahk knelt at your side and aided you in moving the rock.

Soon, the brick was raised enough for you to pull it out the rest of the way, revealing a pocket within the earth containing leather and fabrics reminiscent of both yours and Ahk's packs. Both of you exclaimed, looking to one another with big grins that devolved into laughter.

"We did it!" He said, pulling the bags out of the tiny hole. He handed you yours.

"We are smart, we know," you said with a sly wink, tapping your temple. "And cat knows."

"Right," he chuckled as he moved to his feet. "Shall we?"

"What we?"

"Uh... never-mind. We should go soon. The guards are nearby."

"I know."

Sephys was the first to jump into the stranded boat, followed by you and then your collective bags. Ahkmen stayed on solid ground to push the canoe back into the water, jumping in as it floated away, and grabbing the oar to resume your travels.

Without the canals of streets that trapped sunlight in alleys and beneath tarps, the cool wind could distract you from the burning sun. Your fingertips returned to grace the water in shallow strokes, breathing slower, and basking in the stillness that could not exist within cities. While you relaxed in the boat's bottom, Ahk remained on his feet and rowed you onwards.

"We have bread, magic, and good friends," you said, a long sigh leaving you as your head tilted back. "We are cakes."

"We're what?"

"You know. He is the... the head, of Egypt," you said.

"Ohh, you mean Kings."

"Etuvaka." Your head fell back down onto the floor of the canoe.

You set off in the afternoon, leaving you little time to travel before the nighttime would set you away. Much deserved sleep was collapsed into, your blankets splayed across the nearest flat, dry surface. The boat was just barely pulled onto the shore, but the thought never crossed his mind as his eyes fluttered open to see you facing him. Already you were dozing, anywhere from a second to a minute from deep sleep.

"Yogasundari?" He asked softly.

"Mm," you breathed out.

"I don't think we should stop at any more Egyptian cities," he said, his voice cracking.

You shifted slowly to your side before you spoke, just barely opening your eyes.

"Why?"

"It was a close call with those soldiers," he said, scanning you for any hint of emotion beyond tired. "I don't want to lose you so soon."

"We have made okay with more.. scary people, and.. more danger. Soldiers are little to me," you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as you finished.

No, you're little to soldiers, he thought, but said nothing, and relaxed back into the blankets.

"I hope you're right," he said.

Breakfast consisted of bread and what little you could find along this stretch of the Nile. Ahk managed to spear a fish with a sharp stick, but neither of you could manage to eat much after yesterday's snafu. The fish ended up being eaten mostly by Sephys, who purred happily at your discomfort, playing with the bones of her prey. You and Ahk watched in mild disdain.

By midday you were back to burning in the sun, lamenting the lack of shade present in the middle of a kilometer wide river. Despite your discomfort, you continued to wear your longer robes, insisting they helped in keeping the sun off. Ahkmen took a different approach and removed most of his clothes, to your humored surprise.

"Any time you can take off it, you do," you said, laughing as you threw your head back behind loose shoulders. "Bad little boy."

He had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling––well, that or laughing. He couldn't quite tell what was bubbling in his stomach but it seared your name onto his heart. You could make him curl up and die in a single sentence, something Ahk was used to being, not receiving.

The signs of civilization appeared much earlier than they had when arriving in Heliopolis, beginning with trading and passenger ships passing the two of you by. Ahk always looked away. His uneven breathing gave way to anticipation, waiting for the appearance of the city, where his attention would constantly be heightened to perceive every person around him.

It was a cold return to royalty––the state of constant awareness, keeping your posture straight, your gaze steely, your brow firm but not stern. After days spent with you, it was already an alien stature to his body.

He squinted through the bright sun to the distant walls, remarking upon little else besides the pure white of the stone. Tanis was an unremarkable place known only for being a city at the mouth of the Nile river. That made it a trading port, but few people actually lived in Tanis, and much of the population was made up of travellers and traders who never stayed more than a week, or three months at most.

"There it is," he said, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare.

"The next city?" You asked as you moved to your feet.

Wind pushed you about as you moved, nearly rocking you over on the gentle boat. Ahkmen was forced to grasp the oar with both hands, steering you through the choppy, foaming waves.

"Tanis," he said. Technically a safer city to be than Heliopolis, but still ruled prominently by the generals of Egypt. "It's a, um.. a military town. Lots of soldiers and such."

He bit his tongue as though it served as a punishment for his little lies. It was for your benefit, right?

"Oh," you said, drawing your knees to your chest. "Are they mad to me?"

"Not... particularly," he said, hesitating after noting your shrunken posture. "Foreigners aren't treated too badly here, since there's a lot of merchants. It's just... you were taken by the Pharaoh's men. What if they're looking for you? I mean, I don't know that they are, but I'm just worried. Do you understand that?"

"You are so scared of me being hurt –"

"For the night," he interrupted you. "Stay outside the city for tonight. Tomorrow we'll need to get camels... start off into the east. You can come then."

You frowned but curled back into yourself.

"Okay," you said.

Early evening settled itself in the skies around you when you reached the city, stopping off on the opposite side of the shore to ensure your 'safety'. Ahkmen's muscles strained, already aching from the multiple efforts to pull the canoe safely onto shore. This time he only pulled it halfway up, leaving it to help you set up a tent for the evening, hidden in a grove of date trees and vines.

"I won't be gone for long. I promise. I'll bring back some actually good food, um... beer, of course," you grinned at that, and he couldn't stop his own smile, "maybe a tarp."

"A tarp?"

"For shade, when we stop for breaks. I think it'll be good if we're going to be travelling by land, we'll be wanting to stop quite often, I think."

"Okay," you said with a nod. "I will see to find maybe things for my potions."

"Perfect. Do you have a sword? Or, a dagger?"

"Yes," you chuckled.

"Alright. I'll see you soon."

Time passed achingly slow without Ahk, sharing the company of no one but your cat. That had been your life for a time, but things were different now, and you had gotten accustomed to his company.

Sephys followed you as you roamed about the trees and bushes, looking for any plant of specific necessity. The ingredients of your potions ranged anywhere from common fruit to materials so rare many didn't believe in their existence.

What Ahk had yet to find out were the uses of your potions––not so much practical as they were fantastical. The hangover cure was the most useful, but given the right ingredients and the right amount of time, you could also fashion mixtures that allowed you to hear the Gods' and Goddesses' words, or to see the stars and know your direction even in daylight. Considering the sun was still a thing, the latter wasn't one you made often.

Flowers played an integral part in a few of your brews, though the role was usually outshone by other, more exotic ingredients. Roses could be used to enhance your lusting potion, as well as the Commander spell and the To Shadows mix. Blue lotus lillies that grew within the Nile had a magic all their own.

You settled down on the riverbank, pausing in a space between overgrown bushes that led straight to the shore. Mud and sand crawled up from the softly rippling waves, carrying rocks and tiny fish that Sephys batted at, blindly attempting to use her dull claws.

"Stop that," you said, hitting her gently on the head after she splashed you.

Lily pads, their roots and stems towering off the river's floor, slowed the already feeble current passing by your side of the shore. There were few flowers among them, and the moss that surrounded them were a more vibrant green than the pads, but you still traced your fingers over the tops as though you would walk across them. Someday, perhaps; out of all the incredulous things you had encountered in your time, giant lily pads didn't seemed quite a normal thing in comparison.

Reaching for one of the purple flowers, you began to pull, attempting to uproot the vine that grounded it. In the end you twisted the stem till it thinned and broke, allowing you to free the lotus. You spun it round on your fingers, entranced in the symmetry of the petals, till you tucked it aside and reached for another flower.

Altogether you spotted four blue lotus flowers, each boasting vibrant purple and pollen as yellow as the sun. The true properties of the blue lotus were subject to your active imagination, as they appeared to boost one's connection to the divine, as well as intensifying both romantic and lust-filled thoughts that hid in the corners of the drinker's mind. Commonly it was brewed into tea used for Egyptian ceremonies––you made syrup out of it, or boiled it into potions that altogether cancelled out the sugarpea-like taste of blue lotus.

You decided to leave two of the flowers as they were, and left with two of your own. Sephys followed you as you stood from the shore, returning inland into the groves of trees, to where Ahk had originally left you and your bags. There you knelt in the dirt again, setting one flower aside and crushing up the other with a mortar and pestle. Occasionally you dripped a few strands of honey from your glass bottle into the mixture, allowing the petals and the pollen to mix easier, into yellow-ish paste that would last as long as you boiled it and kept it bottled up. With that, you set up the fire, allowing it to bubble before you slowly poured the mixture into an empty bottle, and corking it up once you were satisfied.

"Wonderful. Now I'll never use it," you said to yourself, cheerfully, and in your own native language.

Sephys sniffed the mortar in which you had ground up the flower, licking when she realized there were traces of honey inside. You didn't bother to stop her––if she wanted to get sick, she could, and if she wanted to get high, she could do that as well.

The other flower you set out to dry in the spotted sun shining through palm leaves, and left it alone to return to the river. It was there you remained until evening, watching ships stop and leave on the opposite shore, stopping by the city Ahk found himself lost in. Worry did occur to you, though you had little time to dwell on it before a small canoe was making its' way back across the river.

By then the sun had lowered to a point in the crystal-clear sky that rays of gold and red reflected off the water's surface, bouncing back in shimmering waves. The rowing of an oar within water marked Ahk's return, and you waited patiently at the edge of the river, watching as he made his way back with a grin that lit up the moment he saw you.

He splashed as he jumped out of the boat, hauling it onto shore before wrapping you up in a tight––and very wet––hug.

"Look at you!" He said as he pulled away, his hands on your shoulders and his eyes on yours. "You're still alive!"

"You are mean, Aganu," you said, grinning as you stared up at him with that same starstruck look.

"You're right up there with my mother on that belief. I've gotten what we need, but I also brought something for you," he said, motioning you over to the beached canoe.

You followed him, looking over his shoulder as he rifled through the bags and protective fabrics tossed into the raft's bottom. First he pulled out a clay jug, which he set down gently beside him, before returning to pull out a large, orange tarp.

"Garish, but... only color they had," he said, handing it to you. You took it with mild confusion.

After several cases of food, he drew a lute, handing it to you with great care to notice your reaction. Your mouth fell open part way, eyes widening as you twirled it around in your hands.

"This is... money," you said slowly, your brow furrowing as you traced the thin strings.

"It did cost a little, but I'm sure we'll get plenty of use out of it," he assured you.

"You can.." you motioned strumming it, but were reluctant to touch the strings, "do the, uh... music?"

"No," he said, his face falling into a slight grimace. "No, not really. I mean, I can make it make sound, but whether or not those sounds are good are, well, um.. up to the listener. I was thinking you could play it. It seems like something..." he sucked in a breath, "... you'd like."

"You will do the words," you said, suddenly energized as you took his hand, dragging you over to the little fire you'd made hours ago. "I do the music."

"You want me to sing?" He asked with a soft chuckle.

"Yes!" You nodded ardently.

You pulled him with you as you sat down, your legs stretched out across the blanket you'd set out earlier. He followed, crossing his own legs as he watched you fiddle with the position of the instrument, accustoming your arms to the feel of its' weight.

When you at last plucked a string, a single, high note hummed throughout the grove of trees, silencing the bugs and birds that inhabited the riverside. You looked up, glancing around at the sudden quiet. Your eyes fell to Ahk, who nodded with a smile, gently encouraging you.

A finger on the fret board and the tone changed, growing higher in a pentatonic that appeared to clash without the other notes making up the hymnal. So you slid up further, creating a minor tune that still thrummed in the lute's echo chamber. You breathed in shakily, hoping to calm yourself before you continued.

Ahkmen, sensing your nervousness, decided to stand and gather fallen twigs and branches for the fire to lessen the stress of an audience. His absence allowed your shoulders to release from their tightened state. With that, you stroked all three strings in a swoop of your thumb, discordant but not unpleasant in its' reverb. Different positions on the wooden board brought about different notes, sliding up and down in crescendos that sounded not unlike the instruments of elders played by the side of the road. A single string worked better for you--at least for now--than attempting to use all three, especially at the same time.

A string twanged when you accidentally pulled the string to the side, and you flinched, looking up to Ahk with a worried look. He didn't seem to mind, so you continued.

He began to hum as he returned to your side, tossing in the smaller twigs to restart the embers of the fire. You tried to ignore him until you realized he was singing in harmony, no words in the tune, but twisting around your lute like vines overgrown with roses.

A burst of fire sprouted from the stone circle, reaching up higher than you stood on your feet. Ahkmen jumped back with a yelp, covering his face automatically with his hands, though he landed back with no more injury than a bruise on his bottom. Your mouth fell open and you dropped the lute, rushing over to his side.

"You are good?" You asked in a frantic voice, your shaking hands hovering above him.

He clasped his head, groaning as he sat up.

"I'm alright," he assured you, patting your knelt thigh. He started to chuckle, "I'm just sort of stupid."

"No, no," you said, but could offer little comfort besides that.

That alone made him snort, his head falling back down to the ground as he laughed. You giggled with him, your shoulders shaking as you covered your mouth, hiding your smile from view.

As you both calmed, he asked something that had been on his mind for a good while.

"Why do you cover your smile whenever you laugh?" He asked in a soft voice, one that demanded no answer.

You paused, your lips parting as your posture straightened.

"I... I do not know," you said, looking away. "It is.. something to... I do not want soldiers to see me smile. They think I am.. 'up to something'."

"Why would they think that?" He asked with a frown.

"I think it is my home, my clothes," you said.

"Where you're from," he mumbled, sighing as he shut his eyes. "I've never liked those damn soldiers. The only people who want to be my father's soldiers are the ones who will abuse the power, and those who abuse power are not good people."

"What do you say?" You asked, furrowing your brow.

"You've probably already realized this, but there's quite a lot of nationalism in Egypt. A lot of my people don't like foreigners," he explained. "It's a crude and primitive frame of thought. I'm sorry."

"It is not for you, to say sorry for," you said, meeting his eye as he turned to you, still lying flat on his back.

"I know," he grunted as he sat up.

But I am the Prince. Can I claim that?

"Here, though, there is nothing but us," he said.

He scooted closer to you, resting his palms on your knees.

"You don't need to do that anymore," he said. "I want to see you smile."

"I do not -"

His fingers crawled like spiders up your shirt, teasing your sensitive stomach with light brushes that brought you far too easily into cackling. You fell back, your hands subconsciously coming up to cover your mouth, much to his disappointment and amusement. He reached up, pinning your hands above you with one arm while the other continued to tickle up from your waist and onto your chest as you laughed helplessly.

You continued to writhe in his grasp, your smile wide and blushing as he sat on your hips, pinning you further to the ground. Your legs kicked against the floor, sometimes budging against Ahk's back. Ahk continued to grin at your laughing stupor.

"Stop! Stop!" You cried through the laughter, attempting to wriggle out of the hands pinning you down.

Tears blurred into the edges of your eyes and he finally ceased, leaning back with cheeks aching from his smile.

"And I'll do it again if you don't stop covering yourself up like that," he said, ever so slightly leaning in closer, till he hung over you like the sky.

Nothing but silence from you––the words couldn't form in your head or on your tongue, so you simply nodded, eyes flickering across his features. He fell into a similar silence, scanning your near vacant expression. Close enough to feel your breath.

Your gaze drifted upwards. A halo of stars glowing around him. Above you, pinning you down, as he had weeks or months ago––sneaking you across a river turned into sneaking you down a river, painted stars became the heavens, speaking of your laughter rather than the Gods and their stories. But your eyes remained the same, staring into one another, puzzled by your hesitance to part.

"We must sleep," you said softly, making no move to get up.

"Yeah," he said, and he appeared to be just as reluctant to move.

The fire crackled beside you, now burning through larger branches and leaves that emitted smoke high into the starlit sky. Dancing flames illuminated the dips and rises of his face, the long eyelashes surrounding cold, grey irises, and the curls of his growing hair nearly overtaking his eyes.

You dared not breathe.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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theright-sideofme · 4 years ago

Text

The Healer. Kang Yeosang

Prince Yeosang x healer fem!reader WC: 2.6k Warnings: Mentions of death and violence

10 years ago

The forest surrounding the castle was off limits to prince Yeosang. His father had warned him about the dangers in the forest: Thieves and barbarians, werewolves and vampires, and worst of all, witches. Yeosang had promised his father he would never enter the forest alone under any circumstances. However, teenage rebellion was a right of passage, and after the fight he had gotten into with his father today, the only thing on his mind was braving the forest alone. So without thinking, he ran, he ran out of the great hall and through the castle garden, he ran straight into the forest, where he continued to run until he stumbled upon a little white cottage. What was a quaint little cottage doing here?

The cottage door swung open and Yeosang froze. A girl around his age came bouncing out of it, the large smile on her face dropping as soon as she saw Yeosang. Fear flashed across in her eyes right before they started welling up with tears, she was afraid of him? “I’m not going to hurt you” Yeosang reassured, slowly holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. “Who are you” she asked as bravely as she could. “I’m Yeosang, and you are” “... Y/n” “it’s nice to meet you Y/n. May I ask why you’re out here” Y/n looked at him as if he had asked the stupidest question ever, “I could ask you the same thing” she shot back defensively. It was not going to be easy to get her to warm up to him. “Well, I’m just out on a stroll” he shrugged gently with a smile. She raised her brow at him, skeptical. “I live here.”

Present

“Y/n, I got that herb you were talking about” Yeosang announces as he lets himself into the familiar cottage. “Angelica” Y/n asked, jumping off her latter to make her way over to Yeosang. “I’m pretty sure that’s the one” Yeosang handed Y/n the bag and watched as her face lit up, “Yeosang, you absolute angel” she squealed, hugging him tightly before running off to ground it up. “What’s this for anyways” “a mother in the village needs something for her sick son and the healer’s trying to charge her an arm and a leg for it.” Yeosang hummed in response. Y/n was a kind soul, she just couldn’t say no to helping people. When they first met, despite Y/n’s apprehensions, she gave him a warm meal and a place to stay for the night (It was too dark to walk home in the dark) before helping him find his way back.

“You know the castle could use a new healer” he said, “ your father would hang me for witchcraft before hiring me to be the castles healer.” Yeosang sighed, she was right of course, women weren’t allowed to be healers, at least not in this kingdom. Yeosang still couldn’t help but ask, as much as he liked the time he gets away from the castle when he comes to visit, he started to realize something as he got older; seeing her once every two weeks wasn’t enough, he wanted to see her everyday.

Yeosang watched her work in her little kitchen, asking questions so he could understand what she was doing. She patiently answered every question, even showing him exactly how everything was done.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t like his company. At first she was apprehensive of him, thinking he was another witch hunter, she thought he was going to kill her how the last ones killed her parents. But he was kind and showed her he wasn’t a threat.

*Flash Back*

“You’re back” Y/n said in surprise as she watch Yeosang walk up to her small little cottage with a basket in his hand. “I told you I would be” he said simply with a large smile on his face. Once he reach Y/n he held out the basket, earning a weird look from the girl, “it’s a gift, for helping me, open it.” Y/n couldn’t keep the smile off her face, a gift? Opening up the hatch, Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed together as she pulled out a small white box. She looked up at Yeosang who just nodded to her, telling her to open it. So she did, “Yeosang-” she looked up at him with a bright smile, he’d remembered.

“A pumpkin pastry, they may not be as good as your mother's, but I figured it was worth a shot.” It had been a late night discussion during his first visit here, she had told him about the pumpkin pastries her mother used to make, and how much she missed them. Never did she think he would remember something a silly and small as that. Carefully placing the pastry back into the basket, Y/n latched herself onto him. “Thank you” she giggled into his chest, sending butterflies straight to Yeosang’s stomach. “I-it’s just a pastry, don’t thank me” “but-” “it’s fine Y/n” he laughed, pulling away to see her still smiling brightly. “Well what are you waiting for, go on, eat.”

*End of Flashback*

Y/n smiled at the memory as she carefully bottled up the medicine and gently placed it in her bag, alongside a loaf of bread and some berries. “All that for a sick child?” “No, the loaf’s for Hongjoong, he promised me a bowl of his mothers onion soup if I brought him some rosemary bread.” Nodding, Yeosang helped her into her coat after she slipped on her shoes. “Why don’t I come with you, I haven’t been to the village in ages” “and what would people say if they saw me wondering around town with the prince” “I’ll be sneaky” he joked as he wrapped her scarf around his head. The small laugh that left her lips caused him to smile, he quite liked her laugh, and he definitely liked being the cause of it. “You can come on one condition” “anything” “you have to bring me a pumpkin pasty next time you come to visit” “easy enough, now come on, let’s go.” Y/n laughed as he dragged her out of her home, eager to get to the village.

-----

Yeosang looked around the village with wide eyes, it had changed quite a bit since he had last been here as a boy. There were many more buildings and even more street stalls. The smell of freshly cook pork nearly dragged him away from Y/n’s side. He never understood why his father hated coming to the village, it was so much more lively than the castle: children ran through the streets, people conversing and laughing, everyone, young and old dancing in the village square. Yeosang wished he could live a life like this.

“Yeosang, come on, I don’t need you getting lost” Y/n sighed as she tugged on his sleeve. Yeosang just looked down at her with the brightest smile, and she could’ve sworn her heart jumped. “This place is amazing!” Y/n stared at him, admiring his childlike happiness and the sparkle in his eye. She found herself entranced by his beauty just like she had countless time before, and each time she was left breathless.

She took in a deep breath and smiled, “I know your excited, how about this, you go get something to eat from one of the stalls while I drop this off, and we’ll meet in the village square in 10 minutes?” Yeosang shook his head, catching her off guard, she was sure he would want to explore on his own a bit.

“I want to stay with you” just when she thought he couldn’t prod his way any further into her heart, he goes and says something like that. “Okay then, come on.” Yeosang grabbed her head and gestured for her to lead the way, and she did, quickly turning away to hide the blush on her face as she lead him to the house.

As they were walking towards the house, Y/n noticed some palace guards making their way into town. The atmosphere had changed almost instantly, everyone quieted down, the music stopped, and the children quickly disappeared. Y/n quickly pulled up her hood and encouraged Yeosang to do the same.

Yeosang had noticed the shift as well, it was impossible not to. He wonder why everything had changed so fast. Was it the guards? It couldn’t have been. Oh how naïve he was.

The head guard made his way over to a old man, they whispered amongst themselves for a few seconds and the air only seemed to get thicker. Y/n’s grip tightened around Yeosang’s hand as she tried to get him to hurry.

“What’s going on” Yeosang asked quietly as he quickened his strides to keep up with Y/n. “Weekly inspection” the dreaded part of every villagers week. Y/n had only been in the village once during an inspection, and she did not like it one bit. She made an effort to avoid the weekly inspections, but unfortunately, they were random. The guards would come down to the village and ransack houses and shops, anything ‘incriminating’ would get confiscated and anyone could get arrested for anything.

Yeosang turned to look at the guards once more, only to see them throwing the old man off his patio. “Hey-” Yeosang was quickly shut up by Y/n yanking his down to her height. “Don’t, please” she practically begged in a small voice. “They’re hurting him” “They hurt everyone, we can’t stop them, please Yeosang” “I can-” “You can what? If they find out your here you’ll never be allowed to leave the palace again” “I can't just let these people get hurt” Y/n took a deep breath and looked up at him, her heart beating out of control the longer she stood where anyone could see. “Then at least wait for me to be gone” “what?” “Please.” He looked down at her and the tears in her eyes- she was scared, she was scared of his men- no, his father’s men. He was going to fix this, but first- “go, quickly.” Y/n thanked him quietly before running down the street and quickly disappearing down a alley.

Once Y/n was out of sight, Yeosang ran over to the guards who were now restraining a mother to keep her from the guards who were taking her child. “Stop!” Yeosang commanded in such a deep voice that everyone froze. The guards looked over, wondering who in their right mind would talk to them like that.

“P-Prince Yeosang” “let them go.” The guards stood frozen, allowing the mother and child free. “What- does you’re father know your here” “does my father know you beat on innocent towns people” “he does actually, we’re simply acting on his orders.” What? His father ordered this? His felt repulsed, how could anyone be so cruel? Shaking his thoughts away, he walked over to the guards “We’re leaving, now” “yes sir.” All the guards mounted their horse, one guard giving up his horse for Yeosang. And as he rode out of the village with thoughts of what he would say to his father. All of his thoughts were interrupted when a poster with a familiar face on it caught his eye.

Wanted: Y/n Y/l/n for the charges of witchcraft and heresy of the crown.

Now he understood.

-----

When Yeosang returned to the palace, his father was furious. He yelled at him for being irresponsible, for interfering with his direct orders, and he forbade him from ever leaving the castle again.

“You were having innocent people beaten for taxes?!” “You have no right to question me” “I have every right to question you! You want me to be king, to rule in your footsteps, well I won’t! I won’t be another tyrant” “you watch your mouth boy” “or what, you’ll have me beaten to” “don’t tempt me.”

As the two men continued to scream at each other, the doors to the great hall were opened. “What is the meaning of this, can’t you see I’m speaking with my son” the king spat at his guards. “Yes your majesty, and we’re deeply sorry, but we found someone trying to escape during the inspection and we thought you would like to know who it is.” Yeosang felt his whole body tense up, his mind wandering to one place- well person-Y/n. “Why would I care about some commoner trying to run-” “It’s her your majesty.” The king’s mood seemed to instantly change as a cheshire like grin spread across his face. Yeosang, however, felt horrible, her? Who’s her? He felt like he could throw up any moment. “Bring her to me” “yes sir.” Yeosang’s whole body was on edge as he waited for the guards- God why were they taking so long!

Everything felt like it was set to 100. The sound of foot step accompanied by the clanging of metal armor rung in Yeosang’s ears. Finally, a figure appeared at the door. He wanted to look, every nerve in his body was screaming at him to look, but he couldn’t. What if it was her? What could he do? He didn’t want to look and see her terrified face, not again, not when there was nothing he could do to help her.

“Y/n Y/l/n-” No. Yeosang’s head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on her glossy, red eyes. “-you have been a tough one have you?” Silence hung in the air like a swinging blade. Y/n stared at the floor, taking in a deep breath as she prepared herself to speak. “I’ll tell you as I told your men, I’m a healer, not a witch.” The king let out a hearty chuckle, a chuckle that let Y/n knew that there was no hope for her life. She blinked slowly as she tried to accept her fate, the tears that had welled up in her eyes now falling down her cheeks effortlessly. One after another they fell from her face and onto the cold, hard ground.

“Take her to the dungeons, she’ll be the villages entertainment for tomorrow” “No.” Yeosang spoke before he could think. He couldn’t help it, watching her stand there so hopeless and then hearing her father talk about her as if she was some play thing for his amusement- he never felt such anger before.

“No? No! Don’t you question me boy! If I say she’ll hang, she’ll hang!” “No! What proof do have to convict her of any crime” “Boy are you dense! I’m the king, that’s all I need to convict someone- Take her away, Now!.” The guard yanked her by her arms and Yeosang felt the urge to run and punch them for being so rough with her. How dare they? Yeosang turned to his father, his face red and his breathing heavy as this burning anger ravaged his body “If you kill her, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise” and with that, he stormed out of the throne room.

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“Y/n? Y/n are you down here” “I’m here” Y/n called out as she made her way over to the cell bars. Yeosang was quick to meet her there, their hands locking through to gaps of the bars. “Are you okay? Have they hurt you?” “I’m okay” “are you sure” “yes Yeosang, I’m sure” she said as she smiled sweetly at him.

After being overwhelmed by everything today, Yeosang finally felt safe enough to let it all out. Hot tears fell from his eyes as a sob wracked his body. Why was his father so cruel? Why was she being punished for it? Why did he feel so helpless? Y/n squeezed his hand tighter, wishing that this bars would evaporate and she could pull him into her arms.

She knew her time on this Earth was coming to an end, but her mother always taught her to have hope. She wondered what good hope was in a situation like this? But when she looked at Yeosang, she couldn’t help but have hope, he was her best friend, she couldn’t leave him, not like this.

“Hey, don’t cry, you act like I’m dying” Yeosang looked up, obviously not amused by her joke. “I’m serious, I’m not leaving you” “good, because I wasn’t going to let you.” Y/n smiled as he seemed to calm down a little, his breathing slowly returning back to normal as the tears slowed down.

Yeosang stared at her, admiring every bit of her as if he would never see her again, he was totally and utterly in love. He finally admitted it to himself, he was in love with Y/n Y/l/n. A weight felt as if it had been lifted as a small chuckle left his lips. “Y/n” “yes” she asked, a bit confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. “I love you.” As shocked as she wanted to be, she wasn’t, because deep down, she already knew. “I love you too” she mumbled quietly as her head rested against the bars. A sigh of relief left his lips as he tightened his grip on her hands, “promise me you’ll stay alive” “Yeosang-” “promise me” and she did, she promised that she would stay alive, despite knowing she may never see him again after tonight.

#ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez fantasy au #ateez #kang yeosang #kang yeosang imagines #kang yeosang x reader #kang yeosang fanfic #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

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pokeheadcannons97 · 4 years ago

Note

Hello friend ^_^ I’m the chicken anon 🐤 I call myself because I’m too much of chicken to come off of anon 😊 Anyway lol. Can I request Lance, Raihan, Leon, and Cheren with a fem!S/O who’s like... really blunt and doesn’t hesitate to speak exactly what’s on her mind. It’s a blessing and a curse lol

I only do 3 characters at one ask, so imma do, Raihan, Leon, and Cheren, since I know their characters better, I hope that’s okay! ;w;

Raihan

When the two of you were interrupted on your date for the upteenth time, your patience had ran thin.

Raihan was trying his best to accomadate both you, the camera personelle, and a large group of fans that had surrounded your table at a local pastry shoppe in Hammerlocke. He kept mouthing apologies towards you every few moments with a strained look on his features.

Raihan was a sweet guy, and tried to go above and beyond for everyone.

He just didn’t seem to know when to say no.

Your time to shine.

You had crossed your arms and with a look that could send Pumpkaboos running you stated sternly. “If you couldn’t see with all the large lense cameras,” you tapped the glass with your right knuckle. “We are trying to spend some time together, you know, a date?”

The cameraman immediately pointed the large, expensive camera towards you. “Y/N! How is it to be in a relationship with the tamer of dragons, Raihan?”

A growl of fustration escaped you. “It would be absolutely perfect, if you lot would learn how to give someone some space!” You replied while pointing at Raihan. “Raihan has had four matches, plus a meet and greet afterwards. Can you not see that he is tired? The two of us just wanted to have some quality, quiet time together after such a long day.”

You placed your hands on your hips and pointed your index finger towards the group. “The interview, selfies, chatting, etc, is over.” You said with your voice ringing through out the now much quieter restaurant. “Next time, try to be more respectful of the people you love so much, it’ll do you some good!”

As the fans and reporters quickly left, albeit begrudgingly, you noticed Raihan giving a small applause towards you.

“What would I do without you, Y/N?” he beamed and bent over the table to give you a kiss on the lips.

Raihan really does see your bluntness as needed when he can’t be the one to say no.

Leon

You were busying yourself by scrolling through Pokegram until you heard the curtain from the changing room come open. You glanced up towards your boyfriend and nearly let out a strangled noise.

“So?” he asked while doing his signature pose he was known for. “What do you think?”

In front of you, Leon was wearing the most ridiculous of clothing choice. It took forever for you to convince him to get rid of the shorts and long leggings combo with the tacky diamond pattern down the sides, but this, oh Arceus this was so much worse.

The poor man did not know which kind of patterns went with which. He sported a plaid button up shirt that was red in color, with yellow polka dot patterned pants that came down to his calf. Socks of the most ridiculous neon yellow were encased in sneakers that had red and white zigzags through them.

He noticed you staring at his shoes and he puffed out his chest and tapped them against the floor and they began to flash. “Pretty sweet am I right?”

“Oh my God, they bloody light up.” You whispered in disbelief and almost wanted to cry.

He looked at you expectantly with a giddily expression, waiting for your reaction. “What do you think? A win?” He pulled on the shirt and laughed. “The shirt is my favorite, but you can’t not love these shoes! They light up an-”

“You look like a beacon for everything painful.” you said not letting him finish.

“You mean beau-”

“Terrible, go change. I’ll pick something that matches the rest of your clothes.” you said as he whined in protest.

“I’m keeping the shoes!”

Cheren

Cheren was at work, grading papers from the pop quiz that he had given earlier that day. He went to grab another paper from the quickly decreasing stack to his side but his hand landed on a familiar, softer one.

He blinked and looked up to meet your gaze as you were leaning over his desk with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, Y/N. What are you doing here? We’re supposed to meet up later at your house for dinner, no?” he asked glancing back down to the paper he was in the middle of grading, circling a couple questions and calculating the grade with a calculator close by.

You gave a heavy sigh, your clueless boyfriend as absorbed in his work as ever. “Cheren, it’s actually an hour passed the time that you were supposed to meet me at my house.” you stated bluntly, taking in a bit of amusement as his eyes widened and he spun his head at the clock on the wall that read 19:02.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry!” he replied, fluttering the pen over the paper and writing the grade at the top. “I got so absorbed in grading and tomorrows lesson plans, I seem to have lost track of time...” he scratched his cheek embarassingly.

Your arms found their way around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “You really do need to manage your time better, this isn’t the first time this has happened. And I’ve gotta say, if you don’t like my cooking all you’ve got to do is tell me.” you added and chuckled at his reaction of alarm.

“Y/N, no no no, that’s so not what I meant to convey by being late!” he insisted and it made you laugh with a roll of your eyes.

“I know, Cheren, don’t worry that smart noggin of yours.” you pulled away from him. “Now, how about we head home?” you said with a warmer smile.

“Sounds perfect, love.” He replied with a tired, but happy sigh.

#raihan x reader #leon x reader #cheren x reader #raihan #leon #cheren #pokemon swsh #pokemon black and white 2

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atiny-ahgase · 4 years ago

Text

If You Can’t Stand The Heat

Author’s Note: This is an idea that I’ve had for a while but I couldn’t get the chance to write it. Also, I’m basically clueless to any and all culinary terms but I’m trying my best. As usual, I’m open to suggestions, feedback and creative criticism. Sorry that it took me so long to write this, I’m tryna organize some things...Anyway, I hope you’re all doing okay. Sending love- Gabby. (Ps. I had no idea what to name this soo)..

Summary: Y/N and Yunho have been friends since their high school days, they had first met at Y/n’s parents’ restaurant. Bonding over Yunho’s inability to cook even the simplest of dishes; the friendship has managed to withstand the tables of time. Y/n is now the head chief of their parents’ restaurant and finds Yunho in a culinary dilemma. He’s trying to improve his cooking to impress someone that he likes, being the great friend that they are Y/N offers to help him despite the feelings that they’ve harboured for Yunho for years.

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Pairing: Yunho x Gender Neural Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, Yunho starting a fire,

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“Yunho you do realize that you’re supposed to wash the vegetables before you start cooking them right?” you jokingly ask your best friend while looking at him on a video call. “But they’re easier to wash when they’re already in cute little bite-sized pieces,” he responds while attempting to dice some uncleaned carrots and failing miserably. Rolling your eyes you respond, “If you wash chopped vegetables you're removing all of the water-soluble vitamins dummy,” you chuckle, “also; you do know that you still have the knife cover on right?” Even from your subpar camera quality, you could still see a pink tint spreading from his ears to his face; gently adorning his cheeks. “I was just making sure you were paying attention”, he laughs awkwardly while scratching the back of his neck.

Yunho had never been that skilled in the kitchen and by that you meant that he was absolutely horrible in the kitchen and you didn’t feel comfortable leaving him near a stove unsupervised. Sometimes you’ve wondered how he lasted this long without setting something on fire; he’s been very close to doing so on multiple occasions though. Yunho was a handful but at least your time together was never boring. He was always able to brighten your day even just by doing the simplest of things.

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You’d first met Yunho while working at your parents’ restaurant, you had just returned from school and the Music Festival down the street had attracted a lot of teenagers to the restaurant. Usually, you'd only work on the weekends but the packed dining area and waiting room had proven to be too much for the usual staff to handle. Changing into your uniform which consisted of a white dress shirt and black dress pants with comfortable shoes, you hastily made your way to the dining area.

You’ve always loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, what could be more satisfying than delivering edible works of art to others. Each dish that you served was a well-sculpted masterpiece waiting for consumption. Every aspect from the plates they were served on to the type of ingredients used were all thoroughly thought out with the goal of enchanting the pallet and while enriching the body.

The day sped by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it closing time had arrived. Your parents had left the task of closing up to you as they went to procure produce for the next day. The kitchen was cleaned, dining chairs wiped and tucked away ready to welcome new customers on a new day. Wiping the perspiration off of your brow you grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, only to be greeted by a small group of boys entering the dining area. “Could they not read?” you thought to yourself while welcoming them with your signature ‘Customer Service’ smile. “Good evening, sorry but we’re closed for the night,” you politely stated while looking at the group in question.

Now that they had fully entered the restaurant you could see their faces more clearly, they were all incredibly handsome; easily surpassing anyone you had ever seen in magazines. The one that seemed to be the shortest of the bunch let out a soft sigh while running his hand through his red hair before speaking. “Sorry about that we must not have seen the sign,” he smiled softly “, Yunho isn’t feeling very well so we thought that maybe he should get something to eat,” he continued while gesturing to one of his friends. “We’ve been out all day and I think the noise, the heat and the fact that all he ate today was a sandwich is finally getting to him”, he continues before letting his head gently hang down.

Looking up at the friend in question you are greeted by two warm, brown orbs; the caramel colour sparkled more brightly than the richest caramel sauce you’ve ever served. His complexion was bad, the pale white undertones reminding you of the pastry sugar you use to garnish deserts; smooth and delicate, perfect for baked goods, not so much for people. Was it wrong to be this infatuated with someone who was feeling ill? Even at his worse, this man was still a sight to behold. Towering above you with a smile that shone so bright, like the crystal clear chandeliers that hung over your head his smile could easily light up a room. Truly a dazzling sight to behold...

The sound of someone’s voice had pulled you out of your thoughts. Recomposing yourself quickly you came to realize that it belonged to the red-haired boy. “We should get going guys,” he stated with a dejected tone. “They must be tired”, you thought “, one meal surely couldn’t hurt”. “The kitchen staff have all left,” you spoke, nervousness in your voice, “but I can make you something if you’d like.” You averted your eyes as your face began to heat up, you’ve only ever cooked for your family and the restaurant staff. What if you messed up? What if they don’t like it? Your mind flooded with negative possibilities- “Thank you.” You looked up, searching for the owner of that sweet and gentle voice. If you had to describe it it would be an Angel food cake; soft, light and airy; it filled you with comfort.

You smiled brightly when your eyes meet. Yunho was his name, right? It’s amazing; how could one person shine so brightly? He wasn’t even trying, with washed-out skin, beads of perspiration and soft airy gasps for breathe he still manages to get your attention as the most handsome in the room. If this was his presence when ill how brightly was his light when he wasn’t? You felt a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You shook it off, trying to stay focused on the task at hand; preparing a dinner that won’t upset an already upset stomach. Easy right? Keeping that in mind you opted to make a Simple Italian Gnocchi Soup with extra vegetables to boost his antioxidants. It wasn’t the most extravagant meal you’ve made but you didn’t want to overwhelm his pallet or upset his stomach further.

You went to the kitchen and prepared the meal because it was simple it didn’t take you to long. Plating the meals you arranged them on the waiters’ table and began rolling it to the party of boys.

The loud, environment of the bustling dining room you remembered from earlier paled in comparison to the thunderous sounds made by the group of boys upon the arrival of food. Their excited noises and gestures filled the building and also your heart. Despite their slightly reserved demeanour, they had an almost childlike aura surrounding them. It was a warm comforting feeling which you gladly welcomed. Placing their meal on the stark white table cloth, you smiled shyly before retreating to the kitchen.

You stayed there attempting to busy yourself with your phone, this action, however, proved to be futile. Your mind was filled with the bright-eyed boy seated only a few steps away from you. If you stood up you could peek through the door into the dining room, where you were sure he was eating happily. Radiating that joyous aura that had already captured your heart and refused to let go.

You don’t know how much time had passed but you were pulled out of your thoughts by the kitchen door swinging open and colliding with your leg. “Ouch,” you surprisingly exclaimed. You really weren’t expecting that. Pulling your eyes away from your slightly bruised leg you look up to be greeted by two bright brown orbs dripping with concern. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-” he began to explain rather quickly, words mending together as he desperately attempted to apologize. Your laugh had quickly cut him off though and his once worried expression is replaced with a puzzled look.

Placing your hand over your stomach in an attempt to ease the pain of your laugher you tried your best to compose yourself. Further investigation of the boy in front of you; you finally realized why he had entered the kitchen in the first place. With him, he had all of the used dishes and silverware stacked neatly on the waiters’ table. “Thank you for bringing them in I’ll take it from here,” you stated courteously while stretching for the handle of the cart. Your action was deemed unsuccessful due to one rather handsome and seemingly troublesome male grabbing your hand. Little did you know that this one chance encounter would turn into the strongest friendship that you’ve ever had.

“I can help,” he smiled brightly at you.

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You smile fondly before you are yanked out of your thoughts by what you assumed to be the sound of water being poured on a hot pot. Placing your hands on your temple you massage your growing headache as you look at your hopeless friend who seems to make preparing fried vegetables look like a warzone. “Hey, Yunho, why don’t you just come over and I’ll make anything you wanna eat okay,” you say to your best friend who looks like he’s having a fistfight with a clove of garlic and the garlic is unfortunately winning.

“You know that I love your cooking but I really can’t,” he states, “I need to learn how to do this kinda stuff on my own.” You lightly chuckle at his determination; of all of the years that you’ve both known each other, he’s never once expressed any interest in learning how to cook on his own. “Where did this sudden revelation come from?” you inquire; eyebrows raising in interest. “I just wanna be able to make a fancy steak dinner for two,” he mumbles while stretching the back of his head. You couldn’t stop the shocked gasp from escaping your mouth. Did he just say what you thought he just said? From the red hue that had made its way up to Yunho’s face accompanied by wide eyes and an agape mouth, you knew that your assumption had been right.

Yunho had a crush.

You couldn’t believe it. You had just assumed that Yunho could never be interested in anyone. You’ve both been friends for so long and he’d never even shown the slightest of interests in anyone. “Pretend that you didn’t hear that,” he shouts while pointing an accusatory finger at his phone screen trying his best not to appear like a deer in the headlights. “Pretend that I didn’t hear what? That my little YuYu is tryna impress someone with a lovely dinner,” you tease him; smiling from ear to ear. He released an exasperated sigh before placing his head on the cold marble counter in a futile attempt to cool his heating face. “How about you take them to my restaurant? You guys can sit at the best table we have and everything,” you offer a suggestion to your best friend; your nosey side getting the better of you.

“No, I wanna do this on my own” he states while stepping closer to his phone screen, a look of determination clearly on his face. “Wow, you must really like them then,” you mummer softly; more to yourself than to Yunho but that doesn’t stop him from hearing every word. “I do like them, I have since the very first day I met them,” he says, his eyes never once leaving yours. A clear glint shone from them as they stared directly at you.

You both were unsure of how long you’ve been in this staring contest but you broke apart upon hearing the blaring sound of Yunho’s fire alarm. He’s finally done it. It took a couple of years but he’s finally succeeded. He has successfully started a fire. It was honestly only a matter of time. You see Yunho rush to the sink to get water to extinguish the fire “, No, you can’t use water on a grease fire!” you exclaim. “Find a lid to cover the pan. The fire will suffocate once there is no more oxygen,” you instructed. Yunho followed your instructions perfectly and managed to get the fire under control.

Releasing a sigh of relief you slouched into your chair as Yunho attempted to shut off his fire alarm. “That’s an interesting technique. I’ve never seen someone beat their alarm with a broomstick before,” you commented, chuckling at your friend. “This isn’t funny Y/N. Why am I so hopeless?” he asked sighing heavily as he rested his head into his palms. “You’re not hopeless; you can reach to the top shelf at the grocery store for me,” you jokingly respond trying to lighten the mood. You’ve never seen him this distraught before, this must be important to him, they must be really important to him.

Yunho chooses to ignore your comment leaving his face to rest in his sweaty palms. There had to be something that you could do, you were his best friend after all. “Okay how about this? I’ll teach you everything that you need to know,” look at him biting your lips (that had always been a nervous habit of yours). He peeled his hands away from his face and you readied yourself for rejection. “You always were a nosey one weren’t you?” he said smirking at you. “You could say that it’s my middle name,” you smile at him.

Thus began your weekly cooking sessions well more like weekend-ly cause you’d meet up every weekend with the kidlike giant you called Yunho. The first few sessions were just basic knowledge or at least that’s what you thought but apparently it wasn’t because Yunho could literally burn water if you gave him a chance. You all went through everything from how to light the stove to how to chop vegetables and even how to properly season meats. I was really fun which wasn’t very surprising since you were teaching Yunho after all, he was basically a walking party. You were usually really serious in the kitchen but there was just something about Yunho that just always brought out your childish side, his playfulness was highly contagious.

Yunho was surprisingly a fast learner, you knew that he’d always excel in physical activities but growing up you were never in the same classes so it kinda surprised you how good his memory was. After 2 weeks and four sessions, he was already making the perfect sauce and chopping vegetables like a pro. Well, he wasn’t as good as you but he really was amazing, once he’s really put his mind to something he always does well at it.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Yunho calling your name. “Y/n, earth to Y/n. Is anybody in there?”. You jump back slightly surprised by his presence. Not like he was here all day cooking with you or anything. Raising your head slightly you look up at the male who easily towering over you. He smiles slightly, a soft shape of pink dusting his cheeks. Holding a silver fork he raises his hand towards your mouth, what appeared to be a medium-rare steak sitting on its edge. Oh yeah, you both were making steak today. This was the second to last day that you both would be working on individual components of the meal, next week you were supposed to work on preparing fresh salad. You were convinced that Yunho could at least do that on his own but he desperately expressed that he couldn’t, almost begging you to teach him. Was fresh salad really that difficult to make?

You opened your mouth allowing him to place feed you the steak. Retrieving the meat from the fork you chew the tender substance letting the taste fill your tastebuds. You couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face; it was good, like really good. You’d season it with a bit more garlic but you’ve been to restaurants whos meals didn’t taste that good. “This is amazing YuYu!” you exclaim pulling him into a hug, you were so incredibly proud of him; granted he could only cook one meal but isn’t it better to be great at making one meal then be able to make multiple subpar dishes or at least that’s what you thought. Yunho looks down in a futile attempt to hide his evergrowing blush spreading from his face to his neck. “You really think so Y/N”, he asks while scratching the back of his neck.

“Of course I do. It’s really good,” you state while reaching for a knife and fork to procure another bite for yourself. “So there is nothing you would change?” he inquires while looking at you; smiling at the little dance you did after taking another bite. “Well,” you begin while finishing your second bite before speaking “, personally I’d like it to be seasoned with a little more garlic but that’s just my personal preference,” you continue while wiping a speck of sauce off of the corner of your face. You see Yunho scurry to the kitchen counter where he had a notebook which he called his “Taste-book” cause it’s a play on the word Textbook. You had once made the mistake of pointing out that he was technically wrong for naming it that because his book was a notebook and not a textbook to which he responded with a simple “, It’s actually better than a notebook because it contains your words.” How were you supposed to respond to that? How? You just left it as it was cause there was no way that you’d be able to win a fight against him..unless he let you.

You saw him scribble some notes in his hardly legible penmanship, you had no idea how he was able to comprehend what he wrote but he’d always say the same about you. Glancing across the dining table you look at the clock before releasing a long sigh. Yunho had always left at around 6 every day, he could stay longer if he wanted to but you could never muster up the courage to ask him to stay even a minute longer. It wasn’t like he was interested in you anyway; he already had someone that he liked. You feel your lower lip begin to quiver as you attempt to hold in the tears which were attempting to fall. You’ve known that this day would come but you thought that you had at least a few more years, just enough for you to find someone else to love, that there would be someone who would make you feel at least an ounce of the happiness that you felt when you were with Yunho.

You liked him, like you really liked him. You thought that maybe you would be okay standing at the sidelines as long as he was happy but a part of you always believed the pretty words that he would speak to you when he had just a little too much to drink on the days when he’s spent a little too long with his friends. He’d always drunkenly end up at your doorstep slurring something about him being hungry and wanting to eat your cooking. After making some simple Hangover Soup for him he’d lay on the couch resting his head on your lap while you aimlessly played with his hair until he fell asleep. He’d always nuzzle himself into your lap murmuring to you about how happy he was to have met you and that he was always the happiest when he was with you. And a part of you would always just blindly believed him, you needed to believe him. You helplessly gripped at that little glimmer of hope that his words gave you, you would’ve held unto them forever if you could. Although it hurt to hold on for so long you knew that it would pain you so much more to let go.

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in your eyes from gently trickling down your cheeks. Hastily wiping the tears which escaped your eyes trying your best to seem as inconspicuous as possible. But Yunho being the Golden Retriever that he was almost immediately picked up on the drastic change in your mood. “What’s wrong Y/n?” you hear his ask as he rushes to your side holding your shoulders in his hands while bending slightly to look you in your eyes.

“Nothing dummy,” you force yourself to say while putting on your best fake laugh “, it’s the onions that you left on the counter.” Slightly pushing at his chest you step back slightly before grabbing at the open bowl of onions that Yunho had neglected to cover. “I didn’t think that I had to teach you how to clean up after yourself YuYu,” you chuckle while raising your eyebrow slightly. Yunho looks at you with a puzzled expression probably attempting to read your mood. Afraid that he’d see through your lie you remind him that it was almost time for him to go. You see Yunho’s eyebrows furrow before he pulls you into a hug. This hug was so much different than any of the countless hugs that you’ve shared before, you relaxed in his arms as you held unto his shirt holding on for as long as you could before he inevitably pulled away. But he never did, neither of you did. You stayed there enjoying each other’s embrace, drowning out everything around you as listened to the steady beat of each others’ hearts.

Hearing the blearing sound of what you could only identify as Mingi’s car horn breaking through the silence that you both had grown comfortable in you jump slightly. You attempt to end the hug that you and Yunho had been engaging in but this action was soon proven to be futile as you feel Yunho’s grip tighten around your back pulling you in even closer. You feel a warmth in your cheeks as you attempt to calm your heart; your mind already going into overdrive due to your close proximity. “Same time next week teacher,” he softly whispers into your ear before finally pulling apart. You could see the smirk on his face before he turns around to grab his things.

Why was he doing this to you? Holding on to you so tightly when all you were trying to do is let go. Showing you the world in colour knowing that one day you’d have to wake up to a world of black and white, a world without Yunho.

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Today was supposed to be your last class teaching Yunho and honestly, you were both happy and sad. Happy because you no longer have to fake a smile as he happily cooked, practising for the person that he loved; a person who wasn’t you. Being in his presence hurt when his smile wasn’t because of you, it hurt knowing that pretty soon he’d leave and you’d hardly ever get to see him. He won’t show up at your apartment at ungodly hours asking for soup and snuggles, you’d really miss that. You’d always stock up on all of the ingredients that you needed every time he spoke about going out drinking with Hongjoong and the boys; rushing through the grocery store frantically searching for everything that you needed because he was coming over and he got pouty every time he couldn’t get soup. You could never say “No” to those puppy dog eyes filled with sadness upon hearing that you couldn’t make him his hangover remedy.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind you take a few deep breathes before walking down the hallway of Yunho’s apartment building. Yunho had texted you earlier saying that he couldn’t make it to your place because he was really busy with work. You told him that you could just reschedule for another day but it seemed like he was having absolutely none of it. So there you were walking down the halls of Yunho’s apartment at 6 p.m. because he couldn’t get off work before that. He usually didn’t work on weekends but he did say that work was getting more demanding, you really hoped that he wasn’t burning himself out in order to impress someone. Reaching his apartment door you gently knock on the oak surface.

Waiting for a response you bounce on your heels until you hear him shout from somewhere in his probably dishevelled apartment. Grasping the doorknob you step into his apartment, you’ve been there at least a hundred times but it looked so different. All of the lights were off; the entire living area dimly lit due to the candles burning. Looking down you see a trail of bright red rose petals contrasting with the dark wood of the apartment floor. Dropping your bags in confusion you follow the trail which leads to Yunho’s dining area. Turning the corner you were greeted by a candlelight dinner. Placed at the centre of the table was a bouquet of your favourite flowers with rose petals bordering the vase. Tall slender candles framed the room burning their bright lights throughout the area, you can smell a hint of lavender; your favourite scent.

Glancing beyond the beautifully decorated table you spot Yunho dressed in a dark brown blazer and a bouquet of roses in his hand. Even the dimly lit lights of the room couldn’t prevent you from seeing the blush that consumed his face. “T-table for two?” he asked fumbling over his words. “Oh umm these are for you,” he says averting his eyes and extending his hand with the roses. Taking the bouquet from his hand you smile before mumbling a soft “Thank you”. If someone had asked you what you expected to see when you walked into Yunho’s apartment that sight was going to be the last response on your list; if it was there at all. Hearing shuffling you look away from the roses in your hands you see the man in question pulling a seat at the table before looking at you hopefully. You’ve never seen that look in his eyes before, a bright glint of happiness mixed together with despair. Was this the cause? Were you the cause?

Taking a seat at the table you wait for Yunho to speak but only silence filled the room. Turning around in search of Yunho you’re greeted with emptiness. What is going on? Your mind was racing the longer you remained in that room alone. Soon enough Yunho’s voice breaks through the deafening silence “, Your appetizer,” he states before placing a small plate containing a few pieces of what appeared to be Cheesy Pesto Bread. You smiled to yourself while looking at the dish, it didn’t look perfect but it screamed Yunho, it was funny how he could take such a simple dish and make it so..him. You loved it; you loved him.

Looking up from the plate you notice Yunho’s eyes staring at you, the warm brown hue drip like honey off a spoon. Taking a bite of the bread you’re pleasantly surprised, for something that you didn’t teach him it tasted amazing. Looking up from your meal you hear a soft chuckle from Yunho. “You have crumbs on your face,” he says while extending his hand to wipe the remnants of your meal off of your face. You smile softly at the action. Was this all for you?

Dinner was mostly silent besides the gentle clattering of each other’s silverware against the plates. Once you had both completed your meal Yunho cleared his throat before sitting up straight looking you in your eyes.

“I like you Y/n,” he states voice faltering slightly as he attempts to swallow his nervousness. “Since the day that I met you, I always wanted you by my side. I don’t think that I can live another day without being able to call you mine,” he continues. “I know that its a lot to take in and I’ll wait for your answer for as long as it takes just promise me that you’ll at least consider it.” You look into his eyes shining so brightly even under dim lights

“Can I answer right now?” you inquire. “I’d rather you not; I need to emotionally prepare myself for rejection,” he responds half-jokingly while scratching the back of his neck eyes suddenly finding interest in the candles which glow by the door. “I like you to Yunho,” you state while reaching for his hand from across the table. “I like you so much that I sometimes don’t even know what to do-” you begin. “Date me,” he interjects; his voice more steady than before eyes once again finding solace in your own. “Okay,” you respond squeezing his hand slightly while smiling at him.

“You know that you didn’t need to do all of this for me right?” you inquire giggling slightly at Yunho’s extravagant nature. He waited three weeks, honestly maybe even more; just to be able to prepare you a candlelight dinner so he could confess He really didn’t have to, you would have easily said yes if you were both sitting eating pizza while watching movies in your pyjamas on a Friday night. “I didn’t take confessing to you lightly cause I don’t take my love for you lightly,” he responded without an ounce of doubt in his voice. His determination was a personality trait which seemed to have extended to his love life as well.

“So what dish are you making for me next?”

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

Tagging @yunhoshoe cause he said so...hope it lives up to your expectations

#ateez fluff #ateez angst #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #Yunho fic #Ateez fic #i worked way too hard on this #But I love it tho

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beyond-the-mirror · 4 years ago

Text

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Oof! After an eternity incredibly long time I’m finally back to writing! This one will be a three part fic to accompany the Fairy Tale AU one I wrote with Dante x Fem!Reader.

Can you guess which tale I got inspiration for this fic? I won’t include it in the tags for now, but as the story progresses you will start to get the idea of which tale it is.

Warnings: Slight violence against children. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious.

Story under the cut.

IMPORTANT EDIT: I decided to make this a four-part fic rather than a three-part, mostly because I realized that the second part may be a little too long to be included in just one chapter.

Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

.............................

Part One

"(Y/N)!! Where the fuck is my breakfast?!!"

Your father yelled from his bed chambers in such a loud volume you swore the entire house trembled in fear at his wrath. Letting out a defeated sigh, you hurried up placing all the served plates and the warm teapot on the tray before heading upstairs.

Life hadn't been easy at all for you, especially these recent years. Ever since you had memory, your father has been a cruel man to both you and your poor mother, the only reason she had ended up marrying him was because of an arrangement both their families had agreed upon. He was the sole heir of his family's fortune, but needed to marry a woman in order to keep their status unblemished. Eventually your grandparents passed away and your parents received the inheritance, the only problem they didn't take into account was their son's unmeasurable greed and hedonism. Soon enough, your father had wasted pretty much all your fortune in alcohol, unsuccessful business deals and gambling, reducing all your family's possessions to merely a modest but still pretty chateau in the countryside and a few valuables.

You still cried at the memory of your mother wilting away on her bed due to a most terrible illness, the medicines she needed to recover were far too expensive, not that the price mattered much since your father wouldn’t even bother to pay for them anyways had they been any cheaper. Alcohol and gambling were far more important for the man than his dying wife.

"Finally! I swear you're doing this on purpose." Your father scowled from his bed as you placed the food tray on his bedside table. "Do you wish for your own father to starve to death? Talk about an ungrateful child. Get out of my sight already!"

You only resigned to silently nod before leaving, the harsh words from your father never failed to hurt you deeply, cutting down your heart so much you weren't able to mutter a single word to him.

A few tears threatened to escape, but you forced them down. A new day full of possibilities was right before you, so you wasted no time in collecting some of the many fruits and vegetables you grew by yourself in your own garden. This year had brought an exceptional harvest, your crops would certainly make a great profit at the town's market.

Unlike your father, the townspeople respected you and treated you with utmost kindness. Often would they offer their help knowing your situation, something that you would forever be grateful for. You promised to yourself that one day, shall your economy ever recover that is, you would repay them to the last penny for their unwavering support.

After another successful day at the town market you decided to return home, all your produce sold out and now replaced by a small satchel of silver coins, some of them spent in meat, spices and bread for cooking meals at home.

It was a simple life, but you were happy with what little you had. Now if only your father weren't so cruel and abusive...

.............................

"C'mon V! Let's explore over here!"

You were in the kitchen when a soft giddy voice in the distance caught your attention.

"Wait Nero! I don't think it's a good idea to stray further. What if Father becomes worried?" A second voice answered back.

Peering out the window, you noticed two little children playing not too far from your chateau's front yard. Both had pristine white hair, one of them seemed to carry a black kitten in his arms while a blue bird was perched on his shoulder. It was a rather endearing sight and an odd one too since they weren't familiar to you at all, not many people lived in the countryside area you resided in. Perhaps a family recently moved nearby without you noticing.

"Don't worry V, after all he sent Griffon and Shadow here to look after us. Look brother," One of them pointed at your residence with the small wooden sword in his hands. "I found a tiny castle!"

"Whoa, what a lovely house! Do you think a tiny princess lives there too?" The other brother pointed out. You couldn't help but giggle at their adorable antics as they approached your yard.

Reaching for some of the pastries you had bought earlier, you decided to grab a few to give to the brothers. You were about to reach for the back door when-

"GET OUT OF MY PROPERTY YOU BRATS!!"

As soon as you stepped out, you witnessed your father in a very drunken state harassing the poor children. "I SAID GET LOST NOW!!!"

You watched in absolute horror how he harshly grabbed one of the kids by his arm before throwing him to the ground, prompting his brother to wield his toy sword in an attempt to defend him, but ultimately failing as he was backhanded so roughly he too fell to the ground.

"NO! FATHER STOP!" You immediately sprinted to them, basically throwing yourself over harm's way as you shielded the children, pulling them away from your father's relentless attacks. Even the black cat and the blue bird that accompanied the kids had started attacking him, effectively helping you keeping the man at bay as you hugged the kids protectively.

"Damn animals, GET AWAY FROM ME!" The man struggled and flailed against the bird and the cat, missing every strike as he was too drunk and unfocused for their agility.

"Please father, you're completely inebriated and you will only hurt yourself and others. Just go back to the house, please?" You implored doing, your best to calm him down until he finally relented.

"Fine. Food better be ready soon though or you're sleeping outside tonight." His words came out slurred as he stumbled back inside.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you turned to the young twins in your arms, kneeling down before them to check for any wounds they may have gotten. The poor little ones were crying, a few bruises and cuts on their knees and faces.

"It's okay little ones, the bad man is already gone." Gently wiping their tears away, you comforted them until they calmed down. "Are you alright?"

"I-I think so... How about you V?"

"I... I’m fine. That man was so scary though."

A sigh of relief escaped you as you determined all the wounds were minor and merely superficial, nothing you couldn’t handle quickly.

"I'm truly sorry for what happened. Please come inside, let's get your wounds treated."

.............................

“Much better now, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and disinfecting the boys’ wounds. Luckily yout homemade medicinal balm was already working wonders, their skin already healing considerably.

“Here! A gift for being the bravest boys in the world.” You handed each one the pastries from before. The brothers’ eyes began sparkling at the sweet treats before them, they didn’t hesitate for a second before grabbing them and taking a bite.

“Thank you so much lady (Y/N)! These are so delicious!” they happily ate their pastries, even sharing a bit for their company animals too.

“I’m glad you like them. And you don’t need to call me lady by the way, just (Y/N) is fine. May I know your names too?”

“I’m Nero!” The twin with short hair and blue eyes answered.

“My name is Vitale, or V if you prefer.” The twin with shoulder-length hair and green eyes replied. “Oh! And these are our friends Griffon and Shadow!” V hugged Shadow close to his chest while Griffon perched himself on Nero’s shoulder.

“A pleasure meeting you four! Does your family live nearby by the way?”

Nero nodded as he kept chewing on his pastry. “Our house is just north from here actually, but Papa doesn’t let us go out often.”

Oh?

“And why is that?”

“Well...” V started, looking a bit down. “Father is very protective of us, that’s why he only lets us play outside as long as we stay close to the house. But today we tried convincing him to let us go explore a little bit farther, it was difficult but he finally agreed as long as we promised we would be alright...”

“I really hope he doesn’t get mad at us after he finds out what happened.” Nero added worryingly. Their saddened eyes really plucked at your heartstrings.

You knelt down so you could look at them in the eyes. “Don’t worry my children. How about I write a note to your father explaining the situation? I’m not sure if this would help much, but at least he would know he has my word that no harm will come to you. And if that doesn’t work, I could always go and meet him personally to get to an agreement.”

“You would really do that for us?” They looked at you expectantly, and when you nodded your answer, their faces lit up in so much joy that they unexpectedly enveloped you in a hug. You chuckled before wrapping your arms around them, returning the hug.

.............................

Since the brothers wanted to continue playing, you allowed the children to stay for a few more hours while you finished cooking. You let them keep playing in your garden, a place where you knew your father wouldn’t spot them and risk another scene like the one before.

Politely excusing yourself to your little guests before leaving to deliver your father’s meal. Luckily this time he received his food without saying much of a word, a very welcomed improvement from this morning’s rant.

As you returned to your guests, you noticed they were looking at you in concern.

“(Y/N), is that man really... your father?

“Yes, he is. Why the question?”

The glanced at each other briefly before V continued “Why did he treat you like that? I thought fathers were supposed to love their daughters...”

To say the question took you a bit by surprise would have been a underestimation. You simply sat down at one of the wooden benches, not knowing exactly what to say.

The brothers sat down next to you, each one by your sides.

You fumbled with your words, tears already pricking your eyes before you managed to control them.

“I know he is not exactly a good man, he made many mistakes in the past that cost our family so much… But, despite everything, he is still my father. Maybe I’m wrong, but I want to think he still has a good heart deep inside. That’s why I can’t give up on him. I stay with him in hope that one day he would finally change for the better.”

You forced a smile so you wouldn’t make the children worry anymore about you, and yet they managed to see through your façade. Their little arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you, an attempt to give you some comfort for the pain you were going through daily.

A warmth unlike no other enveloped your entire self, maybe it was cuteness of the situation or the great empathy of this wonderful children felt for you, but it felt so soothing how peace seemed to overtake you at the moment.

It was strange, yet so familiar. Like a distant memory of better days gone by.

.............................

The sun was about to set in a few hours, so you decided it was time for the children to head back home before it became dark.

As you had promised the brothers, you wrote a note for their father apologizing for the incident that happened and gave it to Nero. You also packed a few slices of fruit in a pouch for them to snack on during their trip back home.

“Um (Y/N)... can we come to your house to play again some time?” V asked in a shy voice. Both he and Nero had so much fun playing and staying with you, for them it felt that they had genuinely met a new friend that day.

“Of course little ones. You can come here and play whenever you want, as long as your father agrees to.” You ruffled their pretty little heads, making the brothers giggle.

“We promise to visit as often as we can! Right V?”

The younger one nodded his head enthusiastically.

And so, Nero and V departed. It was odd, how the chateau felt a hundred times emptier without them despite just meeting them earlier.

They were both so sweet and innocent, you just hoped their father wouldn’t get angry after reading your short letter. It would be a shame if the boys got punished for something that wasn’t their fault.

Going back into the kitchen, you cleaned a bit before tending to the plants at your garden, wondering if your new friends would soon brighten your day again with their presence

.............................

At the throne of a majestic palace, an all-seeing orb conjured at his hand, a demon king watched over his two sons.

The day they were born, he vowed to The Creator above that he would always protect them, even if that meant giving up his own life, he would gladly pay the price if it guaranteed they would keep living theirs in peace.

His kingdom may not be a vast one, completely isolated from others, but the land was prosperous and peace reigned over everyone. The king knew his sons would grow safe and sound behind the powerful barrier that surrounded the kingdom, but he couldn’t help a small seed of doubt that gnawed at his chest.

He feared for the day curiosity would awake in the hearts of his twins. They would want to know everything about the outside world, their innocent minds not knowing how cruel and dangerous it could be. The king often taught them of the outside world through the many books and scripts in the royal library, but he was afraid that would not be enough for his children.

So when that morning they had insisted of going beyond the barrier, no matter how much he had prepared himself mentally for this moment, his heart still ached with worry.

But he wouldn’t take their freedom away. Doing so is one of the most horrifying acts one could bestow upon another.

So the king allowed them to venture beyond their home. He had to let them fly, not clip their beautiful wings.

However, as much as he wanted to trust his sons, his concerns were bigger. He tasked two servants to keep them company, knowing that their eyes would keep guard on them. Using his demonic power, he summoned an oracle that would let him watch over them from his throne.

He watched as they approached a small chateau outside the forest, they were happy and playing along the way which brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

That contentment was gone in an instant.

A drunk man stepped out of the house and attacked his sons, scaring them and making them cry.

The king immediately stood from his throne, his fists tightly clenched as his eyes filled with immeasurable wrath and ire. He was about to unsheath his own sword to open a portal and go there, ready to end the miserable man’s life, when another figure ran into the scene. A woman who shielded his sons from the attacking man.

And when he finally managed to look at her face, he froze, almost dropping the sword in his hand.

For she looked exactly like-

… No. It couldn’t be her.

And yet there was a tenderness in the way she treated them. The way her soft hands cleaned the boys’ tears and kindly healed their wounds. The way she offered them a few pastries with a sweet smile in her face and warm light in her eyes. It was rather endearing, how this woman gained his sons’ trust in just a few minutes.

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the king sat down at the throne once again, attentive to what the oracle revealed to his eyes.

Maybe the outside world wasn’t so dangerous after all.

#devil may cry #fairy tale au #Vergil Sparda #vergil x reader #vergil x you #reader insert #fanfiction

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lunarmessenger · 4 years ago

Note

So we know that mysme is korean.. I was wondering if you could do the RFA+ Saeran reacting to MC being latina🙈

Please and thank you 😊💜

GIRL YES me being Latina too I’ve always wondered....what it would be like...if they had a lil bit of flavor....LMFAO but i gotchu girl - Luna xx (P.S. I may make MC lean towards the hispanic side a little more because I’m hispanic LMAO)

translations will be down underneath all the headcanons for my non spanish speaking readers!

warnings: none! just some cuteness

RFA, V + Saeran Reacting to Latina!MC

Zen

• He was already so excited to finally meet and see you in person and it doubles when he finds out that you’re not from Korea/Korean

• “MC oh wow...you’re gorgeous I—”

• Is a lot more flustered than he intended to be

• Takes this opportunity to really broaden his knowledge on other cultures!

• He absolutely swoons when he wakes up one morning to see you cooking breakfast, the smell of eggs and jalapeño’s enticing him out of bed

• But then he’s also furrowing his brows because what kind of music is that???

• That’s when he sees you; wearing his shirt and side stepping by the stove, hips moving effortlessly as you hum along to the tune of the song

• He kept quiet, not wanting to disturb you as you continued to sway, swinging the spatula around as you quietly sang

• “No, no es amor, lo que tú sientes se llama obsesión*,” He would’ve passed out right then and there if he knew it wouldn’t freak you out; he’d never heard you speak spanish before, let alone sing it

• He wrapped his arms around you from behind, trying to sway his hips with you as you leaned forward to turn off the heat

• “MC, promise me that you’ll teach me how to move like that.” He whispers in your ear, causing you to giggle

• “And please speak Spanish more often.”

Yoosung

• He’s surprised but not in a bad way obviously

• You didn’t really have an accent when you spoke over the phone, so he never really suspected that you wouldn’t be Korean

• “You’re so pretty MC!”

• Begs you to teach him your favorite dishes from your culture and childhood

• “How about tamales? Winter is coming soon so it’d be something nice for us to bulk make for dinner and breakfast!”

• He’s already foaming at the mouth at the idea of getting to cook with you, especially a dish that he’s never even had before

• The two of you spend all day making the masa and filling, ranging from refried beans, chicken, and beef

• “Oh Yoosung we’ve made so many; should I ask everyone in the RFA if they’ll want some—”

• “No!” He yelled a little too quickly, making you stop reaching for your phone as you furrowed your brows with a smile

• “Why not?” He was blushing now, not meeting your eyes as he finished folding the last corn husk and placing it into the steamer

• “Because we made them together. I want them just to be ours, MC.” You grinned, placing a soft kiss to his forehead before nodding in agreement

• “Sure, mi amor*. We’ll keep these to ourselves.”

• He definitely blushed a deeper red after hearing you call him that in Spanish

Jaehee

• It didn’t really bother her that you weren’t Korean and she was actually quite excited

• Especially since you’d both be opening the bakery soon; she would love to introduce some non-traditional items to the local area

• “MC; if there are any sweets you would like to showcase in our bakery please feel free.”

• “Oh, actually! There are some that I think you might like!” You spent the entire day hunting for ingredients just so you could bake them for her so Jaehee could try them

• She was already enticed by the smell, her brows raising in curiosity as they finished baking and you poured the two of you some milk

• When you pulled them out of the oven she was excited to see the brown, bright pink, and white toppings on the bread, their patterns similar to a conch shell she’d seen on beaches before

• You excitedly plated them, placing them between you two at the dinner table and then gesturing for her to grab one

• “What are they?”

• “Conchas!* Dig in, honey!”

• She grabbed one, surprised at the soft feeling of the bread.

• At first she didn’t really know what to think? Or how to eat it? They were a little bigger than the pastries she was used to

• She sneakily watched you pull it apart with your fingers, alternating between putting the pieces in your mouth or dipping them straight into the milk

• She copied your movements, and as soon as she’d gotten the first taste her eyes widened in surprise

• “What do you think?” You asked in anticipation, hoping she loved them as much as you

• “We’ll put these on the menu immediately.”

Jumin

• Like Jaehee, he isn’t really phased that you’re not Korean

• With the many business trips he’s had he’s pretty knowledgable with his Spanish

• But only when it’s spoken at a normal pace and not so...fast

• You were visiting him at his office, patiently waiting for him to finish a meeting with clients who’d happened to be from Mexico City

• He came out of the meeting speaking a bit of Spanish, the clients responding rather quickly

• You could tell he was struggling a bit with their finishing statement, so you decided to try and listen in

• Your brows furrowed as you realized that the last sentence spoken from the clients was directed towards each other, even though they were looking at Jumin

•What they said caused immediate rage; you stood up and speed walked over

• “Este tonto ni siquiera sabe que ya le hemos vendido nuestra empresa a su competidor. ¡Conseguiremos el doble de dinero!”*

• “Perdóneme*.” You immediately interjected, Jumin looking at you in surprise while you saw the client’s faces immediately pale as you hurriedly told Jumin what they were saying

• His eyes darkened as he immediately called security, having the clients escorted out of C&R

• “Thank you for catching that, MC. I will definitely have to bring you in to translate every once in a while, kitten.”

707

• Of course he already knows you’re Latina due to the background check he did

• But that didn’t make meeting you any less exciting, and when he finally gets to see you he’s practically vibrating in excitement

• He knows Spanish much like Jumin, but he’s way more advanced at it so you two sometimes held private conversations when people pissed you off

• This was the second party that the RFA was holding after you’d joined, and a guest had been extremely rude towards you

• Saeyoung was ready to interject but you signaled that you were fine, keeping a polite smile as the client finished their rant towards you before leaving the party early

• He was on his way to check on you as soon as the guest left, your smile immediately gone as you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

• “Maldito hijo de puta.”* You cursed, and immediately Saeyoung was doubled over in laughter while the RFA members looked at you two with curiosity

• You were blushing, insanely embarrassed that Saeyoung had heard you as you pouted

• “Stop it, it was not that funny!”

• “Oh it was hilarious, please do that again.”

• “Wait, what did she say?” Yoosung interjected

• “Don’t worry about it!” You snapped, leaving Saeyoung to chase after you as you grumpily walked away from embarrassment

• “MC please I’m so sorry I just omg it was so funny I’m sorry I swear.”

• He’s very much intrigued with you and your upbringing

• It was obvious that the longer you two were together, the more likely you were to mix cultural traditions and rituals.

• He got a taste of that for the first time since you two had gotten together

• One day he came home from a job overseas to see soft lighting coming from one of the spare rooms, his brows furrowing as he called for you

• “MC? Is everything alright?”

• “In here, V!”

• He followed the dim light to see that you’d set up a table filled with marigolds, a couple of pictures of your family members accompanying the table

• “What’s all of this?” He was breathless, taken by the absolute beauty of it that it took him a second to notice that you were setting up a third picture; his mother.

• “Well, seeing as tomorrow is the last day of October, I’ll be celebrating Dia de los Muertos* soon. I wanted to make sure that we keep the memory of your mother alive with my other family members. It’s what we do in my family.”

• You were a little embarrassed, that is, until V suddenly brought you into a tight hug, a warm kiss pressed to your lips before he pulled away

• “I think that’s a wonderful thing, MC. Thank you for thinking of my mother. I know she would have loved to meet you.”

• You beamed in response, leaning against him as you pressed a kiss to the photo of your grandparents.

• “I’m sure that my family that’s already passed is enjoying her company too.”

Saeran

• He had already seen something special in you, and being Latina in his eyes was just an added bonus

• You told him about your hometown and the delicious frozen treats you always looked forward too, and that made his ears perk up in curiosity

• “Do...do you think we could try to find something similar here, MC?”

• You of course obliged, the two of you searching endlessly online until you found a shop that was similar enough

• The two of you had made an entire day of it, holdings hands while walking into the shop

• His eyes were wide with awe, the different fruity flavors catching his attention as you casually spoke to the owner of the store in fluid Spanish

• “What would you like, honey?”

• He was slightly embarrassed that he didn’t know what he wanted, shrugging his shoulders before nervously answering

• “I guess whatever you’re having.”

• “A-Are you sure, Saeran? My taste is a little more traditional than you might like.”

• “Well now I definitely want to have what you’re having.” He smirked, taking it as a challenge while you sighed

• “Alright, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it.”

• Soon enough your treats were ready, Saeran staring at his portion with wide eyes while you happily took a scoop and placed it in your mouth

• It was mango flavored, with drizzles of red decorating the scoops; spicy flavored powder sitting on top.

• “Go on, try it baby.”

• He hesitated, but nonetheless tried it; grinning from the taste and immediately going for a second scoop

• “This is delicious, princess! ...What is it?”

• You laughed before explaining, “It’s mango flavored sorbet with chamoy and tajin on top. It’s my absolute favorite, I’m so glad they have it here!”

• The two of you sat inside the shop together, happily eating your spicy and sweet treats before going home together.

translations:

No, it is not love, what you feel is called obsession*

My love*

Conchas* A sweet bread with sugar toppings shaped like a seashell

This fool doesn't even know that we have already sold our company to his competitor. We will get double the money!*

Excuse me.*

Fucking son of a bitch.*

Day of the Dead*

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years ago

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August Contest Submission #8: The Body of the Monk

Words: ca. 2,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: No CW: angst, implied past abuse, Anna's 15yo but like nothing severe

Elsa, in all her pale, white-haired, blue-shirted, hand-shaking, sweating glory, stood outside a house. It wasn’t just any house, mind you. It was an expensive, sprawling sort of house. The sort of house with stucco covered brick, and big windows to let in a lot of light.

It was also the sort of house where the climbing plants up the side had gotten under the roofing tiles. It was the sort of house where the stucco was flaking off, where heavy curtains were shut against the afternoon sun.

It was also, in theory, Elsa’s house. That was why Elsa’s hands trembled and her legs felt weak. It was why she was sorely tempted to just turn around a leave and continue to never come back.

On the other hand, she’d just ‘graduated’ from the boarding school and what else was she supposed to do with no money? Move north and get a job? That sounded like a good idea. Maybe she could move to Canada or something. People were friendly there, right?

Elsa poked the doorbell before her brain could carry her away.

Clearly no one was home though. A second was more than enough time to wait for someone to open the door, surely. There was no need for her to stand there like an idiot waiting for someone to answer the door when the house was clearly empty.

On the other hand, it was technically, a little bit, her house so… did she even need to knock? Should she go and check under that pot for the spare key? Where had that pot been, anyway?

The door was opened by a girl, shorter than Elsa and vastly more red-haired than Elsa. She had bags under her eyes and freckles dotted her skin and she stared at Elsa. She stared very hard at Elsa.

‘Um… hi… Anna,’ Elsa said, giving a little wave like an absolute buffoon.

‘Elsa?’ Anna stared. ‘ELSA!’ Anna fairly leapt on Elsa, almost knocking unprepared Elsa over. Anna wrapped herself around Elsa and held tight. Elsa blushed, her body flushed with heat. She awkwardly patted Anna on the back.

Before she could say anything, Anna pulled back, sliding her hands down Elsa’s arms. ‘It’s soooo good to see you, Elsa,’ Anna said, taking Elsa’s hands.

Elsa blushed harder. Her arms tingled. Her body felt warm.

‘Come in,’ Anna said, pulling Elsa toward the door. ‘Come in, come in.’

Elsa let herself be pulled in the door. ‘It’s good to see you again, too, Anna,’ she said. ‘It’s um… I’m sorry I didn’t like… call ahead or anything.’

Anna shook her head a lot, letting go of one of Elsa’s hands to pull the door shut. ‘No, no, no,’ Anna said. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it.’

Elsa managed a little smile. ‘I’m um… sorry?’

Anna grinned and wrapped Elsa in a hug again. ‘No you’re not,’ she said. ‘I’m not sorry they’re dead. About fucking time.’ Anna’s hands rubbed up and down Elsa’s back.

That warmth was building in Elsa’s body, her hands were trembling. Anna’s hand ran up Elsa’s back and Elsa shivered. Her hand ran up to the back of Elsa’s neck and Anna leaned back just a little and went up on her toes.

Elsa’s breath hitched. She was sure she should do something. She needed to stop this, but she couldn’t quite make her body move. Anna leaned in and pressed her lips to Elsa’s.

Anna’s lips were soft and warm, her body was soft and warm. Her hand was firm and felt like fire on the back of Elsa’s neck. Elsa’s whole body felt like fire. Her hands were shaking, her legs were shaking. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

But finally, Elsa made her body move. It felt like it had been an hour, felt like a week or a month. Elsa’s body felt glacial as she reached up to put her hands on Anna’s shoulders. Elsa pushed Anna away and her breath hitched. It felt like some great loss, it felt like some great betrayal. It felt like Elsa had failed.

‘When he sleeps naked under a thin blanket, does the monk’s body become less eroticised, I wonder?’ Anna smiled and pulled away. She winked, turned on her heel and wandered into the living room.

‘Spare bedroom’s made up,’ Anna called back. ‘It’s where your old room was.’

***

Even though their parents had left them quite a lot of money, along with the house, Elsa decided to get a job in a cafe. She also enrolled in a cooking class at the local community college because.

Anna came home from hanging out with friends or something, it was summer break, to find Elsa in the kitchen. On this particular day, Elsa was teaching herself how to make puff pastry from scratch for some reason.

Anna sat at the dining table. The kitchen, dining room and living room were conjoined, so Elsa could see Anna sitting there, watching her like a hawk. She tried to ignore it. She tried to ignore the way her mind flashed to the sensation of Anna’s soft, warm lips.

After all, Elsa was eighteen and Anna was fifteen. Also, they were sisters. Basically the whole thing was wrong. Even so, Elsa hadn’t dared to raise the issue with Anna. She hadn’t dared to talk about it lest she think about it for even a moment and get herself worked up or something.

And here she was, thinking around it as she felt herself flush. Here she was, trying not to think about it and getting worked up. After all: sleeping naked under that thin blanket had never worked for the monk.

Elsa folded up the pastry, wrapped it, and put it in the fridge. Anna was right behind her when she turned around. The only space between them was a bouquet of red roses.

‘Oh,’ Elsa said, blushing harder.

‘Yes.’ Anna pressed the flowers against Elsa’s chest. ‘As a thank you for... being here, I guess. Also for cooking so much. And for, you know...’ Anna wiggled her eyebrows.

Elsa took the flowers. ‘That’s um...’ Her mouth was dry, her heart was beating faster than she would have liked. ‘That’s really nice of you, Anna.’ She spotted a card in the bouquet.

The card said ‘Love you. How’s that thin blanket treating you?’

Anna leaned in to kiss Elsa on the cheek. Elsa flushed again, opened her mouth to say something and stuttered. ‘I... I... Anna... you shouldn’t...’

Anna smiled. ‘Sure thing, monk. Just a sisterly kiss.’

Anna retreated to the dining table as Elsa searched for a vase to put the roses in. She tried not to think of any of the bouquets of red roses she’d been given before. She tried not to think about what red roses meant. But her blush didn’t fade.

‘Were you allowed to get flowers in heaven?’ Anna asked, playing with her hair.

‘I...’ Elsa took a moment to pour some water into the vase and take deep breaths and fail to calm down. ‘Yes. The boys were allowed to give us flowers.’

Anna smiled. ‘No flowers from any girls, then?’

‘No, that wasn’t allowed.’

Anna nodded. ‘I’ll get you more flowers, in that case,’ she said.

‘Um...’

***

The dining table was starting to fill up with flowers. The kitchen counter already had too many. It was approaching the middle of the summer holidays, and had only been two weeks since Anna gave Elsa those red roses.

Almost every day, Anna went out with some friends that Elsa never met, and came back with another bouquet of flowers. It wasn’t always red roses, either. There had aslo been some white roses and some orange roses. But there had also been an orchid, some white and purple lilies, some carnations, some tulips, even some white and pink crocuses.

Almost all of the notes had read ‘From a girl to a girl. It’s allowed.’

Anna hadn’t kissed her on the cheek again since the bouquet of red roses. But she hadn’t had to kiss Elsa at all achieve the apparently desired effect of Elsa blushing furiously and starting to stutter.

***

Three days before Anna’s sixteenth birthday, Elsa started making the cake. Or she started on one of several cakes that she had decided to make so that Anna had options. And besides, Anna was too skinny, no one needed to be that skinny.

Anna sat down at the dining table. They spent a fair amount of time like this. Elsa spent a lot of time in the kitchen, teaching herself to make all kinds of pastries and sweets. Anna spent a lot of time at the dining table, playing on her phone or her laptop or talking to Elsa.

‘What do you want for your birthday, Anna?’ Elsa asked, turning on the stand mixer. They weren’t quite as loud as food processors.

‘You.’

‘No.’ Elsa blushed a little, but not nearly as much as she would have when she arrived a couple of months ago.

‘A kiss.’ Anna smiled. ‘From you.’

Elsa flushed a little harder as she thought about it. For whatever nonsense reason, it felt slightly less weird if Anna was sixteen. Anna was still her sister. Elsa also got wildly flustered any time Anna showed affection. Though that seemed fair, given the context.

At length, the stand mixer having gone far too long, Elsa nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Sweet.’ Anna did a fist-pump and everything. ‘Thank you. Can I give you a hug?’

Elsa stared at Anna for a second before remembering to turn the mixer off. ‘Um, sure,’ she said. She tried to remember if Anna had actually asked before.

Anna got up and gave Elsa a careful hug. It was kind of nice and Elsa flushed as she felt Anna’s warmth against her, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t the kind of aggressive affection that Anna usually displayed.

Anna kissed her on the cheek and giggled. Elsa flushed harder and frowned at Anna. ‘Couldn’t resist,’ Anna said. She grinned. ‘I’m so excited for my birthday. I’m getting a kiss from a monk, that’s gotta be special or something.’ She slid back into her seat at the table. ‘Do you think I’ll turn into a monk if you kiss me?’

‘I… I don’t think it works like that,’ Elsa muttered, dumping the overworked batter into a cake pan anyway.

��Is it like being a werewolf, only spread by bite?’

Elsa blushed hard enough that her vision fizzled at the edges.

‘Ooh.’

Elsa knew what Anna was about to excitedly proclaim before she said anything.

‘For chistmas I want you to bite me.’

Elsa took a deep breath and sighed, massively.

***

On the day of her sixteenth birthday, Anna proclaimed that she was going to see a film with her friends and left in the mid-morning, which suited Elsa anyway. She still had three cakes to finish and a birthday present to mentally prepare for.

Instead of mentally preparing herself, Elsa made three types of icing, then some meringue roses, then some candied rose petals. Then she wondered if that would come across as way too romantic, tried eating one of the petals and threw the rest out.

Elsa sat around fidgeting for a bit before an idea occurred to her. It certainly wasn’t a less romantic idea than giving someone candied rose petals.

Anna got home from the film at about three in the afternoon. She was slightly sweaty, what with the blistering heat outside, and she was so fucking excited that she hadn’t slept more than four hours in the last three days.

Anna took a deep breath, she needed to be chill. She was the chill one. She would be chill about this. ‘I’m just going to wash up,’ she called to Elsa, or at least to the noises in the kitchen. ‘Just be a minute.’

Anna rushed upstairs, rinsed her face, then wiped off the minimal, but wildly smudged, makeup. Should she apply more? Should she use that dark lipstick that stained everything? Did she even still have that?

‘Anna, the cakes are ready?’ Elsa called.

Cakes? Anna was pretty sure she remembered talk of cakes. She still hadn’t expected there to be multiple cakes somehow. She decided not to put on any makeup and just hope that Elsa would still find her flustering without it.

Anna rushed into the loungeroom and stopped dead. There was Elsa, standing between the lounge set and the dining table. Elsa was wearing a light-blue, fit and flare sort of summer dress with a white, frilly apron over it. She looked stunning as ever.

More important: Elsa was holding a bouquet of white and red roses.

‘Ah – Are those for me?’ Anna stuttered. Fuck. Wasn’t she supposed to be the chill one?

Elsa nodded, and blushed furiously, and it was cute as hell. Elsa took the couple of steps to reach her and handed over the bouquet. There was a note that said ‘happy birthday’ which was weirdly disappointing.

Until Elsa took a deep breath, blushed scarlet, leaned in and kissed Anna on the lips. Not quite a peck, not quite not a peck. If Anna had been a cartoon character, she would have melted into a puddle.

‘Alright,’ Elsa said, blushing so hard she might have caught fire. ‘Come and eat some cakes.’

#elsanna #submission #august 2021 contest #prompt: flowers #cw: abuse #cw: angst

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dragons-bones · 4 years ago

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FFXIV Write Entry #1: The Bluebird of Ishgard

Prompt: crux | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is a combination of both the FFXIV Write prompt, and a prompt from the Book Club server as posited by @pudgy-puk: “aymeric takes his date to The Fanciest ishgardian patisserie and drops an ABSURD amount of money.“

We are starting off FFXIV Write with EXACTLY MY BRAND! This takes place post 3.1 and references the events of my FFXIV Write 2019 fill, “Finally.”

Please enjoy!

Synnove hummed quietly to herself as she walked with Aymeric through the streets of Ishgard, her right hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. His own right hand gently covered hers, and every few moments he softly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. A silly grin tugged at her lips every time he did, a flush of pleasure rising on her cheeks.

Aymeric had arrived at Fortemps Manor shortly after lunch, dressed down in simple leathers and that fur-lined leather coat he had worn that day not-so-long ago when she and Galette had run into him shopping along the Jeweled Crozier. He had asked for the pleasure of her company on a leisurely walk through the city—“I am not yet allowed the more strenuous exercise of the sparring ring,” he had said ruefully, a twinkle in his ice blue eyes, “but I am, thankfully, allowed to stretch my legs on daily walks.”—and after being subjected to a frantic wardrobe change by Rere (“We’re in a relationship! I don’t need to impress him! And why is this skirt in my size?” “Shush, be glad I’m always prepared on your behalf, and wear this sweater with it! Oooooh and the green shawl Heron made for you, I have the perfect pin to go with it.” “Rereha!”), she had been out the door with him, hand in hand.

Their leisurely ramble had taken them through parts of the city Synnove hadn’t visited, or had only walked through or by once or twice. Neighborhoods of the minor or vassel houses; the district where the merchants and burgeoning nouveau riche dwelled. Small parks carefully tended to preserve some green within the limits of the city; statues of minor saints and folk heroes of the Dragonsong War; a street lined on either side by greenhouses, the area bristling with dragonkillers. Aymeric had a story for each place: here was where a childhood friend had lived, before his family had moved out of the city; that was the house of his mother’s least favorite cousin, whom social propriety had declared Mama still had to entertain; there was he played at knights and dragons most often; that was the saint for whom his father—“The one who raised me.”—had been named.

She had enjoyed listening to him speak, his tone shading equally with fondness or wistfulness or, in the case of his mother’s least favorite cousin, palpable disdain. They so rarely had moments of quiet, never mind such moments together, and the opportunity to learn more about his home through his eyes had been an honor. She was sorry for the outing to end.

Except, instead of taking the turn that would lead them back the Fortemps Manor, Aymeric began to lead them in the direction of the Jeweled Crozier and all its myriad shops. Synnove made a questioning sound, looking up at him.

Aymeric grinned at her and kissed her forehead. “My lady was kind enough to accompany me about Ishgard in the cold, without complaint,” he said cheerfully, “and listen to me ramble besides. The least I can do is provide her some refreshment and something hot to drink in return.”

She laughed in delight, and pushed herself to her toes to kiss his cheek. “It was my pleasure to walk with you today,” she said, “but I’ll not refuse the offer of a treat. Lead on, my knight.”

The main thoroughfares were busier than the side streets, and the pair garnered some attention as the Lord Commander and a Warrior of Light, though blessedly no one approached them. Aymeric turned them down onto the lane that housed most of the Pillars’ cafes and bakeries, and Synnove’s stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas of coffee and bread and sugar that perfumed the air here.

He took them past the places where she and her friends often supped, past even the cafes about which Emmanellain waxed poetic. The traffic thinned as they walked, the businesses becoming more exclusive, the displays of pastries and menus becoming more elaborate and frankly obscene. Synnove looked around in growing surprise, her eyebrows rising, even as Aymeric continued to smile, secretive and mischievous.

Finally, they stopped in front of a patisserie in whose window was a display of éclairs so decadent that Synnove reflexively swallowed the saliva suddenly flooding her mouth. The choux was so fluffy it looked as if it was about to float, the chocolate icing thick and so dark is seemed to gleam black in the shop’s light. Some were left plain, but others hinted at the flavor of the cream or custard within each: candied orange peels; coffee beans; halved strawberries; roasted chestnuts. She swallowed again and glanced up at the placard over the shop’s door.

A simple bluebird in flight, holding a sprig of mint, was the only hint at the patisserie’s identity.

Synnove felt the color drain from her face. “Aymeric…”

Aymeric raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles and she turned to look at him. He was smiling, the rogue, as brilliant and joyous as when they had first kissed after retaking the Vault mere weeks ago. “Let me spoil you,” he purred.

For a few heartbeats she was absolutely torn: the tiny five-year old watching her parents and aunt count every gil to make the week’s earnings feed six people, along with the frugal adult who owned her own home, at war with the same tiny five-year old who loved sweets of all sorts and the hopeless romantic who secretly wished to have someone dote on her without reservation. “Refreshments and something hot to drink” at the most exclusive, most expensive patisserie in Ishgard. Not even Rereha, with her near bottomless trust fund interest, had wandered this far down the lane…though in fairness to Rere, that more due to being perfectly content with a coffee and croissant at the first shop that caught her eye.

Synnove chewed on her bottom lip, glancing back and forth between Aymeric and the Bluebird. Finally, sugar and romance won out. “All right,” she said, only a little bit weakly.

Her knight kissed her knuckles once more, and without further ado, led her inside.

The scent of cooking sugar sent her stomach growling again and as Aymeric helped her shrug out of her heavy winter coat, she looked around with wide eyes. Éclairs, macarons, petit fours, madeleines, opera cakes, mille-feuille, bavarois of all sorts—there were more types of cakes and cookies and tarts on display then she could name. She let Aymeric lead her to her a table—the only one in the shop—and as she took her seat, she saw one of the staff quickly dart over to the door and flip the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ She whipped her head around to stare at Aymeric as he sat.

He reached for her hands and she let him take them, her knuckles going white as she squeezed. Raising her hands, he kissed the back of her right, and then her left, quietly murmuring, “It’s all right, my love,” he said with a wry grin. “Anyone who wants to enjoy the Bluebird’s delights on premise must make a reservation ahead of time to ensure the table will be free.”

Synnove narrowed her eyes and hissed, “How long have you been planning this?”

“Not that long,” he said cheerfully. “A fortnight, perhaps.”

They let go of one another as a server brought them cups of coffee in surprisingly plain white mugs, heavy and thick to keep the liquid hot for as long as possible. As the server stepped away to flit back behind the counter, Synnove stretched her leg beneath the table and hooked her ankle around Aymeric’s. He beamed and raised his coffee to take a sip, and she followed suit.

She purred at the first taste. It was a dark roast, rich and flavorful, and roasted so carefully there was no hint of bitterness. While she would always love the coffeehouses of Limsa Lominsa best, there were more than a few cafes in her seaside home that could stand to take a lesson from the Bluebird in coffee brewing. Without cream or sugar, it would be the perfect compliment to the sugary delights of the pastries.

Aymeric smiled at her over his mug, and that was when the first of the treats arrived.

Éclairs, four of them, cut in to make for easier sharing, and to show off the flavored fillings within: one vanilla, one chocolate, one coffee, and one strawberry.

Synnove’s eyes went wider. She had never seen a pastry so generously filled before; the sight was actually borderline obscene, and the part of her mind where a facsimile of Rereha lived was dying to make a crude joke. She raised her eyes to meet Aymeric’s and he actually waggled his eyebrows at her.

She burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands to try and stifle the sound, shoulders shaking. Aymeric joined her, his own laugh slightly softer, though it came from deep in his belly.

“You took that far better than Mama ever did,” he said as they calmed. “I hadn’t the faintest idea of just what Da meant by it until I was fourteen, but Mama slapped his arm every time and turned red as a tomato.”

Synnove smiled and warmth suffused her, as it did whenever Aymeric offhandedly spoke of Rolandoix and Gwenaëlle de Borel. It was such a joy and honor to have these pieces of his past shared with her. “Did they come here often?” she said, eyes on Aymeric as she reached for a half of the vanilla éclair.

“Four times a year,” he said, eyes going distant as he reminisced. “Our birthdays, and their wedding anniversary. It was one of the few frivolities they allowed themselves, and one of the few times of year they would spoil me rotten!” He grinned, a touch sad recalling his parents, before he shook his head and gestured to her. “And here I am on the cusp of becoming maudlin, and when I wish to be spoiling you. Eat!”

She laughed, and raising the éclair to her mouth, took a bite.

Almost immediately she moaned in rapture. Oh, but the choux was as wonderfully fluffy and cloudlike as it had appeared, practically melting on her tongue. The icing was a truly sinfully dark chocolate, bittersweet and more like a ganache than she had anticipated. And the crème, oh sweet gods, the crème. She was used to vanilla being a light flavor, delicate and easily overwhelmed, but this was so intensely concentrated it was more than a match for the chocolate icing.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and stared at Aymeric with wonder. His smile was equal parts delight and lasciviousness as he took a bite of the chocolate éclair. He chewed, swallowed, and drawled out, “Now, aren’t you glad you let me treat you?”

Synnove nodded frantically, finishing her bite with a swallow, and the popped remainder of her vanilla éclair into her mouth, another happy moan escaping her as she did. The chocolate, coffee, and strawberry éclairs were just as intensely flavored, exploding on her tongue in a riot of sensation, but the vanilla remained her favorite of the set.

From there they were served an entire tasting menu of the Bluebird’s finest treats. Palmiers were next, crispy and light and absolutely decadent when dipped into her coffee. Opera cake followed, the layers of buttercream, almond sponge cake soaked in coffee liqueur, and coffee ganache melding together that her toes curled in her boots and Aymeric had to laughingly fend off her fork with his own when she tried to steal a piece of his opera cake when hers was gone. Meringues were fourth, lighter than air, and slices of traditional fig bavarois fifth, the jelly bright and smooth. Then an assortment of flavored macarons, then mille-feuile, then buttery madeleines, and on and on and on, with heavy, rich desserts alternated with light, simpler fare.

Each pastry was exquisitely made, the quality of ingredients and care of the craftsmanship shining through. She didn’t bother to hide any of her appreciative hums or groans, and while Aymeric’s eyes flashed every time she did, the staff of the Bluebird, when she caught sight of them, wore large, delighted smiles of their own, rightfully proud to have a new customer so enjoy their hard work. Even better than the wonderful desserts, though, was the knowledge that it was Aymeric who had wanted to share something he considered special with her, and continue following the traditions of his family.

After all, she thought, pleasure suffusing her at the thought: it was exactly a moon today since the attack on the Vault, and the night they had confessed their feelings for one another.

The servers cleared away the last plates and refilled their coffee mugs, and Synnove sat back with a content sigh, cradling her mug in her hands. “Thank you for this, Aymeric,” she said, beaming at him. “I am well and truly spoiled.”

Aymeric smiled at her and hooked their other ankles together so that they were a tangle of limbs beneath the table. “I’m glad,” he said, voice soft. And then his smile turned cheeky. “But we’re not done quite yet…”

His gaze was somewhere behind her shoulder, and she turned to follow it. Approaching them with a tray in hand was a plump, stately elezen matron wearing the traditional garb of a culinarian, a bluebird embroidered over her heart. Synnove guessed she must be Madame Iriene, the owner and chief pastry chef of the Bluebird.

Madame Iriene stopped next to their little table and gave a half bow. “By request,” she said, a sly look in her eye, “a special finale in honor of the Lord Commander’s lady.”

Synnove blinked in shock, glancing askance at Aymeric. His smile widened.

Madame Iriene set the tray between them, revealing its contents: two plates, each with three pastries arranged in a neat row.

The first was small pudding pie, topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. The second was a soft bun, golden brown and delicious, smelling ever so faintly of apples. The third was a trio of three caramels, unusually darkened, and sprinkled with red flakes on top.

Synnove stared at them, mouth going dry. These—these were—

“A chocolate pudding pie, its crust made of crushed chocolate cookies,” Madame Iriene began to list, “topped with mint-infused whipped cream. A soft bread bun, stuffed with apples spiced with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and star anise. Caramels, infused with coffee and dragon pepper.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and Synnove set her coffee down so she could once more bring her hands to her mouth.

Galette. Tyr. Ivar.

Representations of exactly how the aether around each of their summoning foci tasted to her senses.

Aymeric made a concerned noise and Synnove looked up at him as her tears overflowed. “Synnove, are you all right?” he said gently, reaching for her. “My apologies, I overstepped—”

She lunged forward (Madame Iriene darted out of the way with the dexterity of a woman thirty years younger), grabbing Aymeric’s face between her hands, and kissed him for all she was worth. He grunted in surprise, frozen for a moment, before he brought his hands up to cup her shoulders and return her kiss with a relieved laugh.

“Thank you,” she said in between kisses and the occasional teary hiccup. “Thank you, thank you, I can’t believe you remembered, I babbled about it moons ago, I didn’t even know anyone was paying attention—”

“How could I not pay attention?” her knight said, drawing back to look at her with pure adoration. “It’s you, and something important to you.”

Synnove sniffled, overwhelmed. She had already made a claim on him, and he on her, a moon ago, but this? As far as she was concerned, he was hers, and she was his.

Forever.

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #\o/#dt's writing #this is my longest raw fill ever #it has blown 'shovel talk' out of the water by seven hundred words #also *adds the CORRECT fic link whoops*

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studiobeebo · 5 years ago

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Hey Bee, super excited to see you writing again even if just for a bit! Might I be so bold as to ask for Hawks making breakfast in bed for reader? 🍳 I'd love some snuggly domestic fluff. Also, are people submitting pets? I'm not sure why or if it's a thing, but incoming pictures of my little bastard fur baby.

HHHHHHH VIX I HOPE THIS IS BETTER LATE THAN NEVER TY FOR REQUESTING MY FAV CHICKEN ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE BEEN INSPIRED TO WRITE FOR HIM ALSO THANK U FOR SHOWING ME UR BASTARD

Hawks / Keigo Takami

Legally, even heroes amongst the top ranks were required to have days off. An unstable hero is an ineffective hero, after all. For a long time, however, days off were just that for Keigo: a necessary component to be the hero he was trained to be. It took him a while to see days off as most people saw it, a time to relax, even if those days off were usually interrupted in one way or another. Still, that never stopped him from dreaming of a world where he could have genuine free time to fill with whatever random shit he could think of, but for now he was making do with ‘enjoying the little things’, something that you had drilled into his brain when the two of you first started talking, and since then he’d had plenty of time to realize that you were one of his favorite ‘little things’ to enjoy.

He didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time with you, but over time you became one of the main factors in why he wanted to be done with the difficulty of hero work. He liked being with you, as cheesy as it sounded, and he found himself always hoping he’d have a little extra time in his day to swing by your place so the two of you could talk over lame late night sitcoms and some terribly unhealthy food.

The two of you never outright called your little get togethers ‘dates’ and you never even dared get into the conversation of finally calling it how it is and saying you were together, but compared to just about everything else in his life, the issue there wasn’t actually his job, it was just how the two of you were. Despite how cheeky and suave he liked to act, he could never really figure out the right way to go about this sort of thing. He mulled over the idea of just flat out asking or mentioned the two of you dating, he never had problems keeping other things to himself anyways so it sounded like the most natural way to go, but he could never bring himself to just say something. It never felt like the right time and to be fair, you could always be the one to say something too but you found yourself in the same dilemma. It seemed like the two of you were in a constant cycle of ‘Eh, I’ll just bring it up next time’, always assuming but never really realizing how much the other wanted to make things a bit more official.

So that’s how things went and have been going, the two of you dancing around the idea of just sharing your feelings and growing closer in the process. Even with work becoming more overbearing than ever, he still always managed to get lost in the way you made him feel the moment the two of you were together. You, on the other hand, spent your time excitedly wondering when he’d come by next, even going as far as to try and spend more evenings at home instead of out with friends just to heighten the chance of hanging out with him. Needless to say, you knew you were head over heels for that winged idiot and after weeks of consideration you finally decided on saving your confession for a few days before the upcoming White Day.

The idea was that, if he returned your feelings like you hoped he would, you’d then be able to get him a gift a few days later. Cliche maybe, but you figured that would make for an extra special anniversary if things ever happened to get that far. Plus, even if he rejected you, you figured at least that wouldn’t ruin the holiday for either of you.

Unlike you, Keigo really wasn’t that inept at the whole ‘think before you act’ thing in regards to relationships.

He wasn’t an idiot (well, not in this regard) and he knew he had insane hots for you at this point and since his idea of just casually dropping that he wanted to be with you wasn’t coming to fruition, he figured he’d try to do something a little more structured and came up with what he thought was a fantastic idea.

Valentine’s Day was romantic, right? So what better day to confess his feelings? He didn’t bother worrying about the whole ‘what if you say no’ thing and instead started thinking about what he could do to make it less lame than ‘hey we should go out for real’. He started paying more mind to couples he’d see out and about while patrolling and even would watch any of the seasonal abundance of romance movies that he’d pass by while scrolling through television channels when he had the time, but everything he saw seemed a bit too romantic and totally not his style. He wanted to do something sweet but a bit more laid back and with no other thoughts in mind, after some time he finally settled on the classic act of breakfast in bed.

Of course in his plans he sort of omitted a few things that tend to make ‘breakfast in bed’ a special thing, the first being that, well..he didn’t know how to go about cooking breakfast. Growing up his diet was extremely regulated and he was rarely allowed to cook for himself, so the only things that were his choice were snack foods or pre made meals he’d grab from a 7/11. Sure he was a few years out of the constant regulations and overbearing ‘caretakers’, but he was out of the frying pan and into the fire in a way so he never had a lot of chances to improve his skills past a basic enough level of cooking to keep himself alive.

With that in mind, his plan was to pick something nice up for you and maybe if he was feeling it he’d get some flowers or something as well before finally stopping by and sneaking in with the extra key you had given him to surprise you. You’d probably call him a loser for waking up so early, ask him what the hell he did this for, and his answer would be that somehow he managed to fall for you. It was easy as pie in his mind and he was actually pretty chipper in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, but things never quite go as planned for him, do they?

For starters he was out much later than he had planned the night before which pissed him off because every little issue that popped up felt so insignificant and not worth the price of pushing back his plans. He wasn’t some narcissistic asshole, but when he’s out until three in the morning dealing with little mishaps that cops should have been able to handle, he tends to get a bit irritated despite not showing it. Still, by the time he got home he barely had a few hours to rest before he had to get his plan into motion of picking up things and making his way to you. He wasn’t even planning on closing his eyes when he sat down for a ‘minute’ and when he woke up an hour or so to a call for aid from his agency he barely had time to worry about what was ahead. Even then by the time he was done as the sun began to rise, not only was he behind in general but the call took him a good distance away from where you were so it would take at least an hour to fly there and even more to get what he needed so instead, in his exhausted state he ended up saying ‘fuck it’ and dropping his ass into a family mart, picking up a bagful of breakfast pastries and coffee, and then rushing over to your place where he was finally able to give his wings some damn rest.

He was relieved enough to have made it a little after the time you mentioned you usually woke up around and being as jittery as he was he didn’t give a second thought to unlocking your door and practically slamming it open in the process before cursing to himself for being so damn loud when this was supposed to be a surprise, but with all his clattering around he spilled still very hot coffee all over himself and proceeded to practically throw the bag of goods in surprise as he cussed himself out some more.

Of course meanwhile all that was happening on your end was being woken up by your front door being slammed open followed by noise and cursing. You immediately tensed as you snuck your way closer to the intrusion, a small knife in hand in the event your quirk was rendered useless. As your heart raced in your chest you rounded the corner before bracing yourself, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the absolute idiot you had fallen in love with whisper-yelling at himself surrounded by a now spilled puddle of coffee and various packaged breakfast pastries.

“Keigo?!” You practically screamed, rushing over him to see what the hell he was doing, but when he looked up at you as if he should be surprised you couldn’t help but sigh and cross your arms.

“A knife?? Jesus, (Y/N) the hells’ a matter with you.” He said with a smile, only half preparing himself for the huff of annoyance and smack to the side of his head.

“What’s the matter with me?! What the hell are you doing breaking into my apartment and making a fool of yourself???”

That made him groan and run a hand through his hair as he looked around to realize exactly what you meant about him looking ridiculous.

“Well you gave me a key so I wasn’t really ‘breaking in’, right?” He questioned, raising a brow as he moved to grab a kitchen towel to attempt to blot his clothes dry, but when he saw the look on your face that screamed you were tired and cranky and not having his jokes, he finally let out a sigh before leaning his back up against your kitchen counter.

“Was trying to do the whole ‘breakfast in bed’ thing, figured it would be best to make myself look good to confess or whatever you want to call it, with it being Valentine’s Day and all.”

He immediately tensed as his brain caught up with what he had just said before slouching his shoulders upon realizing that in the end, he ended up going with his original plan of just blurting it out like an idiot.

You scoffed, bending over to begin to pick up what he had dropped before stopping in your tracks as you heard the rest of his sentence. Now your heart was beginning to beat faster for a different reason as your brain replayed what he had just said as you picked up one of the pastries off the ground. After a moment of calming yourself so you wouldn’t embarrassingly bust your own feelings open like you had planned to do in the upcoming month, you stood up and smiled, holding up a one of the things you had picked up.

“You tried to make yourself look good with store bought pastries and crappy convenience store coffee?” You teased, making your way over to him and stopping so you were face to face with him and that ridiculously annoying and attractive smirk of his.

“What can I say, if you don’t love me at my worst you probably won’t love me at my best.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t love you at all?”

“Pfft,” He huffed, “When you go sayin’ things like that it makes it sound like you do love me.”

A moment later his face dropped and he let out a quiet ‘Oh’ as you gave him a look that said ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say’. All this time not worrying about whether or not you actually liked him back and him thinking that surely you did since the two of you had gotten so close, and yet when you put it so clearly like that it made his stomach do ecstatic flips not knowing that you were just as thrilled as he was.

“That’s cool.” Was all he could manage to say, figuring he would save at least some of his pride by not going into a love stricken rant about just how much he had come to love you.

“Just cool?” You asked, biting at your cheek in an attempt to keep your smile at bay but failing miserably at keeping your happiness on the inside, your hands itching to do something you had only previously dreamed of as you reached up to rest your hands on his shoulders before actually wrapping them around his neck as he leaned into your touch which effectively bolstered your confidence and lowered any inhibitions you had.

“Maybe a bit more than ‘just cool’. At least extra cool, maybe even insanely cool if we really want to push it. But h-“ His words were pleasantly cut off by your lips pressing against his own, a little desperate and very much eager after waiting so long to feel his lips pressed against your own. He was supposed to be the cool and suave ‘Hawks’, the nation’s number two hero, but just like that he was melting against your touch as his hands gripped your waist, gently at first but giving a desperate tug as you finally pulled away from him and he tried to lean in for more, the only thing stopping him being the fact that he just had to savor the look of happiness on your face that he was sure matched his own as you bit your lip out of slight embarrassment as the wave of ‘I cannot believe I just did that’ finally hit, though to him that look along with the fact that he now knew you really liked him back only made you that much more attractive.

“Sorry..” You muttered, a smile still on your face as you couldn’t help but chuckle at seeing him flustered and looking so naturally himself, the self that you had learned to love maybe a bit too much. “I’ve been kinda wanting to do that for a while.”

If he wasn’t already relieved before, hearing you confirm that you’ve been aching to be his as much as he was yearning to be yours made his heart soar with adoration and a liiittle bit of an ego boost that he probably didn’t need.

“Was it cool? Even without breakfast or the bed?” He questioned, still trying to keep things casual in a way, but with you, even being in a position he never thought he’d actually be in, it was easy to act naturally since he so naturally loved you.

“Oh yeah.” You laughed, pulling him closely into a tight hug that fit the two of you together so perfectly that it made it feel like you should have done this ages ago. “Perfectly,-“ You pulled back, giving him a peck on the lips that felt so right it made you giddy, “Extra-“, another kiss, this time with him returning the favor while trying hard not to let his own excitement take him too far as he relished in the fact that this was real and you were his and if he could help it, there’d be nothing in the world to change that “- and insanely cool.”

#my hero academia #mha #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #boku no hero academia #hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #bees hcs

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hardygalwrites · 3 years ago

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Anime/Manga: Hetalia

Characters: England and 2P!England

Synopsis: "We are not just ourselves, you know. We're our people as well. I may be some other aspect of the people, but I am the people all the same."

Assaulted and made a prisoner in his own home, England is forced to endure the hospitality of an unexpected and very unwelcome visitor, who puts England's self-deprecating attitude into a whole different perspective.

Note: Originally published on FFN sometime in 2016, deleted, then edited and republished early 2018. TW for force-feeding

—

The powerful voices of Bostridge and Drake, singing their cover of Franz Schubert's Die Forelle, echoed about the kitchen as the strawberry tarts were pulled from the oven. He inhaled the sweet-scented smoke and sighed pleasurably. But for the sounds of frustrated exertion that could be heard above the tenors of Bostridge and Drake, it was all near perfect. He frowned and quickly went on with finishing up the tarts.

Soon, he had the sugary little pastries displayed on a fine china plate, which he carried into the dining room. All the while, his feet danced in time with Schubert's lied - around the overturned table, over the shattered vase, between the splintered halves of the broken chair. He came to a stop at the dining table and set the tarts in front of his dining companion, just as the song ended.

There was no other sound now, besides the light static of the record player, though that too was gone once he removed the needle from the record. He smiled down at his companion. Then, he noticed the blood making slick the cords around his companion's wrists.

"Well, goodness," he exclaimed. "What did you do to yourself?"

His companion was silent, knuckles white about the arms of his chair, posture stiff, countenance stony, overall just looking plain inhospitable.

He sighed, tutting disappointedly. "You can't go hurting yourself like that, all right?"

He pinched his companion's stiff cheek, drawing a wince, and went to sit across from him. "After all, I don't want all my hard work to go to waste. It's been a fair while since I cooked a full on dinner for someone."

His companion simply glared, teeth bared in a distasteful snarl, which he easily countered with a benign grin. This persisted for several seconds.

"...Not very talkative, are y–?"

"Damn it, what the bloody hell do you want!?"

"And no wonder!" he gasped. "Did you kiss mum with that mouth?"

His companion strained to release himself from the chair, only inflicting more damage to his wrists. "You broke into my house, ransacked my drawing room, and–!"

"Broke into your house?" he exclaimed, offended. "My dear Iggy– Ah, do you mind if I call you Iggy? It's something that the boys sometimes call me. I know it's meant to be demeaning, but I can't help but find it adorable. Do your boys give you any affectionate nicknames?"

Bad-tempered silence was the only reply.

He nodded understandingly. "Ah, I see. Touchy subject."

"Oh, shut up," the other muttered. He tilted his head back, sighing. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I heard about you - don't ask me how - and I thought, well, why not go visit?" He clasped his hands. "I wanted to see how alike we are. And judging by the state of your kitchen, I imagine we are not quite so alike as I'd hoped. A tart?"

His companion curled his lip. "Untie my hands first."

"Oh, no, no, no, if I do that you'll jump at me! Here..." He plucked a beautifully crafted tart from the plate. "Open wide!"

The seated individual cringed, leaning back as far as his bonds would allow. "Like hell I'm eating from your hands!"

"Now, that's rude. I do wash them before and after I cook; what uncivilized brute doesn't? Really though, I insist." He poked the tart at the seam of his companion's tightly sealed lips. "Come on, open up! You know, my little boys loved it when I played the 'eat your food' game, especially when they were being disagreeable."

"And how does that go?" the other growled, only speaking when the tart was lifted away.

He lifted a finger, smiling brightly. "Oh! How about a demonstration."

Holding up the tart again, he leaned in close to his companion. "So I'd do this, and I'd say something to the effect of, 'Sweetheart, you need to eat your food.' And if they still said no..."

He gave his companion an expectant look, prodding him with the tart. A shake of the head was all he received, and he smiled.

"Well, if they still said no, then I'd do this."

Quick as lightning, he lashed out with his free hand, gripping his companion's jaw in a vice. A tight squeeze forced his companion's lips open, and he popped the tart between them with a happy giggle and manually aided his reluctant guest into chewing the treat.

As soon as said treat was gone, his companion jerked out of his grip, cursing furiously. "You bloody git! You son of a hell damned wanker!"

He gasped, affronted. "Goodness me, you really do need to work on that language of yours!"

His companion glared at him dangerously, slowly rotating his jaw.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Such language was hardly called for, and I know for a fact that my food can't be that bad. Scone?"

"You're mad." His companion released an odd sound that was something akin to a laugh. "Yes, that's it. You're stark raving mad."

He returned the laugh, choosing a scone from one of the plates. "Mad, yes. An absolute freak. One might even say a punk. I acknowledge this with full acceptance."

He picked up a knife and pressed it against his chest, as though making a vow. "As our dear gentleman, Mr. Carroll, once so aptly wrote, 'We're all mad here.'"

Laughing again, he cut the scone in half and lathered one half with jam. "Or at least, that's the case where I come from. Everyone there is depressed, sociopathic, and just plain mad. You ought to visit sometime."

"I ought not."

"Ought too! But let's not argue. Here, try the scone."

Despite his offer, those lips were once again sealed.

"Come now dearest, you don't want to play the 'eat your food' game again, do you?"

His companion scowled, but opened his mouth, and he happily pushed the scone between his companion's lips lips. Looking him straight in the eye, his companion bit down on the scone and shut his mouth. He waited expectantly, but his companion's jaw remained otherwise unmoving.

He frowned. "Go on! Chew it! ...If you don't chew it I'll have to make you."

He waved the jam knife in front of his companion's face, only to pull back when his companion lunged at him like a mad-eyed Jack-in-the-Box. The yelp that had escaped him quickly turned into laughter as his companion was halted by his bonds.

Clapping his hands, he exclaimed, "Oh, that was naughty of you. Very sly! Ah, but really, I would finish that scone if I were you."

His companion groaned frustratedly.

Two quick chews and a swallow later, he nodded approvingly. "Good lad. You really ought to eat a little more slowly though. Eating fast is so American, and it does terrible things to the digestive system."

"Tell me," his companion growled, continuing to work at his bonds. "When your store of cyanide and strawberry preserves runs dry, do you feed off of the humiliation you inflict on others?"

He smiled, buttering up the second half of the scone. "It's funny, my loving big brother asked me the exact same thing..."

"And what did you say?"

"'Brother dear, I never humiliate others,'" he quoted sincerely. "'They're humiliated, but only because they perceived it that way.'"

He took a bite out of the buttered scone and shrugged. "If you find it humiliating, that's your problem. Tea? Or perhaps you want to finish your scone..."

The other laughed humorlessly. "Oh, a lovely principle you've got there."

"Tea it is, then."

"I'm sure that your friends agree wholeheartedly with that little philosophy. That is if you even have any friends."

He sent his companion a reproving look as he prepared a cuppa. "No need to be sarcastic, Iggy dear. I do have friends, thank you very much, though at this point I am unsure whether or not I can say the same for you."

"I do have... some friends." His companion squirmed, something besides frustration and anger crossing his facial features.

He smiled sympathetically, returning to the preparation of the tea. "Ah, I've been there, mate. There was a time when not a person in the world wanted to be my friend. Then they discovered my wicked cooking skills, and the fact that I am a stubborn little man who won't take no for an answer."

He turned back to his guest, teacup and saucer in hand.

Instantly, his companion's face darkened, as did his voice. "You force-fed me scones and tarts, but I swear that if you try to force-feed me tea I will give you the soundest thrashing you'll have ever received in your life."

"Tough words coming from a man with jam on his mouth."

His companion started, evidently having been unaware of the strawberry jam staining his upper lip, and he laughed.

"Oh, you are adorable," he sighed, managing to wipe away the offending gob of preserve in spite of his companion's evasive flinch. "If you're really so adverse to our veritable lifeblood, I'll set it aside for later. Remember though, it's best served hot."

He set the cup and saucer aside, within reaching distance of his companion, who hissed, "Well, maybe if you bloody untied me, I could enjoy it to my leisure."

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a foul-mouthed little troublemaker, I would consider doing so," he retorted cheerfully. "Oh come now, dearest, enough with the glaring. You have such a handsome face if I do say so myself, and you shouldn't mar it with that drab expression."

He pinched his companion's cheek. "You ought to smile more!"

His companion pulled away with a snarl. "Stop telling me what I ought and ought not to do! I don't care to have anyone telling me how to live my life, least of all you!"

"I'm sorry, I hope you'll forgive my playing shrink, but maybe that's why you're so lonely. You rely solely on self-deprecation and slow-learned lessons, as opposed to outside criticism and well-meant advice."

"You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Don't I, now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I am you, after all. We've both gone through the same history, made same choices, suffered the same consequences..."

"I am nothing like you," the other hissed, glaring.

He succeeded in startling his companion by clasping his face and examining it closely. "Hm, unkempt hair, handsome facial structure, eyes not too far from the blue spectrum, subjectively svelte, impeccable fashion sense - though I can see that you prefer stark green over something a little softer - and of course those uncontrollable brows... I'm sorry, but what was your point?"

"Let go of me," his companion snapped, tearing his face away. "The resemblance is superficial at best."

"On the contrary, I daresay that if we had a test, we'd find that we share the same DNA!"

"Our DNA is that of the people, you idiot; of course it'd be the same."

"That's just my point!" he exclaimed, spreading his hands. "We are not just ourselves, you know. We're our people as well. I may be some other aspect of the people, but I am the people all the same."

"Oh, is there some aspect of the English people often associated with pastry-obsessed psychopaths who insist on overbearing hospitality that I am unaware of?"

"Again with the sarcasm. My dear Iggy," he said, regarding his companion with pity, as one would regard a man who was too slow to fully participate in the world around him. "You would be surprised at what aspects are so prominent within our lovely culture, and yet so unclear to ourselves.

"Now..." He clasped his hands. "How about a teacake?"

"What do you mean by that?" the other demanded.

He grinned obligingly. Picking up a small teacake, he held it out in front of his companion.

"You see this? Foreigners associate this notoriously delicious baked good with our country. It is what the tourists come here for. It is the epitome of traditional English baking. And I baked it," he declared proudly, placing a hand on his chest. "Now, based on your own argument of us having nothing in common, and judging by the frankly miserable remains found in your kitchen, what do you think that means for you?"

His companion maintained a sullen silence, and he continued. "You are simply another aspect of our people that I had never quite considered having existed until now. An unfortunate aspect, but an aspect nonetheless. ...And on that note, open wide!"

His companion deliberately turned his face away.

He sighed. "Really dearest, we aren't honestly going to do this again, are we? Come on, open up."

His companion leaned away still further.

"You're not sulking now, are you? That's very childish of you, darling. ...Don't look at me like that, you know it's true." He sighed again. "I'm giving you one more chance to accept this graciously, Iggy, else I'll have to let our little game commence. Open wide now."

His companion glared defiantly.

The following struggle was an interesting one, and he found himself being quite impressed with his companion; for someone tied hand a foot to a chair, he was a jolly good fighter.

"Good gracious, you are a troublemaker," he exclaimed, finally succeeding in getting a firm grip on his companion's face. "It's only a teacake, no need to make a kerfuffle over it."

The other continued to struggle, and he was starting to feel rather exasperated. "Oh, honestly, my boys never put up this much of a fuss. Not even America was this troublesome!"

"Really?" his companion hissed between clenched teeth. "Was he always defiant of you?"

"Has been since his discovery and continues to be so. Now open..."

"Funny, because my boys always loved my cooking. They enjoyed my company."

It was as though an electric charge had gone through him. He stood paralyzed, teacake held limply in his hand and his grip slackening.

His companion took the chance to pull away from the loosening grip, a triumphant glint appearing in his green eyes as he said, "So what exactly does that say about you, Iggy?"

His own eyes narrowed, and he managed to regain a sharp grip on the other's face, pulling him close. The teacake lay forgotten on the carpeted floor as he spoke, voice quiet but filled with malice.

"Oh, that is clever of you. Flaunting your past as though it's something special, something better, that's just jolly. And yet the joke is still on you, dearest," he sang, smile returning. "We still end up in the same boat. And we both know that our boys left it a long time ago."

Smack.

His vision went white and he staggered back. A painful throbbing emitted from his forehead and went on to take over the rest of his head. His companion lay on the floor, the chair having become unbalanced and tipping over backwards. The two groaned in tandem with each other.

As he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to stem the pain, something began to build up in his throat, slow but powerful. Before he could identify what it was, it burst forth from his mouth in the form of hysterical laughter. He laughed for what seemed like hours, when in reality it may have only been seconds. By the time he was finished, the pain had died down and his whole body felt exhausted.

He wiped a tear away from his eye, giggling tiredly. "I feel like I may have overstayed my welcome."

His companion still lay on the floor, staring up at him with a strange look on his face. "You're one mad bastard."

"Yes, yes I know." He sighed, straightening his bowtie and cuffs. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

With a wink and a bright smile, he turned away.

"Hey, you can't just leave me here!"

"Can't I, now?"

"I'm a seasoned British soldier! I've escaped from concentration camps! It's only a matter of time before I get out of this!"

"That's what I'm counting on," he said cheerfully. "Sorry I won't be able to see your great escape, but I do have to run. Don't worry though, I'll leave Schubert to keep you company."

Already humming a few bars of Die Forelle, he put the needle on the record. The powerful voices of Bostridge and Drake soon rang throughout the house once again. But for the broken furniture and shattered objects strewn about, and the sounds of frustrated exertion and furious cursing rising above the powerful tenors, everything seemed exceptionally ordinary.

Smiling benignly, steps dancing in time with the lied, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #remember when hetalia was relevant?#I don't but I remember really enjoying it while growing up #I won't lie im still fond of this one #writing a bit of a mad character was so much fun #and I have to give myself props for having stuck to the gimmick of never naming the characters outside of dialogue #hetalia #character analysis #hetalia fanfiction #aph england #arthur kirkland #2p england #fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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